No Rough Stuff

The female voice behind me was firm and business like with the lightest lilt of an English or perhaps Scottish accent.

"Are you Walter Shields, the private investigator?"

I turned to look at her. She was a good solid woman, perhaps 30 or so, maybe 10 years younger than me. She was a little thick in the waist and possibly an extra couple of inches in the ass and bust but still a rather good-looking, high class broad. For some reason I got the impression that she may have been an athlete at one time. She had on an expensive, skirted gray business suite with a white blouse, stockings and tall stiletto heels. She had carefully coiffured, very light brown hair and expertly applied make-up. The skin of her face was creamy and unblemished.

"Walt, but you got me, who are you?"

"Joan Wilson. Your office was closed but the building janitor said your car was still in the parking lot so you would probably be in the strip joint across the street. He said you spent a lot of time here."

"OK, you found me. What can I do for you, Joan Wilson?"

I took another look at her and revised my first estimate. Maybe I had been watching the skinny pussy on stage too much. Right now, the one on stage was nude and had just finished dry humping the theater curtain, trying to drum up some business for her lap dancing sessions in the back room.

Joan Wilson looked a little nervous as she said, "I need an escort to go with me to find someone... Er... An ex-partner... Er... Something... an item of mine."

Yep, the gal on stage was skinny as hell and Joan Wilson was just about right.

"I can do that." I sized her up and estimated that she was a bit better than well off financially. Maybe I could do a little something here, drum up a little cash. "I get $75.00 an hour plus expenses, with a minimum of $300.00."

"Wow, that's a bit rich. Can you do any better? This should only take two or three hours."

I looked at the few dollar bills and some loose change lying on the bar. It was the end of my last twenty bucks after a couple of seven-dollar (+ tax) beers. "OK, I'm not doing anything this afternoon. I'll give you three hours for $200.00 but if we go over its $75.00 an hour for anything beyond that."

I could have done it for less but I wanted to get back and let the skinny bitch give me a $50.00 lap dance and have something left over.

She didn't hesitate. "OK, I'll meet you here three hours from now, at seven o'clock, how's that?"

"Yeah, I guess so but I'll need a hundred bucks as a retainer." I figured with three hours to kill I might as well have the lap dance now.

I gave her another once over. "By the way, just what will we be doing?"

"I need to find my, soon to be, x-partner. He left with something of mine and I must get it back."

"Hey! I ain't hiring on for no rough stuff." Every time anything violent happens, I get hurt. The last time I got in a fight some guy broke my hand with his face and then I had to take him to the hospital to get both of us stitched up.

"Cecil, my one time partner, is a wimp so there shouldn't be any rough stuff. Besides, you look like you can handle yourself."

Shit! She would say something like that. Now I had to contend with my fucking ego. She handed me five twenty dollar bills and said, "I'll be back promptly at seven o'clock, please be ready."

I watched her ripe ass undulate out of the joint and signaled the barkeep for another beer. With the beer in my hand I sleazed my way into the back room where Ronda, the skinny bitch was just finishing a lap dance on some pimply face kid in a deliveryman's uniform.

She called after him as he adjusted his crotch and stumbled his way toward the bar, "Come see me again the next time your pecker is hard." She turned to me. "What about you Walt? You horny and got fifty bucks? Hell, you're a regular so I'll do you for forty if you got it."

"OK, but you know I ain't no three minute wonder like that guy. I want the full treatment."

I gave her two of the twenties and she gave me the full treatment, leaving me short of breath but strangely unsatisfied.

I made it back to the bar and was just finishing my next beer when Joan Wilson showed up. She had changed clothes and was now looking like a commando in black jeans, a dark blue turtle neck sweater and some sort of black athletic shoes. Her creamy skin was in stark contrast to the dark sweater. I noticed that her carefully applied make-up was gone, replaced by the absolute minimum of lipstick. Her hair, tucked under a ball cap with a New York Yankees logo, finished the picture. In my mind's eye she was more attractive now than when she was decked out with all that face paint.

"OK Ms. Wilson, where are we going?"

"Call me Joan or Jo. Can I call you Walt?"

"Sure."

"We'll take my car because I know the way. He has a loft we converted into an apartment down close to the waterfront. He's should be there by now."

