What a Way to Go! by Sean O'Shea - Chapter 01

1966 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Sexpionage

BATMAN, I'm not!

My name is Valentine Flynn, I hold down a job that's very different from yours, and I like to hold down anything else I can.

You ever hear of Industrial Espionage? Neither did I until I discovered all the bread, broads and booze involved... then I found out pretty quick.

This time I thought I might be in a little deep, or was it not deep enough? For a while there I thought I'd never get everything worked out.

But then we got everything straight...

CHAPTER 1

The tall man in the dinner jacket sitting beside me at the roulette table grinned at Yvette, the voluptuous little cocktail waitress who had just presented me with a fresh drink and a telegram on a silver tray.

She pretended she didn't see him.

He did not like that. His grin became a scowl. "Hey!

What's a matter, baby? You only got eyes for the Cary Grant type, like him?"

I'd been around the Monte Carlo Casino in the Lucayan Beach Hotel long enough to know that Yvette wasn't permitted to put this clown in his place.

So, I did it for her. Without looking at him, I said softly, "Watch it, pal. She might grab your suspenders and snap you to death."

"'Oh, yeah." The voice was a nasal sneer. "I might've known you'd be getting in my hair before this night was over."

I looked at him. I stared at his mouth and grinned.

"You ought to know, pal." I paused to size him up.

One jab with a thumb on that yo-yo of an Adam's apple of his should shut him up; but then I reminded myself that the casino's security boys wouldn't like that. So I told him, instead, "I'll bet you've been in more people's hair than a case of Wildroot."

That did it. He started to swing.

At that precise moment the casino inspectors closed in.

He never landed the punch. The next thing he knew he was being escorted out with such finesse that not so much as a sidewise glance was given him by any of the patrons.

Pierre, the croupier, smiled at me. It was the amused look of someone who has just seen someone else belch.

"Your bet, Dr. Flynn."

I nodded and tossed a hundred-dollar chip on the black. Then I picked up my drink, caught a final glimpse of Yvette's saucy buttocks disappearing in the crowd, and while taking a pull from the glass, opened the telegram with my free hand.

Dr. Valentine Flynn, Monte Carlo Casino, Lucayan Beach Hotel, Grand Bahama Island, B. W. I.

Dear Dr. Flynn:

This is to confirm our appointment. Our management team will arrive by jet to confer with you at noon tomorrow. If you are still able to accept this confidential assignment, we agree to pay you the fee you ask. We will remit $25,000 as a retainer and will pay the balance upon completion.

Harry Caseman, Pres., Caseman Electronics Research Laboratories New York, N. Y.

After glancing at the wire, I stuffed it in my pocket and watched the ball chattering to a stop in the roulette wheel. I grinned.

To gamble is human; to win, divine.

I had won. I felt divine.

Not only had I got what I had demanded from Caseman and had also won my bet, but I also seemed to be on the verge of scoring with that gorgeous creature sitting opposite me, the one who had been betting—and winning—with me all afternoon. I saluted her with my drink and she elevated the one I'd sent to her with a smile of thanks.

We sipped and she smiled through those glittering eyes at me across the gaming table. She seemed to be challenging me.

I happened to be in the mood to accept.

Since the precise psychological moment had arrived, I gave her the sign.

She readily acknowledged my wink by opening those enchanting eyes even wider than before; an open invitation to make my next move.

She put her drink aside, collected her chips into two healthy stacks, and stood up, pitching another suggestive smile in my direction. When she saw that I was following, she seemed glad and she winked knowingly, hesitating a moment, standing a few feet from the gaming table, holding her stacks.

And were they some stacks I As so many of my former patients would have said, "Not a brick was out of place."

I followed her through the crowded casino and caught up at the cashiers' windows.

“Will you have dinner with me?" she inquired in an accent that I was certain was Parisian.

"Why?"

"Why not? I watched your play and followed suit.

I won too. I owe you dinner—a drink—my thanks."

I caught a glimpse of the healthy stacks of hundreds being counted out to her. She had won much more than I had. "Why not? As long as you're picking up the check."

She carelessly packed the banknotes in her purse and stood aside as Ricardo dealt fifty-nine hundreds out to me in exchange for the chips I had won. "Do you always allow the woman to pay?"' I grinned at those glittering eyes. It was obvious that she was highly amused and somewhat intrigued by me.

Then I looked her over, particularly noting the slinky Dior original she was wearing and wondering how one would go about taking it off her. It fit so tightly that it looked as if it'd been painted onto that curvaceous figure. I finally replied, "I do. Especially when they wear thousand-dollar evening gowns."

Instead of being flattered, she seemed annoyed.

