Richard

It's often been said that Richard Borden  had the devil's own luck. Born into one of the first families of San Francisco, he was given every privilege growing up and was a brilliant and charming fixture in the upper reaches of society. Deep ginger-brown hair and clear moss-green eyes turned the heads of men and women alike and his carefully trimmed moustache lent him a dashing air.

He had two major vices. One was gambling. The other was sex. For the former, he would bet on anything from horse racing to prizefights. More often than not, he would lose. For the latter, he was irresistibly attracted to men and would frequent the Old Barbary Coast. Here he would search for the striking and exotic - he could spend hours with a Spanish captain or with one of the young Navy men shipping out to war in the Pacific - his lovemaking was always an exhilarating and happy experience for both. He enjoyed hearing the carnal moans escape his lover's lips as he thrust deeply into them or when he slowly kissed down their neck and chest; after a particularly vigorous session, the two would often fall asleep in each others arms, only to wake up and start over again.

The old adage "Lucky in love, unlucky in cards" seems to have been written specifically for him. After a long spell of profligate betting, he found himself deeply in debt to Paul McGowan - a notorious and vicious mobster. It was a frightened Richard Borden that was whisked off the street and into a dark sedan by a pair of thugs and brought before the crime boss.

"Richie, I oughtta put you in a cement overcoat and throw you in the bay for all the money you owe me. You're broke, and your old man ain't covering your bills no more. However, I think I've gotta way for you to work off what you owe me instead. I own the Aurora Club on Pine Street. Nice place, but it just doesn't bring in the dough it should. I need a more upscale clientele there. And it needs a makeover. I think a fancy-pants like you should be able to get his pals to drink and gamble at my place. You wanna manage the joint?"

"What's my cut?"

McGowan laughed. "You've got a set of brass balls, fella." He turned solemn. "How about breathing? That sound like a fair shake to you?"

"Mr. McGowan ... if I'm going to run this establishment for you - the way you want it run - I'm going to need some discretionary funds. I don't think it would be fair to charge the club for those type of expenses. How about ten percent?"

"Richie, I like you. I like the way you think. There's not a guy in my organization that would be arguing with me when I'm ready to kill him. Crying and begging, mebbe ... you get five percent."

Richard smiled at the mobster. "It's a deal. But why don't we bet on it? Double or nothing?"

McGowan sighed. He gestured to one of his minions for a deck. He shuffled and cut it. Shuffled again. Spread the cards on the desk. Pulled out a card.

King of clubs.

"Your turn, bub."

Richard took a card. Eight of hearts. His shoulders slumped.

"Richie, you're gonna get your five percent. I ain't stupid and I ain't greedy. You're one-hundred percent right. I know you gotta break a few eggs to make a cake. But I want you to know one thing. I OWN you now. Got it?"

Richard nodded.

"Oh yeah. One more thing. Shave your head."

"WHAT?"

"Shave your head. Every time you look in the mirror, I want you to remember who's the boss."

"Yes sir."

McGowan chuckled. "C'mon kid, don't go all formal on me. I don't need no whipped dog. I got plenty of those already. Call me Paul. I'll have the boys drive you home now. You've got a big day ahead of you."

Richard shot him a questioning look.

"Right after breakfast, you've got an appointment with my barber."

* * *

The same sedan and the same henchmen were parked outside his town house early next morning. One stood outside the car and opened the door for him. Richard got into the car and the good-looking mobster got in next to him and closed the door.

" 'Morning Mr. Borden. I'm George and that's Dave. We're here to take you to the barber. After that, Mr. McGowan wants you to take a look at the club."

"Call me Richard. Or Rich. You boys really put the fear of God in me last night. I didn't think I was going to walk out of there alive."

"Nah. We knew you'd be okay. You look too much like Tommy for Mr. McGowan to do anything to you. Except maybe slap you in the face."

"Tommy?"

"His son. He was a nancy-boy, like you. Like Dave and me. Old man McGowan threw him out of the house when he found out. Poor kid got into a fight and got stabbed to death. He never forgave himself. You could be his twin brother. You gave the big boss a start when you walked into the room. Hey! We're here."

The three men left the car and entered the barber shop. After multiple passes with the clippers, followed by hot lather and a straight razor, the barber was done. While the playboy was in the chair, he also gave his moustache a trim. He spun Richard around to face himself in the mirror.

George whistled. "Rich, you look better now than when you walked in!"

Richard had to agree. It had been unnerving to see clumps of hair land in his lap during the process, but the face that looked back at him seemed even more handsome and striking. The barber had cut his moustache into a pencil style, and trimmed a portion out right under his nose. He projected an air of menace now mingled with charm. His scalp tingled from the shave and it was odd to run his hand across his head and feel skin instead of hair. "I'm going to need some new hats." he thought. After he paid the barber, the three walked back to the car.

"I take it you boys are my keepers?"

Dave spoke up. "Nope. You're our new boss." He eyed him appreciatively. "And a helluva lot easier on the eyes than the current one." 

"Well then, let's head off to this club. I want to see what I've gotten myself into."

