SAMPLE THE STORY BY READING CHAPTER ONE

I stood nude before the bathroom mirror and stared at my reflection. Long red hair, still wet from the shower, cascaded down around my suntanned shoulders, with a tendril or two half covering the milky whiteness of my breasts. My nipples were up, long and brown, and I smiled to myself at the thought of Kevin O’Reilly.

The poor slob didn’t know what he had gotten into. I wasn’t too sure myself, but I had a sneaking suspicion, which was why I had put through the call to New York. I was waiting for the operator to ring me, right now.

I moved a towel around my nudity, turning occasionally to study my backside and the dark tan that almost touched it. Kevin had delighted in that tan, or what the tan covered, and had been dancing about me all afternoon like a stallion in heat.

When the bod was dry, I slipped into a terrycloth robe and moved into the bedroom. My gown was on the bed, ready to be slid into; there were nylons and a black lace garter-belt, with tiny red ribbons yet, beside them. O’Reilly enjoyed the sight of a female body, I knew, so why should I hide myself from him? I sat naked on the edge of the bed and started drawing on the nylons.

The phone rang. It was the operator. She had finally found my connection in Fun City.

Mark Condon was on the other end of the line.

As Cherry Delight, I work for the New York Mafia Prosecution and Harassment Organization, which is more commonly called NYMPHO. I am a member of its Femmes Fatales division. I am a crack shot, a judo and karate expert, I have been anywhere and everywhere that my organization sends me, when it comes to fighting that International crime group known as The Mafia.

Right now I was on a vacation.

Still. . . .

Mark Condon said, “You tired of having fun already, Cherry?”

“Mark, I’m onto something. I’m not sure just what. You’re Irish, Mark—sort of. What do you know about fairy godmothers?”

“You been drinking, Cherry?”

“I’m damn serious.”

I went on to tell him about Kevin O’Reilly and his fairy godmother, not leaving out the fact that O’Reilly had won half a million dollars the previous evening, and that tonight he was out to win ten times as much.

Mark whistled softly.

I said, “It would be a clever way to siphon five million off the top, here at Vegas, wouldn’t it, Mark? I mean, Kevin O’Reilly is as good as dead, the way I look at it, unless I keep an eye on him.”

“It won’t happen in Vegas.”

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. “Tell me something new, Mark. And—Mark, there’s something else. A brother Sean who’s been hunting oil in a place called the Amargosa Desert, which is somewhere in or near Death Valley, or so close it makes no never mind.”

“Oil,” said Mark Condon softly.

“This fairy godmother says she helped Sean find that oil, and now she’s financing his project by making sure Kevin wins a bundle.”

“What does this Kevin O’Reilly say about all this?”

“He’s in a daze. Wouldn’t you be if something like that happened to you?”

“I’d be suspicious as hell.”

“So he’s suspicious, but he isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. This fairy godmother is a doll, I gather, and he can’t believe she’s up to tricks. But Kevin’s a dead man, Mark. If what I suspect is really so, the Mafia boys will have pulled off a big scoop.”

“How come these things always seem to happen to you, Cherry? Every time you go on a vacation, you wind up in the middle of a Family plot.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Okay, okay. You’ve stumbled onto something. What do you want me to do?”

“Tell the bossman, Avery King. Have him do some research. I’m working blind, right now. I intend to stay with Kevin, see this thing through. Besides, I’m getting tired of this vacation. All I do is lose money. There’s got to be a better way, and I think I’ve found it.”

“I’ll get through to him at once, get him to start the ball rolling. Meanwhile, you take care of yourself.”

We chatted a little more, but I kept an eye on my traveling clock. I didn’t want to be late for my date with O’Reilly. I told Mark I’d be in touch, there was no need for him to come out here because I wasn’t at all sure what I might have uncovered. I hung up with the good feeling that I had N.Y.M.P.H.O. behind me.

I slithered the other stocking on my leg, stood up and fastened the garter-belt about my middle, then worked my way into a Courreges original evening gown that was of the consistency of wet tissue paper, or just about. It showed me off to perfection.

