An Angel Gone Missing

BURNING skies and melting asphalt, frying eggs on the black tar, holocaust of fired Santa Anna winds terrorizing in from the dead city of L.A. It’s all sweltering reminders that someone fucked up, zoned out and planted a city in a dead desert, sweat, thermal, organic, hot, it’s always fucking hot in N. Vegas, my home.

I’m Jane, Vegas PI/Bounty Hunter.

I am a tall, 5-11 string bean aqua eyed blond bi-sexual savage, Ex British glam girl, IQ, well off the charts. I’m told I’m a doll, but beauty has never interested me, it’s so vapid, so temporary. Like a lot of birds, I use my beauty like I use my Mossberg shot gun, and my variety of hand guns. I’m also a mistress of several black belts, karate, judo, you know all the stuff a girl PI needs in a dangerous world.

Beauty well put my face in a leaf mulcher and a pencil in my mouth and set me down in a wheel chair in front of my Apple machine, good enough for moi. Though I adore girls, from time to time, when the moment is right, I will fuck a guy. In real time, I have these faded light scars on my face. It was a strange time for me. I had lost focus on a takedown and some bad ass guy did that to me.

At the time I needed that for an attitude adjustment.

I can’t live without the sweetness and softness of a girl’s lips.

“I kissed a girl and I liked it. The taste of her Cherry Chap Stick.” Katy Perry is the bump, just adore her.

Anyhoo, I live a film noir/retro life, got great digs in dangerous N. Vegas, loft kinda deal. It’s plopped above Chang’s Chinese Laundry. Love Chang and his insane wife, Shei Shei. They are pros at getting the blood outta my clothes.

My love in life is my turquoise and white, big chrome everywhere, including her tail fins 59 rag top Buick. She’s a doll, and besides my gold fish Gumbo and Stella, I am pretty much a lone Great White cruising around in the dead oceans of Vegas.

I have tons a dough, millions, parents died in a holocaust of fire on the Air France Concord Holocaust outside of Paris. They left me millions, cried a lot, I really loved them. I have the money with this vampire stock guy at Morgan Stanley who sends most of the interest to various charities.

That, in this cold world makes me feel good.

With the fortune they left me, and as soon as I became 18 I scooted England, and hit up the world, ended up years later in The Colonies for my education.

I spent year’s cruising around the world, Asia, Europe, The Middle East, India because I have this Mensa brilliant brain that is mostly wild, and uncontrollable. I taught myself languages, learned about history, art, different cultures, drugs, you name them and how to fuck as many insane girls and boys I could.

That’s how I rolled then and then the light bulb went off.

So tired of being stoned all the time, I decided to formalize all of it. So I rolled into Wharton that hit man east coast training business school and got my MBA at 26. That’s another story, will give some peeps on that later.

I have to keep it real and love violence, beat downs, kicking ass, and catching bad guys, usually bail jumpers that have crossed the line. Choose the capture the bad boys and girls scene because it turns me on, mano a mano, hand to hand combat, and no girl or guy better try to sweet talk me. I will take them down hard.

Am a weapons expert, got guns, lots a guns, also my PI license and Gun Permit, usually stuffed into the waist band of my usual getup, black leather, skin tight hip huggers and black steel toed work boots.

Anyhooo, never was easy for me to fall in love, and my last girl pal Chen-Chen is gone as another month vanished. With time clicking right along something changed in my life, really a life preserver I was joansing for, secretly. In the end, I just couldn’t do it, commit. You know like the fairy-tail said

Fall in love for ever. Just can’t do it because I’m a free bird. I have relationship issues.

So Chen-Chen that twenty four year old Chinese, skin like silk, eyes like green almonds is gone. The goddess savant clothes designer almost had me. I loved her, well kinda and she gave me an out. I took it and now she’s in Moscow.

She gave me the big ace, the big invite, you know.

Come Janie with me, we live in Moscow, we make the love, we sex. I will make zee beautiful togs for you my lovely.

That fucking accent of hers and that onyx long hair of hers and that sweet cunt, fuck I will miss that.

And what did I do, I took the last life boat out, from her, the Titanic.

It broke my heart when I saw her tears fall down her perfect face. I simply watched as she and the last box of her shit had vanished down the street, passed the freak show of the Mexican circus down there at the end of the alley and, then she was gone.

It was one of those WHEW moments for me.

You know, when your mate gets the bullet in the fox hole, and not you. You feel bad, but you’re glad the lead slug didn’t hit you in the ear. Don’t get me wrong, I will miss her. It was all good, but I kept waiting for that cartridge cap of reality to hit me in the forehead.

You know, a gal falls in love, then everything goes bollucks, the new of it all is gone, and normally some babe forgets what made you special to begin with. Then along with the tears, a career girls heart dies. Well, what else is fucking new in the world of romance?

Chen-Chen, well no hints of that from her and I saw it in her green Asian eyes. I had to believe her when she said the anvil word, love.

But what the fuck, I love Vegas, what was I gonna do in Moscow, though I totally dig the place. But done that, did that, so I’m breathing easy again, though the sex was nuclear. I won’t forget that, ever.

It’s pretty much me, Gumbo and Stella my goldfish. Well for once in my fucked my life, I did the right thing rescuing them. They we’re the perfect add on to my non-existent family, and their filled with love, loyalty, licks, big bug eyes and it’s an everyday thing with them. Every moment is new with them, their love for me, I hope and is for the moment, I can’t ask for anything else. For where does a bitch like me ever get unconditional love in this bastard of a world.

I’ll tell my family of fish stories later for as usual I’m getting ahead of myself, always like that with me and reality.

Awhile back I was having my usual hoot tracking down a bail jumper.

I had driven my 59 Buick, top down, summer breeze on my buzzed blond mop over to the The Bent Club a notorious underground blood bar club, among many other deviant and wonderful obsessions.

The Bent is slotted down in a dangerous part of N. Las Vegas. Lots of gang bangers, Asian, Hispanics M-13’s out of El Salvador, drug dealers, blacks and whores, all rumbling and killing for a few blocks of their gang empires. Not at The Bent Club though.

N. Vegas is bad and you never see that part of Vegas on those brochures showing the plaid golf pants sets winning a zillion dollars at the slots there.

The sewer is puissant with lots of pimps, players, wannabees and drug addicts finding a place to shoot up for the night under freeway under passes and along degrading dumpster worlds. It’s a street-walker hooker’s paradise, young old, in between.

You know, ex show girls and runaways from Biloxi and Iowa that thought Vegas would change their lives, answering their dreams. Then, far too late they, like busting out on life’s crap table they would be found next to a pile of garbage in some alley raped, savaged and a heroin needle stuck in their arms. Last call the coroner zip, zip, zipping them up in a black body bag.

Anyways The Bent Club is a stylish place. It’s filled with queers, dykes, nude dancers, gay boys, transgender kids, Goth, EMO and Hip Hop girls. Also, it’s an elegant hangout for straight rich older gay submissive men and woman lawyers, doctors, judges, sport stars, performers and men and woman looking for sex with some empty headed boy with road bump abs and girls with golden cunts, and nothing between the ears.

It’s a private local club, lots of bartering for people souls and at times and so stylish. Best of everything sold there, coke, champagne, X, pot and the finest foods and liquor’s can be had at a price there.

Drugs are prevalent, but I never touch them. I like what I am going to be doing tomorrow, especially that I am going to wake up alive.

Also, it’s very respectful and no one ever gets an attitude about what ever deviant and honest thing anyone is seeking for the night. If it is consenting between two people, it usually goes down there.

Lots of Vegas black cops hang there. It’s the only place left in Vegas they can get a little relief from the whole sale slaughter of human beings that is a ritual night after night in Vegas. Most of my friends are cops, including a righteous dude, Lieutenant Victor Garcia over there a N. Vegas Metro. More on him later

Because I am a voyeur and a thrill girl it’s one of the few places in Vegas where I feel totally comfortable and I so love the honest vibe of the club.

Like I said, it’s also a Blood Drinkers hang out. They got their own mojo section going on, usually in the dark corners. I think it’s cool, never judge them, yet it’s not something I am into.

Days earlier I had accepted a bail contract from Hank over there at Hanks Bail Bond for a dangerous piece of street trash, this 6ft 2, dirty blond, pure and ultra-violent dude named Jimmy Flicks.

Anyhow, it had all gone down as I had planned.

Looking all dollish and such, I had layer caked my long bod along the bar and had started drinking my martinis. Jimmy Flicks had entered, felt my Gravitational Sex Tractor Beam and we had chit-chatted it up, and like sex starved wolverines had jetted the place.

Me being so horny.

BLAST, I’m starting to talk like a Vietnamese hooker.

Me so Horny GI.

While this turbo charged kid Jimmy Flicks was at the Loo taking one last toot I was getting my magnum and shoulder holster and chatting it up with young Goth Super Doll Glenda, the hat check girl. Not knowing if Jimmy Flicks was going to hammer the sexual lights out of me, or just try to murder me because I was a girl with a gun and a badge, I needed a back up sex plan.

Glenda is all Goth all the time. Meaning her pixie banged black hair is death black, as are her nails, lips, eyebrows, as well as the heavy mascara she wears is black too. She’s like 19 and stunning. She’s got hardware on her lips, ears, cheeks, eyebrows, nose, nipples as well as having these cool bolts stuck into her head.

She hasn’t quite thought through what she just might look like when she is forty, but hey, no one lives forever.

As usual she was semi-naked, just this little black mini skirt hugging her small hips just above her laser beamed cunt. Her bod, as was the usual was Goth thin and was covered with tattoos and I won’t go into detail. It was the usual Japanese stuff and you know the kind the rest of the girls have.

Anyhooo, to make a long story short, Glenda has been begging me like Valley Girl fooooreeever for me to fuck her, or her to fuck me. It’s all and the same thing to me.

So while I was waiting for my new hero to arrive, hopefully without white powder dusted all over his face, Glenda and I made arrangements for a little girl sex rendezvous later.

Seemed perfect to me and, then Our Jimmy (That’s what the Brits call their Star Player. Our ?) was there.

I gave Glenda a conspiracy wink and a C-note tip and with my arm wound around my new man, I exited as the starlet I’ve always felt ME to be.

To make a long story short because I have another bail contract to fulfill tonight it pretty much went like I figured.

Once outside, I had dragged Jimmy into an alley. Feeling like a slut, I sucked him off and, then ooooooed and awwwwwed and oooooowied as he first fucked the NEON out of my cunt. He then sodomized me and I was so happy from the pain and pleasure of it, I almost started to chirp, chirp, chirp like a crazed Parakeet.

With his Vice Grip fingers holding my naked stomach, and his dick like a car truck piston hammering my ass, well just after I climaxed for the zillionth time, and because I am a gentlemen I felt him cum in my ass, thank fucking God.

I felt pleased after knowing that a good time was had by all.

After, because I still needed to fulfill that bail bond, I had used my martial arts skills, broken elbow, knee cap, a chop to the larynx and had kicked the living shit out of him in the alley. I did feel kinda bad as I looked at his teeth on the asphalt as I cuffed him. But you know, no one ever asked him to break the law.

HELLO, I could have given him a toe tag.

Anyhoo, I whisked him off to Hanks Bail Bonds over there in Henderson, got my Do Re Me.

I then scooted back to The Bent Club wrangled up Glenda and with her snuggled in nice and tight and the wind whistling past the graveyard in my Buick, we went to my loft and had Napalm sex and as Glenda would say while she chewed her Bubbelicious bubble gum as well as my cunt.

Foooooor-Eeeeeever.

God, who is the luckiest Biatch in the fucking world?

Anyhow a new day; a new night; a new bidness at hand.

Jane, Vegas PI. checking out.

Xxx

“BOOM. BOOM. BOOM .” The music boomed.”

Maybe we can make it alright

We could make it better sometime

Maybe we can make it happen baby

We could keep trying but things will never change

So I don’t look back

Still I’m dying with every step I take

But I don’t look back

Just a little little bit better

Good enough to waste some time

Tell me, would it make you happy baby?

We could keep trying but things will never change

So I don’t look back

Still I’m dying with every step I take

But I don’t look back

Jane here, and that’s how I roll. I just love Sharissa’s vibe, she is the total real deal, man I dig her music.”

One AM cruising done Sahara Blvd. in my doll 59 Buick, wires from my Apple I-Pod plugged into my brain, boot on the dash, Marlboro slotted between my lips and singin’ along with my girl Sharissa to her Every Beat of my Heart.

“And it hurts with every heart beat.”

And it hurts with every heart beat

And it hurts with every heart beat

And it hurts with every heart beat.”

“Boom Boom Boom...Boom Boom Boom.” The music thumps.

“And it hurts with every heart beat.”

Yes it does, as I smoke, and plug from a small bottle of Wild Turkey as I cruise along the desert night in my Buick feelin’ tight and just so right.

I’ve always been a boulevard girl and love the road.

Got a new bail fail contract, that’s what I call it from Biffs’ Bail Bond, a friend of Hanks over there in Pahrump Nevada. I am heading to another one might call a fetish club in N. Vegas named Candy Land.

Candy Land is pretty much the demented twin sister of The Bent Club.

Though a class joint it is in-habituated by fringe clans of society. There is a little more of the aroma there of BDSM and Bondage and the place, though very cool most of the times, does have it moments of complete madness.

There are lots of EMO kids, as well as Punks, Hip Hop girls and Goth girls hanging their black lip gloss there and also some skin heads and anarchists and also like The Bent Club it’s a Vampire Bar.

Which means some of the cute kids that hang there are blood drinkers. With their fake Dracula fangs and cute getups well, there usually on the fringe and are corner hangers.

It’s also a hangout for the rich mixed genders, bisexual, lesbian, gay and transgender folks, all looking for something. Basically, it has the same cliental as her sister The Bent has.

I just got this new Bail contract from Biff, and he’s worried about this dangerous and very lethal fucking dirty blond piece of trailer trash called Tina (DILDO) Barks.

Great fucking nick name.

She got that name de pleura because the doll always has in a leather sheath, stitched to her filthy Levis, this foot long massive black dildo.

She famous in the lesbian rough trade community because she killed a girl one and men, rumor have it, before. She is a tough, brutal street dealing coke queen.

She’s mega dangerous and I have the Bail Jump contract on her from Hank for her almost killing a girl at Lizzie’s, a notorious Butch dyke bar last week.

Since I felt like I hadn’t been fucked right for dog years, (Jimmy Flicks doesn’t count) I could feel that tinkle, tinkle, tinkle wet feeling in my cunt. That usually told me that sex or a beat down would soon be visiting. Of course those two coin flips are two of my most fav things in the world.

I’m always testing myself, and usually will put myself in some dicey situations, you know, just to see if Jane still has it. I had a plan tonight to capture Tina, and it involved sex, danger and of course my 357 Magnum Python hand gun.

Anyhow, Wong, the giant Asia 6ft-8 mountain doorman my good buddy had rung me up telling me that Tina had been hanging her dildo at Candy Land lately.

Wong’s street creds are solid as his huge dick must be.

He’s one of those ex NBA monster guys, and came out of the Chinese pro league.

He played for the Utah Jazz for a couple of seasons. With the dick the size of a Zebra, he found little use for it in Salt Lake City. It’s didn’t take long for him to figure out the Mormon bitches there wouldn’t fuck a guy unless he had a bible in one hand and some ass lube and a marriage contract for their three sisters in the other.

No dummy, Wong soon found Vegas sweeeeeet. An odd place where the whores, strippers, runaway’s, crazy young girls, druggie party girls had lined up silicone tits to silicone tits to suck his monster cock and from naked end to end would have made a line of cocaine long enough to hit Bangkok.

Life in Vegas sometimes for a playa can be Fucking Perfect.

When I had toddled up in my Buick, I felt phat, loaded and ready.

Layering a C-note off on Mr. Wong, I got that sexy kind of Chairman Mao smile from him and I did the usual Euro Trash thing. You know, kisses on both cheeks, and got a lot of love back from him. He totally digs my vibe, me being so blond cute and all.

My street-creds are impeccable and everyone knows my word is concrete. People dig that in a wild child.

I was decked out in the usual Jane, PI threads. Black, skin tight leather hip huggers, just above my laser beamed cunt, black camisole sleeveless tank and on my feet were the usual kick ass black men’s, steel toed work boots. I was wearing a knee length black leather jacket, just to conceal my Python magnum stuck into my shoulder holster. I also was wearing my gold chain and small gold cross. I don’t believe in God, but I do love the Latina image of it all.

Vanity, Fuck, I’m working on that, really I am.

It was 1 AM, and the place was kickin’ it.

The dance floor was happening, lots of moon beams eyes from the children of decadence dancing to Usher. That’s how the place rolled.

There were lots of older men dancing with gym boys, and debutant older woman waltzing with semi naked show girls. Lots of the strippers were completely naked, just stilettos, and I recognized a few bull dykes, very stylish, in men’s suits pirouetting around the dance floor with the stunners.

Like I said, there were also lots of Goth, Punk and EMO girls (My fav, there so waifish adorable) with their huge eyes, rimmed in mascara so thick you could pave the Hollywood Freeway with it.

The booths were filled with rich old men and gals, and with them were semi naked boys and girls.

They were drinking Dom, Johnny Walker Black, X-ing and coking and everyone seemed to be having a respectable and lovely time.

At the back lit blue neon bar, racked with the finest liquors on the planet, there were several semi naked girls in heels in G-strings, kissing, grinding and loving each other like sexed up boa constrictors.

All the girls were pierced, lips, noses, tits, ears and clits I imagined. To a one they had Japanese dragons, snakes and Korean calligraphy tattooed down their arms, back, breasts and legs.

I have always been more that a little partial to Goth Girls like the one Glenda from The Bent I fucked the other night. I feel even stronger about EMO Girls.

No one has to tell me I can be a bit of a hooligan at times and over the top with guy qualities.

Therefore I like the femininity of those itsy bitsy little EMO girls. There just so tiny, tits, cunts, height, and they all have these giant eyes. Never could figure that one out.

Anyhoo, I’m joasing on EMO chicks lately because there she is their doll queen tending bar and usually she is transfixed with Moi, well almost.

Her name is Zoe and isn’t that just adorable.

In reality she could be named Sheba the Elephant Girl and I wouldn’t have cared, for look at her.

What? I’m a fucking tramp with the sex drive of an Arizona State Pompom girl I can’t help myself.

There she is. Fuck, she is perfect.

She’s what, 21, 5ft 5, EMO 105 lbs, with those huge mascara/eyeliner raccoon rimmed blue eyes and with perfect skin the color of paper all set off by her midnight colored Liz Taylor hair doo. She’s topless, just a red leather mini skirt hanging low on her tiny hips, tatted everywhere, neck, arms, tummy and back. She’s not like a lot of EMO’s for she’s just pierced with gold rings on her lip, ears, and nipples, which look fucking exotic on her small tits.

I don’t think she has seen me yet, otherwise, and because she has told me over and over that she wants to eat my cunt, and also fuck me nutso, she has ignored me to the moment.

I could see that she was busy as several dyke’s and dominate males, were chatting it up with her at the bar and with two semi-naked strippers.

Blast Jane, the world does not revolve around you, pleeeease.

IT DOESN’T?

So I sidled up to the end of the bar because I wanted to be close to the Scene Area of the club.

