The Fatal Lie: Pt.2 free porn video

It was 1930, and life was closing in on folks ever since the Stock Market crash the year before. The only people making money were gangsters and bootleggers for this was still Prohibition in the United States

Cliff, a private investigator out of Chicago was, as they say, "on assignment" headed for Las Vegas. He had left earlier in the day from the place Carl Sandburg described as:

Hog Butcher for the World,

Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,

Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;

Stormy, husky, brawling,

City of the Big Shoulders

Cliff personified the city. He was one of the strong, hard drinking blue collar guys that Sandburg wrote about. He also was a serial womanizer.

He had made it to Joplin, Missouri that first day. A large neon sign that blinked ROOMS caught his eye. It was a dive, but cheap, and he needed the rest. After checking in at the hotel, Cliff found an all night diner just outside of town. He ordered a sandwich and coffee. It would be an unusually early night for a gumshoe like Cliff and coffee was not his drink of choice. He needed a solid six hours before hitting the road the next day.

Route 66 was a long lonely road leading west. The daytime heat made him drowsy as he passed Oklahoma City and Amarillo. It would be Albuquerque where Cliff would stop on the second night and another cheap hotel. He was tired and the next day would be another long drive to Nevada.

Before turning in, Cliff got lucky. Not with a woman this time, but with his second love, jazz. He switched on the radio hoping to find something he liked. After dialing two or three stations, he hit the jackpot. Cliff heard the announcer introduce a live broadcast from the New Cotton Club in L.A. The young hot trumpeter, Louis Armstrong, was on the air.

Cliff knew of Armstrong from Chicago where Cliff had seen him at one of Capone's clubs. It was in that club Cliff connected with Bobby Farrell and Molly. At the time, both were just getting started at Kelly's Pleasure Palace. Apparently, Bobby was a great jazz lover too, so they got along well. Cliff was hired almost on the spot to keep the peace at Kelly's.

The broadcast from L.A. only lasted a half hour, but Armstrong's last number nearly brought tears to Cliff's tired eyes when he heard the opening refrain, "My heart is sad and lonely." It was the new song that Stella had sung the night he decked the DA's brother-in-law. When it was over, Cliff switched off the radio to find a phone to call Stella.

He made it sound as if he was checking in on Trudy. In truth, the trip had already been long and lonely. He needed to hear a friendly voice, Stella's voice. Cliff missed Stella's sarcasm and rhetorical questions. Most of all, he craved her body beside him.

The first voice Stella heard was the operator's. "Will you accept a collect call from Mr. Bradley?"

"Yes, miss," came the answer.

"Connecting now," she heard the operator say.

"Cliff, where are you? Are you okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine, Songbird. Just stayin' the night here in Albuquerque. How's things there?"

"Still hot, but Trudy and I are gettin' along good. She's like a sister, Cliff. When do you get to Nevada?"

"Tomorrow, doll. Looks like Las Vegas might be where Rossaleno is holed up, so that's where I'm headed."

"Cliff, I went to the office to check on things. You've got some mail, mostly bills. Someone came to the door this afternoon and left a box. Do you know what that's about?"

"No doll. What's in it?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't opened it yet. It's marked, 'Bradley, personal'."

"It's okay. Go ahead and open it when you get to the office tomorrow."

"By the way, Bobby wants to hear from you as soon as possible. The two Iowa thugs lookin' for Trudy have been snoopin' around and puttin' the arm on him. He wants to get this thing over with soon."

"Okay, I get it."

"Cliff, watch your back. That Rossaleno jerk could be dangerous."

"Will do, Songbird. I'll check with you tomorrow. Take care of Trudy and watch her like a hawk. She's got a mind of her own."

"Yeah, I know. Hurry back."

When they hung up, instead of feeling better, Cliff felt isolated and alone. He needed company.

Cliff asked at the desk where a thirsty guy could get a drink. The clerk nodded, then motioned toward the hotel basement. It looked like the inside of a coal car, dimly lit and dusty. Three people sat at the bar. One was an old man looking like a prospector from the gold rush days. The other two were a man and woman arguing about something.

