Once, long ago, back in the not so politically correct depression days of the 1930’s, life was much different in the steamy underbelly of most big cities in America; especially for a sleezy Private Eye. To earn a living, they preyed on unscrupulous characters with no morals she treated me as a patient attended by a loving nurse who was administering a procedure ordered by the doctor. At times such as this, Mona was my little angel, sent by the big P.I. in the sky, to help me through my self-inflicted humps in life. I was glad that I had crossed this cat’s path on this bumpy journey through my shitty existence. She always had an eerie way of instantly assessing a situation and finding the best solution for it. The best solution for me this morning was her wonderful personal attention, and she knew it.
Afterwards, I thanked her in my normal way. “Remind me to give you a raise, baby.” Then, I poured some bourbon in my black coffee, and took a big swig of it.
She smiled and innocently said, “Actually, Big Dick, my kid needs a new pair of shoes.”
I glared back at her with the look I always give people when they call me ‘Big Dick’.
“Oh, Dick, everyone calls you that, …besides, it’s true.”
I handed her my last Andrew Jackson. She winked at me and went back to her desk in the outer waiting room. I thought, “What a Broad” and then continued to lament upon my current self-inflicted fiasco.
Then I wondered about the Big Dick comment. Did she mean my prick, or my appearance? I am a rather large man, but not fat by any means, but a large man. I’m tall and big. Size 14 shoes. I absolutely hated it when people called me ‘Big Dick’.
I drank another gulp of my coffee and proceeded to look at the newspaper story again. I sank my head down on my desk and thought, “It’s your own damn fault, old boy. You have no control over that disobedient snake in your pants.”
Then I lit a Camel and deeply inhaled on it. Afterwards, I went to the bathroom to look at my face in the dirty mirror. My right eye was black and very sore.
That asshole sucker punched me while his goon held my hands behind my back. But, I guess I did deserve it. I think I will take his advice and stay clear of his old lady, …for a while. Hey, not too bad though, I made three C notes upfront, screwed the living shit out of his more than willing wife a few times, and got beat up and publicly humiliated; again. At least he didn’t shoot my nuts off. Even though he had hired me to find out if his old lady really was screwing most of the suits in town, he really got pissed when he found out his private dick had too.
I knew I needed a change. Perhaps an interesting and lucrative case? A new dame? Or, just about anything new at this point would be damn welcome, right about now. Besides, I was almost tapped out clam wise, and I knew it was time to get off my lazy keister and make some fish, before I got kicked out of this dump.
Just then, the twisted hand of fate intervened into my worthless existence, and the blonde woman in the red dress walked through my waiting room door. Mona observed her, and instantly mentally sized her up. “This bitch looks like more trouble for Big Dick.”
That’s when Mona came into my office and told me some strange woman was here to see me. That’s when my life made the unpredictable u-turn in the direction of the abyss. Mona tried to warn me that this broad looked dangerous, and something told me in my gut that I should heed her intuition, but I foolishly agreed to see the woman.
As soon as the strange dame came into my office and I saw her, it was already too late for me. The wheels of fate had started to spin, and I was already caught up in them. My train was on the wrong track, and headed for oblivion. I was the only passenger, and my snake was driving the infernal runaway contraption.
This broad was a real knockout. I mean pin-up quality. A real Lana Turner look-a-like. I would have bet the only Alexander Hamilton in my pocket that this dame looked just as good in a sweater (or out of it) as Lana did. I would have guessed that bahis firmaları she was around twenty five. This tempting hen had long gorgeous drumsticks and big breasts (and my mouth was watering for her dark meat). She also had blond hair (that I instantly knew was bleached). The red dress fit her too perfectly, and showed every curve on her statuesque body.
I immediately reached over my desk to shake her hand.
“Good morning, Miss …I’m Dick Rockhard.”
“Good morning, Mr. Rockhard. …Thank you for seeing me unexpectedly. …I desperately need your help!”
As this innocent intoxicating creature sat in the chair in front of me, my eyes instantly observed the high slit on the left side of her dress, and I could see her red garter belt straps, and a little of her exposed sexy thigh flesh, just above the stocking tops.
An unexpected and strange feeling of impending peril suddenly gnawed at my gut; but my snake suddenly rose to attention and took charge of my brain, and I eagerly and willingly gave it any remaining control I may have had over my cognitive functions of sense and reason.
“Miss, I would gladly give you any assistance you may require.”
“Thank you, Sir …where do I start?”
“I would suggest at the beginning, Miss…?”
She started to sob. “It’s Mrs. Masterson …Mary Masterson …and I think my husband is cheating on me.”