Her car took my breath away. It was a brand new, top of the line Lexis. She drove and I slouched in the passenger seat beside her. She may have looked like a commando but she sure smelled like a woman, a sexy woman. I felt right in place with my dark blue blazer, no tie and jeans. Just as a matter of conversation I asked her, "Where did you get my name?"

"One of my business associates, Joe Monticello, said you were a reliable guy and could help me."

I knew Joe and he was a kind of unsavory character but I let it pass as we threaded our way into the dock area, a very shady part of town. We pulled up in front of a big old, four story warehouse. I was going to comment about leaving this ritzy car on the street when she clicked a garage door opener and one of the loading doors slid up, revealing an area that would accommodate at least six or seven vehicles. There was a green Volkswagen beetle, an almost new Lincoln SUV and a vintage little MG sports car already parked in the marked spaces. On the wall closest to the driver's side of the Lincoln was the opening for an old fashioned freight elevator.

She said, "Here it is and he's home, that's the Lincoln the company bought for him."

We got in the elevator and she pushed the button that would take us to the fourth floor. I found the elevator was not an old antique but rather an ultra-modern conveyance that had been purposely designed to look old. It arrived smoothly at our destination and the door slid quietly open to reveal a small foyer with a large, steel reinforced door facing us. The only thing on the door was a keypad. The elevator door closed soundlessly leaving us standing in this small vestibule.

Jo punched in a few numbers on the keypad and the door opened silently. There was a huge area that had once been a loft but was now tastefully redecorated into an ultra-modern, comfortable, living space with very high ceilings. It was at least 40 feet by 40 feet with a steel 'I' beam roof support in the very center. There was tasteful furniture casually strewn around the room. Straight ahead there were modern windows that had been created to resemble the original loft windows. Off to the left was a kitchen area divided from the main living space only by a counter and some cabinets hung from the ceiling. To the right was a partition with a door that obviously led to a bedroom. Although there was no one in the main living expanse, there were noises coming from the bedroom.

Jo put a finger to her lips and whispered, "follow me," and headed straight for the bedroom door.

With me hot on her tail, she opened the door and went inside. There was a small, wimpy man with his back to us having sex with a girl. They were both nude. She was on her hands and knees on the bed and he was standing on the floor behind her. He would slowly withdraw and just as suddenly plunge his meat back into her. Each time he hammered home she would grunt and then sigh on the withdrawal. He was holding her hips, pushing her back and forth on his rigid cock. His head was back, his mouth was open and his eyes were closed. They were both completely oblivious to our presence.

We stood there watching for quite a few seconds until Jo picked up a large book that was on a table by the door, walked over to him and, with a roundhouse strike, hit him on the left side of the head. She jumped back when he reeled around, holding his ear. His penis was sticking straight out, glistening with the vaginal secretions from the girl. His cock was grotesquely large; actually gigantic for a man his size. The girl flopped onto her side and looked back at us in terror. Instinctively she covered her snatch with her hands. It was no girl! It was a woman at least 50 years old, perhaps 15 or 20 years older than the man.

Through clinched teeth Jo hissed, "Walt, I'd like you to meet Cecil, my so-called-partner, and this is Carol Williams, his secretary. Her husband works for Cecil in his office as a real estate salesman. This is very unusual; she usually just gives him blow jobs in the office." To the woman on the bed she said, "Nice to see you Carol, all of you. Where's your husband this evening?"

"I...err...He had to go to Atlanta on business."

"How convenient."

Cecil had recovered somewhat. He was still nude and his dick had wilted into a shadow of its former self but it was still big and still shining with the remnants of his lovemaking. He took a couple of steps toward Jo and I started to intervene when from behind me, from the right, came, "Hold it right there," and I heard the familiar click of the hammer of a hand gun being cocked.

I turned around to find Jo holding a cannon. It wasn't just any cannon; it was one I was intimately acquainted with, a Beretta model 92FS, a 9mm semiautomatic with nine shots that could blow a hole in you as big as a pool table. Needless to say, Cecil froze, his pale skin got paler and he put his hands in the air. He looked ridiculous standing there nude, with his hands up and his dick down, still dripping the juices from his lovemaking. Carol was still on the bed but the hands that had been covering her pussy were now covering her face. I moved back a couple of steps.

