The office still looked the same, thought Mike, as he crossed the sidewalk and walked in through the lobby doors. Solid and predictable, stone and brick, with that grime that the city imparts, that won't ever wash off. This neighborhood wasn't in the skids, but it wasn't so far off either. Time would tell if the building would sink into disrepair and demolition, or undergo gentrification and renewal.
The elevator worked today and the hallway was empty. After fumbling a moment with the keys, he was in his office and dropping with a sigh into the big old leather desk chair. The office was strangely quiet without Velda. No sounds of someone bustling about in the lobby, no life. Just the noise of the traffic outside. Emptiness.
He pulled open the desk drawer and lifted out the big 45, dropped the clip and checked that it was filled with heavy slugs, and re-inserted it into the gun. He racked it and slipped it into his leather shoulder holster. It felt good there... heavy and familiar. A friend in need.
He missed her. Velda and him had been a thing forever. She was his secretary. She took care of him. She cared about him. He was gonna marry her someday. Now she was in the hospital and he was no closer to finding out who attacked her than he was the day he found her lying beside her desk, hurt and unconscious. He only knew, it had something to do with Chinatown.
He dialed up Pat on the desk phone. Felt strange, making his own calls. The phone kept ringing with no one answering. Pat wasn't in his office. Replaced the handset in its cradle.
There were forces in motion in Chinatown and somehow it involved him and somehow it involved Velda. At the moment, he had no idea what that connection could be. Decided to give up office duty and go check a few Chinese contacts and see what they knew.
Mike spent the remainder of the day searching out and talking with the few people he still knew that worked and lived in Chinatown. Nobody had anything interesting to say. Around five, he gave it up as a bad job and headed home.
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The first thing Mike noticed when he walked into his apartment was Ivy. She was all shiny and new looking, wearing a floral print blouse tied off at the waist, with bright, crisp coral shorts, bare legs and heeled hemp sandals. Her hair was piled up on her head in some female way. She looked like a Oriental Camay soap commercial, all perky and clean and impossibly perfect.
"Mike, you home!"
"Hi doll."
"You sit here, drink martini."
It didn't sound like such a bad idea when she put it to him like that, even if it was his own sofa she was inviting him to sit down on and his booze. Ivy pranced over with a filled V-shaped glass and handed it to Mike. He sipped cautiously. It was gin, cold and dry, with a hint of Vermouth... drinkable.
She was just standing there in front of him, smiling down at him and looking all pretty and everything was domestically blissful, but as he watched, she glanced up at the apartment door behind him and her face suddenly changed to a look of alarm.
"Mike, look out!"
Thats when all the lights went out and he slid down into a pit of darkness...
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On the floor, Mike stirred. He became aware of a blinding headache. Then he woke up to a nightmare.
They had Ivy down on the bed, two of them holding her down while the third, the leader, was on top of her, between her legs. Ivy was throwing herself back and forth trying to get them off, but they easily overpowered her. The one on top had his pants down and his cock out. It was the most lethal weapon Mike had ever seen. That wickedly up-curved can-opener was designed for rape, pointy at the business end, but tapering to be thick as a coke bottle at the base.
They had pulled most of Ivy's clothes off and only her panties were dangling precariously off one foot. Nothing to keep out that thing the Chinaman was bringing to bear.
The gangster's face was twisted by lust. He was watching Ivy closely, enjoying the fear in her eyes, the knowledge that that he was going to fuck her senseless and there was nothing she could do about it. He was going to enjoy emptying his nuts into this hot little Chinese cunt, and he could hurt her as much as he wanted, because they were gonna kill her when they were done. That's why they were here. To kill her. Anything else they did to her was a bonus. He had seen her around in Chinatown and knew her for the untouchable little princess she was. Looking down her nose at him. But she was no longer protected by the Hip Sing Tong. She had it coming big time.
His boys were pinning her down and try as she might, she could not wiggle out from under them. They were hungering for their turn at her. One, overeager, already had pulled out his little dick, and was jerking it lewdly in her Asian face.
He leaned forward and guided his deformed cock up to her unprotected little pussy. She was kicking wildly under him but was powerless to prevent what was going to happen. Behind them, on the floor, Mike could see everything, the pointed tip of that rock-hard dick dipping effortlessly into Ivy, parting her hairy cunt lips. Relentlessly it advanced, despite her furious struggles. The Chinaman was taking his time, enjoying himself, slowly getting more and more in, opening her up. It was an unstoppable wedge, working its inexorable way in... and then with a vicious thrust he was balls deep... that whole evilly curved and obscenely thick cock drove completely up inside Ivy, accompanied by a piercing scream from the violated and helpless Asian girl.
All eyes in the room were riveted on that pornographic scene... that monstrous cock stretching her hole impossibly wide open. The second gangster, holding her down, was working his fist furiously on his little dick. From his position behind them on the floor Mike could not see, but assumed the gangster was planning to coat her face with his spunk while his boss ravaged her. Or maybe he was just warming up for when his turn at her came. The third gangster had her by the tits and was roughly pulling at her nipples.
That was when Mike's searching hand finally found the 38 special he kept under the bedroom chair, taped to the bottom. Engrossed in the sex show, none of the gangsters noticed him rip the gun loose and bring it up to aim at the asshole that was busy impaling Ivy on his dick. Thumb back the hammer, line up the sights on the chest, and pull. Turn left, line up the sights on number two asshole, and pull. Turn more, line up sights on number three asshole and pull again. The noise hurt his head but the bullets did their work, turning flesh and organs into hamburger and spraying the walls with lumpy, wet, red patches.
Mike drew back on the boss asshole but he was staying down. Ivy had found a knife somewhere and was crouched down over the laid out Chinaman. She finished what she was doing and stood up, naked and bloody but holding a trophy - a piece of flesh, limp now and dripping, cut from his body by one very angry woman. The Chinaman was still moving but by the size of the pool of blood on the floor under him, he wouldn't be moving for much longer. Mike let his gaze wander across the other two. They were toast, bleeding out into the carpet.