Cliff ordered bourbon. It was served in a coffee cup old enough to have been used by the original Albuquerque settlers. He thought it was a nice touch given the Eighteenth Amendment. Yet he doubted the fuzz paid much attention to this run down establishment. Anyway, by 1930, everyone was breaking the law. Prohibition had become an unenforceable joke.

The couple continued their argument. It got ugly when the man shouted profanely and slapped her across the face. Then he stormed out of the place leaving her sobbing with tears rolling down her cheeks.

"This woman needs a drink," Cliff said to the man serving the prospector. He complied refilling her cup from an unmarked bottle. The woman turned to Cliff giving him a weak smile and an understated. "Thanks."

"My pleasure, mam," Cliff answered back.

She took several sips from the coffee cup before asking, "Where are ya from? You don't look like you're from around these parts."

"Chicago."

You're a long way from home. Where ya headed'?"

"Las Vegas. At least Vegas is where I think I'll meet my contact."

"You look like the kind of man that can take care of thugs like my husband."

"Was that your husband?"

"You guessed it." She moved closer to Cliff as if she wanted the conversation to be confidential. "I wish I'd never married him. We were barely out of high school, and he sort of swept me off my feet. I wish I'd known about his temper before we got married. And guess what? Our fourteenth wedding anniversary was yesterday. He didn't even notice. I could have used an anniversary kiss or maybe more, A woman needs it too, if you get my point."

Cliff got it, loud and clear.

The woman was dressed in a plain print dress. It looked old but neat. Her ordinary house dress did not hide the fact there was plenty of woman underneath. She looked her age, maybe a bit older. He suspected that life had been hard for her.

"What's your name, doll," he asked.

"Felicia, Felicia Fernandez."

Mrs. Fernandez had tanned skin, and her face suggested a trace of Navajo in her blood. Felicia must have been a beautiful girl when she was first married. Other than a large red blotch on her face from her husband's love pat, she was still easy on the eyes.

They continued to talk and drink over the next hour. Felicia was ruthlessly honest about everything. She told Cliff that the argument was about him having an affair with Norma, the town slut.

"That's when he called me a fuckin' slut and slapped me. Ya know Cliff, I really don't mind him bein' with another woman, but I want to get mine too. Do you see what I mean?"

"Sure doll. Maybe we can sort it all out upstairs."

"Let's have one more drink," she suggested.

They both were feeling no pain when walking into his hotel room. They weren't what you would call drunk, more like free of inhibitions. He opened the curtains letting in a slight breeze that drifted in through the open window. The moon was full, and illuminated the room like a dim forty watt light bulb.

Felicia wasn't the kind of woman playing hard to get. She seemed happy to be with Cliff, even eager. Her dress fell on the floor without a hint of embarrassment leaving only her bra and panties for Cliff to remove. It didn't take him long to remove them. She was naked beside him, and he was mesmerized by her large ripe breasts. Age had only enhanced them with time. They were the most delicious globes of low hanging passion fruit he had ever seen. They begged to be picked. Everything about her tits captivated him. Yet, he couldn't ignore the marks on her body that were unmistakable signs of abuse.

She helped him out of his pants, immediately remarking about his robust size. "I like a man to be big like you, Cliff. Lay on your back, and let me show you how a good woman takes care of her man."

Her tender stroking and licking, brought Cliff to an potent erection. Cliff's cock stood straight up, firm and solid like sailboat's mast. He fit nicely between her marvelous breasts as she tit fucked him for a long minute. She mounted him and swiftly drove his cock deep into her vagina. From there on, her Indian heritage took over. She rode him like a squaw in heat, giving him unparalleled sensations.

Cliff was in awe of her breasts swinging freely as she twisted her shoulders left and right while enjoying the earthly pleasures of his rock hard dick. Cliff had never seen a woman animated in that way. Each of her orgasms were accompanied by sighs of "Oh ... ahhh," with eyes half shut and a dreamy look of satisfaction.