On the dance floor, one bull dyke, stylized out in an Armani suit, white shirt, black tie, and men’s brogues’ seemed in love with a topless stripper painted out in a pair of white leather hip huggers. She had those small tits dykes loved so much. The girls looked in love, that’s always a sweet thing.

Peek-a-booing down the bar, I saw Zoe disappear somewhere. I expect for a toot of something white. I don’t do drugs, but most of the kids do.

Checking out the Scene Area and wanting a vodka martini, Stoli will do, I gasped as another femme fatal girl bartended smiled and stood before me.

GOD, she’s Kim this 21 year old British blond Pixie, blue eyes stunner that always has a smile on her fucking Keira Knightly looking face. She’s what I call a whisper girl. Tall, thin like a windswept willow, snow white hair cut in a Pixie cut. Huge lips, small nose, large oval eyes spread wide on her once in a life time face.

I’ve never kissed her before, but that’s on my girl list of things I have to do before I die.

She’s always laughing and has that wonderful sharp British wit, and I have never seen her depressed. Is that at all possible with a beautiful female? Don’t know.

She’s kinda Punk and has a single small British Union Jack tattooed on her stomach on that white skin of hers. She’s got just a few gold piercings’. You know, one on her lip, nose and gold twins on her ears and nipples that are connected to her tits, which are small and fucking amazing.

Topless, and like moa, she’s wearing a pair of skin tight, black leather stove pipe hip huggers which connect to a pair of men’s work boots.

Are we twins that have found each other? I don’t know.

But golly I can taste her skin and lips already as I give her my best Jane smile. You know, adding to my sex bank account for future withdrawals like I’m hoping I will later make with Zoe.

I’m always thinking ahead when it comes to sex, and with Zoe the bartender on my mind, well I don’t want to mess it up.

“Hi Janie, you look like way hot tonight.”

I blush and exaggerate two finger points at me. Kim laughs, nails my eyes with hers and nods seductively at me as I purr.

“Oh you doll. You say that to all the girls.”

I gulp, for you know she’s young and all bullet-proof and such.

I sigh as she wag’s a forefinger at me, and wets her full lips with the pinkest tongue I have ever seen.

I actually feel a fissure cracking through my cunt as she slots her elbows on the bar top, gets a little closer and whispers. “No way Janie. You’re just so radical. All the girl’s love you’re vibe.”

She takes her hand and wraps it around the back of my head and, then layer cakes my lips with hers.

My toes curl in my boots, and I am positive my leather hip huggers are leaking something on the floor. Her breath held the essence of young violets to it. Her saliva, well it tasted like fucking cum.

She then backed away because no one owns anyone in this New Girl World and because she is respectful of other girl’s turf, she whispers at me. “I don’t want to intrude, Janie. But, I know Zoe is so like wanting to hook up with you. But, I...I...”

I swallow watching her seductive learned MTV moves as she kinda O’s her lips at me. I am semi hypnotized as she smiles like a young Meg Ryan, you know before she put those balloons in her lips.

“But...I...I...crickey Janie, I know Zoe knows, we chatted a bit about it, she’s OK with it...Bu...I’d love to shag you...I...I mean, could you think of me when you have some time, maybe a little lonely...OK my lovely?”

Where in the fuck do I sign on the dotted line?

“Golly Gee Kim.”

Christ I’ve reverted to a coquettish teenager this late in my life.

“Trust me beautiful. I’ve got you on my speed dial, really. But Zoe and me have been dancing a little bit, you understand don’t ya Kim?”

She laughs with that sensational sense of British humor of hers and says. “Not to worry Janie, we have scads of time. Now, the usual, you’re Stoli Martini?”

“Sweet Kim, shaken, not stirred, like Bond.”

She laughs, gives me a wink and strolls down the bar, me, my heart thump, thump, thumping in my chest.

Saved from the guillotine, I reach in my pocket, with draw a wad of hundred dollar bills, peel one off, and slap it on the bar.

I am a notorious tipper, and one of the main reasons is that I have been given a platinum advantage in life, though that advantage was tinged with my beloved parent’s death.

These kids work like coal miners propping up the decadence of the casinos, restaurants and bars and as bell hops, car hops, maid and waiters, etc. I help when I can, and know a C-Note in one of their palms, well that helps pay the rent.

In reality, I give all my bounty loot to this righteous guy Father Bob, who runs the homeless shelter over there off of Martin Luther King blvd.

Fuck, I’m lucky to have the opportunity to do it at all.

“Here ya are Janie, shaken, not stirred, like Bond.”

“Thanks Kim, you are so fly.”

She’s laughs as she sets it on the bar, gets some yips and waves from two naked showgirls down the bar holding court with two older men in Baroni Suits.

She turns and with a wink, cruises away.

As I sip, sip, sip at my iced platinum dream, I notice still no sign of Zoe.

She’s, they say, quite partial to X and coke, don’t judge, can’t afford to, so I turn my eyes to a semi-commotion over to my left.

I’m also thinking about my contract for Tina Barks. She’s a no show so far, but she is a dangerous piece of work, and I have to keep my shit together.

Far off to the left, there is another scene going down and since I love beautiful damsels in distress, I’m quite riveted by what is going down.

Like I mentioned, sometimes the scene at Candy Land is very bondage and BDSM orientated.

If you are a dominate or a submissive girl, well you pretty much can get whatever you need concerning gratification and sex there. Like I said, the place is a very stylish and a respectful club.

Over there in The Scene Room, with a small crowd watching, drinking, and munching pop corn were two females.

One of the girl’s, was a waifish and stunning red head, with arctic white skin, small bare feet and green eyes. She had this long trail of red silk hair falling past her shoulders. She was totally naked, besides leather straps on her ankles and her wrists and her back and butt were pressed against an eight foot inverted wooden teak X.

Using the entire length of the X support for a little support, and from grommets and bolts welded into the floor, she was basically spread eagled. Her cunt was so pink and beautiful it looked like a pink-popsicle.

From her wrists, rising towards the ceiling were two leather straps, VEEING her arms and hands skyward. Attached to her leather ankle straps were two leather ropes, spreading her feet out to an acute angle thus bringing her to her tip toes.

Below her eyelashes, she, like moi and most 2014 modern girls she did not have a single hair on her perfect body.

On her breasts, tummy and mound there were not scars, but faded red stripes left there from some other amazing moment that she had needed to find sexual fulfillment.

I recognized her immediately.

Once when I was at this fab party over their at Desert Inn Lakes and in this opulent mansion I watched as five black basketball players from UNLV (University of North Las Vegas) had gang fucked her on a pool table for about two hours. With her adoring older and loving husband watching, this Mimi doll then, after the hoopsters wore out, fucked herself senseless with a pool cue for about ten minutes until she passed out.

She was clearly Clinical Nympho.

After, everyone had agreed that she had been marvelous, including her doting husband.

Anyhooo, set around her and on various small tables there were talons, belts, canes, crops and whips with leather handles on them. Accompanying them, there was an assortment of pliers, nipple clamps, dildos, chrome S-ass hooks, etc.

It was everything a dominatrix would need to take this submissive princess into the world of pain and pleasure that she sought.

That very dominatrix, dressed in the usual black leather get up, topless, corset, g-string, black gloves and thigh high black boots, was a tall, bust enhanced and wild looking female. Cleopatra’s large silicone breasts were pierced with gold spikes and were perfect if you loved Pamela Anderson and huge and she was 6 ft 1 and quite the exotic female.

She had long raven colored hair falling down her naked and tattooed back. Down each arm and on her back, stomach and breasts she had Thai calligraphy as well as wizards, snakes and dragons stitched into her skin.

Watching I was mesmerized, for I had seen scenes like these before. I always appreciated such showman ship within this world of pain and pleasure that so many demanded to survive within a dehumanized world.

Feeling the buzz, I downed my martini, turned just in time to see another set before me on the bar.

Smiling at Kim, I pushed the C-note to her, got a smile, as I said as she smiled more at me.

“For you Kim. Keep it. Keep I’m coming. More Uncle Benjamin’s I promise.”

Whisking the hundred dollar bill away, she smiled and said. “Crickey Janie, you’re just ALL THAT. Not to worry. See ya.”

Sipping at my long stem of golden liquid honey, I turned just as Cleopatra (that was her name) found a pine crop on the table. She swished it in the air a few times and snapped it on the leather clad table. The red heads eyes blinked hard several time.

Finding it to her liking she moved before the Red Head, whose chin was now in submission and was pressed against her collarbones?

Placing the crop under the lovelies chin, she lifted the does face level with her own. They made eye contact, hard.

“Why are you here? What is your name? How old are you?” Cleopatra asked, none to friendly.

Doll swallowed, and seemed to be fighting tears as her lips trembled.

“I’m, Mimi, 22...I was a bad girl...I cheated on my husband...I...I’m sorry. I need help.”

Lowering her chin, small sobs could be heard tumbling from her throat. Cleopatra, seemingly annoyed, lifted her chin again and tapped her on her closed eyes with the crop.

“Open them. NOW.” She barked, making the ginger girl wince.

Eyes now open, and with her ribs pressing again her skin, and her breathing increasing, she leered in seemingly fear at the woman white knuckling the crop.

“Do you think he deserved that?”

“N...No...No he didn’t...I’m so sorry...I...I...Please help me.”

Whipping around with the crop, she pointed to a 50ish man, obviously rich, grey temples, Baroni suit, Rolex watch, sitting in a chair. He was surrounded by about twenty-five or so other fun, stylish dressed loving patrons of Candy Land.

“And is that you’re poor husband there. Is that the man that dared marry such a tramp?”

With her mouth quivering and staring almost ashamed at her husband, she allowed the word to tremble out of her mouth.”Yes.”

Fuck, this ginger doll was good.

Tapping her pink nipples with the crop, Mimi winced as Cleopatra moved close to her face.

“Why did you do it? Be honest now and perhaps I shall be lenient with you.”

A single tear fell down along her porcelain cheek as she remained silent.

“I...I....I...”

“WHY.” Cleopatra snapped as she increased the intensity of the cane on her nipples.

Mimi’s body jolted, as her eyes focused and as the little girl that she was, she bit down on her lip with her perfect white teeth and whispered. “Because I love pussy and cock so much and I am a slut.”

“Yes, I thought so....What is it you want from me?”

“I...I...I want you to help me. I...I want to be a better girl...Please.”

WOW.

The crowd was riveted as I was and I so knew this story so well.

Because I am a bright light bulb I have my own problems thinking of Mimi’s faded pink lash marks

I got lazy once taking down a thug wanted for murdering a showgirl in Reno. He beat on me pretty good, and in an alley, on my butt, bleeding and totally fucked up I had a sec and found my small 38 in my boot holster. I put six caps in his heart, killing him dead.

I was lucky that night.

That’s why I have these light faded scars on my face.

Every girl needs something in this dehumanized world to survive. I know that was the case, before I got my self esteem straight for me. Suppose that is the same deal for the red head.

“I will see what I can do. Do you have any boundaries? Cleo asked.

“No...No none...I am never satisfied. Can never get off enough sex. I am bad...Please, help-me.”

“I do not know if there is help for a whore, but perhaps.”

Turning, she moved to a small table with pinchers, clamps, pliers and various other implements used for helping young girls through the mine fields of life.

Taking two stainless nipple alligator clamps, with eye rings soldered to them, she moved to the red head and feathered them past her stark blue eyes.

A pure sadist, she smiled seeing the rave going down in Mimi’s eyes.

Without hesitation, she snapped the powerful clamps on first one nipple and, then the other.

“Ooooooh.” Mimi lowered her chin and moaned.

Reaching in her black corset, she retrieved two lead balls with small hooks on them. With Mimi’s eyes dancing all over them, she hooked them to the nipple clamps. Mimi’s entire body jerked in pain, as Cleopatra stepped back, smiled and seemed almost pleased at the work she had done so far.

Lifting her chin with the cane, she saw tears falling down the princess’s face. They held no effect of sympathy on her what’s-so-ever.

“So, you’re telling me that it is impossible to satisfy you?”

Almost appearing ashamed, she nodded through tears that she was correct.

“Fine. Let’s see about that. Don’t go anywhere.” Cleopatra laughed and teased, as she smacked the weights with her crop violently.

Mimi’s body jerked as her leather wrists restraints ripped at the hooks imbedded into the ceiling beams.

“OOOOH...OOOOWWWE.” She yelped.

“SILENCE.”

Mimi, her body shaking bowed her head again and was silent as low whimpers were spilling from her throat.

Cleopatra, obviously a master of Home Depot products, then retrieved about a foot long, chrome ass plug with a ping pong chrome sized ball soldered on the end and two eye rings welded at the apex of the S.

Moving to Mimi, she held to her mouth. “Open it.” She barked.

Obedient, Mimi opened her small mouth.

“Spit.”

As cut as she could be, Mimi, and it was precious, spit several times on the chrome ball.

“Good.”

Moving around the hanging doll, she then inserted the ball into her ass hole.

Mimi winced and moaned as the crowd ooooohed and aaaaawed.

She then slid it in as far as she could as Mimi’s body began to shake.

From her leather tool belt, she took a nylon black cord. Tying it to the end of the eye ring, she then, like an Eagle Scout, made a slip knot in the rope.

Cinching the S-plug tight into her ass, she then tied the other end off around Mimi’s stunning neck. With a hodge-podge hangmen’s noose, she threaded they cord through the loop, pulled it tight, and secured it,

Mimi moaned, as her head tilted back and she could not move it forward, not even a teensy-eency bit.

Moving to another table, Cleopatra picked up a long, what appeared to be a tube like according poll device, with a clamp on the side to be able to make adjustments to it to make it longer or shorter. Attached along the end of it, was a black-hand-vibrator thick dildo, with a tennis ball size vibrator connected to the dildo’s bottom. A black extension cord led from the device, and was plugged into a wall socket.

With a workman’s ethics, she moved to Mimi, and brought it up to her eyes. Mimi’s eyes seemed to jolt, almost seemingly shocked by electricity. Enjoying herself thoroughly, Cleopatra, her crop in her other hand, stepped back and lashed Mimi on her tummy with the crop.

Mimi’s body bucked, and she yelped and she seemed to begin to dance on her cinched tip toes.

“I think this will adjust your attitude. Especially for a girl who claims she can’t be satisfied, have enough orgasms.”

Living within a world of denial, Mimi gawked at the dildo and the tube stick and vibrator ball. She shook her head back and forth as she whimpered. “I....I’m soooory.”

“To late for you.”

Mimi was silent, just whimpering.

“You can’t do anything about this, can you?”

Mimi, as best she could, shook her head back and forth in agreement.

With the crowd growing and murmurs filling The Scene Room, she took the dildo device and did the following.

Hung from the ceiling, her arms raised high above her by the taught restraints, and with the leather ankle restraints pulling her legs to the side, taught, and on her tip toes, she was completely exposed.

She, in real time had no defense for what was happening to her.

Without hesitating, Cleopatra took the dildo and inserted it deep, as deep as it would go into the waifs dripping cunt. With the vibrator ball now firmly pressing against her clitoris, she then adjusted the tension on the pole. Securing the clamp, she made the end of the pole immoveable on the floor.

Completely impaled now and only being supported by her tip toes, and wrist restraint, as well as the pressure of the vibrator ball and dildo, she moaned with a pure sense of terror and I was sure secret bliss in her eyes.

Taking a black ball gag, with a leather head strap ensemble attached to it, she moved to Mimi. She shoved it into her mouth.

Adjusting the straps, she stepped back and growled at the terrified red head. “I am sick of your bullshit. That should help.”

“CLICK.” The sound of the vibrator jerking off to life spat through the room.

WOW.

I am so turned watching this I almost forget about Biffs contract for Tina Barks. Business later, as I watched this pixie redhead dolls string body go stark as if she were electrocuted.

Still on her tip toes, and hyperventilating through her ball gag, I can her chirping and moaning as some kind of clit orgasm begins to grow in her body. She is amazing as her knuckles whiten gripping the leather straps that are Veering to the ceiling.

“OOOh...OOOOH...UGGG....UGGG.”

All kind of strange moans boil out of her mouth as then 3-2-1 her knees bend elevating her feet into the air. Impaled now solely by the wrist straps and the dildo pressing against the entry of her stomach, and that magic vibrating ball, she seems to go stark raving mad as she climaxes and screams, saliva dripping out past the gag.

“Whack, whack, whack, whack and whack.”

That’s what Cleopatra’s three stranded black leather lash said as she moved around the climaxing girl whipping the shit out of her back, butt and naked mound.

“Nooooo.....Ahhhhh...No...no...FUUUCK.” She bellowed as the orgasm passed in and out of her body and she simply leered at her Mistress in terror.

Facing Mimi, Mistress looked at her hyperventilating and her saliva dripping down her breasts as in a continuation of a good thing, another orgasm began to grow from the vibrating ball.

It came fast as again Mimi’s teeth began to bite down on the ball and her entire body went so tense I could see every sinew, muscle, tendon in her body stretch and tense. Cleopatra, never breaking skin, just leaving light pink lash marks, circled her, whipping her body all the while sadistically taunting her.

“You can’t get away from this one, can you?”

“Whack, whack, whack, whack.”

“No...Ooooowe...Noooooo. Nooo mooore...Oooooo...Fuuuuuk.” Wailed from her lips with each gasp of breath through the room.

“You can’t stop it can you?”

And then the redheads tiny feet went air born again and being supported by the dildo her entire body seemed to break apart from the intensity of an orgasm that sent her literally insane.

Madness in her eyes and after several moments suspended in mid air, the orgasm subsided and her feet touched the pine floor. Her body was so tense and rigid it shook violently the rafter beams above her.

“Pleeeeeease...noooo mooore. Make it stop.” Darling begged through the gag.

Moving in front of her, Cleo got into her face. She pinched her cheeks violently and centered darling Mimi’s eyes on her own.

“No limitations, huh? Impossible to satisfy, Huh? You’re a pathetic slut. I think I will satisfy you, until either you pass out or you die.”

“CLICK.”

“Here, let’s take this off. I want to hear it.”

“Click.” She turned off the vibrating ball.

A Mimi’s eyes went oval and her body began to wind down a little, Cleopatra took her ball gag off.

She stepped back and watched as saliva dripped from Mimi’s mouth. With perspiration now covering her body as well as her spit, I, meaning Jane, ME, felt a small orgasm crack through my cunt.

God, how very much do I adore these freedom-fighter people.

From her tool belt, Cleopatra took a large clothes pin. Getting into her face, she scowled at her.

“Open your mouth. Stick you slutty tongue out.”

With saliva dripping from her lips, she stuck out her small, pink tongue.

Cleo clamped it on her tongue and stepped back and said, “Keep that there. It falls, you’re in a trouble.”

What was the poor kid going to say, if indeed she was capable of saying anything.

“Click.”

“Here let me help you get satisfied.”

Cleopatra moved along side of her, and with one hand whipping her body, she then took her fingers and thumb, cinched her nose and mouth, thus preventing her from getting oxygen into her lungs.

“This will help.”

Instantly her body began to vibrate and shake and her teeth began to chatter as again, and with a orgasm rolling near, she bent her knees again as her feet went air born and she climaxed so hard, I thought she was going to rip the leather straps off her wrists.

Releasing her nose and mouth within perfectly timed moments, and with the girl hyperventilating and begging and screaming, her over the next ten minutes of time, must have climaxed a half dozen times.

