Chapter 6

Carlo was due to pick up his tour group at two-thirty. After a glance at the watch lying on the bureau, he reflected, for the umpteenth time, that the season had all the earmarks of a real money-maker. The flow of tourists was already promising.

His group for the day was booked in at a second-class hotel in North Beach, only a short walk from the apartment where he lived with his family. While his mother and younger brothers took their customary after-lunch nap, Carlo showered and changed.

The afternoon was cooler than yesterday. Carlo wondered whether or not it would be worth wearing his silk suit. The suit was expensively tailored, and he knew it looked well on his tall, athletic frame. Did guiding a school-group for the afternoon rate the silk suit?

Carlo shrugged. He might as well wear it. You never knew.

He checked his appearance in the bedroom mirror. Although it was still spring, he already had acquired a light tan. He thought with satisfaction that it made him look vigorous. Good. He combed his dark-brown hair and then tucked the comb into the breast pocket of his suit. Last came the cologne. He poured a little of it into the palm of one hand and massaged the back of his neck, taking care not to soil his fresh white shirt. As always, Carlo's attention to detail was meticulous.

He took a final look in the mirror. His narrow eyes--amber colored and long, like the eyes of a cat--studied every detail of his reflection. Apparently reassured, Carlo moved away from the glass and sat down on the iron-frame bed.

He picked up a bunch of papers and flipped through them. It took him only minutes to check the schedule for the afternoon. One of the travel-office clerks had written out the pertinent information in an untidy scrawl. Rendezvous: two-thirty p.m. at the hotel. Number of persons in group: twenty. Eighteen girls-- ages fourteen to seventeen--and two adult teachers. The teachers were a Mr. and Mrs. Horace Clark

Carlo hummed to himself, softly. The setup suggested inviting possibilities.

The tour's schedule read: "Take group by bus from hotel to Fisherman's Wharf. Visit Maritime Museum. Take four p.m. Harbor Cruise. Upon return, tour Fisherman's Wharf. Group to be back at hotel in time for dinner (this means seven p.m.).

A routine deal, Carlo had lost count of the number of times he'd done it before.

Quietly, he let himself out of the family apartment. On his way to the hotel, he considered the afternoon's prospects. He was confident he could handle the teachers and, out of the eighteen teenage girls, he estimated he could pick out at least half a dozen nymphets. In fact, if these girls were anything like the last group he'd handled, he would be more likely to have trouble dumping those he didn't want.

No, there wouldn't be any trouble with the girls. Which meant he had to decide how he could best make use of them. The Count? The Count de Andros would be interested, of course, but perhaps he wasn't the right man to approach in the first instance. It might be better to make the first approach to Marceau. Marceau Verner III: Middle-aged, rich, former international playboy, now confined to his sumptuous mansion with gout and--it was hinted-- something rather worse by way of sickness. Marceau liked young girls. Mostly, he liked them two or three at a time, playing special games he had invented for his own diversion.

Carlo smiled to himself. He would give Marceau a call that evening...