Vice Cop Ch. 05

He felt he had a terrific rapport with the Chief. It appeared as if the Chief had liked him from day one, as if he Hudson was a reminder of his old days as a cop. There was also the matter that both Chief Hiller and Hudson were actually quite old fashioned in their attitudes toward women and their more conservative and tough guy persona. The only difference was that Hudson was a lot younger and could pass for his son.

"Hudson, I know you've been a damn good asset to the squad ever since your first day," he said to him, "if you think I've been ignoring you, you're wrong. I've been keeping track of your progress and I think it's about time you do something for me that I've only asked Miss O'Neil and a few others who work as undercover cops and vice cops."

Thank you God thought Hudson and smiled as he had never smiled before.

"Chief, I'm honored, oh man," he said to him.

"Now, now don't get too excited. If you fail, you'll just go back to deputy work and I know you don't want that."

"I wouldn't fail you. What would you have me do if I may ask?"

"Investigators have been looking into something we've never come across before. It's occurring in Long Island, specifically in the Hamptons."

"Where the very rich folks live?"

"The rich are different than you and I. Who said that?"

"I don' know. I was never good in English class. Maybe Fitzegerald?"

"Well whoever it was, boy, were they right. These millionaires are different alright and possibly breaking the law."

"What do you mean, Chief?"

The Chief did not reply right away and sat down, opening a drawer and retrieving another box of candy. He took a bite off a piece and then took another piece in his fat hands and offered them to Hudson.

"Candy, Hudson?"

He looked at the piece of candy almost with disgust.

"No, I don't like candy. I don't eat any kind of sugar."

"Good man. You'll never get diabetes like me," the Chief said with a laugh.

"Chief, what is going on in The Hamptons?"

"I'm getting to that, hold on. Well, the investigators believe that illegal activities are taking place in one particular home. Nothing is quite certain right now and it's all speculation. We believe that it may be either Mafia related or involving a private and illegal sex club for the rich, a brothel if you will."

"In The Hamptons?"

"Mafia families could afford to live there, Banach. Surely you know how lucrative organized crime can be. Whoever said "crime doesn't pay" didn't know the hard facts. Crime actually does pay and pays well."

"So there's a bunch of rich folks over there that have crazy sex parties?"

"They are consuming drugs provided to them by drug lords in some foreign possibly Cuban or South American Mafia. As for prostitution, well, we have heard stories of young women from within New York City who tell of being employed by a wealthy socialite in The Hamptons who throws wild parties with executives, high powered businessmen, lawyers, oil tycoons and even some foreigners like Arabic princes. We suspect they're engaging in illegal sex. These parties are said to be incredibly wild. There have been reports of girls who go to these parties and never return. Some have been found dead, their bodies dumped into various parts of upstate New York."

"This is unbelievable. Well, what do you want me to do? We're talking a bust here. I've never done that before."

"Simple. You'll go undercover as one of the "millionaire" gentlemen who frequent this Madame's estate and find out whether or not the alleged illegal activities are actually taking place. You'll report to us what you see there. Whatever you do, don't give yourself away. You're always on cop mode, even from the way you look at people."

"Well I can't help it. I was born into this. My father was a cop in Poland and my Uncle Vitto, who's retired now and living in Miami, was a cop in Sicily and Italy. Oh, the stories he told me."

"You love this, don't you Hudson? Well I'm glad you'll get to do something you've been craving to do. But again, don't give yourself away. This is more like an undercover spy job than anything else. The actual bust will be handled by others."

He didn't dare ask who but Hudson figured he meant Lexa O'Neil and the new crowd she was working with -- Detective Mason Holmes and the other investigators. He sighed. He got up and headed for the office door.

"When would I be doing this?"

"This weekend, Hudson, and remember, play the part of a care-free millionaire, a playboy even. Stay in character. It's like an acting job. We'll provide you with the proper costume -- a fancy executive suit. We'll give you a Cuban cigar, too."

"I won't fail you, Chief, I promise."

"I hope not, Hudson. I've always believed in your potential. Now's your chance to prove you have what it takes. Oh and Hudson --"

"Yeah Chief?"

"You'll need to be prepared for anything. You'll have to bring a gun and conceal it in a pocket holster in your slacks. No one should be able to see it considering you'll be wearing a sport coat."