The car sped along the streets and slowed slightly as they reached Pacific Heights. The houses along both sides of Gough were stately and imposing and the interspersed storefronts had an elegant air to complement the personality of the neighborhood. The sedan made a right turn on Pine and stopped in front of a four-story affair which had been converted into the night club. Several delivery trucks were already parked in the street and several men were bringing in supplies.

George and Richard left the car and entered the club. The two well-dressed men approached a rakish, muscular chef in the middle of a whirlwind of activity - directing deliverymen, kitchen staff, busboys and waiters to their various activities. His tight t-shirt did nothing to hide his well-developed chest and arms, and his checked pants clung to his long, muscular legs like a second skin.

" 'Morning, Felix. Where's Dominic?"

"He's in the main room with the liquor guy ... Hey! Those potatoes go in the storeroom! Down the stairs and first door on your right ... Bobby, where's the iceberg lettuce? ... Hiya Harry! Put those legs of lamb in the front of the freezer, would you? Thanks! ... Say George, who's the new guy?"

"Your new boss. C'mon Rich, let's find the guy you're gonna put outta work."

The two walked out of the kitchen and down a wide hallway -- two large swinging doors marked the end of the corridor and the entrance to the main room of the night club. George paused and put a hand on Richard's arm.

"Felix runs a tight ship. You ain't got no worries about him. He's good people. And he plays on the same baseball team as us, if you get my drift ... Dominic, well ... Dominic's another kettle of fish ... Richie, you know how to handle yourself, right?" 

"What do you mean?"

"Ever pack heat? Ever snuff a guy?"

Richard looked slightly stunned. He shook his head. George gave him a smile and a couple of pats on the back.

"No problem. That's what me and Dave are here for. But you gotta learn. And quick. Some of us ain't exactly nice people." 

"Wait a minute. What's wrong with Dominic?"

"He's got sticky fingers. We know that he's been cheating us on the liquor, but we also think he's been skimming off the casino profits, too. He's out, you're in. Everyone's happy." 

"What's going to happen to him?"

George grinned, but the smile never reached his eyes. "He's gonna be taking a long trip off a short pier, boss. Dave and me will take care of it. But let me do the talking for now, okay?"

"Sure, George. No problem."

The two entered the night club. Richard flinched. He felt as if he stepped back through time into an early Nevada bordello. Red flocked wallpaper, heavy gilded furniture, dark fabrics, stained carpeting - no wonder this business was foundering. Dominic was off to the side, vehemently arguing with the liquor distributor. There was a stark contrast between the old and new managers. Dominic was obviously a once-active man gone to fat; his jowly face was mottled and red, and his thinning, black hair was pomaded back from his sweaty brow.

"Stealing a few crates today, Dom?"

The manager started as he heard George's voice. Looks of fear and guilt chased across his doughy face.

"Oh, hiya George ... no, I was just inspecting these boxes - they have to go back since they ain't the brand of bourbon I ordered. They charged me for the good stuff though ..."

The other man looked at the former manager and angrily spoke up. "Now just a minute Mr. Espino, this is exactly what you or-"

George gave the liquor man a flat stare. "Shuddup. Go wait in the kitchen." The man hurried out.

"Dom, this is Richie Borden - he's Mr. McGowan's godson. He's gonna be running this club from now on."

"Godson? Now, there's a kick in the pants..." Richard thought.

"And what the hell I am supposed to do? Wait tables?"

As if by magic, a snub-nosed automatic appeared in the mobster's hand. He gestured Dominic ahead of him.

"Nope. First you got an appointment with Mr. McGowan. Then ... you got an appointment with me and Dave."

Dominic paled. "Hey! I didn't do nothing! I've been a good employee! I've been LOYAL!"

"Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the Marines ... let's go, Dom. I don't like leaving loose ends around for Richie."

Dominic continued to whine and blubber as he crossed the room. Several times, he needed sharp jab in the back with the gun to get him moving again. George called back to Richard.

"Hey boss, we'll be back in a few hours. Get acquainted with the joint and take care of the liquor guy in the kitchen!"

Richard took down a chair and sat down heavily. He put his head in his hands and quickly pulled them away as he felt his newly shorn scalp. He took a deep breath.

"Well, boyo, you've made your bed and now you've got to lie in it."

He stood up looked into the crates. Two boxes were of empty Glenfiddich bottles and the other crate of full bottles of Jack Daniels. The invoice indicated that three boxes of the more expensive bourbon had been ordered and signed for. Well, at least this was something he knew how to handle.

He walked out of the club and into the kitchen. The distributor was sitting at a small table nursing a mug of coffee. He stood up when Richard entered.

"I understand that you're the new manager, sir. I'd like to explain the arrangement Dooley's has with this club..."

"You don't have to explain anything - and you don't have an arrangement here any longer."

"But, but..."

"No buts, mister ... Get the HELL out of here! I don't tolerate cheating or misappropriation in my club. And I'm sure Paul McGowan wouldn't look too kindly on you or your arrangement. You saw what happened to Dominic, didn't you? Want to be next?"