I snatched up my evening bag, a Gucci, and checked to make certain that my Colt Gold Cup automatic was inside. I never go anywhere without that gun; it has saved my life on a lot of occasions, and is like my right hand.

Then I went out to meet O’Reilly.

We dined on lobster tails and a chocolate souffle with coffee. We did not hurry, but took our time. The night is unending, if you want it to be, here in Vegas. Kevin O’Reilly I found to be as handsome as ever, in his dinner jacket and evening shirt, with a rather sloppily tied bow tie. I promised him that I would retie it for him, in a less public place.

I did so, and then we walked toward the gaming tables.

It was a night like you wouldn’t believe. O’Reilly won on every bet he made. He put a hundred thousand dollars on double 0 at a roulette wheel and 00 came up. I had followed his lead and bet a thousand, myself.

Naturally, he could hardly stay at any one place. People flocked from all over to bet the way he did. He won at craps, at roulette, at blackjack. The man was unbeatable. I made a peso or two myself, while following him around like a well-trained dog.

The House asked him to stay away from the craps table and the roulette wheels, after a time. He should concentrate on the blackjack table. At least there, he would win alone, without a lot of other people following his bets.

It came two o’clock, then three. The chips kept going from where O’Reilly played to the cashier. By three o’clock, Kevin leaned back in his chair and announced he was through for the night, that he was bushed, pooped and done in.

I estimated he had won five million dollars.

“There will be newspaper reporters to see you in the morning,” I warned him as we went upstairs together. “You’re a famous man, now.”

He gave me almost a frightened look. “What’ll I say to them? I can’t tell them a fairy godmother came to me and whispered in my ear as to what bets to make.”

“Why not?” I asked lightly. “It does away with your having to explain a system. They won’t believe you, but then again, they don’t really expect you to have an answer for them.”

He gave me that Irish grin of his. “Sure, that’s it. I’ll level with them. Since it’s the truth, I won’t have to make up any lies. I’ll just stick to that story. If they want to make fun of me in their papers, let them.”

He invited me in for a nightcap.

“I want to take a closer look at that check they wrote out to me.” He fumbled in his jacket pocket, drew it out. He shook his head at the size of the amount, then placed it very carefully back where he kept it.

“Better deposit that thing as soon as the banks open,” I told him. “You don’t want to carry such an amount around on you. It’s very tempting.”

He opened his room door, ushered me in. I moved to an easy-chair, and sank into it. “Scotch on the rocks,” I muttered, extending my legs and crossing them at the ankles. “I find I’m in some need for liquid refreshment. I won a bundle myself tonight.”

O’Reilly went to the bureau bar, selected a bottle of J&B. He poured out a generous portion over ice cubes and made himself a double martini. He came back with it, handed me my glass, and kicked a hassock closer so he could sit on it.

I considered him as I sipped. The poor slob didn’t know—he wasn’t even guessing—what he had let himself in for. I hadn’t the heart to tell him. Here he had won five million iron men, or thereabouts, from a casino run by the Family. And there wasn’t even a fuss made about it.

The fact there was no fuss was the tip-off

Anytime anybody takes five million clams from the Mafia and nobody says a word, my antennae rise up and quiver. As they were doing right now, because my head and my heart told me this was what the Family wanted to happen. They were going to smooth his road for him. When he was least suspecting, the Family would move in and take all that bread away from him. They would kill him, put his body where nobody on God’s green earth would ever find it—they might even cremate him—and use that money for their own purposes.

It was a cute way to siphon off the cream.

So as I sipped, I murmured, “Instead of banking that bread, why don’t you get the check certified, first thing in the morning? That is, if you don’t intend playing some more?”

“I’m through playing. That is, for money.”

His eyes told me there was another game he wouldn’t mind playing, right about now. But I had other plans. Not that I am averse to a roll in the sheets with such a nicely set-up guy as Kevin O’Reilly. But I needed to keep my strength for what was bound to come.

