“What’s the meaning of this, Braunshnout?” Gall demanded.
“Not Braunshnout. Jock Bind. That’s me. Secret Agent .069 of Her Imperial Majesty’s Secret Service. Jock Bind. .069. Assigned to crush the organization known as GRABB and bring in the nefarious john Fuller Gall alive or dead.”
“Traitor!” Gall screamed.
“Drop that rod, Jock.” It Was Little Effn’ Aynie, She had come up silently behind Jock Bind and held a gun trained on a point dead center between his well-tailored shoulder blades.
“This is my rod, and this is my gun,” Jock Bind said, indicating the difference. “This is for shooting and this is for fun.” He was playing-—for time.
The maneuver paid off.
“Ditch da gat, Aynie. I gotcha covered.” The voice came from behind Little Effn’ Aynie. When she didn’t comply quickly enough, the speaker moved quickly up behind her and hit her in the kidneys with his own As she slid to the floor in agony, he snatched a quick kiss from her pain-twisted lips.
“Daddy Whorebucks! What are you doing?” Gall demanded.
“Not Daddy Whorebucks!” He pulled at his scalp, and it was revealed that the bald pate was really a rubberized wig. Two more pieces of rubber were whisked away and eyebrows appeared. He sucked in his Whorebucks belly and was transformed into a hard, tough, young private eye. “Spike Stapler,” he explained. “Fifty-dollar-a-day gumshoe. Plus expenses, natch. I been ‘on your tail a long time, Gall. I woulda nailed ya, too, if pretty boy over there hadn’t decided to play Sir Lancelot wit’ da chick an’ spilled da beans before I really got da goods onya.”
“I’m licensed to spill!” Jock Bind protested.
“Ahh, shut ya trap. Ya went an’ spoilt everything witcha stupid grandstand play.”
“You are an interfering boob,” Jock Bind told him frostily. “I had everything well in hand before you interfered.”
“On’y one thing you had in hand I could see,” Spike Stapler jeered. “I hadn’t come along, this broad woulda plugged you.” He gave Aynie a gratuitous kick in the ribs.
“This business is over your head, Stapler.” Jock Bind was confidently supercilious. “Your Neanderthal mentality may not grasp this, but they were whipping this lady. Perhaps an American goon like you might stand idly by and let that happen. But in Britain, we have certain scruples about letting a lady be subjected to such treatment.” He lit an imported cigarette, drew on it lightly, with the air of a connoisseur, and expelled the smoke through his aristocratic nostrils.
“Nuts! Da jane prob’ly enjoyed it. Admit it, sister. All dames like to be roughed up, don’t dey?”
“Of course not!” Penny blushed at the lie. Secretly, she was a little regretful that Jock Bind had brought matters to a halt when they were just beginning.
“You just don’t know the difference between a lady and a dame,” Jock Bind told Stapler. “I think now you’d best leave matters in my hands. Just leave. It’s probably time for you to have your dinner, anyway. What do you eat? Raw meat, I suppose. Why don’t you hop over to the zoo? You should be just in time for a midnight snack. It should be feeding time there now. Go on. Go snatch a bite -- or vice versa.”
“Vulgar boy,” Stapler said. “Be careful, or I’ll slap yer hand. Now let’s just cut da comedy. Let’s get this straight. It’s my caper. An’ I’m bringin’ Gall in.”
“Not likely!” Jock Bind was intrepid.
“Dat’s da way it’s gonna be!” Spike Stapler stood fast.
They faced each other now, each training his gun on the other.
“While you decide, does anybody mind if I put my coat back on?” Penny shivered in her delicious nudity.
“I mind,” Stapler said, licking his lips and staring at her ripe young breasts avidly.
“For once I agree with you,” Jock Bind said, nibbling his upper-class lower lip suavely and gazing with polite interest upon the goosepimply orbs.
“Too bad about both of you.” Penny donned the coat.
At Spike Stapler’s feet, Little Effn’ Aynie groaned and tried to sit up. “Get back dere!” He reached down and smacked her casually with the flat of his hand. As her head rolled back he gave her a quick, passionate kiss. “Too bad ya gotta fry, sweetie,” he remarked. “You an’ me coulda made beautiful music together.”
“Wait,” Aynie moaned. “You don’t understand. I’m not what you think I am. Listen to me. Please.” She clutched at Spike Stapler’s legs pleadingly. Fr a moment it looked as if he would boot her away, but when she clutched a little higher, he restrained his violent impulses.
“Dat’s nice, baby. Don’t stop,” he told her.
Aynie took a good, firm grip. “Now you listen!” she commanded.
“Ouch! Just like a dame to pull a trick like dat. An’ just like me ta fall for it. Dat’s da story of my life. All right, just ease up a little an’ I’ll listen.”
“First of all,” Aynie began, “I’m not really Little Effn’ Aynie at all. I’m not even a member of GRABB.”
“You sure act like one,” Spike groaned. “Wouldja ease up on ida left one just a little. It’s killin’ me.”
“All right. My real name,” she continued, “is Dominique Fantail, and I"m a reporter for the Architectural Herald. I only infiltrated Gall’s organization because we’re planning an expose on him.”
“I am surrounded by traitors,” Gall groaned.
“And I demand the right to interview him first,” Dominique Fantail added.
“He’s my prisoner,” Jock Bind reminded her. “He and Pungent both.”
“You’re forgettin’ I got a gat on ya, Bind,” Spike Stapler objected. “There two bozos is my prisoners.”
“And you’re forgetting something, too.” Dominique Fantail squeezed just a little bit harder to remind him. “They may be your prisoners,” she said sweetly, “but at the moment you’re my prisoner.”
“I’m nobody’s prisoner,” Pungent said in the high soprano voice which was one of the hallmarks of his eunuch personality. And before anybody could stop him, the cat-o’-nine-tails lashed out with deadly accuracy across the room, flicked the light switch, and plunged the room into darkness.
Involuntary reflex to the darkness made Dominique Fantail, formerly Little Effn’ Aynie, clench her hands. Spike Staples, the bogus Daddy Whorebucks, screamed and involuntarily squeezed the trigger of the gun in his hand. The gun went off and Jock Bind, Secret Agent .069, who had impersonated Dr. Werner Braunshnout, reacted by instinctively firing back.
The result was chaos. The darkness was filled with flying bullets, flying fists, flying whiplashes. In the confusion, Penny felt herself lifted from her feet by a super-strong arm and whisked from the room. Outside the door, the wolf, Randy, was guarding the exit.
“Arf!” he said, springing to his feet and snarling. “Arf.”
Gloryosky, Randy, Penny couldn’t help thinking despite the frightening situation, despite the undignified way in which she was dangling from her captor’s arm like a sack of potatoes, Gloryosky, Randy, what kind of way is that for a wolf to speak? Arf. Arf. It’s bad enough for a dog!
Her captor set Penny on her feet and pushed her behind him while he coped with the wolf. This was done quite simply. He simply brought his fist down hard on top of Randy’s head and the beast let out a yip and toppled over on his back. Then the man turned back to Penny and at last she saw his face.
“Pungent!” the darling girl exclaimed. “It’s you.”
“Wrong,” the eunuch told her. “I’m not really Pungent at all. Except insofar as my deodorant has let me down, that is. Like the others, I too infiltrated GRABB or my own purposes. My real name is Xavier X—or, XX, as I’m known among my followers in Harlem. Perhaps you have heard of me?”