Using McGowan's name seemed to have the right effect. The man blanched and nearly tripped over his own shoes in his haste to leave.

"That was nicely done, Mr. Borden. It's been a long time coming. I'm glad to finally see that crook out of here."

Richard turned around to see Felix smiling at him. The clipboard was gone, but the pencil was tucked behind his ear.

"I think this calls for a celebration. Coffee and cinnamon bun sound good?"

"That sounds perfect!"

The chef's eyes twinkled. He looked directly into Richard's eyes and licked his lips.

Richard smiled back, thinking - "My, my, things are looking up already..."

* * *
The next few months were a whirlwind of activity. Richard interviewed each and every employee of the club to weed out the malingerers and malcontents, as well as any of those who may have participated in Dominic's schemes. Felix and George were invaluable in providing inside information to the new manager, and his fierce mien, suave tailoring, and no-nonsense attitude provided a startling change from the slovenly and careless stewardship of the former man.

His new appearance and behavior only served to further attract his society friends to "his" establishment - he wasn't quite the Richard they knew and loved - that carefree gambler and rake was gone for good - but someone tempered by fire and more mature ... someone with a slightly dangerous and mysterious aura about him. That was the ineffable quality that drew the hoi-polloi to the Aurora Club like hungry moths to a flame. Richard had decided to demolish the club's interior first while keeping the kitchen and casino open. Money from the casino had picked up considerably, now that Espino had disappeared and more and more of Richard's friends had spread word of the club and became regular customers.

During one of the meetings with the architects and decorators, George approached Richard. By this time, the ex-Casanova and the mobster had grown quite close. Circumstances had brought them together, but mutual respect and a genuine friendship and love had developed between them.

"Boss?"

"... and I want matching frosted glass sconces on the walls. I think we should space them every fifteen to twenty feet or so ... just a moment, Michael..." he turned to the mobster. George tilted his head and gestured him to follow. Richard excused himself.

"Old man McGowan is gonna make a surprise visit this afternoon to check out the joint. I think you need a little trim." He pointed to Richard's head. He rubbed it and found more stubble than he had imagined.

"Damn, it never grew this fast before. Thanks for the warning. Let me finish up here and we'll go over to the barber."

Richard's days had developed a certain rhythm. George and Dave would pick him up in the morning and drive him either first to the club, or to the barber and then to the club. It became a tradition that Richard would have his head shaved and moustache trimmed, and his two assistants would get a hot shave along with him. They would then have a hearty breakfast with Felix and the four of them would discuss any issues that had come up. He would then supervise the renovations to the main room for a few hours and then go out with his two associates for his "lessons". Then back to the club for the evening. After the club closed, he would often spend several passionate hours or the entire night with Felix. Surprisingly, the urge to gamble had not visited him at all - it seemed that that portion of his life had vanished along with his hair.

After Richard's head was smooth again, he took a look at his bodyguard and mentor. He frowned.

"George, why don't you get another hot shave and relax? You look all in. "

The mobster grinned. "Richie, you've got more energy than ten people put together. Me and Dave can't keep up with you sometimes. You poop us out." He got up and then settled himself gratefully into the barber's chair.

"You know, boss - Dave is really surprised what a quick study you are. When we were doing the horizontal mambo last night, he said you took to this stuff like a duck to water."

George sighed in pleasure as the barber wrapped a hot towel around his face and then started to brush on the thick, hot lather. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the chair as Franco stropped the straight razor and began to carefully shave his face.

Richard thought about that statement. He was surprised too, at how easily he learned to handle a gun and apply the streetwise techniques taught by his two bodyguards. Tailing someone. Wrestling someone into a chokehold. Twisting an arm out of its socket. Breaking a leg. Using a knife. Good genes and plenty of exercise had prepared him physically for these activities, but mentally, he had taken to his new life with a joyous vengeance. Dave, always the more laconic of the two, had said to him - "Boss, if I met you now in a dark alley, I'd crap my pants."

A banner day for him had been when George picked him up one morning and he found a gift-wrapped box on the back seat. He could see Dave's grin through the rear view mirror. George got in beside him and closed the door. He too, had a huge smile plastered across chiseled face.

"What's this?"

"It's from Dave and me. We thought it was time you had your own piece. It's ... a graduation present. Congratulations, boss!"

Richard was touched.

"Go ahead, open it."

The playboy unwrapped the package and opened the box. Inside was a luxurious cordovan leather shoulder holster and a large silver and black snub-nosed automatic.

"A classy gun for a classy guy. Wanna put it on now?"

He stroked the fine leather and ran his fingers across the handle of the gun.

"Of course!"

Richard shrugged out of his jacket and George helped him slip the holster through over one arm, then the other. He then tightened the back straps until the gun nestled snugly under the former libertine's left armpit.

"Okay boss, roll your neck and shrug a couple of times. Let it settle in and let me know how it feels. I'm pretty sure I got all your measurements right."