Jo was venomous when she said, "Okay you limey bastard, where is it?"

"Where is what? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know what I mean fuck face, my laptop."

"I don't...."

The blast of the 9mm in the closed room was deafening. Three things happened all at once. Carol buried in her face in the bed and covered the back of her head with her hands. A small ceramic knick knack on the headboard behind the bed exploded into a million pieces and Cecil lost control of his bladder and pissed on the floor.

He screamed, "Jesus Christ, Jo, you almost shot me. Your laptop is in my office downtown in the locked filing cabinet. I'll go get it for you."

"Not on your life! Carol, do you have keys to the office and the filing cabinet?"

When carol nodded yes, Jo told her to get her clothes on and then used the gun to motion to Cecil. "Get into the living room! We need to put you out of action you while we go get the laptop."

When she started to tuck the gun away into her waistband, Cecil made a lunge for her. As he passed by me, I grabbed his arm and swung him in a half circle toward the fake loft windows. He was completely horizontal with his feet off the floor and backwards when he hit the windows. I was surprised they didn't break but they were staunch replicas of the old, heavy duty warehouse type windows, a strong grid of wire sandwiched between two substantial panes of glass. He let out an "OOF" then crumpled into a whimpering mass on the floor.

Jo had Carol in one hand and Carol's clothes in the other, pushing her towards the door. She turned to me, "Get his sorry ass into the living room. We need to restrain him while we go get the laptop."

Obeying Jo's instructions, I grabbed Cecil's arm, pulled him to his feet and marched him into the other room. He was completely docile, limping a little and quietly sniveling. Jo had me seat him on the floor, still nude, and wrap his arms and legs around the 'I' beam support. "Over there, behind the kitchen is a storage room. See if you can find some wire or rope to tie him up."

The storage room was really more of a pantry with a few tools on some of the shelves. I was pleasantly surprised when I came across an electrician's tool box with six or seven heavy duty tie wraps in it. I pocketed them all. Back in the living room we fastened Cecil's arms and legs securely around the 'I' beam using the zip wraps.

Once Jo was satisfied that Cecil was immobilized she turned her attention to Carol who had by this time put on her clothes. "We're going to go and get my laptop then you can come back here and release him."

The rest of it went without a hitch. Even though the Volkswagen in the garage was Carols, Jo made her ride with us but in the back seat because she was afraid Carol would run if we turned her lose in her car. We got the laptop at the real estate office and Jo gave carol $20.00 to get a cab back to the loft. Jo rummaged around in the office for quite a few minutes and finally found something else she was looking for.

"My apartment is only a few blocks away. Let's go there so I can make sure everything is still here and get you the rest of your money."

Jo was very preoccupied during the drive to her luxury condo. We parked in the underground facility and rode the elevator to her 10th floor, penthouse unit. When she opened the door I was taken with the spectacular view of the city from her balcony. Once inside, she said, "Make yourself a drink while I check out my lap top. Good, it looks like he couldn't break my password and everything is still here."

"What's in there that's so important, that you didn't want him to have? Why couldn't the cops have handled this?"

"It's my client list and the names and employment data on all my girls. It's also got all my financial records. There are a few Feds who would kill to get their hands on this."

Client list? Girls? Financial records? What kind of client list? What kind of girls? What kind of financial records? Were the girls hookers? Where the clients Johns? Were the financial records the money she got from pandering? And what did the Feds have to do with it?

"Hey, wait a minute, are you a madam? Do you run a cat house?"

Jo was bristling, "What do you think I am, a whore? I'll have you know I'm an entertainment hostess. I supply young ladies as escorts for discerning gentleman. It's all above board and legal."

"Hey, don't worry; once in a while I use some of those services myself."

"You don't use my services! You couldn't afford it or even qualify for it on your best day. We are very discerning. I only accept new clients when they are referred by one of our regular members."

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything bad by it. It's just that you seem to be such a high class lady I didn't think that you would be involved in anything like that."

