They Fight Crime!

The Fight Crime!

A

2025 Literotica Geek Pride Story Event

Submission

Trigger warning: There are passing references to human trafficking and children in peril in this story.

Wunza: A Wunza is the Hollywood term for a plot that goes: "One's a [X]; one's a [Y]. Together they [Objective Z]."

*****

Melinda had just finished cleaning her old, reliable Model 1911 Colt.45 semi-automatic she'd had since the War. With practiced precision she slid the magazine in, flipped the thumb safety and felt a fresh round get slammed into the chamber. She felt a little jealous; she hadn't been slammed in a while now.

The pistol went in the shoulder holster and was secured with a snap. Melinda picked up the black leather bomber jacket, shrugging it on with the practice of years. It matched her black leather pants all

so

well. The grey tee was tucked in front and loose in the back like all the kids did these days. It was supposed to make you look more streamlined. She needn't have bothered; her rock hard abs got the job done more effectively.

Melinda did a final check in front of the mirror. Fair skin, thick eyebrows, long blond hair loosely drawn back in a ponytail, aviator shades hanging from her shirt collar. The only thing missing was the tiara. She nodded in self-approval, she was ready.

Melinda was a fairy princess with a license to kill.

*****

Gabe went full-on noir, black slacks, white shirt, dark tie. The fedora sat on the bureau in front of him. Instead of a suit jacket though he had on a long black duster. It did a banging job concealing the katana. His black shoes were polished to perfection, he'd learned a long time ago how to get blood out of leather.

Ask anyone who knew him and they'd say Gabe had a certain something about him, a kind of magnetism. Women, and some men, had been known to swoon at the sight of him. He had a confident smile. It wasn't ego, he simply knew he was on the side of the angels. At the same time there was this bad boy air about him. Sure, the noir didn't hurt but it was like the smile, it was intrinsic to him. You could sense it from across the room. Hell, from across the street.

Gabe picked up the fedora and placed it on his head, smoothed the brim. He turned off the light in his room at the dingy flophouse. He was strapped; he was ready.

Gabe was a Fallen angel on a mission from God.

*****

It was a dark and stormy night. Or it was going to be if the weather forecasts were to be believed. Melinda walked into the dingy portside dive bar, removing her sunglasses with one hand, tucking them into her collar. She did a tactical assessment. In two seconds, she knew where every exit, and makeshift exit, was, how many paces it took to get there and what and who she could use as cover. You didn't get to be her age in her line of work by being sloppy, unprepared.

One combat booted foot rested on the bar rail. Melinda put her back to the wall and kept an eye on things. An empty shot glass and half a beer sat before her on the petri dish of a bar top. The door opened and Gabe strode through. She was fairly sure the aging hooker in the corner had her first orgasm in years looking at him. Melinda knew the feeling; she'd gotten ever so slightly moist herself.

He stopped, towering over her. "Hey Mel, long time..."

She rose to greet him. "Too long."

The two went in for a barely contained passionate kiss. It wasn't that they were passionate about each other, they both just liked kissing. Almost as much as fucking. Gabe had decidedly put the eff in Fallen.

The angel had one arm around her and the other slid under the jacket to cop a feel. Despite knowing better, he was disappointed that she wasn't wearing something lacy and prinicessy under the tee. What was there was one of her Kevlar reinforced sports bras, worn for its stopping power, not support. (Her chest wasn't so large that it needed reinforced materials). Mentally Gabe sighed.

Well hope springs eternal

.

And he knew eternal.

The fairy princess embraced him as well and used the concealment offered by the duster to run her hand ever so slowly up his inseam. The katana wasn't the only long, hard thing under the coat.

"So, what do you got?" he asked, getting the bartender's attention at the same time.

"Bourbon." Only the first syllable rhymed with 'four'.

"Scooter McPherson, runner for the Mob, comes in every night."

"Scooter?"

"Can't make this stuff up. He's due in 23 minutes. Same routine every night."

"He won't be teaching classes in OPSEC any time soon," opined the angel.

"Makes it easier for us. Say, uh, we've got a few minutes... "

"Fancy a trip to the gents?"

Melinda was one hardcore fairy princess and they didn't swoon easily. But hey, it was

Gabe

...

