Hypno Harem 2: Harem-Scarem! (7 page)

D
r. Roberta
Crofts-Bailey pretended to jot in her notebook as her patient, a trophy wife five years into her marriage, bored and desperate for attention from her husband outside the bedroom, droned on. “I am an
interesting
person,” she said in an aggrieved tone. “People don't take me seriously because I’m unlucky enough to be beautiful, but I have a mind. I have a
mind!
”

“You certainly do,” murmured Roberta, checking the time on the wall clock. She’d positioned the clock so it would be in her line of sight whenever she made eye contact with patients. The woman was about to launch into her anxieties over an upcoming dinner party, complicated by the fact that she depended on her best friend Julia for scheduling advice, invitation advice and menu advice but at her last party had made the mistake of seating Julia next to Walter and it was her observation that the bitch played up to him shamelessly.

“Well,” chirped Roberta. “I’m just
dying
to hear this but unfortunately our time’s up. I
so
look forward to next week!”

She collected her check and ushered the woman outside. She shut the door and leaned against it with a sigh. What a drama queen!
Self, self, self
. That’s all her patients talked about.

Roberta locked the door.
They’re all so immature.

She shucked her Sloane mock riding jacket ($349) and tossed it on the floor.

Grow up, people!

She unbuttoned her Nicola navy-blue crepe blouse ($165) and dropped it on top of the jacket.

You’re adults. So be adults!

She shed her pair of Audrey Brooke maroon platform pumps ($359) and wriggled out of her Slater lake-blue silk pants ($279).

Act your age!

She pulled off her Hanes Silk Reflections pantyhose ($29) and her Bali Comfort Bra ($68).

Get a life!

Naked now except for the authentic Navajo turquoise squash blossom necklace ($1,099) around her neck, which she unfastened and dumped on top of her clothes, Roberta reveled in her wild freedom, her utter joy in shedding society’s choking constrictions. Now she could be herself, no one else. No pretending! She danced bare-footed around the office, trilling a happy tune, until she reached her desk. Picking up her iPhone, she texted a message to Daddy.

Li’l Berta ready in ten

She opened the small closet next to her office bathroom. Inside was her Minnie Mouse dress, freshly cleaned and ironed. Below it were bright red sandals. On a shelf above it was a ping-pong paddle. Beside the paddle was a bright red bow. Beside the bow was a neat pile of underwear.

She took down a pair of Hello Kitty panties and slipped them on.

Oooooo! Li’l Berta already wet!

T
he club’s
four-piece band struck up
Stars and Stripes Forever
as the latest performer left the stage to scattered applause and a few lusty yells of appreciation. It was late afternoon at 4Play, Houston’s premier strip club, and while the audience was thin, it was game.

The MC, a weary stand-up comic, trotted onstage. “A big hand, please, for Dinah Might and her bang-up performance – and I do mean
bang!
” He stomped out the smoldering fuse of an unexploded firecracker, the remnants of Dinah’s noisy routine.

Jong, Mung and Sook sat at a table in the back. Going to the strip club was Sung’s idea. Their primary mission was to bring back Popper’s book, but they’d also been instructed to observe American customs and culture so Hometown U.S.A. could be brought up to date.

And, oh boy, did it need updating! Having belatedly discovered their duds were out of date by half a century, the three had purchased new clothes. Jong and Mung were wearing polo shirts, khaki pants and loafers. Sung wore sandals, a pleated maroon skirt and a green sleeveless top with matching jacket.

All three were sipping Mai Tais adorned with umbrellas.

“Next up,” cheerily announced the MC, “a routine you’re sure to find ‘just right!’ Welcome please, Daisy, Brownie and Happy in
Goldilocks and the Two Bares
!” The band struck up a medley of nursery tunes, beginning with
Old MacDonald
. Daisy skipped onstage clad in a mini-dress decorated with sunflowers, hair tucked under a wide-brimmed straw hat.

At their table, Mung passed around his iPad. Jong and Sook studied Woody’s Facebook photo.

“No posts for two months,” said Mung. “Busy moving maybe. He has office at Rice. Second floor of Neurology building, end of hall.”

