It took every ounce of my concentration to hold the telephone receiver to my ear. I was on hold, listening to distant, phantom voices. Tricia, the waitress from Club Infidel, last night, was on her knees before me, her mouth hungrily servicing my cock. I gave her a call after my reconnaissance at the Ginnis estate. She was nice enough, pleasant to be around, and insatiable in the sack. She had spent the night with me.

My snooping about the estate verified my suspicions. Shortly after I arrived, Jacob Cumberbatch and his goons showed up. Gwen met him at the door, wearing a thin silk robe, and let him inside while his hired muscle kept guard outside. Robert Smythe was there, as well, all smiles and disastrous fashion sense. I kept to the shadows, enjoying the silhouetted sex show playing on the boudoir curtains. They were definitely in cahoots, almost too easy to figure out.

I caught a taxi back to my office, which doubles as my apartment, poured a stiff one to mourn the loss of Bradly Ginnis, and gave Tricia a call. She was a good girl, up for anything kinky, and had the inside scoop on the tensions between Mister and widow Ginnis and Cumberbatch. She was willing to talk, just not so willing to shut the hell up.

Furthermore, she reminded me of a redhead I used to date, some tall drink of water named Krystal. She would fuck and suck you until you died, but she’d never stop babbling. Tricia was worse. The only time this one stopped talking was when she had a cock in her mouth. I was waiting on the line to talk with an old cop buddy, now a detective, and needed her to shut up; I gagged her with my cock.

Watching her cute, sexy eyes staring up at me while she showed off her lack of gag reflex had me ready to pop. Humming on my cock as the pumped it with her mouth, her hands busy fondling my sack, I was ready to burst.

“This is detective Schwarz,” my buddy's voice finally announced as I moaned.

“Jimbo, ah, Dirk, how’s business?”

We caught up as I fought off orgasm. I told my friend that I suspected Gwen Ginnis drugged her husband and killed him, that she was working with Jacob Cumberbatch to get him control over both companies and the seedier bits, and that after tonight I should be able to prove it.

“Are you OK, Paladin? You sound like you’re in pain?” Jim asked me. He was a good egg, one of the few on the force not on the take.

“Just a little distracted.” Tricia was sucking on the head of my cock for all she was worth and stroking the shaft with vigor.

“If your hunches are correct, give me a call, so I can get the bust. I need some brownie points at City Hall.”

“Tell, mmm, you what, Jimbo, I’ll call you as soon as I get in, tonight.”

“Deal. Watch your back, Paladin.”

With that, he hung up, leaving me with static and long-distance ghosts.

“Face down, ass up, Tricia.”

“Take my ass. That’s the only hole you haven’t plundered, yet.”

A gentleman always pleases his ladies. My fingers found wetness between her legs and scooped it up, wetting her ass for my cock. As I pushed her head down further, her back arching, accenting her round, firm behind, I pushed the head of my cock against her asshole.

Her hand immediately reached back between her thighs and positioned my meat at the proper angle, then began flicking her clit with abandon. “Take me hard. You know I like it rough.”

In one hard, deep thrust, I impaled her ass. Her moans and shaking thighs let me know that she didn’t mind. Without easing into it I slammed into her ass, full force, feeling her writhe on my cock with every thrust.

“Slap me. Please slap me. Fuck me like a dirty whore.”

I really liked her.

“You’re a worthless piece of fuck-meat, only good for fucking.”

I usually treat broads with more respect, but she asked for it. I pummeled her ass red, put hand welts on her thighs, and she kept begging for more.

“Slap my face, Spit on me. Bruise me, hit me! Cum on my face, please cum on me.”

She turned onto her back, my cock still buried deep in her ass, and pulled me in deeper with her legs. Not wanting to disappoint, I used her cheeks and tits as a punching bag. On the second slap, she began flailing about so fiercely that her body left the floor.

“I’m cumming. Tell me I’m a whore; abuse me.”

“You love it, you fucking whore, you need to be punished.”

