John Malloy-Private Dick (4) the Blackmailed Beauty a iled

+*John Malloy-Private Dick*+ 4
          (The Blackmailed Beauty)

          +Sergeant Bill Withers+

I had my arms crossed, resting my elbows on my battered desk, taking a gander past my bottle of Johnny Walker at the red-dressed Hedy Lamar look-alike, sitting in my flower-print wingback, which was pressed against the far wall.

Lana is easy on the eyes. Mine kept going to the milky-white skin of her lower thigh, which was peeping out, thanks to her curvy, crossed gams.

I was having a hard time keeping my mind on the business she was tossing my way. "OK, toots," I finally managed. "Clue me on your first encounter with this corrupt flatfoot who's  trying to blackmail you."

She tugs at her hem, which is a couple of inches above her knees.
She clears her throat. "It was the afternoon of  the day I came home from Miss Hepburn's house, as I told you. The doorbell chimed, and when I opened the door, he was standing in the hallway, staring at me with his bloodshot, piggy eyes.  His face was as red as a beet from getting his big, fat body up the stairs to the second floor of my apartment building. He looked just awful, John."

 I saw her shudder at the memory.
"I've seen a hundred of those blimpy, lazy mugs when I was on the force, before the war," I told her.

 "He just pushed his way past me and lumbered over to my couch, and plopped down, heavily. He smelled like stale whisky and rancid sweat! He scared the living daylights out of me, before he even said a word! I still remember the first thing out of his fat, drooling mouth.....

"Mind if I come in, sweet cheeks?" He was still puffing from the climb up the stairs. "You and me got some bizness ta discuss, girlie!"  

"Who are you?" I demanded. "And how dare you barge into my apartment!  I'm going to call the police, if you don't leave, this very instant!"

"Take it easy, girlie," he wheezed. "I am the police! I'm Sergeant Bill Withers, at yer service, 'an in yer pretty little skivvies, if  I want it that-a way!" He snorted and spit into a handkerchief. "We need ta talk 'bout yer little sex romp with a certain famous flicker star! I got pitchers, girlie! I got pitchers 'a you goin' down on that Hepburn broad, out by the pool!  An' it's gonna cost ya, big-time, little girl!"

He wadded his kerchief and stuffed into his breast pocket. "That Hepburn dyke is too big 'a fish fer me ta fry, but, yer just pan-size, honey!"

I watched as sweat trickled down his bald head and drip from the tip of his red, lumpy nose.

"I don't have any money," I told him.

He started laughing, with a nasty chest rattle, like a person who chain-smoked all day. "I checked ya out, kiddo! Ya ain't got a pot ta piss in, right now! But I  know  ya got a filthy-rich old bat of an aunt, who's 'bout ta kick the 'ol bucket, any day! I can wait 'til then ta git my share 'a that million samolians ya got comin'. And  I found out yer her only livin' relative, ta boot!"

I was just flabbergasted, John," she finished, shaking her head. "He told me if I didn't give him a third of my inheritance, he would ruin me in the film industry, and sell those awful pictures to the press! I just don't know what to do about anything! Can you help me, John?

"I still don't get the connection between the Withers clown and you," I said, scratching my noggin. "How'd he get on your trail, in the first place?"

She made a cute, pouty face and looked at me, with the sweetest trusting eyes you'd ever wanna see. "He told me he was watching Kukor's party, looking to get the dirt on just anyone. When he saw Scotty and I leaving for Miss Hepburn's house, he followed, because he knew Scotty was a high-profile pimp, and he knew whose house it was we went to.  He watched Miss Hepburn's house all night. That's how he got thosen photographs of me and Miss Hepburn the next morning. He is a very evil man, John. He frightens me. What should I do?"

"You have a problem, for sure, Lana," I admitted.  "Give me a couple of days, and I'll find out if this fat slob has a soft underbelly I can gut for you."

Lana jumped up and beat her pretty little feet around  my desk, and planted a delicious open-mouthed kiss, right on my grateful kisser, lasting a deliriously long time.

When it was over, she looked up to me, with tears rolling down her pale cheeks, and whispered, "Is there anything I can do to show you my appreciation, John?"

"I think there just might be," I grinned down at her beautiful puss. "Show me the moves you put on Hepburn, out by that pool."

She smiled, sweetly. Lana then dropped to her knees. I heard my zipper singing a happy little tune, on its way down to make way for paradise to come for Detective, John Malloy.

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