Chain of Desire (A Rare Finds Tale) Page 3
A sultry brunette with striking emerald eyes, full pouty lips, and tits big enough to smother a stegosaurus, Nikki Pow! was a Czech who’d worked in the Eastern European porn biz until an American adult film producer discovered her and brought her to America in hopes of turning her into one of the biggest names in the industry. Five years had passed since then, and although she hadn’t become one of the biggest names in porn, she had become one of the most notorious, given her willingness to do anything and anyone, her specialty being hours-long gang bangs involving dozens of men, many of them black guys with dicks the size of tallboys.
It wasn’t hard to track her down. She had her own website which listed all of her upcoming projects, and there I learned that in just four days she’d be making an appearance at an L.A. strip club called Wink’s.
I’d definitely be there.
* * *
Wink’s was one of those clubs that could best be described as semi-respectable, meaning the booze was second-rate, but at least someone remembered to clean the men’s room every once in a while. Then again, nobody was there for the booze anyway.
I had to wait through a parade of non-famous strippers with names like Candi Boxx and Rosie Cheeks. They did their job and nothing more. The audience, mostly a mix of noisy frat boys and sad-eyed middle-aged men, greeted them with lukewarm enthusiasm. Everyone was there for the infamous Nikki Pow!
When she twirled out onto the stage dressed like a policewoman—cop hat, blue uniform shirt with a silver badge, black leather miniskirt, and black leather boots—the place went nuts, especially the frat boys, who started hooting and hollering as if they were at a football game. She wasted no time doffing her clothes and before one full minute had passed was down to only the boots. One big reason it didn’t take long was because she hadn’t been wearing anything underneath the uniform—no bra, no panties. I wasn’t sure about California law, but most states I’m familiar with have laws against full frontal nudity. No one here, though, seemed ready to file a complaint. And judging by Ms. Pow!’s reputation, any cop who’d been on the premises would have been long and passionately compensated for turning a blind eye.
Once her encumbering clothes were out of the way, she started humping the pole. She did it for quite a while, and I’m pretty sure she got herself off doing it, judging by the way she flushed and her nipples hardened. After that she slowly danced along the edge of the catwalk, waving her tits and ass to all and sundry. By the time she’d made one complete circuit of the catwalk, the tops of her boots were stuffed with more money than an Easter Sunday collection plate.
When the show was over, she blew everyone a big kiss and shimmied backstage. I waited a few minutes, then got up, went outside, and walked around the building, hoping to catch her as she headed out.
I could have waited a while longer. As I neared the rear of the building, I heard a man moan, “Oh, fuck, yeah! That’s it!”
Peering around the corner, I saw one of the frat boys standing with his back to the wall next to the club’s rear exit, his pants down around his ankles, and his skinny dick in Nikki Pow!’s wet, pouty mouth.
I waited out of sight around the corner until the moaning ceased—fortunately it took only about twenty seconds—and the kid fumbled out his awed thanks and hurried away.
When I caught up to Ms. Pow! she was standing beside a cherry-red Ferrari and fishing around in a black leather purse for her car keys.
“Ms. Pow!” I said.
She looked up, saw me, and smiled. “Call me Nikki. Everyone does. I do not believe in formalities.” Though she’d been in the U.S. long enough for her to master the language, she still had a thick, guttural Eastern European accent that made it sound as if she’d been gargling with glue.
She gave me a quick once-over. I guess she liked what she saw, because her smile widened and she took a step toward me.
I stifled an urge to recoil. Sure, she was attractive, but her sexual habits being what they were, I envisioned germs swirling around her like a cloud of gnats.
“And what exactly can I do for you, hmmm?” Nikki said with a flirtatious raise of her eyebrows that suggested she knew exactly what I wanted and was perfectly willing to give it to me.
