The Real Mrs. Evans

Shovels the name Dick shovel, private eye. I picked up my ticket right after I was mustered out. Much to the consternation of Detective Sargent Harley, who would rather see me in the can, not out on the streets. As a consequence, he has been after my ticket for the last two years. Our troubles started right after I got out, I kicked the shit out of his 4F son and two of his friends in a bar fight.

I was sitting at my desk cleaning my heater, a beautiful 1911 I had carried through half the Islands in the pacific. I devoted loving attention to the marvelous John Moses Browning invention. I heard someone enter the outer office, then my girl Friday (everyone has to have one) Eve announced A Mrs. Evans.

Mrs. Evans (if that was her name) was one classy dame. She reeked of money but, moreover, she had red full pouty lips, legs all the way up to her ass. And deep penetrating blue eyes that held me transfixed.

It wasn't easy holding a conversation with her, as I couldn't take my eyes off her well-turned calves.

"What can I do for you, doll?"

"First, you can refer to me as Mrs. Evans."

"Sure, doll, I'll take it under advisement; meanwhile, what can I do for you?"

"I don't think I like you, Mr. Shovel."

"That's beside the point; what can I do for you, ahem, Mrs. Evans?"

"My husband is missing; I think he is in hiding; some very bad men are looking for him. They say he has something that is theirs."

"Wouldn't be a little black falcon, would it?" I replied, cracking wise.

She got up to leave; I managed to charm her and get her calmed down. Then we got down to work. You know, when where, how who. I got names, addresses, contacts, potential enemies, and a good description of two goons that came to visit her.

Not much to go on, but one of the goon's descriptions rang a bell. So, I called my favorite flatfoot, my brother-in-law Sgt Jamison at gang division. He gave me a lead on the punk, and I headed off to meet and greet.

Lefty Sullivan had been in the rackets for a long time; he mainly served as muscle. So, I tried the subtle approach.

"Hey, Lefty, who are you working for these days?"

"Fuck off, gumshoe."

I stroked him across the nose with the piece I had just cleaned, which pissed me off. He didn't even see it coming, and the contact felt pretty good. Then, he dropped to the deck and acted like he was having trouble breathing.

"Want to change your answer, Lefty?"

"Big Al, you son of a bitch, you busted my nose."

"What does Big Al want with him, don't make me ask again."

"Ok, ok, don't hit me again. He lifted the Smithworty necklace from Fingers Flannery.

It turns out Fingers was hit by a car after putting the touch on the Smithworty necklace. Fingers was one of the best cat burglars in the business. This Evans jerk was at the scene and helped himself to the necklace. The necklace was worth 75 g's.

I went to the diner across from the accident scene; I sat for a cup of joe and some conversation.

"What will you have, big boy? This gorgeous waitress asked me.

"Give me a cup, and what time do you get off?"

"Well, my shift is up at 10, and hopefully, I will get off shortly after if you up for it, big boy."

Well, there was a challenge on the table, and I had to take care of it before I could move on with the case.

The next morning I felt great; a fresh tube cleaning, I was ready to go.

I called to check in with Eve; apparently, some dame just tried to dump a very expensive necklace at Thirty-day Jimmies pawn shop. So, I went to see Thirty-day, we went way back, we had waded ashore together on more than one Pacific beach. I got a good description of the femme fatale that tried to dump the necklace. Thirty day turned down the necklace without even looking, he had a nose for shady deals. His description of the dame really got my mind to working.

I drove out to the Evans estate. I asked for Mrs. Evans at the gate and was allowed entry. I parked the car and walked up to the front door; the housekeeper led me through the house to the pool area.

Surprise! Laying on a lounge chair sunning naked was a beautiful 50-year-old blonde. She did not attempt to cover herself as she extended her hand and introduced herself as Mrs. Evans.

"What may I do for you, Mr. Shovel," she purred.

"I've been hired by someone claiming to be Mrs. Evans to find your husband."

"Well, my husband is missing, and I have filed a police report, and beyond that, I couldn't care less if he is found."

"Would you like a drink, Mr. shovel?"

"I will have a scotch neat, thank you."

She called for drinks, and we sat in the sun, and to my surprise, she also drank neat scotch. I was beginning to like her.

"Do you have plans for this evening, Dick, if I may call you Dick?"

At that, she threw one leg off the lounge, giving me one hell of a view of her spread pussy.

"I was hoping you would stay for dinner."

I had a pretty good idea of what was on the menu, and I couldn't refuse. I left her place early the next morning. I went home to shave and shower when I got a call from Jamison; they found Evans's body in the river; he had been beaten badly and dumped in the river. It seems he was still alive when he went in.

Time to dig deeper, I stopped by the office to do some thinking.

"Eve! I need a scotch and you."

Eve came in with my scotch, and she was already topless. As I sipped my scotch, she slowly sucked my cock. Then it hit me as I shot my load into her lovely mouth.

"Eve, get the weasel on the phone, have him meet at the brass rail."

That Eve was a hell of a gal, blowjobs on demand, and she was a hell of a secretary. The only thing lacking is she couldn't breathe through her ears.

I met the weasel at the rail, the bartender set me up a double scotch as I walked in. The weasel lived up to his name in appearance, but beneath that lurked a brilliant mind. We sat and talked bounced ideas off each other, then 4 doubles later it hit me, of course. Mr. Evans was having an affair with the fake Mrs Evans, She was the one who tried to pawn the necklace.

I headed out to the Smithworty estate, I called up to the house and was ushered in.

To my surprise, I was met by Big Al waving a gun. The gal who impersonated Mrs Evans was crumpled in the corner, and she looked very dead. The meanest looking bitch I've ever seen was standing behind Big Al.

"Kill him," she screamed, "shoot the bastard."

"Naw I'm not lugging that big bastard out of here. He can carry her and walk down to the car, Shovel drop the the heater, real slow and careful."

Big Al had been around for a while, but he still had some lessons to learn about hand speed and the cocked and locked characteristics of the 1911. I put one right in the middle of his forehead. Whoever wrote that book "My gun is quick" must have seen me in action.

I looked at Mrs Smithworty "All this over a phony necklace, You hire Fingers to steal it with plans to destroy it then claim insurance, you couldn't afford to have people running around with it and finding out it was fake. The real one probably sold years ago, how am I doing so far?"

"Pretty clever for a two bit gumshoe." coming over, putting her arms around my neck, kissing me. I guess all that charm worked on Big Al.

Oh, shit! That damn hair trigger, my 45 went off and poor Mrs Smithworty was right in the way. After a day and a half, wrap up with Detective Sargent Harley, who wasn't buying half of what I told him. I headed home.

After some rest and half a bottle of scotch. I went to call on Mrs Evans, the recently widowed woman. She was glad to see me.