* * * * *
Club 23 Skiddoo had been modeled after a Prohibition-era speak-easy. Even the posters flanking the frosted glass front doors advertised a chorus line known as "the Flapperettes!" And, photojournalist Chet Northfield had to admit they were very attractive.
"OK, Romeo!" chuckled a voice from behind him: "Enough ogling. We have an appointment to keep. Remember?"
They trotted across the busy street, dodging pedicabs and motor scooters, to a sidewalk cafe already crowded with luncheoners. Luckily, for them, the person they were to meet had saved them two chairs.
Chet angled his chair so that he could look at the street over his left shoulder. He then took off his lucky Brooklyn Dodgers cap, and wiped his sweaty brow. To his right, he saw Oisin "Buck" Fogarty mirror that action, using the brown fedora that made so many people confuse him with Harry Steele (Charlton Heston's character from "Secret of the Inca").
And, he confessed to the elderly Englishman sitting across from them that he found it mildly annoying how positively pristine the latter looked in his white suit and black tie! The Englishman just laughed, and Buck smiled as he made introductions.
"Percival Throckmorton? Meet Chet Northfield, my newest shutterbug. Chet? Meet 'Pokerface Percy,' the biggest cardsharp ever employed by British Military Intelligence, during WWII."
"It's an honor, sir."
"Likewise, Mr. Northfield!"
The three of them ordered ice tea all around when the waiter approached them. Then, Buck turned back to the Englishman.
"So, what brings you to this part of the world? Last I'd heard, you had retired to Monte Carlo!"
"Indeed, yes. But, I finally won enough at the gaming tables that I was able to fund the completion of my research. My book will be published this spring."
The legendary foreign correspondent gasped: "You mean, you did it? You finally found out who he was?"
"All that, and much more! First, however, I think we should enlighten young Mr. Northfield as to what we are talking about."
Chet almost blushed that his confusion had been so obvious. Buck grinned and explained that Percy's grandfather had been one of the extra constables assigned to patrol the Whitechapel section of London during the Ripper murders of 1888.
"As in, Jack the Ripper?" asked Chet. Throckmorton nodded.
"I've spent half my life trying to unearth his identity, using my various contacts within the intelligence community to gain access to certain documents. And, I have succeeded beyond my wildest expectations! What would you two say if I told you Red Jack had never been an Englishman. Nor even a Caucasian. But, an Oriental! One who belonged to an ancient secret society so well-versed in the art of assassination...that their greatest successes are _still_ regarded as deaths-by-natural causes!"
Buck and Chet momentarily looked at each other before the former responded.
"I'd have to say; what've you been spiking your four o'clock tea with?"
The two newsmen laughed for a few seconds. Only for their laughter to die at the sight of Throckmorton's stone-faced expression.
"I'm deadly serious, Buck. And, I'll prove it. What do the dates 12 April 1945, and 22 November, 1963, have in common?"
Buck's eyes widened in astonishment: "You're not suggesting..."
Throckmorton nodded: "Both deaths were the work of this secret society. And, so was the recent disappearance of my chief informant, in Macao. Which is why I've called you here."
"I don't follow," confessed Buck.
"My informant's daughter did most of the legwork for him on this matter. And, when her father disappeared (along with his houseboy), she knew right away who might be responsible! She fears for her life, and justifiably so. I'd like your help in getting her out of Saigon, and to the relative safety of Langley, Virginia."
Buck exhaled the breath he had not realized he had even been holding.
"Percy! Even if they give you the same benefit of the doubt as I'm trying to, I've been out of that game for almost thirty years."
"Perhaps. But, a lot of their desk jockeys served in the O.S.S. with you. And, some of them still owe their lives to you. So, what do you say? Will you help me?"
"We'll have to meet this girl, first."
"Of course! Come back here, at eight tonight. I'll introduce her to you in the cocktail lounge of the 23 Skiddoo."
It was at this moment that waiter finally came back with their ice teas. Whereupon, the two older men began telling Chet about some of their WWII exploits. The latter became so engrossed in listening, that he failed to notice the peculiar four-legged "bug" sliding down the lower left leg of his chair.
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
SAIGON, SOUTH VIETNAM, 1973