When he came, Cliff ejaculated with multiple bursts like fireworks in July. Felicia's climax was an earthquake of spasms followed by powerful aftershocks. The two lovers collapsed in each other's arms and drifted off to sleep.

It was three in the morning when Cliff heard Felicia preparing to leave. She turned to him saying, "Thanks, Cliff, I needed that. I really didn't mind you cumming inside me tonight. You came with such a powerful force. I really miss that. I haven't had the feeling of a man's seed shooting me up for a long time. You know, I don't mind if you got me pregnant. My husband doesn't want kids, so we never do it the way I had it tonight.

Cliff said nothing as she turned and left, softly closing the door behind her. Cliff imagined Felicia was in for a beating when she got home, hoping their one night stand was worth it for her.

Cliff got a late start the next morning. He made a mental note that his next car would be a convertible. The old Hudson was serviceable, but not great for a long distance drive in the hot Southwest. His mind wandered while thinking about the mysterious box left at his office. He guessed it might be something to do this little road trip.

Cliff took picked up a bite to eat in Flagstaff before driving the five hours to Las Vegas. In Kingman, he left Route 66 to head north to Vegas. He passed Boulder City where there were already signs pointing to the construction site. "Help Wanted" signs were everywhere. He remembered reading that Boulder City was being built to house the construction workers. Rossaleno could be there, but Las Vegas was more likely.

Less than an hour later, Cliff's Hudson clanked it's way down Freemont Street in the middle of Las Vegas. The bank thermometer read 108, but that was in the shade. Later someone said, "It's hot in Vegas, but it's dry heat." It just felt like plain old hot heat to Cliff.

It had been less than a week since Sunday's double header at Comiskey and now in the desert, Cliff felt like he had landed on a different planet.

He checked in the most visible hotel and that was the Hotel Apache right in the middle of town. He needed a drink, so Cliff's first priority was to find a watering hole. Prohibition or not, it didn't take long. The town was wide open, the perfect location for the Mafia.

Outside the city limits he found himself at the Pair-O-Dice Club. A few slots were tucked in the corners of the room and the bar was well stocked. He ordered a shot of whiskey and washed it down with a beer that came in a cloudy bottle with no label. It sure as hell tasted good whatever it was. So did the next half dozen.

Cliff and the bartender, Angelina, hit it off from the start. She was older, about fifty, but pleasant and friendly. She wasn't afraid to talk.

"Where ya from, cowboy?"

"Chicago," Cliff answered.

"Ya gonna stay awhile or goin' to L.A.?"

"I'm not sure. The job market in Chicago ain't so good these days."

"Ya got a name?"

"Bradley."

"Well, Bradley, things are heatin' up around here, and it's not just the weather. The dam project and gambling are changing things big time in Vegas. Ya ought to stick around. Jobs are easy to find in these parts."

Angelina went on to say that the State was about to legalize gambling in town. "That's sure to bring in more undesirables from out of town," she said, "but it's okay as long as the Pair-O-Dice get its fair share of business. With the construction on the Colorado, there'll be plenty of business to go around.

"Look, Mr. Bradley, it's only half past eight. Why don't you get somethin' to eat and come back around midnight when things really happen here. It's too hot in the daytime.

"Where can I get a decent meal?" he inquired.

"Try the Oasis Restaurant. It's on the main drag near the Hotel Apache. It's not gourmet, but Sheila, the cook, puts out a pretty fair buffet."

"Thanks, Angel," and he walked outside into an early evening sauna.

Cliff wasn't particularly hungry. He needed sleep more than food. Back at the hotel, Cliff hit the sack for a short nap and woke up at ten the next morning. He had slept for more than twelve hours.

After a breakfast of ham and eggs and enough coffee to drown a whale, Cliff spent the afternoon beating the bushes hoping to flush out Tony, but daytime wasn't the right time to hunt down a skunk like Tony Rossaleno. Skunks are nocturnal animals. He'd have to wait until after dark.

At a little past ten that night, Cliff walked into the Pair-O-Dice Club. A few customers were at the bar, three men and a couple of dames, one of which was draped over a cowboy like an oversize trench coat.