Her orgasm triggered mine, her tight asshole milking me. I pulled out and rushed over to her moaning face, reddened by my slaps. Aiming it at her mouth I shot my sticky jizz all over her lips, cheeks, and chin. Tricia moaned, still fingering herself, and consumed my still-cumming cock with her mouth. She choked down the rest of my spunk, not letting up until she had another orgasm.

“Thank you, Dirk,” she said, scooping up my cream with her fingers and feeding herself. “I’ll see you again, soon.”

She waltzed out shortly thereafter, all bouncing tits and wiggling ass. When I wrapped up this case, I might make her my regular gal. The rest of the day was as boring and dreary as the overcast sky. Greasing some more palms, on Gwen’s dime, revealed the expenses of Ginnis Distilleries. Just as I suspected, there hadn’t been any money poured into research and development in a long time, over two years.

Some time was spent pounding the pavement, getting the juicy bits from the rumor mill that the street urchins keep grinding. Cumberbatch’s affair with Mrs. Ginnis was an open secret. Some strong-arm intimidation tactics revealed that a buyout was in the works some months ago, but Brad Ginnis changed his mind just a few days before he died.

Some handy cash edified my suspicions that Cumberbatch had his hooks into Club Infidel, the local underground gambling and drug-running vocations, and operated a series of whorehouses in a sort of mafioso-franchise arrangement. I got off easy with the coroner. A few cheeseburgers and a giant soda were my fees for being told that Bradley Ginnis had enough downers and hallucinogens in his system to kill a Yak. From what he said, there was enough junk in his body to put the entire Mormon Tabernacle choir into a coma.

When I had my little ducks in a nice, neat little row, I gave my client a call.

“Mr. Paladin,” her voice oozed raw sex, making me think she was masturbating as we called. “Is this a social call, or do you have something big, hot, and juicy for me?”

“We need to talk, I broke your case.”

“You have the formula?” Her normal husky tone showed genuine surprise.

“We’ll talk. Say, your place, around nine?”

“Bring that cock of yours, Mr. Paladin.”

Both firearms ready for action, my tape recorder in my breast pocket, pills and antidote in another, I took a cab across town. More rain, more night, the wind flapping my tie about like a banner, I strode across the immaculately-maintained grounds and pressed the buzzer. Gwen answered the door shortly thereafter.

She was dressed in a long, satin robe, her hair shiny and wavy, her prominent nipples screaming for attention. Other than high heels, she wore nothing else. The robe was mostly open, showing her smooth skin and hot, wet pussy with that soft blond thatch above her bare lips.

“Please come.” Her eyes were riveted just below my belt buckle. “I see you’re still wearing that baby-puke tie.”

“I like this tie.”

“Business or pleasure, first?”

A battle raged between my head and cock. “Business. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll mix us some drinks.” She sat and lazily extended a lithe arm, pointing to a minibar. I over-rattled the mixing, making the appropriate sounds intentionally.

It took supreme effort to not stare and that pussy of hers, begging for attention.

“Drink up and brace yourself.”

“What did you find out?” She chugged her drink in one quaff, buying me time as I took her glass, noting her fingers playing on mine as our hands met, and mixed her another.

“More than you’d probably like, I imagine.”

I handed her the drink, Ginnis’ best bourbon. “All you needed was a patsy, and you thought I’d fit the bill.”

“Are you insane,” I waited for more crocodile tears. “I wanted you to find the formula, not take a fall. I think I may need to hire somebody else.”

“Quite the innocent-widow act. I know exactly what you did.” I waited for her usual strong, witty retort. Instead, I got a blank, confused look. I continued. “Word on the street is that you and Jacob Cumberbatch have been the item for years.”

“So?” her tone was defensive. “Bradley and I had this arrangement. I do as I please, and he gets to keep me around to impress his business cronies.”

“And that just wasn’t enough for you, was it? After you bled him dry, you decided to move on. So you and Cumberbatch tried to make him sell out; he wouldn’t do it, so you poisoned him to be in a position to give Ginnis’ businesses over to your boyfriend. That way you can keep sucking the golden cock.”

