"Fuck you, Jenny. We're through. Good bye, you bitch!" Harry Dick, mediocre private detective, and well known wanker, shouted into the telephone receiver.
"Now calm down, Harry. I'm trying to make it up to you," came the reasoning voice of the insane porn-mystery writer, Jenny Jackson. "I know I've put you into some, shall we say, uncomfortable situations in the past but..."
"No, Jenny. I ain't falling for it this time," replied Harry.
"You tell her, Big Guy," came the voice of Harry's Cock from its hiding place in Harry's pants.
"Shudup, you little bastard," Harry screamed at his cock. Then to the telephone receiver, "Just fuck the hell off, Jenny."
"At least hear me out, Harry," came Jenny's voice on the phone. "I have it from a good source the Harrison Mansion over on Hilltop near Central Park will be robbed tonight. This could be your big case, Harry. The Harrison's are big wheels in this town."
"What source, Jenny? Some drunk on skid row like all your usual sources?"
"No, Harry. I'm actually writing this one without any help from outside sources. This time I'm writing a really great story for you."
"Yeah. Yeah. Just like that dyke wrestlers and Swedish fat broad you sucked off on me last Halloween, Jenny. I ain't doing this again."
"Just hang up on her," whispered Harry's Cock.
Harry thought about this for a moment then tried his best to slam the telephone receiver onto it's cradle. He couldn't.
Jenny's voice came from the phone, "You can't hang up, Harry. I didn't write it that way. Besides, I felt so sorry for that Swedish woman. Hilda turned gay after you did her, you know."
"You bitch!" Harry screamed into the phone.
"Yeah. You're a total bitch, Jenny," chimed in Harry's Cock.
"Knock it off, you two. This is something completely new for me. I'm writing you into a real, mainstream mystery," Jenny yawned. "But then if the great Harry Dick isn't up to the challenge..."
"God damn it!" The anger in Harry's voice was obvious. Harry was trapped and he knew it. "What do I have to do?"
"You just need to show up at the Harrison Mansion around 4:30 this afternoon. Just wait around there and keep your eyes open. I'll write the rest and let you know what to look for by phone."
Harry Dick slammed the telephone received down on it's cradle and stared out the window of his office on 3rd Avenue on New York's lower West Side. The late October sky was as gray and dark as his mood.
"Hey, Harry. Maybe the Harrison broad is really cute and we can fuck the shit out of her," Harry's Cock happily thought out loud.
"In a Jenny Jackson mystery? Get serious. She's probably ninety years old, four hundred pounds and ugly as hell. I even bet she's a dyke, just like that bitch, Jackson."
Harry reached in the top drawer of his desk and took out his most prized possession, a nickel-plated 38 caliber revolver with the confusing inscription on the receiver that read, "To Louis on his 21st birthday." For the ten-thousandth time Harry wondered who the hell Louis was and what was so special about his 21st birthday. Harry stared out the window and ran his fingers over the polished, though worn, surface of the gun, lost in thought.
One would think Harry was deep in contemplation of the coming heist, but in reality, his mind had drifted to his secretary, Maria Torres, who was now in the outer office. In his mind he ran the cold steel of his revolver over her naked bazookas, while she swooned and begged for more.
Harry did not even notice Harry's Cock growing in his pants. Nor did he realize he had unzipped his fly to free his best friend.
His revelry was broken, however, first by the sound of his cock. "Urggg. Harry, you're strangling me. Lighten up, dude." Harry glanced downward an could see his hand wrapped tightly around Harry's Cock, which was turning a bright shade of purple.
At the same time the door to his private office opened and Maria Torres stood, wide eyed and open mouthed, in the doorway. "What the fuck you doing, Harry?" she screamed in horror. "You foking playing wit youself?"
"Um...uh..." Harry stammered, letting go of Harry's Cock. The little bugger, now quite flaccid, collapsed and lay unconscious on Harry's pants leg.
"Harry. You a God damn pervert," Maria screamed in horror.
"Maria..." Harry tried.
"Fuck you, Harry. I go to lunch now. Bye. I may not be back." Maria took one step backwards, slamming the door. Then she turned to Police Inspector "Bony" Malone who had been waiting for her in the outer office.