Richard followed the directions and felt the holster and revolver move along with him. It shifted slightly. The gun was an unexpectedly comforting weight against his arm, and the holster straps proved to be an arousing sensation across his chest. He found himself becoming hard. George looked down at his crotch and saw his growing erection. He chuckled.

"Hmmm ... feels REAL good I see!"

"Fellas, thank you so much. You didn't have to do this. Really."

"Hey, we wanted to. You're one of us now. Can't have you going around unprotected."

Franco was cleaning the traces of lather off George's face. He sat up in the chair and checked his watch.

"We better get going, boss. It's never a good idea to make him wait."

It was a quick trip from the barber's back to the club. When they arrived, they found McGowan in the main room stepping through the debris of the renovation. He smiled when he saw the two come in.

"Hey Richie! The place looks better already! How's my favorite nightclub owner?"

"Doing well, sir. I can't say I did it all by myself, though. George and Dave have been my right hands, and Felix is great guy. Irreplaceable. You want the twenty-five cent tour? Owner????"

"Sure, kid, sure!"

Richard proceeded to bring the mob boss around the now-stripped former residence, pointing out the renovations and changes he was directing.

"All the floors are prime redwood, but they've been neglected and badly scuffed. I'm having them sanded and revarnished. And the paneling in the main room was all hand-carved oak. Dominic had painted it over with brown paint. I've having it scraped off and refinished also. I've gotten rid of the cheap carpets he had put down and I've ordered some Aubusson rugs from New York. The walls are in solid shape, but I've peeled off the wallpaper. I'm knocking out the two far walls - making the stage bigger and the bar longer and wider. I'm going for an Arctic theme here, Mr. McGowan."

"Paul."

"Paul. Vanilla white walls with frosted colored sconces every twenty feet or so and the ceiling will be a dark blue with a sprinkling of gold and silver. Just like stars on a clear night. Same size tables. Matching chairs. The casino rooms on the upper floors are in much better shape, though. I can do half a floor at a time. That way, we won't have any shortages."

The mob boss clapped him on the shoulder. "Kid, I'm not worried about shortages. You've done a swell job turning this place around. Profits are up forty percent, you know."

"Well, I think it helps to have someone here that cares about the place and how it's being run."

 "I'm proud of you, Richie. Everything you touch turns to gold." He paused. "I wanna tell you something."

Richard cocked his head. The mob boss cleared his throat.

"You don't hafta shave your head no more."

"Paul, I LIKE my head shaved. I was in God-awful shape when you dragged me in that night. Put the fear of the Lord into me. I haven't gambled in months. I don't even WANT to gamble any more. This ..." he rubbed his bald head.

"... reminds me what you did for me. You saved my life. I would have wound up dead without you. You've done more for me than my own father."

The mob boss turned away. Richard could see tears forming in his eyes. He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. He wrapped his arms around the former rake and gave him a crushing hug.

"Kid, we both got a second chance that night." He smiled.

"By the way, all the other bosses wanna know where I found a damn, sexy pirate to run my club!"

"Oh, come on!"

"Yeah. That shaved head of yours is the talk of the town. George and Dave also spread it around that you ain't no sissy and can take care of yourself, too. That Harkey story has made the rounds. Makes you even more attractive. You even gotta a nickname now."

George and he had been ambushed one night. The unfortunate criminal, Gerald Harkey, was unaware of Richard's sidearm and his exceptional ability to use it. He pistol-whipped the surprised hood and shot him dead with one bullet from twenty yards away as he was trying to make an escape.

George was amazed at the speed and steely resolve the nightclub manager displayed; Richard felt nothing except a cold satisfaction. It never occurred to him to report the incident to the police - this was but an indication of the profound change that had come over the ex-playboy. Before the two left the scene, he kicked the body over and picked up the shell casing. George was ready to high-tail it from the body, but Richard grasped his arm.

"Never run away from a body, George - it only attracts attention. We walk back to the car, get in and leave him here for someone else to find."

"I was only protecting George and myself, Paul ... I've got a nickname? What is it?"

"Captain Blood. You're got movie-star good looks like Errol Flynn, you're a straight shooter, but you ain't afraid to get your hands dirty when you hafta ... and you're so rich you can't be bought. The only way to get your loyalty is to earn it." Richard blushed.

"Paul, there's one thing I wanted to mention ..."

"Sure kid, what is it?"

"I know I'm not in charge of the casino operations, that's Rollie's job - and Rollie reports to you." Rolando Vasquez was the pit boss for the Aurora Club's casino. He was a tall, handsome Cuban with wavy black hair and deep, soulful brown eyes. Richard had admired him from afar, but he was married and expecting his second child.

"We get a lot of serviceman in here, Paul. And they spend a lot of money. Sometimes, too much money. Particularly upstairs in the casino. These boys are shipping out to God-knows-where in the Pacific and they don't know if they are ever coming home again. Can't we give them something good to remember us by and leave them with some change in their pockets at the same time?"

Paul looked pensive. He stroked his chin, deep in thought.

"After all, you did say profits were up forty percent. I'll even drop my cut in half ..."

"Yeah, yeah. I wasn't thinking of that. That's not a problem. I'll tell Rollie to be nicer to the military guys ..."

