Fabulous in Tights Read online

  FABULOUS IN TIGHTS

  By Hal Bodner

  A Mystique Press Production

  Mystique Press is an imprint of Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Smashwords edition published at Smashwords by Crossroad Press

  Crossroad Press digital edition 2021

  Copyright © 2021 Hal Bodner

  Cover art and design by Jeffrey Kosh

  ISBN: ePub Digital Edition - 978-1-952979-62-0

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Hal Bodner is the author of the best-selling gay vampire novel Bite Club and the lupine sequel The Trouble With Hairy. He tells people that he was born in East Philadelphia because no one knows where Cherry Hill, New Jersey is. The obstetrician who delivered him was C. Everett Koop, the future U.S. Surgeon General who put warnings on cigarette packs. Thus, from birth, Hal was destined to become a heavy smoker.

  He moved to West Hollywood in the 1980s and has rarely left the city limits since. He cannot even find his way around Beverly Hills—which is the next town over.

  Hal has been an entertainment lawyer, a scheduler for a 976 sex telephone line, a theater reviewer, and the personal assistant to a television star. For a while, he owned Heavy Petting, a pet boutique where all the movie stars shopped for their Pomeranians. Until recently, he owned an exotic bird shop.

  He has never been a waiter.

  He lives with assorted dogs and birds, the most notable of which is an eighty-year-old, irritable, flesh-eating military macaw named after his icon—Tallulah. He often quips he is a slave to fur and feathers and regrets only that he isn’t referring to mink and marabou. He does not have cats because he tends to sneeze on them.

  Having reached middle age, he remembers Nixon.

  He was widowed in his early forties and can sometimes be found sunbathing at his late partner’s grave while trying to avoid cemetery caretakers screaming at him to put his shirt back on.

  Hal has also written a few erotic paranormal romances—which he refers to as “supernatural smut”—most notably In Flesh and Stone and For Love of the Dead. While his salacious imagination is unbounded, he much prefers his comedic roots and he is currently pecking away at a series of bitterly humorous gay superhero novels.

  He has married again—this time legally—to a wonderful man who is young enough not to know that Liza Minnelli is Judy Garland’s daughter. As a result, Hal has recently discovered that the use of hair dye is rarely an adequate substitute for Viagra.

  Hal’s website is www.wehovampire.com and he encourages fans to send him email at [email protected]. It may take him a month or so, but he generally responds to almost everyone who writes to him with the sole exception of prisoners who request free copies of his books accompanied by naked pictures.

  Bibliography

  A Study in Spandex

  Bite Club

  Fabulous in Tights

  For Love of the Dead

  In Flesh and Stone

  The Trouble with Hairy

  DISCOVER CROSSROAD PRESS

  Visit the Crossroad site for information about all available products and its authors

  Check out our blog

  Subscribe to our Newsletter for information about new releases, promotions, and to receive a free eBook

  Find and follow us on Facebook

  We hope you enjoy this eBook and will seek out other books published by Crossroad Press. We strive to make our eBooks as free of errors as possible, but on occasion some make it into the final product. If you spot any problems, please contact us at [email protected] and notify us of what you found. We’ll make the necessary corrections and republish the book. We’ll also ensure you get the updated version of the eBook.

  If you have a moment, the author would appreciate you taking the time to leave a review for this book at the retailer’s site where you purchased it.

  Thank you for your assistance and your support of the authors published by Crossroad Press.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter One

  Six pairs of eyes looked up at Thanatos with various degrees of fear, anger and desperation. Two more pairs remained closed; provided that he worked quickly enough, they might never reopen.

  The lab’s ventilation system rapidly filtered out the vestiges of the knock-out gas; the air was soon breathable once again. Thanatos removed his respirator and chuckled when he saw that his victims were now confused as well as terrified. Once they’d regained consciousness, they’d naturally assumed the reason they were trussed up like roasting hens must involve either corporate espionage or flat-out terrorism. While Thanatos’ motives certainly encompassed both, he was amused to know that the picture he presented was hardly that of either a spy or a saboteur.

  He hummed softly to himself while he ran the electromagnet across the hard drive housings to corrupt the data within. Just to be sure, he subjected the personal laptops of the staff in the same way. He’d already installed a program into the main frame that would target and delete the information he wanted gone. Taken together, the magnet and the software were probably overkill, but it never hurt to be extra careful.

  Paranoia was only one of Dr. Bradley Harmon’s many irritating personality traits. The scientist habitually refused to share his research with his assistants and technicians until he was absolutely convinced the results were valid. It was only under intense pressure from Jackson Greene, the founder of Greene Genes, that Harmon could be coerced into doling out the information in dribs and drabs, barely enough at any one time to keep his own research teams moving forward.

