Harry Dic and the Blacbird Affair

As always this story is fiction and the product of a sick and demented mind. The characters are entirely made up, even the ones that arn't. So if you don't like the story, call someone who gives a rat's ass.

Harry Dick, well-known Private Investigator and pervert, was on his way to LeGuardia. He'd gotten a phone call from Washington D.C. asking him to look into a plot to steal America's finest and newest technologically equipped spy plane - The Blackbird. Harry wasted no time heading for the airport in his trusty Packard.

Currently, Harry's Cock was sleeping in Harry's pants, dreaming of a far off land populated entirely of clean, shaved, wet pussies demanding he stick his monumental head inside them.

"Hey. Wake up, you little fucker," Harry shouted. "We have stewardesses to bang...I mean...a job to do.

Harry's Cock groaned. "Fuck you, Harry. You always interrupt when I have a good dream going. You're as bad as that bitch, Jenny Jackson. Harry's Cock was, of course, referring to the creator of both Harry and his Cock, Jenny Jackson, the famous insane mystery and porn writer.

"So, what did the guy from Washington say, Harry?"

"He told me to get there as fast as I could and find the pilot and plane. Then protect both of them until the Federal guys could arrive."

"Sounds simple enough. But you'll find a way to screw it up, Harry," Harry's Cock chuckled.

Moments later, Harry's Packard swung up to the curb in front of LeGuardia Airport outside New York City. Harry jumped out and headed for the terminal entrance. Inside, he spotted Alvin Muldoon, a cop from third precinct. Harry and Alvin were great friends.

"Hey, Alvin. How's tricks?"

"Fuck off, Dick."

"Yeah. I know you're glad to see I'm on the job."

"I was hoping you were just passing through, Dick. The last thing we need her is your help."

"Always the kidder, eh, Alvin," Harry said over his shoulder as he moved away toward the tarmac doors. Once there he was stopped by and airport security agent.

"Hey, fella. Where you think you're going?" the agent demanded.

Harry pulled out the privet investigator's badge he had purchased years before at J.J. Newberry's Department Store in the toy department and flashed it at the Agent. "Here on important business. Stand aside."

"What the fuck is that? It looks like it came from a toy store. Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

"Dick, Harry Dick. I'm here on official government business. Now point me to the Blackbird hanger."

"Blackbird? You mean...?" The agent laughed. "Okay. Right through there and clear on the other side of the tarmac in hanger G" the agent said pointing to a building some half mile away.

"And where do I find the pilot?"

"Oh, he's there working on the airplane." The agent smirked.

"What a fucking jerk," announced Harry's Cock as Harry headed out across the tarmac in the rain.

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "Those rent-a-cop types are always jealous of guys like me."

Twenty minutes later Harry opened the door to the small office in hanger G. He was greeted by a dizzy blonde sitting behind the counter doing her nails. "Yeah? What cha want?"

"Dick. Harry Dick, private eyes. I'm here on official government business."

"Okay, I guess. Go through that door. The plane's in the back."

Harry opened a steel door and entered the darkened hanger. Far in the rear he could just make out the form of and airplane. Slowly he walked toward it, calling out. "Hay? Anybody here?"

A voice came from the darkness. "I here. What do you want?"

"I'm Harry Dick, private eye. Jimson at the CIA sent me to look after you and the plane until their guys could get here. The communists want to steal the plane so they can...do whatever they do."

"Oh. You're the guy they sent. Just a minute." After a short wait the overhead lamps in the hanger went on flooding the area with ten-million lumens of light. From around plane came a man. Harry stared at him, then stared at the plane then stared at the man again. He could not make up his mind which was more out of place.

The man approached Harry holding out his hand. "Bill Blackbird Senior. You can call me Senior or just SR for short." Then turning toward the plane he added, "And this is The Blackbird. The most advanced spy plane in the world."

Still Harry could not decide if the man dressed in a leather flying jacket, leather flying cap and goggles with the white flowing silk scarf or the airplane which, if anything, looked rather more like a Curtis-Wright Flyer than anything else was more out of place.

Harry did not know what to say so he stammered, "Why does it have...um...why is it a biplane. I thought those went out in 1942. And what is the skin? It looks like canvas."

"Yep. That's what it is. High tech canvas. Something of my own invention. This baby really soars too. The ceiling is over two-thousand feet and can reach speeds in excess of one-hundred-twenty miles per hour in a steep dive."

"One-Twenty, huh?" was all Harry could say for the moment.

"Yeah. And I mounted a Kodak Instamatic camera under the tail. I can take spy pictures at five-hundred feet that will show you having a barbeque in your back yard. No wonder the communists want this baby."

