When it’s Safe to Die

The click click of heels on the wooden floor outside announced a dame. I’d pay attention when I was good and ready.

“Kick the door shut behind you. Damn thing, it sticks.” I waved my hand vaguely towards the door, catching a flash of a red dress coming through it.

I turned to the back page of the newspaper to check the horses. The fifth at Rosedale might make a buck, and I made a mental note to see Lenny.

I heard the drag of the visitor’s chair pulled across the floor and the soft swish of stockings as she sat, crossing her legs. I heard the snap of a lighter and smelled the tang of cigarette smoke. Lucky Strikes, menthol. Pushing the ashtray across the desk, I looked up.

To find myself looked over. The dame was a beauty, her lips scarlet, her eyes dark under the tilted brim of a pill-box hat. She dragged on her cigarette.

“You takin’ visitors, or just takin’ your time?”

Her voice was low and rough; a two pack a day gal, I guessed. Or too much whiskey on a southbound train. Whatever the cause, she sounded fine. Looked fine, too.

“You Arbogast, Daniel Arbogast?”

“That’s the sign on the door, Ma’am, so I must be.”

“You always got a smart mouth, Dan?”

“No, Ma’am. If the sign fits, wear it. You know what they say.”

She studied me with a steady eye, then blew a stream of smoke towards me. She leaned forward to ash the cigarette, spotting me an eyeful of a fine deep cleavage. I breathed in a drift of the smoke, catching at the same time a purple plum scent with a hint of musk.

“Femme Rochas?” I enquired, remembering a French girl in Paris who wore it with nothing else on.

“You do know what they say. I’m impressed, Dan. You know a gal’s perfume. I need a nose like that.” She sat back, then opened her purse and took out a photograph. “We can do business.”

“I figured that. A gal coming up in the elevator on a Tuesday afternoon can only mean business.”

She turned the photograph over, studying it. She ran a finger over its surface, then slid it across the table towards me. She tapped it twice with her forefinger, the nail painted red the same color as her lips.

“Who’s the boy?” I asked. He looked familiar. A good looking kid in a sharp suit, his hat pulled down rakish with a cheeky tilt and a smile in his eye. Kinda like a movie star, kinda like some punk in a two bit bar.

“Milo. Milo Jones, my kid brother. Was my kid brother.” She gazed at me steadily, her eyes gone darker, more severe. She stubbed out the cigarette. “I want you to find out who killed him.”

That’s why he looked familiar. I remembered a bad picture in The Times. The kid had been found dead in a movie theatre, a stiletto right through the seat he was sitting in, right through the back of his heart. You’d think him being a reporter, the damn paper could have found a decent picture. At least they didn’t show the corpse. Not in the paper, anyway.

“Tell me about him, this kid brother of yours.”

She could tell me about herself later, but this was business. I pulled a notebook towards me.

As she told me about Milo I watched her, the way she’d pause in the telling as if to gather her thoughts, or to conjure up a picture in her head. She’d stop talking, sometimes take a slow, dark-eyed look around the room, sometimes taking a longer time to light another cigarette.

After two smokes, I saw the routine. She’d turn the pack towards her, flip the lid with one finger, extract the cigarette with two. She’d take the smoke, place it in a precise place in the air, and at the same time pick up the lighter. Her eyes would go far away and I might as well not have been there. She’d click on the flame once to test it, twice to light the cigarette. She’d lick her lips twice to wet them, then take the first long drag.

Her breasts rose as she did so, filling full and high as she breathed the smoke in. She arched her neck to release that first drift of smoke up into the air, then turned her eyes to look back at me, contemplative.

I looked down at the notebook and wrote something in it. I’d read what I wrote later.

“What was he working on, Milo?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” She reached into her purse one more time and extracted a set of keys. “These are the keys to his apartment. And his car. Go see what you can find.” She pushed them across the desk, and her finger tips brushed mine. “You can drive a car, can’t you, Dan?”

I laughed. The dame sure knew how to measure up a man, and I decided I liked being measured.

She smiled at me with a tiny smirk on her lips but an honest crease in her eyes.

“What are your rates, Dan? I’ll write you a check, and spot you twenty for expenses.”

I told her, and she wrote out a check for twice the amount, signing her name with a curl of her cigarette hand. Ruby Jones.

“It’s a pleasure, Ma’am, to meet you.”

“You know my name now, Dan. You should use it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She laughed, with a bright look in her eye.

“Walk me out and whistle me a cab. You can whistle, can’t you, Dan?”

It was my turn to smile. I pushed my chair back and walked around the desk to ease her chair back too. Ruby stood, and in her heels was near as tall as me. Shapelier though, with more curves than the Santa Monica mountain highway, curving down to the sea.

She took my arm and we walked out the door. She kicked it shut. “Damn thing, it always sticks.” She’d remembered.

Outside, the street was busy, and it didn’t take long to spot a Yellow Cab. Ruby climbed in and wound the window down. She looked up at me.

“Say, do you mix business with pleasure, Dan? Any time?”

“Sometimes, Ma’am.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied.

“What are you starin’ at, fool?” she admonished the driver. “Just drive the damn car.”

As the cab moved off, Ruby’s black gloved hand rose up from the window in a first farewell. I lit my own cigarette, tilted my hat against the sun, and set off down the side-walk.

* * * *

That evening I made my way to Milo’s apartment down near Venice. Police tape criss-crossed over the door, denoting a crime scene. It wasn’t, but the cops were too lazy to tidy up after a quick search. I was banking on really lazy cops, taking five minutes to search the place when they should have taken at least ten. Deadbeats, the lot of them. It was no wonder Miss Jones thought a private eye would find out more.

I cased the joint, but all seemed clear. I’d parked my old Ford a block away, figuring the walk would allow me to spot anyone watching – but why would they? But I was quick up to the porch, dodging the street lights, keeping in the shadows.

I let myself in and clicked on my flashlight, angling it down so the beam hit the floor. I looked around, then methodically went through each room, taking anything that struck me as odd out to the kitchen table. Not much struck me as odd. Milo seemed to be a plain shooting kinda guy, most of his money going into clothes and neat shoes, a few books on a shelf: westerns and such, gun-slinger stuff, nothing daring.

Under the bed though, what’s this? I dragged out a cardboard box full of movie magazines: Photoplay, Modern Screen, a few other monthlies, and a couple of recent annuals. Flicking through them, I noticed slips of paper marking pages with stories and articles about Maven Quinn, one of the new glamour stars. Then I found a box full of newspaper cuttings. Seems our Milo had quite an interest in Miss Quinn, right up to the day he died. I took the papers to the kitchen, and settled down to read.

It was a typical story. A girl from a small prairie town with a pretty smile and big ambitions, and a one-way ticket west. Signed up to a small studio, she put on her dancing shoes and played herself, with hot lights and a sultry eye. The stories matched her up with her leading men: Geoffrey Clements, Robert Reid, some kid in a fast car. Jimmy someone, I didn’t know him.

I knew Reid was a nance, a belle boy, so that was the publicity department talking. They made a striking couple though, him in his crisp linen pants and cream jacket, her wearing straight pants too, the type with two rows of four buttons up the hips. They were meant to look friendly, maybe even lovers, but the photographers couldn’t hide their dislike for each other.

I wondered what Milo’s interest was, but I couldn’t find a notebook, nothing. I sat and pondered, turning pages in the magazines. Maven was a striking girl, a wave of blond hair hiding one eye, falling past her shoulders. She was a slim one, not hour-glass like Mae West or those Italian girls, but attractive all the same. I’d not seen any of her movies, so had no idea if she could act. Probably didn’t matter – her movies, so far, were Bs.

There was an oddity though. I flicked through a few more rags to make sure. Yes, that was it: she always wore tailored trousers, never a pretty skirt. Then I turned a page and there she was, sensational in a tight, clinging dress, split right up her thigh. On the arm of Aaron Philips, her producer. Fat guy, fat cigar, thin moustache, thin lips. Looked like an asshole, frankly, with a big car. You know what they say.

I turned the page, to find more pictures of Maven Quinn. I’d found a connection of sorts between Milo and the actress, close to an obsession, but not enough to kill the boy. I sat back in the chair and kicked my feet onto the table, still thinking. A story. Milo must have been onto a story, something about Maven Quinn.

I pushed back, and as I did so, my heel caught on a drawer handle on the table I’d not noticed before. I pulled it open, and found a strike of matches lying there, all by itself. It was one of those courtesy give-aways that you find on the bar in fancy clubs and lounges. The Peacock Club, wherever that was. I flicked the cover open, to see a telephone number written there in pencil.

I stood up and went out into the hall, where there was a call phone on the wall. I slung a nickel into it, and gave the number to the operator. She put me through.

“Miss Quinn’s residence. How may I help?”

I didn’t expect that. “Ahh, sorry, you’ve got 69 in the number. I’m after 66. Sorry to disturb.”