"Hi, Bony," she said, reaching down to stroke the "Bony" boner the cop was sporting his pants. "Time for lunch, big boy." Arm in arm, the two left the office and headed down the three flights of stairs to Bony's waiting police car.
Hours later, in the growing darkness of early evening, Harry rang the bell on the expansive entrance door of the Harrison Mansion. He waited. Nothing happened. He rang the bell again impatiently.
Slowly, the door swung open. "My I be of service," said the elderly butler, dressed in a black mourning suit. In the crook of his left arm the butler held a large crockery bowl of candy bars - Baby Ruths, Mars Bars and Snickers. These were not the tiny, "bite sized," cheap ones most people gave away either. These were the full sized candy bars.
"Yeah. Trick or Treat. And I wanna see the Harrison dame."
"May I say who's calling?"
"Dick. Harry Dick. Private eye," Harry said proudly, offering his tattered business card.
"Oh yes. The low class gum shoe. Madame Harrison is expecting you. Please come in."
Harry followed the butler, who he had told him was called - get this - Jeeves - into the mansion. Jeeves led Harry into a sitting room off the main entrance hall and asked him to wait while he went to inform the lady of the house.
The room was larger than Harry's office, but quite comfy, except for the elephant head mounted above massive stone fireplace and a glass case in the corner filled with a collection of shrunken heads. That, Harry thought, was a bit much. He was about to "accidentally" slip a silver ashtray into his pocket when he was interrupted by a voice.
"Mr. Dick. I'm so glad you are here. That excellent mystery writer, Jenny Jackson, called and told me to expect you," Mrs. Harrison said, holding out her hand. She was not as bad a Harry had expected. She was somewhere in her mid-sixties, gray hair, rather rotund and dripping with expensive-looking jewelry, but not a bad looking broad for her age. Most likely horn as hell too, he told himself.
Harry took her out-stretched hand. "Pleased," he intoned in his best Bogart imitation. "Now let's get down to business. Who are these guys? Some big crime gang? Mobsters? What?"
Mrs. Harrison looked confused. "I don't know. Jenny told me to tell you to call her. She has written all the particulars of this case by now." Harry took is Iphone from his trench coat pocket and punched out Jenny's number.
"Hello, Harry."
"Ok, Jackson. What's the deal? Some big crime syndicate?"
"This is a gang that's up to now quite unknown to the police, Harry. They call themselves the Little Fucker Gang. I can't tell you much more because I haven't written that scene yet. But be on the lookout for some tough looking characters. I'll call you back after I write the scene." Jenny paused, then asked, "How the hell did you get an Iphone in 1943? Steve Jobs hasn't even been born yet."
"Steve who?" Harry asked, a look of utter confusion on his face - a look that seemed to happen to him a lot, actually.
"Never mind, Harry. Just keep your eyes open. I'll call you back later." Jenny hung up the phone.
Harry turned to Madame Harrison. "Don't worry, Doll. I got everything under control here." He thought about asking this rich bitch if she knew who Steve Jobs was, but was interrupted by the doorbell.
"You stay here out of sight. I'll go check this out," Harry told her, drawing his prized revolver from the holster under his left armpit. Cautiously and stealthily, Harry moved out into the entrance hall and approached the great door. Carefully, he thumbed the latch then swung the door wide, gun cocked and at the ready.
"Trick or Treat," said an eight year old dressed out in a Batman costume, just as the gun discharged, the bullet barely missing the kid's head.. "Hey, mister. Is that a real gun? Can I play with it?"
Mrs. Harrison screamed.
Jeeves push by the detective. "Oh, delightful. A little Batman," he said with a wide smile, holding out a Snickers bar. As the boy reached for the candy, Jeeves jerked it away. "And what is your Trick, young fellow?"
The boy grimaced. "Soap, you jerk. And if that don't work, I'll kick you in the nuts."
Jeeves handed the candy bar to the kid with a flourish and closed the door.
"Guess that wasn't the Little Fucker Gang," Harry said, sulking.
The doorbell rang again. Jeeves turned and opened the door. "Trick or Treat."
