VIRTUAL SEASONS EPISODES

Sam Beckett stretched out smelling nothing but leather and roses as he felt the usual unfamiliarity of the start of another leap. He was surrounded by coolness and smoothness and a comfort that came from once again leaping into a soft bed. This was rare, though not altogether unexpected since most people spend a third of their life in bed. He stretched even farther as his fingers and toes reached out and cracked losing the last of their stiffness. He reached up and out barely opening his eyes hitting the headboard behind him. Even the sudden shock to his wrists didn’t shake the wonderful mood Sam was in. Suddenly his eyes popped open when he felt something sharp running up and down his left side stroking him gently. Sam froze as several soft strands of golden blonde hair fell across his eyes blocking his vision.  The soft yellow hair parted revealing a dazzling naked woman connected to the hair and cuddled up beside him as her single index finger with the red manicured nail continued up his shoulder and proceeded to tickle Sam’s earlobe.

“You’re a great lover, Frankie,” she whispered in his ear in a low breathy sound ending with a satisfied giggle as her tongue gently licked his ear. Sam was about to reply when he felt something turning over on his right side. A second woman shifted taking Sam’s arm, held it tightly and snored ever so lightly above the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

Sam tensed up, brushed the remainder of the blonde hair from his eyes and gasped when he saw two identical young ladies on either side of him. One was sound asleep while and the other looked at him with lust in her deep blue eyes.

“Morning, darling. Ready for another love session?” she asked in low breathy tones while her companion began to stretch and wake up. She tilted her head down looking through her tousled bangs, gave Sam a slightly crooked smile and licked her lips.

As the other gorgeous blonde began to stir, Sam panicked and somehow stood straight up in a king-size mahogany four-poster bed. While both women looked up at Sam as startled as he was, Sam realized he was in the same state of dress as them. Grabbing a red velvet pillow trimmed in gold fringe, Sam strategically positioned it in front of him.

While the lady on his right yawned, wondering what was going on so early in the morning, the other gorgeous blonde lady looked up with concern in her eyes as she gently rubbed his leg.

In a less sensuous voice she asked, “Frankie? What’s wrong, baby? Are you tense? Can I help you out? How about a Swedish back massage?” she asked and retuned to her breathless voice. “You KNOW what I can do with my toes, my Adonis. Lie back down, tiger,” she purred fluttering her long lashes.

Sam smiled a half-hearted smile and looked elsewhere while the now awake woman tried rubbing his other leg. Surveying the room Sam saw more of the old dark mahogany furniture surrounded by red velvet wallpaper alternating with floor to ceiling mirrors. In one of the mirrors Sam saw a good-looking... no, a very handsome... thirty-five year old man with short hair standing on a bed while the two very feminine companions proceeded to work their way up his legs. Sam slid back down to a sitting position as they began to kiss him on the cheeks. With an expression located somewhere between confusion and enjoyment Sam hissed like an old rusty stream valve, “OOOOO-HHHHHHH BBBBBBB-OOOO-YYYYY!”

PART ONE

Al Calavicci’s morning shift had just started as he walked across the massive Control Room while whistling some old Elvis love song Beth and he had listened to in their courting days. After a successful mini-reunion with two of his daughters and all of his grandchildren Al was feeling that life was good. Family, love and his favorite Italian vino had flowed in, around and in-between the close members of the Calavicci clan. Beth could not have been happier and Al reveled in the feeling as his wife watched their brood take over La Casa Calavicci exhibiting the Beckett principle of controlled chaos. Since Al had never grown up in a Beaver Cleaver atmosphere, he found family get-togethers to be the joyous times, which prompted his current clothing ensemble of purple, mauve and lilac with an especially bright pumpkin orange tie.  Al grabbed his handlink from Ziggy’s control panel, took a couple of puffs from his cigar and inquired, “Good morning to all. Lovely day, isn’t it? Status, Ziggy?”

“Doctor Beckett materialized in San Diego, California in March, 1962 just three minutes ago, Admiral,” replied Ziggy efficiently.

“San Diego? My kind of town. Or didn’t Sinatra say that about Chicago? My, aren’t we prompt today. Sam will be surprised! Open her up, Hal junior,” requested Al as he headed up the ramp to the Imaging Chamber while starting to key in his usual instructions on his colorful handlink. 

Ziggy called to the Admiral. “The Imaging Chamber is functioning within required norms.  And Admiral?”

Al stopped suddenly and turned around looking at Ziggy and the control room staff.  “Uh, yes?” he asked just slightly annoyed. “What is it?”

Ziggy paused for a moment. “Admiral, I would suggest you take a Valium,” she said almost whispering while still getting the attention of everyone in the control room.

Al put on a cockeyed smile, “Whatever for? I never felt better, Doctor Schweitzer. Now! Open ‘er up!” Al reiterated. The door opened with a hiss and Al disappeared in the Imaging Chamber. 

“I warned him,” Ziggy remarked to the remainder of the control room staff.

Sammy Jo glanced up from her station never before hearing such an ‘I told you so’ attitude from Ziggy. She shook her head wondering if they’d be working for Ziggy someday as she went back to her latest theoretical project.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Al told Dominic to start up the Imaging Chamber as he heard the whir of the extra heavy-duty exhaust fan. After years of complaints from the maintenance staff and Sammy Jo’s facilities chief, they had finally installed a smoke filtering system in the Imaging Chamber due to effects of Al’s excess cigar smoke on the holo-emitters in the holographic generating system and delicate electronic Ziggy’s sensory network. Images swirled around and around the Admiral from many past leaps until it stabilized, stopped spinning and grew to fill the Imaging Chamber. The dark plush velvet colors gave Al a warm feeling as he surveyed the early sixties surroundings. Looking around Al saw Sam inching away from the two naked beauties that were amorously attacking him. Simultaneously Al dropped his cigar, the handlink and the lower portion of his jaw as some type of long suppressed sexual fantasy was being acted out in front of him.

“Twins! Mother Mary Murphy! Two pre-movie rating Pamela Andersons heated to a boil!” he called out as Sam looked over at Al helplessly.

The two luscious ladies began to tickle Sam as he giggled and apologized and said everything but stop as the girls began to climb all over him giggling and jiggling.

Al’s heart began to race as he sweated from head to toe. “Sam, you lucky dog! Man, it’s hot in here! Come on, Sam. Don’t back off now. Not with all that wonderful female pulchritude there. That’s more cleavage than the Grand Canyon has! No Sam. Give in at least one little bit. Sam, you’re driving me nuts here. Well, they are. Damn, it’s hot in here. Ziggy! Put the air conditioning in overdrive!” he called up to Ziggy sounding desperate.

Sam started his laughing out loud as the scene got hotter and hotter. Not that the attention from the two ladies wasn’t great, Sam just preferred to pick his own partners and not start from the middle. Unfortunately leaping always seemed to put him in the middle of something. He again got up on his knees, made a T with his hands and shouted, “Time OUT! Please, girls!”

Al was wringing his hands and pleaded with Sam not to stop the show as the girls looked up, saw something in Sam’s signal, giggled, jumped off the bed and wiggled out of the room through the only door in the bedroom.

Sam sighed heavily and sat on the side of the bed. “THAT was very embarrassing!” Sam said wiping some sweat from his brow.

“Embarrassing? More like BARE ASS-ING. And never have I seen such a fine pair of heart shaped bottoms! Whoa! Ziggy! What about the arctic blast?” cried out a desperate Al Calavicci. He picked up his handlink and began to hit one button particularly hard.

Ziggy quickly replied, “The current Imaging Chamber temperature is down to sixty-two degrees, Admiral. Captain Calavicci is suggesting you try a cold shower.”

“Shower? Not a bad idea,” replied the drenched Al. “But Sam, you OK?”