“Not a problem, sir. I hope you get through to your number. Goodnight.”

“Yes, thank you. Sorry again. Goodnight.”

I sat a while longer, pondering this and that and Maven Quinn’s number in Milo Jones’ kitchen drawer.

I resolved to visit the Peacock Club the next day, whenever that was. Milo had obviously been there. And, I guessed, so had Miss Quinn. I took Milo’s car. It was newer than mine, a DeSoto.

‘You can drive, can’t you Dan?’ I laughed out loud, hit my hand against the wheel, and was in a good mood all the way to my house. Ruby Jones in a tight red dress, hearing her voice in my head! I thought of that big long zipper down the back, and what I’d do with it.

* * * *

I made my way to the Peacock the next day, mid afternoon. I figured the staff would be pretty relaxed at that time, with a few early customers getting ready for the night. With a bit of luck, I’d find someone who recognised Milo, might spill the beans.

Turns out the club was just down from the Pantages Theatre, east of Vine. I went down narrow stairs into a long basement, dim and discreet. A glass topped bar ran down half of one side, a dozen tables down the centre, curtained booths opposite. Up the far end was a small stage and a dance floor. Half after three in the afternoon, the joint was deserted.

“Hat check,” I called out, to get some attention.

“Hold up,” a voice called back, “won’t be a moment.”

A slip of a thing entered the room from a door half way down, from the conveniences I guessed, or the kitchen. She was a tidy little cookie with her hair in a curl, wearing a flouncy dress. She came to the counter and looked up at me.

“You open?” I asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “Not yet. Getting ready though, before Miss Alexandra gets here.”

“Miss Alexandra? She the owner, or manages the place?”

“The owner. Or the boss, anyway. I’m never rightly sure. She ‘presides’, is what she does.”

I nodded. The girl was friendly, but I needed to arrive at my questions in a circular way, not ask them directly. I remained silent, an old trick, to see what she’d say next.

“Kittie,” she offered. “My name’s Kittie.” She glanced down at herself, and ran her finger along the top of a name badge, nicely angled on her left breast. Or perhaps it was the curve of her breast that was nice, and the badge went along for the ride.

“Arbogast, Dan Arbogast.” I lifted my hat, and passed it to her.

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Arbogast.” She did the tiniest curtsey. “Now, what can I get you?”

“Memories,” I replied, picking up a packet of strikes from a box on the counter. “Wondering if you ever remember seeing this fellow?” I placed the photo of Milo before her.

Kittie looked around quickly before turning the photograph over, pushing it back to me.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Take a booth. I’ll bring something over. Put that away.”

I went to one of the curtained booths, and a few minutes later Kittie brought me a coffee. She sat on the other side of the table.

“Show me again. The picture.”

I did, and she placed it on the table between us. She looked from the photograph up to me.

“What’s your connection? How do you know Milo?” Kittie’s lip trembled.

I decided half the truth was best with the girl, seeing the emotion bubbling up inside her.

“I don’t. I’ve been hired to find out who killed him.”

No need to mention Ruby – Kittie had her own version to tell, and I figured she’d tell me what she could.

“Milo. He was a good guy. Kind, funny. Made no sense, him being a reporter. He didn’t have the bite.”

“What was he working on, did he say?” I didn’t want to mention Maven Quinn, not yet, but a few prompts might encourage the girl.

“He wanted the big Hollywood exposé. A scandal and all. You know, Casey Clements, that sort of thing.”

“Was he on to anything, was he chasing anyone down?” I still didn’t want to mention Miss Quinn.

“I think…” Kittie paused. “Milo knew I knew where the ladies go, you know, private dance parties. He asked me to get him into one.”

I listened good.

Kittie continued. “Can you find out who killed him? Can I help you do that?”

The girl was pleading, her fingers nervously turning the cuff of her sleeve.

“Where did they go, the ladies?” I pushed a little harder. She wanted to help.

“La Casa Blanca, up in the hills. Invitations only, but regular, you know?”

I nodded, as if I did know. I didn’t, but I had fingers to count on, and I was getting pretty close to putting two and two together.

“And you, Kittie, where do you fit in to all this?”

“I’d waitress there. Alexandra knew I could keep my mouth shut, so she took me the first time. That’s how I got Milo in, as a waiter.”

But Milo got himself killed. I wasn’t sure if Kittie knew she was on edge of a dangerous circle, but here was a clue. I decided to keep quiet about Milo’s interest in Maven Quinn. The girl was a sweetie, obviously fond of the dead boy, and perhaps she was safer if she didn’t know too much.

I was different. I had a shooter, and was ugly enough to look after myself if things went sideways, but I didn’t want to look after this little girl when I did it.

“I guess I don’t pass as a waiter?”

Kittie responded with a cute little smile. “I’m guessing you don’t, Mister Arbogast. But I’m guessing you’d look smart in a tux. Maybe you could dress up nice and get in.”

She looked at me with clarity in her eyes. “But I’m thinking you might not fit in, if you know what I mean.”

“Huh!” I reckon I did know what she meant.

“Do you know if Milo had family?” I asked, as if I was changing the subject, getting back to Milo.

“I don’t think so. He never said.”

“When’s the next ladies’ dance?” I thought I might have a way in. I could bluff my way through the door pretty easy, with a dame in a tight dress on my arm.

Kittie told me.

“Listen,” I said, “if you see me there, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Capiche?”

“Capiche.” Kittie looked at me all knowing.

I got up to go, giving her a dime for the coffee. She walked with me to the hat check counter and returned my hat.

Her face hardened, all of a sudden. “Find them, Mister Arbogast. Find out who killed Milo.”

I nodded, tipping my finger to the brim of my hat. “Reckon I just might, Miss Kittie. Reckon I just might.”

I went up the stairs, then turned back.

“Milo. How come he came here, to the Peacock?”

“He liked that hep-cat music, the bop. He was quite the smooth dancer, but he’d sit mostly, right up front near the singer. He was more a dreamer, I’d say; the wrong type of boy to be a reporter.”

I nodded. “Uh huh.” I turned my head towards the far end of the club. “Might come and listen myself, sometime.”

“First one’s on the house, if you do.”

“That would be swell. Good to know ya, Kittie.”

She smiled. There was soft sorrow in her eyes, and her smile struggled through it. I touched her hand. Such a little thing in a big ugly world, it didn’t seem right.

“Find them, Dan.” Her voice was soft up the stairs. “Kill them, maybe.”

I went out into the afternoon light thinking, that’s two ladies want me to track down a killer. I’d better go clean my gun.

* * * *

That Saturday night Miss Jones and I drove up towards Benedict Canyon in Milo’s DeSoto, heading for La Casa Blanca. I’d told her what I’d found out from Kittie, and from Milo’s kitchen drawer.

“So you want me to scope out this Quinn broad, see if she’s easy around women, reluctant around men, is that it?”

“That’s the plan about now, Miss Jones. Milo seemed very interested in her, so we need to find out why she’s interesting.”

I glanced across at her, and I gotta say, Ruby sure looked interesting to my eye. But I had to keep my eyes on the road, my hands on the wheel. She was my employer right at that moment and, well, I had to be some kind of a gentleman. She gazed across at me with a smile. She’d seen my quick look.

“You gonna call me by my name yet, Dan? Or is it always going to be Miss Jones?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She threw her head back with a delighted laugh, and leaned against the door of the car, looking at me. I glanced at her with my own grin.

“But look at you in your tux, Dan! Quite the dreamboat, with badness on your mind, I’d say.”

I’d say it too, but we had a job to do. I flicked the headlights on and gunned the car into fast corners. Fifteen minutes later we joined a short queue of cars making their way up a long drive into the Casa Blanca estate. We parked in between a big brougham and a neat little boat-tail speedster up from the coast.

“Look at the cute ass on that one,” said Ruby, as I opened the door to help her out of the car. I did, and she looked back at me as I did so. Kittie was cute, Ruby more voluptuous, but I wasn’t going to argue with the dame. I ran my hand over the smooth timber on the boat-tail as I walked past it.

“Come on, Dan, concentrate,” said Ruby, and she looped her arm through mine. Up ahead, I could see a footman by the door, checking what I assumed to be invitations.

“Let me do the talking,” said Ruby sotto voce as we reached the door.

“Ah goodness,” she exclaimed, “I’ve brought the wrong purse.” She ostentatiously flicked through it, faking a look for the invite. She held the eye of the guy on the door. “Will you look at that! I changed my mind at the last minute, changed my dress. This midnight blue shows off my figure much better, don’t you think?” Ruby kept walking, didn’t give the guy time to think, let along reply. I dragged along.

“He’s with me,” said Ruby, stroking my arm. “He’s my pet for tonight, aren’t you sugar?” She winked at the door guy, and we were inside.

“Well done,” I whispered, impressed with Ruby’s quick thinking.