There wasn't time for wine and roses. While neither would have minded logging some sack time at the Continental, more often than not with them it was something quick and dirty. (Emphasis on the latter). Gabe took up most of the stall but there was still enough left for Melinda to bend over and brace herself. The angel didn't fool around, each thrust lifted her on to her booted toes.

What he really wanted to do was fuck her standing up, her legs wrapped around him. It was a favorite of his because his cock got squeezed just

so

, making it difficult to not blow his load fast. He liked a challenge. She liked it because they could play her favorite game; trying to make the other one come first. Winner got to name the sex act of their choice to be performed by the loser. (Sometimes she played to lose). Unfortunately, the position wasn't conducive to a quicky, what with the boots and the leather.

"God damn" she moaned.

In between grunts, upbringing kicked in. "Language."

It was great being otherworldly beings, they both had the timing and control to hit their marks precisely. Gabe took it as a point of pride that his partners were always satisfied. He may have Fallen, but he was no Philistine. Melinda had a leg up, sometimes literally, on making it a magical experience; she had the same point of pride as he. Their shared orgasm registered on seismographs at Berkeley; California had tremors all the time so no one really cared. A satisfied Mel reflected.

God, it's good working with a professional...

They were back in position by the time Scooter arrived. Gabe assessed him.

He's a greasy little weasel. Although that's an insult to weasels everywhere.

He drained his bourbon and nodded tightly to Melinda. She threw him a seriously determined look and slugged down her remaining half a pint. A head nod let him know that she wanted him to back her up while she was on point. Melinda stood in front of Scooter; Gabe took up the weasel's eight o'clock.

"Evening Scooter, how you oozing?" The princess placed hands on hips, sweeping back the bomber. Her.45 was clearly visible.

"Holy Hell," muttered the small time criminal.

"Language" rumbled Gabe. Scooter jumped, the angel had stealthed his way up behind him.

"What do you want Melinda?"

With guys like him she still had to fight down the urge to correct him, make him call her "Your Royal Highness."

"I heard Lambert's got something big coming up. What have you heard?"

"I ain't heard nuttin'."

"Ah Scooter, a double negative," Mel's voice dripped with disappointment. "That's never good. Am I wrong Gabe?"

"No Ma'am" rumbled the angel again. Melinda shrugged a "what am I supposed to do?" shrug.

"It's not looking good Scooter. Search your memory and try again."

"I can't Melinda, do you know what they'll do to me?"

The princess looked to her partner.

"Two fingers or three?"

"I'm thinking four. Takes more time and is a little slower...." It was Gabe's turn to shrug. He popped the katana with his thumb.

"Jesus" said Scooter. Gabe cleared his throat. "Ok, ok, ok, all right already. I don't know nuttin' about Lambert but Hudson does."

"Hudson down the docks? Import/export guy?" asked Mel.

The weasel nodded like he was throwing a fit. "If anyone knows it's him."

"Tell you what I'm gonna do Scoots, I'm gonna leave you with all your fingers. For now. And you never saw us, right?"

"Yeah, yeah Melinda, whatever."

"That's good. Cause if you disappoint me... well, do you believe my friend here can rip off your leg and feed it to you before you bleed out?"

More spastic nodding.

"Good man, don't forget to pick up our bar tab."

*****

Someone popped for the deluxe class shithole upgrade for Seven Seas Trading. Most of the dock space was taken up by conex; shipping containers. To the practiced eye it was obvious that some of the containers had not been moved in years. Weepy trails of rust ran down from one to the next in many of the stacks. That meant that the few conex that looked to be in use contained something valuable, something that needed shipping discretely. Melinda and Gabe gave each other grim looks; they knew what was inside.

The mooks on guard duty fell silently to the angel's katana. The meat standing next to the Escalade had his neck snapped efficiently by Mel. She pocketed the keys, field stripped the goon's Glock and scatted the pieces. All that was left was the moldering building containing the offices of the ersatz business. They were done being subtle. Gabe and Melinda walked in the front door like they owned the place. Thirty-seven seconds later they did, metaphorically speaking.

Once the piecing screams and thunderclaps from the.45 had stopped there were only three people left alive in the building. If you wanted to get philosophical you could argue it was only two.

