Ok, before I post the second half of the noir
story, Let me just express how f***ed up my evening has been.
My back is killing me. I was late to work because of a homeless guy. I need gas-x.
So, I'm not sure how many of you do this, but I give nicknames to the street people I see walking to and from work. Back in Fairborn, we had two or three, one of whom always wore read, was chubby, and had gray hair. Thus why we all called him Santa. Well, on the way into work, Military man stopped me, asking what I thought of the government taking taxes out of my check. I told him. As it turned out, he agreed with me. He then proceeded to go on at length about how credit cards are "the mark of the beast", how the small pox virus is being distributed via cell phones, and how when the revolution comes, I should stand with him. It was just too damn good to NOT
listen to. I haven't been that entertained in ages. Anyway, I gave him a dime, since it was the only change I had on me. He gave it back to me. I gave him a Winston. That he did take, then he proceeded to offer me oral sex for a pizza when I got off work. Is it wrong for me to feel flattered about that? Probably. All I know is that I'm in heat right now. Which I'm sure no one on here wanted to know.
Which brings us to tonight's second half of The Maltese Dildo. I'm not very happy with it, but since I posted the very rough first half, I might as well post the rest of it.
Be warned, it does get rather...um...suggestive.
Vinnie’s office was furnished in decade old Art Deco décor. There were enough obsidian obelisks on every flat surface to please a tribe of Amazons. I did like the Erte drawings, but it all seemed too tasteful for such a sleazy establishment. Kind of like hanging a DaVinci in a gutter. Vinnie sat behind his desk in his Italian suit, looking over the figures of his business. Joseph coughed discreetly to let Vinnie know we had arrived.
“Ah, Mr. Chestnut. To what do I owe the honor of your presence here at my club, where you were told never to come?” Vinnie asked, looking up. Vinnie was olive-skinned, and still wore old-fashioned wire spectacles to correct his horrid eyesight. He too wore the pinstripe suit that was all the rage among the Italians in town; however, the jacket was hanging on the chair behind him, allowing all to see the shoulder holster he was wearing.
“Well, Vinnie,” I said, trying not to sweat under the probing looks he was giving me. I could tell he was trying to make me submissive to his will, but I wasn’t about to let that happen. It was about time someone showed Vinnie that other men had balls just as big as his. “Your chanteuse invited me tonight. Something about the Maltese Dildo.”
“Why that little minx,” Vinnie swore, pounding his fist into the table. “Joe, go and fetch me Ms. Scarlett. It’s about time she learned to keep her mouth shut.”
“Yes, boss,” Joe said, as he stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him.
“You know, Vinnie,” I said conversationally, trying to return some of the bravado that Vinnie was projecting, “It’s nice to know that both of our henchmen have no vocabulary skills.”
“That was a bad gambit, Mr. Chestnut.” Vinnie stood, towering over me. The man was huge. I could tell. He also wasn’t wearing pants. “And I don’t know much about the Maltese Dildo. And I sure as hell didn’t want Ms. Feaver running her mouth to a two-bit gumshoe like you.”
“Well, it’s a little late for that now.”
“Yes it is,” Vinnie said, sighing. “Have a seat, Mr. Chestnut.”
I sat down across the desk from Vinnie, and he sat down again.
“Mr. Chestnut, perhaps I can use you after all.”
“Run that by me again.”
“Let me explain what little I know about the Dildo, and then maybe you can determine if you can help me.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied, hoping I was buying time for Hector on whatever mission he was currently involved in.
“A long time ago, during the reign of Emperor Phat Ho I in China, a cabal of sorcerers emerged. They referred to themselves as the Order of the Sacred Snow, and their idol was a giant phallus encrusted with jewels. Legend had it that the idols they made all had the secret powder the Order had found to arouse men to new heights of sexual compulsion and desire. The order fell apart when the Emperor died and Emperor Fock Me took the reigns. According to most sources, that was the end of the Order. However, I have found evidence that a few members of the Order took their secrets and fled to Malta. In Malta, they continued to make the sacred powder, and even made a few more phallic idols. One of those idols made its way here to San Francisco. What I want is that idol. A powder that makes men feel sexual desire more strongly than normal would be a great boon to my business.”
“And what is it that you would like me to do?” I asked, pondering the implications of introducing such a substance into the populace. The idea of several thousand gay men running around like moose in rut was frightening to contemplate. Although it would raise my chances of getting a date on a Saturday night.
“I want to hire you to find the idol, Mr. Chestnut. If you can find it and give it to me, I will give you whatever you want. I’m a powerful man, Mr. Chestnut. I can get you whatever you desire most.”
I contemplated this idea for a moment. Yes, I was a dic, but I thought I had scruples. But that was a hard offer to turn down. “Ok, I’ll do it,” I answered. “But on one condition.”