"Ummm...Just a minute," Harry said as he walked a few feet away and pulled out his cell phone to call a number in Oregon.

"That's okay. I'm going to the bathroom anyway." Blackbird walked quickly toward a one of two doors in the far corner.

Harry's cell phone rang. "Jackson here. What the hell do you want?"

"Jenny, it's me, Harry."

"Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to write you all morning. Think you're getting lucky or something?"

"Umm...No, Jenny. Listen to me. This is what happened."

"Oh, God. Did you go out on your own and find a case. Bad, Harry. Really bad."

"I though this was my big chance, Jenny. But this isn't going quite right."

"Okay, Harry. Tell me all about it."

"I got this call from some guy in the State Department. He told me about this super spy plane and pilot the communists are trying to steal. So, here I am at LaGuardia and this guy is a nut case, dressed up like Baron Von Richtovan or something and the damn plane is a piece of she left over from world war I."

"Jesus, Harry. Did you take Maria along with you?"

"No. Why?"

"At least that would have given this crappy story some decent T&A for the readers. As it is..."

"God damn it, Jackson. Is that all you can think of?"

"Harry, I'm just trying to help you out."

"What are you going to do, Jenny?"

"I'll call Malone and have him get some of his guys down there to look into this. Then I'll work from there."

"Aren't you coming here too?"

"Yeah. I'll just write myself at LaGuardia in a few minutes and take over from Malone." Jenny hung up the phone.

Harry looked around the hanger. It was deserted, although he could hear muffled sounds coming from the bathroom. He walked to the bathroom door and listened. It sounded like someone was being strangled. Harry knocked on the door.

"Hey. Are you alright in there."

"Yes. Oh, God. Yes," came the gagging voice of Blackbird.

"Man," Harry thought. "That must be the biggest shit ever."

"Oh, Sweet Jesus!" came a scream from behind the door. "It's coming! Maaaather Fuckerrrrrrrrrr!" This was followed by a long period of silence. Then the door opened and the pilot came out buttoning his trousers. "Can't tell you how much I needed that."

Harry peeked into the bathroom. There was no toilet or sink. There was just and empty room with a hole in the wall at about hip level. "I don't thing I'm going to ask," Harry told himself.

As Harry turned back to the pilot, another door opened and a guy, obviously a mechanic judging from his clothes, came out of the second door, wiping his chin with a greasy rag.

"Holy Shit!" Harry thought. "This is getting worse by the minute."

Harry could hear the sound of sirens in the distance. "God, that must be Boney and the boys from the third precinct. Jenny should have called the guys in the white coats from Belvue instead," he thought aloud.

"What was that you said?" shouted Blackbird. "You say the New York cops are coming? They are in with the commies." Blackbird hopped into the pilot's seat.

"Here, Dick. Help me. Contact."

"Contact what?" wondered Harry.

"Contact." Blackbird shouted again.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I'm ready. Turn the propeller, Harry."

"Fuck that shit. I guy could get hurt," Harry's Cock said aloud.

Harry eyed the propeller dubiously. "You want me to turn that thing?"

"Yes. Hurry. We don't have much time."

Tentatively, Harry pushed on the propeller. It move a little.

"No. The other way."

Harry pushed the propeller in the other direction. I moved a little.

"You gotta really crank that thing."

Harry took hold of the propeller with both hands and gave a mighty push. The engine gave out a mighty pop. Smoke filled the hanger. A cough, then the engine caught and the propeller began to turn faster.

"Now get in, Harry. And hurry."

Slowly Harry climbed into the front seat thinking this was a really bad idea. Harry's Cock was shriveled almost to nothing out of fear. "This ain't a good idea, Harry."

Blackbird gunned the throttle and the plane began to move slowly at first toward the hanger doors then began to pick up speed. Just outside on the tarmac the plane lifted of into the air, settled to the ground, bounced once and leaped into the air again with the left wheel scrapped along the hood of Boney's police car.

"Dick, you crazy fucker!" Boney Malone screamed. But by now the fabulous aircraft was soaring at an incredible fifty feet off the ground and traveling at a mind-numbing thirty-six miles per hour.

Harry was looking over the side at the police cars below when he heard a shot. He whirled around to see Blackbird waving a military issue .45 cal automatic, shooting wildly at the tarmac and cars below.

"Oh, Jesus save me from this nut case," Harry prayed just as the plane banked sharply to avoid a tree.

The plane headed out toward the Atlantic then turned north toward Atlantic City. Harry felt a hand shaking his shoulder. He turned toward the rear pilot's seat. Blackbird was yelling something.

"What? I cant' hear you over the engine."

