I went down. As I joined them, I could see that there was chaos in the parlor beyond. Evidently word of the impending raid had been spread. But the hoods were more interested in getting revenge on S.M.U.T. than in protecting the clientele or the girls. One of them backed me up against the wall while the other went with Mrs. Vendergash to round up the other S.M.U.T. members.
"What will you do with us?" I asked the gorilla conversationally.
"Slap your hand," he told me brusquely. "Whadda ya think?"
"With a sledgehammer? Is that the idea?"
"Yeah. On'y sometimes we miss an' hit the head instead. Too bad. You look like you got a real soft head."
"It's stuffed with feathers," I admitted. "But can't we talk this over?" I held up my hand with what was meant to be a friendly, conciliatory gesture. But the movement was just a mite too fast, and he misread its intent. The gun slammed into my jockey shorts so hard that my spine played castanets with the wall. "Oof!" I gasped, not too brightly.
"You certainly have a way wit' words, Mac," the gorilla observed. "But don't try that again," he added. "It could be fatal."
The gun unplugged itself from my abdomen, and I was able to breathe again. Three breaths later the lights went out. Just like that. We were plunged into total darkness, and I didn't stop to ponder what had happened. I just dropped down on all fours, below where I remembered the gun having been, and started crawling.
"Don't move, Mac, or I'll pug ya!" The hood's voice came from behind me now, and I kept right on crawling. Then I guess he must have decided not to take any chances in the dark. He fired three shots in rapid succession.
I don't know what he hit, but the immediate result of the shots was chaos. Suddenly the stairway and the hall were filled with frantic, half-clad prosties and their even more frantic customers stumbling over one another in the dark. Feeling them swirl around me, I figured it was safe to get to my feet again.
"I've lost my hearing aid!" It was a quavery, old man's voice at my elbow. "What's going on?"
"It's a raid," a female voice beside him answered.
"Of course I paid!" he said irritably. "And I'm not going to be gypped out of it by any tricks, either. I know you girls! You're all alike! No consideration for old people! Well, you're not going to take advantage of me! Only first I have to find my hearing aid."
"But you don't understand," the female voice said. "You have to get out of here!"
"I don't want any beer! All I want is my hearing aid. And my jollies. I paid for my jollies. I won't leave without them!"
"But the cops are coming. You have to duck!"
"That's what I said," the old man grumbled. "But first let's find my hearing aid. A man has to be able to hear what he's doing."
I elbowed around them in the darkness and started up the stairs. I bumped smack into a man coming down. "Somebody stole my pants!" he told me as we held onto each other for balance.
"Well, I'm obviously not the culprit," I told him, firmly removing his hand from my bare leg.
"We'll probably both catch our death of pneumonia," he assured me morosely as we sidled past each other.
"What happened to the lights?" a voice called gaily from above.
"They went out," someone called back accurately.
"How is it down there?" the first voice persisted.
"Very dark," came the answer.
"I just looked out the window," a third voice called.
"How is it outside?"
"Very dark!"
"You mean the whole city's dark?"
"That's right," a new voice announced. "And half the country, too. I just heard it over my transistor radio. There's been a power failure. The whole eastern seaboard is blacked out."
And that was the first I heard of the big blackout. Later, I would hear all kinds of stories of how people had been stuck on subways and in elevators, of how they'd passed the time in bars or walked to their homes. But when my grandchildren ask me how I spent the night of the big blackout, I'm darned if I know what I'm going to tell them. After all, I can't tell them I was trapped in a whorehouse, can I?
Still, there are worse places I might have been stuck. Even considering the S.M.U.T. situation and the two hoods gunning for me in the dark, there are worse places. All in all, if I had a choice, I don't know that I would have picked differently.
You see, once everybody became aware of the scope of the blackout, it became obvious that the police wouldn't be conducting any vice raids this night. So, just as on the outside, the panic simmered down and folks resigned themselves to waiting out the blackout. As the man from O.R.G.Y., despite the peril I was in, the situation held particular interest for me.
When I returned to the room I'd left, Adrian hadn't budged. She was still lolling in bed in a sort of after-sex reverie, which I suppose was something of a compliment to me. I filled her in on the blackout situation, and she surprised me by opening a bureau drawer and coming up with a powerful-looking flashlight.
"How do you happen to have this?" I asked her as I aimed the strong beam around the room.
"It belongs to a special of mine," she told me.
"A special?"
"Yes. A steady customer who likes to do certain things which are out of the ordinary. One of the things is playing children's games. Hide-and-seek in the dark is his favorite, and we play it with the flashlight. He's always it, and I always hide. When he finds me with the light beam, I have to freeze right where I am and stay that way without moving while he makes love to me."
"I'll bet he has a great version of Pin-the-Tail-to-the-Donkey," I ventured.
"He does. And it's painful sometimes. But," Adrian shrugged, "he plays extremely well."
It was about then that I hit the door with the ray from the flashlight. It was just being eased open. I saw Mrs. Vendergash, and behind her there was a hand with a gun glinting in it. The search for the S.M.U.T. spies was evidently still continuing.
I doused the light and crept silently behind the door as it slid open wider. As she and the gorilla entered, I stepped behind them, smacked the gorilla over the head with the flashlight, stepped back into the hallway, and slammed the door shut behind me. I ran down the corridor and around a bend in the hallway. Then I stood silently in the darkness for a few moments, thinking.
If I really wanted to put myself in solid with S.M.U.T., this could be my big chance. If I could warn the others of the danger they were in and help them escape from the brothel, it would really prove my loyalty. I decided to have a crack at it.
I moved through the pitch-blackness to the door of the room I remembered Crampdick entering. I opened it silently and slipped inside. I shut it just as silently, and only then did I turn on the flashlight.
Elena, the Spanish type Crampdick had paired off with, blinked owlishly as the light hit her square in the eyes. Dressed in the sheerest of black nightgowns, she'd been working over the knob to the locked door of the adjoining bathroom when I entered. Now she shielded her eyes against the light and tried to squint at me. "Who is it?" she asked. "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for my friend. The one who came in here with you," I told her.
"He's in there." She indicated the locked door. "He won't come out."
"Why not?"
"Don't ask me. He's your friend. And a kook if I ever saw one. All I know is he won't unlock the door."
"Let me have a try." I walked over to the door and called through it. "Horace," I called, "it's me, Steve. Come on out."
"Not while that woman is there!"
"You see," Elena said.
"What did you do to him?" I asked.
"I hardly touched him. But he bolted in there, and now he won't come out. Damn inconsiderate if you ask me. I told him I won't lay a finger on him. All I want to do is use the john."
"Look, Horace," I tried again. "I have to talk to you. Come on out."
"No! Not until she leaves."
"Well, can I come in, then?"