“Hush, you,” she whispered. “Stay in role, babe. We might need to do some play acting.” She looked around at the various guests, a mix of elegant women and a variety of men, all flavours. “You might want to watch your back. There are boys here who’d fancy a big man like you.”

“Huh,” I replied. “Find me a “girl” pretty enough, I might fit in.” That was something else I’d learned in Paris.

“I didn’t think you’d be a man who likes variation, Dan. Kinda useful, I guess. Prevents you from getting too lonely.” Ruby gazed at me with a new appreciation. “But you won’t be lonely with me, Daniel Arbogast, not tonight.”

“We ain’t married yet, Ma’am. That’s an extra hundred.”

She widened her eyes with astonishment. “Well, that’s a first. First time this gal’s heard that. I’m liking your style, Dan. Kinda dry, but makes a girl get all wet, hearing that.”

I might have been jaded, but I liked my jewels. Ruby was a blood red one, I was sure of that.

She took my arm, and we entered the main party room. “Let’s go find Maven Quinn.”

We took a slow meander through the rooms. There were maybe fifty or sixty people here, half of them women, ladies’ women, and the other half fairies, queens and dressed up boys, quite the mix.

In one alcove a bunch stood around a naked fellow with a cock in his mouth, his own prick a slim prod against his gut. A pretty girl lay beside them, her cunt pleasingly licked by an older woman with pearls around her neck. The girl’s fingers slowly stroked the sucking boy’s cock, like she was playing an orchestral instrument. Someone with a small movie camera circled around, 8mm film with a portable battery pack, good for three minutes but no sound. I didn’t think sound was necessary, but I’m no movie critic.

“How you feelin’ there, Dan? All this sex, it’s kinda turning me on.”

“You and me both, Miss Jones. Maybe we should split up, case our own joints. Swap notes later, you know?”

“You got a taste for some ass, Dan?”

“Maybe I do, Ma’am.”

“You’re full of surprises. But look, there’s Miss Quinn. Do you think I’m her type?”

I checked out Ruby in her clinging dress, such a deep blue it was nearly midnight black. Her breasts were half exposed in a deep vee, going damn near down to her navel, with one thigh revealed right up high. I glanced across at Maven, who was dressed like a man with her hair cut short, slicked back. She didn’t look much like the studio’s glamour shots, not any more, but she sure was stunning.

“I’d say, looking at her, that she might quite fancy a femme,” I replied.

“Good,” said Ruby. “I feel like a woman tonight.”

She reached her mouth up to mine and kissed me. At the same time her hand dropped to my swelling prick. “But I’m going home with you tonight. You do know what a home is, don’t you, Dan?”

She smiled at me, and I kissed her again. The look in her eyes could lose me.

“Be a naughty boy,” she said, patting me on the ass.

I stayed where I was, leaning against a pillar, and watched Ruby make her way across to Miss Quinn and strike up a conversation. After a few minutes I could see it was a good conversation. It seemed Maven was a touchy kind of a woman, and Ruby didn’t mind getting touched. I had no doubt that Ruby would keep her wits about her, and encourage the other woman to tell whatever it was she had to tell.

As I stood there, I became aware of a presence beside me, watching me watch Ruby and Maven. I turned to see a fine looking young man, slim and blond. He had long eyelashes, that’s what I noticed first.

“If they go up to a bedroom, there’s a passageway with one-way mirrors and spy holes. I can show you.”

His voice was transatlantic, like an actor in one of those David Lean movies, or an Alfred Hitchcock film. Thirty-Nine Steps, that was the one I thought of, when I heard him speak.

“How will we know if they go there?” I asked.

Looks as if I was accepting already, without another invitation. It must have been the weather. Usually I need more convincing.

“Kittie will take up refreshments.”

He glanced towards a servery where I saw Kittie, watching us. I raised an eyebrow in recognition, and she very quickly touched her temple with a finger in response. Capiche, Kittie.

“I’m Dan,” I said, introducing myself to the boy.

“Antony,” he replied. “No ‘h’.”

“Well, good to meet you, Antony, no ‘h’.” I shook his hand. “There’s no ‘h’ in Dan, neither.”

He laughed, and with that the ice was broken. For the next five minutes he told me something about his life, and I told him nothing about mine. His eyes were blue. I noticed that, and the faint flush on his throat. I wondered when he’d reach out to touch me, or was he all English restraint?

Kittie came past. “Number three,” she whispered. “They’ve gone up and called for some tea. I’m taking it up in a minute.”

“We’ll take the rear stairs,” said Antony.

He climbed ahead of me, and I noticed he had a nice taut ass. Seems I was noticing a lot about Antony. I wondered how tight his ass would be to fuck. I don’t mind a tight ass, most often a woman’s, but men push back more, so I don’t complain.

On the second floor we entered into a long gallery with a series of bay windows overlooking the lawn. I could hear laughter and the low sound of voices, and a splash as someone dived into the pool. Opposite each bay was a curtained alcove, most of them opened up to reveal a small table with a dim lamp, and a low divan against the far wall. Across each wall a window looked into the adjacent room. I figured it was one-way glass, from the other side it would look like a mirror.

Antony led me to the third alcove, turning to me with a finger on his lips. He pointed down to a grill near the floor, like a central heating duct. It was there so we could hear sounds from the next room. Which means the occupants of the other room could hear us, if we were making too much noise.

I figured, with these parties being regular, that most guests would know about these rooms and would expect to be seen if they went into one. And I guessed there’d be folk who’d come up here to watch. Down below, sex would be public, like a show. Up here, you could pretend you were alone. Your audience would be smaller, anyway. There was only room for two people in the alcove.

“Have you seen Miss Quinn before, come up here?” I whispered.

“A couple of times,” Antony replied. “Usually, she takes a pretty little thing and takes the lead. Your lady, though, this is the first time I’ve seen Maven with someone older.” He observed the next room. “I don’t think she’s so forward, with your friend.”

I lay on the divan to watch. Antony pulled the curtains closed, and sat down the other end. I could see the fill of his package, the outline of a semi-hard cock down his leg. I gotta say, I wasn’t the softest at this point, either. It coulda been the girls, but it coulda been that swell accent, too.

In the bedroom I could see Maven, her back towards the glass. Ruby closed the door. Kittie must have just left, there was a tray with a pot and two cups sitting on a small table by the door.

Ruby didn’t seem to care much about tea. She came towards Maven with a look in her eye and a slink in her walk, sensuous like a snake. In their heels, the two women were the same height almost, but Maven, she was much slimmer, with a pert little ass and a long slender body, wearing her gentleman’s clothes.

Ruby took the movie star’s face in her two hands and kissed her. She said something, but I couldn’t hear it. It didn’t matter. They kissed again, gently at first, then Maven leaned into her. She seemed hungry for Ruby’s mouth.

I glanced across to Antony. The boy had full lips, kissable almost, like Ruby’s. But no lipstick. I do like a dame with lipstick, tastes like candy, so I turned back to the action.

Ruby’s hands were down on Maven’s waist, pulling the shirt-tails up out of those tailored pants. Ruby ran her hands under the cloth and up Maven’s back, on her skin. Maven arched her throat, and I heard a soft moan, a soft sigh close by. Ruby kissed that long throat, a full mouthed kiss. If it had been me, there’d have been a gentle bite. Like a wolf does, or a cat, like a warning. ‘You got badness on your mind, Dan?’ I heard Ruby ‘s voice in my head.

Ruby slid her hands out, and from the changing shape of the shirt, the different drop of the cloth, she must have been undoing the buttons all the way down the front in a slow tease, from the neck right down to the tails. She pushed the shirt away from the girl’s shoulders and it fell to the floor, revealing Miss Quinn’s long naked body. She was maybe too thin, you could see the knuckles on her spine and shadows on her ribs. Even so, a nice back. Lying back on a bed would be nicer.

“She’s not done this before,” Antony whispered. “She usually takes control, with her little dollies. I’ve not seen her be undressed like this.”

“Ruby’s kind of forceful,” I replied, “and she ain’t no little girl.”

Antony undid one or two buttons of his own shirt, as if he wanted to play along or play catch up. I didn’t care. I was watching the women undress.

Ruby said something, and her hands dropped to the buttons and fly of Maven’s black tailored trousers. Again I saw movement, before the waist of the pants opened and they fell loose to the floor. Maven stepped out of them, still in her heels. Her legs were clad in black stockings, the type that pull up with a tight band around the thighs. She had on a little pair of briefs, cut the French way, all in black. Her skin was pale. I guess she was in the black and white movies, not Technicolor.

Ruby took one step back from her as if to look, and maybe to give Maven something to look at. The two women stood motionless for a few moments, then I heard a murmur.

Ruby smiled at whatever it was Maven said, then reached behind her neck to undo a clasp. Her midnight blue dress fell to the floor like water.

Beside me, Antony gasped. “She’s magnificent, your Ruby,” he whispered.

“She’s not my Ruby,” I said. “She’s not anyone’s woman but her own.”