I quickly grabbed my rank, sweaty, bourbon smelling handkerchief from my pocket, and handed it to her. “What makes you believe that, Mrs. Masterson?” (Knowing full well that ninety percent of my business was from husbands or wives, wanting me to investigate their spouses for infidelity.) I was betting this broad was good for a few C notes, and hopefully a hot screw or two. I was also wondering if this was my answer for change, (never considering it may be a harbinger of my impending doom).
“Well …he’s been away a lot of nights recently, and he’s just not acting like he normally does, …if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, you don’t say, Mrs. Masterson. Well, I would normally tail a suspected cheating spouse for several days to make an accurate determination of marital fidelity. Sometimes, situations aren’t what we think they are. I normally charge a hundred clams per day, plus expenses. This could involve several C’s to a grand, before finding conclusive evidence, one way or another. Are you sure you can afford my services?”
“Oh, this is much costlier than I had imagined …Dick. I have three hundred I could give you now, and I’m sure we could work out some other arrangement for the balance. …This is so important to me.”
Just then, she uncrossed her legs (just enough for me to see that she had no underpants on). I could clearly see her spiked high heel shoes, her long gams, the black sheer stockings, the red lacy garter belt straps, the smooth calf skin above it, and a thick patch of black hair between her irresistible thighs, that outlined the desirable silky lips of her inviting parted sex.
And, just as quickly as she had uncrossed her legs, she crossed them again and looked at me innocently and apologetically (as if she had done it by mistake – but I knew she hadn’t).
As if in a trance and before I could respond, I heard my snake respond, “I’m sure we can work this out satisfactorily to both of our mutual advantages, Mrs. Masterson.”
(My gut told me that this story was fishier than an unwashed snatch …but the snake ignored my gut, and I willingly obeyed it.)
She shyly and sexily responded, “My husband is leaving on another business trip later this afternoon. I would feel more comfortable explaining more of these private matters at my home. Let’s say …later this evening, around eight?”
“Of course, Mary. Please give my secretary your husband’s name, business address and your address, and we’ll get started on some basic background checks today on your husband.”
As she got up to leave, she handed me the three C notes. (I thought to myself, “I would have done it for one.”)
After she left my office, I quickly surveyed my current situation. kaçak iddaa I now had three C notes in my pocket, whereas an Alexander Hamilton was the big dog in my bankroll moments ago. I had just enjoyed a fantastic blowjob from Mona, my sweet angel, now Mary Masterson wants a hard fucking from me tonight.
I threw the newspaper in the garbage pail, picked up my Fidora hat, and leisurely strolled into the waiting room with a familiar gleam in my ‘good eye’.
I handed Mona some notes I had scribbled during the interview.
“That broad’s trouble, Boss.”
“Nonsense, my sweet little angel …she’s my salvation. See what you can find out about this Masterson guy …I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
When I walked into the bright morning sunshine outside, I mistakenly felt like today had an air of promise about it.
(Jimmy, the gimp midget, was standing by the door.)
Jimmy, without thinking, quickly blurted out, “Hey, Big Dick, I hear ya got the shit kicked out of ya yesterday.”
(I gave him one of my ill-tempered stares.)
He coward back from me and quickly responded, “But, I bettcha she was worth it …right Dick?”
I handed him a George Washington and said, “Get my car, Jimmy boy …I’ll be at Spike’s.”
(As he quickly hobbled away, he looked at the greenback and smiled.)
In a moment, I was around the corner and in Spike’s Bar. I quickly drank a bourbon straight up, as I asked Spike to do a little checking on this Robert Masterson character for me.
(Spike had connections, and on numerous occasions he could find out when someone’s last bowel movement was, before the sewer department did.)
I gave him a Jackson, in advance, for his services, and told him there was another one where that came from, if he found out anything useful. I also gave him a Grant to put on my tab. I didn’t have to say a word to Spike, he knew the eagle had shit on me big time today, and he knew some broad was probably behind the free flowing clams.
At 2pm I was standing on Wilshire next to my gray and black 1938 Packard looking at the office building Robert Masterson worked in. He was the vice president of operations for some questionable mucky-muck publishing firm that had operations in several west coast cities.
(I had plans for Robert Masterson …and those plans included milking him for a few more C’s.)
As I walked off the elevator I saw the reception desk for Merkle, Rinehardt and Levinson Publishing, Inc. The cute friendly receptionist smiled at me as I approached.
I said to her, “Dick Rockhard to see Mr. Masterson.”
“Appointment, Mr. Rockhard?”
She dialed her telephone. After a few moments she spoke into the phone, “A Dick Rockhard to see you, Mr. Masterson.”
