Dolores Jones, a striking 30 year old brunette private investigator, had been working the case for three months when everything unraveled. She'd got herself a job as a cocktail waitress at the Venus Club, where two other waitresses had gone missing over the last couple of years. The local police knew the club was owned by a local crime boss, Tony Di Angelo, and was a front for a wide range of illegal activities, including drugs, prostitution, money laundering and much more besides. But they could never build enough of a case to make anything stick, until recently.
Dolores had been hired by the sister of one of the missing girls, and had found out the chilling truth, from gaining the confidence of some of the other waitresses and dancers at the club. The two missing girls had been offering extra services to rich customers as part of a blackmailing sting. But they'd either skimmed some money, or knew too much about the illegal activities, or both. Nobody knew for sure. But they'd been driven out beyond the city limits by one of the crime boss's lieutenants - one last year, the other the year before - and never seen or heard from again. Apparently they weren't the first.
According to what Dolores had been told by some of the other frightened employees, the crime boss's mistress - a sultry 30 year old redhead called Lola Devine - had been a key player in the murders, gaining the missing women's trust and then luring them into the car with one of the crime organization's muscle thugs.
Dolores had amassed enough documents and testimony to bring down the operation and had kept the police informed, but something had gone wrong. A clerk at the police department had run up gambling debts and was passing information to local criminals to work off his debt. He'd somehow found out about Dolores being an undercover PI, and word had quickly reached Tony Di Angelo. Realizing he'd be facing murder charges, but having already amassed millions, he'd cut his losses, cashed in his assets and was about to head to a small local airport where he kept a private aircraft.
Ahead of fleeing to South America he'd called Lola, told her to collect the fortune in stolen jewels that he kept at the club, and then join him at the airport. He'd also told her that Dolores was an undercover PI with enough information to send them both to prison for life, and that she should take care of her. Which is how Dolores found herself alone with Lola in the lavish penthouse apartment above the club, at the point of a gun.
Both women were dressed as all the waitresses at the club were attired, in short, tight, flimsy slip dresses that left little to the imagination, and high heeled shoes. Dolores was wearing a red dress and Lola's was white. The evil redhead eyed Dolores warily, a small revolver in her hand.
"You interfering bitch," she snarled, "you've caused a lot of trouble. But I guess life on a beach in South America won't be too bad, with all our money to keep us company."
Dolores thought quickly. It was clear to the resourceful PI that the redhead intended to kill her. She needed to make a move. She thought quickly and then launched into a story.
"You won't be going to Rio, Lola. Mr Di Angelo has double crossed you. He's long gone, I'm sure. Why, even the jewels in that case are fakes. I saw him switch them last week."
It was a desperate bluff, but she counted on Lola's greed and stupidity, and knew that the gun made the villainess arrogant and overconfident. Dolores had been edging closer to the redhead, who was glancing nervously at the jewelry case that was resting on a small table beside them.
"N-no," Lola gasped, "h-he wouldn't" - she glanced at the jewelry box again, panic and confusion in her eyes, her gaze shifting rapidly between the box and the woman she'd been ordered to kill. But Dolores had slowly closed the distance between them, and took advantage of Lola's panic and indecision, suddenly thrusting out her arm, her hand grabbing Lola's wrist and forcing her arm up as the panicked gun moll fired her weapon, shots hitting the ceiling.
The two women struggled desperately and furiously for possession of the gun, unsteady in their high heeled shoes, aiming kicks at each other's ankles, gasping with effort, and yelling threats and abuse at each other.
After several minutes of struggling on their feet, knocking over the table with the jewelry case on it, their shapely bare legs tangled and both women fell hard on the floor, Lola losing her grip on the gun, which slid away across the floor. She lunged for it desperately, but Dolores pulled her back, the girl crook screaming in rage and frustration.