She was magnificent, he was right about that. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, even if I tried, even if I died tomorrow. Her breasts were full and tight, those nipples thick and hard. An hourglass waist, and the curves of her hips… such a contrast to Maven. My cock thickened from the sight of her, and I spread my legs some, to stay comfortable.

Antony slid over to lie beside me.

“Don’t worry, kid, don’t hurry. We’ll fuck when they’re done.” Just so he knew the right order of things.

It was kinda sweet though, when I felt a little bite of his teeth on my neck, as if he wanted to play with a wild animal. He didn’t know me much, in fact knew me nothing at all, but had a kind of confidence that I liked. Might have been that English voice, might have been because he wanted me. Might have been me, gettin’ old. Who fucking knew? I didn’t.

Didn’t matter much, anyway. I grinned, placed an arm around his shoulder and a hand down into his shirt. His nipples were small and tight, and he swallowed a wince when I pinched one. No point sitting around, life’s too short without pleasure.

But the women. Ruby had turned Miss Quinn to face the mirror, to face us. Ruby stood up close behind her, and Maven would have felt those big warm breasts against her back. Her own tits were small, just cones of flesh really, with amazing long nipples pulling them up into peaks. Ruby had a hand on one, the other hand down on Maven’s belly. Maven pulled hard on the other nipple, as if she wanted it to hurt. Ruby whispered something in her ear, and her hand on the belly went down into those little silk knickers.

Maven’s eyes were closed, and Ruby was staring right at us, at her own reflection in the glass. She must have known I was here. Perhaps Kittie told her, or she just knew. Her eyes were dark, but she had that smile in them, in their creases, so I knew she was enjoying herself.

She whispered in Maven’s ear, and the younger woman opened her eyes, kind of drowsy, and watched Ruby Jones pull those silky French knickers down her legs, leaving her standing in heels and stockings and a fine strand of tiny pearls around her neck. Maven had a thin, angular beauty and a little patch of blonde fur on her belly. Real soft, I bet, against Ruby’s palm.

I looked down at Antony in my arms, and you know, he was slim and fine boned too. I was getting curious about seeing him naked, but I had two women to watch, getting nude.

Ruby held the girl in her arms, and the caress seemed soft and gentle, as if the young woman needed comfort and Ruby could sense that. Then she took her hand and led Miss Quinn across to the bed, where she made her lie back and spread her legs wide, for us to see and for Ruby to go down to the sea.

Comfort be damned. I shifted again, my cock was getting harder and would soon need somewhere to go. That was better, now I was comfortable. I pulled Antony’s face up to mine, not too rough – I was feeling kind of mellow, and it takes no effort to be gentle. Anyway, he didn’t seem broken; and his lips were soft as I’d noticed before, so I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth.

He shifted too, to give his own prick some more room, and our kiss got hungrier, harder, before I eased away. I nodded towards the window…

… where Ruby had Maven’s legs spread wide, her mouth busy on a sweet little cunt, or so I imagined it to be. Maven’s eyes were closed, her body taut and arched, as if her body was a bow and Ruby’s mouth the target. Through the vent, I could hear moans getting louder. Ruby hooked her arms up under her baby’s knees, and spread those slim legs wider. Her own ass was a perfect sight, with stockings and garter belts, and somewhere she’d lost her underwear.

Ruby’s snatch was covered with a shadow of dark hair, and I pictured my cock disappearing deep into it. Jesus, I was hard. I reached down, and Antony was hard too.

“They’re fucking kick,” he said, in the world’s biggest understatement and his beautiful English voice. “I want both of them, they’re so perfectly, wonderfully, different.”

“You’re the same as me, then,” I observed. “Going both sides of the street.”

“I never could see the point of only going one way,” he replied.

Our tongues went both ways, as we kissed again, harder and hungrier. The women’s fuck had got us hot and aroused, and I was thinking of going to our own room.

Antony was getting the same idea. “Let’s leave them,” he said. “We can let Kittie know, to tell them what room we’re in. I don’t mind being watched.”

“Something of a show with a private audience, is that what you’re saying?”

“Something like that.”

We got up from the couch with one last look. Ruby was grinding her cunt into Maven’s, their legs spread like scissors. Ruby was leaning back with her hands gripping the bed covers for purchase, with Maven flopping loose like a rag doll, she was being fucked so hard.

I guess Ruby knew what her baby girl needed. A girl dressed like a man, being taken hard by a woman. And here was me, about to take a man like a woman. It’s a funny world, ain’t it?

We went down the corridor, and Antony closed the curtains in the fifth alcove, as a reservation. “We’ll tell Kittie, number five.” We went on down the gallery to the crossways hall, then into the bedroom with the five on the door.

Down the corridor, I could hear the louder moans of a woman reaching her peak. I pictured Ruby’s tongue in Maven’s pussy – the dame sure knew what she was doing, and I was sure she was good at doing that.

“Oh God, my God, my sweet fucking God…” It sounded as if Maven was confessing, Ruby a most unlikely priest. Mind you, I reckon Ruby Jones could have made a nun confess all her sins. God bless you, Sister Jones!

In our bedroom, I turned to Antony, holding him tight for another kiss. I didn’t care about candy, not any more.

“Shall we wait till the girls are done and are sitting next door? Give them a show in return? What do you say?” Ruby had called me a dreamboat, so why not be a show-boat?

“I’ll not be losing interest,” Antony replied, going to the bed where he lay down, stroking the heavy swell through the cloth of his trousers.

“Me neither, cock,” I replied. I pressed the electric button on the wall. “What will you drink?”

“A bourbon, with a cube.”

“Ha, I’m the same, but two fingers.”

A few minutes later a waiter brought our drinks up, and I gave him instructions to pass on to Ruby and Maven. They could get to their alcove and whisper sweet nothings through the vent, to let us know they were watching. I had no doubt Ruby would, and after having her poon licked real good, I was sure Maven Quinn would be willing for some fresh entertainment. I’m told a lot of women get a kick seeing two men together, even if they’re not inclined to a man themselves.

Some don’t, of course, but I guess they’d be in another room someplace else, not watchin’ us. I don’t judge a man or a woman on their sexual taste, and I don’t like a rigged jury.

I took a sip from the whisky glass, and felt a good hot burn in my throat, and again on Antony’s lips. I was getting quite a taste for the boy, with whisky in his kiss and a gun in his pocket.

I slung my jacket over the chair. I didn’t think I’d be needing it any time soon, so I hung my chest holster over the chair as well. Antony didn’t seem too surprised, but didn’t carry himself. Not a pistol, anyway.

He was pretty near as tall as me, a good six foot I’d have said. Slimmer hips than me, a finer waist – he looked like a swimmer or a diver from that Nazi film, the one made by Leni Refensomething. Whereas I’m more solid, with strong thighs to plant a good solid fuck.

You know how it is – you go firm with your pretty girl’s cunt or your pretty boy’s ass, and they open right up, let you in. That’s when you’re lost, when they’ve got you deep inside. That’s when it’s safe to die.

Antony’s hands were nice and slow, and his eyes were getting a drowsy look. Time was slowing down, sensation dropping to my cock, that good, deep weight inside which anchors me, gives my heart some place to go. As time slowed, the colors in the room got brighter, my hearing got sharper, and I inhaled the boy, smelling his hot animal smell.

There’s a muskiness to a man that a woman doesn’t get; a woman’s scent being sweeter, more like honey. I licked his neck, feeling a pulse there, feeling his rising heat. His skin was smooth and soft, like the inside of a woman’s thigh. I wondered if he’d be just as soft there.

Antony’s fingers were nice on my throat, kind of gentle, kind of strong. He seemed confident, knowing what he liked, how to get it. I was being seduced now, I knew it, and didn’t care. I might even let him fuck me. Or we could get the train to the coast, there and back.

I heard a soft whisper from the vent; Ruby’s husky voice and a lighter reply from Miss Quinn. I couldn’t make out any words, but then, I don’t need many words.

“I guess it’s our turn now,” I commented in a low voice, and pulled Antony to me, my hands on his waist as if leading him into a dance.

His fingers went to the buttons of my shirt, one by one, and he pushed it off my shoulders. He ran his fingers through the short hairs on my chest, rubbing his palms against my nipples. I stood there, let him do it, then undid the buttons on his shirt.

I slid the shirt off, and he had a fine, smooth chest, with a line of dark hair running from nipple to nipple, then down to his navel in a tee. The trail of hair was a little thicker going south, disappearing into the waist of his pants. I’d run my fingers down it slowly, to discover what came up at the base of it. He was a slender boy, nicely muscled, a light tan. Worth enjoying slowly.

Antony gazed at me again with those soft, sleepy eyes. “Fuck me slowly,” he said, and my heart almost melted. It didn’t of course, as I don’t take whisky with ice, but I knew I’d take him on his back so I could see those eyes roll back when I came. Some men only like to take and be taken like dogs, on their knees. I reckon it’s shame, if you can’t look into someone’s eyes when you fuck. Besides, I like blue eyes. His were the blue of the sky.