  Harmon’s eccentricities would prove to be Thanatos’ reward. Once the computers were scrubbed and the lab personnel were dispatched, all records of the Feed the World project, as well as the terrifying potential of the Three-Two-Three genetic variant, would exist nowhere but in Dr. Harmon’s head.

  And, of course, on the flash drive Thanatos intended to use for his own nefarious purposes.

  In spite of the ominous name he had chosen for himself, Thanatos had never killed before. He had always understood, however, that the execution of his plan would almost certainly involve some casualties. Occasionally, he had wondered if a pang of conscience might not strike him at a crucial moment and ruin everything. Now that the time had come, he was mildly surprised that he felt no regret whatsoever for the fates of the eight people huddled helplessly against the wall. The sacrifice of a few PhDs and a handful of technicians was a small price to pay. Even so, to minimize the loss of life, he’d deliberately chosen Centerport’s Founders Day celebration as the best time to strike, a time when most Greene Genes employees would be busy setting up for the annua
l, company-sponsored parade and, thus, out of danger.

  Nevertheless, some collateral damage was inevitable. The lab overlooked a huge three-sided courtyard that framed the building’s entrance. In the center of the open space, the company had erected a stage where the various floats and bands would pause in order to be judged by the grand marshals. On all sides, covered bleachers had been erected so that the favored spectators could watch the parade in comfort. Several of the peskier members of the Greene Genes Board of Directors should already have taken their seats in the VIP section by now. Those corporate officers and directors whose survival suited his purposes, however, would find their arrivals unaccountably delayed by various means.

  The company’s CEO, Jackson Greene, would not prove much of an obstacle. The announcement of the old man’s impending demise had been distressing, but not unexpected. After decades of exploring arctic tundra, trekking across desolate deserts, and hacking his way through dense jungles in his search for new pharmaceuticals, Jackson’s body had finally given out. For decades, the company’s founder had ignored the Board’s demands for an annual physical, claiming he was far too busy to waste the time fussing with doctors and tests. It was only after he collapsed at a charity function that his doctors discovered the long-dormant tropical diseases that had surged to the fore with such vengeance that there was little modern medical science could do to combat them.

  Thanatos had been quick to seize the opportunity.

  Copying the data was simple, requiring only a few stolen passwords and some security bypasses. It had been more problematic to smuggle the rest of what he needed out of the Special Projects building, primarily because of the bulk of some of the equipment. The trickiest part by far had been the capture of Dr. Harmon, but Thanatos had not only pulled it off, he’d done it with a certain panache. The scientist was currently squirreled away where there was little chance of anyone coming to his rescue. Once he’d served his purpose, Thanatos would dispatch him as well. Until then, he’d make sure that Harmon was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

  Once Thanatos completed his final sweep of the room with the magnet, he tossed it aside and spread the rest of the equipment he’d brought with him across one of the lab desks, and got to work. One of the captives had both a clear view of what he was doing, as well as some practical knowledge of what the items were used for. A high-pitched keening came from behind the woman’s gag and she thrashed helplessly against the zip ties that bound her wrists and ankles. But escape was impossible, and her panic succeeded only in agitating the other prisoners who remained, for the moment at least, blissfully ignorant of their impending fates.

  Thanatos ignored the commotion. Technology, he reflected, was a marvelous thing. It was a belief that, ironically, put him and Jackson Greene in complete accord. Twenty years ago, it would have taken a lot more elbow grease to get the job done. In the modern world, things were much easier.

  Thanatos hardly considered himself a demolitions expert. He felt no shame in admitting that his scientific knowledge was barely more sophisticated than that of a moderately gifted high school student. He did, however, know how to do research on the internet.

  It had taken less than an hour to learn how to make something go…boom!

  Chapter Two

  I was having one of those days. Only the need for the Whirlwind to make an appearance could have made things any worse. So naturally…

  I was occupied with my least favorite part of my job: Client Relations. It’s a euphemism for smoothing the ruffled feathers of the wealthy but touchy old queens that make up the bulk of our business. I had a second call on hold, and I could hear a third line ringing out in the reception area, when my secretary, Randy Whitethorn, flounced into my office in his usual cloud of drama.

  “Quick, Alec, hang up! Hang up!”

  I winced. If you looked up the word “fey” in the dictionary, you’d find Randy’s picture. His most impressive skill was the ability to lisp his way through a sentence which did not contain a single sibilant.

  I covered the mouthpiece to mask my exasperation from the client on the other end of the line.

  “I’m on with Irving Tressman. You sent him another brunette? How many times do I have to tell you…?”

  Randy’s excitement was instantly replaced by the contrivance of being deeply wounded. He pressed splayed fingers to the center of his chest to make sure I knew how horribly put off he was that anyone would dare question his competence.