He stopped stroking his chin and looked directly at Richard. "I'm turning everything over to you, Richie." 

"Huh?" 

"The whole operation. The dinner club. The casino. The entertainment. Upstairs and downstairs. The girls. Everything. You earned it."

The nightclub manager was shocked. "Paul, I ... I don't know what to say ..."

McGowan smiled. " 'Thanks' would be a good start, kid."

Richard returned the smile. "Thanks."

"And come over for dinner on Sunday. We gotta talk about my other operations. They could probably use a good tune up, too."

* * *

"Six months of work ... and by damn, it was worth it..." Richard thought as he walked through the newly rebuilt and refurbished club. The grand reopening was only an hour away and the waiters and busboys were busy with last minute preparations - placing orchids in their vases, lighting candles on the tables, arranging and rearranging the tables around the dance floor. Felix had also outdone himself for the night's festivities and the savory smells coming through from the kitchen made the manager's mouth water. The band was set up and practicing their numbers quietly.

Richard straightened his white double-breasted dinner jacket again and checked the rosebud on his lapel for the third or fourth time. He looked at his wristwatch.

"Nervous, Richie?"

Richard turned around to see McGowan coming out of the kitchen, a small sandwich in his large hand. He grinned at the nightclub manager.

"A little, Paul. I hope everyone likes the new club."

"Looks like we're inside of a fairy tale ... you done an incredible job here. I got no worries. Casino rooms look this good, too?"

"You bet. All the boys are set up and ready to go. I have the dealers for blackjack, poker, and chemin-de-fer. Rollie's handling the craps and roulette tables. And the girls on the upper floors. We're set."

The mobster held Richard by the shoulders and grinned at him. "Richie, I can't tell you how proud I am of you. There ain't anyone else in my organization - mebbe not even in San Francisco - that could have pulled this off. I couldn't ask for a better man for the job."

McGowan felt the bulge under his left arm. "You packing tonight, kid?"

"You never know what can happen, Paul. I like being prepared."

The mob boss shook his head in appreciation. He smiled. "There's a huge difference in you between tonight and the first time we met."

Richard smiled back. "I had good teachers, Paul. And I wouldn't change a thing." He felt a closer kinship to the mob boss than his own father.

"I'm gonna go upstairs for a while ..." he gave the owner a conspiratorial wink. "I'll be back down later, Richie."

* * *

Richard's worries were completely unfounded. The grand re-opening of the Aurora Club was a total success. High society met and mingled with mobsters and servicemen. Reporters and photographers from the Chronicle were doing a brisk business. Champagne flowed like a river in the club and casino, and huge sums were gambled and lost.

Throughout the night, Richard circulated among his guests, equally at home with his well-to-do friends and acquaintances as with McGowan's contemporaries. The tall, handsome nightclub owner was the talk of the evening - from his brilliant redesign of the club to the strong frisson of danger and excitement when his piercing green eyes rested on you.

McGowan took in the reaction to his protégé with all the trappings of a proud parent. George and Dave, dashing in custom tailored tuxedos, congratulated themselves on bringing their charge to his current position. Although Richard was unaware of it, the two mobsters knew that McGowan had already started the process of turning his vast empire over to the ex-libertine and making him truly the son he had lost.

As he was returning from the casino levels, Richard felt a light tap on his shoulder. A familiar voice said, "Hey sailor, want an apple?"

"Gracie!"

Richard turned around to see Grace Van Oort sheathed in a deep scarlet strapless gown, her auburn hair cascading over bare shoulders and diamonds glittering at her throat, wrists and fingers. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a tremendous kiss.

"Well, the hubbub has been right on target - you DO look like a pirate! Darling, I want you to meet my fiance, Graydon Maddox. Graydon, this is Richard, the owner of the club!"

Richard was a bit surprised to see the elderly gentlemen being introduced as Grace's husband-to-be, but hid it well. "Congratulations on the engagement! You are one lucky man to have such a beautiful and devoted woman like Grace at your side!"

"Thank you, young man. Grace has told me a great deal about you."

"All of it wicked, I suppose."

The old man chuckled, but came out more like a wheeze. He also didn't disagree. Richard caught Dave's eye and gestured him over.

"Dave, please get these two a nice table right off the dance floor." He turned to Gracie and her fiance. "Enjoy the club! I'll stop by in a little while."

As the couple left with Dave, George sidled up to Richard. He handed him a handkerchief to wipe the lipstick off his cheek.

"Hey boss, who was that?" 

"Gracie Van Oort. I've known her my entire life. Our parents wanted to make a 'good match' between us but Gracie and I had other plans. We both liked having sex with men too much to get married. Usually the same one."

George laughed. "She's a real looker. Good thing. I could just see Felix running after you with a meat cleaver in a jealous rage!"

Richard chuckled at that image in his mind. "Everything going well upstairs?"

"Uh-huh. Tables are packed and people are gambling like there's no tomorrow."

"Good. Let Felix know to send up a couple of more cases of champagne upstairs. Let's keep the good cheer flowing."

