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Boy Gets His Education
The first thing that came into focus was a roll of silver duct tape sitting on the table in the hotel room. He raised his head and saw the three girls, stripped to their underwear, arguing among themselves. Lowering his head again, he noticed a glass, half-filled with water, a few vestigial pellets of ice, and bourbon, not far from the tape. His own glass, no doubt, though memory did not serve him. Cardinal realized that some time had elapsed since the last thing he remembered, which was paying for the room. The sun was still up then; it was dark now. Obviously there had been more in the glass than ice and bourbon.
There was only one glass, and Cardinal, using his brilliant faculties of deduction, concluded that he had been the only one drinking. A screw up. He knew from underworld experience that whenever someone pours a drink for you and not for herself, odds are that there is something in it. And, he told himself, he should have figured that out, except perhaps he was distracted when all three girls started taking off their clothes.
Cardinal started to talk, but found that he couldn’t. That was what the duct tape was for. Likewise, his arms and legs were bound to the chair. Maybe his situation should have embarrassed him, but Cardinal had long ago dispensed with that emotion. It was useless, along with the rest of them. The only emotion that ever paid was anger. Lust sometimes, but it wasn’t paying today.
The redhead was asking him a question. Something about seal pelts, but he couldn’t tell. Then the brown-haired girl spoke: “You know, dummy, he can’t answer questions if you have him gagged.”
They got the duct tape gag off of him, but duct tape sticks to skin pretty well. It was a painful process. Somebody thought nail polish remover would help, but all it did was burn like hell. This was not what he was hoping he would be doing with his lips today.
Once the tape was off, the redhead sat down in a chair facing Cardinal, inclining her augmented breasts towards him. Again she was saying something, but there were those breasts. Hard to think of anything but skin when you’re coming out of a coma.
Then a knock on the door. Goldie rose from the bed, turned the knob, and opened the door to a crack. “Maid service,” a voice floated into the room.
“Dammit Laura, didn’t I tell you to put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign out? Can’t you follow a stupid direction?”
“Shut up, Candy, you are not the boss of this operation, I am!” This was too good, Cardinal thought. Operation Panty Raid is headed up by a redhead named Candy.
“Stop it, both of you!” Brown-hair hissed. “We’re not supposed to use our real names in front of him!”
Before anyone else could say anything, the door shuddered, then flew open. A blonde in a smartly fitting maid outfit bounded in. With a roundhouse kick she caught Brown-hair in the chin, sending her flying onto the bed.
Cardinal looked at the maid’s face and recognized it. It was Marsha, his defense attorney. Well, it was awfully nice of her to maintain an interest in his case. Marsha stood in the middle of the room, knees bent and fists cocked. Somebody from the Green Berets had obviously given her some pointers, Cardinal mused. Hopefully in exchange for some action of a different kind.
Redhead and Goldie took their positions on either side of her. Brown-hair was still trying to stand up after the shot to the chin.
Three thonged waitresses facing off against a lawyer dressed as a French maid in a hotel room in north Texas. Things were looking up.