Play Sexy For Me (Handy Mann Chronicles Book 1)
Page 16
The mark came and sat down right beside him.
“I see this is where the action is,” he said, grinning, staring up at Lucy’s bald pussy and bouncing titties.
Handy cringed. Guys like this made him sick to his stomach. He quickly stood up.
“Where you going, Handy?” Lucy asked, dancing to Motley Crue’s “Girls Girls Girls.”
“Got to drain the weasel, precious,” Handy said.
He walked to the bathroom, took a deep breath and pulled the camera from his pocket that Groefield had given him. The mark’s wife had hired Groefield to find out where her husband was spending all of his money. She didn’t believe him when he said he was losing it on Fantasy Football bets with some of his chums at the office. Handy was about to bust that lie and prove what a piece of shit this lady’s husband was. He slapped himself in the face, bought a cigar from the bathroom attendant, lit it and strutted out in a puff of smoke back to the table where the mark was standing up over the nude Lucy, who was lying on her back on the table, letting him shower a wad of dollar bills on her voluptuous body.
“Click Click Click” went the camera, the flash going off. No one seemed to even notice. He pocketed the camera, and then sat back down to watch Lucy spread her legs.
Five hours later, Handy knocked on Grofield’s door, the world spinning. He’d drank the rest of check away, his tab now at a dangerous two hundred dollars. The mark had paid for four of his Jack and Cokes, so that had helped quite a bit. Lucy had felt bad for him and gave him a free blowjob in the parking lot when she was finished sucking off the mark’s dick.
Groefield opened the door. “Man, what in the hell Handy!”
“I got the photos boss,” Handy said, his words slurring together.
“Asshole!” Grofield shouted. “You should have been in and out. I told you the husband was coming in around 7 p.m.”
“He didn’t show up until much later,” Handy said.
“Is that right?” Grofield said. “Come inside, mother fucker. Let me show you something.”
Handy stumbled inside the office, Grofield slamming the door behind him. “Take a seat at the computer.”
Handy walked behind Grofield’s desk and sat down. His mouth fell open as he stared at the picture of him and the mark sucking on Lucy’s titties together.
“Yeah, you piece of shit. I went by there, convinced you had forgotten about the appointment. And look at what I find. You’re palling around with the fucking mark!”
“I’m sorry man,” Handy said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You are sorry and you don’t think,” Grofield said. “In this line of work, you can’t afford to be so reckless.”
“I know, man. I know,” Handy said, standing up. The room was spinning. He knew he had one too many Jack and Cokes. “I’ve got to go.”
“You can’t leave,” Grofield said. “Not in your condition. Just crash on the couch.”
“Okay,” Handy said. “You’re a real pal.” Then he hurled all over the floor.
Chapter Two
Handy had the new maid over the counter at the Dollar Inn, he was riding her for all he was worth spanking her perfect Cuban ass as she kept yelling, “Aye Papi! Harder!”
Handy was spanking her and riding her and then his writhing was interrupted by a loud noise coming from above, as through an earthquake was ripping through the motel.
The noise was actually the door of Grofield’s office slamming shut as a client left. The noise was loud, but not as amplified as Handy’s pickled and hung over brain made it out to be and like that his fantasy came to an abrupt end, as he looked around trying to make out where he was. Startled and confused he sat up and immediately fell to the floor of of the couch he had passed out on the night before.
“What the fuck?”
He wiped a long viscous trail of drool from his mouth. He looked up at Grofield and then at the floor, the room was no longer spinning, but it was a bit blurry, and he noticed his jacket on the floor. Handy slowly rocked back and forth until he was able to get his fat ass off of the couch and pointed at his jacket. Grofield saw Handy and shook his head, “Good, you’re up. Got some things to talk about.”
“What, when is our client coming in?”
“Here and gone. She paid us, not thanks to you, well, maybe a little, seems the pics you took were usable which is a fucking shock to me. Those, along with the stuff I shot, were more than enough for her to bring to her lawyer. Some of the ones you took were actually better. As much as I hate to say it, and I fucking hate to say it, good work.”
Handy slapped his pudgy hands together and did a little spastic dance move.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He stooped down to pick up his jacket and noticed it was covering a dried puke stain. The jacket was slimy and had remnants of what Handy had spewed out the night before. “That’s fucking disgusting.”
Grofield stood up. “No shit.” I had to cover up the mess you made so our client wouldn’t see it. I expect you to clean this shit Handy.”
Handy dropped his jacket back onto the floor and kicked it with his toe to cover the stain up. Then, with his foot he patted down the center of the jacket and felt it squish beneath his shoe, he scrunched up his face in disgust, and wonderment and walked over to the desk not giving it a second thought.