"Well, it's none of your business anyway, just cool it for a while; I've got some loose ends to take care of." For the next hour or so Jo kept herself busy using the laptop and the telephone. I was getting a little antsy when she finally said, "Okay, all done, sorry I was so sharp with you, it's just that I am still not use to the reactions I get when people find out what I do."

She told me that her husband had started this "business" about the time they were married and, at first, it was strictly an escort service, providing a companion to be arm decoration for busy businessmen and dignitaries at business and social functions. It slowly involved into a bit more as the girls learned that they could make a lot more money by being 'nice' to the clientele.

About six years ago, her husband, flying his own plane went to South America to explore expanding the business there. The news came back that he had crashed in the Andes Mountains near Bogota and was killed. His body was never recovered. Jo believed that he had run afoul of the local criminal element and they had put him away.

Cecil was just someone that managed one of her businesses. He had stayed here in her apartment a few weeks while the loft was under renovations.

"Anyway, that's all water under the bridge now. I am doing just fine with my service as it is and I am going to get rid of Cecil."

Just then the doorbell rang. She put the laptop down and without looking in the peephole opened the door.

Standing there was a big guy, as big as me, straight out of a Dashiell Hammett novel. He was wearing a blue pinstripe, double breasted suit, a felt snap-brim fedora hat and brown wingtip shoes. I had no sooner moved in front of Jo when he stepped aside and a smaller man similarly clad marched in from behind him. The small men wielded a long, stiletto type knife. The blade was very thin, about 5 inches long, the type associated with a back alley switchblade.

He jumped towards me and held it up in my face. Now, I don't like rough stuff but I don't like getting cut either so I kicked him as hard as I could with the toe of my shoe right in the balls. His eyes almost exploded and he dropped the knife as he bent over and grabbed for his nuts. When he bent down my knee came up and connected perfectly with his nose. It hurt my knee and jarred me all the way to my hip. I can only imagine what it did to his nose. His hat came off and the blood spattered as if I had squished a ripe tomato. His head snapped up and he catapulted over backwards. The only move he made was to transfer his hands from his aching balls to his bloody nose. Shit! I had blood all over my pants and my shoes and my knee hurt like hell.

I expected the big guy to charge me but when I looked up his eyes were big and he was standing in the doorway with his hands raised above his head. I turned around and Jo was standing there holding our friend Mr. Beretta in a two handed police grip that was steady as iron. From where I was standing it looked like she had a bead on the place where his eyebrows came together on his forehead.

She hissed, "Come in, close the door and turn around. I can only assume Cecil sent you. Walt, empty his pockets and the guy on the floor too. Get a towel from the bathroom and put it under his head. He's getting blood all over my carpet."

The little guy had a wallet with about $65.00 in bills, 85 cents in change, a couple of keys and a set of fingernail clippers. His driver's license was in the name of Vinnie Caruso. The big guy was flush. He had a wallet with about $150.00, two quarters, a ring full of keys, a bunch of toothpicks in his outside jacket pocket and inside his jacket an envelope containing exactly $2000.00. His I.D. said his name was John Smith (Really, John Smith?).

Jo picked up the envelope. "Cecil probably gave them this to take care of us. I think I'll keep it to get my carpet cleaned. Now, what will we do with them?"

The big guy still had his hands in the air but you could tell he was scared, there were beads of sweat on his forehead. "Look lady, we will just go on our way. I think Vinnie needs to go to the hospital anyway. Just give us our wallets and keys back and we'll be out of here. I promise we won't be no more trouble. Cecil didn't tell us you had a gun and hired muscle."

"Cecil knew damn well that I had hired Walt. And, he knew about the gun because he bought it for me himself and taught me how to use it. He knew I wouldn't hesitate to shoot you if I felt threatened. I think he sent you into a trap, hoping I would shoot one of you and get in big trouble myself."

Vinnie was trying to get to his feet. John went to help him and said, "Sorry about what happened. I think I'll go back and see Cecil after I get Vinnie to the hospital."

Jo waved the gun at him. "All right, take your bloody friend and get out of here and give my love to Cecil!"

He grabbed the keys, the wallets and everything else but the envelope and stuffed it all in his jacket pocket. He was still trying to help Vinnie to his feet. When Jo told him to take the towel he wrapped it around his friends face and they hobbled out the door. Vinnie was barely able to walk.