The Ultimate Solution by Eric Norden

Author:Eric Norden
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2015-06-03T04:00:00+00:00

The Crib was a fine old gray brick townhouse, and the "lantern things" the Professor mentioned were two carriage lamps outside the front door. A naked boy of thirteen or fourteen with one gold earring let me in with a come-hither smile and an expert twitch of his pelvis, and ushered me down the hall when I asked for Lotte.

"Right this way," he said, gyrating his satiny buttocks as he opened an old-fashioned sliding door. "She'll be with you in a moment." The tip of his tongue caressed his lower lip invitingly. "Afterwards, my name is Nick. I'm only fifty marks. Just ask Lotte, I'll do anything." He ran one hand caressingly over his loins and closed the doors behind me.

I'd never been in the Crib before, though I'd met Lotte a couple of times in different bars around town.

The place was reputed to be the finest child house in Manhattan, and the Mayor and two of the Eastern gauleiters allegedly numbered in her clientele. Myself, to be frank, I preferred adult women, although I had to be a bit discreet about it, being in the force and all that. Not that there's any active prejudice against hetties, the human race having to go on, but it's not exactly a ticket to promotion, particularly in the higher echelons of the State and Party. Back in the Academy I tried to get into the sadie scene to compensate, but I never really got too much out of it. Each to his own, I guess. But comparing Lotte's place to the hettie houses I'd visited it was obvious where the fat cats got their rocks off. The room was elegantly decorated in what I dimly recognized as French provincial style, replete with a delicate little harpsichord in gleaming rosewood and a couple of uncomfortable looking striped silk chaise longues. Richly framed old paintings hung on every wall and the one nearest to me, a sun-drenched landscape, was signed Fragonard, a name that rang a distant bell. The carpet was Persian, a beautiful thing in shimmering yellows and browns, and the wallpaper was a pale peach damask. The windows were draped in heavy red brocade curtains that muffled the street noise to a whisper, and the only light came from a dozen candles in embrasures along the wall, bathing the room in a muted golden glow. The only jarring note was a well-stocked mirrored bar in one corner, which I investigated promptly, but even there half the bottles had exotic names I'd never heard of. I focused on a Scotch that cost ninety marks a fifth and wondered if it was a breach of protocol to pour myself a drink. I'd already decided when she came in.

"Go right ahead, don't stand on formality."

I made it a double, then turned around. Lotte was standing in the doorway, a cocktail in one hand. She was wearing a full-length wine red satin evening gown that almost covered the ropy network of veins and wrinkles around her neck and a diamond necklace that could have fed half of Queens for six weeks.

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