Angelina wasn't tending bar. A rough lookin' guy was pourin' drinks and keepin' a animated conversation with a woman at the end of the bar. She looked to be a regular, if one can tell by the sound of her forced laugh each time he whispered in her ear.

Cliff ordered a boilermaker, and he heard noise coming from behind the door leading to the next room. He didn't have to have much of an imagination to know what was goin' on in there.

"Hey, you Bradley, the guy from Chicago?" the bartender asked.

"Yeah, whose askin'?"

"I'm Frank, Angelina's husband. She said you was lookin' for a job."

"Maybe." Cliff was intentionally noncommittal.

"Look, you do any dealin'?"

"Ya mean cards? Yeah, I've done it."

"My dealer quit last night. Ya want the job?"

Cliff quickly realized that this was the break he needed. It would allow him to get info about Tony without spreadin' the news around town. All he needed to do was deal the cards and keep his ear to the ground.

"Sure, I'll take it. When do I start?"

"Okay, pal," Frank said. "Go inside," pointing toward the door by cocking his head to one side. "Watch the action so you can get an idea of our operation here. You start tomorrow night at nine thirty and don't be late."

Cliff finished his drink and went to the door. He heard a familiar buzz that unlocked the door with a click. It was the same upstairs at Kelly's casino. Inside, Cliff was surprised at the size of the room. The room was large with at least ten tables. There were two roulette and two craps tables. The rest were for various card games. Cliff hung around the blackjack table. It was pretty much standard play like in Chicago. He could handle it.

Cliff tried his hand at craps for the rest of the night. Lady luck was at another table. The dice weren't rollin' his way, but as a new employee, the drinks were free. So, Cliff figured he broke even.

He woke up the next morning as hungry as a bear coming out of hibernation. Cliff showered, then found the Oasis buffet Angelina had mentioned. Feeling bloated after too many trips to the buffet table, he went looking for a barber. He needed a haircut and a shave. Cliff figured he owed it to Angelina and Frank to look decent.

During the remainder of the afternoon and early evening, he kicked around at some of the clubs in the area keeping a close watch for clues in hopes of locating Tony. He made sure he kept his tonsils well lubricated as well.

Having no leads on Rossaleno, Cliff was at work at the Pair-O-Dice on time for once.

Business was slow until eleven thirty. That's when things started to pick up. His table was busy for the next three hours. Cliff noticed a guy in the corner keeping a close eye on all of the dealers, especially him. That was normal procedure in casinos, and he didn't mind being watched like a hawk.

The crowd was congenial except for an occasional drunk. The bouncer usually took care of it by quietly escorting the trouble maker out to the street. It was the table talk that Cliff paid attention to. On the first night, there was nothing of value that got Cliff's attention. The second night was different.

Soon after midnight, Cliff's blackjack table was filled with a group from Salt Lake City. They were all members of some church group claiming to be takin' in the sites. The conversation at the table switched from golf to cars and finally to hookers.

The loud mouth of the group said, "Any of you guys get laid last night?"

Three others smiled and looked over at Pat. Pat was tight lipped.

"Come on Pat, spill the beans. Where d'ya go?"

Pat kept his silence until the others began to egg him on.

"Hey, Pat, tell us about the whore house."

"Look fellas, let me play my hand." Pat looked at his cards, then doubled down increasing his bet on a pair of queens. A few cards later, he caught a winner and raked in a mountain of chips. Pat's good fortune loosened his lips when his buddies continued to interrogate him.

Finally he said, "I don't mind payin' for everyone's hotel bills, because I owe you for saving my ass last year with that drunk drivin' charge. But if you guys tell my wife, this will be the last of our weekend getaways and the end of my marriage."

"Our lips are sealed," the loudmouth said sliding a finger across his lips. "You can trust us Pat," and the others grinned.

"Okay. There's a place in town called Block 16 over on First Street. There's a bunch of saloons there and if you look carefully, there's a small sign pointing to Ruby's Ranch. It's in the back of the Arizona Club. You might see some dames out front. I wouldn't have found it, but this broad came up to me and asked if I needed a friend. I was curious and went in with her to look around."