After a moment she replied to me, “This is in regards to what matter, Mr. Rockhard?”
I flashed my P.I. badge to her quickly and said, “His wife!”
She replied into the phone. “It looks official, Mr. Masterson …something about your wife?”
She hung up the phone, smiled again at me, and pointed as she said, “His office is the fourth one on the left down the hallway, Mr. Rockhard.”
When I reached his office door, I knocked twice and opened it before he said to enter. He appeared to be a small man with beady little eyes, and in his fifties. He looked like a wimpy sort of man. He sat at a large desk, and as he sat there at the big desk, he looked even smaller sitting behind it. He shyly looked me over, as I did him. He pointed to a seat and said in a squeaky high-pitched voice, “What can I do for you, Mr. Rockhard?”
I proceeded to explain the entire morning’s scenario to him concerning his wife, (not leaving out any details). As if on cue, he replied, “Mr. Rockhard, my wife is emotionally unstable. You are the third private detective she’s hired in the last two months. She’s convinced I’m cheating on her. Let me assure you, Sir, …that I am not. She, in fact, disappears for days on end, and I never know when she’ll disappear, or when she’ll return home. …I should have kaçak bahis never married such a young, unstable woman.”
Then he offered me five C notes to keep my meeting with her tonight, and then in a few days, tell her that my investigation proved that her husband was really away on business, and that he actually was a loyal devoted husband to her. End of story …everyone’s happy.
I reluctantly agreed, trying my best not show him that’s what I wanted to hear from him in the first place. (In fact, two C’s would have done it.)
Again, I foolishly ignored the feeling percolating in my lower gut.
At 5pm I was skipping (figuratively speaking) into my office with all the cash in my stuffed wallet. Eight C’s in one day was some kind of record for me. This could keep me on easy street for at least a month.
I handed Mona a C note. “Here’s this week’s pay, Baby, plus a performance bonus for your extra attention to detail.”
Her eyes opened wide (and so did her legs several minutes later in my office, on my big worn stained brown leather couch).
Afterwards, Mona told me she had shit on Robert Masterson that I should see. But, I was feeling too damn cocky about myself, and I again put the sick feeling in my lower gut out of my mind. I slowly poured myself a bourbon, lit a Camel and casually answered her. “Masterson is history, …my sweet angel, …other than a few loose ends with Mary this evening, this case is almost officially closed.” (As always, Mona knew exactly what I meant, and what I wanted from Mary.)
At 8pm sharp, I was standing in front of the Masterson house on Mulholland. I had cash in my wallet, a new attitude, and I was hoping to fuck this broad good and hard a few times, before I told her in a few days that her husband was a good little boy.
The feeling in the pit of my stomach was punching my guts out at that point, …but I totally ignored it.
When she answered the door of the large, upscale, well-appointed house, she looked like an expensive seven course meal at The Brown Derby. Through the thin white negligee she wore, I could almost see every detail of her ripe for the picking body.
I knew she wanted Dick Rockhard badly, but I played my cards as coolly as a wise-ass kid sucking on a Popsicle.
In a moment, we were sitting in her large parlor, and I slowly sipped the bourbon she had poured me. She proceeded to tell me all the details of her suspicions concerning her unfaithful husband. I pretended to listen intently, but all the while I was looking at her beautiful lustful body through that thin white negligee, (wishing she would shut up and let me drive my hard snake deeply into it).
After she finished her story, I calmly explained to her how I had already started the investigation on her husband today, and as we spoke, two of my subordinates were investigating him, and his whereabouts when he was away. She seemed well pleased at that. Then I asked her about future expenses, if this case took several days to completely investigate. Her head dropped, as she innocently spoke, “Would this cover some of the charges you’ll incur …Dick?” She slowly opened her thighs and through the nearly transparent white negligee, I could see her inviting sex.
Soon, she was on her knees showing her appreciation. I wondered if she had been a circus sword swallower in previous life? Within a few minutes, I was joyfully ramming my happy snake deep into her wet dark snake pit, as forcefully as I could, as she innocently screamed in total appreciation. (This dame creamed more than any other I had known, …she just couldn’t get enough of Big Dick Rockhard’s snake.)
At that moment, I felt pretty damn proud of myself, and I was hoping I could do this a few more times with her, before I put this case to bed (no pun intended) or she got suspicious.
(It’s always on a payment plan, with women such as Mary, …until the broad gets what they want from you. It’s never free, or lasting. Usually after three fucks (the most), they want a full report, then they are off to their divorce lawyer screwing him, and you’re history.)
As my exuberant snake violently erupted inside her moist tight cunt, I was feeling as good about myself as a private dick could, or should, at that wonderful moment.