I kept watching that Ass hook in her ass, and I thought I was going to lose it, it was all so fucking erotica and wonderful.

Then, Cleo stepped away and as she climaxed again. As Mimi lost her pinion’s holding her mind together, Cleopatra simply walked around her whipping her with the three prongs of the leather lash.

“OOOOOOH....Owe...Owe...Oww...Maaake iiiit stop...Pleeeeas....No....Ugh...Ohhhhhhh. Make iiiit stoop.” Mimi screamed and, then began to whimper as the orgasm, as the others began to fade away.

“Click.”

“OK. I want you to do something for me.”

More whimpers.

“I want you to shake those clamps off your nipples. DO IT.”

Mimi shook her head back and forth as she moaned in one intense exhale of her gasping breath. ”It hurts.”

“Of course, it fucking hurts. DO IT or I shall whip them off your body.”

Tears falling down her cheeks, Mimi looked like a broken fawn, as Cleopatra teasing and warning sadistically placed her finger on the dildos ON switch.

Mimi violently shook her head back and forth and nodded her eyes never leaving the finger on the dildos switch.

She instantly began to violently rack the clamps back and forth. The lead balls swayed and she gritted her teeth and, then she screamed as one alligator clam released and the lead ball went THUMP as it hit the floor.

Her teeth gritted and she moaned in pain.

“Good, do the other...NOW.”

“Nooo....nooo...pleeeease...It...it hurts soooo much.”

Rearing back, Cleopatra then in progression circled her, whipping her butt, back, legs and then her mound with the triple pronged leather lash.

Pinching her cheeks between forefinger and thumb, she got in her angels face and snarled.”Do it, or I will rip it off and give your nipple as a present to your poor husband.”

Mimi’s raving mad eyes jerked off at her husband. He sat mesmerized, seemingly emotionless, yet proud as he watched with the rest of the crowd that appeared to be holding their collective breaths.

“DO IT.” Cleo barked.

Slowly at first and, then with vigor, Mimi began to sway the clamp and lead ball back and forth. With each swing she gritted her teeth and her lips trembled as she moaned in pain.

Cleopatra, wanting to be helpful, and perhaps growing bored reared back, and with three vicious swings, whack, whack, whack, whipped the clamp and lead ball off of her nipple.

“THUMP.” The lead ball and clamp fell to the floor

“Ahhhhhhh....Oooooooow....nooooo...ugggh....nooo.mooore.” Screamed out of Mimi’s lips.

Her chin fell to her breasts and she began to sob.

“CLICK.” Reverberated through the room as the dildo fired up again and Mimi leered at Cleo and stuttered.

“Noo. You sa...said...yo...you would st...stop...noooooo. Make it stop.”

Teasing her, Cleopatra cinched her cheeks with her fingers, and with an evil grin, fighting chuckling said. “I Lied. Satisfied, well we will see about that.”

Of course I’m watching all of this going down, and at the moment, with Tina Barks on my mind, I am having trouble getting my ducks in a row.

“Hiii Janie girl.”

Sometimes I have problems with my own reality, as I feel this velvet fog in my ear and a set of tiny tits pressed against my back. Then, a silk hand is on my exposed tummy, moving past my hip hugger waist band toward my drenched cunt, and another hand is crawling up my black tank top, caressing my tits.

As Mimi goes off again in a shattering orgasm, I turn my head and peek at this shimmering snow fox, Zoe as she begins whispering and nibbling on my elfin ear.

“Janie...I’m lovin’ you. Kim said you was lookin’ just sooo fly and talkin’ like you wanted to hook up.”

OK, I’m so turned on, I feel like that Nuclear Power plant over there at Los Alamos, just outside of San Diego.

Forgetting that Zoe was an ex trailer park girl out of Shreveport Louisiana, and kinda talked weird, and may not have been the brightest crawfish in the Bajou, I still didn’t mind (as her fingers found my clit) any of her one might say butchering of the language King James invented.

Hearing moans and screams coming from Pier One in the Scene Room, and wanting Zoe to stick her head in my cunt and tell me what was going down there, I turned and faced her. She being ambidextrous and all, she just flipped her fingers and began massaging my clit as I melted from the simple fact, that physically she was perfection.

“Zoe...FUCK...I’m just saying...your all that Gorgeous...Ah..”

A pure sexual and free bird creature, with no inhibitions she took her free hand, the one not munching my soaked cunt, laced it on my short blond and savaged her lips and tongue against mine.

Young, fresh, new, insane and a-fiend and unless you ever kissed a stunning EMO GIRL, well you can only imagine how sweet the perfume of their kisses are. Or for that matter the feeling of their sun deprived skin against yours and how that miracle feels.

Wanting her to drop my pants right there and fist-fuck me with her tiny fist, I still was who I am.

Somehow I remembered how I had given Biff my word about Barks.

CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT.

Still, out of control, I kissed her and basically wanted to eat her pink carnation cunt out so bad, well I almost lost it.

Still, me being me, and feeling this dolphin like creature kissing me I was torn up with decision.

I didn’t want to miss the final act of Camelot taking place in the scene Bizzarro World. Yet, I was dreaming of Zoe sticking a dildo in my ass so I could sing God Save the Queen in Bulgarian.

Pushing the frantic kid back, I took a deep breath and through gulping breaths, and still wanting to represent, I said.

“Zoe baby...Just a sec...I have some bus...”

“You don’t want Zoe, Janie?”

FUCK, she was pouting, and I almost broke down in tears seeing the sweetie go so fragile.

“No Doll, no...Listen, what time do you scoot tonight...I have some business with some dyke, Tina Barks...I can swing back when your shift is done. Sweet? OK? Fuck, you’re beautiful. I really want to play this morning.”

Even through her white makeup I could see her blush, as she touched my face as I saw a shard of worry cross her tender face.

“Tina, Janie? Why ya want anythin’ ta do wit that bitch? She bad Janie, a fuckin’ vampire. I seen her the other night at LIZZIES beat hell outta this bull butch dyke. Needed the paramedics to pull the girl outta the place.”

“Lizzie’s, Zoe?”

“Yeah, you know, the les bar over off of Northern. Real hard core, rough trade Janie.”

In my mind, me loving hand to hand combat so much, the word PERFECT shimmered though my brain.

“Not to worry Zoe, you just keep making martinis, let me check it out. Promise, I will be back at shift end. I want this Zoe, you’re just so...”

And, then just as I was going to tell Zoe I loved her, OMG, pleeease, the debacle with Mimi and Cleopatra seemed to be dissolving to a volcanic ending.

With Mimi screaming and begging, and caught within what appeared to be a life threatening orgasm and her face contorted in madness, and she violently trying to free herself from the vibrator humming right along, she wailed in one last orgasm and, then went limp, clearly unconscious.

Silence, gasps, oooohs and awwwhs and, then a tremendous ovation of clapping from the crowd as Cleopatra looked at Mimi and locked eyes with her proud husband. He nodded YES, stood, and moved to his wife that he loved more than life itself.

He stood there staring at his wife, who was drenched in sweat, saliva and cum, and I saw great love and admiration in his eyes for her. Cleo quickly released all of the various leather restraints and implements including the clothes pin. Carefully, tenderly and with Mimi’s husband with stars in his eyes, she handed off his doll to him.

Cleo reached down, and found a white cashmere cape, wrapped it around Mimi.

Husband thanked her and without a word, swept his bride up in his arms, turned and made a B-line for a back exit. Once there, he opened the door and with his young-bride-princess of the night secure in his arms, they exited.

Cleopatra turned and moved into the crowd, receiving many hosannas, good job platitudes, slaps’ on the back as well as accepting future reservations for her talents, she and the rest of her audience dissolved back into the main club.

Wishing that I had a camera so I could have filmed it all so I could on some later date when I was lonely masturbate watching it, I looked at Zoe, and began to kiss her.

A minute passed, and then I gently parted away from her.

“Gotta scoot Zoe...I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Promise?”

I crossed my heart and hoped to die her, and whispered. “Does the pope like to fuck kids in the ass?”

She laughed and kissed me one more time, turned, looked back at me, threw an air kiss at me.

I caught it in mid air and smoked my own air kiss back at her.

She captured it, hopped the bar, and began the final countdown to an exhausting night, serving the one percent of an acid etched honest world.

MY WORLD.

Jane, Vegas PI’s World.

xxx

LIZZIE’S is a notorious hard core Bull Dyke bar, puked over there off of dangerous Northern Blvd, just off of MLK Blvd.

Feeling phat, the warm wind whistling past my blond buzz cut, and my tiny ass planted on the turquoise and white tuck and roll front seat, the one I had upholstered in Tijuana; I was ready for some pure and unequivocal havoc.

Like I said, I love to test myself, fist against fists, brains against brains, violence against violence. Why the fuck not. It’s better then chasing a white ball around some preconceived pathetic death tomb, a par and a three iron the only passion ya got left in your life.

Smoking, I swear I’m going to quit, REALLY, I’ve got the Sex Pistols on my car music machine and feeling tight, I’m singin’ along with the boys and tapping my work boot on the dash as I make the turn on MLK Blvd.

“Liar, lie, liar, lie, lie, lie/ Tell me why, tell me why, why’d you have to Lie?/ Should’ve realized, should’ve told the truth/ Should’ve realized, you was a liar/ Should’ve....”

“BOOM BOOM BOOM.”

That’s how I roll and me being an ex Brit and all, I figure Sid and the boys will amp up my adrenaline.

For, in all reality, this Dildo chick is fucking lethal and could murder my skinny ass if I don’t have my P’s and Q’s in a line.

Figuring I will be frisked by the bull dyke at the door, know her a little, very stylish gal, huge, crew cut, about three hundred ponds, I locked my 357-magnum and shoulder holster in my floor safe below my passenger’s seat.

Got my 38 out of the glove box, and with my stiletto, I have them shoved in my boot. Because I’m a brain genie I pretty much know (if the biatch is there) how I will skideroo out of the joint, if I capture her ass.

I’ve been to Lizzie’s a couple of times, and as My Zoe said, it is hard core, very rough trade. I was hit on by about a zillions dykes. I loved the attention, I think the girls are cool and had left because I wanted to kick back with a beer and watch the Knicks basketball game at home with Gumbo and Stella my gold fish.

I have my priorities straight.

Finding the place, I check my cell for time, saw I had some of it to do my thing and, then whip back and capture Zoe.

The place was a kinda warehouse joint, no neon outside anywhere and if you didn’t know it was there, well you would never find it.

Primping in the mirror, I fluffed my blond eyebrows, saw I was pretty, PLEEEASE, hoped the door, and with my pulse beginning to bang, bang, bang in my neck, I moved across the street. I had my chrome handcuffs dangling from my belt loop, no big thing at Lizzie’s.

In my pocket is my Pi and gun license as well as the paper warrant.

At the door was BANG, that is her name, the Goliath butch door woman, sans bouncer that the club relied on to keep some semblance of non madness in the club.

Six foot two, three hundred pounds, waxed crew cut, and wearing tan chinos and boat shoes, and one of those Hawaiian shirts, you know with palm trees on it, she looked radically stylish.

I think the darling knows me, but no smiles this time. I sidle up to her, give her my best Jane smile, and ask her as I push a C-note into her hand. “Bang yer lookin’ all that tonight. Maybe you could help me here?”

Opening a paw that looked like Buster Posey’s (He’s the power hitting stud catcher for the Boston Red Socks) catcher mitt, she leered at the hundred dollar bill resting there.

“Maybe. What a ya want ta know?”

I never fucked a Bull Dyke before, but I was always curious about that. Won’t go there though, for in fact, they scare the white outta me.

“Tina Barks...She here tonight?”

Rubbing her jowls, she peeked at the C-note, back at me, back at Uncle Benjamin. Getting it, I peeled another note off of my roll and layered it in her mitt.

Her solid gold grill grinned, as she nodded at me, opened the door, and said.

“Yeah, she’s here. Go on it.”

I nodded my thanks, and half way through the door, I turned to her as she said. “Be careful doll. She’s fucking nuts.”

I nodded at her, and closed the door behind me.

Once inside, I felt like I needed one of the miner’s pith helmets with those little lights on the brim to see anything.

Stalling out, I heard blaring music, The Clash I thought and with my eyes acclimating to this shadow world I could see some of the beauty queens dancing on the dance floor.

On one entire wall there was a red back lit neon bar and it looked well stocked, with lots of glasses being racked on lots of racks. The bar was semi packed with lots of big girls in biker Levis and leathers. Holding court with them and it never surprised me, there were a lot of model looking young girls, that just adored large, violent, and most of the time sweet heart bull dykes.

Wrapping around the walls of the rather large ex warehouse were these red Naugahyde booths.

Same MO, big girls, thin girls, pretty girls and man girls, I fucking loved it.

Watching the girls dancing to the bongo drums I allowed my eyed to catch-up with the semi shadows of the place.

Then, I saw her, alone, leaning her six-foot-one super powerful bod against the bar. She was something, filthy blond, dirty Levis connecting to a pair of old cowboy boots. She was wearing a black tank top like Moi. I gulped seeing her sinewy muscles ripping along her, I figured, a hundred and sixty pounds of pure grit.

She was nursing an amber liquid in a short glass and killing a smoke between her brown stained fingers.

Again she was alone, and I liked it.

I didn’t know if these folks were her posse. If they were her crew, then would they protect her and, then gang rape and murder me once I made my play. I figured, just looking at her, that these folks, all decent and respectful people, wanted nothing to do with her.

She was a fucking thug. I could see that clearly

My PLAY began to unravel in my head.

Well, no time like the present. Me looking so doolish, I walked along the edge of the dance floor getting a lot of eye magic from lots of girls. I of course loved that.

I hesitate for a moment. OMG, she’s got this black, studded leather harness strapped to her hips, with this huge, about a foot long, black dildo connected to it. On the tip is black man’s dick knob.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Still hopped up from The Mimi Show and Zoe playing Chopin on my cunt, I figure WHY NOT. Maybe I can be paid twice, and get a hammering from her, before I slap the cuffs on her.

You know, pay me once. Pay me twice.

Feathering in about a yard from her, I lean against the bar, going all lean and sexy on her, making sure my tiny belly is exposed.

“Jane, Jane, are you excited about being nominated for an Academy Award?” I can hear the red carpet press screaming and feel the flash bulbs going off everywhere.

And the Academy Award for best actress goes too?

Anyhooo, me peeking at the dildo and being all little girl shy and such, I catch Tina leering at me like I’m a dildo lubricant she forgot to by at the mall.

I smile at her, she smiles back, I smile again me seeing a hint of white powder on her nose. She has these beautiful white teeth, and is about 32 and quite sexy, in that ghetto way.

I pretend to count the ceiling tiles, as one of two gorgeous bartenders sidles up to me. Dykes, like all of us love pretty things, and both of the girls are wearing black leather hip huggers and red tank tops with the words: LIZZIES stenciled on them.

MY, bartender is a gorgeous smiling brunette.

“Something to drink beautiful?”

I blush and dig into my pocket and with draw a hundred dollar bill. As I am about to order and begin to push it across the bar, and iron grip cinches around my wrist.

Guess who?

“Whatever the cup cake wants Wanda, on me. One for me too.”

I love being marginalized as I look at her like I have never had a girl buy a drink for me. Tina digs into her jeans, and from her Impress Me Roll, flips a hundred dollar bill on the bar top.

“Run a tab. Change is yours.”

Flapping my eyelashes like a human Barbie Doll, I smile, touch her wrist, and purr. “Why thank you mister man.”

Already I can see the FUCK SCENE ball bearings rotating in her cabasa.

Perfect.

I’ll go there, because I figure getting a fuck from her has to be a hoot.

“Where ya from doll? Do I know ya? She asks.

Morphing into someone else, my specialty and with my brain power consuming her like a sucking black hole, I revert to my street rap mode.

As cute as I can be, I say. “Sure. Don’t ya recognize me, I sold ya yer dildo at ‘Dildo’s or Us’ at the Fremont Street Mall.”

Suspending chewing her bubble gum, I can see the marbles clinking inside of her head.

She then slaps her Levi clad leg, and begins to laugh.

“SHIIIET, ya had me goin’ fer a minute. Hey, yer funny.”

I coyly smile, and know that she doesn’t know that I am a girl, a girl with a gun.

“No, where ya from?

“Around.”

She giggles, and I kinda like her, a little. I know she’s not a knucklehead, because it takes smarts to be a coke dealer.

She tilts a pack of Marlboros at me. I take one as does she. She ignites her Zippo, and I seductively cup her hand with both of mine, you know, real sexy like as she lights both of our cigarettes.

On cue, I allow the smoke to feather out of my nostrils.

Tina grins at me, I smile, touch her arm and whisper. “You’re such-a-gentlemen. Thank you. What’s yer name, fella?’

“Tina, you?

“Betty.” I extend my hand and shake hers, lingering there a little too long.

“I like ya Betty. Ya got any plans for later?”

Ya, I’m gonna bust a cap in your ass and drag you to jail. I do not say.

“I don’t know Tina. What ya have in mind?”

My eye’s fall to her protruding dildo and all playful like, I take my forefinger and boink, boink, boink it.

She smiles as I drag on the smoke again, and sip at my martini with my guava lips.

For a while we go blah, blah, blah and blah.

I love vamping, and do my thing.

Meanwhile, while she is thinking up some plan to fuck me, I think about her.

She’s not dumb and kinda charming.

She was probably raised on the wrong side of a marked deck of cards. You know, a sweet kid once who got visits late at night over there in Pentecostal trailer park America while Uncle Billy butt fucked the innocence out of her.

Perhaps born to the Kennedys over there in Hainesport, she would have been one of their spoiled brats and could have been a doctor or a corrupt politician.

But the dice hadn’t rolled like that for her, so it is, tragically what it is.

“Maybe...ya’d like to play some. Betty?”

“Dreamin’ of that, Tina.”

She then reaches into that little side pocket of hers and withdraws a small tube bottle of white powder, and tilts it to me.

“A little toot, Betty?”

Smoking more, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I’m glad it’s coke and not crystal meth.

My buddy Lieutenant Garcia at N. Vegas Metro told me the stories.

The boys and girls in blue face off with a meth addict maniac. They pump six hollow points in them, they keep on coming. They then have to bring out the heavy metal, and pour shot blasts into them to take them down.

Though I am totally secure within my martial art skills, even me does not want to face a meth fiend in full bloom.

“Thanks Tina, I gave it up for Lent.”

She absorbs my words and, then there is that charming laugh of hers again. I forget for a moment that she is a homicidal maniac.

“Hey yer funny. I like ya Betty.

I blush, as my game plan solidifies in my huge brain.

“Ya want to go to my crib?” She asks.

With my Zoe clock counting down, and time getting short, and getting a little bored, I decide it is time to get down with it.

“Got to be somewhere. Can we play somewhere here?”

“Absolutely, come on.”

She takes my hand as I throw down the last of my velvet dream.

Feeling that perhaps I am experiencing my own Bataan Death March, she leads me across the dance floor towards the restrooms. She opens the door for me. We enter and she locks it behind us.

How romantic is that?

Girls like great restrooms, and this one is certainly that. It’s actually quite elegant, as far as loo’s go and is all white and blue tiles, with wall mirrors everywhere.