Sam grabbed a long flowing robe off a carved antique tall backed chair and then walked over to Al. “Now I know what it is liked to be mobbed by a bunch of lovesick groupies,” said Sam quietly shaking his head slightly.

“Not that that hasn’t happened before, but I think those girls wanted more than souvenirs, Sam my boy. You lucky son of a gun. Twins! Identical twins! Each a candidate for playmate of the year! That has got to be a first for the Andy Hardy of the red light district. Those two lovely ladies,” he said looking over his handlink, “... are the Dickens twins. Bobbie and B.b.b b Damn it,” he said hitting the handlink hard. “Bambi. It has to be... Bambi! Right? Nope!” he said looking extremely disappointed. “Bernice? OK. Bobbie and Bernie Dickens.”

“What is this place?” asked Sam pointing to the loud decor. “Another place of ill repute?’

Al shook his head. “Nope, Mr. Boy Scout. Just a swinging bachelor pad circa Camelot era.  Gaudy, but not inappropriate for this place and time. Ziggy has the delectable details. And you are going to enjoy this leap. Well, at least one of us is. You are Franklin Derrick DeFranco. Frankie D, a lower class Hugh Hefner here in San Diego California. One very nice town for shore leave, I might add. The date is the fourteenth of March 1962. Frankie D runs a local escort service and a few clubs to titillate the hormones of the male population of extremely southern California. His services stay just on the right side of the law while turning a tidy profit. No probable leaping scenarios yet. Ziggy is still working on Frankie’s life, which does have its advantages.  He seems to have a quite a way with the women. At least these two,” chuckled Al.  “And never a finer set I’ve ever seen. Or should I say all four of them!” he said as Bernie and Bobbie returned wiggling, jiggling and giggling.

“Come on, Coach,” Bobbie said dressed in a helmet and numbered jersey while Bernice wore the skimpiest of cheerleader outfits shaking her pom-poms in Sam’s face.

“Uh, what’s all this?” asked Sam as Al nervously nodded in agreement.

The two Dickens twins looked very disappointed. “You wanted to play Time Out!” said Bobbie. “And it’s my turn to be the quarterback!” she said as her two thick wet lips pouted uncontrollably.

“I think I DO need that cold shower,” exclaimed a nervous Al Calavicci as he opened up the Imaging Chamber door and the two girls threw themselves at Sam. “Later, Sam!” said a disappointed Al as he disappeared through the bright white rectangle.

“Beth would kill me,” Al thought glancing back as the pile of arms and legs. “Sweet Jesus!” he hissed, leaning over catching every last moment as the door and the observer hit the floor when it finally clicked shut.

PART TWO

Sam woke up suddenly to the clanging of an antique telephone bell, which broke the tranquility of his dreams. The scent of the twins was still in the air.

“DING-DING-DING-DING-DING!!” it rang consistently and annoyingly.

Sam reached in the direction of the sound grasping around wildly hoping to end the clanging clapper.

“DING-DING-DING-DING-DING!” the phone continued to ring as Sam hit a night table and then knocked the phone onto the floor with a thud as the bell clanged one last time.  Sam reached over the side of the very tall bed and slid onto the floor landing unceremoniously on his posterior. Picking up the black phone receiver he asked, “Hello?”

“Boss? That you?” asked a far off voice over the crackling sound of the telephone line.

Sam still trying to get the rhythm of Frankie D’s life gave a very noncommittal, “Yea, it’s me!”

“You hung over?” he asked sounding a bit concerned. “You sound funny and I don’t mean like Groucho Marx!”

Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stood up still bracing himself on the night table. “No, I’m fine. What do you want?” Sam asked.

“Look Boss, I know it’s still early,” he said as Sam looked over at the clock indicating it was after three PM, “but the Gambaros are still hanging around the club suspiciously. I don’t know whether they’re looking for dames or for trouble, but you might want to come down here and find out their intentions. They’re starting to make our clientele a little nervous.”

Sam didn’t know if his unknown caller might be presenting him with the reason for his being in Frankie’s life so he quickly replied, “Sure. I’ll be down there shortly. Just keep an eye on them.”

“Sure thing, Boss!” his employee replied. “I’ll watch ‘em like a hawk!”

Sam replied, “Thanks. I’ll see you shortly. Bye.”

Sam put the receiver back in the cradle and the phone back on the night table, again wrapped himself in the soft velvet robe and walked over to the only exit in the bedroom. Inside was a large dressing room the size of his mother’s kitchen with walls covered with suits, casual ware and formal attire. An old and thoroughly English butler was sitting at a small table reading The London Times.

The gentleman’s gentleman looked up startled, but quickly recovered his dignity. “Mister DeFranco, sir!” he said in an educated East London accent. “You are rising early, this day. I trust you slept well! The young ladies left promptly at two in the afternoon. Mister Nelson drove them home.”

“Thank you, um,” replied Sam nodding at him while looking for some indication of a name.

The gentleman nodded back looking a bit confused and asked

“Shall I draw your bath?”

“Wellington, Sam,” explained Al with a hint of British accent himself who walked through a floor to ceiling rack of leather shoes looking quite refreshed.

“Yes, Wellington. Thank you very much,” said Sam nodding pleasantly to him.

Wellington nodded back. “Very good sir. And may I suggest the blue tweed today?”

Al shook his head and pointed to the black silk suit hanging on the coat rack. Then Al strolled over to a large rack of ties and suggested the orange and red one hanging in the back.

“You need just a pinch of color, Sam, my boy,” Al said with a big grin.

Sam wisely ignored Al’s fashion suggestions. “Fine. I appreciate YOUR suggestions. Now please go and… um… draw my bath,” said Sam pointing to the door.

“Very good. Mr. DeFranco,” he said again nodding and exiting the dressing room.

“Boring. Very boring. The way you dress needs to make a statement,” exclaimed Al pointing to his own Peter Max ensemble.

Sam crossed his arms, looked down at his friend and observer, and replied affectingly, “And that means you’re having a case of indigestion?”

Al lost his pleasant mode and then decided to ignore the fashion senseless doctor. “Right. How do you like Obi Wan over there?” asked Al as he consulted his info-line to Ziggy.

“Oh Bee One?” asked Sam as he sat down on the only chair in the room. “Sounds like an Air Force bomber.”

Al turned up one side up his mouth looking just a bit disgusted. “You know. Alec Guinness in Star Wars. Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker. Princess Leia. May the force be with you? Boy, the things you forgot! And that‘s the B-1 Bomber, Einstein.  Hey, this fellow sounds just like Sir Alec and looks just like my great-uncle Simon. He used to get Trudy and me out of the orphanage and take us to the Raceland, this local amusement park. He was double jointed and had this way of turning… ”

Sam glanced down at the newspaper, looked up at Al and pleaded in a quiet rough voice, “AL! Please, no more amusing anecdotes! Can you please tell me why I am HERE?”

Al stopped his demonstration and came back to reality. “Here? Oh right. Sorry, Sam. HE was the only one of my relatives that ever took the time to visit Trudy and me in the orphanage,” he said reflecting quietly. “AND I can tell you the same story over and over and you’ll forget it ANYWAY. Now as to your reason to be here!”

Sam looked up with anticipation, as Al replied, “Nothing Nada! Zipper-runy! Ziggy has nothing to say. YET! However the quarter trillion dollar jury of one is still out on that subject.”

Sam’s head dropped. “Doesn’t she have anything to say why I’m in this sex club?”

“Sam, really. This place is one hell of a bachelor’s pad and you are occupying the life of one first class A1 genuine SWINGER! To use the lingo of the era. You’re probably the envy of every red blooded American male be it movie star, politician, old money heir or Mercury astronaut. I know you have my corpuscles popping. Jesus, Sam. All you need is a sailboat and you could be hobnobbing with the Kennedy’s off Hyannis Port!” exclaimed Al getting all fired up again.

