Read Online The Damned by John D. MacDonald - Free Book Online Page A

that wasn’t too coarse.
    Well, this was going to be the gamble. The big time, or crawl away on your belly, Phil boy. And the nagging fear came back that maybe the gals had too much class. Somebody would step in and take over and cut him out. Well, the contract was as tight as he could make it, and they’d have to do a lot of scrambling around, but if they wanted to get out of it, they could probably fix it up somehow. He had learned about contracts the hard way, too.
    There was one way you could tell real class when you ran into it. Riki and Niki were not going to let anybody’s bed get in the way of ambition. They never let themselves get separated, and the two of them could certainly handle any pair of eager guys.
    He realized he had made a fool of himself in New Orleans, but it had worked out all right. He certainly hadn’t wanted to mess with either or both of them, because he knew that could foul up an act quicker than anything. And he knew that neither of them had intended to tease him along, but living like that, having to go into their room, having them get so casual with him that it was as if they thought he was one of those boys they fix up so they won’t make trouble around a harem—it had got a little too much to take. And so he’d made that fast pass at Niki and she’d blown up in his face and there had been a lot of yammering and then the big conference, at which he apologized very abjectly and they promised to comport themselves in such a way that he wouldn’t be so likely to lose control in the future.
    They had been good for quite a while, but lately they’d been getting careless again. Now it didn’t seem to bother him so much though. He guessed he was worrying too much about how they’d do in New York. Or maybe just getting too damn old. In the Mexico City hotel he’d been talking to Niki one afternoon and Riki had come out of the bathroom wearing a big yellow towel knotted around her waist. Riki hadn’t seemed to be aware of herself, and you couldn’t blame the kid, because there is certainly nothing like a strip routine done for better than a year to make a shambles out of the modesty department. But Niki had remembered and told Riki to go put something on, and Phil had heard himself saying that it didn’t make any difference. But she went and put a robe on anyway.
    Good kids, and once they’d had a chance, they began to show a natural instinct for timing. Hell of a job at first, because they kept throwing away the best lines, and chopping laughs right down the middle. Had to start right from the beginning. Teach them how to walk as if they were coming down the ramp at the Diamond Horseshoe. Teach them how to push the voice out from the diaphragm, push it out round and heavy enough to bounce off the far corners of the noisiest joint. Riki had a nice talent for the dumb-blonde routine, wide-eyed, mouth a button of shock and surprise. Niki could do the best with a suggestive leer. The Mexican customers as well as the tourists had eaten it up.
    The routines would have to be cleaned up a bit. That wouldn’t be hard. He hoped they would photograph right for the TV cameras.
    Might be able to do something with that knack of Niki’s to imitate people. They were singing again. One of them, he didn’t know which one, leaned forward from the back seat and handed the bottle to him.
    Funny how they both started tapping the bottle at the same time. No harm yet. Always sober at showtime. Made you worry a little bit, though. Maybe something was nibbling on them. Something they hadn’t mentioned.
    They seemed happy enough. Maybe a little wackier than usual, if anything. The drinking had started about the time that big bruiser had taken a shine to Riki. What was his name? Roberts. Robertson. Something like that. Skipped from Boston to play in the Mex league. A pitcher.
    Hell of a thing if one of the twins should fall in love right now. Ruin everything. That night, a week ago, when he went by the room.