“Professor?” asked Jong.

“Researcher. Office hours not posted. We have to keep watch.”

“All day?” asked Sook.

“No, just 10:00 to 4:00, five days, probably less. One of us in hallway, other two in parking lot. He show up sooner or late. When he leaves, tail him.”

Onstage, Goldilocks mimed opening an imaginary door. On the other side of the door were two cots, two chairs and a card table with two cereal bowls. The club paid its strippers well but scrimped on props.

Goldilocks sat down at the table and pretended to spoon from the bowl. “This porridge is too
cold!
” she said in a high squeaky voice.

“Fuck the porridge and get it off!” someone in the audience yelled impatiently.

The three Koreans paid no attention. “Watch for him in hall?” Sook said worriedly. “Someone notice.”

“No, no,” reassured Mung. “We dress like college students,
blend in
.”

“Maybe take all week,” grumbled Jong. “Pyongyang in hurry.”

“Yes, yes,” snorted Mung irritably. “Pyongyang say, ‘Hurry up and spy!’”

“Pyongyang must learn patience,” said Sook. “Patient spider spins web slowly.”

“Pyongyang want results right away,” sighed Jong.

“Patient spider wait for tender fly,” said Sook, sipping her Mai Tai.

Onstage, Goldilocks mimed dissatisfaction with her first bed. “This bed is too
hard!
”

“So am I!” yelled someone. “Get it off!”

“Patient spider—” began Sook.

“We
get
it,” said Sung.

“We must blend in,” said Jong. “Watch. Learn American customs.”

The three fell silent and watched the show. The band segued into
Pop Goes the Weasel.
Brownie and Happy, wearing floppy bear ears and skimpy brown costumes trimmed in fur, skipped onstage.

“
Someone’s
been eating my porridge!” announced Brownie as Mama Bear in a voice that was meant to be low and rumbly. The crowd laughed.

“Eat
me!
” yelled a wit in the crowd. The crowd laughed harder.

Sook sniffed. “Decadent Americans.”

“Degenerate,” concurred Sung.

“Depraved,” agreed Jong.

The band went into
I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.

W
oody
and Li’l Berta entered the strip club’s dim interior. Woody held Berta’s hand while he waited for his eyes to adjust. “Daddee, look at the funny ladies!” she squealed.

“
Shhh
,” whispered Woody.

A beefy man with a crew-cut approached them. “You can’t bring a kid in here,” he told Woody brusquely.

“She’s not a kid,” said Woody.

“I’m a little girl!” said Roberta.

“
Shhh
,” said Woody.

“She looks like a kid,” said the man.

“
Someone’s
been sitting in my chair,” said Happy as Baby Bear.

“Bring your ass over here, honey,” yelled someone. “You can sit on me.”

“She’s an adult,” said Woody. “She’s just dressed like a kid.”

The man stared at Berta, who was licking an oversize lollipop. “She got a driver’s license?”

“I can’t drive!” she squealed.

“
Shhh
,” said Woody, pulling out her ID. “Yeah, here it is.”

The man looked at the ID then at Berta. He handed it back to Woody. “Okay,” he said with a shake of his head.
Some people.

The hostess led them to a small table in a corner of the room. Woody ordered a margarita for himself and a strawberry daiquiri for Berta, hold the rum. He turned his attention to the stage. Daisy had been nagging him to see their new act for more than a week.

“
Someone’s
been sleeping in my bed!” said Mama Bear.

“And someone is
asleep
in my bed,” said Baby Bear. Goldilocks sat up suddenly, eyes wide, holding a sheet in front of herself. The band went into
London Bridge Is Falling Down.

“That's
my
bed sheet!” exclaimed Mama Bear. She tore it away from Goldilocks, who was wearing a long flannel nightgown she’d donned earlier. Goldi leapt out of bed and grabbed Mama Bear’s short, fur-trimmed dress. It came off easily, revealing her underwear, which Mama Bear apparently bought at Taboo Lingerie.

Baby Bear stepped in and grabbed Goldi’s flannel nightgown, which likewise came off without a tear or rip and, whaddaya know, Goldilocks got her underwear at the same place.