She moves to a wash basin, opens her little magic bottle, pours a lot of coke on the back of her hand and:

Snoot, snoot, snoot, up her nose it goes.

She wets her finger tip, and as most pro coke users do, she pushes it around her gums and lips.

As she puts the bottle back in her Levis, I see her jaw grinding. She is smoked and ready to play.

Instantly she slams me against the wall and presses her silicone cock against my moist cunt. Turned on from everything I’ve seen through the night, I grab a tuft of her hair, and pour my lips against hers.

Her mouth tastes like an ash tray. Turned on, I love it.

I can feel how hard wired she is, muscles popping as she French kisses me, and I reciprocate feeling my cunt and brain sewer up.

I guess kissing and love chirping wasn’t her thing, as she violently twisted me around, grabbed my wrists and plastered my palms against the tiles.

I could hear her breathing roaring out of her lungs. I figured her testosterone level was “Wire in the Blood” (That’s my fav British TV series) off the charts and with me ready to solider up I felt her hand under my tank on my tits.

Speaking of amps, mine were red lining for I needed a good fucking bad, real bad.

I know I have to become a better girl, but not just now.

“Oooooooowe.” I tweeted as she vice gripped my tiny nipple with her forefinger and thumb.

Bruises in the morning. Oh goody.

Me standing strong, I feel her hands ripping at my zipper and snap of my hip huggers. Thugish and surly, she gets frustrated and rips my zipper, and slashes my leather jeans down around my ankles.

Bollocks. Chang’s laundry in the morning, they can fix anything.

Not asking if perhaps I’d like a spot of tea later, she plunges the dildo, completely inside of my cunt.

“Swoosh, Swoosh, Swoosh bellows out of my lungs.

I moan and groan and smile as my body jolts feeling like it was struck by lightning as she begins to fuck the moon beams out of my cunt. Feeling such pain and pleasure, much needed, I’m stomping my boots on the floor, and banging my forehead and fists against the tile wall.

Then I feel it, as a rumbling orgasm splits through my body and I kinda scream feeling every gram of it.

Of course over the next minutes the hammering never stops, and I’m worried, through breaks of the tsunami crashing though my cunt and brain about Zoe.

I cum again, and feeling my body going weak, my palms fall to the tile floor and as she continues to fuck me, growling all the time, my little head keeps going boing, boing, boing against my knees as my body goes haywire and I climax again.

Thankfully I take yoga and am very flexible.

Forgetting that she can’t cum like a guy, and for some reason she pulls out of me, and I almost collapse from the pain.

So far so good.

Though I’m having a good time, I figure the bitch is going to kill me fucking me, and I gotta scoot.

Time is up, it always is.

Leaning against a wash basin, she’s hyperventilating and her eyes look suddenly blood shot and totally crazed.

I’ve got to make my move, as I extend my hand to her and smile, whispering as I do.

“Just a sec, gotta pee.”

She takes a step towards me, I smile and whimper. “Please, just a sec.”

She nods, as I throw my leathers back on my hips, snap the snap, and move into a john stall.

Feeling like I had been just attacked by a jack hammer, I allow my senses to return to somewhat normal.

It’s time.

Now, I could have taken my boot 38 out and made the play easier.

But, what would be the fun in that?

Unhinging my chrome handcuffs, I open them and retrieve my PI badge and paper warrant, count down from three, and exit the stall.

Tina is busy doing some kind of cosmetic thing in the mirror, probably making sure she looks pretty for me. She’s also doing more coke.

I hate coke, but whatever.

Holding up my badge and warrant, I see her eyes looking at me through the reflection in the mirror.

She slowly turns around, and glances at my cuffs dangling from my pinkie finger. I am sure she thinks its sex props, but that changes as I cheerfully say holding up my badge and warrant.

“Jane, bounty hunter. You’re under arrest. Be nice, I don’t want to hurt you.”

It takes a few moments for her to realize that I’m not kidding. Literally, like a yellow eyed Copper Head, I watch her tongue lick her lips like I’m a field mouse, and she ain’t eaten for a month.

I mean, look at me. I’m a toothpick blond. I mean really, how hard could it be to sodomize me, wrap my head in a plastic bag and murder me.

I can see it in her eyes, and also see that she really wants it, me that is in some kind of stainless steel street coffin.

Now, Judo is an illusionary martial art. It’s all about joints, tendons, tension, bones and the most fragile parts of the human body. The largest and badest muck can be taken down by a simple pinkie bend.

I’ve done it before.

Standing sideways, in a Karate stance, I drop my cuffs, badge and warrant to the floor for I know IT’S coming now.

With pure mayhem in her eyes, she lurches violently at me, fist bunched and swinging within a maniacal moment of rage at my head.

I take a controlled step sideways, avoid her swing, and judo chop her on the back of her neck, and go to a Judo crouch and, then lethal kick her in the back, sending her smashing into the toilet stall.

She lands on her butt, feet spread eagle in front of her, hyperventilating and leering at me in pure rage.

She is semi stunned. I can see that, I expected nothing less.

“Be nice. “I whisper sweetly at her.

Instantly she roars in madness, stands and rushed towards, swinging for the fences.

In Judo, closer to the body the better it is. I move in between her punches, warp my elbow around her elbow, and violently rip upwards.

“Crack.”

I hear her elbow crack as she screams, takes a step backwards and leers at me. She shrieks and bull rushes me.

Martial Arts is that, an art. I instantly extend a vicious shot to her nose, with the palm of my hand. With blood spurting everywhere, she stumbles back and slams into the toilets stall door gawking at the blood on her hands.

She leers at the blood, then at me. Wailing, she leaps forward, only to receive Bam, Bam, Bam, Bam four knuckle shots in her chest, right above her heart.

A pure heart shot, always wonderful in these special moments.

I figure that the only thing keeping her mobile is the fuel from the coke.

Somehow, she stands, weaves and bull rushes me again. With my Zoe time counting down, and still needing her mobile to walk out of here to who knows what, I decide to end it.

Avoiding a swing and a scream, a side step and judo-chop her in the throat. With her gagging, I grab her hand, and over my back I twirl her in a flip on her stomach to the floor.

She screams in pain, as I grab my cuffs and cuff her. Impatient, I grab a tuft of her hair, lift her face off the bloody floor, and push the warrant into her eyes.

“You’re under arrest. Come on.”

Waiting for a moment, I pull out my 38 from my boot holster. Not knowing if a tribe of insane lesbians is waiting for me out there, I have to be ready.

Helping my ex lover to her feet, I take her by the scruff of her neck and help her to her feet. Moving to the door, I unlock it, countdown from three, and exit the bathroom.

With my 38 I move into now a pretty focused and quiet group of curious girls. I’m waiting to be rushed, so I make sure they see my 38 as well as the dead serious look on my face.

NOTHING.

Holding up my PI badge, I say as I begin to move. “No problem here ladies.”

Then, to my surprise and to a one, the sweeties all begin to cheer and applaud and slap me on the back as they escorted me out of the club.

Once outside and getting lots of wonderful adieus and waves, I threw Tina in the trunk of my Buick.

I hopped the door, found a smoke, put on some head phones on, hit it up with Taylor and roared off into the mysteries of the Vegas night.

Let’s see. Get Tina to Biffs Bail Bonds, get lots a applause from the guys, get my ransom and skiddledoo back too Candy Land and scoop up Zoe.

Fucking perfect.

Later alligator.

Jane, Vegas PI.

xxx

NOTE...Cops call their Lieutenants “LOU”.

IT’S fucking Vegas, gun buck before dawn, another night boogying on the dark side, my side. Jimmy the casket lid open, crack a amyl nitrite cap, drag the corpse of dawn out of the coffin, slap it on the floor, see what this twisted morning brings.

Doll, Jane PI, bounty hunter here.

Toddling right along, I have this Amadeus octave mix mastering in my head all morning long. You know, degenerate, stunning, violent, sweet, I guess that describes me. I’m not going to fib about it.

Again, last night I used my good looks like I use my guns, fists and steel toed boots to take down a bad girl.

Fuck, I’m not vain, beauty is so destructive, so empty, so momentary, its not who I am. I’m a braniac and use my looks just as tools, tools mostly of mass destruction, just to do my job.

Last night, again, I was a very bad girl, can’t help it, most gorgeous twists are you know. Most of the bent deviants in hard N. Vegas know me. Well in the demonic dark side of Vegas that is.

Time to move, get that skinny frag body moving, a cup of Joe, maybe a smoke, work to be done.

It was a great night, great time, violence, sex, a beat down, the usual triffecta of glee that makes me phat.

Stop bitch moaning it’s time to move. Have music in my head, it, Vegas makes my neurons whirl, because I’m a genius genie, a blond girl planted in this platinum bod. I’m a girl with a gun, lots of guns.

Pardon the day dreaming and repitition, I just can’t help myself.

My mind is always dancing within the octaves of words. Writers, their insane and wonderful, can’t shoot them dead. I would be lost without them.

My jacket, just to remind those that have forgotten that page is bi-girl, 5-11, 120, on a bad day. I love thin, body dimorphic disorder among a host of nut so mental illnesses. Nobody is perfect, don’t pretend to be.

Don’t do drugs, can’t afford to. Drugs get a girl a one way ticket to Palooka Ville.

IQ, like one of those cluster fuck Quasars rumbling around in deep space.

Damn, Einstein is dead, the good ones die young.

And what now, replaced by those jag offs on “Jersey Shore”, those fuckers are going to live forever. Life ain’t fair. No one ever said it was.

OK. Back to last night, beautiful, Candy Land, a private sex club, N Vegas. It was the usual wonder world, my world, and I had a marvy time, because I am real piece of work.

I love doing my Styx around the stilettos, piercings, blood drinkers, rich doctor gay men, looking for the usual suspects. You know, a home for their dick for the night, also lots a matron divorcees, gold, diamonds, nip, tucks, everywhere, divorce papers recently signed, hitting on the youngin’s. Lost young souls, show boys and girls, hard bodies kids, born to dance, fuck, take drugs, frug the night away.

It is a shooter, slammer and melon ball world. Then in the end, after burning out, they catch the next bus back to Kansas and, never, never, never go back to Vegas again. For that terrifying berg could scare the white off a Dracula.

“I’m pretty sure there is someone for everyone, someplace. Except for me that is.

Anyhooo, had a contract from Biff’s at the bail bond place, me being a PI and all. Biff always hangs me with the hard stuff because I’m so street smart. Gotta be street smart, choices you see, and I love to mix it up, love to test myself, combat, hand to hand combat and steel toed boots, always wear them.

I’m an illusion, well, because I’m just so damn cute, a noodle, and most don’t know about all those marshal arts black belts I have. I usually need them all just like a few nights ago when I took down that real hard boy named Jimmy Flicks, at The Bent Club of course.

I love reminiscing about wonderful times and I won’t go into detail, but it was a blast, and fulfilled most of my Special Needs for the night. You know, the truck axel kid had a dick like one of those Cape mother fucking Wilder Beasts, like you see over their in Botswana on the Nat Geo show. After he hammered my lights out, very welcomed, thought I would need a liver transplant and afterwards I took him out. I like it rough, wild, maniacal and he fit the bill, and well, I was not so nice afterwards, saying thank you for a good time had by all.

Don’t feel bad about it though, bidness is always bidness. Everyone has to pay the piper sometimes, even if that Pied Piper is a 50 caliber, blond, steel toed sweet bitch who wields a Smith & Wesson, old school Python like other girls apply their lip gloss

ME BAD.

Any how, I forgot to tell the story about Glenda.

After, I dropped the thug off at Hank’s at the bail bond place over there in Henderson. Hank was grateful, glad to see me, most of the dudes are. All the hunters think I’m a crazy doll, a pretty gal. I like that, what girl doesn’t like a compliment.

Got my fifteen Gees, nice payday, though I don’t do it for the dough re me, but I like being a pro and appreciated. Later I will off load the cash at the Vegas Homeless Shelter, cool guy there, father Bob, buy lots a soup, maybe some Saltines, I hope. It’s hard times, bad times for a lot a folks, especially after Wall Street butt fucked them. Those remora fucks on Wall Street stole many of those good folk’s money, lives, future’s in that fucking sub-prime mortgage grift. Which fortunately, my millions never went any where near.

Needless to say, my adrenaline was pumping testosterone, way out of whack, like one of those rail cars over there at the San Berdoo race track. You know, those super duper, Ether sucking muscle car machines, with fire belching out of their ass holes as some maniac pushes the envelope at 400 MPH down the track. Praying all along and hoping the chute opens, so he doesn’t become a human deep fried pretzel if it didn’t.

After, had the top down on my beloved 59 turquoise, white and turquoise custom stripped tricked out Buick-driving machine. I love how the wind whistles past her tail fins as I slouch on my tuck & roll seats.

As I cruised through Vegas with my I-pod cranked, my boot was on the dash, smoking, always smoke after sex, or violence, or getting my ass kicked, which are all and the same thing.

Speakers plugged in to my elfin ears, every thing is tiny about me, but my big brain.

Music ripping it up, Trina rapping, me singing along, I love that bitch as my un manicured fingers tap, tap, tap on the big Plexiglas steering wheel. Detroit made them right back then and me feeling ALL OF THAT in my black leather hip huggers, smoking.

Fucking life, my life, perfect as Trina said.

“Money over err, that’s my attitude, still the baddest bitch in the game, that’s my attitude, talk to ya man wen I get ready, that’s my attitude, have him blowing stacks, ain peti, that’s my attitude (yea) and I feel like I’m the shit, that’s my attitude (yea) that’s my attitude, that’s my attitude, I feel like I run this shit, that’s my attitude.”

Damn, Trina is the bump and she’s all dat, strong and positive.

She’s my fucking girl, ghetto, love all of it, she’s got skills. There are many different versions of me, not all good, but what the heckeroo. I’m always trying to be a better girl.

What eeeever.

More, on Glenda.

After I had dropped the Flicks kid off at the bail bondsmen, I had finally found The Bent Club. I parked, gave big black Mike at the door a cheek kiss, a C note. I had given him two like their cousin Uncle Benjamin earlier for hitting me up with the info on Flick’s.

He appreciated my classic style and got that huge smile of his. He is one sweet black man. So I cruised inside, and wrangled up Glenda. I needed more, fuck I can be insatiable, go figure and after all I did promise Glenda some girl action later.

Can a girl die from too much sex? Don’t know.

But, for the moment, that’s me and well, I will try to work on some of my character flaws later.

So I scooped her up like the white cream cup cake that she is. We held hands like BGFF’s, and we vacuumed out of the place. I always keep my promises.

Since i’m the fella for the night, I have to open doors for girls and stuff. I got skills and I can do the switcheroo, be passive at times, but not tonight, she being all girly Goth and all and so fucking young.

So I am mister man for the evening.

I can do that.

XXX

It was a sweet night as we drove, summer char in the air, she sat nice and close, head on my shoulder, as I threw down some Katy Perry “I kissed a girl, loved the taste of her Cherry Chap Stick”

I know, I am obsessed with that tune, mood music, smiled as the wind kissed her multiple tattoos, piercings and Goth black hair. First dates are fun, we fit nice.

I thought about buying the kid a-chocolate-malt. Naw, Glenda is even thinner than me and she likes it that way. So we whizzed back in the Buick Bat Mobile to my massive artist’s loft, the one stitched over Chang’s Chinese laundry.

Fuck I love that movie China Town, “Jake, come on, it’s just China Town.”

Smoking, laughing, tweaking, we cruised up to my place and parked.

Lots a gang members lolly-gagging around and they protect me, my car and my digs. King, their gang land leader is my best buddy, and has marked me and my crib with his colors. No one touches me, car or crib unless they wanted an eyeball salad made out of their own eyes.

I’ve helped King out a lot and he owes me. More peeps on that righteous black dude later.

Once we got up to my loft, I threw down some Alicia Keys, mood music, fucking music, just perfect and, then we got down to girl stuff, the important stuff.

It was early morning a few days ago and I remember Glenda white washed on my sheets, a white dollop of whip crème, raccoon eye makeup, black eye liner, hair like night, not a hair on her bod below her forehead.

Chreeeist, she was stunning, a real flax jacket baby doll. I love her tattoos, Chinese dragons, the way they swirl down both arms, wrap around her back, all connected to that Japanese Calligraphy needle pointed into her small cunt, blending into that tiny butt.

She’s got enough hard ware pierced into her bod, ears, tongue, nose, nipples, belly button, clit, those little eye bolts in her forehead to open a Ace Hardware, and their sexy for now.

But wait, ten years will whistle by.

“Can ya whistle Nick?”

Then she will be serving the breakfast special at I-Hop, wondering what the fuck she was ever thinking about.

Kids, they never think past the moment, go figure.

She spanked a hit of E, offered me some. I declined, respectfully, but didn’t mind. Don’t do drugs, love reality, can’t afford not to.

It kicked in, and then we were two naked girls, she burning, you know E, love everywhere, senses expanded, touchy feely and loving everyone.

I could of been a bent backed Burundi Gorilla, didn’t matter to her, though I know she was sweet on me for real.

Man I can still taste our first kiss, feel that little stud on her pink tongue, kissing my tongue. Like I said I’m insatiable, though my insides ache, hurt big time from the lynching the Flicks kid had administered to me in the alley earlier.

I like pain, need pain, part of my cerebral makeup. Don’t know why, lots a people do, black and blue welts for some girls, dinner, box of popcorn, a movie for others. I don’t ever judge, can’t afford that either.

I guess I needed some TLC, and Glenda was perfect, soft, sweet, wild and velvet skin pressed against my skin. There was lots a kissing, touching, and I needed that. I am a girl after all.

I was glad, real glad she was enthusiastic, a bit frantic.

You know when you’re a kid on Christmas eve and you’ve been watching those presents for weeks under the tree. Bingo, its Xmas morning, and there’s the pop gun and I was feeling beautiful, for I was the present she had wanted to open up for a very long time.

She was a real muncher. Me in my dreamy world, knees hitting the sheets, me on my back, breathe break dancing out of my swollen lips, blood flow spilling down my blue blood veins, tummy swelling, hitting my spine. I could feel her finger nails, black paint like her mascara, on my thighs, me groaning, fingers entwined into her hair, feeling that tongue, that gold stud, roaming, chewing me up.

Me, babbling like I got Turret’s, I think, you know.

Oooh, aaah, fuck, praise Allah, fuuuuck.

I was real sex gibberish, winces of pain, delight, wonder, then one, two, three, orgasm, more than one, she doing all the work.

E is like the Energizer Bunny, a girl can go on, on and on seemingly forever. Thank goodness for the chemists at Eli Lilly.

I’m not a selfish girl, so I reciprocated. Good manners are important when a girl has guests over. I read that in a Dear Abbey Column.

And, what the fuck are they putting in the water in Vegas?

She tasted like burnt copper and bee honey, that tiny little cunt, a real miracle of engineering, me peeking, leering over the edge of that lasered little mound.

I was hit up mesmerized, turned on watching her heaving tummy and those tattoos, little girl blues, watching her get off, squirm, dance, vibrate there on the white sheets, telling me that she loved me.

That will never do.

All us dynamite bitches have heard that shit before. You know Cuming makes people engrave promises that they can’t keep, ever, and we’ve all heard that crap in the dead of night when the fucking is over.

Geese, maybe doll, we can see each other again, ride a Ferris wheel and buy some lime snow cones later.