Hudson was going into shock and was on his way out but he gave up the goods. His suffering didn't last long, more out of expediency than mercy he was put out of his misery. He had a front row seat in Hell waiting anyway. Gabe rounded up all the phones and Melinda got on the horn to Simpson.

*****

Detective Simpson made good time; he'd brough EMTs with him. A lot of them. He knew the drill, this wasn't the first time Melinda had liberated a conex full of women and children.

"Hey Mel, we looking at the usual?"

"Pretty much." Melinda's tone was severe. She looked down at the dead driver; he was doing a great impression of an owl.

"And if I had to guess I'd say the whole lot hurt themselves falling down" she added.

"Shoulda been more careful." The detective spotted Gabe. "He's a big hunk of meat."

"Oh yes he is," murmured Mel.

"Probably about time for you to go, they'll all be here in a moment. Good seeing you as always."

"You too Detective."

*****

Melinda and Gabe got their time at the Continental. Things didn't kick into gear for another three days so they occupied themselves with planning their next move. And a lot of vigorous sex.

The Presidential Suite lived up to its reputation. You could host a party in the bathtub, the hotel threw in 24 hour room service and the sheets had a thread count into the low thousands. And since it occupied the entire top floor, there were no next door neighbors to complain about people driving nails into the bedroom wall with the headboard.

Gabe lay in bed, naked as the day he was created. Melinda looked upon God's work and was pleased. Helicopters had been known to mistake his chest for a landing pad. People commonly said it wasn't size that mattered but what you did with it. The angel had both sewn up. Gabe had the body of a powerlifting athlete which was good because Melinda liked to test his stamina.

He looked quite pleased with himself. And from his leer, her as well. Mel was starkers, pacing back and forth while on the phone. She had the body of a dancer, a dancer who could dead lift 250. Give a pageant queen SEAL training and you got Mel. Gabe, being almost entirely hairless, admired the neatly trimmed blond landing strip.

The carpet matches the drapes.

"Thanks, Windy." Mel broke the connection.

"Windy?"

"Tech guy I know, he'll jailbreak the phones, loves his Mexican food."

The fairy tossed her phone on the couch near where her very practical boy shorts had landed. The room looked like a closet had exploded. She looked pensive and walked over to the floor to ceiling window to stare out. Melinda didn't give a fuck that the curtains were open.

"What are you thinking Princess?" It was said unironically.

"I don't like sitting around like this."

Gabe smiled one of

those

smiles.

"I have an idea, how about this?" He indicated his face. "Seating for one?"

*****

Windy got them a QR code invitation to the big party Lambert was hosting. And a treasure trove of incriminating evidence and case leads. All the data wound up in Simpson's Inbox.

Over the last day the pair had assembled everything they thought they'd need. Gabe was immediately fixated on the black suede thigh boots she pulled from a bag.

"No way you're going fishing in those."

"No Sir I am not."

*****

"Gabe, you know every heavy hitter arrives with arm candy."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. I just don't have to like it. Or going in unarmed."

"I don't have a lot of places to tuck away a.45 at the moment and you sure as hell can't carry your blade." Under her breath she said "Unless you put it down the other pants leg..."

Melinda exited the bedroom and immediately appraised Gabe. He wore a black suit with red tie and pocket square, the kind of outfit, the kind of look that gave GQ editors wet dreams. His five o'clock shadow had reached 5:45, a fact borne out by the whisker burns on Mel's inner thighs.

"Damn Skippy, you look

good

...." The princess wanted nothing more than to be face fucked at that moment and make him squirm while he was doing it.

"Same to you," rumbled the angel with his patented leer and adjusting the meat log in his trousers.

The princess was wearing the thigh boots, which flared at the top, a black leather miniskirt and a sleeveless white button down. The arm holes were a little larger than they needed to be and a black bra was hinted under the shirt. The piece of lingerie was sexy and stylish without being blatant. You could feed a family of four for a week at what it cost. Mel's long blond hair was artfully disheveled. Her makeup offered a kiss of refined sexy to the look as did the gold hoops in her ears.

"Mel, what is it about that skirt? I can't tell if it's too short or

too

short."

"That's the idea. I had it custom made for me by an old family friend. If that fails, I'm going commando. Oh, and I'm not wearing underwear as well."