"Sure thing, boss." The mobster headed towards the kitchen.

During one of the cabaret numbers, Grace got up from her table and glided over to Richard.

"So, what was that crack about being devoted, sweetie?"

"I didn't say devoted to what ... money, sex, furs, jewels ..."

She made a moue. "So, what do you think about Graydon?"

"I think he's old enough to be your father."

" 'Grandfather' is more like it." Grace lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.

"Since when did you go after octogenarians, Gracie?"

"After the first one died, I kind of liked the idea of an older husband and a younger lover."

"The FIRST one?"

"Oh yes. Herbert Stark. Poor man died on our honeymoon night. Seventy-five years young ... I was crushed, Richard. Crushed. I had to bury my sorrows in a twenty-four year old Argentine polo player..."

"More like him burying something in you ... is he cute?"

She punched his arm.

"OW! You'd better make sure Daddy Warbucks doesn't find out who you're mounting until after the wedding, kiddo. What have you got there, a set of brass knuckles?"

She held out her hand. "See what Graydon got for me?"

"Nail polish? Matches your dress. 'Jungle Red', isn't it?"

"Well Herbie's dough is good enough to go shopping in I. Magnin's. The dress is a genuine Hattie Carnegie. Can't get a damn thing from Paris now that that kraut Hitler is goose-stepping all over Europe ... and no, you dope! I meant the engagement ring!"

"Mmmm ... looks like a headlamp off a Packard."

"I've got expensive tastes ... And speaking of brass knuckles, you've changed quite a bit. For the better, I have to admit. Are all the things I heard about you true?"

"Such as?"

"Well, that you're the top dog in McGowan's crime syndicate and his adopted son, you killed a man in cold blood and you work with the Chinese gangs to distribute opium and morphine."

His face hardened. "I owe Paul McGowan my life, Gracie. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him. And if I were you, I wouldn't be spreading tales like that. It's not exactly conducive to your health."

Grace gave a slight shudder. "You've become a dangerous man, Richard. Damn, I like that. I like that a lot. Are you sure you don't want to give us another try?" She snaked her arm around his waist and snuggled up to him. She felt the hard bulge in his jacket press against her.

"Are you carrying a gun?"

"I like being prepared, sweetheart. And thanks for the offer, but no thanks. We still like our men the same way - tall, dark and handsome..."

"... and preferably with a trust fund." she completed. They both laughed.

"Well, I had to try. Anyone special right now?"

"Not really, although the chef here is something else."

The band started playing "La Cumparsita". Gracie grabbed him by the hand and dragged him onto the floor. She sighed as they danced together.

"Just like old times, Richard ... I still love you, you know. I'll always love you."

"I know. I love you too. But like the baby sister I never had."

The two covered the dance floor in a slow, sinuous and erotic tango designed to raise eyebrows and scorch the air with white-hot scandalous whispers. After a particularly low dip, Gracie slid her hand around Richard's neck and turned him towards the entranceway.

"Speaking of tall, dark and handsome, darling, take a look at what just came through the door ..."

An incredibly attractive Navy Commander had entered the nightclub and was speaking with George. Richard was too far away to hear what was being said, but he could not take his eyes off the lantern jaw, the short black hair and the pale blue eyes.

"Mmmm ... I love a man in uniform .... and he fills his out SO well..."

"Particularly the crotch ..."

"Gracie!"

"I can't help it, Richard. Look at him! He's hung like a horse! Oooh! See? He's looking for you! I guess your reputation proceeds you!"

George located Richard on the dance floor and gestured him over. Arm-in-arm, the two approached the naval officer.

Grace whispered, "Wipe the drool off your chin, sweetie." Richard delicately coughed into his left hand and wiped the spittle off his face.

"Good evening, commander. I'm Richard Borden, and this ... this is the widow Stark. Can I help you?"

" 'Evening, Sir. Ma'am. My name is Amery Mason and I have a bit of a delicate issue to discuss."

The commander's voice was a deep, smooth purr, with the slightest hint of a southern drawl. Richard found himself growing more aroused by the second. Grace's hand left his waist and traveled down. She gave his butt a pinch for that remark. It took all of his composure to ignore it. He would get that little minx back later in the evening.

"Well, let's go to my office and talk about it."

Richard cocked an eyebrow at his dance partner. "Isn't it past Graydon's bedtime?"

"Well, I do have to get back to him. It was a wonderful tango, Richard. See you later!" Grace winked and left the two men in a swirl of scarlet silk and heady jasmine perfume. The two entered Richard's office. He sat on the edge of his desk.

"Okay, Amery. You seemed a bit upset out there. What's the problem?"

"Well Mr. Borden, my baby brother followed me into the service. Without permission. He always wanted to do what his big brother did. Anyways, I've been keeping him out of trouble, but tonight, he got away from me."

Richard gestured for him to continue.

"His buddies told me he came here to the club to gamble. I don't want him causing a ruckus if things get out of hand. You know, calling the Shore Patrol ..."

"Oh, we never call the Shore Patrol ... I know you boys need to blow off a little steam now and then. Let's see if we can find your wayward little brother, shall we?"

