the front," he confided to Bolan, "but just about enough to break even on the rent and salaries. We even carry a mortgage on that razzle-dazzle computer." He laughed. "Financed through Triangle Industrial Finance Company, that great little friend to free enterprisers."
Bolan discovered that his official job tide was "security officer." He was on the legal payroll of Escorts Unlimited, and from his weekly $250 would routinely be deducted the social security and income taxes. "You can even have U.S. Savings Bonds taken out if you want," Turrin explained, "-but listen, don't worry about those legal deductions. We make all that up. You get an expense account, nontaxable, so don't worry. You come out all right. But we're legal, see. Strictly legal."
The undercover operation even had an air of legality about it. The various facets of organized prostitution in the city and surrounding suburbs were programmed into the computer and coded to insure against inadvertent loss of security and deliberate snooping. The program code for the call-girl operation, for example, was listed under "Dates Available by Prior Arrangement Only"- and the program "key" for specific informational or assignment "sorts" and "print-outs" was activated only by a secret code letter. The same file, sorted electronically and activated by the standard program code, would produce only a print-out on the legitimate dating service. Another operation was listed under "Dates by Spontaneous Selection," and a similar one as "Organized Social Activities"-covering, respectively, street girls and house girls.
"We use the machine, sure we use it," Turrin told Bolan. "Why not? The damn thing is foolproof, and you got no idea yet the
size
of this operation. I got hundreds of girls working the undercover end of things, and why should I try to keep all this stuff in my head, or in a secret set of books someplace. Listen, I got a 'destruct' I can punch into that computer and in
one second
there's not one incriminating record in the file-not one that anybody can get to, anyway. It wipes out everything but the legit operation. Hell, why shouldn't I use it? That's progress, Sarge-hell, that's sheer progress. My programmer calls it APPS, for Automated Prostitution Program System, and he's proud as hell of the thing. Hell, he's a scientist, that guy, a real
scientist.
The sweet part is that none of these people in the office, nobody but me and my programmer, know anything about the
real
business. The damn machine has even got
them
outsmarted. Not one of 'em could really testify to anything. It all looks on the up and up to
them.
So a guy calls in, see, and says he's John Smith of Ace Industries, and he's hosting a sales meeting. He wants us to send him a dozen hostesses to give the place some glitter. One of the office girls takes the order. If this guy is on the level then that's all there is to it. The girl runs the order through the program and she gets a list of names and phone numbers. She goes down the list, making the calls, until she fills the order. And everybody's happy. The sales meeting gets some pretty models to pretty things up and Escorts Unlimited has a happy customer. But-
but-
if this John Smith is in
the know
and he wants some bedsprings tigers for his little get-together, then he's got a
code
in his order that automatically triggers the computer to a
different
list. And he don't even know what the code is, it's just something my field man has rigged into his account number. Get the picture? The damn thing is foolproof. We change the program codes every day-
every damn day-
so
we run things right up tight and we know who we're dealing with all the time.
"Another case. Say a guy is in town just for the night, and he wants some company. He lets it be known, just like a guy would in any town. You know, a word to the desk clerk or a waiter or a bellhop. You know the routine. In a matter of minutes one of my field men is on the horn, talking to one of the office
Bolan discovered that his official job tide was "security officer." He was on the legal payroll of Escorts Unlimited, and from his weekly $250 would routinely be deducted the social security and income taxes. "You can even have U.S. Savings Bonds taken out if you want," Turrin explained, "-but listen, don't worry about those legal deductions. We make all that up. You get an expense account, nontaxable, so don't worry. You come out all right. But we're legal, see. Strictly legal."
The undercover operation even had an air of legality about it. The various facets of organized prostitution in the city and surrounding suburbs were programmed into the computer and coded to insure against inadvertent loss of security and deliberate snooping. The program code for the call-girl operation, for example, was listed under "Dates Available by Prior Arrangement Only"- and the program "key" for specific informational or assignment "sorts" and "print-outs" was activated only by a secret code letter. The same file, sorted electronically and activated by the standard program code, would produce only a print-out on the legitimate dating service. Another operation was listed under "Dates by Spontaneous Selection," and a similar one as "Organized Social Activities"-covering, respectively, street girls and house girls.
"We use the machine, sure we use it," Turrin told Bolan. "Why not? The damn thing is foolproof, and you got no idea yet the
size
of this operation. I got hundreds of girls working the undercover end of things, and why should I try to keep all this stuff in my head, or in a secret set of books someplace. Listen, I got a 'destruct' I can punch into that computer and in
one second
there's not one incriminating record in the file-not one that anybody can get to, anyway. It wipes out everything but the legit operation. Hell, why shouldn't I use it? That's progress, Sarge-hell, that's sheer progress. My programmer calls it APPS, for Automated Prostitution Program System, and he's proud as hell of the thing. Hell, he's a scientist, that guy, a real
scientist.
The sweet part is that none of these people in the office, nobody but me and my programmer, know anything about the
real
business. The damn machine has even got
them
outsmarted. Not one of 'em could really testify to anything. It all looks on the up and up to
them.
So a guy calls in, see, and says he's John Smith of Ace Industries, and he's hosting a sales meeting. He wants us to send him a dozen hostesses to give the place some glitter. One of the office girls takes the order. If this guy is on the level then that's all there is to it. The girl runs the order through the program and she gets a list of names and phone numbers. She goes down the list, making the calls, until she fills the order. And everybody's happy. The sales meeting gets some pretty models to pretty things up and Escorts Unlimited has a happy customer. But-
but-
if this John Smith is in
the know
and he wants some bedsprings tigers for his little get-together, then he's got a
code
in his order that automatically triggers the computer to a
different
list. And he don't even know what the code is, it's just something my field man has rigged into his account number. Get the picture? The damn thing is foolproof. We change the program codes every day-
every damn day-
so
we run things right up tight and we know who we're dealing with all the time.
"Another case. Say a guy is in town just for the night, and he wants some company. He lets it be known, just like a guy would in any town. You know, a word to the desk clerk or a waiter or a bellhop. You know the routine. In a matter of minutes one of my field men is on the horn, talking to one of the office
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