“You have me all wrong, Paladin,” she began crying. It almost seemed real. “I’d never betray my husband. I think you should leave.”

I flipped on the tape recorder, then reached into my other pocket and spilled the pills on the table in front of me.

“The toxicology report said that your husband was roofied with enough of these to kill him ten times over.”

”No, I’d never!”

I pulled out the vial of antidote, the piss-yellow glinting in the light. “I didn’t put that many in your drinks, just enough to get the job done. You’d better start talking.”

“Give me the antidote and then get out of my house.” She stressed “my” to the point of reaffirming my suspicions.

“Talk now, or you’ll never see tomorrow.”

I gave her my “I mean business” stern look, usually reserved for threatening punks or police. She broke, the dam broke along with her. Real sobs, sincere tears, burst from her face.

“You have me all wrong,” she wailed. “It’s true. It’s true that I didn’t love him; true that I tried to get him to sell. Jake and I were going to be happy together, but then somebody poisoned him.”

“And the formula?”

“I lied!” her confession echoed through the very large sitting room. “I knew you’d figure it out, but you have me all wrong. I’m innocent.”

I had a snarky comment ready to fire but was interrupted mid-quip. The double doors burst open. A very dour- and enraged-looking Jacob Cumberbatch, two of his cronies flanking him, piled in. Smythe was on one side, looking like a menacing, but cheap, pimp. Some nameless toadie with much better fashion sense decided that it was a good idea to brandish a very nice Italian switchblade.

“I take it you gents are here for the tea party?”

“Always a smart-ass, Paladin,” Smythe sneered at me. “You’s was warned.”

The two goons approached me while Cumberbatch held back. Knife-boy was quicker than Smythe, a full pace up ahead. I hate to waste good whiskey, but I sloshed the booze at his face, aiming and hitting his eyes. He dropped his knife, shrieking as the alcohol burnt his eyes. A quick bash with the glass across his nose, the tumbler shattering, giving him a permanent gift to remember me by, preceded my wingtips smashing into his ball sack. Knowing that wouldn’t keep him down for long, a hard kick to the chops would even the odds until I dealt with my old fellow, former officer.

As soon as my foot connected with laughing boy’s face, a huge mass of muscle slammed into me, tackling me down to the floor. I spun and reeled on my way down, trying to seek some advantage. Landing on our sides with twin “oomphs,” Smythe and I wrestled around like two bimbos on Prom Night. Punches, knees, elbows, and even a few headbutts followed.

I noted that Cumberbatch had approached a crying Gwen, her screaming about the antidote. He was maybe eight or so feet away from her, having closed the distance from the doorway to there. That momentary distraction was enough. Smythe managed a haymaker into the side of my head; stars went off in my eyes. I shook my head to clear it, stopping when I discovered that he’d regained his feet and was pointing a gaudy, shiny magnum at me.

“Just like when you were on the force, you ruin everything, you simp.”

He drew the hammer back on that hog-leg as I prepared to die.

“You fucked things up for me then, and you’s doing it now. Ginnis had to go because he wouldn’t play nice. Now, it’s my turn. I’m taking the biz, see? Both of them. Then I’ll control this city.”

I’d sell my eye teeth if he’d just shut the fuck up.

He gloated over me. “Any last words, Paladin?”

“Yeah, who the fuck says ‘simp’? What’s that mean, anyway?”

“Smythe, no!” Cumberbatch yelled at him.

Robert glanced over his way, a disgusted look on his face. “Didn’t ya hear? I’m taking over. I’m done with you.”

Smythe quickly aimed the gun toward his boss and fired a single shot. Jacob Cumberbatch fell in place, clutching at his chest as blood flowed all over his nice, clean suit. Gwen, hysterical at this point, screamed in anguish and rushed to her wounded boyfriend. I saw Smythe chuckle and aim.