“Not what you think,” I said. “See, I’m a finder of rare and unusual objects and I’ve been hired by a man who wants a used pair of your underwear.” I had decided to mention only the part of the job that related to her. No sense confusing her with stuff about robots and chocolate-cherry cheesecake. Then again, she’d probably get into the chocolate-cherry cheesecake. And who knows, maybe the robots too.
I expected her to ask questions. Most people do. Instead she burst out laughing.
“That is a good story,” she said. “Most people would just say they want it for their brother or their friend or something.”
“But I’m serious. It’s really not for me.”
She chuckled. “Of course not.”
I decided not to try to change her mind. I just wanted to finish this long, crazy case. And from the look of things, I was almost there. I figured I’d have no trouble getting a pair of her panties—hell, she gave away more than that for free. Still, I knew I couldn’t let myself get complacent. All too often a marathon runner who’s well in the lead will slack off a little when the finish line comes into sight, thinking he’s got an easy win. Inevitably he winds up eating someone else’s dust. No win is ever easy. Especially not in my line of work. There’s always one last snag you never expect.
And here it came.
“I would love to do this for you,” she said, “but there’s only one problem—I never wear underwear.”
I suppose I should have seen that coming.
“Do you mind if I make a phone call?” I said.
She glanced at her car. “I don’t have much time.”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
She shrugged. “Okay, but only a minute.”
I called Howall. He answered halfway through the first ring, his voice high and excited, no doubt thinking I was calling to tell him the job was done.
I explained the situation to him while Nikki watched, her incredulity that I’d been telling the truth quickly giving way to amusement.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked Howall.
“I don’t know. Do you think she’d be willing to wear a pair for a day?”
“Hold on.” I asked Nikki.
She crinkled up her face as if I’d asked her to eat a bug. “I hate underwear. It’s so constricting. And it chafes. I suppose I could do it, but I will have to charge a fee. Five hundred dollars for wearing them for a day. And you have to supply the underwear.”
“Did you hear that?” I asked Howall.
“Yes, yes. It’s fine.”
“I’ll have to go buy some underwear, then. Do you have a preference? A thong? A frilly lacey thing?”
“A thong! Definitely a thong. A black one. And she should sign it in pink ink!”
“Pink ink?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, fine.” I hung up.
“Pink ink?” said Nikki.
“I’m afraid so. I guess it’s time for a quick shopping trip. Is there some way I can get in touch with you later?”
“Sure.” She shook her head as she scribbled down her phone number. “This is a very strange day.”
“Tell me about it.”
* * *
I bought a black thong (size M) and a pink pen (not as easy to find as you might think) and delivered them to Nikki’s house in Malibu later that night. The house, a cozy two-bedroom ranch, was much more tastefully decorated than anywhere else I’d visited in the course of the job. I guess being a porn whore is lucrative enough to buy primo furnishings. I especially liked the genuine polar bear–skin rug. She invited me to do things with her on it, but concerns about Mr. Scabies and his venereal pals made me beg off.
I returned the next night for the thong. She had already signed it with the pen, right in front over th
e spot where her bush would have been if it hadn’t been shaved off.
“I used them well,” she said, handing me the panties. “I even masturbated with them on a few times. He should like that.”
“I’m sure he will,” I said, suppressing a grimace and wishing I’d thought to bring a pair of gloves.
* * *
And so, I rendezvoused with J. Eric Howall in an empty parking lot two nights later and handed him Nikki Pow!’s signed and soiled undies, in return for which he gave me an autographed copy of Maggotbrain (he even put “Best Wishes” above his name), which I then delivered to “Uncle” Sam Stearns, who let out a long, enraptured moan when he saw it and then relinquished—though not without a slight frown of regret—his last remaining copy of the December 1988 issue of Pink, which I presented to a delighted Hubert Ramsey, who let me take away Roboto, nicely crated up now, in a flatbed truck.
And that brings us back to old Papacek, who I thought was going to have a massive joy-induced coronary when he cracked open the crate and saw Roboto.
“Hello, old friend,” he said as tears welled up in his eyes. He turned to me. “He’s a little worse for wear, but he’s in better shape than I expected.”