I knelt down to take my shoes off, and while I was there I undid Antony’s laces. As I stood up I ran a hand up his thigh, over the full shaft restrained there. I gave him a squeeze with the palm of my hand, then undid his belt and fly buttons.

“Take ’em off, son,” and he did. He took the waist of his trousers together with the cloth of his underwear, and pulled them both down in one swift movement, to reveal a fine looking cock, long and hard. He was a good size, rigid right up the centre of his gut.

“I’m thinking that cock would be popular with all types, it sure looks nice to me.” I cupped his balls in my hands, like two soft eggs within a nest of fine fur. I’d suck him later, just to taste him. I imagined a slow sixty-niner, and it wasn’t the next train south.

“Let’s see yours then, Dan. We can compare.”

Antony dropped his hands to my belt, and I shrugged my pants down.

“Hmmm. That compares just fine.” And he put his shaft next to mine, and I’ll be damned if we weren’t both the same size.

“Huh!” I exclaimed. “Who’d a guessed that?” I pressed myself against him, and our cocks fitted neatly together, side by side. I felt his heat and lodged myself up tighter to his gut, our two shafts hot against each other. He pressed against me, his mouth sighing in my ear. I held him like that for a long moment, remembering the way Ruby held Maven Quinn.

With my hand on his hip, I turned Antony to face the mirror, to give the women a show. Seeing my face in the reflection, I stared straight ahead into the reflection of his eyes. I dropped a hand to his cock as I did so, slowly running my fingers up and down the shaft and over those high, tight balls. My own cock was up against his spine, and I moved against him to give myself a bit of friction. He swayed his body against me, pushing back with his ass.

I nuzzled my hand around over his nipples, pinching them up to tight points. As I did so his cock pulsed in my other hand. Like me, then – a triangle of nerves connects my nipples to the base of my cock.

I could smell the musk of him rising, and breathed him in. Fuck the idea of candy – at this point I didn’t care his lips weren’t red.

“Is there some oil in these rooms?” I asked, eager now to be inside him.

“In the drawer, there on the table.” He pointed, and I went to get it.

He went over to the bed and knelt forward, baring the firm moons of his ass, and that splendid long cock swinging below him.

“No,” I said. “On your back. I wanna see your face when I fuck you. You got nice eyes, Antony, those baby blues.”

He looked at me, and I saw a flicker of emotions cross his face. Doubt, then wonder, then a smile that reminded me of some kind of angel. He nodded.

“You’re a strange one, Dan. Most men…”

“Most men are fools,” I told him. “But I ain’t most men.”

I unscrewed the cap off the bottle and ran a generous amount of the oil over my shaft. It shone in the light. I drizzled a bunch more over his asshole, a pale brown against the pale flesh of his taint. His cock bounced, and when I gripped it, heat radiated hot into my hand. I slowly ran my fingertip over the slit and it pulsed again.

My own cock was aching hard, and with one hand I nudged the head of it against the tight swirl of his asshole and held it there. Antony bucked his hips up a little, to meet my steady pressure. I pushed a little and he pushed more, making a sway of his hips to let my cock in.

I watched the joining of us, his body slowly expanding around mine, easing me in, easing me in. He took one big, deep breath, and as he let it out in one steady stream, his tightness gave way and I slid in. So fucking tight, tighter than any pussy. So tight I felt his heartbeat around mine.

“Je…eessus, fuck… that’s… fuck… that’s… ” I couldn’t coherently end any sentence, could only let him grip me.

Half my cock into him now, I must have reached that place where the pleasure, the pressure, was so good his erection faded away, his cock going soft. I held myself there, and pulsed my cock with a clench of my ass cheeks.

“Touch my balls,” he whispered, “just cup them.”

I knew the point he was at, where a touch on the prick is no longer needed, where the pleasure, that deep, hard ache, is right inside. I cupped those high, tight balls, squeezing them gently for a long while. His ass clenched on me, let me go, then clenched again. He moaned, and his body jerked.

I began to fuck him slowly, my insertion staying around the same place where his pleasure seemed to be, half way in, half out. The sight of my shaft, with four fingers still to be swallowed, promised greater depths, a completely engulfed fuck. I could wait. I was a while away from coming, and with his body hot and tight around me, there was no hurry.

And lying before me, his hands grasping helplessly on the bed covers, his head thrown back in an arc of moaning ecstasy, the kid looked fucking beautiful. Impaled on my cock, he began to shake and quiver, his soft cock suddenly streaming jism onto his belly as a long, long orgasm shuddered through him, much longer than a man normally takes to come. And his ass gripped and released me, gripped and released me like a thousand tiny hands as he came.

Now that he’d had his first pleasure, I wanted mine. He could follow me up again if he wanted, but this was now my fuck, my greedy fuck. But look at that, his cock was still streaming, and his eyes were rolled back in his head. He was making incoherent sounds, barely words, and somewhere in there I heard a prayer, “Ohhhhh, god…” I said he was an angel.

“I’m gonna fuck you, boy, good and deep, fill you full of me.”

I think he nodded, but it might have been another spasm.

I scooped fingers full of his come from his skin, and rubbed it all over the place where our flesh met, my shaft half in, half out of his ass. I put my arms up into the bend of his knees and splayed the boy’s legs wider. I eased off, let his ass pulse and grab me for a moment, then pushed myself so the root of my cock went fully inside him, so fucking deep I was buried.

And I started a deeper, faster fuck, where all I was was my cock fucking him. What with the oil and the cream of his come and his heat, I was able to set up a long swathing fuck, with my shaft coming half out, sliding full in, sliding out, in and out.

I leaned into him, reaching for his mouth with mine, and as I fucked into his deep sex, our tongues fucked too, thrusting into each other’s mouths. Antony’s hands dropped to my ass cheeks, pulling me in deeper. My hands cradled his face, and he pulled his thighs up high to give me even more access to his ass. I fucked his sweet sex just as I’d shaft any woman’s cunt, only deeper.

I hit his pleasure place again, and he moaned and clenched on the bed, more come streaming between us, making our bellies all wet. The smell of the spunk was pungent and sweet, a bit like the scent Ruby wore, and the pretty one I’d had in Paris. My own scent was rising too, that thick, earthy scent of a man’s sweat when he fucks. Wolves woulda got a hard on, with this scent.

I felt my own pleasure building, that hot, heavy sensation at the base of my spine where the explosion begins. Low growls from the back of my throat rose in response to Antony’s moans, each gasp fucked from him with each thrust, and I was gonna flood this boy with my juice. I arched my spine, gripping Antony’s shoulders to hold his body in place, and fucked him faster. My balls were high and tight, and my own ass was pulsing. If someone got behind me at that moment, I’d beg them to fuck me harder than they’d fuck any woman.

I looked down at the kid’s face one last time, at his closed eyes, open mouth, and helpless hands on the bed, and closed my own eyes. Four more thrusts and I exploded into him, my come filling his hot centre, surging into his guts. I cried out to Jesus, Mother Mary and any fucking God who would listen, as I shot jets of come into the ass of an angel. And I don’t even go to fucking church.

I collapsed onto him, my heart pounding, my breath coming in gasps. I vaguely felt his legs come down straight and his arms come around me, and the gentle feel of his mouth on my neck. Neither of us said anything for some minutes, until I felt my soft cock leave him.

“Nooo,” he sighed, “stay there.”

It was too late, but my cock was hot and heavy between Antony’s thighs, so I left it there, his cock nesting against mine as I rolled onto my side. Both of us were sticky and the smell in the room – someone should try to bottle it.

We rested in each other’s arms. His eyes were black and dilated, and I guess mine must have been too.

“Better than fuckin’ your hand, eh kid?”

He laughed. “Fuck your ass next time, and I’ll tell you.”

“That’s confidence,” I replied. But I didn’t say no.

I rolled from him and grabbed a towel from a small cupboard. Wiping myself down, I saw him watching me, his slim body long and lazy, his own soft cock resting against his thigh, his sleepy eyes still looking too damn fuckable.

“I guess I might see ya. But I gotta go.”

“Next time, then. Or private, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

* * * *

“You seemed to be keen on that boy, Dan,” Ruby commented, as I drove the DeSoto down the mountain to her place in the valley.

“It was his blue eyes that got me hooked in. I like blue eyes, what can I say?”

I glanced across at Ruby, saw the way she was studying me, her dark eyes still and deep. Her lips broke into a lazy slow smile.

“Reckon you can get used to a woman’s brown eyes, Dan?”

“I’d say I could, Ma’am. If she was attractive enough.”

“Attractive enough for what?”

“To take my hat off and leave my gun beside the bed.”

Ruby tilted her head back with a long peal of laughter.

“Jesus, Dan, you good for a Valentine’s card and roses, too?”

“Could be, Ma’am.”