I sprung up, still a bit dizzy, and landed a straight punch right into his baby-maker. A second blow, with my left, hit the side of his kneecap, a resounding pop letting me know that I’d dislocated his knee. He went down, dropping the gun.

With a look of horror on his face, Smythe headed towards the doors and limped out. “Another time, real soon, you fuck,” he threatened as I fought gravity to stand back up.

It was all over except for me making a hasty exit. I hadn’t poisoned Gwen, a guy’s got to have some standards. Mr. Cumberbatch’s wound wasn’t fatal; he’d live. I left mook number two to lie there.

“Sorry, Gwen,” I said. “I was wrong. Had your boyfriend not been the jealous, gangster type, I might never have figured it out. I’ll call you when I have this wrapped up.”

“The antidote,” she cried.

“I would never poison a client,” I tipped my fedora to her. “I just needed the real truth, so I could do my job.”

Deciding that I liked that knife more than the other guy needed it, I pocketed the number as I left. I caught the first cab and raced back to my office. Some Cumberbatch booze seemed in order, so I poured a stiff one and called Jim Schwarz.

“Jimbo, it’s Dirk. I have something you need to hear, a full confession. How soon can you make it over?” He promised he’d speed over.

A few minutes later, right when the pain in my head started to wane, a frenetic knocking disturbed my silence. The shadow in the door-glass looked feminine; I decided to hit record once more.

“Door’s open.”

I’m not wrong very often, twice in one night was making me rethink my career choices. First I was wrong about Gwen snuffing her hubby to make room for her lover, now I was wrong about who was at my door. I figured it would be Gwen, but it was Tricia. She was soaked, her frock of a dress clinging to that body that I so loved. She held her handbag in front of her, her hair straggly from the rain, her makeup running from the rain and tears. She was crying.

“It’s, it’s Cumberbatch’s men, they’re after me. Can I come in?”

“Why the fuck would they be after you?”

“Because Robbie and I…”

“Don’t tell me you’re involved with that low-life scum.”

“For a detective, you’re pretty slow, aren’t you?”

“I know he’s behind this whole mess if that’s what you mean.”

“No, Dirk. You’re a good fuck. Too bad it has to end this way.”

“Cut the drama, sweetheart, just tell it to me straight.”

She reached into her purse, tears still flowing a bit. The gun she pulled out wasn’t as big as the one Smythe pulled on me, but it could get the job done. Her hands shook as the let her purse drop to hold in both hands.

“Robbie and I were going to live happily-ever-after, and you ruined it. Instead of just one person out of the way, we have three more to get rid of.”

“You got it all wrong, Tricia. Whatever he told you, whatever he’s promised, won’t happen. Sure, you can kill me, then Gwen, then Cumberbatch, but that’s a lot of blood on your hands.”

“It has to be this way. I’m sorry. I kind of liked you.”

“I can protect you. Put down the pistol.”

“No, Dirk. Robbie and me, together, will run the booze, the gambling, the police, and even the club. Goodbye, Mister Paladin.”

I breathed in, noting the irony that my final breath was right then and me not having a snappy line. A shot rang out, and I waited for the pain and the red ooze to follow. Tricia looked surprised, and so did I. there was no blood pouring all over my favorite tie, no pain. Tricia slumped to the floor with a thud. In the doorway, I saw my old friend, Jim Schwarz.

I chugged my drink and poured another one. “Thanks, Jimbo, you saved my hide, there.”

“You always had poor taste in women. Pour me one, too.”

That’s how it ended, with me very wrong, the police actually saving the day for once in a row, and not one but two confessions on tape. It was a small matter to round up some honest badges to apprehend Robert Smythe and roughly give him a warm welcome. Even the crooked D.A. couldn’t ignore this one. Cumberbatch recovered in due time, his slutty girlfriend announcing the merger of their two distilleries into Cumberbatch-Ginnis. It made all the papers.

Me? I got paid with a few cases of bourbon as a bonus. Some might say I cheated death or got in way over my head. I call it a typical Friday night in Sintropolis.