The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 02

Roger dressed and walked back to the party. At least he had a name for his procurer. Joubert. Well, that made sense, if the two mysterious whore were French it would make sense that their pimp would be French.

He made his final arrangements. He put four-hundred-thousand dollars in a safe-deposit box and waited for Joubert to contact him. And now that day had finally come. He looked again at the envelope he found on his desk that afternoon. "The Duquesne Hotel dining room, seven-thirty. Bring the money." He tried to imagine the man he would be meeting tonight, the man whose seal was the letter J entwined with a serpent.

He had some time before his meeting, so he drove home and took a long bath, relaxing in the tub, clearing his mind. He attended to his toilet carefully, shaving with deliberate care, and chose from his huge walk-in closet a navy blue suit, white shirt, and a silvery blue tie. He called his bank and told them to expect him at closing time so he could access his safe deposit box. He decided not to wear his shoulder holster and the Walther PPK automatic. Tonight promised enough drama without the added spice of a firearm.

At the bank Roger filled a stainless steel suitcase with the four thousand hundred-dollar bills he'd secreted in his safe deposit box. The suitcase was heavy, and for the first time Roger realized just how much money he was spending on this insanity. A half-million. A small fortune. But he had thousands of small fortunes to blow on indulgences like this. What the hell was he going to do, leave it to CMU, start a foundation to find homes for lost puppies? Fuck it. He was going to spend every goddam penny on whatever he wanted. And what he wanted most of all was to experience these two shadowy whores from hell. He drove to the Duquesne with difficulty, his erection jutting up between his legs.

There was no reason for this city to have a four-star hotel like the Duquesno. There weren't enough people in the city with the requisite level of sophistication to properly enjoy such exquisite service, and certainly not enough people of sufficient means to enjoy it often. Roger was one of those rare people. He'd been to the Duquesne scores of times. It was his favorite place to take new conquests, especially the young, naïve girls who thought that a man holding the door open for you was the height of chivalry. After an evening with the Duquesne's exemplary staff attending their every wish Roger seldom had difficulty bedding his companion. After such a display of service the girls probably thought it would be a terrible breach of manners to refuse him.

Antoine, the captain of the Duquesne's large dining room, spotted Roger standing at the front desk and glided quickly yet without obvious haste to his side. "Mr. Travers, as always, a delight to see you."

"Good to see you, Antoine. I am meeting a..."

Antoine held up a hand, his calm eyes gleaming with understanding, managing to interrupt Roger without seeming impertinent. "Your tête-à-tête has already been arranged. If you would please follow me."

Antoine led him though the main dining room and then turned left down a small hallway. The hallway turned right, and ended with a door. Antoine tapped three times.

"Yes?" a voice asked from within.

"Your guest, monsieur."

"Send him in."

Roger stepped inside and stopped cold. He stood in one of the hotel's private dining rooms, a room dominated by a long table cluttered with plates laden with steaming food. There were three diners-two young woman, both blonde, voluptuous and gorgeous. and a man. The man was the reason Roger stood frozen in place. He was a midget, only a few inches over three feet tall. He had a thick head of curly, light brown hair, and wore a neatly trimmed goatee. His dove-gray suit was as well-tailored as Roger's.

The midget dug a knife into a slab of fois gras and smeared it over a toast point. He wore an enormous signet ring, and Roger could see the raised letter "J" twisted with a snake.

"You gape like a fish, Mr. Travers," the man said, popping the morsel into his fleshy mouth.

Roger set his jaw, angry for showing weakness. "I didn't expect a mid...I'm sorry. A little person. Isn't that what you people prefer to be called?"

The insult was ignored. "I prefer to be called Monsieur Joubert, and I like to be paid in cash. You have it?"

Roger walked over and set the briefcase on the table. He snapped the locks open and showed Joubert the money. "Four-hundred thousand, as agreed."

The two girls walked over to the side table. Both were absolutely stunning, beauties who might have been plucked fresh from South Beach. Thick, golden blonde hair, full breasts, legs like aerobic instructors. They didn't spare Roger so much as a glance as they dug into the briefcase, tearing the paper bands holding the bills together and riffing through the cash with the mechanical skill of a Vegas dealer. When they finished they looked at each other and nodded. They said, in unison, "It's all here."

"Thank you, my dears." Joubert said as the girls resumed their place at his side. He looked at Roger. "You'll receive instructions tomorrow. Follow them to the letter." He lifted an oyster to his lips, saw Roger staring, and said, "I suggest you go home and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, eat a large breakfast, with lots of protein. Steak, cooked rare, would be best." He slurped down the oyster and said, "Good evening, sir," ending the interview.

There was nothing left to do but walk out the door. The two blondes didn't even bother to watch him go. One refilled Joubert's wine glass while the other spooned caviar onto a blini. It was like he hadn't been in the room.

He was irritated. Joubert treated him like a schoolboy. Well, he thought as he patted the erection in his pants, he would show Joubert who was a boy and who was a man. And after he enjoyed the attentions of the two "devil women", maybe he'd buy a few hours with those two arrogant blondes. Get them on their knees, where women belong, and show them what it was like to be fucked by Roger Travers.

Yes, something else to look forward to. Roger drove home and followed Joubert's advice. He was asleep by nine o'clock.