“God damn, Mister Arbogast. Ain’t you the charmer!”

“All part of the service, Miss Jones.”

“Well, I’ll be, Dan. You’re the whole package, that’s for sure.” She put her hand on my thigh and kept it there, all the way to her house.

It was a cold night, so I flicked the car’s heater on. As the air heated, a scent arose from the both of us: the smell of come and masculinity on me, and the lighter scent of pussy from Ruby’s skin. It was heady, and my cock began to firm up again. I looked across at her. She was staring out the side window, contemplative, the flicker of street lights on her face.

“Ruby,” I started, but she turned to me and put a finger on my lips.

“Hush, sugar, no words.”

The look in her eyes silenced me.

“Later, baby. I’ll explain it, but when we get to my house, you’re gonna take this gal right up to the sky and down again, fuck me insensible, fuck me stupid. Can you do that, Dan?”

“Reckon I can, Ruby.”

She smiled softly. “I reckon you can, too.”

When we got to Ruby’s house, I went to her side of the car and opened the door. As she slid her long legs from the car, the slit of her dress spread wide from her thighs, and I saw a dark shadow between her legs. Ruby saw me spot it.

“That little girl kept my underwear,” she said. “What could I do? Maven’s a user, Dan. Horse. She’s got tracks on her arm. She’s a sad and lost little girl, tryin’ to be brave.” Ruby looked sad and lost herself, in that moment. “And wanted to keep them as a memory, ‘for her collection,’ she said. More to remind her she was still alive, I’m thinking, people wanting her for something. Even if it was just sex.”

So that was why Ruby was quiet, these last fifteen minutes.

“You think Milo found out?”

“I think he might have. Liking pussy is one thing, doing H is another.”

“You think she did it herself? Or did someone set out to hook her?”

“We need to find that out, Dan.”

“We do.” I took Ruby’s arm. “But not now. Come on, it’s cold outside. It’ll be warmer in.”

Ruby unlocked the front door to her little bungalow, then went around the house pulling curtains closed against the night, closing them against the big bad world. While she did that, I ran two big glasses of water from the kitchen tap, handing her one when she came up to me.

“No booze, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s what I’m saying. You know it doesn’t always help.”

“Doesn’t always help. Uh huh. That’s the truth of it, Dan.”

We went through to the living room, which was simply furnished. Ruby had got herself one of those new Philco radio-phonographs that sat pride of place in one corner. She turned it on, and music from a late night station came up slowly, turned down low.

Ruby swayed to the music for a moment, then undid the clasp at the back of her neck, exactly as she’d done with Maven. The midnight blue gown fell to the floor. She stepped out of its fallen circle, slipped her heels off, then bent to release the clips on her garter belt. She rolled both stockings down and dropped them to the floor. She was slow about it; she wasn’t casual, but wasn’t deliberate either. It was how she undressed for me that night. She came up to me, and with her heels off, had to tilt her head up to my mouth for a kiss, with her hand at the back of my neck.

She slipped my coat off and without a word undid the holster. Looking up at me with a smile she said, “It ain’t by the bed, yet, Dan, but here will do.” She put it down on a small side table and placed my coat over it.

She finished undressing me just as slowly as she’d taken her stockings off, until I too stood naked in the room. Ruby breathed me in, her breasts rising, her nipples already plump and full.

“You boys,” she whispered, “sure put on a good show. Kinda sweet, how you loved him like a woman, face to face.”

She put her arms around me, tilting her head up again for a longer kiss. A hand moved up into my hair, to hold me.

“Love me like your woman, Dan. Would you do that for me? Face to face?”

I nodded, and didn’t need words. The smoke in her eyes was enough to tell me she was on fire.

I took Ruby through to her bedroom, folded down the covers of her bed and lay down in it. Ruby came into my arms and rested her head on my shoulder. She stroked my cheek and her eyes were half closed. I guess she knew me well enough already, didn’t need to see so much any more.

“It’s been a long night. Make the rest of it last a while longer. Can you do that, Dan?”

Her smile was softer than morning mist on a mountain, her eyes deepest black like midnight ink, and when I eased her off my shoulder and spread her legs wider, her quim was slick and hot like a peach. I leaned on one elbow looking down at Ruby’s curves, seeing the way one breast fell lower and pressed to the sheet, the other a full round curve on her chest.

Her nipples were long and hard, wrinkling up their darker surrounds. I ran my finger around the outer edge of one, feeling its rippled corrugation. Ruby shivered, and goose bumps prickled on her skin.

“Ohhh, you got me there, that’s a sensitive place. The other one, sugar, don’t miss her out.” Her voice cracked a little, like static on the radio when there’s a storm coming, with lightning a long ways away. I might have already been struck; there’s not many trees in LA.

Taking Ruby’s direction, I took the other nipple between my lips and twirled my tongue around it, pulling it up even harder. A woman’s breast will do that, a shelter from the storm.

Ruby’s hand wandered down my body to my cock, circling her fingers around it. We lay there like that for a long moment, enjoying each other quietly. Outside, a slow wind picked up and rain began to fall, and the susurrus of sound masked Ruby’s sighs, or maybe it was my mouth on her breath, I don’t know. I tasted candy on her lips, and kissed them till I couldn’t taste candy any more.

As I kissed her I slipped my fingers into her, finding her wetness, then I found soft places on her thigh. Seems like Ruby had more sensitive places, or at least, ones that made her quiver. I made her quiver till her breath came a little faster, till she moved to lie on her back.

“Take me slowly, Dan.”

And when I slid into her I slipped in forever, and that’s when Ruby closed her eyes. With one hand on my hip and one hand in my hair, Ruby took me in. And when we came ten minutes later, we came together, one of my hands on a breast, the other in her hair.

I must have fallen asleep inside her, because when I woke later we were on our sides facing each other, our centres warm and still sticky. Ruby made little sighs each time she breathed out, and her hands were curled between her breasts. I didn’t wake her, not Ruby Jones.

The rain fell on, and a gutter ticked with water like a slow clock.

* * * *

Rain’s fine when you’re inside with a dame in your bed, but when you’re outside in it with the dame on your mind, it’s not the same.

Fucking raindrops dripped from the rim of my hat, and I was glad to get under cover of a balcony as I made my way to The Peacock Club. I figured one way to scope out where Charlie Horse got his hooks into Maven Quinn would be the place where Milo wrote her telephone number on a scratch of matches. Jazzers played there, and jazzers know Charlie. You could say they made a habit of it, if it didn’t kill ’em first.

Fucking stupid habit if you ask me, and I’m not sure if it made their numbers any better. But what do I know? I like them big show tunes, too. Although that could be the tits on the broads that sing them. I don’t know. Sometimes I know I don’t know much at all.

“Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Good to see you too, Kittie.”

She laughed as I flicked water at her from my hat.

“Gimme your coat,” she said. “I’ll dry it over the radiator, so at least it’ll be warm when you go.”

She looked at me with a quizzical eye. “You find anything out last night, or just that pretty boy?”

“I’m figuring you might know more about Maven Quinn than you let on, Kittie. I’m thinking you know she does H. And I reckon your pretty little ears hears a lot more than they should.”

I saw from her quick look up and down the club that I was right. “Who’s her score, do you know?”

“Jesus Dan, you looking to die so soon? Don’t ask me that. Not out loud, anyway.”

“Bring me a coffee then.”

I made my way to a booth where I lit a cigarette, then sat back in the corner so I could see the room. After a few minutes Kittie brought me a cup and two little teddie biscuits. Fucking teddie biscuits. I bit the little bear’s head off.

“People always do that,” remarked Kittie.

“You shouldn’t serve them, then,” I said, before biting the next one’s feet off, just to be different.

“They do that, too.” She laughed.

“Jesus. What don’t they do?”

“Ask dangerous questions, is what they don’t do. Milo asked the same question, and look where it got him. But no, I don’t know who Maven’s junk pimp is. And don’t ever tell me, if you ever find out. I don’t ever want to know that little secret.”

“How long have you known about her, though?”

“A couple of months, I’d say. She used to come here regular, on the arm of that producer guy. A real sleaze bag, that one.” She shuddered. “I didn’t ever want his slimy eyes on me. Anyway,” she said, after a pause, “I didn’t see Maven for a while, then one night she came in…”

I waited, saw how Kittie’s eyes got bright.

“She’d cut her hair and was too thin. And her skin, you know, was all blemished. She’d need extra make-up, to look pretty. And her asshole producer, he held her waist like he owned her.”

“Which he probably did.”

“Probably did, yeah. I think he’d taken her choices away.” Kittie sniffed, sitting there looking really small and sad herself.

I touched her hand. “I’ll find who did Milo, I promise you that. And I reckon when I do, I’ll be closer to knowing who’s giving Maven junk.”

I thought I knew, but to prove it, that was another thing.

“Kittie,” I heard a woman’s voice call out, “are you there?”

