"Who is it?" she called out hesitantly at the back door. Unfortunately there wasn't any peephole to look out through.
"Suitcase for Miss June Wright," replied a high-pitched tenor voice that reminded her vaguely of the bellboy in the old Phillip Morris ad. "Suitcase for Miss June Wright," it repeated on the same note.
"Just leave it there, please," June said. She had read so many stories about what could happen in New York that she was really afraid to open the door… Even though she didn't see how anything worse could possibly happen to her than already had.
"Sorry, Miss, I need a receipt," the nasal voice insisted.
Reluctantly June opened the door and saw a seedy-looking youth in a shabby grey pinstripe suit much too large for him standing there with her suitcase. There was no mistaking that battered old relic from her summer-camp days. Relieved, she opened the door wider, and he pushed brassily past her into the kitchen, pursing his lips in a silent whistle.
"Some set-up ya got here, Miss Wright," he said, looking her insolently up and down from her bare feet to her still disheveled long black hair. "Looks like I got ya out'a bed, huh?"
"That's perfectly all right," June said in a voice that quavered slightly. He wasn't so young after all, she saw now, noticing the lines around his eyes and mouth, and he certainly was a disreputable-looking character. She had taken him for an adolescent at first because he had positively the worst case of acne she had ever seen in her born days. Big pimples… Uhg! "Just give me the receipt and I'll sign it," she added, doing her best to keep the disgust out of her voice.
"The bag wasn't locked so ya gotta verify the contents first," the man said with a half-witted leer. "I might'a stole a bra or a pair of panties or somethin'. Mind if I get myself a drink?"
Thinking he meant a drink of water, June told him to go ahead and bent down to open her suitcase. The sound of a refrigerator door slamming jerked her head up, and she saw that he was holding a lemon and a can of tomato juice in his hands.
"Put that back!" she snapped at him sharply but he just ignored her and strolled into the pantry.
"Ta-ta-ti-ta," he hummed. "Now don't get your bowels in an uproar, babe. You look like you could do with a little hair of the dog yourself. Have a little party last night?" He rummaged around in the pantry a minute, opening and slamming placard doors, and came out with a bottle of vodka. "A couple of Bloody Marys are just what we both need to pick us up."
June decided that the best policy would be to say nothing to provoke him and get rid of him as soon as he had his drink, so she kneeled down again and opened her suitcase. The first thing she saw was a brown manila envelope that certainly didn't belong to her.
"What's this?" she questioned irritably, holding up the envelope. "It's not mine."
"Beats me, babe. I'm new on the job," Pimple Face replied, busying himself with mixing vodka, tomato juice, lemon and Tabasco sauce into two tall glasses. "Maybe some forms you gotta fill out."
June opened the flap of the envelope and saw that there were several large glossy photographs in it. Some deep intuition made her draw them out and look at them… They fell from her stricken hands.
Tiffany!
June's eyes blurred with sudden tears, and she sank back on the floor, fighting desperately for self-control. She felt really ill… as if she were about to vomit. The picture she had glanced at showed a completely naked Tiffany hunched down on her knees and elbows being taken from the rear by some weird creature half-man, half-goat, and the expression on her childish face was one of anguished pleasure. Suddenly all the half-formed suspicions lurking in the back of June's mind crystallized with stark clarity. She had fallen into some kind of hideous diabolical trap set by the Bormans. Everything had been carefully planned from the moment her purse had been snatched… No, even before that. The telegram must have been a fake to lure her to New York. For a moment she teetered on the brink of hysteria, then abruptly she felt icily calm. She would show them she wasn't to be so easily defeated. She was going to get to the bottom of this, and before she was through they would all be in jail — the Bormans and everybody else involved, no matter how much money and influence they might have.
"Hey, that's pretty hot stuff, June baby." Pimple Face had drifted over with the two Bloody Marys and was staring down at the top photograph on the floor. With a scuffed toe of a very down-at-the-heel shoe he pushed it aside so that the second shot was visible. This one showed the same scene from a different angle, and June saw that the penis of whatever it was — a man dressed up — as a satyr, she supposed — was entering Tiffany's rectum instead of her vagina as she had thought at first. Well, that was nothing she hadn't seen already.
She looked up at Pimple Face who held out a Bloody Mary to her. Her first impulse was to take the drink and throw it right in his disgusting face, but she decided on the spot to start her investigation with him. He didn't look too bright, and it was obvious the Bormans had hired him to bring the suitcase. She put her glass on the floor beside her and accused him without warning, "You stole my purse yesterday, didn't you?"
"No, but I know the guy who did," Pimple Face grinned down at her unabashedly. "I was standing right there when he did it. Then I followed you here. Then I went and got your pocketbook from the guy who snatched it. Minus the money, natcherly. That's all he was innerested in, but I figure, somebody lives in a swanky dump like this, maybe there's something else in there worth some dough. I didn't know I was gonna find a gold mine. Little sister Tiffany sure likes her cock, don't she?" he added, pushing another photo into view. This one showed Tiffany sucking an enormous penis with an ecstatic expression on her blissful young face.
June wasn't in the least bit fazed. "I suppose you don't know the Bormans," she said sarcastically.
"Never heard of 'em," Pimple Face assured her nonchalantly.
"Then how did you know which apartment I was in?" June was unable to keep a note of triumph out of her voice.
"The doorman told me." Pimple Face shrugged. "As soon as he saw the suitcase, he asked if it was for Miss June Wright, and I said yes and he told me which apartment. He also told me to use the service elevator, the snotty bastard."
June's spirits sank. It made sense. Of course, Nina would have told the doorman that if someone came with a suitcase to send him up to her apartment. She picked up her drink with a hand that trembled slightly and took a sip. Immediately a warm glow radiated through her body. At least one thing Pimple Face had said was true, a Bloody Mary really did pick you up. She took another, longer swallow.
"Your sister may look like she's having a good time in those photos, but she's in bad trouble, babe!" Pimple Face snarled at her suddenly. "It's gonna cost you plenty to get her out of it."
"I–I don't have any money," June faltered. "I don't live here."
"I know you don't live here," Pimple Face snapped at her. "I read the telegram in your pocketbook. But if you got friends who live in classy dumps like this…"
"They aren't friends, they just know me from where I work. I–I'm a secretary." June stammered confusedly. "How do you know all this about my sister anyway? Where did you get those photographs?"
"Shit, I've seen that chick fucking for applause on the stage a dozen times!" Pimple Face snorted. "I recognized her soon as I saw that snapshot in your pocketbook. One gang runs all the sex shows in this town, babe, and I got plenty connexions, so finding out what the story is was easy. I brought those photos to show I'm on the level. You sure you ain't got any money?" he asked suspiciously, eyeing her over. "Maybe — you really don't. That ain't exactly no Christian Dee-or outfit you got on."