“AL! Park yourself on a block of ice and ask Ziggy again. For ANYTHING!” exclaimed Sam shouting quietly.

Al stopped waving his hands around, tilted his head to one side and then checked his handlink again. “Well, Ziggy gives you a ninety-seven percent probability that you need to go to the Coffee Grinder.”

“You mean, Starbucks?” asked a rather confused Nobel Prize winning physicist.

Al snickered a bit at Sam. “I don’t think the average Joe in 1962 wants to pay $3.98 for a cup of java when it’s still a dime at the local diner. Didn’t you get a call to come into the club, Sam?”

“Yes. I figured that out for myself whatever that is!” remarked Sam a bit sarcastically.

“The Grinder?” asked Al who lit up again. “That was my all time favorite strip joint, but back here they were still calling it a burlesque establishment. Nothing sleazy. At least not at Frankie D’s clubs. The Coffee Grinder, the Mexican Hayride and the Shore Leave. The last one was just for the new swabbies. All of us sophisticates knew where the best shows and the best girls were.” 

“Sophisticates??” asked Sam looking at Al wondering where that jargon had come from.

Al shrugged and took a long puff from his cigar. “Yea. It takes years of appreciation of the human female condition to know where the entertainers are superior, the performances are classy and you’re not getting your pocket picked, Sam,” Al said indignantly. “Look, go down to the Grinder. Frankie D has a chauffer named Walter Nelson who knows where to take you. I’ll check out the show, I mean the lay of the land and meet you there. ‘kay?  Ziggy center me on…” Al announced to his handlink.

“I know, Admiral I have been listening!” snapped Ziggy as Al disappeared with a happy look of anticipation on his face. 

PART THREE

On a low stage in front of three-dozen tables all draped in white tablecloths with a tiny lamp in the middle of each table, Sam entered the world of gentlemen entertainment. The Coffee Grinder was a cross between a nightclub and an old burlesque theater. All eyes were on Sam as he walked in. No one seemed to speak to him unless they were spoken to. The lights were low and a rich piano sound could be heard in the back playing an old Big Band tune. Sam walked past the girl at front desk who wore a long flowing red evening gown. The waitresses were wearing black and white uniforms providing another touch of class to the rich atmosphere. In the front row was Al smoking a big cigar waiting for the show to start.  He waved to Sam and then pointed to the unobtrusive door on the back next to the stage. Sam obliged and disappeared into a small office whose walls were covered with black and white glossies of the Coffee Grinder’s finest dancers.

“Hey, Boss!” said a young short guy, dressed in a tuxedo, and who looked like a cross between Danny DeVito and Mickey Rooney. “Did you see those two creeps?”

“No!” replied Sam shaking his head noticing that the nameplate on the desk read “Dutch Henson.”

Dutch looked surprised raising his eyebrows. “Over in the back near the bar. Just sitting and nursing the same two martinis for three and a half hours, ignoring our minimum. You might want to make some discreet inquires with the Gambaro brothers. Dolores goes on in a few minutes and their presence will not help our reputation with our regulars.”

Sam sighed looking back out onto the dark main floor. “Sure,” he said biting his lip.  Sam could see the two mugs slumped on their stools joking and making crude comments about those customers near them. “Well, they look like they’re pretty well connected with gangsters.”

Dutch dropped the clipboard he was looking at. “Please. The syndicate!” he whispered. “Let’s not do anything to aggravate the delicacy of the situation.”

Sam could see himself in the middle of something shady. “Then what do you suggest?”

Dutch rubbed his sweaty palms together trying to decide if he should offer advice since his employer usually knew what to do in any situation. “Look Boss, I don’t want to tell you your business, but find out what they want and do it. Or else you might end up at the bottom of the harbor. Or worse hanging from the Cabrillo Cross!” he said shaking his head.

Sam took a deep breath looked up at the ceiling and then sighed, “Oh Kay. I’ll go check out the Corleone brothers. I hope they have an offer I can refuse.”

“Who?” asked Dutch. “You don’t sound right. Boss, you ain’t going nuts on me?”

Sam stood up straight. “No, just kidding. I’ll go and see…” he said as he stopped by the door, “Go see what they want.”

Walking over toward the two disreputable gentlemen Sam motioned to Al. Al was paying little attention to him anxiously waiting for the next show to start. Sam tried to wave at him as much as possible without looking too kooky. Al took two puffs and then finally saw Sam. He pointed to himself as if say, “Who me?”

Al relit his stogie and scurried over to Sam. “Hey, Sam. I just was waiting for the LaVerne sisters and their salute to the United Nations. Forty nations all up and down their bodies and each one tantalizingly removed. ONE at a TIME! It will be a sight to behold. What’s up?”

Sam pointed to the office he had just come from. “Who was that guy?”

Al picked up his handlink playing it for several seconds and then announced, “Bingo! Dutch Henson. Manager of the whole she-bang– she-bang-sha-boom-boom–boom!”  Al said while swinging his own hips. “One lucky son of a seacook working with all these lovelies!”

Sam turned up one side of his mouth. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

Al looked up from his handlink with one eye and then with both. “Well, why not? We’re usually in much more mundane domestic situations and here we land in this burlesque house with twenty–count them- twenty of the most beautiful bouncing babes in Southern California!”

“Are you on their advertising staff?” asked Sam sarcastically trying not to look at Al.

Al shook his head. “No, I just put in many an off-duty hour here keeping a well-trained eye on them. Though I’m sure I drummed up plenty of business bringing in the other Navy pilots and officers at the base.”

“And what about your family?” asked Sam looking at him with one eye.

Al’s smile froze. “Well, I was only married a year and its hard giving up everything. I was faithful as could be, but that didn’t mean I didn’t lust after women in my heart. Lookie, but no touchy. But, oh, was there a whole bunch of prime rib roast to look at. Um!! OK. Now where are we going anyway?”

Sam pointed to the two tough gangster-types guys sitting next to the bar.

Al concentrated on them while checking with Ziggy. “Um, let’s see Benny Gambaro and Wendell the Weasel, the first guy’s brother. Two heavies who work for who ever paid the most. Their rapsheets have them working for every crooked organization up and down the coast. Can’t say what they want without asking them. SO go ask them,” remarked Al going back to his cigar. “Just be careful over there to borrow a phrase.”

“Thanks!” replied Sam as he walked over to the two Gambaro brothers.

On closer examination one was built large and the other not. They appeared to be reminiscent of Laurel and Hardy; however their demeanor was more between Marlon Brando and Al Pacino.

’Or was it Edgar G. Robinson and George Raft?’ thought Doctor Beckett.

‘Stanley’ looked up at Sam raised his eyebrows and started talking, “Mr. DeFranco. A lovely establishment have you here. My compliments. Never have the broads looked so delicious. Never have drinks been so less watered down.”

Sam stood directly in front of them, crossed his arms and looked Benny in the eyes. “Thank you!” he said glancing over at a nonchalant Al.  “I’ve been told you’ve been loitering here for some time. Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“I ain’t dropped a ting,” replied the heavier Weasel never losing his lost look.

Al looked at him, “That’s loitering, not littering, you nozzle.” He once again checked for a leaping task for Sam on his handlink and came up empty.

Benny glanced at his brother and then opened his arms and started talking with his hands. “My extinguished colleague means we have been cooling ourselves on these stools for quite sometime. True, sir. Beyond the enjoyment of your hospitality and the enjoyment of your extremely well-heeled dames, we wish to say that we represent Mr. Gus Romano, a local solicitor of talent.”

Al quickly interjected, “Bookmaker, protection racketeer, money launder. Nothing too dirty.”

“It is well known between men that enjoy these ladies, that you shoot movies of your lovely ladies,” he said delicately as the Weasel grunted in agreement.

