The head of Chicago's vice squad, Commander Buck Johnson, was confused. Arrest orders didn't normally come down like this. Usually he was the instigator, and on the rare occasions when he was ordered to pick someone up, it was typically police headquarters that gave the instruction. On this occasion, the orders had come via the BOI, the Bureau of Investigation.
Hoover's men weren't real cops. He hadn't even seen the evidence (or the warrant) that was going to make this arrest legal. But Johnson had never failed to follow an order -- and he wasn't about to start now.
The police commander walked confidently, carrying a flimsy file folder, through the opulent reception of the Chicago Drake Hotel and into the elevator. Finished just a few short years ago, it was the epitome of 1920s luxury.
Everybody in the city knew that the entire top floor had been taken over by the new mob boss in town, known only to the public as 'The Lady'. But after today the commander was smugly confident that the biggest empire she would ever rule over would be a prison cell.
The bellboy pushed the elevator door closed and pressed the button for the top floor. The tall policeman was just one of many cops the bellboy had seen today. The raid had started at dawn, but things were finally starting to calm down.
The elevator bounced as they reached the top floor and the young fresh-faced bellboy pulled open the grillage and the imposing cop almost barged out. The boy wryly raised an eyebrow when no tip was offered. He peered round the elevator door to watch the uniformed man pass a dozen saluting officers and make his way to the final door at the end of the corridor.
A young officer was standing guard at the door.
"Sir." Said the young officer in surprise, his hand clumsily coming up in fright to salute.
"Easy son." He said, waving at his subordinate to relax. "Is she in there?"
"Yes sir, but she said she'd only speak to the chief of police, I didn't know what to do."
"Oh, did she? It's about time she learned she's not the one in charge."
Commander Johnson stepped into the room, his starched dark blue uniform instantly at odds with the luxurious, opulent surroundings. Looking around the plush hotel suite, he saw in the middle of the room a slim and slender woman sitting calmly cross-legged in a chair. Such was the air of confidence she exuded, it took him a few seconds to realise she was in fact handcuffed to that ornate chair, with her hands behind her back.
He estimated that standing up she would be around 5'8". She was wearing sumptuous grey silk pinstriped trousers, matching waistcoat, a white silk shirt and a dark grey fedora hat. The outfit she was wearing must have cost at least a thousand dollars, and the tailor had earned every cent because every line of fabric just accentuated her almost perfectly proportioned figure; long lithe legs, a slim waist and full chest.
It was unusual to see a woman dressed in a suit, but after all, 'The Lady' was an unusual woman. She was exceptionally beautiful, late 20s-early 30s, tanned skin, dark brown eyes, and movie star good looks.
But she was still only a woman, how had this 125-pound lady, muscled her way into a third of the territories in Chicago, commanding dozens of hired thugs and crooks as she did -- it just didn't make sense.
Unflinchingly, she returned his gaze, her dark brown eyes looking back up at him from beneath the brim of her hat. She almost appeared to be sizing
him
up.
"You're not the chief of police." She said confidently.
Slightly embarrassed that this woman had got the first word in and by the air of defiance in her voice, he almost barked his reply.
"You thought the chief of police would jump when a two-bit mobster called? This is my operation, I oversee vice in Chicago - you deal with me!"
Miss Masters smiled leaning back gently in her chair before slowly uncrossing and re-crossing her legs. "I was under the impression that I was in charge of vice in this town. I thought that's why your officers had hand-cuffed me to this chair."
Ignoring her, Johnson flicked open the file in his hands. "You are Miss Lilith Masters, or at least that's the name on the phoniest birth certificate I have ever seen."
"Most people just call me 'The Lady'"
"Well I call you Masters, Miss Lilith Masters.
"Lily, all my friends call me Lily."
"We ain't friends Miss Masters."
"But we could be chief."
"My name is Commander Buck Johnson, I told you I'm not a chief." He said pushing his chin out beyond his collar, suddenly feeling a little heat in the room.
"I'm sorry chief." She said, ignoring his words but adopting a gently chided tone.
Johnson was burning to know why he had been suddenly ordered to arrest this strange woman, but the BOI guys had told him nothing over the phone. Still there was nothing in his orders saying he couldn't interview her himself.
"Look, we have everything we need for a conviction - witnesses, physical evidence, you name it we have it - why not make life easy on yourself and co-operate with us?" He said bluffing.
"What kind of ...
co-operation
... did you have in mind chief?" She said lingering on the word in the middle of the sentence.
The interview continued like this for many minutes, Johnson trying to convince, and latterly intimidate, his undeniably attractive prisoner to be helpful. And she in turn would effortlessly turn the conversation towards the flirtatious and suggestive. All the while moving alluringly on the chair, calling attention to her exquisite body and the sexual promise it exuded.
The police commander wasn't getting anywhere like this, and he knew it, all he was getting was hot under the collar.
In exasperation he almost pleaded with his prisoner. "Look, I just need your full co-operation."
"Co-operation? Does that mean I should have let your men search me earlier?" She said with a sexy smirk.
"You've not been searched?"
Miss Masters slowly turned her head from side to side.
"Well,Yes. That's the sort of thing you should have let my officers do."
"Well, why not do it now chief?" She said, slowly uncrossing her legs and pushing herself back in the chair. "Let your prisoner show you just how co-operative she can be."
The large policeman stood frozen for a moment, looking down at the sexy gangster handcuffed helplessly to a chair.
"It is proper procedure."
He thought.
"I mean, I might have a concealed weapon, or be hiding material evidence ... and besides, what mischief could I possibly get up to while I'm handcuffed like this chief?" the last word dripped from her lips.
"True. But even so, don't go trying anything stupid Miss Masters." He said, ignoring her mistake with his rank.
"Oh, I wouldn't dare chief. Really I wouldn't" She said in a gently submissive tone.
He crossed the floor and started to pat her down her, he could feel the heat from her skin as his rough hands brushed against her shoulders and arms. He started to slide his hands over her body and waist looking for a side holster. His fingers struggled to search her waistcoat pockets; the material fit so tightly to her lithe frame. The bound gangster made gentle noises of quiet approval as she helpfully moved on the chair, allowing his strong hands to explore her curves. His hands explored her trouser pockets, his search revealing a thick roll of hundred-dollar bills.
"How many pay-offs have you made with rolls of cash like this?"
"Oh, dozens chief"
He started to pat down her left leg, starting at the ankle looking for a weapon. Satisfied there was no ankle holster, he moved his hands upwards along her shapely leg. He could feel her firm thigh under his powerful hands. He could already see a slight bulge on her inside right thigh, but he would get there in a moment, one thing at a time. Slow and methodical he started at the other ankle. His hands searching up slowly until felt the sensation of steel against his hand, alien beside the supple firmness of her body.