The usual bull shit from some guy as he sneak thief’s out before the crack of dawn, only thing left, a salt block he pix axed into your cunt as a reminder that once again you didn’t get off.

We kept it up through the morning. I wanted to be a good hostess so I broke out my sex girl tool kit and tool belt. There’s lots a cool stuff on it, dildos and such, other toys a girl needs when having a good time.

We dildoed up, back and forth, around and around, up and down, hurt like fucking hell. That was of course between the multiples climaxes I had. I needed that pain, cleared my mind, orgasm after orgasm, both of us, much needed for this girl.

Then I was done, bubkus left, sapped, brain sparking fire like when those Santa Ana winds fuel those forest fires in So. California. Those little white sparks in my head, you know when you stand too soon were usually my TELL.

Usual warning flares that I was satiated; exhausted and I better stop what I am doing or I will flame out.

Glenda, a trooper, last stand had leered at me, sweat everywhere, me, her as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she moaned in a final orgasm. She muttered something in Sanskrit and, then passed out.

Down goes Frazier, down goes Frazier.

She was out for the count, thank fucking god.

THAT was days ago, and now, because I am a hopeless romantic, I have another girl, MY Zoe here, my EMO girl, I am insatiable.

I was really feeling so achy and sore and all from the fucking Tina had given me at Lizzie’s. I wanted to have a beer, go to bed, get some Zee’s and conk out.

But there she was Zoe, so thin, so naked and so white, a shard of sparking lace, pigeon toed and leering at me through that thick, black eye liner. I was a goner.

These kids love E, and she had taken a hit while we were toddling across Vegas. Therefore, she was all lovely feely and the way she was leering at me, I knew something wonderful was going to happen.

Promises are promises, I always keep them, so I coyboyed Up.

I’m so strung out, well, it kinda went like this.

There was lots of madness, kissing, hugging, touching and X-tasy moments for her. You know you love everyone and everything on E and I had done my share when I was youngin’, but no more.

It must have lasted for hours, and man could she love my cunt, like DUH, the kid was a Kansas threshing machine and very exuberant eating me almost to a coma.

Always trying to be a wonderful hostess, I reciprocated, and as she climaxed over and over, I thought OMG I had never seen anything as miraculous as her tiny tummy touching her back bone as her lithe body undulated on my black sheets.

Me, exhausted and, then I threw in the towel, as she went all crazy-girl on me.

Unable to protest or protect myself and feeling dreamy, and a good helpless and wonderful I simply lay back on my sheet’s, knees flopped to the sheets, as she fist fucked me almost to death while her pink tongue played J Lo on my clit.

It hurt like hell, but I loved it, my comatose sex as I put myself into a self induced coma, closed my eyes and had about a zillion dreamy orgasms.

Again, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it was atomic fission, our girl sex and I loved every fucking minute of it.

Finally I woke up, and it looked like finally, thank God, the E had worn off.

I got her off of me, laid her sweetly on the sheets, whispered to her that I loved her. Little white lies now and then are OK in my book.

I got a tender kiss and I put a sweet kiss on her lips and a. “I love you too Janie.”

I put the sheets under her little EMO chin, kissed her on the forehead, did the Great Escape and got a beer, sucked it down and flopped on the couch, down for the count.

Couldn’t sleep much and now as the sun is poking through my windows I’m in my usual get up, black hip hugger Levi jeans this time, no leather, got blood on them and a broken zipper to boot.

I’ll make a little visit to Chang’s dry cleaners down stairs later. The guy is a Zen master at getting blood outta my clothes.

I lace my feet into my white gym socks and into my black work boots. I paint on my black body shirt and my black jeans hip huggers. Taking a peek at my shoulder holster, gun hanging on the bed post I smile. I can’t forget that. I grab it, sleeveless arms, cut like copper cables, glance in the wall mirror. I groan, god, fucking vanity, I’m a slave to it and am working on that. Jane needs a lot of work but I have work to do, an early morning sit down with a client.

Needing to get to my office, I move to one of my huge loft windows that-faces another loft across the alley, step to the side of it and sneak a peek.

A voyeur, I have a secret and HE lives in an artist’s loft across the alley. Seems no one is home, but I am obsessed with all of it. More on that man god obsession later.

Anyhow, PI business for the morning.

Gal I know, young daughter went missing. There’s nothing new about that in Sin City, and so I gotta scoot.

I am glad about Zoe snoozing. I’m not one of those gals who like’s too hang around after fucking. You know breakfast, chit chat, reminiscing, holding hands, making promises I can’t keep.

Crickey, it’s my guy traits. I can be very butch at times. I’m working on that too.

I’ve got my PI office on an off shoot of this 4,000 sq ft loft.

I will leave Zoe the standard girl escape note. You know.

Fab, marvelous, magnifico, let’s hook up next time, a great time had by all.

No mention of love, I can’t get the words out of my throat.

Presto change I am on sneaky tip toes and next to the note, I leave a C note for Zoe too on her pillow, just in case the kid needs a cab. She can find her own way out.

I’m gone.

No sleep, no time to sleep. I feel pretty good, except ever step I take hurts, hurts a lot. I feel like I have a drill bit stabbed in my cunt. Don’t mind though for it brings smiles to my face, proves I’m alive. I’m always willing to pay the VIG for a good time, which I had on multiple levels last night.

I stroll in to my PI office. Stylish place, twenty foot ceilings, sky lights, like the rest of my loft tattooed into the ceiling, pine floor, couple of old Persian rugs, two Kileems, a Bokhara, I love old stuff.

I scavenged some old English pine antiques, desk, chair, comfy cushion for my tiny ass, thank god.

Love old English stuff and have a couple of armoires, tables, love Steuben, Dom Nancy lamps, got three of them scattered around the room. Bright lights hurt my eyeballs. Place looks soft, bathed in morning mauve, low golden light bulbs, soothes my hectic mine. I need coffee, bad, light up my coffee machine, smells sweet, pour it in to my Visit Las Vegas mug

I take a sip, the door bell buzzes down at the bottom of my private stair case. I don’t wear a watch, and the digital feed on one of my two Apple machines says 8 AM.

Perfect, Ginger is right on-time. I appreciate that.

Look at my monitor’s street video feeds. N. Vegas is a treacherous place, street people, drug addicts, gang bangers, a girl can’t be too careful. I see Ginger. That’s good as I smack the button, my security iron-gate clicks. I watch Ginger enter, time to go to work.

Talked to her on the phone, got some of it; not all of it. Apparently her gorgeous thirteen year old daughter Missy, a waif, met her once on Fremont street has gone missing. Seemed like a real sweet kid, bad roll of the cubes, her ending up with Ginger, seen her once when I was peddling my bike around Vegas, a Shimono. I love that ride.

Anyhooo, Ginger, I heard, had a bar maid gig over there at Jason, one of the only other clubs in Sin City N. Vegas that is worth setting your boot heels in. Special, elegant, a real class place, private, very private. The bistro has a fabulous bar, kitchen, top chefs, booze, real silver, china, crystal and a nice little cozy dance floor. Its Cuban cool, locals only, run by one of the most stunning and spooky females on the planet.

Stunning blond bitches name is Wind and she’s a real stylilist.

She owns the place, no tourists, ever. You only get in if she OK’s it, and I guess if she digs your vibe. This Wind doll, well, she’s got a heart a gold, they say. Lots a rumors, lots of echo’s pinging of who she really is. Rumor mills say’s, she’s killed men, lots of men. Guess she hired Ginger because she’s got a big heart. Tons of last chance broads show up there, most flaming out in the end.

More, about this Wind babe later.

XXX

Beautiful girls die in Vegas, and I’m thinking that as Ginger walks in and I internally gasp. She looks ravaged, strung out, blue welt kissing one closing eye. Her lip is cut, she’s about forty two, meaning she’s pressing a cold, hard sixty, in Vegas years.

Youth evaporates real-quick here. You know, like one a leaf mulcher eating tree limbs you see those Mexican gardener’s using all the time on the street.

She thin, not like a healthy thin like moi. She’s emaciated, more like a meth thin, you know, sunken eyes, black circles, dirty blond disheveled hair, once pretty white like mine, but not anymore. Her clothes don’t look right, blue jeans stained with something, flip flops, dirty feet and spindle arms struck out of an old lime green tank top. Her hands are noticeably shaking, eyes darting everywhere like some kind of lab rat.

She pulls out a pack of smokes, generic, looks at me, I nod OK. She can barely find the tip of the smoke with her plastic Bic as smoke stacks out of her small nose. I nod at a chair. She sits as I groan. I don’t like any of it, any of it at all.

She is of course is the poster girl forever young stunner that ever got off a Grey Hound Bus from Banger, Biloxi or Fresno. You know, once tall, beautiful, stupid, having dreams of something, anything.

She was a gal dreaming of something better for her-self. Anything better than being sodomized by a drunken father, as then, her dreams turn into horrific night mares. They might as well give these hopeless girls play sheets when they abort the bus, you know.

First, they blow some puke for a job as a show girl, if they have any talent at all. Then the drugs, clubs and endless drug inflicted partying at night clubs. You know Rage, Tao, Badda-Bing, Ghost Bar, Voodoo Lounge, and then the predators set in, and it’s all about the Voodoo. It is a black world that suddenly becomes these girls reality.

They descend, rich men, older guys, clothes, gold chains, Benzes, Porsches, Beamers, goblets of dough, lies, bastards, palatial cribs over their in “The Lakes.”

That’s how it goes as these ignorant, insane girls usually end up with these vampires men. If their lucky a rare few don’t get mixed up in the toilet that is Vegas and somehow get out alive. That is, a rare few.

It’s the fringe characters that eventually get IM.

Addicted gamblers, sweet talkers, road bump abs, drugs, booze, thugs and sketch artists of crime, pimps, real garbage, that’s what sweeties end up with. Then the girl’s burn out, turn out, next step stripping and, then whoring, in call and cocktailing.

Of course all of that is followed by corner rendezvous off of Fremont Street, then death, or a bus ticket back home, dying locust, lives over. Nothing left but bad memories of their one minute of fame.

That is Gingers MO, sans the bus ticket back to nowhere-ville.

So let’s crack it. I do not like those bruises on her face, but I’ve seen it all before. So I get to it.

“So, what’s happening? Something about Missy, talk to me?”

I can see she’s crawling out of her skin, joansing. There are yellow stains on her fingers from letting too many dying butts burn down to low. She kills the smoke in my ash tray, mouth ticks, eyes ticks, she looks at me. I drill her straight with my eyes.

“Ayah, yeah Jane, I ain’t seen her for three days. I been busy Jane, got in a little trouble, lost my job at Jason’s, you know Vegas. Needed a little time so I got Bobby to baby sit her. Ya know, he’s her dad, thought she’d be fine...fuck, I...I don’t know...”

“Fuck” I murmur audibly.

Bobby O’Brien, a real dirt bag, a piece of filth. He runs the decadent night shift over there at that den of inequity “The Spearmint Rhino.”

It’s a puke and notorious nude club here in a bad part of N. Vegas. A true drug addict, he runs in call whores, drugs, a habitual liar, criminal, runs numerous scams, addicted to the crap tables. He’s got a cop jacket as long as my arm. Alright, time for the gruesome details.

“You don’t know WHAT?” Where the fuck is your daughter?” I bark, like the pissed off Doberman that I am.

My bark wakes her up out of her coma. She lights another smoke. I want to shove it in her nose, and scream. “WAKE UP BITCH, YOUR FUCKING DAUGHTER IS MISSING.” I don’t.

“Geese Jane, I fucking don’t know, aaah, uummm, seemed OK, when I done it...Fuck, Bobby said he lost her...Said she was playin’ with a doll or somethin’, she just was gone, he don’t know where...What Am I gonna do, she’s my baby, I fucked up, please, can ya help me, I need her real bad.”

“Fuck.” I groan again to myself.

She starts shaking, tears rolling down her savaged cheeks, mascara running everywhere, just making her look more hideous. Smoke is screaming out of her running nose. Her eyes look like dead bolts, leering at me. Of course me, being me, knows about missing kids in the USA.

The truth is, the darling kid could be on a fucking Jumbo Jet to Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Qatar by now.

The white sheet set will pay a fortune for trafficked sweet young girls, top dollar.

You know, suppress your own women. Keep the boot to their necks. Trick I’m out in wool Snuggies with eye slits in a hundred and twenty degrees heat. Make I’m into servants, wash the dishes, pick up the dog poop in the sand, pump out the kids, virtual slaves. While the men sit around in the souk, sip mint tea, smoke hashish and fuck around all day. But, I don’t think it went down that way. Bobby’s just not that bright, though he can be a dangerous little weasel at times.

“He lost her Ginger? You’re fucking kidding me. What is she, a set of keys? I’m assuming you didn’t call the cops, right?”

She’s ashamed, terrified, lying, I think. She nods that I am indeed correct, and then stutters. “Naw, Bobby said she’d turn up, tol me to stop moaning all the time, then he beat on me. I guess I deserved it. You know Jane he’s been real good to Missy and me.”

Sniffle, sniffle, sniffle.”

I want to reach across the desk, and beat on her two, knock some daylight into her brain.

FUCK, how many times have I heard this same story in so many different versions?

Well I can’t count the ways.

Suddenly, I feel gutted, for, the last forty or so hours are finally catching up to me.

I pretty much know what I’m going to do, whether she gives me the green light or not. Three things I hate more than anything, guys who smack women, with out permission of course, me being a permission girl when the mood is right. The other is some fuck wad hurting a kid or an animal. I flash back to the day I saved my pooch Bijoux from a sadistic pig that was beating on her.

Good times and more on that later.

So as Ginger stutters on, I’m thinking at the moment about a terrified sweet little girl that disappeared into the cesspool Vegas is and always will be.

So I have to be coy, smart, because she loves this creep Bobby O’Brien. All it will take to reconcile is a bunch of dead red roses to turn her, even give up the kid, if it came to that. Drug addicts are like that.

“SO Ginger, you want me to ask around, look into it a little, you know discreet. Bobby doesn’t have to know. How’s that sound?” I ask.

She’s fidgeting, eyes like a lab monkey as I’m taking inventory of what kind of weapons I will need when I visit Bobby O’Brien, hopefully in the next half hour.

“Aaah, yeah, Ok, I ain’t got no money Jane, can I pay ya later...ahh.”

“Sure doll, no problem.” I lie. “Now scoot, I’ll ring you up when I find something, OK.”

“Geese’s Jane, you’re the best, I can’t tha...”

“Go, NOW.” I seethe, trying to keep it together.

She sees it, the blood fury in my melting eyeballs. Committing a homicide on her cigarette butt in my ash tray, she stands, sways, looks at me one last time.

Like that rabid lap monkey, my agitated eyes flick at the door. She swallows, turns and flip-flops down the stairs, out the security iron bars and she’s gone. Into what; I can only fucking imagine?

I know she’s lying, I know there’s something else. There’s always something else. When I get the bit in my perfect teeth I can be a bit edgy, focused, on the clock.

I need to make a phone call. Get an update, news from my buddy over there at N. Vegas Metro. He’s my best amigo, homicide dick, a Lieutenant, one Victor Garcia. His troops call him LOU.

That’s cops lingo, most cops in America call their lieutenants.

Vic, a big roly-poly Hispanic cop, big smile, big personality and we go back a few years. We met at The Bent Club of all places.

Seemed there was a serial killer killing the homeless folks in N. Vegas. He figured the Wind babe knew something, for she hung with this very hard, brilliant artist stud, drop deadly handsome, guy named Maurice. He has an old mechanics warehouse he converted into an artist’s loft, just a couple a blocks from mine.

Vic knew my street creds and that my rep was solid. Vic chatted me up at the club one night. He thought this Maurice was the killer. I didn’t think so, told him that.

This Maurice character is one handsome artist stud savant of stone and Winds main squeeze. One of the few men that actually scares me and is a rock solid good guy, scary guy, but great creds in our little community.

I told Vic that and after, we became buds.

Garcia knew my rep, asked me if I could snoop around, I did.

Shit went down. Garcia got hurt, hurt bad. It turned out the perp was some insane real estate mogul, bought up the slums, getting rid of the homeless, so property values would sky rocket, which they did.

Then they didn’t.

Maurice, in a last stand blood bath with the puke, ended up saving Vic’s life after he was stabbed in Maurice’s warehouse. They became after that rock, solid friends.

It’s a long story Wind, Maurice, Garcia and me.

Maybe a later day. Maybe a better day for that story.

XXX

Needless to say I’m pumped, pissed, liquid mercury melting my brain. Since there is no time like the present, it’s time to roll.

It’s time to hit up the Lieutenant on the cell so I do.

Speed dial.

Ring a ding ling, ding a ling ding.

“Hello.” Seep’s out of the speaker.

I get right to it, no small talk left in my mouth.

“Lou, it’s Jane, I need a little help, you offering?”

“Hey Jane, some time, I miss ya. Yeah, sure, always, what’s up sweetness?”

“Young girl, friend of mine, gone missing, I was wondering if you had any paper on her mother, maybe the kid, any info.”

“Sure Jane, no problem, what’s her name, how old, MO if you got it, let me have it.

Love Garcia, totally professional, right to the point. He knows me, digs me, DITTO to him on the dig thingy.

“She’s a Missy Smith, thirteen, blond, pretty, daughter of a sick head case, Ginger Smith, the mother. I’m sure you got a jacket on the mother of the year.”

“Just a sec, Jane let me see if a she’s in the box.”

I wait and need a smoke, light up a Marlboro

Puff, puff, puff.

FUCK

I’m starting to act like Ginger, agitated, manic, except I’m enraged. There’s nothing knew about that.

“Got her, yeah, lots a busts, shop lifting, drugs, peddling her ass, usual stuff. A coupla week’s here and there in the clank, nothing serious. You want me to bring her in, sweat her a little?”

“No Lou, it’s my thing. If you don’t mind, run her kid through the system, maybe talk to some cops. See if she pops up. Could you ring my cell if anything pops on the kid, do you mind?”

“Not at all Jane, what else, anything for you Jane, you know that.”

“I know that Lou. I’ll send over a pink teddy bear for that doll daughter of yours, just to say thanks. Gotta scoot.”

“Jane.”

Yeah.”

“Good job with the Jimmy Flicks and Tina Barks take down. Saved me and the boys a lot a grief. Boys here have big shout outs for ya. We all love ya know.”

“Love back at you, thanks Lou, my pleasure, more later.”

“Jane.”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful, ya hear.”

“Sure Lou, real careful, later.”

I kill the cell, grateful for friends like Vic.

I stand and think about Lou’s and mind world.

It’s all about street creds and folks reputations.

Lou’s got I’m, I got I’m, were solid and everyone knows that. So I move to my pine gun cabinet, spinaroo the dial on the heavy combination lock. I have that because I don’t want kids like Zoe messin’ around with my guns. J

ust might shoot a cut toe off.

Opening the door, I smile. I always smile when I see my guns.

I love my guns, respect my guns, and glow looking at my AK-47, banana clip curving out of its guts. Next to that is a Saw hanging on a rack. You know the kind the dudes in the Special Forces use killing bad guys in Afghanistan.

I need something light today, ignore my Glock, Walther PP-K, my Smith & Wesson Viper and my lovely old school Colt 45.

Reminds me, I have to go to the gun range.

Practice makes perfect.