Al replied, “Hmm, just little eight millimeter shorts of their acts. The kind of stuff for tame bachelor parties. Frankie D seems to take very good care of his girls, and boy do they know how to reciprocate!”

Sam crossed his arms. “The women in my clubs are all happy where they are.”

The Weasel grunted again, “You pay them peanuts!”

Sam shook his head feeling protective of his charges. “What I pay my employees is between them and me. They’re not interested in any outside income!”

Benny pierced his lips and then gave an oily smile. “Please let us continue our negotiations. Mr. Romano is quite generous for those lovelies who wish the large moola. With the nearby locality of the land of dreams many a girlish heart finds the flicking lights a desirous dream and occupation.”   

Sam looked peeved. “You mean Hollywood.”

“Very good sir. The movie capitol of the world. Mr. Romano would like to make his own pictures here in Diego country. And the more round and firm the ladies the better the picture,” he said  using his hands indicating an hourglass figure.

“Mr. Romano is interested in the movie business? Why does he need some Californians beach bunnies for some Beach Boys movie?” asked Sam. 

Al shook his head looking a bit nervous. “Sam, you’re a bit early. Let’s not start the surf city revolution here in a San Diego burlesque house!”

The oily maggot nodded his head. “A district possibility. Beach scenes are possible, but Mr. Romano wants to get into more romantic situations and bring a taste of Havana to shores the coast of the Pacific!”

Al almost dropped his cigar. “Holy cow! Romano wants to make

X-rated pictures. The supply got cut off after Fidel shut down the cheap bedroom flick factories.”

Sam tensed up holding himself even tighter. “And what do you want these ladies to do?”

Benny put his hands together. “Let say as to display their glorious natural talents on the inner workings of the full romantic field of endeavor.”

Sam put his hands up in front of himself. “Forget it! The answer is ‘no!’ I would not insult these ladies to even ask if they are interested. Now if you’ll excuse me!” Sam said turning to leave.

“Good, Sam. Show these nozzles the door!” exclaimed a very angry Al.

Sam felt his arm being taken. “May I redouble my efforts for assistance because your own wallet will be amply rewarded as the agent of their consolidation!” he looked deep into Sam’s eyes losing his oily smile.

Sam pulled back his arm. “The answer is still no. Good day, gentlemen!” Sam replied as that last single word got lodged in his throat.

“I will warn you that dis course of action might lead to a Herculean downfall!” the annoying little man replied staring Sam directly in his face.

“Ah, let me hurt the guy, Benny,” said an excited Weasel as he punched his right fist into his other hand.

Benny held up his hand. “I think not, my over anxious sibling. Let us depart.”

“Easy, Sam. Tell them to hit the road!” exclaimed Al pointing toward the front door.

“May I see you to the door?” asked Sam raising his voice ever so slightly.

“No. I can tell where I’m not wanted. Come, brother. You will hear from Mister Romano again!” he said pushing people aside while stomping from the club.

Al looked over at Sam. “He probably IS wanted in most every post office in the country! This Romano guy may want to get into the porn business. These sex movies don’t really get to be legit until ‘Deep Throat.’ ”

Sam scratched his head. “Watergate?”

 Al glanced up at Sam again correcting his poor absent-minded friend. “Yea, the era. Not the hotel. Anyway, looks like you pushed them off for now!”

Sam stood looking around the bustling nightclub, rocking on his feet trying to look busy. “Now what?”

Al had finished with his info machine and surveyed the scene including the cute young blonde cigarette girl. “Um, I’d keep an eye on things. Ziggy doesn’t report anything bad yet. In the original history Frankie D did something to discourage those two punks and they never returned. Your destiny is still open and I don’t know what you need to do to leap. Sorry, Sam. So sit back and enjoy the LaVerne sisters. Excuse me, Sam.”

“On the stage?” asked Sam.

Al elevated himself up to the stage and then called back to Sam. “Well, I do happen to know the owner. And as a hologram who’s the wiser?  Bring the dancing girls! Whoa!”

PART FOUR

Later in the evening, Al sat at one table sipping a beer from PQL. Sam was hovering nearby. A smooth medley of Dean Martin songs was concluding by a singer who could have been Dean’s fourth cousin.

Following one encore of “That’s Amore!” he grabbed the microphone, “Thank you very much. You’ve been a wonderful audience. And now the highlight of this and any evening! The one, the only, Boom-Boom!”

Al’s jaw dropped as on stage walked his favorite act of all times. Boom-Boom Branson. Twenty-two years old and built like Marilyn Monroe’s stand-in, she wore more clothes than you’d expect, but she moved with an elegance and grace that stole the heart of every single male who beheld her. 

“Hello Boys!” she said winking toward Al who dropped his cigar

“Welcome to the Coffee Grind,” she said twirling her hips. “… and Grind and Grind. Are you percolating yet? Hm?” 

Besides playing a low jazz score, the band had a drummer who kept up with every move she had. Sam saw a hush come over the audience. Every eye followed every shake and shimmy and boom boom la boom that Miss Branson had!

“Any of our boys in white out there? How’s my rudder? Shipshape? Any lookouts want to tryout my crow’s nest?  And you aviators? Have I got a couple of propellers to show you!” said she teasing them for twenty minutes. Never showing them too much, but she always left them wanting a lot more. After two very slow choruses of “I Want Be Loved By You!” she thanked the audiences, strolled from the stage and lastly dropped a couple of clothing items for the audience who applauded wildly.

Al joined in though Boom-Boom never heard him. Two young comics came out as Al turned to Sam. “You recognize her, Sam? You were her or will be her in a few years. The best the Diego had to offer. Boom-Boom Branson and her magic propellers. What more could a naval aviator want more of except maybe for the perfect cloud? She put the ‘t’ in tease with a capital T. Class and style. Man, oh man!”

“Are you saying I got up there and did that?” asked Sam pointing to the stage looking a bit red.

A slight smile came to his face. “Sam. In no place that you ever leaped did you ever do that. And believe me that only the Mistress of Magic herself could pull it off.  You visited her in her less wild days after she left the footlights and put her talents to helping other women, after many a year of helping out us guys,” he said with a little smile going back to his cigar. He leaned back in his seat and then closed his eyes remembering his glorious days of yesteryear.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Very late the crowd was quiet as the band played a smooth jazz tune that was decades old. Even Al had retired for the night after two complete shows. Sam was sitting at a back table nursing his ginger ale and listening to his headwaiter complain about the noise made by the busboys when Dutch Henson came up to Sam.

“Hey, Boss. Boom-Boom needs to see you. She’s in her dressing room,” he whispered to Sam. He stood up and motioned toward the back with his head.

“Sure,” nodded Sam as he walked back stage easily finding the dressing room with the biggest star on it. Inside, wearing a loud flowered housecoat and  little else underneath it, sat Frankie D’s star attraction just lighting up a Marlboro.

“So what can I do for you, Boom-Boom?” asked Sam as he leaned against her dressing table in a crowded little room that had clothes and costumes thrown everywhere. Above him on her wall were several pictures, including an autographed glossy photograph of the queen of burlesque strippers, Gypsy Rose Lee.

Boom-Boom put down her cigarette and looked at him unhappily as Al walked through the closed door.

“Why the sudden hassles? I do require a bit of respect from my employer. What’s with this name-calling, Frank? I thought we had an agreement,” she waving a manicured finger at Sam.

Sam stiffened up and shrugged. “I’m sorry? What is it?”

She started to point incitingly at Sam. “Look, Frankie, with no amount of modesty, I am in orbit over your average $20-buck-a-day exotic dancer. You and I are on a first name basis. I’ll give you everything I got for that five percent of this crummy joint you gave me. I’ll pack ‘em in helping out both of us, Frankie!”

“And she had the right packing to pack ‘em in Sam. What’s up?” Al asked with his eyes never leaving what was showing through her colorful housecoat.