I smiled at him lazily. “Maybe another time, Kev. Right now, you need your sleep. So do I. We have a long way to go tomorrow.”

“We?”

“I’m going to ride herd on you for a few days, if you don’t object. Something tells me somebody is going to try and take that check away from you.”

He looked surprised. “But a check made out to me, in my name—”

“—can be deposited by somebody else who signs your name, right?”

“A check for five million?”

“Even so. There are ways and means. Mafia ways.”

“Ma—Mafia!”

“Who do you think runs this casino, Kev?”

“Well, I guess I never gave it much thought.”

“I have. I know. It’s why I came here, really—even though for all intents and purposes, I’m on my vacation. Five men, all big winners, have never been found after they left Las Vegas. But the checks they had with them were deposited and the money collected. By whom, Kev?”

He looked sick.

My fingers opened my Gucci bag. I slid out my ident wallet, opened it, let him see my picture (it doesn’t do me justice, but he recognized me), and the N.Y.M.P.H.O. card and badge I carry with me at all times. He even saw the Gold Cup Colt.

O’Reilly sat back on the hassock and groaned. “I knew it was too good to be true! You mean they let me win. They’re setting me up for a kill. They’ll take away my money and keep it.”

“And nobody’d ever know, if I hadn’t become interested in you.”

He waited a minute, then asked, “What do I do now?”

“Exactly what I tell you.”

He smiled in a sickly fashion. “And what’s that?”

“Go to bed, get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, pack your bags, have breakfast with me, and we’ll head out of town together. The Family won’t get wise, they’ll see us leave but they’ll think I’m just a dumb broad who’s latched onto you.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? Wouldn’t it be better for us to go to the police?”

“What are you going to tell them? Just that you’re scared for your life? There aren’t enough cops in the world to protect you forever.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think you can?”

“I know it. You and I are going to be like husband and wife, for a time. I’m never going to leave your side, except for tonight, of course.”

“But somebody might come here in the middle of the night and put a bullet in me.”

“No way. This is the safest place you could be, in this bedroom. The Mob is smart, they don’t want to draw attention to you, which they’d surely do if they shot you in a place they own. Oh, you’re fine here. Perfectly safe.”

His eyes touched my breasts where they bulged up and outward above the low bodice of my Courreges evening gown. He could see a lot of them, and my chest felt slightly chilly. When he finally got around to looking in my eyes, I smiled at him.

“Tomorrow night, maybe. After the Family makes its play.”

Kevin O’Reilly grimaced. “I feel like celebrating tonight. I might not be alive tomorrow night, if what you say is true.”

“Then neither of us will be. But don’t think about it that way, just relax and leave everything to me.”

I patted his hand, finished my drink, and rose to my feet. I wriggled a little, pulling down my gown, which made my breasts do a bit of a jig. I giggled at the expression in his face.

“It’ll be fun, when we finally get together,” I whispered, cupping the back of his head and leaning over him to plaster my open lips to his mouth.

It was quite a kiss. We held it for several moments while O’Reilly put his hands to the backs of my nyloned legs and ran them up and down. He even went beyond the stocking vamps to the bare flesh of my thighs, and I must admit he had a nice, gentle touch.

When I shook free, he was glassy-eyed.

“That’s to make sure you value your life and don’t go throwing it away tomorrow.”

He stumbled to the door, opening it for me. I put down a hand to pat an outstanding part of him and breathed into his mouth as I gave him a good-night kiss, “Keep that for mama, honey. You’ll be needing it come beddy-bed time tomorrow night.”

I wanted to give him nice things to think about when he fell asleep, and didn’t want him to spend a sleepless night worrying.

It took me a little while to fall asleep myself. Not because I was being bothered by flesh needs, but because my mind was so active. I lay there and made plans. Having flown in from New York, I would need a car to take me to wherever it was Kevin O’Reilly called home. That should be no problem. I could rent one, or maybe even buy one. I had plenty of money, thanks to that fairy godmother.