Focusing on one of two Berettas hanging on the hook, I decide on one of them.

Still have my other Glock in my shoulder holster, but its Beretta time.

So I grab it, fondle it and grab a thirteen in the clip bullet cage. Slapping her in the Velcro whore, I ratchet a slug into it. It’s the little things in life that make me happy.

I then retrieve a black silencer, screw it on the tip, give it a tug. My baby, like me is ready too.

I grab my 16 gauge Mossberg, over and under shot gun and a fist of shells. Turning, I grab my other Glock, put it to bed, close the door and spin the lock. I sit and do one of my most fav things.

I love the feeling of those red copper caps shells revolving in my fingers, they almost make me cum.

Humming right along to Madonna in my head, I slot six caps into the scatter gun.

I am now almost ready to visit Bobby. He doesn’t know me that well, but he soon will.

“CLICK.”

I check out my six inch stiletto, love that too.

“CLICK.”

Back in the handle the blade goes. Stabbing it into my boot, I have one last caffeine hit as I make sure my PI and Gun Permit are in my jeans pocket. Almost finished, I sit in front of my Apple computer. Moments later, after I get the address that I was seeking, I turn and down the stairs I go.

POKER players often go On Tilt when shit goes bad. I don’t go there, but I am close.

Moments later, after dropping off my blood stained leather hip huggers at Chang’s, I cruise down Northern Ave. After passing MLK Blvd, I check my GPS machine. It tells me to hang a left. I move down the block and moan.

There are abandoned tract houses everywhere. They are all a part of the new morgue Vegas has become. For sales signs are stacked into the ground. Houses are dead, empty and garbage is everywhere, lawns over grown. Fucking raccoons, coyotes, cougars have been reported prowling the streets. It’s almost tragic what’s happened to Vegas. But, that’s evolution at work.

Darwin, that brain wizard was right.

Half way down the street, I see it, Bobbies dump. Same deal, looks rundown, except his Caddy Escalade, black of course, is parked in the driveway. The three houses on each side of his are vacant.

Perfect. I can use my Mossberg, no eyes, no worry.

Gun reports are a part of N. Vegas as elevator music is to Trump Towers.

I rip the Buick into the drive, kill her dead, no open door, melt over the chassis, 16 gauge nestled in the cleft of my bare arm. I lift it and with one hand ratchet a cap into it.

I love that action.

My shoulder holster is holding my black Beretta, stiletto now in my hip hugger belt. My teeny tummy is sucking air. I’m wired hard and my eyes feel like squash balls and yet, are acid clear.

I feel like I’m on acid. You know, you can see a pin at five hundred feet.

Moving across the corpse of a lawn I get to the door. No time to hang around, a kids life is at stake. It’s truth or dare time.

IT IS TIME, TO GIDDY-UP.

XXX

I’M NOT one of those polite girls, you know.

Knock, knock, knock.

Let’s have a conversation.

That only ever works in bad flicks, bad celluloid and since a little angels life is at stake, I lift the Mossberg.

“KABOOM.”

I blow a foot square hole into the door knob.

The plywood blasts open. I re-shoulder my long-gun and lift my Beretta and cruise through the door and into the hallway. With my 9mm poking straight ahead held with both hands, I head into the living room.

The place looks like a poster for The Grapes of Wrath one of my fav books.

There’s a ripped up couch, over stuffed filthy lounges, torn up curtains, soiled clothes, old food cartons scattered everywhere. Cheerios, Oreos, open packages of Little Debbie, the usual junkie foods plastered every where.

Carpet ripped, burned, stained, I see empty bottles scattered everywhere.

It looks like he’s Dewar’s and Gordon’s freak. The smell of burnt eggs stinks up the place. Junkies always revert back to eggs. It’s all they can handle when their done nodding out.

My eyes are acute, scanners, miss nothing, can’t afford to. I see a 38 on a table and a user’s shoot up kit, dime glassine bag of heroin, a cell, some other shit and make note of it. Important that.

I see him. He’s bare-chested; sitting at a desk.

What, he didn’t hear Mr. Mossberg?

I see the ear phones, I-pod, on his ears.

I get it.

He’s a skinny dude and all sinewy, barefoot, filthy Levis leering into a computer monitor staked onto the desk. He’s playing video games. He’s got this filthy thick red hair, freckles and he’s just about to take a snort from a pile of coke, could be meth on a mirror on the desk. There’s a straw stuck half way up his snout.

Surprise, surprise, he knows me, my rep, I hope. He sees my gun stabbed at him. Dropping his straw, he stands, takes a step towards his 38.

I drop the trigger.

“Psssst, Psssst. Thump Thump.

I drill two into the wall, about eight inches from his running nose. He freeze-frames, mumbles. “What the fuck.”

I’ll show him what the fuck.

He’s a human Flex Straw, druggies you know, eyes like hub caps. He’s got all the usual face twitches and his nerve endings are frying.

I know that.

He moves towards me.

This ain’t a home invasion.

He steps before his couch, fists bunched. I smile, pistol whip him in the cheek.

“Crack.”

That sounds right. Blood erupts and splatters on the wall.

Moan, moan, bitch slap moan.

Because I’m in a bad mood, I whack him again, forehead time, just as he’s going down to the cushions.

I do a little bunny-hop, spread eagle I’m. Grabbing a tuft of hair, I rip his bloody face to my chrome, hard eyes. Prying his bloody mouth open, I stick my silencer tip down to his tonsils.

“CLICK.”

Hammer back and locked and loaded.

He looks crazed and terrified. I guess he has a right too, as I seethe.

“Missy, where is she. Fuck with me, I’ll bury you in a junk yard in Bakersfield.”

He googly-goops me.

He’s a born loser, liar, doesn’t fit my mood, snot running down his lips, eyes spilling tears. I yank the silencer out of his mouth.

“Psssst.”

I pop one in the wall and, then jab it back in his yap and ask this time, not nice like before.

“Where’s the fucking kid? It can be easy, or hard, you choose?’

His head, like one a those Dodger bobble head dolls over there at the ballpark at Chavez Ravine bangs up and down, snot running down his chin. He sees I’m all serious and such. He mumbles words I can’t understand.

I want the kid, can’t afford to whack him yet. So I rip my baby from his mouth, stand, point it at one of his blue eyeballs, cock her.

“CLICK.”

That sobering sound usually brings the truth out of any muck.

As he touches the blood on his face he jerks off his eyeballs at his red fingers and glares at me, not so nice.

I can see the cogs and gears rotating in his head, measuring me for a rush. I am a shoelace after all.

Same deal with Tina Barks and Jimmy Flicks.

When will they ever learn?.

But, I don’t think so for he’s the usual coward. Whack some broad around, be a man. But, he can see I’m a hard kind, different than other girls.

He mumbles some bull shit at me, which makes my hormones boil. I glance at my jeans.

Fuck more blood, thank god for Chang’s dry cleaners.

“Fuck Jane, you fucked me up, why ya gotta be that way. I don’t know what the fuck yer talkin’ bout.”

“Psssst, Psssst.”

I pour two hollow points into the pillows. Dust and feathers fly as he jerks all around, bitch yelps, yips; fucking pathetic.

Taking a step, I pistol whip him in the side of his head. He screams, moans, face in the hands, blood everywhere, bare feet jerking off like a motel quarter in a slot vibrator bed.

I take a step back. Weeping, he leers at me, my eyes, Beretta as I seethe.

“Next one in the cabasa amigo. Where’s Missy, now, not later.”

When will they ever learn? I like to think sometimes, but not really.

He’s measuring me, but he’s a coward, as he spit outs some words at me. So I listen, just praying to some Buddha head that he makes a play at me.

“Yeah, Ok. Jest don’t hit me no more. Fuck Jane, I ain’t feeling good, I need a hit. Come on, just one toke. I’ll tell ya everything, please Jane. I feel sick, real sick.”

Oh really. Simonizes through my mind, me knowing exactly what is going down.

I jerk my silencer at the crank on the desk, nod once, whisper, “Go.”

Why the fuck not, I got a lot of violence, like battery acid pumping through my arteries. Maybe I can get off, before he finally let’s go of the truth.

Fuck, I’m selfish like that at times, can’t help it.

He stands up all wobbly and such. He’s right, he looks strung out. He’s got tracks on his arms and I can see he’s got the ebbie jeebies.

He doesn’t look that good, courtesy of Mrs. Beretta and the bitch at bat with her.

He moves, all shaky and such to his desk, eyes jerking over at his 38 on the table. He sits in front of his partially open drawer. He peek-a-boos at moi and, then he look’s-at-the-coke.

I figure he’s got a PIECE in the drawer. I hope he doesn’t go there.

I have a plan, always think head. Bobby Fisher knew that. So I ask and I mean it this time.

“Where’s Missy? Last time amigo, or pain for you.”

“Fuck Jane, jest a sec, why ya gotta be so hard...Just a sec.”

He shoves the straw in his nose, hits the pile. I move to him, rip a tuft of red hair, lift his head, slam his face into the coke, breaking his nose as I do.

White flake memories dozing in the air, straw protruding out of his nose as he screams. It’s stuck somewhere up there.

Those things are always a mystery to me when they happen.

He bounces real-good and falls back in his office chair, blood, coke, other shit splashed on his face.

He wails again, as I see his hand reflex into the drawer. I immediately kick it shut with my boot, shattering his hand, as he bellows. “OOOWWWWW...FUUUUCK.”

Fuck that had to hurt. His eyes twitch, jerk as he weeps and balls like the soda cracker he is. He’s totally fucked up. I never planned it any other way.

I get real close, put the silencer tit to his forehead.

There’s that magical “Click” again.

His eyeballs revolve to the back of his head, return to sender, and he gawk’s at me. He finally finds the mumbles I was looking for.

“Ok, ok, ok. Sheeeet, pleeeease, don’t hit on me no more...she’s good....The fucking VIG Jane, bookies...ahhhh my nose, fucking Kansas State, was a sure thing, missed the fucking spread...I’m sick...rented he...he...her out...gave her to this guy...she’s all good...I...I...”

I go Polar and feel like a sheet of cold brass has plated my body. And, then his words absorb. I straddle him, rip his head back, and this time not soft, like before, I break three of his teeth as I punch my heater into his mouth.

He screams as I get up front and personal with him. Wanting to pull the trigger, bad, real bad, I don’t.

It’s time to go crazy girl, my specialty as I ROAR.

XXX

“YOU FUCKING RENTED HER...WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN?...RENTED HER TO WHO?”

Ripping the silencer out of his mouth, he begins to babble. I can smell, as well as hear his urine drip, drip, dripping on the floor. That tells me he’s on page, fucking, finally.

“Yo...yooo...you know I’m, uh Jane...Sure...Sh...shes all good...Ed...eddi...Eddie Jett, gga...gave me three grand...sa...sid...said he’d treat her Ok...Yeah, she’s at Eddies cr...crib...jeese, I thin I...I’m dyin...I.”

EDDIE FUCKING JETT.

My brain screams, not that deviant?

Ex Acid Rocker who does the Big Casinos shows and has hit on me a zillion times at clubs.

No fucking way?

So I pistol whip the words right out of his mouth.

He whimpers, groans, as I stand, shaking all over.

My blood is boiling like lighter fluid. I face him, hand shaking. I want to kill him. Why not? One more cock roach off the face of the earth won’t be missed.

I don’t.

“Your not dead yet. If you’re lying, if you pick up a phone, write a fucking post card, I will come back and FUCKING put a bullet in your ear. CLEAR?” I bellow.

He nods. Ok.

I turn, take a step and, then stop from a single word.

“BIATCH.”

That’s always the magic word for me as my lips tick and my molars start to grind. I turn and find a dark, cold smile. You know the kind.

Leering at him, I tilt my head and look more, smile more.

Fucking perfect.

Ooops-a-daisy.

I can see he knows he’s made a boo-boo. I am a bitch, and know this is the perfect time for him to see just how big of a bitch I am.

Walking over to him, I smile and, then:

“Psssst, Psssst.

I drill two in his knew caps.

He screams, blood, bone and sinew splash on the white walls behind him as he thumps to the floor wailing.

No time to take out the garbage, I snarl. “You want more, I’ll be back.” Arnold said that.

I turn, walk to the front door, don’t look back and run out the door.

Moving to my sweetie, I hop-the-door, fire her up, lay two tracks of rubber out the drive, hit drive, mimic more rubber, I’m gone.

I am a heat seeking fire breathing Predator Drone on tract for one thing, and one thing only; Eddie Jett.

Everyone knows Eddie Jett, sixty, dyed black hair, gone to suet, an ex rocker star. You know, like one of those Metallica, Dee Snyder, acid rock band guys. Big deals in the eighties, nineties, ripping it up, talent, drugs, groupies, power in their music, not my kind, but lots a kids went off on it.

Then what, fame, stardom, two much booze, drugs, girls, everything gets twisted around, and they can’t get it up any longer.

They then make the leap, for the big Casino money. Ending up looking like Wayne Newton, Elvis, Liberace, burn outs, pretenders, ghosts of the past. Two shows a day at the Bellagio, echoing their past hits by rote to a legion of semi comatose fans.

You know, the PTA mommy set. Motor home set, broken down old broads with busted dreams, panties on the stage. You know the types, hitting the feed bag at the smorgasbord over there at Caesars Palace. There’s always one last orgy available on a tread mill of obesity crippling America.

Before the Celebrex and Lipitor Circuit kicks in and a concrete casket lid finds them, which finally ends the pain.

Eddie Jett, well, he’s the worst of them. He’s a real degenerate; a deviant that leans towards the bubble gum set.

That’s his MO, makes sense now, Gingers kid.

He knows me, man he knows me really well. I see him at The Bent Club and clubs like Badda-bing and Plume on The Strip.

Because I’m a stick blond, actually kind of pre pubescent type, he’s forever hitting on me.

You know Tina Barks bull shit kind of soulless rap.

Come on doll, come for a visit, my crib, some Dom, dinner, Crystal, some toot, I love ya Jane.”

I’d rather eat my own puke than roll in the sack with a bag of sick, sagging degenerate guts.

No thank you very much. I’d rather fuck a Baboon over there at the N. Vegas zoo.

I never said that to him, kind of tortured him, always leaving the sex door open.

I sorta have an open invitation to his crib.

That’s good for my play, and I have his cell number. I’m certain it will just a take a ring a ding ling to get an invite to a night of debauchery. Which is exactly what I am going to do, the phone thing that is, right after I get a cup of black java right there at Dunkin Doughnuts, just there.

“Blink, blink, blink.”

The little green light blub on my dash is Morse-Coding me, telling me to turn left. So I do. Whipping into the parking lot, I throw her into park, sluice over the door. Check my lips in the side mirror, (vanity again) I find my cherry Chap Stick in that little pocket in my jeans. Slapping some on, I feel better. I then, begin to move.

The neon hurts my blues, but gotta have some caffeine or my heads going to boil off of my long neck. I hit the kid up for a jumbo, tip him two bucks, and get a smile filled with braces back. Out the door I go.

I’m about to leap the door, when I see two bulls from Vegas Metro, in a Blue and White. Their eating the usual vitamin enriched breakfast of donuts and coffee. I know them, smile at them and get waves, smiles back.

I so dig cops.

Their under paid, no respect and misunderstood. Could you imagine a world without them?

The fucking deviants would be lined up eight blocks long, at your house, raping your wife, and daughters Even you’re dog and you’re fucking gold fish. Not my Gumbo, Stella though. There would be pure chaos without cops holding the Thin Blue Line strong.

Anyhooo, I hop-the door and sip some coffee out of that little hole in the Styrofoam lid. I am about to fire her up when my cell buzzes on the seat next to me.

I grab her, and see its Lou Garcia.

Good. I was hoping to get a shout out from him before I visited Eddie Jett.

“Hey Lou, what’s up?”

I can hear something in his voice that sets anti freeze in my veins. None of it in my refried brain feels any damn good.

“Jane, sorry, can ya get to Metro quick like, meet you in the parking lot.

“Sure Lou, be right there.” I shoot back at him.

No questions asked. None needed as I read the dire meaning in his voice.

I know none of it is any good. I could tell just from the dark gravel spilling from his quivering, hard voice that bad news is coming.

It’s a tinsel steel world Vegas. No one has to tell me that. Anything ever happens good in Vegas is usually a mistake.

As I drive into the bowls of N. Vegas, I feel like one of those dudes on Death Row, days, hours, minutes spitting away. Next stop a Sing-Sing Electric Chair or a gurney with a needle. You get it, just before a last meal of pork chops and eggs before they plunge the final syringe.

Twenty minutes later, I pull into Metro. As promised there is Lou, looking the usual tired and stressed out. He wearing his usual rumpled paper bag brown suit which he probably slept in.

Cops have long hours, desperate hours, hard lives and bent Id’s. That’s why so many eat their guns when they retire over there in that ex cop grave yard, Coeur de leane Idaho where so many ex cops retire.

I make the walk, face him off. He looks at me with that blind cops stare. You know, that look when a cop shows up at your front door and is hesitant to tell a mark the bad news.

“You sure you want this, Jane?”

“Yeah Lou, I want it.”

He sighs, nods and tilts his head at the precinct. We turn and begin to stroll. I follow him as we walk into the three story building. I feel like I have an ice berg shoved up my ass.

We make our ways through the various precinct rooms, Homicide, Gang Unit, Bunco, Fraud and Missing Persons. Everywhere there are guys, girls, plains cloth, gold badges, shoulder, hip holsters, hand guns and blue uniforms. Their doing what they do best. Their trying, to keep a tidal wave of vomit from breaking apart a city all ready on the edge of a moral less, abyss.

Neon every where, faded green walls, we move down the stairs, one floor, an open door and, then we move. We are silent as we walk along a cold hall way past flickering neon, mimicking my dead dying heart.

We pass the CSI kids, geeks, smart, micro scopes, telescopes, DNA, blood, semen, hair and fiber analysis machines humming. Their mesmerized with electronic gizmos, computers, lots of computers, state of the art snoop machines.

These are the medical sleuth ghouls.

You murder some one, leave a toe nail, a hair follicle, they will get YA.

Normally, I’m fascinated by all of it, usually, but not now.

I have a sweet little girl on my mind.

XXX

The Tombs, Crypts, The Ice House, cops have a lot of cool names for the place at the END OF THE HALL.

Usually, I dig hip lingo, smart talk, but not today, not now, not this day.

I hate smart, hip words at the moment.

The innocent never deserve the big sleep along a stainless steel slab, especially some little bird that never had a bad tweet one day of her short life.

We stall out at a massive, stainless, hermetically sealed door. Garcia stalls out, looks at me, my head ticks as I seeth. “Do it.”

Nodding, he hits the big lever.

“Swoosh” the door opens.

I exhale and follow him into the other name the cops gave the morgue, Blue Moon Heaven, for the entire place is bathed in blue neon. I don’t know why. Maybe because blood looks blue under a full moon, don’t know.

We stall out.

I feel dizzy.

Why not?

I also feel like vomiting.

I peek across the room, center cut, see the coroner doc. I know him a little, from Jason’s. Doc Reynolds is his name, Danny.

He’s a Jake guy, straight shooter, smart, caretaker of death by trade.

He’s decked out in blue too, neoprene gloves, space suit, booties, apron. He’s standing right next to a stainless bed that has a blue tarp on it.