The card game was temporarily on hold and Cliff was in no hurry to deal.

"Anyway," Pat continued, "there were three girls who came up to me offering their services. A girl who called herself, Spirit, gave me an offer I couldn't refuse, if ya know what I mean. She was a little high priced but really really good at her trade. I was with her for a couple of hours."

"So what was she like?" one of the others asked.

Pat smiled broadly and said, "Let's say I got my money's worth. What scared me is when I found out the place was owned by the Mafia. There's a young guy there that's their muscle. Don't cross him; that's all I've got to say. I tried to get away with being a little light on Spirit's compensation. This guy, Tony, scared the crap out of me. Believe me, I paid up quick."

It was the conversation that Cliff had been waiting for. It wouldn't be long before he would check it out. First, Cliff would need a good night's rest.

He slept through the morning the next day, had a light lunch, then drove to First Street. It was five past four in the afternoon when Cliff parked his Hudson a block from the Arizona Club. Walking toward the club as if he was looking for some action, a girl came out of nowhere and took his hand. "Hi, handsome. You look lonely. Want some company?"

Cliff turned and looked at her. She was close to Trudy's age, young, but not as pretty. She wore jeans, a cowboy hat and a sleeveless denim vest.

"I'm lookin' for a friend," he said.

"I'm very friendly once we get to know each other," she said in a monotone voice.

"I'll bet you are, doll. I'm lookin' for a guy from Iowa.

"What's he called?"

"Tony."

"There ain't no Tony here," she said with a nervous smile.

Cliff pealed a few bucks from his money roll and said, "This might sharpen your memory?"

She gave him a frown and said, "I'm still not sure I know this Tony."

Cliff pealed off a few more greenbacks saying, "Maybe this will clear up that memory."

"He could be out back. Try the door behind the club."

Once inside, the room had no windows and his eyes didn't easily adjust to the darkness. Although he couldn't see well, he could feel the breeze of the ceiling fans, and the sharp pain of the muzzle of a .38 uncomfortably close to his right kidney.

"Welcome, Mr. Bradley," said the voice with the heater.

"Tony? Hey, what's the idea? That's no way to greet a friend."

"When did we become friends, Cliff?"

"Ah, about the time you poked that .38 in my back."

"Yeah, these appliances sure can persuade folks to be friendly. Am I right Cliff?"

"You're right, Tony. It seems you were expectin' me."

Cliff began to realize that something was wrong here, very wrong. First, he should be holding the gun on Tony. Second, with it being the other way around, he should be dead.

"Cliff, now that we're friends, you won't mind me keeping this device pointed at your heart?"

"Yeah, well, now that you put it that way, Tony, I guess I'm not minding it. Only we'd be better pals if you'd take your finger off the trigger."

"I can't do that, Cliff, even though I know it would make you happier. Let's have a chat in my office. Maybe a drink will help us understand each other better."

Tony poked hard with his Smith & Wesson shoving Cliff to a small office away from the entrance.

"Pull up a chair, Cliff. It looks like I'm the one that's gonna have to teach you the facts of life."

"Thanks, Tony, but I've been around the block a couple of times in that area."

"Ah, but I'm not talkin' about fuckin' dames. You're gonna hafta listen and listen good."

Cliff responded with, "All I know is that it's you, Tony, that needs the lesson. It's not good company policy to take from the bottom line. And hey, how d'ya know who I am?"

"That's part of the lesson, Bradley," Tony said in a not so friendly voice. "You came here snoopin' around because of that story about me skimmin' the take back in Iowa? Let me tell ya, pal, ya got it all wrong. Who gave ya that yarn, Trudy?"

Cliff looked at him and said nothing, noting that Rossaleno was a good lookin' guy. It was easy to see why the skirts fall for the goon.