Sam shook his head in agreement. “You’re right. My mistake, um,” Sam stuttered.

“Catherine Jean. Catherine Jean Branson,” interjected Al. “Of Davenport, Iowa. Who would have known?”

Sam continued, “Cathy, I know you’re the best and I couldn’t be in business without you.”

She quickly put out her cigarette. “Better. Thank you. Look you’re still the best boss around. Some of them can be such creeps. You’re the tops, Frankie D.”

“It’ll be hard to live up to that much adulation, but I’ll try. Now what’s on your mind?” asked Sam.

“And the rest of that wonderful form?” asked Al quietly as Sam tried to wave him off.

“It’s those young kids that hang around the stage. Nothing like the older gentlemen. All they want me to do is jump off the stage so they get their hands on me . It’s like they want you to dance in their lap. And if you do get close to them, all they want to do is slobber over you and then go home. I have my pride and no one is going to see more than I’m willing to show,” she sighed. “I’ve got plans to get out of here before I start looking like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“And what do you need from me, Cathy?” asked Sam looking a bit fatherly.

“Well, just keep those little boys away from the stage. Or else I might not be able to keep myself from doing something that THEY might regret,” she said with a determined look in her eye.

“OK. We’ll have a couple of our boys watch the pit in front of the stage.  I guess times are changing,” sighed Sam.

“Thank you, kind sir. All of us gals will appreciate that. Now what’s troubling you, Frankie? I can tell that you’re off tonight. Come on and tell Ann Landers. Hey, we’re friends from… well. Let’s say from a while back,” she said motioning to the chair beside her.

“This sounds interesting,” said Al paying close attention. He inched closer himself.

Sam just stood next to her and shrugged. “I’m probably just not acting like myself. I don’t even feel like myself,” said Sam really admitting the truth.

“I did notice something. You’ve lost that perfectionist edge you have. Down to the cigarette girls’ matchsticks; everything has to be right with you,” she said picking up another cigarette. “You haven’t bawled out one busboy yet tonight.”

Sam took a deep breath and decided to confide in Catherine Jean especially since she seemed to be a minority partner in the local establishment. “Right. Well, this guy sent over these two toughs to get me to get you girls...”

Cathy shook her head. “Uh, uh! Ladies. Been one ever since my first fancy brassiere!”

She caught Sam again, though Sam had always had great respect for the opposite sex. Sam continued, “Excuse me. They wanted you ladies to make some less than respectable movies.”

“Skin flicks???” yelled Cathy putting down her feet and quickly putting out her cigarette.  “Those stupid creeps! I’ll turn those blockheads into first rate sopranos if they ever come around here again!”  She stood up almost as tall as Sam in her four-inch heels and started to pace back and forth in the small room kicking aside her discarded costumes.

“Easy there, Cathy. Don’t so get worked up!” said Sam trying to catch the pacing dancer.

“Stupid morons! Excuse my French, those dumb sons of bitches. Of course the youngest dancers would like to get a break into the movies, but not into some sleazy back alley shorts. These little innocent gals would probably jump at the chance. Movies shown at bachelor parties to a bunch of drunken sex maniacs.  Fraternity smokers where those hot to trot males are getting their first taste of God-knows-what.  These guys disgust me. I hope you told them to take a left turn off the center of the Coronado Bridge!” she snapped, staring at Sam with her eyes blazing red.

Sam shook his head in the positive. “You bet. Well, sorta. None of those guys are going to making any pornographic videos with the likes of our club’s dancers,” replied Sam with a confident big Beckett grin.

Cathy stopped pacing and looked closely at Sam now mad AND confused. “What was that? Making what?”

Sam tried to recover gracefully. “Dirty movies. Skin flicks! That kind of stuff!”

“Oh, I understand, Boss. Maybe some Senorita from Costa Nu Esta can do that, but not Miss All-American!” she said yelling and pointing to herself.

Now Sam looked a bit confused and sheepishly asked, “Miss All American?”

Cathy realized what she had said and then chuckled at herself. “Well all right. I don’t qualify as Sandra Dee, but I have my own set of standards. And we should do everything we can to keep our dancers legit. Especially the newest recruits!”

Al stood there shaking his head. “And she never does stop that attitude. Always watching over the youngest of the ladies. Even today she is still helping out young girls. She is one hell of a woman on many levels, Sam.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Sam as he left her dressing room. “You can count on it!”

Boom-Boom sat down, regained her professional composure, and winked at Sam. “Thanks for turning away Cagney and Bogart. You’re the best, Frankie!” she said blowing him a kiss. “Ciao!”

Sam waved and wandered toward the back of the stage with Al walking next to him.

“Sam, you’re doing it again,” said Al looking over the dancers wandering back and forth in various stages of dress. “Maybe I need to leap into one of these sex gods. This is such a great leap. Look at that redhead with the golden tassels. And that brunette looks a lot like Beth. Well, not that much even though, man she’d make a… Sam you have all the luck!” he said now completely ignoring his colorful handlink.

The handlink beeped again. “Message from Captain Calavicci, Admiral,” exclaimed Ziggy.

“Oh Jeez! Beth must be in the control room listening. Yea, Ziggy?” he asked beeping it twice. “What’s the message?” he asked expecting a harsh comment.

“It’s very strange, Admiral. The message reads ‘Red roses and lace chiffon’,” said Ziggy in a simulated confused manner.

Al looked up thinking, “Red roses and...” he mumbled to himself and then his eyes opened wide. “Oh, yea. That woman! That wonderful, wonderful woman! Oh that, Beth. She knows how to get my attention.”

“What is it?’ asked Sam.

Al stared off into the distance for several moments, shook the dreaminess from his eyes and pocketed his handlink.

“That’s between my wife and me. Let’s just say that after forty something years of marriage, the fruit is still ripe on the tree and that is fine with me. I’m calling it a night and so should you, Mr. Hefner,” replied Al waving at Sam.

Sam looked a bit coy. “Hey, it’s a lot of work keeping up appearances with my leapee.”

Al lost the last of his dreamy state. “What hard work, Romeo? You already have the looks, the aura, and the respect of everyone who knows Frankie D! And with that Boy Scout ‘ah-shucks’ personality the women just can’t turn you down. With all that going for you, you could be the next Frankie Avalon or Troy Donahue.”

Sam turned a bit red. “The movies? Al, I don’t think they want to hear my next dissertation on basic elemental blocks of quantum physics!”

Al sighed. “With those looks? You can read the phonebook to them and women would swoon,” replied Al as the thought of the lace came back to him. “Look, I gotta go.  When I have something I’ll get back to you, Sam.”

“Sure,” said Sam as he half-heartily waved to him.

The large bright white rectangle appeared as Al waved and then mumbled to himself, “He may be lucky where he is, but I’m going to one hell of a love fest myself. Hooah!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After nursing another ginger ale to keep his wits about him, Sam headed home in his black chauffer-driven Cadillac. Entering his bedroom exhausted around 4:00 A.M. Sam found Bobbi and Bernie eagerly waiting for him.

“Come on, sweetie! I’ve been waiting for sooooo long,” Bobbi cooed.

Bernie reclined on the bed in a very tiny pink nighty, twitching slightly. “I’m getting warm, darling. How about a long bath and then a little... you know,” she giggled.

Sam tried to say something as Bobbie jumped up and kissed him very hard. Bernie slinked over and grabbed him from behind squeezing him tighter than Sam thought her little arms could.

“Not a word,” Bobbie whispered in his ear. “Tonight is ours!”

“Grrrrrr, Tiger,” Bernie purred in Sam’s other ear.

Sam looked up wondering about all the things he HAD to do in his leaps and relaxed to accept his fate.

PART FIVE

Hours after the sun had risen; Sam lay in between his twin lovers. Sam stretched as the girls turned over and he heard the Imaging Door open up. Al came rushing in carrying his handlink and looking very disheveled.