Blue seems to be the fucking color of the day.

When I get home I’m going to burn every piece of blue togs I own, including my Levi jeans.

We walk up, my eyes roam. I see a tiny toe tag on a miniature toe. It’s exactly like the one I’m going to put on Bobby O’Brien, most likely after I visit Eddie Jett and put one on him too.

Lou looks at the doc. He looks at me. I look at Reynolds. He nods, understands, says.

“Jane, some time, you a part of this?”

“Yeah Danny, I’m a part of this.”

“Guess you want to see her, yeah?”

“Yeah, I want to see my girl.”

Doc looks at Garcia, they exchange something.

Lou nods. I exhale my grief. Off comes the tarp in one swoosh.

Iridium, Cobalt, Rhodium, they are the hardest elements on earth. At the moment they mimic how Imy body feels.

But, there’s nothing tinsel hard about me now.

I’m a female looking at a dead angel.

She’s waif like, blond hair, white, almost translucent and transparent skin.

There are purple, blue autopsy scars, I think, in a VEE trailing from her larynx. Uninterrupted, they are running down to her sternum, ending up at her hips.

The cuts are all sewn together by purple twine that matches the color of her lifeless lips. Right near where her womb would be, I see red cat gut.

I fight bile in my throat. The cat gut looks odd, don’t know why. Hair is bristling on my arms. That’s my usual TELL telling me that something is out of whack here.

Way out of whack.

I take a step back; want to vomit, fight it, fighting my tears. I am stunned as I stare at a little girl, ninety-five pounds of her and now a dead slab of white chalk as silence thunders through the room.

I begin to stutter, mumble, can’t get my mind right, wrapped around this mortal sin. My eyes are watering as Lou takes my arm, rears me in, whispers.

“What Jane, what did you say?”

I snort it back in to my nose, brain, jaw clenches. I’m coming back now, back to life. There is a:

Can’t wait attitude blow torched in my mind now.

I turn to Garcia, whisper back at him. “Nothing Lou, nothing at all.”

“What happened here Doc? Talk to us Danny.” Garcia asked.

Really in his heart I knew he didn’t want to know.

Sure Lou, sure.”

We exchange glances, me and the doc. I nod. He nods back.

“Carol, you know detective over there in Homicide, found her under the underpass, over there by 6th and Northern. You know the place Lou, homeless, card board houses, drugs, the end of the road, for most that is.”

Garcia nods, and tries to swallow his grief back into his stomach.

I know the sewer; don’t want to go there. I keep it zipped, as doc continues.

“We toxed her. CSI found a baggie on her, cocaine. Blood tox came up clean, stuff lasts for a month in the blood stream. Still trying to figure that out.

Garcia looks at me, I look at him. Doc is almost hesitant about continuing. The lieutenant nods for him to go on.

“You ain’t gonna like this Lou.”

Garcia takes a deep breath, looks at me.

NADA.

He nods at doc to get on with it.

“Tox says she was pregnant. Figure from her uterus size, about seven months.”

“FUCK.” I jolt it out.

My teeth draw blood to my bottom lip. I don’t feel it.

ABC’s are now put together in my head.

Mother fucker. They’ve been pimping the kid out for months. That’s what this is all about.

My mind bellows as Garcia twists me around, gets hard in my eyes, asks.

“What Jane, what?”

No mood for small talk, he sees it in my eyes. I feel it in my temples. I sorta snap at him, turn to Reynolds, and ask.

“Later Lou, you got more Danny, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah Jane, there’s more, all bad.”

“What.”

He nods, starts pointing that blue rubber finger, this way and that, up and down at the blue, purples ski trails stitching up my angel.

“That’s what killed her, Jane, Lou. Ya know the arteries pump bout 50 pints of blood a day. Hepatic arteries carry oxygenated blood to the liver. They missed that. Portal veins, big guys, feeding the fetus, also intestines to the liver, missed that too. What killed her, my opinion, we’ll know a little better later, was that whoever cut her, my guess was to trying to snag the baby. They hit the Umbilical arteries. Those lead along the umbilical cord to the baby’s heart. So she bled out.

Well that’s just fucking great.

My brain seethes, as Reynolds scratched his head for a sec and continued.

“No baby at the crime scene, so they, though premature, I guess got the kid. Seems that’s what they were after. It’s fucked up, LOU. Don’t know how much longer I can do this shit.”

Garcia groans, as I stay silent.

All of it made sense now, way too much sense. All I’m doing is hoping I have enough bullets at home to take care all of it after were done counting sutures here.

“That ain’t all, Lou. It gets sicker. We Cat scanned her head. You see the blue around her swollen eye sockets and forehead, her eye balls ruptured. We’ll know more once we get inside, but to me, it’s real clear. They cut her Thalamus away from her frontal lobes. They gave her a lobotomy. Lou, my fucking God.”

“WHAT.” I roared.

I turned, moved to a stainless steel door, hiding another crypt, another victim in it. Smashing my fist into it, big dent I felt nothing. I jerked back to Reynolds, leered at him like I wanted him dead.

“I’m just the messenger Jane, just the messenger.”

Yeah, a fucking messenger of doom. What else is new in Vegas?

XXX

My brain felt like one of those fucked up reactors in Japan, melting and I tried to calm, but not really.

It wasn’t docs fault, as I calmed, for real, pulse down, mind blister clear.

I whispered to him to continue. “Go on.”

“Was quite the fad, turn of the century, later even. Old way was to cut the forehead, and snip, snip, snip, you’re a vegetable, well to some degrees any ways. Body stays alive, mind dead, guess they were makin’ a sex doll, don’t know. Any ways, later in the century they used an adrenaline solution, real, real primitive stuff. Who ever cut her, knew their stuff. They went through the eye socket, used a Lucoton, kinda sharp spoon gadget, and a after a clip, you have a passive human being. They call it Tran Orbital Inclusion, very technical. I see it going down this way.”

Eyes closed, imagining all of it, eyes open, looking at Lou, Doc. He pointed a blue finger tip at two red dots on her small breasts.

“I figured they Tasered her, lobotomized her and, then went for the baby with a simply C-Section. They botched that, hit an artery, she bled out. If he wasn’t a doctor, then close to it, lots a deviant ex doctors in Vegas. Real sick stuff Lou, but what’s new about that.

“Nothing Dan...Fucking nothing is ever new.” Garcia, pain in his voice, whispered.

“Anything more Doc? “ Lou asked.

I peruse her, time stops. I look at her blue painted finger nails, gasp inside.

Fuck, she just wanted to be pretty. I see a missing nail, move to her, take her cold hand, look again, look back at Danny and ask.

“What about this, where’s her fucking finger nail?”

“Oh yeah, almost forgot. Kids at CSI saw that, no sign at the perp’s scene. Just guessing, maybe she fought before she died, just guesses.

“Oh shit, I forgot one thing. When Carol found her, she was still frozen stiff. Homicide thinks they kept her in a freezer for a while, don’t know. I found ice in her tissue, blood, urine, that’s looks right to me.”

“Frozen, you mean like a popsicle.”

“Yeah Jane, like a popsicle.”

I’m so deranged, I throw my head back, begin to laugh, maniacal, crazed.

I don’t know how many people are going to die tonight, but the list is growing.

Finally and mercifully Garcia wraps his bear of an arm around me, draws me in close.

Instantly I morph, begin to sob uncontrollably. Seconds pass, tear ducts Spackle up.

Molten lava eats water.

I move away as Vic begins to pull me towards the door.

I jerk away, no more tear’s, there will be more, later, as I leer at him, doc as my voice trembles. It’s not a weak kind of sound, but that kind when you feel fury ripping apart every cell in your body.

“I need a moment with her, alone.”

Both cops get it, nod, walk to the door, scram out of it.

I jack the breath back in my nostrils, my head jilts. I look at the kid, walk over and stare down at her. Her eyes were once blue, now there opaque, almost white, death does that.

No one gets out alive in the end, but, not like this. Not now.

I take her hand. It’s cold, as cold as mine. I don’t mind, and, then see her blue finger nail polish, the broken nail. My heart explodes. Tears, drip, drip, dripping on her finger tips, the ones she had painted, so she could be a pretty little girl.

That’s all she wanted in life, was just a chance; one chance just to be little kid, a child with a teddy bear.

I reach forward, close her eyes, there cold too. Draping the tarp over her naked body to her chin, I want to give her dignity back to her.

I just want her to know some one loves her.

I feel sick, cheap, no glib, no smart remarks and no vanity in the revolver any more. I feel ashamed, more tears, bouncing off of her dead skin, stretched like plastic over her lifeless corpse.

I cut the tears right out of my face, for the moment.

No more tears, not just yet.

I lean down, close to her tiny ears. She smells like skin cleaning fluid. My nose wrinkles, the odor clarifies my mind. My lips move close and, then I whisper as softly as I have ever spoken any words in my life.

“Its okay baby...you rest now...the white angels are waiting for you, you did your best...it’s not your fault...” My throat constricts.

It feels like it has concrete packed in it.

“There, there sweetie, you let Jane take care of it now...I’m going to make everything right. I love you doll...I really do.”

I straighten up, get right and look at her one last time.

Pulling the tarp over her face, I smile, swallow and look one last time at her.

Moving to the crypts door, I look back, nod once and I’m gone.

XXX

“OH, POWERS from Hell, grant me Nero’s wish, that all women have but one head and that head belongs to the screw who tyrannizes me: then grant me the pleasure of chopping it off!”

Bastille, Paris, 1700,s, DeSade wrote that, in his own blood. It seems reasonable to me.

I’m in a head chopping off kind of mood.

Once I was out of The Tombs, Garcia cornered me. I could see stark concern on his brown, Pudge Rodriguez of a face. He knows me, and he also knows I sometimes can nudge my toes over the Blue Line. Well, some times way over that line.

It sorta went like this.

Come on Jane, you know something.

Naw Vic, it’s just the kid upset me.

I know you Jane, let me and the boys help.

Naw Lou, it’s all good.

Don’t fuck up Jane.

Blah, blah, blah, and blah, blah, blah, back and forth we went.

THEN I blew him off, not like me at all. I felt bad about it.

Lou understands, but I had other things on my mind, more important things.

I know where Eddie Jett lives, once went to a bash, he had going down there. Like I told ya, he’s hit on me, more times than I can call up right now.

I’m going to use that now. Yes I am.

He’s entombed over there at The Lakes. You know, super rich planned community, gated, keeping the poor at bay. It’s laid out with palatial mansions, man-made lake, oldsters whacking a white ball around and a boat marina.

The Lakes Club is super private, exclusive, old widowed broads fucking the tennis pros over by the ball machines.

You know, a living graveyard, a place to hang, just until they kick dirt in your mouth.

I’ve got everything I need. Mossberg in the trunk, loaded, my walk around chrome 38 in the glove box and my Beretta, extra clips. I figured I might need those.

Stiletto still in my boot, a load of melting BB’s in my brain, dry mouth, lips, mood, dusk is coming, soon night following. I like night, that’s where this shadow girl works best, does her thing, a beautiful thing.

Cruising down Tropicana, could a taken I-15, no hurry.

Its BUILDING, death, blind fury, life, it’s really not about me. It’s about the kid.

MY KID.

I haven’t eaten for two days. I like that. I like the hungry wolf feeling, sharpens me, tightens me, an hour til mid night.

Seeing a Winchell’s donut shop, smooth like, I drive in, park and sidle over the door. I need a cup of coffee, maybe a donut with some pink sprinkles on it. That should set everything strung tight.

You know, like a cue ball melting the black eight into the corner pocket, game over. Except my game is just about to begin and it involves pain and guns; lots of guns.

Donut time over and night time is here. I take the cell, scroll and hit the button.

Why make it hard, when it can be so easy?

I know the guy thinks with his dick, many invites to party with him. Let’s take him up on it. Man, I am so ready to fucking party with him.

“CLICK.”

“Hey baby doll, its Jane, what ya doin’” You been dreamin’ about me?”

M-7, Bingo.

He’s cranked, voice all a stutter stepping, molars grinding, coked out, loud music, voices, tinkle, tinkle of glasses. He’s zoned and real happy to hear my voice. We flirt back and forth, you know me. It goes like this.

“Been thinking about ya, a lot, heard your dropping them dead over there at The Venetian. What ya doin’ big boy?” Mae West, why the fuck not?

“I been thinkin’ about you Jane,” I can here his dick getting hard.

“Geesh Jane, ya want to come over later?”

“Sure baby doll, in the neighbor hood buying donuts. Where are ya?”

“At the Voodoo Lounge Jane, be home later. I’ll call the guard, at the gate, go on in, you know where my crib is, don’t ya?”

“Sure, sweetie, I’ll just make my self at home, till rock boy gets home to mama. What kind a donuts do you like?”

You’re so fly, Jane. See ya soon.”

He bellows, I giggle.

I fight dry vomiting.

“OK mister rock star, see ya.”

”CLICK.”

The phone dies as I am certain that something else is going to die tonight. Maybe me, just don’t care.

That was easy. It’s always easy when cranked hormones battle testosterone.

Every bitch worth their salt knows that.

Twenty minutes later, I cruise up the guard gate, see a LVPD cop I know. He’s just one more cop working the night shift, trying to keep his kid in Kobe tennis sneakers.

He grins, I smile back, we chit chat back and forth. He got the message from Eddie. It’s all good.

The pylon red and white stripped elevates. In my calm mind, I know it might be a good thing a cop’s at the wall, might need that later. I make a mental note of it.

It’s the little things that can keep a girl from the silver table with a syringe duct taped to her arm.

Give my pal a wave, I drive through the gate and cruise past the last ditch palaces of the elite. Blocks later, manicured lawns, opulence, Mexican guys with rakes, leaf blowers, lawn mowers have made the place pretty. You know the hard working campesinos these white folks detest and whose privileged lives would be totally fucked without them.

I hang a left, stall out before the gate. Eddie gave me the code as I stab the numbers into the little box. The gate swings open, up the long drive I go. I see a black Bentley, ditto on the color Escalade parked in the circle drive. No Ferrari, guess he’s not home yet.

That’s a good thing.

I’ve been thinking about all of this and I have a plan. I don’t think I will need the 16 Gauge, so I grab my 38 from the glove box, stuff it into my back waistband. Not needing my shoulder holster, I stuff my Beretta in my front waist band, stiletto in my boot. I feel pretty good.

I open the door, real lady like. I’m practicing for later, step to the bricks and look at the moon. Umber yellow comes to mine. It’s full, and I’m feeling like I want to bay at it.

Move along girl, I do the stroll in.

I stall out in the entry way, peek up, way up about thirty feet, nod, then look straight ahead. I’ve been here before, remember most of it. The whore house looks like you could land a B-17 in it, huge, a real mausoleum of bad taste. It’s obvious that some crazed Peyote strung out interior decorator pulled out all the stops decorating it. You know, nothing personal, warm, everything expensive, no style and no heart. There are loungers, couches, tables, lamps, chairs, desks, nothing with a pulse to it, everything new and nothing old. The place makes me want to vomit, again.

I don’t figure he will be home, for awhile. So, it’s time to snoop around, my favorite thing. I’ve got this one word in my head, blinking on and off like blue neon, and that word is:

FROZEN. For the obvious fucking reasons.

Since I had a donut for dinner, I’m not hungry. So let’s see, where do people keep stuff frozen and a blue finger nail? It’s not like they got an ice house back there near the Jacuzzi. Oh yeah, the kitchen.

DUH.

Out comes my Beretta. I dangle it by my side. I sleuth to the edge of his vast living room and groan for bad taste run amok is everywhere. Money can’t buy style, class or friends. It can only buy you people that pretend to be your friends.

The place is huge, all kinda crap as my eyes fly across the room.

There’s an entertainment center, massive flat screens, two of them, CD, DVD players, gadgets, racks of CD’s, DVD, pop corn machine. I see bowls of nuts on the bar top, draft beer, bottles of booze everywhere. I’m not here to see a movie. But I might have a martini sitting on a corpse later if everything grifts out OK.

I move down the white tiles, find the kitchen, big chopping block and think of DeSade again. Good place to chop off a head, or some guys fingers, if that’s gets ya off.

The place looks sterile, bags of Doritos, Fritos, couple a bags of Ho Ho’s on the counter tops. The guy likes sweets. I see a big stainless steel fridge, freezer, GE I think. I got one too, though I can barely boil water. Cooking is not my thing.

I move to the fridge, pry open the door, usual suspects, beer and an apple in it.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away, not this time.

There’s Tupperware, old food, a couple of bottle of wine, red, white, pink, nothing there. So, I jack the freezer open, a few steaks and frozen TV dinners; to small of a place to freeze an angel in. I never thought it would be. There’s got to be another freezer, I’m certain. So I turn and walk into the pantry, sans utility room.

Stacked to the left, floor to ceiling, are these blue ceramic washer and dryer machines, GE again, and there’s that color blue again. It matches the color of the blood pumping, raging, screaming torrents of my own blood through my Sapphire, hard veins, directly into my head.

I glance left, there it is. I thought it would be.

One of those floor freezers, eight feet long, four feet high, planted to the white tiles. I really don’t want to open it. I really don’t want that. What if there’s another kid in it? Don’t think I could handle that, would have to go insane.

That would never do, just not yet that is.

Hard choices, sometimes are easy, this one was not. I move to the freezer, lay my hand on the chrome, open it, take a step back, cold kissing my cheek, face, lips. My face feels like a steaming car radiator. The cooling air seems to cool down the burning nuclear reactor that I am.

Nothing.

It is empty, cold, like her hands. Going to close it, I see something in a corner, something:

BLUE.

XXX

I’m hating the color indigo these days. So I bang my forehead with my silencers tip, just to stop from going completely nuts, my heart thumping. I calm, exhale, reach down, and pry my baby’s fingernail from the ice.

Swallowing my own bile, I lift it to my eyes, focus and, then my bod begins to shudder, shake and vibrate out of its pinions. I go down in a crouch, whack my face in my hands, hyperventilating. I’m trying to get it together, for good times are coming. I am positive about that.

FROZEN ALIVE.

Hammers my brain.

Don’t have a watch, but I can hear the Tick, Tick, Tick of my violence clock. It’s counting down, thundering in my temples, throbbing in my neck that is so filled with blood, it just might detonate before I do.

REALITY TIME.

I could call Lou; tell him what’s, what, and then what?

Lou, uniforms, cops blue and whites, homicide dicks, swat, crime scene kids, tweezers, hair, particle, fibers, DNA, Luminal, vacuum cleaners, maybe an eyelash left over from the kid. Maybe they would find traces of her blood too and another blue finger nail.

Bull horns blasting.

“EDDIE JETT, WE GOT THE PLACE SURROUNDED, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.”

Sure, right, OJ all over again.

Could ya see it, big money lawyers, grafts, charts, DNA guys and spin doctors pointing at charts with pointers.

Up is down. Down is up, pathologists and maybe get Alan Dershowitz, maybe that Jap guy again.

If the glove-don’t fit, you can’t convict.

Yeah, she was just visitin’, sellin’ Girl Scout cookies, a dirty little whore. Tole me she was eighteen. Who me? She slipped on a banana peel. I bought her a ice crème cone. Weren’t my fault, drugs, never touch them, who me?

And on and on it would go.