Tony pulled out a couple of glasses and a fifth of bourbon. "I heard you drink bourbon, right Cliff?" and shoved the bottle toward him. "Pour a couple of drinks for the two of us. As you can see, one of my hands is busy." Tony went on, "You'll need a good stiff drink when you hear what I've got to say. You'll find it interesting. Ya might even learn something,"

Tony was mocking Cliff. If that wasn't irritating enough, having Tony know so much about him was even more unsettling.

"So you knew I was here in Vegas. Who blabbed?" Cliff forcefully demanded. And why didn't you plug me when I walked in the door?"

"Really, Cliff, nothing would delight me more than seeing you in a pine box. Anyway, I'm gettin' to that."

Tony smirked making it clear that he was enjoying being one up on Cliff. Tony was in no rush to tell his story. "You're a damn fool, Bradley, and by the way, lower your voice. I ain't deaf. The amazing thing is you never caught on. You went for it lock, stock, and barrel."

If the .38 still pointing at him hadn't gotten Cliff's attention, Tony definitely had his attention now. "How's that?" he asked.

"You never thought it strange that Trudy got her job the day she got to Chicago or you were hired the same day you got to Vegas at the Paradise? Wasn't it strange that a group of out of town guys just happened to be at your blackjack table and did everything but draw a map in order for you to find me?

"Okay Rossaleno, I'm all ears. How did all of this go down?"

"Back in Des Moines, this gal, Marjorie, turned a few tricks for me until she found out there was more money runnin' numbers. Wait, I guess she goes by Trudy now. Anyway, it was perfect. No one expected a high school girl to be a runner. After awhile, she took a few 'tips' by skimming a few bucks off the top. That's customary in the business as long as the tips are small. Trudy got greedy and began harvesting more than the organization could accept. They warned her several times, and that's when things got ugly. Last month, she was runnin' a big haul. She didn't deliver. Trudy kept the take, and skipped town when she got wind of a contract out on her."

"Bullshit," Cliff interrupted. "They put the contract out on you."

That's what the Outfit wanted you to believe. They wanted you out of town. You were gettin' too cozy with that dame. "Do you see me on the lam? Does it look like I'm hidin' out from the Outfit? Christ, they're the ones who set me up here. Trudy's so damn stupid., She wanted you to find me figuring you would come here and keep me quiet. She was afraid I'd squeal because I know too much. You were set up, pal."

"How about her story in Cedar Rapids?"

"Trudy doesn't know Cedar Rapids from Timbuktu. She made it up. The kid is clever and probably saw the town's name on the train coming to Chicago.

"Anyway, the Iowa fellas got in touch with Bobby Farrell to keep an eye on her when she got into town. That's why she landed in Molly's house so fast. They wanted to know where she was hangin' out until they got there."

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with me?"

"I'm gettin' to that, wise guy. Trudy felt the heat, so she came to you for help. That's when she gave you that sob story about me takin' dough from the mob. I'm sure she embellished it with a few tears. You're a tough guy, Bradley, but you have a weakness for the broads.

"You were supposed to protect her from the Iowa boys who wouldn't be too easy on her if they found her. And of course, she wanted you to find me and make sure my lips were sealed, if you get my drift. It was too late. I had already told the syndicate everything I knew, even suggesting she was headed to Chicago with the dough. The organization appreciates good help."

Cliff finished his second drink and poured a third. Then said, "Apparently that's why Bobby made sure I didn't get over-anxious and whack you."

"Yeah, I gotta get in touch with Farrell and thank him for that. He also wanted to make sure I wasn't too trigger happy when you got here. Bobby wants you back in Chicago alive."

"How is it that I ended up here in Vegas?"

"Bobby likes you. Farrell says you're honest and good at what you do, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but good. Look, Bradley, Bobby knew it was dangerous for you to get between the hunter and the hunted especially when the Outfit is involved. You could have gotten hurt protectin' Trudy. So, he wanted you quietly out of the way."

"Why should I believe you, Rossaleno?"

"You're alive, ain't ya?"

"Was there no place to hide from rhetorical questions?" Cliff asked himself.

"Go talk to Farrell. You know where you can find me if he doesn't back me up."

"So, that's it? I end up bein' a pawn in a game of hide 'n seek?"