Blackbird pointed toward the New Jersey shore frantically. Harry looked in that direction to see a hillock rushing at over thirty miles per hour toward them. The plane banked again to head out over the Atlantic. After a few minutes the plane banked again bringing it around toward Atlantic City.

Harry's Cock was praying to the Great Dildo God for succor and salvation from this madman. Harry's cell phone began to chirp. Harry's hands were clenched immovable on the airplane. Harry's Cock answered the phone.

"Jesus Christ, Jenny. Get us the fuck out of this!" Harry's Cock screamed into the phone.

"Well. It seems to me you got yourself into this, HC."

"Call the guys with the white coats. This guy is totally nuts, Jenny. We are about to die."

"Not to worry, HC. I interjected something into the story and called the boys over at Belvue. They'll meet you in Atlantic City." Jenny hung up the phone.

Looking forward, Harry could see a church with a tall steeple and a large expanse of grass beyond. The plane seemed to be slowly losing altitude to land there, but just a block short of the church there was a sudden, profound silence.

"Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" screamed Harry's Cock.

"Is the motor really supposed to stop like that?" wondered Harry.

The airplane bucked a moment at it tried to stall, then rammed straight into the church steeple, hanging there for a moment before falling tail first to the ground.

"I think I'm dead, Harry," moaned Harry's Cock.

Calmly, Blackbird climbed out of the wreckage mumbling, "Cheap Japanese sparkplugs!"

Harry crawled out from under the collapsed upper wing, walked a few yards and turned to survey the damage. He noticed the sign over the door of the church which read, "Church of the Holey Bathroom Stall." Under that was another sign that read, "Glory Party 7 PM. All Invited."

Harry rolled his eyes. "This is exactly the kind of shit Jenny would think up."

"Follow me," Blackbird told Harry. "I know this place. And I gotta make a call to my publisher."

Blackbird lead the way into the church. Just inside there was a payphone with a hole in the wall just below it. The pilot picked up the receiver, dropped a dime in the slot and dialed a number in the Transcontinental Railroad Building in New York.

"I wanna speak to Tom Wilks." Then after a short pause. "Oh. He's dead. Well, who's in charge of publication?"

There was another wait, then a voice came on the line.

"This is Blackbird. When are you going to publish my story on the Lezbo Rapists in Jersey City?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackbird. Our editorial staff did get a good laugh out of the story. But this is not of the quality that the

Police Gazette

publishes. May I suggest you talk to

Dell Comic Books

, instead. They print unbelievable trash, you know."

Blackbird began to scream obscenities into the phone. In the distance, Harry could hear the sound of sirens. He looked out the front door to see Boney and the boys from the third precinct racing toward the church followed by a white van with the words "Belvue Medical Center" on the side. The procession of vehicles came to a screeching halt in fron of the church.

Men in white jumped from the van and ran inside past Harry.

"Now come along with us, Mr. Blackbird. We have your cell all ready for you."

Blackbird hung up the phone and looked at the nuthouse employees. "Hi, Wilber."

"Hello, Mr. Blackbird. Come with us. It's time for you to go home," Wilber said as he skillfully guided Blackbird toward the padded back of the van.

"You are in some deep shit, Harry," Boney Malone said to Harry.

"Why? What'd I do?"

"You know what you did. You diverted Jenny from important work to bail your dumb ass out. And you didn't even bring Maria along to add some T &A to the story."

"Shit. Wait a minute." Harry took out his cell phone and called Jenny in Oregon. After a short conversation, Maria walked up to the pair wearing nothing but a demi-bra and thong.

"What da fuck, Harry? I was just about to get laid and I popped up here. Seems like more of Jenny's work."

Harry oggled Maria's massive fun bags and the cute camel toe in her thong.

Maria batted her eyes at Boney. "Ya don't suppose a girl could get a ride back to the City, do ya, Boney?"

Boney just smiled as he wrapped his arm around Maria's waist and squeezed her left butt cheek. In a few minutes all the vehicles were gone leaving Harry standing alone in front of the church.

"God damn it, Harry. We almost got killed and Boney gets the broad," cried Harry's Cock.

"Curse you, Jenny Jackson!" screamed Harry.

"Hi, guy. New in town," came a falsetto voice from behind him. Harry turned to see a priest with an obvious bulge in his crotch.

"God damn. Son of a Bitch!" cried Harry as he began the long walk back the New York.

"Y'all come back for the Glory Party," called the priest.

"Yeah, right." Harry called back over his shoulder.

"Maybe we could, Harry. I mean, we haven't been to a party for..."

"Shut the fuck up," Harry told his Cock. "Don't you know what kind of party that would be?"

"At this point, Harry, who cares?"