Gabe sighed wistfully. It was true, he was a professional and as such in full control of his passions. That didn't mean he didn't want to take her against the wall right now, skirt bunched around her hips, boots still on. Unfortunately, they didn't have time to wait for the dry cleaning to come back.

The suit's one thing but can you even get come out of suede?

Mel completed her ensemble with her bomber jacket while thinking happy thoughts.

OK Mel, put a pin in it, you've got a job to do.

*****

The Escalade they'd purloined from Seven Seas rolled into Lambert's portico. It was a hell of a property overlooking the Pacific. It screamed money like it had been kicked in the balls.

Gabe stepped from the vehicle, casually buttoning his jacket as he rounded the hood, projecting an aura of confidence and smooth flowing precision. He opened the door and extended a hand to Melinda who stepped down from the Caddy.

She had a look of cool disdain on her face, her stride would have made a Milan runway model weep. The angel offered her his arm and she took it looking as if she were doing him a favor. The parking valet and one of the hired muscle couldn't take their eyes off her sensuous legs. (Another couldn't take his eyes off Gabe). Their trance was broken only by the horn from an impatient Bentley stopped behind the Escalade.

QR invitation scanned, the duo were approached by security. Gabe endured a pat down and wanding without batting an eyelash. The handheld metal detector got waived over Melinda and then a goon stepped up for her pat down. Security trumped gentlemanly manners.

The princess hit him with a look that murmured 'who the fuck are you kidding, walk away' and a little bit of haughty royal mojo, the magical kind. To his credit, the goon didn't back off like a cowed dog but held his ground. Mel could respect that kind of professionalism. She told herself that, out of that respect, she'd kill him last if things went kinetic.

Melinda gave a tiny shrug of acquiescence and then rolled her shoulders. The leather jacket fell to the floor in one smooth motion. Hands on hips, head slightly titled, one leg placed in front of the other fashion model style, emphasizing her smooth curves, she locked eyes with the goon. There was clearly nowhere she could be hiding anything. Her eyebrows went up conveying a sense of 'happy now?'. He stepped out of the way and waved her forward.

Mel didn't bother acknowledging his existence. She bent forward to pick up the jacket, effortlessly doubling over, her face near her booted toes. It had the desired effect; the skirt, what there was of it, rode up ever so slightly. Not a man in the room with line of sight could say definitively whether or not they caught a flash of vag but they took a few seconds to review the tape. Inwardly the princess smiled; the skirt was working.

Melinda took Gabe's proffered arm and came the Bitch Queen as they strode forward. Everyone always said she did a great impression of her older sister.

Gabe and Mel stopped in front of a man impeccably turned out. Tall, aristocratic, he had a Reed Richards thing going with his hair. The suit wouldn't dare be anything but custom tailored. The angel had to give him props, the man had

presence

, no small complement given the source. The man also had bruisers at his 4 and 8 o'clock.

Lambert at last.

"Mr. Brennan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Gabe wordlessly indicated Melinda. Lambert looked like he was trying to remember how to spell faux pas.

"I'm Brennan," said Mel. Gabe was the arm candy tonight. Gone was all the window dressing and posturing; if anyone had presence it was a fairy princess at a full gallop.

"My apologies Miss Brennan, unfortunately our profession remains a male dominated one and old habits die hard."

Mel inclined her head, accepting what passed for an apology.

"Shall we get down to it Mr. Lambert?"

The crime lord led her into his office/study. French doors opened on to a balcony with a moonlit ocean view, a pleasant breeze flowed through them, ruffling curtains. The room was everything a Hollywood set designer would sell their soul for. Lambert indicated a pair of armchairs near the fireplace, Melinda took the proffered seat. She crossed her legs at the thigh, sat straight and tented her fingers in front of her, waiting.

"Now then Miss Brennan, I believe you had a proposal for me?"

Melinda locked eyes with him. She gave it a second until he looked away for the first time.

"I heard you're in need of... product? Rumor is you had a supply chain issue with Seven Seas."

"My, news travels quickly, that was only three days ago."

"I have a sympathetic ear on the police force."

Simpson always listened to her...

"And you'd remediate the loss?" Lambert looked away again.

Mel gave him a cool nod. "Yes. And in greater quantities, better quality. Especially the... fresher offerings. I have very useful connections in East Asia that would be only too happy to sell to you. Through me of course."