“Uh-huh. That’s nice.” I handed him my bill, eager to finish this up and get to work on my next job. Some guy wanted a card belonging to something called the Ur-Tarot, supposedly the original deck of Tarot cards. It sounded like a nice challenge that would result in a nice paycheck.
The bill was itemized, which perhaps wasn’t the best idea, since Papacek was one of those guys who always read the fine print. He nodded as he made his way down the list of plane fares and hotel room fees, then stopped dead when he got to the last couple of items. His thin-lipped mouth popped open and he looked up at me, eyes bewildered beneath his bushy white brows.
“‘Ladies’ undergarment: $14.99’?” he said. “‘Use of same: $500.00’?”
“The job took many strange twists and turns. It’s probably best if you don’t know the details.”
He stared at me for a moment, then looked at Roboto and sighed. “I suppose so. Sausage tastes mighty good, but you don’t want to see how it’s made.”
“True enough.”
I reflected later that he might have thought I was the one who had made use of the ladies’ undergarment. But let him think what he wanted. He had his robot and I had his money and all was right with the world.
Other works by J. S. Volpe, available from fine e-book retailers everywhere
RARE FINDS
Dark Secrets
Gilbert Solomon, a finder of rare objects, is hired to locate the sole surviving copy of the unaired final episode of an obscure 70s TV show called Dark Secrets. Barely has Gil begun to nose around than the show’s producers start turning up dead. Someone, it seems, is afraid he’ll uncover some decades-old misdeed connected with the show. What dark secret lies at the heart of Dark Secrets? Frankly, Gil doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to find the tape and get his money. Alas, it looks like he’ll have to play detective if he wants to stay alive long enough to reach that lovely payday.
10,100 words
ANOMALY HUNTERS
Book 1: Into the Woods
The Anomaly Hunters saga begins here!
When high school seniors Calvin Beckerman and Cynthia Crow set out to investigate the disappearance of Cynthia's little sister Emily, they aren't prepared for the surprising twists and turns that await them. They soon find themselves under the tutelage of Robert May, an elderly anomaly investigator who believes that Emily's disappearance is connected with a string of bizarre and possibly paranormal tragedies stretching back two hundred years. The group's dogged pursuit of the truth uncovers shocking secrets and terrible crimes, and brings them face-to-face with a mysterious force that will change their lives--and the world--forever.
98,000 words
Book 2: From Finland with Love
Two years have passed since the fateful events of Book One. Now sophomores in college, Calvin and Cynthia investigate a campus murder linked to the legendary Ur-Tarot, the original Tarot cards created by a psychic monk a millennium ago. Along the way, the duo befriends Kaarina Nurmi, a beautiful bisexual Finnish girl who helps out with the investigation. Unfortunately Kaarina’s involvement might prove to be more trouble than it’s worth, given that Calvin is straight, Cynthia is gay, and both of them are frustrated virgins who see their sensual new friend as the answer to their lonely prayers. Will the duo’s ensuing rivalry for the delectable Finn derail both the investigation and their friendship? Then again, considering the way the dead bodies are piling up, they might not be alive long enough for it to matter…
Join the Anomaly Hunters in a tale of sex, death, Tarot cards, and some really bad poetry. Oh, and did we mention the sex?
77,200 words
Book 3: The Thing in the Alley
This is it—the whole team working together for the very first time!
When horribly mutilated bodies start turning up in Kingwood, the Anomaly Hunters determine that the culprit can only be a leucrota, a supposedly mythical monster that can mimic people’s voices. With Violet’s history-geek sister Lauren helping out, the team combs the city in search of the man-eating beast. Will they stop the leucrota before it kills again, or will they only become its latest victims?
Plus, an unexpected discovery in Mr. May’s office leads Calvin to a young woman named Tiffany Fish who has strange links to both the Anomaly Hunters and their current investigation. It’s a meeting that will change Calvin’s life forever. How? Well, if you thought his near-fatal involvement with a cute blonde in the last volume might have put him off cute blondes for good, you were very, very wrong.