He sat down in the chair opposite Grofield and grabbed at the paper.
The headline read “PROS PUTS PATRON IN ICU” Handy scanned the article and thought he may do some sleuthing on his own if things didn’t pick up around here, the motel, or with his latest opus he was writing. Maybe he could even write about the story, or use some details for one of his tales of erotica. Handy was getting half a chub on just thinking about the prospects. He made a mental note to ask Ronald about the crime and see what panned out.
“Handy? You listening?”
Handy sat up in the chair and put the paper down. “Yeah listening, sorry just reading the paper. That’s some shit isn’t it?”
Grofield looked down at the paper. “That, yeah, it’s the third one in the past few months. Getting more and more violent each time. Need to find this skank and her pimp soon. Probably what’s happening is they lure the john in and get him all hot and bothered and distracted and then the pimp makes an appearance. Tries to shake him down for some more cash, jewelry, whatever. Probably some scenario like that. Worked a case or two like that back in the day. One time it was the whore herself, big one, had a gut twice your size”
Handy looked down at his gut, which was peeking out of his shirt, he shifted in the chair and covered up. He thought of offering his insight and decided against it. Grofield used to be a detective and a good one back in the day then found himself drowning in the bottom of a bottle like so many police do. Sober now, he still struggles with it, and as he sad opposite Handy he thought to himself that he could really use a drink now.
“So partner what did you want to talk to me about?”
He eyed handy from across the cluttered desk. “I need to go out of town for a few days. I was thinking of just closing down shop until then.”
“Hey I can be in charge, don’t worry about it, you are in good hands!” Handy made a sweeping gesture and knocked a coffee cup from the desk to the floor where it shattered and further stained the carpet.
Handy looked down at the new mess he made. “I’ll get that”
He got up and grabbed some papers from the desk and threw them down as Grofield tried to pull them away from handy, but it was too late. “Those were bills, you fucking idgit.”
“Oh, sorry, I’m not my best without my morning coffee, you know how it is.”
Grofield tried to contain himself.
“Look, Handy, I have to go out of town for a few days. I was going to shut down shop but I have someone who may or may not come in, she has cancelled before, so I do not want to wait around for her to cancel again. So just in case, I someone to be around.”
The dour mask of sleepines
s and confusion that Handy usually wears shattered with a huge shit eating grin.
“Solid brother, you want me to man the shop, hold it down be the HNIC, that’s awesome, hey I wont let you down Gro my man. You can count on me.”
“Not like I have a choice now is there?”
Handy looked at him for a moment, wondering what was really up, if anything, also, what to get for breakfast had crossed his mind as well.
“Yo Gro, you aint sick or anything like that?”
“I’m touched you are concerned Handy, really, but no, I just have to take care of an urgent personal matter. So in my top drawer is a folder, collect any information and a check, etc, also, you can call my cell should you need to reach me for anything. And Handy?”
“Yeah boss?”
“Clean the fucking carpet.”
About the Authors:
JIMMY M.F. PUDGE
Jimmy James "M.F." Pudge was born into this world on 6-9-1979 in a truck stop toilet at a TA Travel Center in the backwoods of South Georgia. An honest and conscientious man, Jimmy served several prison sentences because he refused to give in to the federal laws that impose independent spirits' rights to be entrepreneurs. An expert in the art of pruno, shank construction, and paper dart blow guns, Jimmy briefly served as a leader in his dorm room before being released early for good behavior.
Pudge has written several Amazon best-selling self-published titles under the name Jimmy Pudge, including THE BOOTY GOBLIN, KITTY’S REVENGE, RUN TEDDY BEAR, RUN, CORN BRED, THE DICK and ICE CREAM MAN. Collectively, Pudge’s works have been downloaded over seventy thousand times. He has also developed a strong cult following among horror and crime readers all over the world. Dynatox Ministries recently published his novella “When Doves Cry”. Aside from the Handy Mann Chronicles, his most recent work is Franken Bitch and Fifty Shades of Deadly.
Jimmy can be contacted via his Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/jimmy.pudge
About the Authors
DOUGLAS VANCE CASTAGNA
Douglas Vance Castagna has been teaching in both Brooklyn and Staten Island for the past 20 years. He received his MFA in creative writing and has had several short stories published in various anthologies such as, WAKE UP DEAD, 100 DOORS TO MADNESS, TEN SILVER BULLETS, and others. Crowded Quarantine Press published his novella LUST. Dividing his writing between Horror and Crime, TEACHING CAN BE MURDER, a self published e-book marked his writing debut. He lives in NJ with his wife Rafaela and his two cats, Isis and Houdini.
His Facebook pages is: https://www.facebook.com/Cisthebigdog
You can also email both authors at their email address: dougjimmyproductions@gmail.com