Harry and the Bikini Bandits by Basil Heatter - Chapter 17
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 17
"To work, to work," said Grogan, rubbing his palms together. Regarded Charity with raving tic. "And who is this?"
"Picked her up at sea," said Harry. "On a raft. Name of Charity."
"Ah."
"Professor Grogan, Charity Smeeton."
"Smeeton. Smeeton. Once knew a Brigadier Smeeton. Sailed around the world on a Chinese junk. Shipwrecked in the Tuamotus. Married a native princess. Made a fortune in copra."
"No relation."
"Where can we talk privately, Harry?"
"Talk here if you like."
"Well, I mean . . . "
"Charity? What about her? Think she'll run off and blab to the fuzz? What for? Saved her life after all. Might even include her in the caper."
"Eh?" said Charity.
"Thinking of cracking the local casino."
"Cracking?"
"Heist."
"Oh good show," said Charity.
"Carry on, Grogan."
Grogan mopped his sopping pants legs. I had rowed ashore for him in the yellow raft and he had half tipped us over. He was an awkward little man.
"Why don't you take your pants off?" said Harry. "Sit around in the buff. Do you good."
"Couldn't do that, old boy."
"Why not?"
"The ladies."
"Nothing they haven't seen before."
Grogan's tic jumped. "To business, please."
"Meeting called to order," said Harry.
"About the gas.
"Ah, the gas. What about it?"
"All here in good order. That is . . . " again he looked doubtfully at Charity.
"Oh I don't want to hear your nasty little secrets," said Charity. "I'll row about for a bit."
"I'll go with you," I said. "Harry, you can tell me all about it later."
"Well I didn't mean to drive you off," said Grogan. Charity smiled. "Of course you didn't, luv."
We lowered the raft and rowed away. She leaned back against the rubber cushion and dangled her slim fingers in the water.
"Friends of mine did it once to an armored car," she said.
"Did what?"
"Blew it up. Payroll. Fifty thousand pounds."
"What happened to them?"
"All inside now. Did it for a lark, of course, but no one would believe it. Wouldn't like to see you chaps go the same route."
"Well I don't really know how serious they are."
"Oh they're serious all right. That uncle of yours is a rather serious chap."
"What, Harry?"
"Mmm."
"I never would have thought of him that way."
"Doesn't want you to. Perfectly obvious. Take the boffing for instance."
"What boffing?"
"When you and the tiger lady were ashore. Offered to boff him in exchange for a place to stay. Grinned at me and said he hadn't got around yet to boffing children, but when he did he would let me know. Mark of a serious man, that."
"I suppose so."
"Believe me, luv. I know. If he says he means to jimmy the local casino, he will."
"He certainly seems to trust you," I couldn't help saying.
"Chap works with instincts. Never go wrong with instincts. But who is the wee one?"
"Professor Grogan?"
"Mmm."
"I'm not sure really. Some kind of professor of archaeology"
"I think he's cute."
"Grogan?"
"Mmm."
No answer to that. No accounting for taste. Rowed around. She closed her eyes and slept. Rowed close to shore among cluster of parked yachts. Observed street signs. DOGFLEA LANE. SCRATCH ROAD. Native humor. Heard shouting. Three men on deck waving arms yelling. Charity looks up. Violet eyes. Very cool.
"Well there they are."
"Who?"
She laughs and waves back. Men on the boat seem to be going nuts. Shaking fists.
"Those are the chaps I took the raft from. Suppose they want it back."
"What should we do?"
"Fuck 'em."
I dug in the oars and we shot away down wind. In and out among the moored yachts. Charity laughing. Tears of glee rolling down her cheeks. Embankment at the foot of the bridge. Culvert there five feet across. Tide rushing through. Who knows what's on the other side? Soon find out. We shoot through into darkness. Pop out like champagne cork. All quiet. Row back to Jezebel. Can see Chris-Craft prowling up and down like fat hunting dog on far side of bridge. Lift Charity onto deck.
"What's so funny?" asked Harry.
I told him.
"Get below."
We duck down. Chris-Craft snuffling alongside. "Hey there! You there! That's our raft."
"What raft?"
"That one right there. The yellow one."
"This one?"
"Of course."
"What makes you think it's yours?"
"I know my own raft when I see it. Just let me come aboard and take a look at it."
"You step on this boat and I will knock your fucking head off and tuck it under your arm."
"Now wait a minute. Where's the girl? We saw her."
"You mean that fifteen-year-old girl you bastards were screwing?"
"Fifteen?"
"Next birthday. You can go to jail for a hundred and ten years, the three of you. The trial will make great reading. Your wives back in Fort Lauderdale will enjoy every word."
"Now look here."
"Shove off. Shove off and be grateful for small favors." We heard the rumble of the twin 260s as they opened her up. Rooster tail and wake. Never looked back.
Charity threw her arms around Harry and kissed his cheek, her little nose lost in his beard.
"I love you. I love you all."
"What about me?" said Grogan.
"Oh you too." And she kissed the top of his head.