All throughout this conversation, Richard was watching Amery closely. The naval commander was licking his lips, obviously nervous, and switching his gaze between Richard's mossy green eyes and his throbbing crotch. He had sat on the edge of the desk for that very purpose. Amery's manhood was straining the dark material of his uniform trousers. He thought to himself. "Hmmm ... this opening night may be a bigger success than I imagined ..."

The two men climbed the stairs to the third floor and started mingling about in the various drawing rooms that comprised the casino.

"Any games your brother particularly likes?" Although I have some idea what games you like, sailor...

"5-Card Stud"

"Ahhhh. This way."

Amery followed Richard into another large room. The commander pointed to one of the far corners of the salon.

"There he is!"

Amery's brother was seated at a poker table, and Richard could see the strong family resemblance between the two brothers. He had his arm around one of the girls from the fourth floor and appeared to be in poor spirits, despite her valiant efforts to cheer him up.

Rolando came up to the two men. "Anything wrong, boss?" The ex-wastrel gestured the two of them out into the hall.

"Rollie, see the sailor in the corner? The one with Amy?"

"Sí. What about him?"

"This is his brother. How's he been doing?"

"Not too well. He's lost a lot of money."

"How much is a lot?"

"Three hundred dollars."
 

"Rollie, tell the dealer to make it up to him and then close the table for a while. After that, have George bring him down to my office."

"Sure thing, boss. Give me about 30 minutes."

Richard clapped the commander on the back. "Satisfied?"

"Mr. Borden, I don't know how to thank you. "
 

Oh, you will, sailor boy. And you're going to enjoy every minute of it. "Let's head down to my office. You like bourbon?"

During the interlude, Richard learned that Amery and his brother were from a small town in West Virginia. The Naval Academy had always been a dream of Amery's, and a way for him to escape from the toil and dull grey existence of coal mining. Peter, his brother, had slipped off to town one day and enlisted, much to the chagrin of his mother and father. The recruiter had seen the potential in the younger man and placed him directly into officer training. Amery was the adjutant to Admiral Walter Anderson of the Pacific Fleet and was stationed in San Francisco. The handsome heartbreaker could feel a smoldering desire building between them, and Richard was all too ready to have that flame fanned into carnal relations as soon as possible.

There was a light knock on the door; it opened to reveal George and a frightened-looking Peter.

"Mister, I swear to God, I wasn't cheating! I know I lost a lot of money, but I won it back fair and squ- Amery!"

Richard was still sitting on the corner of his desk. He gestured the younger man to sit down next to his brother. George left the room and closed the door.

"Peter, I swore to Momma and Daddy that I'd watch out for you - how am I supposed to do that if you keep running out on me?"

"Amery, I'm not a baby any more. I can look after myself!"

Amery was angry. "Really? Like tonight? Like losing three hundred dollars? Is that taking care of yourself? Is that being responsible?" His drawl thickened considerably as spoke in heated tones to his brother.

"I had a bad streak of luck, but I won it back fair and square!"

Richard cleared his throat. "Not exactly, Peter. Your brother came in very worried about you. I arranged to have you win your money back. I did my own fair share of gambling at one point in my life and I was nearly murdered for being that stupid."

Both brothers stared at him.

"Someone gave me a second chance, and I took it. I suggest VERY STRONGLY you do the same."

Another knock on the door and Grace sauntered in. The two Navy men stood up.

"Richard, I just wanted to- oooh! Twins??" She gave the nightclub owner a sly grin.

He sighed. "Gracie, you've already met Amery. This is his brother Peter. Peter, this is my good friend, Grace Stark - a very, very wicked woman."

"Don't forget beautiful and rich, darling..."

Throughout this conversation, Peter stood transfixed, gazing at the socialite with a combination of awe and desire. She turned to him and stroked his cheek. She winked at Richard.

"One for you and one for me?"

"Pull in those jungle red claws, Gracie ... remember Graydon. And the polo ponies ... I still need to think how to keep this shavetail out of trouble."

"Oh sweetie, I was just kidding. Graydon and I had such a wonderful time tonight. We'll be back again soon - this place is fabulous! As for keeping this handsome young man out of trouble, I know how to fix THAT. Can I use your phone a moment?"

As he pushed the telephone towards her, he walked around his desk and lit a cigarette. She perched herself on the large desk and dialed a number. The slit in her dress was cut extremely high, revealing a creamy expanse of thigh and a beautifully proportioned leg. Peter couldn't take his eyes off of Grace. She pulled the younger man closer to her and started to play with the buttons on his tunic. The young lieutenant was turning beet red while Amery and Richard exchanged amused glances.

"Lydia? It's Gracie Lee. Is Miss Sally around? I'll hold."

"Sally? It's Gracie. How are you, darling? Can you do me a favor? I'm sending over a very handsome young Navy officer in a few minutes. Tall - about 5'11", black hair, blue eyes. His name is Peter Mason."

Gracie's hand trailed down Peter's chest and stomach and rested on his crotch. She gave it a couple of playful pats. Peter was making strangling noises.