Al shouted at Sam. “Sam, wake up. Sam what have you been up to? And whose spike heels are those?”

Sam looked up at Al sleepily and smiled dreamily.

“Off hand, I’d say your bedtime activates approached mine last night. And I have no regrets and no envy this morning. I’m sure I can get through the rest of this leap levelheaded and contented thanks to one hell of a good wife. Damn, she is good. Now for the emergency of the day and hopefully the reason for you’re being here. Ziggy just told us that the Gambaro brothers have struck. They’ve kidnapped Boom-Boom on her way home last night!”

Sam shook his head and asked, “Boom-Boom?”

Al busily hit the keys on his handlink. “Oh, this isn’t good. This incident never happened in the original history. You’ve changed things. Ziggy gives a 77% probability that she completely disappears! No indication to her final fate!”

Sam got up as the girls turned over again. He went over to his dressing room to hurriedly get dressed. “Do you know where Cathy is, Al?” asked Sam.

Al looked unsure. “Ziggy is still trying to get a lock on Boom-Boom. Damn, we can’t let anything happen to her!”

“Or anybody!” Sam reminded Al.

Sam’s gentleman’s gentleman walked in while adjusting his coat and asked if he could help.

“Thanks, but I have to go!” said Sam sharply. .

“Very good sir. May I suggest...” Wellington said getting cut off by Sam.

“Not now, thank you. Have my car brought around,” said Sam anxiously grabbing whatever he could find.

“But sir! You’re wearing your..” Wellington said stammering at his usually well-dressed employer.

“It’s OK, Just bring me...” explained Sam as the telephone rang suddenly.

Al took a quick puff. “That’s probably Danny Devito, calling to tell you about Boom-Boom.”

Sam grabbed the phone as a very distracted butler found he couldn’t do anything for the determined and self-sufficient Doctor Sam Beckett.

“DeFranco here!” yelled Sam.

“Ah, Mr. DeFranco. This nubilem call is most unifishus. I find myself in utter distress and my heart sinks below my garters. We must come to a primary agreement concerning the discussions of our earlier timeliness.  In utter words fork over the dames or the fashion whore sleeps with the fishes. You’ll hear from us tonight!” he said changing his fake genteel demeanor.

Sam yelled into the statically line, “Where is she? What have you done with her you despicable rat?”

“May I assist you in your vermin problem?” asked the idle Wellington.

“Nope, just have Nelson bring the car around!” responded Sam as he finished getting dressed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rushing into an early twentieth century police station in downtown San Diego, Sam ran up to the tall ancient front desk. Behind it sat a thirty-year veteran of the San Diego police force who had heard everything and was more likely to dismiss the first thing anyone running in huffing and puffing might say. Sam ran up to the desk breathing heavily as the sergeant looked up over his black thick eyeglasses.

“I... ah… I ah… I want to report a kidnapping,” called out Sam leaning against the tall desk.

“Name?” the sergeant asked grabbing a form and beginning to fill it out.

Sam finally caught his breath and looked up at the impatient police sergeant.

“Name?” he asked again tapping the form with his pudgy fountain pen.

“Boom – Boom. Boom Boom Branson!” Sam said holding his side and still hyperventilating.

The sergeant put down his pen. “Birth name, sir!”

“Catherine Jean Branson!” Al informed him.

Sam repeated the name to the sergeant.

“Sir, your name. Please. You are reporting a crime?” he asked very officially.

“Yes. Franklin DeFranco,” Sam said now looking him in his bloodshot eyes.

The officer looked over his glasses down at Sam. “The night club owner?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sam nodding in agreement.

He put down the forms and replied, “Vice squad is on the third floor. Though they may want to talk to YOU, too!”

Sam shook his head. “No, I want to report a...”

The sergeant raised the tone of his voice. “Sir, I know your business. Showing off the flower of our youth. ME grandniece got mixed up with the likes of your kind.”

Sam held up his hands. “I’m sorry, but one of my girls…”

He sat back in his tall chair and crossed his arms. “Your girls? Is that it then? Dancing in front of the dregs of society. You should be horsewhipped, sir!” he said waving his finger at Sam.

Sam found it difficult defending Frankie, “They do it of their own freewill, sergeant.”

“After you lead them down the path to purgatory. Your little dancing doll probably just ran off to get away from the likes of you, sir!” sneered the police officer.

“No. I’ve been threatened by the mafia... gangsters,” replied Sam pointing out the front door.

“Thieves threatened by thieves? You will all answer come judgment day. We are here to help the honest, hard-working citizens of the city of San Diego and...” remarked the sergeant pointing himself toward his fellow officers.

“No! I just want everyone treated fairly under the law,” exclaimed Sam.

He stood up in his high chair and pointed toward the door. “Get out of my sight, you peddler of flesh.  Officers. Escort this ‘gentleman’ out of here!” he said as three officers surrounded Sam and walked him down to the street.

Sam saw several pedestrians look at him momentarily with disgust and then the sea of people closed in around him as the people of San Diego returned to their business.

Sam shook his head. “That was a lot of help. These guys are supposed to serve and protect the populace.”

“Well, the desk sergeant’s been there since prohibition and if it wasn’t robbery or murder, he probably doesn’t take it seriously. You’ve got no ransom note or evidence of a kidnapping and you work on the wrong side of the tracks for these guys. Too bad you didn’t leap in to a priest or a lawyer. Something that was respected back here in 1962,” said Al sadly as he puffed away. “Things have change a lot since then.”

“And what does Ziggy suggest now?” asked a very frustrated Sam Beckett.

“Nothing, though I have a suggestion. Maybe a few good men could help you out,” said Al thoughtfully.

“Who?” asked Sam.

Al was distracted checking with Ziggy and then waved his cigar at Sam. “Try ‘Davy Jones’ Locker’ over on Seaside Drive. Number 3482 to be precise. I’ll meet you there.”

“What?” asked Sam continuing his interrogative responses.

Al pointed at Sam. “Just do it!” he ordered as Ziggy made him disappear.

PART SIX

Two blocks in front of and one block north of the entrance to the San Diego Naval Base was an old seedy looking bar that used the title ‘Davy Jones’ Locker.’ The interior had been decorated during the busy days of the Second World War and had become quite rundown since then. There were three rows of small tables, a row of booths on the back wall, and an old piano and a dartboard sat next to the bar that ran the entire length of the building. Even though it was early, the remains of yesterday’s forty-eight hour passes still littered the booths. Sailors and marines not usually accustomed to mingling were either nursing drinks or fast asleep. Sam walked in and sat down at the empty bar.

“Ahoy there, landlubber,” called out the bartender dressed in a colorful pirate’s costume with a stuffed parrot mounted on his shoulder.

“Ah, hi,” said Sam looking around a room where everyone he saw ignored him. “Just a Coke , please,” asked Sam as Al walked in from the back.

“Arugghhh!” the barkeep roared in piratese pouring Sam a tall iced glass.

“No time for that, Sam. GO over to that pile of servicemen in the back. They’re tough enough and plastered enough to help you out,” explained Al pointing with his ever-present cigar. “Ziggy has finally got a fix on poor Boom-Boom. She’s being held in a warehouse down on the wharf.”

Sam walked over to the double-booth and cleared his throat. The conscious servicemen one by one looked up with more confusion than saltwater bravado. 

“Um, guys. Gentlemen. Do any of you know Catherine Jean Branson. Or her stage name Boom-Boom Branson?” asked Sam standing stiffly.

Three sets of ears picked up. One older lieutenant commander slowly sat up.

“Boom-Boom? Everyone in the fleet has seen her dance at one time or another!” he replied.

A Marine captain opened his eyes and nodded. “She can really get those propellers turning.”

