Napoleon Solo Meets the Amazon
by Morphinman



"Well", he said in a chipper voice as he reached inside the car and clasped
Helen's fingers, to help her out, "her we are all set for an evening of --".

His right hand began to burn with agonizing pain.

Helene's face had lost its placid pretiness. Her lips were compressed tightly.
Her blue eyes sparkled in the reflected glow of the street lights. She had
closed her fingers around Solo's hand and was squeezing with such fierce power
that he groaned in pain and surprise.

"What the devil kind of parlor game is --" he began, trying to jerk his hand
away. He couldn't.

Helene squeezed harder, a thoroughly unpleaasant look on her face. Without any
appearance of effort, she applied tremendous pressure. Solo's whole arm heated
up with agony. He let out an unmanly yell and fell to his knees.

Daintily raising her right leg Helene slammed the sole of her pump into the
middle of his face. It was as though he had been hit by an iron sledgehammer.
He was driven backward onto the asphalt while she kept hold of his right hand.
She released it just before his arm threatened to tear loose from its shoulder
socket.

The back of Solo's head struck the asphalt cruelly hard. Pain danced before
his eyes. Helene's high heels tick-ticked as she walked toward him. Solo
struggled to pull himself erect. The streetlights swam overhead like a bleary
eye.

Dazed, Solo struggled to his feet. Helene stood three yards away, fists
planted on her hips. No longer the slightest bit girlish, she regarded him
with utter contempt. Then she began to adnvace on him. She threw aside her
white stole. Her blue blue dress was sleeveless. For the first time

Solo got a good look at her tanned arms. They were stronger and thicker than a
woman's arms had a right to be. Not that they were unfeminine. They were
smooth, firm, sunbrowned. But underneath the skin incredible muscles began to
bunch and writhe. "This is ridiculous", Solo said under his breath. "No
ordinary girl can--". Helene charged full tilt.

Solo whipped up his right fist, thrusting aside any reservation he had ever
had about smashing a woman on the jaw. Unfortunatelt his new attitude of
expediency was of no use. Helene ducked under his guard and wrapped her arms
around his waist. Solo felt as though steel bands were constricting on his
middle. The breath was squeezed out of his lungs. Helene picked him up with no
effort at all and threw him six yards into the side of parked Cadillac. His
head hit the Cadillac door so hard it dented the door.

Pain blasted through his entire body as he lay on the pavement. He braced his
palms, tried to rise, upbraiding himself for his pitiful performance. After
all, she was nothing but a girl. Helene tapped him lightly under the chin with
the toe of her right pump. The contact resembled being run over by a diesel
train.

Stunned for a few moments, Solo thought "one more try". Helene jumped forward.
Solo rocketed in for what under other circumstances would have been a
powerhouse punch. Helene had all the grace of ballerina as she caught his
wrist. She somehow snapped his entire body over her right hip, hurling him
against a Chryler 20 feet away. Helen picked up Solo's unconscious form with
one hand and slung him over her shoulder. She carried him to a waiting Rolls
and dumped him in the back seat.

Enroute to her lair Solo awoke. Helene said "I shall do everything I can to
make your stay uncomfortable. That is, before you die. What a puny litle man
you are with your pretensions of strength ! You don't know the meaning of
strength, the joy of pure strength--". The fingers of her right hand closed
around the steering wheel, flattening the steel to a thin ribbon. The car sped
on through the night.