When it was over, the petite “swinger” bounced up beside me on the couch and whispered in my ear. “They’re a little square around here,” she murmured. If you really want something wild for your survey, I could arrange for you two to meet some real strong people.”
That was what I’d been hoping for. The key word was “strong.” Who’d ever have thought that Elsa might provide entry to the discipline underground?
“Will it be all right with Barry?” I whispered back.
“Why not? He likes your wife. I can tell.”
“And you’re not jealous?”
“Are you kidding? I make an occasional scene Without Barry. And the other way around, too. We don’t bug each other.”
“This group you’re talking about—is Carrie a member of it?”
“How did you know about Carrie?”
“She’s a fellow Hoosier.” I said it as if it explained everything. “Will she be there? ”
“I don’t know. She’s no particular friend of mine. Barry likes her.”
Just about then they began reshuffling partners again. I took advantage of their preoccupation and stole a couple of minutes’ whispered conversation with Hortense. “Try to pair off with Barry,” I told her. “See if you can get anything out of him about a Hoosier girl who digs spanking and such. Her name’s Carrie.”
“Steve, just what are you getting me into?” Hortense looked at me quizzically.
“This is no time for explanations,” I pointed out.
“Okay.” She shrugged. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Claiming visitor’s privileges, Hortense grabbed off Barry for the next round. I took a back seat with George and Phil while the three ladies staged an exhibition for us. It was quite a show—sort of a gourmet’s delight of female sexuality.
After that, the party broke up. George called a cab for us, and when Hortense and I were alone in the back of it, I asked her what she’d learned from Barry.
“Not much,” she told me. “He knows a girl from Indiana named Carrie. Says she’s married and digs discipline, but her husband doesn’t. They don’t like having her around for that reason. The other wives object to an extra female. He says he hasn’t seen her for a while and doesn’t know if she’ll be at the next meeting of the discipline society. We’re invited, incidentally. He gave me this phone number so you can call him tomorrow and get the details. He said his wife mentioned it to you.”
“She did.” I took the number. “I’ll call him, and then I’ll give you a ring. What did you think of the evening?” I added idly.
“I’ve never been so shocked in my life,” Hortense said primly.
“You’ve got to be kidding. After all, you’re a professional.”
“That’s right. And in all my professional life I’ve never met such depraved, immoral, unethical people! After all, they are married! ”
“Hortense, you slay me!” I kissed her impulsively. “It isn’t anything they did that bugs you. Right? It’s the fact that they’re married.”
“I suppose so. After all, marriage should be sacred.”
“Are you trying to tell me you've never had married men among your clientele?”
“Of course I have. But they didn’t bring their wives along to watch them perform.”
“Hortense!” I had made a great discovery. “You're a prude! ”
“I just have certain very high standards in some areas. Is there anything wrong with that? ”
“Not a thing, sweetie. Not a blessed thing. It just completes the circle, that’s all.”
“Circle? What circle?”
“The morality circle. You see, for a long time psychologists and sociologists have known that bluenoses are so anti-sex because they’re basically lechers at heart. ’Way down deep they want the very vice they attack, only they’re too filled with self-doubt to indulge in it. Now you’re showing me the other side of the coin. By most standards, you’re a pretty free-wheeling chick, not to say downright promiscuous, albeit in a business sense. But underneath, you’re really a double-barreled moralist. It reminds me of something I discovered when I was in jail once.”
“You were in jail? What for?”
“Speeding, believe it or not. They gave me three days, as an object lesson. And they stuck me in one of those detention homes where they keep all kinds of criminals awaiting trial. Yeah, there were all types there. Murderers and bank robbers and junkies and strongarm men and kids Who’d stolen cars and rapists and wife-beaters -—all kinds. But every one of them had one thing in common. They each had their own particular screwed-up moral code.”
“What do you mean?”
“The bank robber could see how a man might steal, but he was intolerant of any other kind of crime. Rape was downright sinful, and as for murder—well, the most ardent proponent of capital punishment I ever met was a bank robber I got to talking to in the exercise yard. My cell-mate, on the other hand, had knocked off his boss and two cops who tried to stop him. He could understand murder perfectly -- it was always a crime of passion, always the result of temporary insanity, he said -- but wife-beating? All he asked was the chance to be left alone with one of those wife-bearers; he’d knock their teeth down their throats, the cowardly bullies! The junky thought other crimes disgusting and didn’t consider himself a criminal at all; the embezzler thought the junky should be locked up for life with the key thrown away; and the second-story man thought the embezzler was chicken and should be made to pay additionally for his cowardice and underhandedness. . . . Well, I guess you get the idea. You see what I mean?”
“Yes.” Hortense frowned. “But what’s it got to do with me?”
“Just this. You rationalize what you do in sex, but condemn others for what they do. And, of course, they do the same to you.”
“Well, maybe you’re right. But there’s something else, too.”
“What?”
“I’m a professional and these people are amateurs. I don’t like them horning in on my business.”
“At least you’re honest.” I laughed. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I talk to Barry,” I added as the cab pulled up in front of her hotel.
“I’ll be waiting.” She blew me a kiss and ran up the stairs to the lobby.
I told the driver to take me on to the Windsor. When he dropped me, I went straight up to my room and to bed. I was pooped, and I fell asleep immediately.
The telephone woke me. It was just beginning to get light outside. I answered it with a sleepy grunt.
“Victor?” It was Putnam’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“Identify yourself.”
“Huh?”
“The code word.”
“Code word?”
“Is this Steve Victor? ”
“Look, Putnam, don’t play games. What do you want?”
“The password. I want to be sure I’m talking to you.”
“Oh, hell!” I remembered then. “American original. Now, what is it?”
“Victor, if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s sloppiness. And you have been unforgiveably sloppy.”
“You remind me of my mother,” I yawned. “My mother was a lot like you. Now, what the blue blazes are you talking about? ”
“Murder, that’s what! I don’t mind a little killing when it’s necessary, Mr. Victor. But in our line of work, you should remember that discretion is the better part of murder. If one must kill, then one does so quietly, and with finesse. One doesn’t make a carnival out of it.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” I yawned again. “Now, if that’s all, can I go back to sleep?”
“Certainly not. And you’re taking this altogether too lightly, Mr. Victor. Believe me, the police will not be sympathetic to your attitude. It's going to be very difficult to persuade them not to lock you up and throw away the key. They don’t like having prominent citizens slain -— not even by agents in the service of the government.”