Hudson nodded and closed the door while the Chief ate another piece of candy.

Four

Lexa was applying crimson lipstick over her lips and watching her reflection in the mirror of Detective Mason's Bentley.

Lexa knew how to dress up fashionably and glamorously. Because her mother, Katrina, had once been an opera diva before becoming a mother, she had partied with the elitist upper class of New York. She had provided her daughter with the same sense of fashion and style but Lexa rarely had the opportunity to flaunt this style. She had expensive tastes but being a cop, she could not afford to live as she secretly dreamed of living.

Far greater than her desire for a jet-set lifestyle was her sense of fulfillment in fighting crime, even if it did not pay well. Right now, she felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball and did not even want to think about crime or duty. She was wearing a baby blue sequin gown with a slit on the side revealing her leg and high heels. Her dark hair was in a French twist. She looked tall and gorgeous like a Vogue supermodel.

The Detective was dressed in a 1940's film-noir Detective dressy brown suspender-suit and a large hat. He was holding a pipe and felt every bit like his favorite writer Dashiell Hammett.

He gave Lexa a smile as they drove up a long driveway surrounded on either side by rose bushes and small trees. In the distance was the beach and the ocean's quiet roar could be heard. The Hamptons was beautiful and the beach was serene in the evening, with moonlight casting a soft glow over the waters. The mansion before them was huge, built in the style of an old English country manor with tainted windows, balconies and three floors.

"There must be a hundred rooms in that house," Lexa said in amazement.

"I wouldn't know," said Detective Mason, "I don't feel I'm as close a friend to The Widow Gibson as I was to her husband. She invites me to these parties and usually I drink a lot and leave before midnight."

"Oh, Mason, you're such a bore. Midnight is when the party really begins," Lexa said, with a jovial laugh.

Her dangling silver earrings danced as she moved her head to the side and Detective Mason noticed this and was awed by her beauty.

"Come on, let's get out of the car," he said.

Arm in arm, they approached the entrance to the manor. A powerfully-built man, dressed in a dark suit and looking as tough as a bouncer at a nightclub stood by the door. He was evidently security and it was the first time Lexa had ever seen one in front of someone's home. Detective Mason showed him his invitation card and told him he was a friend of Clementine Gibson and with the New York Detective Bureau.

The man allowed them entrance into the manor. Lexa looked up when the sight of an elaborate Baroque-style chandelier hanging over the vast entrance hall caught her eye. She stood with wide eyes as she took in the opulence of the manor's interior. The floor was marble and glossy, like the lobby of some grand hotel, and potted palms, statuary and expensive antique furnishings were scattered everywhere. A grand double staircase was in view and descending and ascending the stairs were various guests.

They were mostly male and the females with them looked a lot younger than them, but this did not grab Lexa's immediate attention. The guests poured into the house and it was filling up with many people, all of them busy socializing and laughing. The girls were dressed as flappers wearing gaudy jewelry, showy feathers and gossamer gowns. One white girl went as Clara Bow, dolled up in '20's fashion and with her was a black girl dressed provocatively as the erotic dancer Josephine Baker in her "banana dance" outfit. There was a man dressed in the spitting image of Rudolph Valentino. A man in a waiter/bus boy type of attire was serving alcoholic drinks.

From above the staircase was a tall woman, strikingly beautiful for an older woman. She had grey hair but it was beautiful hair which was arranged in a high coiffure. She was dressed in a golden sequin gown and she had on gaudy jewelry. Lexa thought she looked like Auntie Mame. She was talking to a man who was dressed up as Lindbergh in full aviator outfit.

"Ah, Mason darling, welcome, welcome," she said cheerily and descending the stairs gracefully, extending her hand to him.

Detective Mason took her hand and kissed it in a cavalier manner.

"Mrs. Gibson, you look beautiful," he said.

"And who is this ravishing young woman you've brought along?"

"This is Miss Lexa O'Neil. She's with the New York Police Department and works with me as an undercover cop at the Detective Bureau."

"Charmed, I'm sure," she said to Lexa, their eyes meeting.

Clementine Gibson regarded her with a look of subtle hauteur, as if she was not pleased with her presence at the party. Lexa was quick to notice this even though Mason did not. It was almost as if she did not care for a lady cop being in her home. A gradual suspicion began to build inside Lexa's cop mind. If this lady did not care for cops, it had to mean she was concealing some illegal activity of her own.