“What’s going on?” asked a country Texan Marine officer. “Somebody discharge their pistol?”

The lieutenant commander exclaimed, “NO. Boom-Boom. You know, that statute of poetry in motion? The headliner over at the Coffee Grinder!”

“Oh ya. More moves than a young buckaroo with wasps on her tail!” he replied. “What of her?” he asked yawning and checking his wristwatch.

Sam took a deep breath. “Well, I’m Frankie DeFranco, the owner of the Coffee Grinder, her boss, and Boom-Boom’s in trouble. Some punks are holding her for ransom.”

“Punks?” asked the lieutenant commander. “What in heavens name are you talking about, Mr. DeFrancisco?”

Sam thought for a moment trying to get through to his inebriated companions. “Gangsters. Mob stooges. Like in those old mob pictures. And I need some guys to help rescue her.”

“Rescue? Some adventure? Why don’t you say so, partner. Yee-haw. That’s the duty of a Marine!” he yelled in a Texan drawl jumping to his feet unsteadily.

“And the Navy can’t do that?” asked the lieutenant commander who stood up abruptly.

The Texan major stood next to the Navy officer looking down at him. “OH you guys do FINE job of gettin’ us there, but it’s always the Marines who hit the beaches. Who saves the day?”

The lieutenant commander moved next to him standing eyeball to eyeball with the Marine. “Listen, you little green toad!”

The Texan looked up at the Navy officer. “You fancy dressed soda fountain joik. You cabin boy on a garbage scowl who don’t know a machine gun from a pistol!”

“Yea, but our ship’s guns are so big that...” replied the officer sticking his nose in the Marine’s face.

“And you’re miles from the fight. Nice and safe over the horizon lobbing shells over OUR heads!” cried the Marine indicating the top of his head. He stepped back to take a swing at the short Navy officer.

“Sam, you better step in or you’ll have the Shore Patrol in here in three minutes!” yelled Al who looked like he wanted to join in the escalating festivities.

As a fight started Sam stepped between them. “Hey, fellas!  Why not put all this aggression to work? There’s a very nice lady who needs saving. Remember Boom-Boom?”

The lieutenant commander nodded at Sam. “Men. We have a job to do. Let’s do this for all the guys in the services. The Navy AND the Marines!”

The Texan agreed. “Yea, sir. For all their mor-awl. Yours and MINE. Come on Walenski, Ferguson. Wake up, you sorra sots!”

Waking their sleepy companions, a half-dozen slightly out of it servicemen headed off with Sam.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In a seedy side of San Diego along the ancient commercial docks Sam and company walked beside a brick warehouse covered in layers of peeling paint. The sun had finally come out from behind the dark clouds causing the rescue group to cast long shadows on the side of the warehouse. Sam peeked around the corner while the five still inebriated servicemen crept up closely behind him. Sam motioned them back.

“OK, Sam,” said Al whispering even though he didn’t have to. Wishing he had his detective trench coat on Al told Sam, “The next door. Right inside according to Ziggy.”
 

Sam nodded and then whispered to his cohorts. “Walk quietly down to the next door. We’ll break it in and rush them. The office is on the right.”

The lieutenant commander nodded and then asked. “How in the blazes do you know all that?”

The Texan looked at Sam nonsensically and then asked a little too loudly, “Yea, how’d do ya know dat?”

Sam looked up slightly and then whispered, “Shh! I have a man on the inside.”

“Hokay!” the Texan Marine major replied. “He’s got a man on the inside!”

The same message was repeated down the line in an alcoholic stupor like it was the law of the universe.

Sam lined half of them up on each side of the ancient locked wooden door. They crouched down like they were going to take out the front line at the Army-Navy game. Sam whispered a count of three and the gang rushed the door, breaking it into a dozen splintered pieces. The noise echoed through the semi-empty warehouse.

Looking into the darkness Sam saw a small light shining from a tiny office.

“Over there, mates! Full speed ahead, gentlemen!” yelled the senior Navy officer.

Sam ran across the dark gloomy warehouse floor, the sound of their feet echoing throughout the vast warehouse. Holding out his arms, the crew gathered behind him as he slowed down their progress and the racket that they were making.

“Shhh! You three go around the back. Wait two minutes. We’ll break in THAT door,” whispered Sam.

“Check, Mr. D,” saluted the senior officer as he motioned his men to follow him.

Sam tiptoed up to the door and peeked through the space between the door and the warped doorjamb. Inside he saw Boom-Boom in her street clothes and her high heels tied up on an old wooden office chair. Benny and the Weasel sat on the wooden desk with the smarter of the two pointing a pistol at a seemingly fearless Cathy. Sam checked his black wristwatch while the seconds ticked down to H-hour. Sam motioned to his comrades and placed his shoulder to the ancient door giving the impression of a linebacker.

“Let’s go!” whispered Sam as he bent down and pushed. The door screeched open as Sam ran into the room.

“Drop the gun, Benny!” Sam shouted as he ran halfway across the room. The surprised hoodlum quickly laid the gun on the desk. Immediately the backdoor opened up as the three inebriated rescuers took one step into the office and then collapsed into a pile of arms and legs.

Boom-boom tried to shout through her gag as Al motioned to Sam to look out behind him.

In the corner behind Sam’s door sat a heavyset gentleman with two well-dressed gorillas behind him. This rather large man held a pistol pointed straight at Sam.

A slight smirk came to his face as he gave Sam a slight nod and he grunted.  “Well, Mr. DeFranco, we finally meet. I would not attempt any theatrics, sir. There is sufficient firepower between my employees and myself here to deal with you and your companions! I am Gus Romano. Soon to be your partner producing film shorts for the silver screen, sir. Now if you would be so kind as to move over to the corner, we will quickly bring this unfortunate situation to a hasty conclusion.”  Gus Romano grunted again as he looked at the pair before him.  “Is not true, Mr. DeFranco ?” he asked with a piggish grin.

Sam shook his head looking at the fellow behind him. “Guys, put your hands up! We better do as he says!” said Sam. “And no. I’m not doing business with you, Romano!” said Sam with his hands up.

“I concur with the whole-heartedly Sam. Keep him at a distance, while Ziggy works on the possibilities. Come on Ziggy, baby!” replied Al knocking around his little handlink.

Boom-Boom shook her head in the affirmative as she stamped her high heel.

One of the Seabees mumbled, “The Shore Patrol is going to throw my sorry ass in the brig for sure!”

The Marine from Texas replied, “Let’s see if we git outta here alive first.”

“You tell‘em, Tex. Jeez. Sam, Ziggy gives you less than fifty-fifty getting out of this revolting situation,” replied a nervous Al Calavicci. “Think fast, Sam!”

Romano went from unhappy to extremely pissed. “Most assuredly unfortunate, my friend. Grunt. It pains me that I must dispose of all of you. One can only find so many places to discreetly dispose of your earthly remains. One more time, Mr. DeFranco. Do we have a business arrangement or not? Remind yourself of the number of individuals you have involved in this business transaction,” he said motioning with his gun at Sam and all the hostages.

Sam shook his head violently. “I will not be a part of any exploitation of my employees, Romano,” said Sam seething.

Al walked up to Sam. “Not a good move. Your odds just dropped into the well. You’re going to HAVE to change your tactics. Can’t you even pretend to accept his offer to get us some more time? Jeez, thirty-two percent.”

“I can’t do that. I have my morals,” said Sam out loud while glancing and talking to Al.

“Sam?” moaned Al. “Give up your high and mighty ethics at least temporarily. These goons mean business. Better to run away and come back to leap another day!”  Al said motioning with his cigar toward the door.

“Grunt. Very touching. You can’t remain a Bible-pounding do-gooder very long in your line of work, sir. There is not much of a difference between us. One little push “Emily Post”, and you will fall off that pedestal of truth and land in the mud with me,” Romano concluded laughing slightly. 