“Yes, Miss Alexandra, I’m in here talking to a customer,” Kittie called back. “It’s the boss,” she whispered. “We got a special show tonight. You should stay for it.”

“I reckon I might. Can you get me two fingers?”

She nodded, and called out to Alexandra, “I’m coming, just a moment.”

“Good girl,” I heard the woman say, in a delicious English voice that made the world worth turning.

“I’ll see ya,” whispered Kittie, as she got up to go.

Out in the body of the club, I saw an elegant woman, older than the others in the room, silver haired, proud and poised, beautifully dressed in a peacock green dress. So this was Miss Alexandra. Kittie went up to her, said something, then looked across at me. The woman nodded, and moved towards me.

There was something ethereal about her, something otherly, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Passing strange.

“Mister Arbogast, is that right?” Her voice was soft and low, smooth like honey. She placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Yes Ma’am. Daniel Arbogast. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you. You seem… familiar. But I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?”

“No Ma’am. I’d have remembered, if we’d met.” A woman puts her hand on your shoulder, you don’t forget. But I’d never seen this woman before, I’ll swear on my days.

“Another time then, another place. It’s happened before.” She said it quietly; to herself, not to me.

She shook her head as if to clear a fog. “Forgive me, I’m rude. I know who you are but I’ve not introduced myself. Alexandra Cain. I’m the owner.”

“Call me Dan, Ma’am, if it pleases you. I’m the customer.”

She laughed, and it was a quick delight, seeing her gracious smile. She looked at me steadily.

“Kittie tells me you knew the boy, Milo. Knew of him, anyway. Be careful, Daniel, that’s all I can say. That was a nasty business. It’s an ugly town, when you turn the rocks over.”

“I know that, Ma’am. But I done ugly before, and I have a friend.” I touched my side, where the holster sat.

“Keep your friend close by, Daniel. You might need a good friend one day.”

I nodded. Now it’s three dames giving me warnings.

“Stay for the show. The drinks are on the house.”

“Thank you Ma’am. Much appreciated.”

I watched her go. I coulda watched her come back, too, but I saw Ruby’s eyes in my mind. I shook my own head. Funny time of year, for there to be fog in this town. Normally I can keep a clear head, but not this week. Strange days, indeed.

Kittie brought my drink, and I sat there, contemplating it. Next time she came by, I asked for water, too – my words to Ruby the night before echoing through my head.

The lights dimmed a little, and I saw the cats in the band shuffle to the stage. It was a small outfit with a tenor out front, a spade on trumpet and the drummer and bass. Unusual to see, a young white cat on drums when all the other guys were black. He could hold a shuffle though, and my foot soon started tappin’ to the beat. After a couple of tunes they’d locked deep into the pocket, and the music came effortlessly. His sticks on the ride sent shivers through me, then the back-beat, narrow and hard to master, dug into my guts. He had a quick double kick like a heartbeat, which seemed some kind of a trademark, every fourth bar or so.

I got lost in the music for some long minutes, then sat astonished as a young singer came up to the microphone. I nearly wept, her voice had such a crack and wail. Damn near broke my heart, to hear that girl sing. Some kind of broken angel, fallen down to earth. She only sang three numbers and was gone, to a soft scatter of applause.

Then, across the room I saw Maven and her pimp of a producer, Aaron Philips, had arrived. As Kittie had said, the girl had no spirit in her – even the night before, at the ladies’ dance, she seemed more alive. She sat quite still, pale and thin, as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

The guy was loud, I could hear him over the band. Asshole. Sitting at another table, he had a bunch of hard boiled types, heavies and wise-guys, sitting around. They sure as fuck weren’t there for the music.

Odd company for a movie type to keep, unless he was making special movies, maybe, the type with not much of a plot and no need for a wardrobe mistress. And a distribution trail that kept to the back streets. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he went down Tijuana way to film the dog and pony shows. Fucking black and white lab seconds, 16mm. Cheap, loud asshole.

I sat quietly, observing the goings on. Ten minutes later I became aware of someone watching me. A spiv came over from the table and shuffled into the booth beside me.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, his voice down low, not wanting to draw attention.

“Fuck knows,” I replied. “Who wants to know?”

“Let’s say an in’erested party. In’erested in what you find so in’eresting over there.” He nodded towards Philips. “Know what I mean, fucker?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Smart guy, huh?”

I felt something poke at my rib. Fuuck. This was bound to happen. I sighed.

“Don’t fucking go for it, fucker. I’m feeling kind of jumpy, so let’s do this nice and slow.” The pistol barrel nudged me again. “Get the fuck up. Slowly… atta boy. Nice and fucking slow. Mister Philips over there, he wants a little chat. An in’eresting chat, know what I mean?”

“Can’t say I do. Same as before.”

“Still a fucking wise-guy? Get up!” He nudged me again. “Walk. No clever moves. Out the back.”

I saw another two guys get up and leave their table. Well, Dan, I thought, you wanna hope you got a guardian angel, or you’re gonna look fucking ugly in the morning. Jesus fuck, I don’t need this.

I didn’t. As soon as we were out the door, the spiv punched me hard, one kidney, two. My head exploded with pain, but I knew these fucks were nice guys, just sendin’ me a warning. If they wanted me dead, they’d be sending the hearse already.

The road met my head, and a puddle of water, the puddle of blood, was almost soothing. A boot went in, fucking my gut twice. I curled into a ball, hurting already, ready to hurt more. They did me over so bad it almost felt good. I saw shoes, shiny fucking shoes, and I figured Philips was here for his in’eresting chat.

He kept it short, for which I was grateful, because fuck me, could the guy whine on any more? I didn’t think so, and hoped the prick would never win one of them Oscars – he’d empty the theatre, no fucking doubt about that.

“Keep away, you piece of shit. Don’ ask any more questions. Remember Milo, pal, or I’ll be sending you a ticket for the Sat’dee afternoon show. Hell, I’ll even get you the dress circle, buy you a fucking ice cream. You want chocolate on top?”

I sort of signalled with my hand, okay already, but by this time I was kinda tired, and the cold side-walk was getting comfortable.

“Fuck off, will ya,” I managed, “and buy yourself some new shoes. Tan and white don’t suit ya.”

He delivered one last kick. “Stay. Away.”

I passed out, to pass the time.

“Jesus, Dan. You got to make better friends.”

Kittie stroked my hair, avoiding the blood on my temple, concern in her little girl’s eyes.

“You an angel, honey?”

“Don’t be stupid. They don’t want you dead. Not yet, anyway. Stay still. Alexandra will get you to hospital. Doctors there, they like sewing people up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I managed to sit against the wall, my head pounding. “They jus’ made it personal, Kittie. They got me annoyed, now.”

“You do stupid stuff when you’re annoyed, Dan?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She nodded. “Figured as much.” She stroked my cheek. “Don’t look him in the eyes, Dan. Not when you kill him.”

“No. I’ll tap him on the shoulder first, to see his empty eyes.”

Fuck this.

I passed out.

* * * *

“Mister Arbogast? Are you with us? Can you hear me?”

I managed to open one eye to see a tall nurse with her fingers on my wrist, her other hand on an upside medallion watch, pinned to her breast on a chain.

“You’re not dead yet, so that’s a start.”

She let go of the watch, and it fell to the swell of her breast. A good sized breast. Two of ’em, indeed, held tight in her uniform. It hurt my eyes to close them, so I didn’t.

“Stay calm, Mister Arbogast. Your pulse, it’s a little erratic.

“Now, what happened to you? Fell over in the shower, slipped down some stairs?” She looked down at me over her glasses, waiting I guess for a story.

I remembered the rain falling down, the puddle under my cheek for a pillow, Kittie’s gentle fingers. Those slimy tan and white shoes.

“I took a beating, asked too many questions. Shoulda done what my mamma told me.”

“What did your mamma tell you?”

“Don’t fight, don’t ask smart ass questions, don’t throw chalk at the teacher.”

She smiled down at me. “And did you?”

“Did what?”

“Throw chalk at the teacher?”

“Do you know me, Ma’am? I kinda feel you do, ’cause how did you know that?”

She laughed. “Only a guess, Mister Arbogast. Badness comes in threes, and you’ve already done two of them.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up. We’ll keep you in overnight. You’ve got nothing broken, but those kidneys of yours, they’re black and blue. We need to see you pass water, make sure there’s no blood.”

She turned away. She wasn’t quite eternity, but her legs went on forever, so that would do. I admired her curves as she busied herself at the cupboard, then glanced up. To see her face in the mirror, watching me watching her. She blushed as I caught her looking at me.

“Do I need to take your pulse again, Mister Arbogast? You seem a little better already.”

“No Ma’am. I…”

“You…?”

“Fucking hurt. You got something for that?”

“Kind hands, Mister Arbogast. Lie still, let’s get some bandages over those cuts, then we’ll get some medication into you.”