"Well, darling," she said, directly addressing Mason, "since you brought a beautiful girl to keep you company tonight, I'm afraid I won't be able to keep you much company. I thought we could dance tonight but I'd much rather see you enjoy yourself with your date."

"I would be honored with just one dance, Mrs. Gibson," Mason said to her.

"We shall see," she said and retired to another room.

"You dance, Detective?" Lexa asked him, quite surprised.

"This old body can still dance," he joked, "and I would love to dance with you tonight, Miss O'Neil."

"I gladly accept, Detective," she said.

Mason was about to say something to her but Lexa turned around when her eyes fell over a familiar face. A handsome, ruggedly-built man was entering the mansion, dressed in a well-tailored black double-breasted blazer over a dress shirt, vest and slacks. His jet-black hair slicked back and he was holding a cigar and laughing, as if everything amused him. He had a young Hugh Hefner thing going on. But Lexa looked closely from above the stairs and her jaw nearly dropped. It was Hudson Banach.

FIVE

It was turning midnight and the party was in full swing. A multitude of guests had filled up the interior of the home. Due to the large crowds, it was hard to keep track of what was going on as there were various alcoves and rooms, both upstairs and downstairs. When the number of guests reached over a hundred, The Widow Gibson told the newly arriving guests to congregate in her vast lawn in the rear of the home where she threw outdoor parties and where buffet tables were waiting for them.

Lexa had lost track of Hudson but she figured he was doing undercover work. She wondered how he got the job so soon. She suspected the Chief had something to do with it.

He had always admired and respected Hudson, even when he was breaking a few of the rules in the name of justice, like going outside of his jurisdiction while on patrol or even when Hudson acted like an arrogant know-it-all. His mission in Miami to capture Leo Mendoza had failed but the Chief still believed in Hudson's potential. Lexa did not wish to talk to Hudson and did her best to avoid him. Truth be told, he looked hot in his playboy type suit and he was so cute pretending not to be a cop.

But she did not want him to see her.

"Why don't we go to the lawn outside, Detective," she said to him, knowing that if she remained inside the house she would run into Hudson and it would be awkward as always.

"You want to go outside?" Mason asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, I....I need some fresh air," she said, putting a hand over her forehead in a feigned act, "I'm so dizzy in here. Too many people and too much booze."

"Alright, my dear, anything you like."

Arm in arm they walked outside into the Irish-green lawn which also featured a beautiful Renaissance style fountain, decorated by fauns and nymphs. Mason was in heaven with Lexa in his arm, and he felt as if he were suddenly a bigger and more important man, a VIP, noticing how everyone turned to see them wherever they went, as if they were a Hollywood couple or political power couple.

They sat by the fountain and began to converse. Lexa would occasionally look into the direction of the house as if expecting Hudson to walk out into the lawn but this did not happen.

* * * *

Back inside the mansion, The Pretender's "Don't Get Me Wrong" finished playing and it was followed by Madonna's "Into The Groove" and "Holiday". The Widow Gibson did not enjoy modern 80's music but she knew that many of her guests and clients did and the girls that were with them for the night were younger. For variety, and because she liked older music, the rest of the evening was filled with a plethora of Frank Sinatra songs, Ella Fitzgerald, Judy Garland and purely orchestral music by Henry Mancini.

Hudson was already attracting girls like a magnet. A group of six girls, hanging around him like groupies with a rock star, were following him, asking him pointed questions, socializing with him and openly flirting with him. They each had various hair colors ranging from blonde to red-head to brunette.

They were all in their early twenties. Dressed in stylish but sexy clothes, and with jewelry on them, they were clearly girls who had grown up in wealthy homes and were spoiled New Yorkers. They were standing in a remote part of the vast living room, next to a large painted portrait of The Widow Gibson. A fireplace was behind them, a small fire burning. The girls were chattering away and tugging at his shirt.

"Ladies, ladies, please," Hudson said in his "in character" voice, a more emphasized Italianate accent which made him sound like Tony Danza, "this is a brand new suit. Go easy on me."

"Like oh my God, are you a male model? Have I seen you in anything? Are you an actor? Were you in a soap opera?"