“You’re hardly in a position to bargain here, Mr. Chestnut. But go on, entertain me.”
“My condition is this. Should the idol exist, and still contain this miracle aphrodisiac, I want you and me to be the first to try it.”
“That sounds acceptable,” Vinnie said. “I wonder what’s taking Joe so long to get back here?”
Vinnie checked his office intercom and called down to the front door. A voice on the other end informed him that Ms. Feaver and Mr. Rothschild had left in the company of a short man of Spanish descent. A note had been left with the bouncer to the effect of “We’re off to get the idol, so long suckers.”
Vinnie swore loudly. “Get up, Mr. Chestnut; we’re going to go find them.” He and I ran quickly to his car, and set out on the trail of our double crossing henchman. It wasn’t that hard; they had stolen my car. My car stands out even in the rain-soaked streets on San Fran. It’s the only Packard painted bright pink. We caught a glimpse of them as the headed into the Tenderloin district, and from there we drove to the outskirts of SoMa. The pink car stopped in from of Sam’s café American, at which point we parked illegally and ran in. I caught a glimpse of them as they ran up the steps. I got my piece at the ready and ran after them, Vinnie hot on my heels. As we arrived on the third floor, filled with apartments, I saw Scarlett drop in to room 323.
Vinnie and I stealthily clung to the wall and made our way to the room. I knocked, and Hector answered by shooting at the door. I know it was Hector, since I heard him swear at the flash burn. That was our cue. I broke down the door, and rushed in, followed by a more cautious Vinnie. Our three treacherous henchmen stood in front of us, nursing Hector’s burned hand. On the table behind them sat the jewel encrusted Maltese Dildo. Finding it was going to be a lot easier than I thought.
“OK, everyone freeze!” I yelled, trying to sound authoritative. It seemed to work. Then I got conked on the head.
I woke up with a blinding headache. I tried to rub my forehead, but someone had bound my hands. I tried sitting up, but my feet were also bound. I opened my eyes to find Vinnie standing over me.
“Where are the others?” I asked, amazed at how dry my mouth was.
“Joseph returned to the club with Scarlett. Your little henchman was paid off and returned to whatever little hovel he calls home. In the meantime, welcome to Telegraph Hill, and my home, Mr. Chestnut.”
“Why am I here?”
“You see, Mr. Chestnut, this has been a ruse from the start. Two weeks ago, Ms. Scarlett came by and cut me a deal. Although you may know her better as Mr. Rogers. You know, the gentleman you managed to get arrested during that raid on my rum shipping. It seems his father had come across the Dildo while serving in the Great War. He inherited it a year or so ago, did a bit of research and thought I might be interested in it. We saw it as a perfect way to get our revenge on you.”
“You twisted bastard,” I managed to spit out.
“Such language, Mr. Chestnut. And now, I have you here, tied naked to my bed. My revenge is almost complete.”
“If you’re going to kill me, then do it. Anything is better than listening to you talk.”
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Chestnut. I have a much better idea than that. You see, we haven’t tried the potency of the drug yet. You wanted to be the first to try it, now you’re going to get your wish.”
I was in trouble. I knew it. Vinnie put a bit of the beige powder in his cocaine spoon and stuck it under my nose. I tried holding my breath, but he pinched my nipple, making me inhale.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mr. Chestnut. You should be more cooperative then.”
I lay there, trying hard to resist the nascent desire that was becoming painfully obvious. I realized I was naked, tied to a bed, and I had a mad Mafioso coming back to check on me. I was deep in the Kim Chee.
Vinnie returned a few minutes later as promised. He teasingly touched my exposed stomach. After watching me struggle, he laughed. “Well, now we know the drug works.” He proceeded to take a snort of the powder himself, and then stripped down naked.
“This is my revenge, Mr. Chestnut. While your desire remains unsatiated, I am going to slake my own hungers on your body several times.”
I wish I could say I resisted his efforts at revenge, but I would be lying. Vinnie was a master at the torture he performed, forever taking me close to climax, but never allowing release. And in the meantime, he satisfied himself at least 5 times that I counted. By the time he finished, I was ready to gnaw my arm off in order to get free to gain my own release. But Vinnie surprised me. One touch of his lips to the area most affected by the power, and my desire was spent. But he still didn’t untie me.
He walked over to the room’s bathroom, and got a washcloth. As he washed himself off, he hummed. Only after he had finished cleaning himself off did he clean me.
“You know, Mr. Chestnut, I like you like this. How would you like a job?”
“Doing what?” I asked, exhausted.
“I need a personal assistant, someone to work under me. The pay’s great, and I’ll give you all the drugs you want.”
What else could I do? I agreed. So, now I work for Mr. Pavianni every night. I guess you could say I’m a new kind of private dic now.
I dunno, it really isn't what I set out to write. And the tone really never meshed right. There are a few spots where I got it right, but I blew the ending.