Love and echoes are in the air, and the writing is most definitely on the wall in the third remarkable volume of the Anomaly Hunters saga.
94,000 words
THE CHRONICLES OF ERIDIA
The Singular Six
An action-packed novel set in the world of Eridia.
Frankenstein’s Monster…Dr. Frankenstein’s courageous niece…a superhero with the power to turn to stone…a robot who performs psychoanalysis…a tweenage queen…a snarky Incan jaguar god…
These disparate individuals must team together to hunt down and vanquish the Marauders, a horde of evil bandits who aim to conquer the land of Erizan. Each of the six has their own reasons for undertaking this dangerous mission. Only together do they have any hope of succeeding.
Their journey takes them across a bizarre patchwork landscape and pits them against strange and terrible foes—from an abandoned research lab overrun by a peculiar variety of zombie to an idyllic woodland populated by carnivorous stuffed animals, from the mazy lair of a huge, hateful serpentine beast to the Marauders’ blood-soaked battle arena where the sextet must fight for their lives.
Join a team unlike any other in a world unlike any other for a story of bravery and heroism, friendship and sacrifice…
91,000 words
Blood Ties
A dark tale set in the world of Eridia.
Jesus Christ XIV has spent his life in thrall to the vampires of Merrimont Castle, hidden deep in the remote monster-haunted land called the Wilds. Unlike the other human servants/livestock, who wistfully dream of a life beyond the castle walls, Jesus Christ XIV secretly wishes to become a vampire himself, a being of grace and culture and eternal beauty. And though Ascensions—the raising of a lowly servant to the ranks of the vampires—are exceedingly rare, it soon becomes clear that Jesus Christ XIV has indeed been chosen for this signal honor. But on the eve of his Ascension, everything is thrown into chaos by the unexpected appearance of the legendary vampire hunter named Hull, the very man the vampires fled to the Wilds to escape…
12,100 words
Scoundrels’ Jig
A darkly comic novel set in the world of Eridia.
When a dying man staggers into a crowded underworld tavern and tells the assorted desperate characters gathered inside
that there’s a huge block of gold hidden in a remote canyon half a day’s journey west, it sets off the craziest, bloodiest treasure hunt Eridia has ever seen.
Among the many crooks, scum, losers, and fools vying for this priceless prize are Bastard Jack, the biggest, baddest, and probably hairiest bandit in the land; Kirby and Blunt, small-time thieves whose schemes always backfire; John Grommet, a timid scribe in need of money to save his dying mother; Gaspard and Merizen, lusty con-artists who find the thought of all that gold stimulating enough to necessitate the occasional time-out for a quickie; the Yellow Pawns, a trio of nihilistic cultists who plan to use the treasure to further their apocalyptic agenda; Illyana and Luornu, young barmaids who dream of a life free from the pawing hands of drunken idiots; and then there’s…Ludwig van Beethoven?
In their mad scramble to get the gold the various competitors must contend not only with each other but also with a team of local constables, a race of monster-people called the gorgim, a peevish dryad, a killer robot, and a gibberish-spouting, pistol-toting serial killer in a plastic snowman mask.
And if they think that stuff’s bad, wait till they find out what’s in store for them when they actually reach the gold…
70,500 words
Till the Mountains Turn to Dust
A sweeping, eon-spanning novel set in the world of Eridia.
Reynard is a trickster who lives only to sow chaos and sate his basest desires. Solace is a Good Samaritan who strives for society’s betterment. The two of them seem to have nothing in common, yet they do: They’re both immortal, and roughly once every thousand years their paths cross in unexpected ways and in various fantastical locales throughout Eridia. As the world evolves from a brutal, anarchic war-zone to the hub of a peaceful intergalactic civilization, Reynard and Solace’s peculiar relationship likewise evolves in ways the self-serving Reynard never could have imagined.