You girls don't know the half of it, thought Hudson.

"An actor of sorts," he said with a knowing grin.

"Hi, over here! My name's Tiffany" said a blonde who was dressed up like Amelia Airheart.

"No, me! Me!" said the red-head emphatically.

The girls began to bicker and fight among each other verbally. Hudson smiled and threw his head back in an amused laugh. He was enjoying every minute of it. "Fly Me To The Moon" played in the background as guests went on about their socializing and drinking, moving to and fro in the large mansion.

"Ladies, don't fight over me," Hudson said to the girls, "but it's obvious I can't divide my attention and enjoy all of you at once. Which one of you is the oldest?"

"I'm twenty five," said the blonde girl in the Amelia Airheart costume, Tiffany.

"Good enough. Come with me."

The other girls watched in jealousy as he escorted the blonde girl into another part of the big house. She seemed to know the place very well, which made Hudson's cop brain begin to work. If she was a regular in these parties, she knew exactly what went on and what illegal activities were being conducted. She was his ticket to becoming an undercover vice cop.

"Where are you taking me, babe?" he said to her.

"As if you don't know," she said flirtatiously.

"No I don't. I'm new here."

"You are? You don't look like you're new to The Widow Gibson's parties. Oh, well, doesn't matter."

They passed a large drawing room that was covered in a thick cloud of smoke. Men in business suits were smoking and drinking while a few girls sat on their laps grinding against them with their hips and buttocks, giving them lap dances. Some of the men were making out with the girls. As they turned one corner, he caught a glimpse of a girl in nothing but a red lacy bra and panties being chased by an Arab looking man. In another room, a girl was giving a man with his trousers down a blowjob. In a rec room, complete with a pool table and bar, men slapped girl's butts as they passed by.

A bordello indeed, thought Hudson. This is going to be all over quite soon, soon as he reported it to the Chief. He figured Detective Mason and the other investigators would most likely make the bust. He wished he could do that sort of thing, but for now he had to swallow his pride and do the undercover cop thing. And truth be told, this was an adventure and held its own degree of thrills.

"You want to get high?" Tiffany said to him," we can go into one of the other rooms, The Salon."

"What do they have there?" Hudson questioned.

"Marijuana, cocaine, heroin, you name it," she responded," so do you want to go?"

"No thanks."

So it was about drugs, thought Hudson, the Chief had been right.

"Oh I see," Tiffany said," You want to get straight to the action."

"Action? What action?"

"Oh you gotta be kidding me. A hot Italian hunk like you and so innocent! You're unreal. You've never been to a party held here before?"

"Are you a call girl?"

"I wish," Tiffany said with a sudden laugh," it would be so fun to work as an escort. But I'm not one of The Widow Gibson's girls. I'm just a guest. I come here mostly for the drugs, sometimes the sex but only when I know it's going to be good. Most of the time these rich pigs make me sick."

"So what do you do?" Hudson inquired, his curiosity peaked.

"Do?"

"Yeah, what do you do for a living?"

"My folks are big wigs in the automobile industry. I'm rich so I don't have to work. I've got a three million dollar trust fund and I travel mostly."

"Your folks know you go to wild parties like these and that you do drugs?"

"Nah. They don't know a thing. And why are you asking these questions? You sound like a cop or private investigator."

Damn, Hudson thought, I forget to stay in character and not do the cop thing.

"So listen, I have the hots for you. How would you like to do me?"

O my God, thought Hudson. What now? He felt stuck. If he refused her, she would be on his case and perhaps even figure out he was an undercover cop. He knew he couldn't tell her he was a cop either. She might even blab to The Widow Gibson and she'd act quickly and make her escape before she could get caught. If he accepted her proposal, then she would not suspect a thing. He would be staying in character as the playboy millionaire who did this sort of thing frequently.

Hudson stared at her. She almost reminded him of Candy Spears, except she seemed to be a lot more flat-chested. She had a petite build, her skin was white and smooth, her short hair like blonde silk and her energetic spirit was intoxicating. She was a mischievous little minx and again that "vice" side of him began to kick in, filling up his hormones. The fact she looked like a tomboy as Amelia Airheart did not turn off Hudson in the least.

"Well, alright," Hudson said," but let's make it a quickie."