Naturally, I would charge its cost to the N.Y.M.P.H.O. The organization was very good that way; they gave me carte blanche when it came to operating expenses on a case. True, I had not come out on an assignment, it had been in the nature of a vacation, but Avery King, the N.Y.M.P.H.O. Coordinator, had been worried about a number of unsolved murders that had taken place outside Las Vegas, and had sent me to check them out.

Each man who had been murdered had been a big winner at the gaming tables, like Kevin O’Reilly. I had been told to keep my eyes peeled for just such a winner, and luck had been with me.

I finally drifted into dreamland.

In the morning over a breakfast of ham and eggs, Kev informed me that he had a beat-up Chevy; he had driven it here from Los Angeles. It was in his mind to buy himself a new car with some of his loot.

“I still have that five hundred grand I won the first night, in cash. I can buy any car you name and not feel it.”

“Get one that gives you the most mileage on gasoline,” I advised.

He seemed puzzled. “I can get all the gasoline I need.”

“Well, I come from New York City, and you can’t get any gas, hardly, there. Not without standing in line, that is.”

“Well, out west we can. You’ll see.”

I scowled. “Another inequity of the fuel shortage,” I grumbled. “But since I’m out west at the moment, I won’t complain.”

We went shopping, and bought an Alfa Romeo.

“A sporty car, which suits me,” Kev grinned. “It gets great gas mileage, which should please you.”

We paid our bills and tipped the bellboys who carried our luggage out to the car. I kept looking around but I didn’t see any evidence that we were being followed. Did I have this caper all wrong? Was there something to this win streak of O’Reilly I didn’t know about? It was with a vague sense of worry that I climbed into the suicide seat beside the driver.

O’Reilly knew cars and how to handle them. He eased through the Vegas traffic and out onto the long road that would take us south and westward past the Lake Mead National Recreation Area toward California. It was a long, lonely stretch of road along which we would travel. If the Family were to hit us, it would be on that route.

We drove for many miles, without anything happening. I kept turning around, checking the empty road behind us without seeing anyone. After a time my nerves relaxed a little and I found myself enjoying the vast landscape all about us.

O’Reilly said, after a long silence, “I have a gun, you know. And a license to use it.”

I glanced at him. “Are you a crack shot?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. Not from any great distance.”

“Then give it to me. I am.”

I have been exceedingly well trained by N.Y.M.P.H.O. I can drill the pips out of the ace of spades at fifty feet. My expertise with guns has saved my life, and the lives of others, on more than one occasion.

Kev handed over the gun, which he had put into a shoulder holster. I stuck it in the Gucci bag along with the Gold Cup.

We were almost to the California-Nevada line when the hoods struck. Two cars were across the road, as though hurled there by an accident. Their bumpers were locked, or so it seemed, because as the Alfa Romeo slowed, we could see half a dozen men trying to free them.

“Here it comes,” I breathed.

O’Reilly looked startled. “You’ve got to be kidding. It’s an accident, nothing more.”

“Believe me, Kev,” I snapped.

My hand brought the Colt out of the Gucci bag. Kevin stared at it as he applied his brakes. The Alfa Romeo slowed, came to a halt about fifty yards from the apparent accident.

The six men turned and looked at us. They left the cars and began walking in our direction. They were Mafia, all right. Over the years that I have fought them, I have come to know the types.

They were smiling, quite at ease. Obviously, they had been well coached. They would appear to ask for help, and when Kev got out, completely unsuspecting, they would draw their guns, and finish him off. Me, too, as far as that went. They wanted no witnesses.

O’Reilly looked at me. “What’ll I do? Are you sure they’re—who you think they are?”

“They are. No doubt about it. I’d open fire, but just on the off chance that they’re respectable citizens, I’ll let them start the play.”

I slid the Gucci bag over the Gold Cup automatic so they wouldn’t notice it. I sat back and waited, perfectly sure as to what was going to happen.