"That's it, Bradley."

"Shit," and Cliff drained the glass. He didn't like being made a fool of.

"Look, don't take it so hard. You're alive, I'm alive and we're friends, right? Take that girl you met outside for a couple of rounds. She's new and the best whore in town. Her name is Spirit, and she gets thirty and tips."

That's kinda stiff for a new girl, don't ya think, Tony?"

"Believe me, Cliff, she might be new to Vegas but she ain't new. I brought her with me from Iowa. She started hookin' at sixteen like Marjorie, I mean Trudy. She's got some tricks you won't believe."

Cliff didn't have to look for Spirit. She was by his side the moment he left Tony's office. Within two minutes, they were together in her place of business in a second story bedroom at the Arizona Club. It looked like an ordinary hotel room with a stuffed chair, desk, two lamps and a bed.

There was one very curious difference from the ordinary. On a wall across from the bed hung used condoms with names attached. "What's with the decorations, doll?" pointing to the display.

"Oh, that's my trophy case. I call it, 'The Wall of Pleasure." I got the idea when I was in Florence, Arizona. After each hanging, they display the hangman's noose on the prison wall. I liked the idea."

To Cliff, it just looked weird.

He continued by asking her his usual questions. She said she was twenty but wasn't interested in small talk. "You're here paying for enjoyment, not to give me the third degree."

Spirit undressed him making Cliff stand in front of her as though she was an artist intending to make a painting. She slowly circled him as if she was evaluating every detail of his naked body. As she rotated around him, Spirit began dropping her clothes, one piece at a time. The situation totally aroused him, especially when she dropped her knickers exposing pussy hair shaved in a 'V' pointing to her slit.

"You look like that David statue in Italy," she said, "but you have a much bigger cock. I'll call you Dave."

Cliff didn't know this David fella. The only Italians he knew were in the Chicago mob. David wasn't one of 'em.

Then she said, "I haven't had a man your size since Iowa. In Des Moines, the guys thought they were studs, but nothing like you, Dave. There was only one guy who they called Porky. He came close, but still doesn't compare with you. I'm gonna love getting that jumbo dick of yours keeping me company.

"Look, it's hot in here Spirit. Turn on the fan."

Not yet, Dave. This is a process. We're not gonna hurry to get to the finish line." She spoke so unlike a whore. In fact, Spirit seemed like a woman much wiser than a girl at twenty.

"I want you steaming hot with sweat dripping down those broad shoulders and chest. I want your cock and balls to be wet and slimy. I want you so horny your cum explodes out of your dick like shells fired from a howitzer. I want you to fill that rubber, so when I hang it on my Wall of Pleasure, you'll be my number one trophy."

Cliff was not alone sweating bullets. Spirit's boobs were glossy wet with perspiration, and her face and neck had beads of moisture forming like little diamond specks. She had the most erotic appearance he had ever seen.

At first she took his cock in her hand simulating a man masturbating. Then she took his hand to follow her example. As he stroked his cock, she sat on the edge of the bed playing with her clit, then slipping two fingers inside her puffy swollen pussy lips. They were by far her best attraction. Cliff was beside himself with desire.

She gave him a sly grin and said, "Looks like you're ready to stuff that monstrous dinger in my warm cozy hole."

He had had enough of the "process," and shoved her back onto the bed plowing into her slippery cunt. She was indeed warm and wet and incredibly tight.

Spirit pleasured him in miraculous ways by being enthusiastic, energetic, and athletic in bed. She was a like a contortionist, proud of the many ways she could position herself to embed Cliff's steely cock in one orifice or another. Spirit left no doubt about the joy she found from making a man happy. And Cliff was happy, even ecstatic.

When he came the first time, it was a carnal rush just as she said, firing round after round into her slimy wet pussy. She worked him up quickly for a second wave, then a third. It was dark outside when she said, "Time's up. I've got customers waiting."

He gave her a pair of crisp new twenties, and wondered if she would have the same energy with the others. It didn't matter. He had his turn, and it was everything Tony had promised.