"Uh-huh, nice set of family jewels, too. Could you make sure he has a wonderful time tonight? Ahh ... you're a peach! I'll come by tomorrow and we'll catch up on old times! Bye!" She hung up the receiver.

Richard stared at her. "Is that who I think that was? Sally Stanford? The madam?"

"The very same. You didn't think I took that year off from school and actually went to Vassar, did you?"

He turned to the two brothers.

"Well Peter, thanks to our merry widow here, you're going to be entertained in the city's most famous bordello tonight. I'd venture to say I could count on one hand the people that Sally Stanford takes a personal interest in."

He took a piece of paper from his desk and wrote a phone number on it.

"George will take you over to Miss Sally's. It's on Pine and Jones. When you're done, call George and he'll take you back to the base. And ... I don't expect to see you upstairs at the casino, again. Or any casino... Understood?"

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!"

"The name's Richard. 'Sir' make me feel like Gracie's fiance."

Grace turned to nightclub owner. "Well, I've done my good deed for tonight. Thanks for a wonderful evening, sweetie!" As she gave him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, she whispered, "Let me know if sailor boy is walking with a limp after you get done with him!"

Richard blushed scarlet. She gave them all a gay laugh as she breezed out of the office.

As if by magic, George appeared in the doorway.

"George, would you mind taking Lieutenant Mason over to Miss Sally's?"

"No problem, boss." He looked at the commander and gave Richard a knowing smile. He closed the door quietly after him.

Amery stood up. "I guess what I've heard about you is true. You're a gangster with a heart of gold. Thank you for everything."

Richard stood close to Amery. Green eyes met blue. He stroked the side of the commander's face and gave him a feather-light kiss on the lips; the Navy man smelled faintly of bay rum. The casino owner could feel the heat radiating off the officer and the swelling hardness of the Navy man's erection. He stared at Richard in joy and wonder and returned the kiss, pulling him close. The embrace seemed to last forever.

"Dear Lord, Richard - when I first laid eyes on you, my heart skipped a beat. I didn't know - I hoped - I wanted you so badly. I was praying for the same."

"Me too. I was actually drooling when I saw you walk in the door."

Richard shrugged out of his dinner jacket. Amery kissed Richard's jaw and began kissing down his neck. He moaned in pleasure. He began to unfasten the brass button's on Amery's tunic. Once undone, he pulled the jacket off the commander's wide shoulders. Richard slowly ran his hands down the powerful chest. He felt the erect nipples under the thin fabric and twisted.

There was a hissed intake of breath from Amery. He grasped the playboy's trim waist in surprise.

"Jeeesus, Richard!"

The mobster wrapped his arms around him and stroked Amery's broad back. He gave him an evil grin. "There's a lot more where that came from, sailor boy."  

"When?"

"The club closes at 2am. Want to stay around and enjoy the sights?"

Amery grabbed Richard's crotch and gave it a playful squeeze. "Sure thing, honey-bear. I can't wait for us to get out of these duds and into bed. I'm going to give you a real Annapolis welcome!"

Richard nibbled on Amery's ear. "Mmmm. But we'll have to make up a good excuse to the Admiral as to why you were horseback riding in the dead of night."

Amery gave him a puzzled look.

"By the time I get done with you, sweetheart, you're going to be walking bowlegged for a week!"

And the story's not over yet! I have to say, this shoot is one of the most fun I've had - right up with Brendan, Dash and Shayn. Again, the Derl mold - this is an Artist mask - seems to fit me the best and I feel the most comfortable in, too. This was actually my first Artist mask - the neck was very thin in front, so I ordered another. I wanted to experiment with "hairing" the mask - this is the process of punching (or gluing) hair onto the mask for a more realistic effect. I'm also the proud owner of an SPFX "Thug" mask and from the SPFX forums, I found Colin Mayne. An illustrator by profession, Colin has haired a number of SPFX masks and has done some fantastic work. I plan on purchasing several more SPFX masks over the coming year, and I wanted to give Colin a "tryout" on something that I wouldn't be too concerned about if it didn't turn out well (after all, if you are spending over £350 for an SPFX creation, you want to make sure it's a beautiful job). I was thinking of a 1940's character - probably military - but I let Colin create what he felt would work best on the Artist. And you see what I got!

When I put on the mask, I got more of a playboy feeling - smooth, suave and charming. Again, a similar vibe to my "Jason" persona. I could have went out and purchased another wig, but then my bad side kicked in - "why is he bald?" That got me thinking that he lost a bet. Which THEN got me thinking in larger terms of his circumstances. All of a sudden, I got Richard.

I love old film-noir movies and his backstory started to come together. Old San Francisco, mobsters, classy dames, WWII. I also enjoy reading historical fiction and I'm planning on later expanding the storyline to include some espionage and counter-espionage with the infant OSS and some interactions with Chinese mobsters.

I also have to give a big hand to my friend Michael. He was invaluable in providing me with some very accurate and historical information about people and places in San Francisco that really made this backstory take off.