To the crowd’s delight, Goldi and the Two Bears began tearing off each other’s remaining apparel. In short order the three were naked except for thongs and pasties (required by lines 5-14 of Paragraph 9, Section 3, Ordinance 6 of Houston’s Civil Code). This was more like it! The audience stomped and cheered.

“Why the ladies take off their clothes, Daddee?” said Berta loudly. Woody shushed her as several patrons glanced curiously in their direction.

One of these was Jong. He turned to Mung and Sook. “Degenerate American has brought
daughter
here!” He gestured at Woody’s table.

Appalled, the two Koreans peered through the dim light. They saw Berta but Woody had momentarily ducked out of sight to retrieve the daiquiri spoon she’d dropped on the floor. They turned back, exchanging glances.

“Disgraceful,” said Mung.

“Disgusting,” said Sook.

To the tune of
Eensy Weensy Spider,
Goldi, Mama and Baby Bear had stopped fighting. They’d apparently made up, since all three were now smearing themselves with skin oil and slinkily rubbing against each other. The crowd loved it.

Sook’s eyes widened in shock. She abruptly stood up. “Sickening! I can no longer watch.” She marched out. Jong and Mung hastily followed. Jong tossed several bills on the table. The last thing they needed was someone chasing after them for a walked ticket. They deliberately avoided looking at the table with the man and little girl. They were there to observe American customs, but some American customs were too loathsome to contemplate.

The band went into the act’s closing number,
Mary Had a Little Lamb
. Daisy, Brownie and Happy turned their backs to the audience, bent over and wiggled their round, shiny rears. The crowd went wild.

O
ver
in another corner of 4Play, Jana Blond and her two-man hit team sat at a table watching the Koreans depart. Jane was wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a dark green turtleneck with tan steel-tipped boots – a well-placed kick could break a tibia.

“Follow them?” said Cliff, a longtime CIA contractor with a pugilist’s nose. He was short but muscular, built like a wrestler. Since being forced out of the FBI, he’d moonlighted for New York’s Gambino family. He carried three guns: a Browning Buck Mark .22 for reliability, a .357 Magnum for firepower and a baby Glock with a silencer for when you wanted to get up close and personal.

“Not necessary,” said Luc. “I put ze tracking device on their car.” Luc was from Marseilles. He was tall and lean, fifty-one, older than Jana or Cliff but in prime shape. He’d served in the Foreign Legion when he was a kid, later ran a port racket in Algiers for the Corsican mob. Now he was freelance. He was good at surveillance, good at B&E, particularly good at the garrote. Legend was he’d once dispatched two men with the same cord,
at the same time.

The shapely, honey-haired waitress came with their order. “Here y’all are,” she said, setting down the drinks. “Scotch on the rocks for the gentleman. Cognac for the other gentleman. And martini, shaken not stirred, for the lady.”

“Wrong,” said Jana.

“Not shaken?”

Jana took the martini and sipped. “I’m no lady, darling,” she said with a cool, seductive smile.

Flustered, the waitress smiled uncertainly, then giggled and hurried away.

“Lez?” asked Cliff.

“Um-hum,” nodded Jana.

“How do you spot ‘em?”

Jana shrugged. “Takes one, you know?” She unwrapped a cheroot and put it in her mouth and turned to Luc. “So you tagged the Koreans?”

“Qui.”

“Good work. I’m guessing they’re holed up in some cheap motel, probably all in the same room for economy. That’ll make it easier when it’s time to take them out.”

“Tonight?” asked Cliff.

She shook her head. “No. They have a lead on this student of Popper’s. Let them find him first,
then
we’ll neutralize them.”

“All three?”

“Take out the two men right away. We’ll keep the woman alive for a while.”

“Where will we stash her?”

“Rent a warehouse space, somewhere remote when we can question her without being interrupted.”

“She might not talk. Koreans can be tough nuts.”

“I’ll do it myself,” said Jana. “When it comes to girls, I always find the sweet spot.”

She smiled. Hardened though they were, the smile sent chills up the two men’s necks.