Sin in the City of Angels

by Callista Hawkes

  “Your talented tongue has left me in a magnanimous mood.” She finally tells you, a smile spreading across her face. She drops her shoes back onto the floor and steps towards you. “And I’m kinda intrigued to set eyes on that weapon of yours.” Her hand reaches down to cup the bulge and you groan with pleasure, thankful for the stimulation. Your pulse races as her fingers fumble with your zipper. You hear it clack as she pulls it down, grunting as you feel her hand reach inside, her fingers curling around your rigid shaft and tugging it out.

  “Not bad, Harlowe. Not bad at all!” She coos.

  “That’s not bad either.” You groan as her hand slowly strokes your aching length. “I guess you’ve had plenty of practice.” You grin. Valentina’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “You really are one cocky son of a bitch!” She chuckles, quickening her pace, her fingers gliding up and down your shaft.

  “And while that feels pretty damn good and all,” You murmur, “I’ll bet your lips would feel even better.” Valentina glances at you, a smile of amusement creeping across her face.

  “You know how close I was to putting a bullet in you earlier?” She asks. “And now you’re expecting me to suck your dick and somehow I’m actually considering it! You must have been born under a lucky star, Harlowe!”

  “I guess so.” You groan as Valentina drops to her knees before you. She leans forward, her ruby red lips parting as she takes the head of your cock into her mouth. You gasp with pleasure as you feel the warm wetness of her tongue flick at the bulbous crown, swirling around it. Her brown eyes flick up, holding your gaze as her lips begin to slide back and forth while her hand continues to pump you.

  “Damn, that feels good.” You pant, feeling the heat building in your loins. Her eyes gleam up at you, enjoying your excitement. As you watch her head bobbing back and forth, she’s right about one thing: You really are one lucky son of a bitch. Soon, the heat in your loins has become a raging inferno.

  “I’m gonna come.” You warn her. Relieved when she keeps her lips wrapped tightly around your cock, you allow her to send you over the edge. You let out a roar of ecstasy as your balls draw up and unleash a torrent of your seed into her waiting mouth. Your hips jerk with each powerful eruption, but Valentina doesn’t spill a drop, sucking and slurping on your spurting cock and eagerly gulping down your seed. She pulls away and clambers back to her feet.

  “Looking at the expression on your face, I think I gave as good as I got.” She smiles, slipping her feet back into her shoes and stooping to fasten the straps. Still catching your breath, you nod enthusiastically. She chuckles and leans in, kissing you on the cheek before turning to leave. You watch as she opens the door and disappears through it, her silhouette lingering a moment through the frosted glass before her footsteps fade as she walks away. You lean against the edge of your desk and puff out your cheeks. One of these days, your luck is going to run out and you know it. Still, you live to drink and screw another day. As you sit back down behind your desk, your mind turns back to the case. As Valentina is innocent, at least of Carstair’s murder and the attempts of Viola Vandergraaf, you wonder who exactly is responsible. You feel a pang of guilt, knowing you’ve once again come up short. Still, as you reach for what’s left in the whiskey bottle, you have an easy remedy for that.

  THE END

  “Sabine Marceau, a singer at the After Dark Club on Sunset Strip.” You tell her. “She used to work for Vandergraaf and he’s been screwing her behind his wife’s back.”

  “I’ll go back to the station and make some calls, find out where she lives.” Nancy replies, snapping her notebook shut and rising from her chair. “This will make my career! Thank you Sam, I owe you one.” She pulls her police cap on and hurries from your office. You smile broadly. You’d always had a soft spot for Nancy going way back to when you were sweethearts before the war. You often found yourself thinking of her during the darkest days after the Normandy invasion. You ponder whether you really could persuade her to be your partner. A female private detective would certainly be less conspicuous and go places you couldn’t. The likely fringe benefits were quite enticing too…

  It’s mid-afternoon by the time you hear from Nancy. You pick up the telephone, silencing the shrill ringing.

  “Harlowe.” You growl.

  “It’s Nancy.” She replies, her voice exuberant.

  “You got Sabine?”

  “Yeah, we tracked her down, arrested her and took her back to the station for interrogation. Once we mentioned a murder charge, she broke down and sang like a canary. Turns out that she was having an affair all right, but with Viola and not Neville!”

  “What!?” You blink in surprise.

  “I know!” She laughs. “You should have seen the faces of the other cops down at the station. They’re probably still grinning now!”

  “Damn.” You chuckle, quite enjoying the thought yourself.

  “Anyway, the two of them have been lovers for some time and had hatched a plan to send Vandergraaf to jail to get him out of the picture. Sabine insisted that it was Viola and not her that had killed Carstairs. He knew the truth and was intending to tell you. We’ve arrested Viola too and charged her with the Carstairs murder. This is quite a case you’ve dropped in my lap, Sam!”

  “You’re welcome.” You grin.