Nope, that’s not the way I see it going down, that is if I’m not violently snuffed tonight. Anything can happen, it usually does. There’s no delusion left in my life. I guess ya know why. It’s better for me to fight for the kid then to wimp out like a pussy not doing my thing for her. I do know that.

I think I’ve figured out the Eddie Jett play, how it will go down. If it all goes down like I’m figuring, then I will send Lou a post card, you know.

“Dear Lou, on vacay,The Lakes. Been kayaking, eating donuts, having a great time, wish you were here, check the freezer out at Eddie Jetts. I think he left a blue popsicle for you, lotsa love, smooches, Janie.”

Yeah, I could do that, because I’m not gonna kill Eddie, I mean the hard way, the easy way. Why because I need to get the docs name, you know. I need to get the fucking savage who sluiced out my little sweethearts lobes like he needed them to make a pizza.

Anyways, that’s later, if there is a later.

So I move, and a minute later, I’m in the living room, sneaking around, Beretta banging my knee. I’m hanging around the entertainment center, that’s what they call them over there at Wal Mart. All the guys have them. You know, flip flops, pizza, Tom Brady jerseys, big guts, case or two of Bud, NFL Sundays, with the guys. Ego centric, done nothing mucks, with massive snout egos, no lives, no futures, no reason to be anything.

That’s cause there mommy’s been telling them from the time they squirted outta the womb, that little Jimmy is fucking perfect. Then they moan that no bitch will give them play, which one eventually will, because she’s stone cold desperate. That’s another tragic American story.

Because my brain is basically a hard drive, I see stuff, in the margins. As me and my silencer moves down the rack of DVD’s, CD’s my silencer click, click, clicking on them, I see he’s a porn guy, a Disney flick guy too.

There’s Little Mermaid, Snow White, Dumbo, kids stuff, why am I not surprised.

I fucking cringe, thinking about Missy.

Maybe he showed her a flick, just before you know he cut the fucking life outta her head hoping to make a human Barbie doll out of her.

Silencer tip stops, some custom CDs, black marker scribbles on them, some kinda code on them. There’s about a dozen or so of them. I get it. I get it real fast because that’s how my fucked up brain works.

I see one, YSSIM, cleaver, know exactly what it is. My blood runs cold. I pull it out and it feels like a slab of ice as I violently inhale a hit of oxygen through my nose.

Kicking open the DVD machine, I slot it in, fire her up. Then, the big screen stutters to life. It’s shadowy in Eddie’s tomb, most of the lights dead in the room. I grab the remote, stab the button, step back, knowing some horror movie, don’t like them, is about to debut. It’s one I really don’t want anything to do with.

The movie comes on. It’s a home production. All I can feel is the flickering lights burning on my eyeballs, my face, lips twitching, as I watch, watch it all.

There she is, the kid, on his bed. Uncle Eddie is there too. She’s holding a doll, blond like her.

You figure it all out.

I can’t talk about it as I feel my donuts coming up.

I fall to my knees, vomit and dry vomit again and, then fingers pressed to my eye balls, peeking through them. I see horror, pain, agony blow torched to my screaming eyes. Standing, I have to support myself against a sedan as then:

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

I blink, blink, blink again.

Turning, there’s Eddie standing there, 6ft 2, faded jeans, all sinewy and such, cosmetic surgery run amok. He’s bare chested, bare foot, gut, dyed black hair, holding a plastic bag in his hand. Maybe he bought me some donuts, don’t know?

He looks like Keith Richards, on a bad day, a very bad day. I reflex, just a little, still stunned, as my Beretta on its own accord begins to lift and, then a “PISSST” whistles through the room.

I literally can see the tiny wires as they rake towards me. The Taser darts, two of them spit into one of my breasts, two red dots appearing; Missy kinda dots.

I yelp, vibrate, shake, my eyes go static, my brain too, white lights, pain, lots of it and I fall, KO’ed, count of ten.

Then, there is only darkness.

XXX

“When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are.

Anything your heart desires will come true.

If your heart is in your dreams, no request is too extreme.

When you wish upon a star as dreamers do.”

I CAN hear music, sounds familiar, like from that Pinocchio flick.

You know, that puppet stick kid with the long snoz, had big dreams. You know, like the kind Missy probably had.

As a kid I liked that fairy tale, I guess most kids did.

Life lessons, we all need them. Lying gets you Zinc. I always try to tell the truth, learned that lesson long time ago.

I don’t feel that good and, then my eyes blink open and take a sec to focus. The TV is on, a Disney film, liked most of them too when I was a youngling’.

I try to move, zilch.

I’m sitting naked, in a chair, wrists, ankles duct taped to it. MY bare feet are dancing a little. I’m already enraged, doesn’t take long for me, as I all coy and such peek straight ahead through these little slits on my frosted eyes.

There’s Eddie, near the table, pacing back and forth like a lab rat. He’s edgy, completely cranked, mumbling to himself, my Beretta in his white knuckles, plastic bag on the table top.

There’s my 38, stiletto and his Taser pistol, a mound of coke, I think, on a mirror. A tea spoon is sitting next to some DVD’s. Guess we were going to watch a video later; kinda sweet that.

You know, after he sodomized me, fucked the neon outta my eye sockets. Could of been a hoot, I suppose.

I want to be prepared, so I spread my thighs, so he can see the sunshine exuding out of my cunt. That usually works, as I kinda clear my throat. He jerks his head to me, and I purr all demure and such.

“Hey baby, what’s up sweetness?”

He stops pacing, bolts his eyes on me. His jaw is grinding, licking his lips, eyes stark, wild and wired. His eyes dance all around naked moi. Especially that special place that a man spends nine months trying to get out of and the rest of his fucking life trying to get back in.

“Ja..Ja...Jane...I...I...I...” He stutters.

“Hey Eddie, chill, what you mad at me? Thought we were going to play some tonight. What you don’t like me no more?”

I can see he’s really confused. He’s mind flipping back and forth between hatred, love, anger and a dick that in the end will make the final decision for him.

He walks over to me, leers at me, and reaches back.

“Whamo.”

He viciously slaps me in the face, cutting my lip.

WOW.

My head whips to the side. I see stars and clarity. I whip it back, blood in my mouth. Grinning, I like like the taste of it in my mouth. I need that taste and, then purr again.

“Ooooh baby, now don’t go teasing a girl handsome.”

He grins, real wide like at me.

He likes my play.

If I don’t get it right, he may beat me to death.

So, I chuckle, just a little, tilt my head and real cute like, wink my right eye at him. You know, blink, blink, blink telling him that’s where I want it next.

“How about a little fist action, you big stud?”

He nods out several times, giggles. I know he thinks I’m a doll and, then:

“THUD.”

He fists me in the eye, no bone cracks. I’m glad about that. My head rams to the side, my chin falls to my tiny breasts, and I see red balloons, 4th of July fire works, sparklers and a blue finger nail in a floor freezer.

I can feel blood, its warm straight out of the vein, spilling down my eye, cheek, melon ball time.

I’ve had worse.

I actually feel pretty good, but know I, even me, can’t take much more. So I lift my chinny chin chin, give him my best blood stained smile and go to work.

“Wooo, I think I’m in love...Come on Eddie, I’ve been dreamin about this, you going to fuck me, or what. I thought you we’re The Candy Man? Come on, my cunt feels like it could bake a tray a chocolate chip cookies in it. I want it Eddie, I want it real bad. I think I love you.”

Zingo.

The magic word.

In the end the lie always gets the diamond ring.

His brow crinkles, and I see love in his cranked out blues. I make sure my knees are spread wide, as he kneels, puts the Beretta next to my vibrating feet, leers into my eyes and touches some blood from my lips.

“Geeesh Jane....”I...I didn’t mean to hurt ya...Ahh...I’m sorry...Th...The TV...it...was an accident...We was playing, things got outta hand...You believe me don’t ya Jane. Bobby said, you was pissed...real pissed...You ain’t mad at me Jane...You really like me...I...I mean really.” He pathetically spiels me like Sally Fields at the fucking Oscars.

“Sure baby, I’ve been dreamin’ about this, long time. I believe ya, I know, the little shit balls never shut their yaps, probably got what she deserved. No problema, are we going to party, or not?”

I want to vomit, but I’m close.

Queen takes king every time, if a girl is cleaver.

“You’re not lying Jane, you really love me?

Blah, blah, blah.

The last thing on earth I told I loved we’re my fucking gold fishes Gumbo and Stella and Bijoux as I force a tear from my eyeball. You know, just for effect. Guys are saps for weepers.

“Fucking A, I’m ready, shit happen. Hey baby, (I am so into talking street) you gonna Bogart that coke. Who’s a girl gotta fuck around here to get a toot?”

He brightens up, nods manically, slaps his thigh and kisses me on the blue bruise and blood on my balloon eye. He forgets my Beretta.

Fuck, I wish I could shoot it with my toes as he stands and says gaily.

“Sheesh, where are my manners, be right back.”

“I’ll be waitin, sweetie.”

He skips over to the coke, stabs a tea spoon in it, tales a snort, punches his static finger into it and pushes it all around his gums. I watch as he seems to vibrate all over. he leers at me, walks over and kneels.

He puts the powder to my nose as he shuts down my other nostril with a finger. II inhale, jolt, jolt, jolt, perfect, a little pick me up, I needed that. He does the other. I’m feeling better by the minute, let’s get it over. Falling on his bare heels, he lifts my Beretta, looks of a honey moon soon to come in his bleached eye balls.

“Come on honey bunny, let’s do it. Let’s fuck. I gotta go see my sick sister at the trailer park over there in Barstow manana. i think she ate some bad donuts. You know Eddie, wash cloth on her forehead, hand holding, some chicken soup.”

I figure his brain and dick we’re warring, me knowing which will finally win. He looks at me long, hard and grins.

“You ain’t lyin’ Jane, ya ain’t mad at me...Promise.”

I look at him in shock.

Me lie, never. I’d tell him GWB was fucking genius if that would get the goddamn duct tape off of my purple feet and wrists.

“You Tarzan me Jane.” I say real sweet. Let’s party mister man.”

He giggles.

“Come on Baby, if you cross your heart and hope to die and Boy Scout me you won’t pull the trigger, I’ll let you fuck my ass with that Beretta, maybe some plastic bag action too. Come on, let’s rough it up. You just tippy toe over there, get my knife, hit that little button, and let’s do it. Pleeeeease, I’m melting here.” I wine, more tears as I start to pout

Guys love that shit.

“Geeesh Jane, you’re just the best.”

I go all shucks on him, giggle and tilt my head at the table at my stiletto. He kisses me on the lips. I him smooch back. He stands, moves to the table, picks up my stiletto, looks at me. I toss him an air kiss with my cut to shit lips. Simply adoring cute me, he catches it.

Fucking perfect. Love will fuck you every time.

This sweetheart knows that rule so very well, as the tune Love is in the air, air conditions thru my cabasa.

Mating time is soon. I can hardly wait.

XXX

Though I hate coke, but, it was the right thing to do. For I have to remember, he is a man, sorta a big man, fueled by drugs, a hard dick, and I feel super duper alert. I smile, as he kneels before me and cuts the tape from my wrists and ankles that feel numb.

Fucking free at last, thank god free at last. A great black dude once said that.

Now, he may be Dracula reincarnate, but he’s no dummy. So he stands, backs up, fondling my baby Baretta in his hand as I let the blood COD back into my feet and hands.

A moment or two pass and there, I’m set, ready.

I hope he remembers that I said I like it rough.

I give him the Full Monte, stretch real high with hands thrown above my head. I do a little spineroo so he can see the whole package. Facing him, I parse my lips.

Little girl time, he likes it, a lot.

I sluice over to him on my tip toes, press my package against him and touch his face and that hideous black painted hair. I give him one of Jane’s blue light special kisses, which pretty much sets everything perfect.

His mouth tastes like coals from a barbecue, don’t mind as I touch his body. I am probing, for a street fighter needs to know who her foe is as my fingers continue to check out his muscle structure. I can feel his junk pressed against my cunt, as his free hand finds my bump of an ass.

Men, girls just love it.

OK.

He’s a burnt out bag of guts, good. I back up, just a bit, smile, blood on my teeth and blue swollen closed eye and, then purr like the kitten I am.

“You read to party, mister rock star?”

I’m just so fucking adorable, like I mean what could possibly go wrong?

He grins at me and, then wheezes, all happy now and such.

“Hell yes Jane.”

I smile, rear my head back and skull fuck his nose with my forehead.

“CRACK.”

Kabooms everywhere, as he shrieks, throws his hand to his face still holding my Beretta. Blood is everywhere. He slams back into the wall, moaning and weeping. Of course I simply watch because I have a secret.

I’m in no hurry, for I’m a gal with a plan, a sweet plan. So I wait for the weeping to stop. Dropping his bloody hands he leers at me all rabid and so. I look at the blood on his hand and I feel hurt, for all the love is gone from his face. He snarls at me. Lifting the Beretta he points it at my nose and seethes.

“You fucking bitch, you broke my nose.” He evilly grins, pay back in his face.

I smile and, then:

“CLICK.”

“Fooled you.” I giggle, cause I have this little safety secret button on my Beretta.

You know. Just in case some kid like Glenda or Zoe is playing with my gun; don’t want them to ever blow a cute little toe off.

I can see he’s not happy.

I just wish I had a little red flag sticking out of my Beretta’s snout, saying “Bang.”

That woulda been sweet.

“I thought you said you liked it rough, honey bunny?” I chirp.

“CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.” I moan as he keeps pressing the trigger.

Now Judo is a beautiful thing. As I mentioned before Its all about pressure points, joints, and such. I have a third degree black belt, and can take one of those NFL walruses down by bending his pinkie back just like I did with my ex, Tina Barks.

Of course Eddie doesn’t know that, not just yet anyhoooo. I haven’t erupted yet, because what I am about to do, is going to take a long, long time. It is, going to take a very long time.

So I simply reach out, grab the silencer connected to my heater. His finger is still in the lock as I violently rip down, multiple fracturing his finger, taking him to the ground as I do.

He shrieks in very cool pain and begins to whimper like the bitch that he is.

I take my gun and head bang him with the butt, very controlled. I don’t want him out. Not just yet.

Splitting skull is fun as he shrieks again, yips and yelps, gawking at his finger that now looks like a pretzel.

Blood is everywhere. I intended that, mop time later. I do a little dance backwards and whirl with my hands thrown into the air, teeth grinding, eyes screaming, feeling wild and crazed. Facing him off as he finally stands I lift his head with my gun barrel tip.

My goodness, if looks could kill I would be a dead bitch. But they don’t, yet still my feelings are hurt.

I can see his eyes darting at my walk around 38 on the desk and, then back at me.

Oh really.

I wag the silencer back and forth at him, reminding him not to be hasty. I figure decision makings has never been his strong point. He gets it as I do one of those little back hand finger curl invites to him.

I’m a stylist after all, can’t help myself. Drama, I love it. He snorts in his rage, blood too. Remember I’m a pixie. I mean how hard could it be to choke the life out of a skinny fairy? I see it in his plate eyes.

I do the finger curl again, you know, Jett Lee style, which enrages him. He scream’s, shrieks and rips towards me enraged.

Perfect.

He round houses me and I do a little steparoo to the side. With controlled force, I Judo chop him in the larynx. He instantly coughs, sputters, wails, or tries to as I grab his wrist, twist, and violently flip him up and around smashing his back into the plate glass of this nifty coffee table his interior decorator got him.

The glass explodes, shatters, as he screams in pain. The throat shot was perfect. It always is, as he’s trying to suck CO-2 in. He’s wheezing, weeping, moaning, mumbling, wining about something again. I hate whiners.

Me, well I’m doing one of those The Rock WWF struts. You know, you see those Hulk Hogan dudes do in the ring, as I watch him hyperventilating trying to suck in oxygen. My throat chop was controlled and perfect.

Heck, I coulda crushed his wind pipe, killing him instantly. But where would of been the fun in that?

Coke is a power packed fuel as I watch as he struggles out of the glass. There are blood shards staked in his arms, chest, feet, forehead and I can see he’s not that happy with me.

Well join the fucking list buckaroo.

I smile, air kiss him again and feel sorta shunned. He doesn’t grab it this time, which hurts my feelings. He then roars, I mean its prime evil and there he goes again, bull rushing me.

Oh me oh my, I’m so scared, tee hee, hee.

He reaches me, arms extended, hands like claws. I move between his arms like a shadow. Feet planted, I take my palm, and ram it into his nose again. He screams, as I then, fingers pointed into a Judo wedge, give him a liver shot.

Not a pleasant thing, for it you’ve ever gotten one, well you know. It feels like a branding iron is melting your liver. Ask Oscar De LaHoya about that.

I hear lots of shrieking, spasms, screaming and moaning as he goes down. I straddle his arm, take his arm and snap it completely in half at the elbow, which blasts a bellow of pain from him. I step back, smiling as I do.

So far. So good.

I figure he’s done, but I am surprised that he’s not. Maybe he’s been trippin’ on TCP. That would be an unexpected gift. I hope so.

Like I told you about crystal meth, well TCP is even worse. My cop amigos have told me that they’ve put dozens into a guy’s bod usin’ TCP, just kept coming. They finally had to unleash the big artillery on the dude to finally put, lights out.

I don’t know how long it took for his liver to smile again, but he stood, looking really bad. He still looked angry with me, and in truth, I was getting a little bored with it all.

I had gotten something off of the table, so I had to let it out. All of it.

Remembering the color blue, I then lost it, shrieked, as my heart, mind finally blew up.

I shrieked as I ran completely insane at him. Wailing and screaming like a banshee I leaped on him, wrapping my legs around his waist, glass digging into me. I didn’t mind that at all.

I head butted him again, just because I could. Then, I tried to eat his nose off his face with my teeth. He went down as my legs spread eagled on his waist.

I instantly bellowed to the moon, wrapped the plastic bag around his head, snuck around to his back, wrapped my legs around his waist. I slashed the plastic tight, real tight, as I calmed, and his body bucked. He flailed with his one good arm, slapping at the bag as I seethed into his ear.

“For that little girl, you fucking puke, for Missy.”

Lights out, like I said, I didn’t want him dead, just yet that is.

Because I still needed a name, which I was certain when me and my pals were finished with him, he would give up I was patient.

Unconscious, him, not me and after I duct taped him like a Xmas present.

I then took a shower.

xxx

“OUCH.”

My cut lips, body and eye hurt, a lot. But it was a good hurt. As I sat there on the teak bench, just letting the hot water sooth my aches, every ache in my body, except my mind of course felt a smidgen better.

My clothes and boots felt good, white gym socks, too. I like being naked, but only when I’m trysting between the sheets.

I found a dolly in the garage, loaded Eddie onto it like a sack of turnips. I grabbed my stuff, and a few other things, loaded him into the Buicks trunk. I lit up a smoke, ouch, my lip hurt, didn’t mind.

Hopping the door, I stared at some stars. They looked pretty.

Slotting my Boston Red Sox’s hat on, some shades, I fired up my Betty Mobile.”

I drove to the barber poles. I smiled at my cop buddy, he smiled back. Giving him a wave, I drove away a happy girl.

I then, was gone, my mission still not completed.

Next stop a little desert hideaway I know about, where a man’s secrets can and always are exposed.

Work for the night finally done, I felt pretty good about everything, except my dead girl sleeping in the Tombs, now and forever.

Xxx