Sam bit his lip looking around for an opening that neither he nor the nervous Admiral saw anywhere in the room.

“Let me describe to you how this little business proposition is going to end, Mr. DeFranco. Your place of employment will be turned over to my attorneys, since you WILL graciously sell it to me just prior to your premature demise. Along with Miss ‘Too Good To Put On A Show’,” he grunted motioning to Cathy.

“Wait!” called out Sam. “Leave her alone. She would be your best act!”

Boom-Boom began to glare at him looking both surprised and hurt.

“Grunt. That she would be true,” Romano agreed. “In the witness box at my murder trial. No, Mr. DeFranco There shall be no witnesses to this little transaction here tonight, sir. Due to your incorrect answers you have doomed her and your entire bunch of Popeyes.”

“No man!” called out one swabbie.

The Marine officer looked Romano straight in the eye. “You’ll never get away with it you syndicate hack!”

He looked down as if he felt they could really hurt him, “Frankly I can. Grunt. Even if they find your corpses, I still have a very friendly judge in high places. “

The Texan called out. “Ain’t true. You’re hading to those lower places, fat boy!”

“Only the almighty will determine that!” replied Romano. “As for me, my conscience is quite clear.”

The gorilla on his left looked at hi watch. “Boss, we better hit the road!” he whispered.

Romano agreed. “Quite so. Quite so. My loyal followers shall remove the bonds from the savory wench.”

The Weasel looked through his boss. “Huh?”

“Untie the girl,” he reinterpreted.

The gag was removed from Boom-Boom. “You big tub of lard, you cheap creep. Let these guys go!” screamed Cathy as she was carried over to Sam and unceremoniously dropped at his feet.

“Silence!” Romano called out raising his voice for the first time.  All guns were pointed directly at Sam and company.

“Finish this business,” Romano said pointing to one of the gorillas and to Laurel and Hardy.

“Sure, boss,” said the gorilla that stayed behind as Romano pushed himself out of his chair and waddled out the door ignoring Sam and company.

He turned and looked one more time at Sam. “Farewell, Mr. DeFranco,” he said slightly tipping his head. The first gorilla opened the door as they left.

“Guess its St. Valentine’s Day all over again,” snickered Benny.

“No, that was last month!” the Weasel said very slowly.

Benny glanced over in disgust “Shut yer trap, calendar man!”

Al shook his head sadly “Sam, um... No good news! None of you guys are ever found.”

Sam quickly asked, “Hey fellows, how about a last request?”

The three torpedoes laughed. “Your brain has absorbed too many old movies, Frankie. Besides I ain’t no genie!” Benny said laughing again.

“No, guys. I have another proposition,” said Sam more nonchalantly than the situation warranted.

“Forget it!” sneered the gorilla.

“What ya saying?” asked Benny.

“Ya!” echoed the Weasel.

“Well, come on and let Boom-Boom show you her stuff. Just for one LAST time. A private showing. A very private showing,” Sam said confidentially.

Cathy stood up. “No, boss. I won’t do it!” she yelled at them then said privately, “I never thought you’d sell me out!”

“Maybe, just strut around a bit toots,” said Benny sounding intrigued.

The gorilla turned to Benny. “Nah, let’s finish up here!”

“None to worry. We have the drop on them,” replied Benny.

“Boss, I’m not going to entertain these bozos,” said Boom-boom in a whisper. “They’re going to kill us for God’s sake!”

Sam put his hands down and grabbed Boom-Boom’s shoulders. “And I’m telling you to go into your act!’

Boom-Boom now appeared quite upset, “No! I AIN’T doing it!”

Sam looked deep into her eyes. “Boom-Boom. Snap out of it. You have got to do this. Everyone is depending upon it. Dance. Do the old bump and grind with plenty of BUMP!”

Her anger faded as a light seemed to go off. “All right then. I’ll do it even if you are acting like a jerk.” She threw a hateful look at her antagonists and then a hopeful look at Sam.

Striking a provocative poise she looked straight at the gorilla and started her act. Never taking her eyes off of them she shook everything she had. Mesmerizing them as she slowly removed her blouse and then her skirt. Dancing faster and faster she twirled around constantly coming back looking seductively in the three goons’ eyes.

Next to Sam the Navy and Marine guys were also spellbound. Sam nudged them to break the spell that Cathy was weaving. Al eye’s also never left Boom-Boom taking in every little movement.

Faster and faster she did an off-beat Egyptian harem dance as she reached behind to remove her brassiere. Swaying back and forth she inched it off and then with a slight seductive smile flung it through the air into the face of the biggest gorilla.

The gorilla dropped his heater, catching the lacy garment as Boom-Boom swirled around jamming her high heel in Benny’s left foot.

“Yeow!” he cried dropping the gun.

Sam leaped at his brother, knocking the Weasel to the ground.

Boom-Boom rolled on the floor grabbing one gun while the Texan grabbed the other gun. A little triumphant smile was exchanged while the goons cowered on the floor.

“Ye-haa!” he called out while Boom-Boom covered herself up.

“Hand me my blouse, sweetie,” she asked the youngest sailor who kindly obliged blushing a bit.

“Man, that was one deadly show she put on, Sam,” said Al as he caught his breath.

“Good going, Cathy,” Sam said taking the gun from her.

“Sure thing boss, though I was wondering about you there for a minute. And thanks guys,” she said looking at her Naval rescuers.

“Any time, ma’am,” they replied politely as they surrounded their quarry.

Sam asked, “Major, would you please run down to the harbormaster’s office and call the police?” Sam asked the Texan Marine.

“Sure thang, Mr. Disfranchise,” the Marine Major said again mispronouncing Sam’s name.

“And we have to come up with another story to tell the Shore Patrol,” exclaimed the lieutenant commander shaking his head. “This is downright embarrassing!” he said still looking at the cute burlesque dancer and her humbled abductors.

Another Navy officer agreed with the lieutenant commander. “There’s got to have been at least six of them,” suggested the young ensign. “Maybe even a dozen!”

“Well, Boss. Now what?” she asked fully dressed and plopping down on the hard wooden chair. She let out a final sigh as the adrenaline in her bloodstream began to subside.

“Testify against them, I guess!” said Sam looking over at Al who agreed with him after checking his handlink. “We’re going to put the stop to this dirty picture ring before it even gets started.”

“Thanks. You always were one of the good guys, Boss,” exclaimed Boom-Boom as patted Sam’s arm.

Sam blushed.

Al looked over his handlink and concurred. “Yep. These wise guys sing like birds and their boss gets twenty-five years for assault, kidnapping, and conspiracy. Frankie never does the porno flicks. He does get involved in a few fringe titillating sex films in the Sixties working with a bunch of unknowns and has-beens like Jane Hargitay. Who?” he asked hitting the handlink to get a better answer. “Mansfield. Jane ‘DD’ Mansfield? In ‘63. Maybe we should stick around,” exclaimed Al loudly as Sam slowly shook his head knowing that his leap was over.

“Too bad. My daughter Julianna likes to watch her daughter, Mariska Hargitay, on that Law and Order show.  Personally I prefer Jane’s earlier work. The semi-respectable burlesque racket dies out pretty soon. Anyway, after that Frankie gets into these really cheesy Roger Korman type movies some of them become cult classics. Ever hear of “Martian Women Vs. The Daughter–in-law of Dracula”?  I guess not!  He’s still alive and retired in Phoenix Arizona. Cathy Jean is running the biggest abused woman’s shelter in Los Angeles County. And now it’s about time for you to shove off, sailor,” said Al looking intently at Sam. “Bon voyage!” he said waving his cigar at Sam.

Sam smiled, tried to say something to Boom-Boom and faded away leaping toward his next adventure somewhere along the infinite corridors of time.

EPILOGUE