Harry and the Bikini Bandits by Basil Heatter - Chapter 20

1971 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Casino Heist

A wildly erotic novel of intrigue, suspense, and adventure...

There's a lot to be said for my Uncle Harry. Mostly unprintable. All my life I'd heard about him, and from a distance he was a kind of legend. But the moment I signed on as one-man crew to his beat-up old bucket, Jezebel, I found my hero of the sea was really a pirate. Broads and booze kept him afloat between capers—and so far, his luck was holding...

But this new harebrained scheme—to heist the loot from an island gambling casino—was the daffiest—and most dangerous yet.

And there I was. Right in the middle. Up to my virginal ears in naked nymphs and Nitrous oxide—with nothing between me and the future but a leaky getaway and a pot of gold that was fast disappearing behind Harry's private rainbow.

CHAPTER 20

Harry gave me hell. "What a fucking half-assed stunt!"

"What else could I have done?"

"You could have kept your nose out of it."

"And let them just drag her out of there?"

"It wasn't your problem. She can take care of herself. Better than you can."

"Well, I notice it didn't take you long to pile in."

"The shit had hit the fan by that time." Suddenly he grinned. "Anyway I didn't like that bastard's face. You see that little guy go down?"

"I saw it. Where did you learn a thing like that?"

"In a bar in Tokyo. A little Jap not much bigger than Grogan floored me that way. When I came to I asked him to show me how it was done. He explained that where the two halves of the skull grow together there's a weak spot and if you can find exactly the right place. . ."

"Well, you found it on him all right."

"You weren't bad yourself in there, Clay. That big sonofabitch will be limping for a week."

There was this feeling of real kinship between us at that moment. Like two kids together. It was the first and last time.

"What happens now?" I said.

He shrugged. "We go ahead anyway. You and I were the only ones involved so the others aren't really affected. Except for Charity, of course. We'll have to keep her ass out of there. In your case it doesn't really make much difference because you'll be outside anyway. And I guess you'd better stay there. Don't try to come inside when you've finished your job."

I felt relieved. Fixing the air conditioner was nothing compared to going inside.

"What about you?" I said.

"I'll have to fix up a disguise."

"You could shave off your beard."

"What?" His hand jumped to that red steel wool. "Are you crazy?"

"It was just a thought."

"Well forget it."

I forgot it.

"By the way," he said, "have you seen Grogan?"

"Not since last night."

"You mean before or after that fuss?"

"After. He caught up with us on the bridge after we left."

"What did he do that for?"

"He was worried about Charity."

"That was pretty stupid. Anybody could see she was all right."

I kept quiet. However Grogan felt about Charity was his business.

"I can't find him," said Harry. "Where did you leave him?"

"On the dock."

"I've checked twice this morning with his hotel and nobody has seen him. Damn it all to hell I don't like it when things begin to happen this way. Too many unexpected twists and turns. We'd better get on with it before the whole thing comes unstuck."

I couldn't help him. I mean the whole thing had been his idea from the start and I was only going along because it was a thing he wanted to do.

"I've got Burger fixed up for the boat," Harry said. "What boat."

"The bait boat."

"We're going fishing?"

"No, stupid. The idea of the bait boat is to draw the chase away from us. As soon as we finish the job, Burger will take off in his Whaler straight out to sea. A boat roaring out of the harbor at that hour of the night ought to attract plenty of attention. Everybody will figure it had something to do with the casino job and they'll be after him. When they finally catch up with him he'll want to know what's wrong with a guy taking his own boat out for a little joyride. By the time they figure all that out we'll be long gone."

"It sounds all right but how did you convince Burger? Did you offer him a share?"

"Hell no. He doesn't need the dough. He sells eight million hamburgers every day of his life."

"What then?"

Harry grinned. "You just don't understand the Burger psyche."

"No, I don't."

"It's very simple really. Burger is the kind of a guy who can afford just about anything he wants but is always bothered by the idea that maybe what he wants is not worth anything. And that's about the way it works out. I mean he's got the yacht and the good-looking wife and the clothes and the successful business and all the booze he can guzzle, but he keeps wondering why there's no zest to it. Like a guy walking down a hot dry road thinking about a dish of ice cream. He would sell his soul for a spoonful.

But if you put five gallons of it in front of him, he would soon begin to wonder why the fiftieth spoonful didn't taste as good as the first. Everybody else is enjoying their ice cream so why isn't he? That's the rich man's hang-up, and Burger has an advanced case of it."

"Then what did you offer him in place of the ice cream?"

"Not a thing really. Just a slight refurbishment of his taste buds."

"You mean he's doing it for kicks?"

"Yes."

"Well, that seems reasonable." It was too. Burger really had nothing to lose. Since he was not getting any of the loot there was no way in which they could ever tie him to the holdup.

"You're growing up, Number Three," said Harry.

Was I? I didn't feel grown up. I felt scared and lonely. I felt like bumming my way back to Miami, getting on the Dog, and going home. But going home with my tail between my legs was no good. And I couldn't give Harry that satisfaction. I admired Harry more than any man I had ever known, but there were times too when I hated him. I felt like he was always testing me against some kind of invisible standard. I was tired of trying to measure up. It was like a never-ending series of school finals and not ever knowing if you were passing or failing. I mean after all, who was he to say how the whole world should live and die?

"What do you figure to do with your share?" said Harry.

"I don't know. I guess I'll have to see it first."

"You could turn it over to your father. Sensible sound investments. Second mortgages. Eight and a half percent. Retire when you're sixty-five and take a nice little junket to Paris. Hardware Merchants convention at the George Cinq. How does that grab you?"

"It's a thought."

"Or you might talk to Brother Burger about the Beat Your Meat franchise for Peckinpaugh, Nebraska. Someday, with luck, you could be as rich and miserable as he is."

"True, true."

"Or you might seduce the Wong, take up the study of comparative religions, give away all your money, and go to live in Kurdistan with the Kurds."

"Or I might just buy a Ferrari and go to Val d'Isere and go skiing with Jean-Claude Killy."

"Well now. Well now. Is this my little crew-cut nephew from Nebraska?"

"The same."

He shook his head. "Not quite. Not quite."