The man in front, big and husky, a typical soldier, had a big grin on his face as he walked toward the window beside Kevin. As he came, his right hand dipped inside his coat.

When his hand came out, it had a revolver in it. The others didn’t draw their rods, there was no need for that. We were completely unsuspecting—or so they thought—and one man with a gun was enough to get the job done.

This man showed Kev the gun, then waggled it invitingly. “Come on out, mister. This is the end of the line for you.”

“Wha—what are you going to do?” O’Reilly asked.

“Kill you. What else?”

“But why?”

The soldier chuckled. “You won five million bucks, didn’t you? At the Vegas tables? You don’t think we’d let you get away with that, do you? Now, come on.”

My right hand lifted. The Colt rose into sight. I aimed it and squeezed the trigger.

I don’t think the guy even saw the Gold Cup, he was so intent on putting the screws to O’Reilly. The bullet caught him in the mouth and plowed its way through his head. He died on his feet, his face still twisted in that cruelly mocking grin.

My hand swung about to my own window where two more hoods had been lounging. They had a couple of easy marks, or so they’d believed. A guy and a gal, what harm could they do to six tough Mafia soldiers?

I showed them, soon enough.

The automatic bucked twice in my hand, and the two hoods closest to my window died when my bullets hit them. They had been drawing back, had seen me gun down their capo, and their hands had been reaching for their own guns.

The other three men yelled and drew their cannons.

I leaned out the window and let drive at the nearest man. A neat little red hole appeared in his chest. He stared down at it a moment, then toppled forward to lie motionless.

“Jeez.” I heard a white-faced Kevin O’Reilly whisper.

“Back up,” I told him.

He threw the car into reverse.

The other soldiers were turning, running for their cars. I guess they figured to make a stand there, with the car bodies to protect them.

“Drive around those cars! Yes, out onto the dirt. But to the left, to give me a clean shot or two at them.”

The car responded beautifully. It swerved to the left and picked up speed. It bounced when it went off the road, but I was prepared for that. My left hand gripped my right wrist. I bumped and jounced, but those men were running, they couldn’t shoot very straight, either.

I gave them two bullets.

They slid to a halt and turned toward us. There were big grins on their faces. They figured I’d emptied the Gold Cup and we would be at their mercy. Their guns glinted in the sunlight; they seemed in no hurry.

“Stop the car,” I yelled at Kev.

“Are you crazy? They’ll get us for sure!”

“Oh, stop worrying. I told you I knew what I was doing, didn’t I?”

My hand shoved the Gold Cup into the Gucci bag and brought out his gun, a Smith and Wesson. “Those bastards don’t know I have two guns, they think they’re perfectly safe.”

He hit the anchors, the car stopped.

The two hoods laughed and ran toward us. Not until they were ten feet away did I lift the Smith and Wesson into view. They tried to slide to a halt.

They never made it.

The gun bucked in my hands, once, then twice. At such a distance, I couldn’t miss. They collapsed and fell.

“Hold her right where she is,” I told Kevin. “I’ve got to make sure they’re dead.”

He looked sick, but he nodded. I slid my gams out of the car and with the revolver poised to shoot if need be, leaned over the two dead men. They were dead, all right. I felt their pulses and put my compact mirror to their lips. I went to the other bodies, making certain they were grave meat.

My eyes went to the two cars.

They were no more than window-dressing, to get us to stop, but they might have papers or some such thing inside them. I beat feet toward them, found some papers in the glove compartment of one, and grabbed them.

I ran back about a hundred yards and fired at the gas tanks. Quite a blaze was going when I finally slid into the suicide seat alongside O’Reilly and told him to get cracking.

We weren’t home free yet, the way I had it tabbed. This far out in the boondocks, the Family would keep in touch with its soldiers by helicopter.

Or so I had it figured.

Pretty soon a chopper would cruise past the place picked for our demise. Maybe it would have landed to take our dead bodies away for cremation, if things had gone according to Mafia plans. It would not land now. It would see what had happened.

It would come after us.