  “Say, you wanna swing by my apartment this evening?” She asks, keeping her voice low. “I’m in the mood to celebrate if you know what I mean…”

  “Sure!” You grin. “I’ll see you soon.” You replace the handset before leaning back and chuckling to yourself. While you might have been barking up the wrong tree, somehow it’s all worked itself out anyway.

  Having washed and shaved and pulled on a fresh shirt and suit, you switch the office lights off and lock the door behind you. You walk quickly along the corridor, looking forward to seeing Nancy again. As you reach the stairwell, you find your way blocked by the familiar sallow faced hood and his bulky henchman.

  “Not you clowns again.” You groan. “C’mon fellas, haven’t we danced this dance enough already?”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll come quiet like.” The hood growls. The thug grins and cracks his knuckles.

  Go with them

  Push them down the stairs and dart past them

  “Sure.” You groan. “Let’s get this over with.” The henchman clamps his hand onto your shoulder and you feel the muzzle of a pistol pressed against your ribs. They guide you down the stairs and out into the street where a familiar big, black Oldsmobile awaits. The hood opens the rear door and gestures for you to get in.

  “I’m not riding in the trunk this time, huh?” You grin. “Guess you guys must be gettin’ sweet on me!”

  “Don’t push it, wiseguy.” The hood glowers. The thug pushes you over and climbs in next to you, the pistol still jammed into your ribs. The hood climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

  You watch through the side window as you leave the tall blocks of the city behind. The hood and the thug remain silent.

  “Where we goin’, fellas?” You ask.

  “You’ll see soon enough, Harlowe.” The hood growls. In the distance, you can see numerous oil derricks silhouetted against the darkening sky. The hood takes a right, leaving the road and driving through an open gate in a chain link fence. The Oldsmobile bounces over the uneven ground and you begin to feel a little nervous that they intend to finish what they started at the farmhouse the night before. The brakes squeal as the car slides to a halt.

  “Get out.” The hood tells you, looking over his shoulder from the driver’s seat. You open the door and step out, expecting them to climb out with you. Instead, the thug pulls the door shut behind you and the engine roars. The hood sweeps the car around in a lazy semi-circle and accelerates back up the track the way he came, leaving you choking in his dust. You watch the red tail lights disappear back onto the road before looking about you. Oil derricks loom large overhead, stretching away in neat rows a
s far as you can see. Even at night, you recognize the Los Angeles oil field. The place is deserted and everything is in darkness apart from the glow of windows in a low building next to a nearby derrick. The building is little more than a shack, but it would seem that this is where the hood was ordered to bring you.

  Enter the shack

  Leave the oil field while you can

  You’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the hood thinks you’re going to walk voluntarily into a secluded shack the night after he tried to kill you in an equally secluded farmhouse, then he should see a head doctor. You turn around and trudge slowly along the dirt track back towards the road.

  Nearly an hour later, dusty and aching from yet another hike, you reach the road and flag down a cab.

  “What the hell happened to you?” The driver asks, wrinkling his nose up at your appearance as you climb in the back.

  “Don’t ask.” You grumble.

  “Okay mac.” He nods, no doubt used to being asked to mind his own damn business. “Where to?”

  “Downtown.” You reply, glancing nervously out of the window for any sign of the big, black Oldsmobile.

  You get the taxi driver to drop you off outside a bar you know, not far from your office. After the week you’ve had, you could do with a stiff drink or ten. You step inside and peer through the smoke. It’s a dive full of drunks and lowlifes. Just your kind of place. You sit down heavily on a stool at the bar.

  “Harlowe!” The bartender smiles. “The usual?” You nod wearily as he reaches for the whiskey bottle.

  A couple of hours later, you step out of the bar and back onto the street. You feel better for the liquor, but your thirst isn’t the only urge you need to sate. You check your watch, wondering if it’s too late to go to Nancy’s apartment. If it’s just a quick roll in the hay you need, then perhaps Paige would be a better bet.

  Go to Nancy’s apartment

  Give Paige a call

  Hoping you’ll still be welcome despite the hour, you take a cab to Nancy’s apartment building. Once there, you ride up in the elevator and walk briskly down the corridor. One of the other doors opens a crack and an elderly woman eyes you suspiciously. You flash her a smarmy grin and she narrows her beady eyes at you before closing her door. You reach Nancy’s door and rap loudly on it with your knuckles. You hear light footsteps approach, a lock snap and the door swings open. You blink at the vision before you. Nancy is dressed in a crimson silk nightgown, her long hair loose and hanging down in dark, wet tendrils. The hem of the gown stops halfway down her thighs and her long slender legs seem to go on forever. The gown is tied around her narrow waist, accentuating her attractive figure.

  “Sam! What time do you call this?” She frowns. “I’d given up on you. I was about to go to bed!”

  “Sounds like I got here just in time then!” You smirk. The frown remains in place as she glares back at you. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve had a hell of an evening.” Her eyes widen as she notices your dusty clothes.

  “What the hell happened to you?” She asks, her expression softening. She steps back and lets you in.