While he dressed, she hung his one and only filled cum catcher on her "trophy case" naming it "Dave." She had drained his cock elsewhere in her licentious anatomy leaving no other souvenirs for her to display.

Crawling back into his Hudson, Cliff took a few minutes to review Tony's story. All the pieces fit. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

Cliff drove back to the Hotel Apache and looked for a phone. He called Stella.

"Songbird, it's Cliff."

"God, Cliff, I'm glad you called. Trudy is missing. I went to the club last night for a couple of sets with the band and when I got back here, Trudy was wasn't here. I spent all day lookin' for her. Bobby doesn't know where she is, and Molly hasn't seen her."

"Look, doll, don't go askin' Farrell and Molly again. I'll explain when I get back. Sit tight and don't go snoopin' around. It ain't safe. You understand?"

"Yeah, Cliff, I understand."

"I'm leavin' in the morning and will be back in a couple of days. Be careful."

"Okay. Hurry back. By the way, Cliff, remember that box I told you about? It's stuffed with Benjamns. I put it in the safe."

The phone call lasted only a minute, but it was enough for Cliff to figure out what had happened to Trudy, and where the box of cash came from. It could only have come from Trudy needing to find a safe place to stash the cash. She trusted Cliff.

The drive back to Chicago was long and tedious. Cliff was preoccupied with memories of the past week. He decided to make a stop in Albuquerque one last time. The prospector was seated where he remembered from before. Felicia was there with a man pawing all over her. He wasn't her husband. She glanced at Cliff for a second, then the lovebirds got up and left.

It was late when Cliff finally reached Stella's apartment two days later. He rang the bell; she answered. She was crying the moment the door opened. All Stella said was, "Cliff, Cliff, Cliff." She sat on the sofa with her head in her hands. "I can't believe it, Cliff. She's gone."

"What do you mean, she's gone, Songbird?"

"The cops found her face down with a bullet in her head in back of Kelly's. I went to the morgue to identify her. She didn't look so good, Cliff. They worked her over pretty good."

Almost uncontrollably, Stella continued sobbing and said, "I liked her, Cliff, I really did. She was a good girl. It's just not fair."

Cliff gave her a strong comforting hug, and they sat together for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally when Stella had calmed down, Cliff told her the rest of the story. After Cliff had finished, Stella wept and begged Cliff to stay the night. They were lovers for the first time, not just fuck buddies.

Bobby Farrell had made all of the funeral arrangements for Trudy at Molly's request, including internment in a quiet corner of Mount Carmel Cemetery in the suburbs. A simple plaque read, "Marjorie Olsen, a.k.a., Trudy, 1913 - 1930." Stella and Cliff were the only mourners at her grave site.

On the ride back to the city, Stella said, "Remember what you promised before leavin' for Nevada? Ya know, if I took care of Trudy? How about you taken me to dinner tonight. It will be on Trudy."

"That's not funny, Songbird."

"There was a lot of cabbage in that box, Cliff. They won't miss it bein' a little bit light. Ya know, like a finder's fee. Let's blow some on a steak dinner at the Blackhawk, okay Cliff? Anyway, they owe you," Stella barked.

He finally decided she was right. They both deserved it and a lot more.

After dinner, they went to the Renalto for a movie. "The Hole in the Wall," was still playing, the same gangster flick Trudy had seen. He couldn't imagine what Trudy could possibly have liked about the movie. It didn't look at all like the gangsters he knew.

The next morning, one of Farrell's boys came to his office to pick up the cash. Cliff was glad to get rid of it. Two days later a thick envelope arrived marked "Bradley, for expenses." But there was more there than for expenses. Farrell said there was something extra in it from the Iowa mob. He called it, 'appreciation' money. Cliff called it blood money. It was true what Tony had said. The organization appreciates good help.

That same evening, Stella sang the blues at Kelly's Pleasure Palace including a tearful, haunting version of the new song. It was almost too much for her when she sang the refrain, " My heart is sad and lonely, For you I cry, For you, dear, only." The painful memories of Trudy's sad life made it the last time she would ever sing "Body and Soul."