She turned around slowly, like a model. "Guess again."

"Fifteen hundred?"

She smiled and nodded.

I snapped my fingers. "I know. You made it yourself."

If she were still annoyed, she concealed it well.

"Wrong again. It cost twenty-five hundred dollars."

"Sorry. I could've sworn you were the type to get it wholesale."

She laughed and clung to my arm like an arm-piece.

And what a piece she was! We strolled through the Monte Carlo Casino and entered the Lucayan Room where the maitre d' seated us at a window table overlooking the pool and the beach and ocean beyond.

She leaned on her elbows, cupped her chin in petal-soft hands and stared at me.

"Fascinated?"

"Yes," she admitted. "So you're the great Dr. Valentine Flynn."

The glint of surprise I tried to hide from her had been observed.

"You're wondering why I know who you are."

"Not really. Everyone knows me. I live here."

"They said I'd find you here."

"They?"

The waiter arrived. I ordered dry martinis without consulting her. When he went away, I watched the smile on her beautiful face begin to dissolve. She settled back in her chair. This girl had more on her mind than that gorgeous hairdo.

When she met my gaze again she appeared to be studying me carefully, as if she was trying to search out something in my mind. "I am the Baroness Ogden-Stutt.

Does that mean anything to you?"

"If your hand's clean, I'll kiss it."

She laughed, not at all amused.

I decided that I'd better get a line on her fast. My partner, Dusty, the casino's public relations man was the one to ask. I stood up and by way of explanation, withdrew the telegram from my pocket and Hashed it at her. "Forgive me a moment, baroness. I've got to send a reply to this right away." I began to leave the table before she could answer. “I'll only be a minute."

She nodded permission with a gracious smile in the manner of a grand dame.

I went to the maître d's station and picked up the phone. Instead of asking for Western Union, I told the girl to connect me with Dusty. While I was waiting, I turned and smiled across the room at the baroness. She returned the smile and I was aware of the way she was watching me with more than just a little idle curiosity.

Dusty, whose talents are incredible, is a one-man walking information bureau, Who's Who, and credit clearing house. When it comes to checking someone out, he never fails to provide the accurate answers immediately.

Within moments, I had the information I wanted.

As I walked back to the table I could still hear his gravel-voiced staccato replies echoing in my head.

"She's one of the world's ten best-dressed women.

Travels in the highest circles of society in Europe.

Is also seen in all the right places. She lives in a villa outside of Paris. She is active in the operation of three electronics manufacturing plants located in France, Belgium and Rome. She became active in business two years ago when her husband, the baron, got killed in an automobile race.

"About the baroness' business, I can't tell you much.

The grapevine has it that the Ogden-Stutt factories are having internal management problems. It seems that the baroness can't fire some of her key people because the contracts they got from the baron are ironclad. What they make and who their customers are, is a mystery."

The baroness looked up at me, her eyes glittering. “I must say, that was fast."

I grinned as I sat down, noting how the candlelight seemed to add a rouge to her pale, flawless complexion.

"Now, Dr. Flynn—"

I held up a hand and interrupted. "Please. That's too formal. My friends call me Val."

"My darling Dr. Flynn. I did not fly forty-one hundred miles from Paris just to become intimate with you."

"Then you have other things you want to see me about besides being intimate?"

Her smile Hashed on again and her eyes narrowed.

I withdrew a notebook from my jacket, took out a pen and consulted my watch. I tossed the notebook and pen to her. ''Will you please make a note of the time and initial it? I have 8:30."

She frowned, a little puzzled, but did as I requested.

"Very good. Now if you will write down the following which I'm about to dictate, we’ll be ready to get around to the business you have in mind."

"I didn't say this was to be a business conference."

"My dear baroness, may I inform you that my time is valuable and quite expensive?"

"So I've heard."

I grinned. "Please write the following. I, Baroness Ogden-Stutt, do herewith agree to engage Dr. Valentine Flynn in a consultation at his fee of $1,000 plus $100 an hour thereafter. I also agree to pay Dr. Flynn's expenses during the period of this consultation."

After she had written down what I'd dictated, she looked up at me and stared.

With a smile, I said, "Now sign it."

"I haven't agreed to anything."

"If you want to talk to me, those are my terms."

Her gaze lingered on my face a moment longer, then she signed. She closed the notebook and slid it across the table.

"Doctor. What kind of a doctor are you?"

“I'm a psychologist. I thought you knew."

"I knew you were a business consultant and financial and management trouble-shooter, but I didn't know you were a physician too."

'Tm not a physician. A psychologist is not—"

"You needn't explain. I understand. From what I've heard about you, you specialize in psychology dealing with business affairs."