  “I assure you, dearie, I never make the same mistake twice! I sent him the new boy. What’s his name? Gary! Blond as a California beach boy with a surfboard stomach to match.”

  “That’s wash board, you nit.”

  “You can surf it if you want,” he said archly. “I’ll wash. A little soap and all those lovely abs…”

  He smacked his lips and fluttered his eyelash extensions. More than once, I’d been tempted to rip them from his eyelids.

  “Did you bother to check the drapes to see if they matched the carpet?”

  I uncovered the receiver and verbally trampled over Tressman’s complaining.

  “I know, Irving, I know. I apologize profusely and I swear to you, it will not happen again.”

  I glared at Randy to let him know I was speaking to him as much as to the client. All the while, a torrent of moral outrage poured across the telephone wires. Irving Tressman is one of those people who believe that volume is the secret to getting what they want. When he called on his cell, he was sometimes so loud that the tower couldn’t keep his voice from distorting. Unfortunately, he was calling from a land line at the moment, and I was clearly able to discern the phrases “dissatisfied customer,” “entitled to compensation,” and “over-rated reputation,” all hurled across the wires at several thousand decibels.

  My temper bristled at that last bit. Given the nature of my business, I can be prickly when someone calls my reputation into question. Even though Mayor Richie Banterly had legalized prostitution, there were still people who looked down their noses at the Archer Agency. Fortunately, Marilyn Cramer over at Boy Toys took most of the heat from the religious types, probably because she ran women as well as boys. A lot of people find the idea of male hookers to be glamorous. You’d be surprised how many bored housewives and frustrated career women are titillated by the prospect of a hot stud paid to indulge their every sexual whim, while many unattractive men thrill to the fantasy that only a few extra pounds and a gym membership stand in the way of their career as a professional gigolo.

  Where male prostitutes are concerned, both sexes have delusions of glamor.

  But when it comes to female sex workers, people get touchy, partly because the media loves to highlight sex slavery and kiddie porn. The last time I had lunch with Marilyn, she wanted my advice on how to make sure her clients understood that her girls were in the business voluntarily, and that they were handsomely paid. Short of posting copies of her employees’ 1099s, I couldn’t come up with anything.

  But that’s not the reason the Archer Agency’s employees are all male. It has nothing to do with the moral backlash. On the contrary, on the Kinsey Scale, which only goes up to six, I’m an eight. Even the thought of accidentally seeing a pair of bare titties makes me break out into a cold sweat.

  Speaking of sweating, Tressman’s bitching was making me more than a little hot under the collar. Though a dozen archly vitriolic comebacks were on the tip of my tongue, I wrestled my temper into control. Notwithstanding his many personality flaws, and his lack of interpersonal skills, Irving Tressman was still one of my best clients. I took a deep, steadying breath and forced myself to be politic.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you, Irving…”

  I continued to glare at Randy while I spoke. Obviously, I couldn’t voice any of the more creative threats I had in mind, not while Tressman was able to overhear; they might turn him on. On the other hand, I was doing my best to silently communicate that, as soon as I hung up on the o
ld poof, adding bleach to Randy’s high-colonic rinse was not entirely out of the question.

  “I know it can’t begin to make up for the mistake…”

  Even to myself, I sounded as unctuous as a television evangelist. But Irving wouldn’t give a damn about my insincerity as soon as he understood that he might get something for nothing.

  “…perhaps you’ll accept a gift? To apologize for any inconvenience we caused you.”

  I imagined Irving’s ears tilting forward like a mangy, obese hound who had caught the scent of a rabbit– preferably already stewed so that he wouldn’t have to exert himself by running it down. Sure enough, Tressman quieted enough to listen.

  “I see you have Matthew booked for tomorrow night. How would you feel about us sending you both Matthew and…?”

  I paused to heighten Tressman’s anticipation. Though I’d never admit it to Randy’s face, there are a few useful techniques I’ve picked up from my secretary’s dramatics.

  “…David.”

  There was an involuntary gasp from the other end of the phone which Tressman was not quite able to suppress. I added, as if the question wasn’t rhetorical, “You do remember him, I hope?”

  When Tressman began to gush about exactly how he remembered David, including some intimate details I could have happily ended my days without ever hearing, I knew we were out of the weeds without too much damage. I refrained from retching, and made appreciative noises, while Irving boasted of his sexual prowess. In the meantime, Randy tried to get my attention by waving his arms like an over-sexed peacock parading its feathers for a whole harem of hens.

  “You don’t say?” I crooned. “Three times! At your age? Irving, you old stud! I never would have guessed it.”

  Admittedly, Randy croons better than I do but I’m working on it.

  “I want to make absolutely certain that David will…ahem…fill your needs. I know he’s shorter than you normally like. Since we don’t want to make another mistake, if you’d rather have someone taller…?”