She did indeed have kind hands and even kinder eyes. I watched her as she methodically undid the buttons on my shirt and carefully eased it away from my shoulders. My guts hurt, my arms where I’d taken the kicks ached, and my flesh was so many colors I coulda hired myself out as a palette for some interior decorator. Although purple, black and blue ain’t gonna look so good on a wall.

She took a flannel heated in hot water, and pressed it over my wounds. The heat took some of the pain away, and the gentle pressure eased the hurt. She was methodical, this nurse, going over my body carefully.

“I think you missed a place.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where?”

I pointed at a place on my right shoulder.

“There’s no bruise or cuts there, Mister Arbogast.”

“I know. But it was missing out.”

“I see.” And she bathed that place with her flannel.

“Anywhere else?”

“My legs are kinda sore.”

“Of course they are.” She placed her methodical fingers on my belt and undid the buckle, undid the buttons of my trousers, and tapped me on the leg. “Bottom up, so I can get these off.” I guess my shoes were already off, because she slipped my trousers down easily. Practice, I guess.

“Now, let’s look at you.” She looked at me with a gentle smile. “For cuts and bruises, Mister Arbogast, cuts and bruises.

“Oh, you poor man. That’s a little too close for comfort, wasn’t it?”

Her fingers and palm were cool on my cock, as she held it against my stomach, inspecting the fierce welts on my thigh. I stirred a little, felt a little pressure in return.

“That still seems to be working, but it’s your kidneys we need to worry about. Can you piss in a bottle by yourself?”

“Don’t think so, Ma’am.”

“Well, when you’re ready, press the buzzer and I’ll help you. But now, you need sleep.” She squeezed my shaft again, bent down to give it a kiss. “There, a kiss from nurse makes everything better.” She patted me, and was ever so gentle, even though there wasn’t a bruise.

She pulled the covers up over me.

“Nurse?”

“Yes, Mister Arbogast?”

“You got a name?”

“Lily. Lily Dale.”

“Not Lily Marlene?”

“You’re thinking of the German actress, Miss Dietrich.”

“I musta been. You got kind hands, Miss Dale.”

“And you’ve got kind eyes, Mister Arbogast. But you really should find a safer hobby. Interior decorating perhaps. Much safer.”

I laughed, then winced with the pain. “I got the colors for it, that’s for sure.”

“You do indeed. But hush, Mister Arbogast. Sleep now. I’ll come by to check on you, later.”

As she left the room I had time for one last thought before I passed out again. Do nurses wear garters with stockings? I don’t know.

* * * *

The next morning Nurse Lily came and helped the wounded hero take a piss into a bottle. By that I mean she handed the bottle to me and stood discreetly on the other side of the door while I filled it.

“No sign of blood, Mister Arbogast,” she said. “That’s good.”

There had been some blood into my cock in memory of her hand last night, and her kiss, but best not to mention it. Nor forget it.

“You’re clear to go, but please, do your best not to repeat those injuries. There’s only so much harm a body can take.”

She looked at me with concern, and I remembered her kind hands. A guy could do worse putting himself into them, and once again I blessed my non-existent god for the kindness of women.

“I’ll do my best, Ma’am.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she replied. “You need to try better than your best.”

“Ma’am.” I gave her a small bow, saw the inescapable smile on her face, and the flick away of her hand.

I watched her go down the corridor. She looked back once, turned a corner, and was gone. I turned to the door, and as I did so, bumped into a familiar figure, a fellow gumshoe.

“Hey Jake, what’s going on? What the fuck happened to your face?”

His nose was heavily bandaged, still wet with blood.

“A little Polack prick fucking cut me. Little prick. Fuck him.”

“You shoulda run faster.”

“Yeah, shoulda.”

“You still working that water case?”

“It’s fucking working me. And you?”

“That dead reporter boy. Smack and a B movie actress, you know?”

“Yeah, I remember him. Save the heroine, Dan, before the train gets her.”

“That’s the plan.”

It was still raining as I stood outside, waiting for Ruby.

“Sweet god, Dan, you’re a mess,” she said when she turned up ten minutes later.

She saw me wince as I got into her car. “I been better.”

* * * *

The case got put on hold for several days or even a week while I recuperated, watching my body go through a kaleidoscope of colors. I coulda divided my body into pain zones too, but it was easier to hurt all over. I didn’t need a road map for that.

I did spend the evenings mapping Ruby’s body though, finding my way around her curves and valleys, curling her hair in my hand. She took my cock into her mouth to apply pain relief, sucking me soft and slow and holding me there while my breathing slowed afterwards.

“It’s how I can tell, Dan, if you’re getting better. You seem to be, slowly.” And she stroked me hard once again, sometime later.

There came a time when she knew I was much better but she’d forgotten to tell me, but who was I to change her mind?

“These bruises, Danny, they hurting you?”

“You take my mind of them, Ruby.”

She sure did. On the fourth day she eased herself onto me, sliding down my shaft, her weight on her thighs so the only part of her body that touched mine was the sweet grip of her pussy and the hard nubs of her nipples against my palms.

On the fifth day she ground her cunt down my cock and pulled back her lips to flicker her clit, and when she came with a small scream, I realised I’d only winced once.

On the sixth day, when Ruby knelt before me and her big breasts swayed against the sheets as I fucked her from behind, it seemed I was a whole lot better. But just to make sure, on the seventh day I rested. God had it right, and truth be told, I properly understood the bit about Adam’s rib a whole lot better now. That must have hurt. I’d obviously not paid proper attention in Sunday school.

“It’s just occurred to me, Dan,” said Ruby, as she arched her body above mine on the Monday, her breasts cupped up high in my hands: “I’m not still payin’ you by the day, plus expenses, am I?”

“No Ma’am. By the hour, double on Sundays.”

“Uh huh. Don’t forget my card on Valentine’s.”

“No, Ma’am.”

I loved her twice that night, went back to work on the Tuesday.

* * * *

Everything seemed to revolve around the scummy producer, Aaron Philips, so I decided to do a little late night snooping around. I drove up to his house on Rodeo in my shitty old Ford, thinking it looked like it was dumped at the best of times. But it ran smooth, that old flathead vee suited my slam shifting style, and could hustle with a good enough tail wind behind it.

I rolled the last fifty yards with the lights off and my head out the window to better hear any give away sounds. I’d gone up and past his house and turned around so I faced back down to the city. Ready for a fast getaway, just in case. I didn’t know what I might find, but I was prepared to find whatever it was, dig it up and bury it back into the ground.

I quickly made my way across the lawn, keeping to the shadows, my ears sharp to any noise. All the lights were off at the front of the house, but I could see shadows moving around the back. Seems like there was a pool pavilion there, and I could hear low voices. I slunk down like a monkey and crept to a window.

Pulling an old surveillance trick, I angled a small mirror above my head and took a slow look around the room. As my eyes adjusted to the light and shadow, I made out Philips, and could hear his voice. Couldn’t make out what he was sayin’, but a man wears shoes like he did, who gives a fuck what he says. Anyway, I had payback in mind; just as painful, only slower, and don’t need no words for that.

I heard a low moan, a woman’s moan. Sounded some place close, so I crawled down to another window to take another look. I angled the mirror up, and there on the floor, on a mattress, I could see Maven.

She was naked, but she wasn’t pretty. Obviously stoned past caring, she lay curled up on the mattress, the thin bones of her spine nubbed up from her flesh, which looked almost blue. She rolled over, and I saw a trail of vomit on her skin, and the fucking rubber tube still around her arm. She was junked up, and not doing well by the look of it.

The fucking prick Philips stood over her, his hands on his shrunken little cock. The asshole was beating off, probably the lowest life low act I’d ever seen. I’ve seen scum look better than that on a stagnant pond.

I scoped the rest of the room, and reckoned they were alone. I crept right around the whole building, just to be sure, then eased the handle of the door down, and stepped in.

Philips was still jacking, standing over Maven’s face. No little girl deserves that. I took ten quiet steps forward and put my gun to his neck.

“Stop that, slime. Just fucking stop.” I spoke in a low, lethal whisper, the cold hole of the pistol barrel up against his skin.

He jumped, not knowing I was there, and let out a high pitched shriek.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move. Asshole. Don’t say a word.”

I wondered if he recognised my voice. Probably not. The last time we spoke I was lying on a concrete bed and it was raining.

“Let’s just move over here, shall we? Take a seat.”

He shuffled towards a chair, his pants clutched in his hand. His cock had shrunken with fear, and even though the idea of him was horrible, any indignity he might suffer would satisfy me.

I looked around, and found what looked like a child’s skipping rope. Perfect. I quickly lashed his feet to the chair legs, and flicked his hands behind him. Pulled the rope good and tight. Found a towel and shoved the end in his mouth, but didn’t think he’d do much swimming.

I quickly went across to Maven, checked her pulse. She was semi-conscious, her body far too cold. I didn’t have much time. There was a blanket on the bed, and I wrapped her in it.