"Yes, you might say that."

"In that case," she said, pushing her chair away from the table, "perhaps we'd better adjourn the meeting to my suite. It's more private there. We can have dinner sent up after I show you my books."

''You can show me everything else you've got, too—if you want."

She smiled. "Shall we go?"

We adjourned.

And twenty minutes later the Baroness Odgen-Stutt was sitting on the sofa in her suite beside me, placing my hand on her rounded thigh and inquiring, "Would you like to call the meeting to order?"

"I second your motion," I said, putting my other hand on her other rounded thigh.

She drew away from me abruptly and sat sidewise, facing me. "I have many problems, Dr. Flynn. I cannot seem to resolve them. Some of my trusted employees have now taken it upon themselves to„how do you Americans say it?—give me a hard time?"

I nodded. I wanted to make a wisecrack, but remained silent, waiting for her to go on.

When she was finished, having told me what Dusty had already told me, I asked, "So what is it you want me to do? Since you have contracts which you cannot break with your key personnel, what can I do?"

"My late lamented husband put a clause into each employment contract which stipulated that if it could be proved that the employee—"

I cut her off with a laugh. "Baroness, why don't you get to the point? At my rates you can't afford to beat around the bush."

Her generous breasts rose and fell in an audible sigh of relief. 'Tm glad to know that for once I've been advised wisely. My London attorney said you were the only man in the world who might straighten out my business affairs."

"Suppose we get right to the heart of the matter,"

I said, reaching for her heart.

She permitted my eager hand one caressing squeeze of each full breast before she pushed it away. "As you know," she said, "in order for industries in the electronics field to stay ahead of competition, there are certain business and manufacturing secrets which must be kept—or obtained. International copyrights and patents cannot any longer be relied upon to protect one's inventions and products."

"So," I said it for her, "you develop other means of doing business. Sophisticated ones." I paused and saw her smiling and nodding for me to continue.

Since she had permitted my hand access to her breasts again, I continued. ''You depend upon camouflage to keep the secrets of your miniature electronics products. You encase false circuits in plastic to hide the arrangement of your circuitry so they can't be copied when someone tries to dissect them with a diamond saw. And," I paused for effect, carefully watching her expression, "you also employ industrial spies."

"Must you use that term? It's in bad taste."

"Bad taste or not, it's the truth, isn't it? You do avail yourself of the services of business espionage agents, isn't that right?"

She was silent for a moment. She looked at me with an exasperated expression in her eyes. "Yes. But it's absolutely necessary these days. I only do it to protect myself."

"You needn't apologize, my dear baroness. You came to the right man. Intelligence is my business also."

She sighed with relief and settled back against the sofa cushions. I grinned and proceeded to part the bodice of her gown, caressing her breasts until they bared themselves as if panting for air. She closed her eyes and whispered something unintelligible as my fingers gently kneaded the already throbbing buds and my mouth sought hers.

'What are you doing, Val?" she whispered.

"Getting to the heart of your problem. I always do a better job when I get next to my clients."

"Umm," she murmured with a little wriggle of her sensuous hips. 'Why did you give up being a practicing psychologist?"

"There's more · money in being a performing psychologist.

Besides, it's more fun."

She clawed her fingers through my hair and pulled my head down against the cushions of her magnificent breasts. As if by magic, the slinky gown she had on began to come apart. Within moments she was naked.

Little cries purled from her lips as my mouth tasted the succulence of her ripe body. Somehow, I wound up on the floor on my knees with my head clutched in her hands, my face being forced down against the dimpled rise of her quivering belly. Her legs snaked around my back, scissors-fashion, imprisoning me helplessly as she writhed and squirmed.

Aware of the perfumed fragrance of her firm body, the surging power of her sleek limbs, the rising urgency of her ardent desire, I felt myself succumbing.

Suddenly, she arched herself up, lifting the globes of those perfect buttocks off the sofa. With all her strength she caught my head and forced it down, lower, lower, across the perfumed expanse of her belly, beyond the splendid jewel of her navel, down, and then further down.

With a tiny cry she gripped me within the vise of her clutching thighs. My nose and mouth were shoved against her downy flesh with such pressure I couldn't breathe or manage to disengage myself.

Then it began to happen.

I felt my senses beginning to reel.

It was the perfume that was making me so giddy.

It wasn't passion, brother, It was chloroform!

She had doused herself with it, covered the tell-tale aroma with expensive perfume, and was now giving it to me. Although I was fully aware of what was happening, there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

As the shroud of unconsciousness began to smother me, I grew aware of two things. One, that she was laughing like crazy. Two, that I was thinking this was one helluva way to go.