  “A couple of mobsters decided to show me the sights.” You reply as she closes the door behind you. “They seemed to think the Los Angeles oil fields were quite beautiful at this time of year.”

  “Why?” She asks.

  “I wasn’t about to stick around to find out!” You grin, glancing around you at the cozy living room. There’s a couch, a coffee table, a bookshelf and a side table with a radio sitting on it.

  “Damn, Sam, wherever you go, trouble seems to follow you.” She smiles, shaking her head. “Look, make yourself at home. I’ll go find us something to drink. Sounds like you need it.” Nancy hurries into her tiny kitchen, returning a moment later with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. She passes you the bottle.

  “Champagne!” You reply, studying the label. “Not my usual poison, but I guess I’ll grin and bear it!” You twist the cork and it pops loudly, the bubbles fizzing up out of the neck.

  “I hope that’s not an omen.” She smirks, her gray eyes glinting as she holds out the glasses. You pour the champagne into each before setting the bottle on the table. She passes you a glass and raises her own.

  “To you, Sam.” She says, holding your gaze. “You’ve done me a hell of a favor today!”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” You grin, your glasses clinking together. “It’s been good to see you again.” She smiles shyly and sips at her champagne.

  “I oughta get dressed.” She tells you, glancing down at her flimsy nightgown. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” She moves across the room to the door of her bedroom, pausing and glancing over her shoulder. She smiles coyly before disappearing inside, the door remaining open.

  Follow her into the bedroom

  This isn’t the time to rekindle something. Celebrate as a friend

  You guess that if Valentina D’Abruzzo intended you harm, she’d have had her men bring you in. You sigh and move towards the shack, wondering if you need your head examining. Reaching the door, you twist the handle and it squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. You step inside and find Valentina waiting with Neville Vandergraaf. It looks like some kind of office, with a pair of filing cabinets against one wall and sturdy looking desk in the corner. Valentina is sitting in a battered high-backed chesterfield with her feet up on the desk, her slender legs bare up to her thighs where her skirt has gathered. She smiles at you as you enter. Vandergraaf on the other hand looks pale and cowed. He sits in a chair next to the desk, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. His eyes flick towards you momentarily before settling back at his feet.

  “Mr Harlowe!” Valentina smiles, her teeth glinting in the dim light of the room. A crocodile smile. “So glad you could join us.”

  “Your boys didn’t seem like they were gonna take no for an answer.”

  “Would you have come otherwise?” She cocks an eyebrow.

  “Probably not.” You admit. “What’s the saying: Once burned, twice shy?”

  “I might have been a little hasty last night.” She shrugs. “My Italian heritage. Passionate but quick to anger.”

  “So, what can I do for you Miss D’Abruzzo?” You ask.

  “I’ve heard the police have made some arrests. I also hear you are the man responsible for bringing them the facts, even after I warned you not to.” Valentina replies, her dark brown eyes boring into yours. “I’m not sure whether to be grateful or angry.”

  “Do I get to choose?” You reply with a smirk.

  “As I’ve not had a visit from the boys in blue, it would seem you have kept my name out of it, so I guess I should feel indebted to you for that.”

  “It would seem that you had nothing to do with my investigation.” You reply. “Vandergraaf’s wife and her lover, Sabine Marceau were the ones behind it all.” Vandergraaf flinches at the mention of his wife. “You seem to be taking this pretty hard, pal.” You tell him. Vandergraaf shakes his head and buries his head in his hands.

  “Neville’s having a bad day.” Valentina chuckles. “I’ve told him who my father is, who I represent and what we want from him. He’s feeling a little emotional about it all.”

  “Tell her to go to hell, Vandergraaf.” You tell him. “Your reputation is in the gutter anyway with this business with your wife. You can take a scandal about an affair.”

  “It’s not just an affair though, is it Neville.” Valentina chuckles, glancing across at him. She turns back to you. “You see Harlowe, Neville’s pillow talk is quite illuminating. He likes to brag about how rich and smart he is and he’s particularly proud of the clever ways he avoids paying his taxes.” Vandergraaf winces.

  “Guess you’ve got him right where you want him, huh?” You reply, almost pitying him.

  “Let’s just say that Neville now shares my family’s enthusiasm for ending Mickey Cohen’s reign in Los Angeles and is a generous benefactor to our cause.”

  “Either that or an
uncomfortable visit from the IRS.” You reply.

  “And an even more uncomfortable stretch in the big house.” She chuckles, glancing at Vandergraaf, who blanches at the very thought.

  “Remind me never to get on your wrong side again.” You reply. “I’m still feeling a little singed from the last time!”

  “Well, let’s try and put that behind us.” She smiles. Your eyes widen as her legs open, the hem of her skirt riding up even higher and revealing the smooth flesh of her inner thighs. You have to consciously pick your jaw up off the floor as Valentina’s legs part further. Her dark brown eyes gaze up into yours and her red lips curl into a sultry smile. She stretches her left leg back and hooks it over the arm of the chesterfield, the skirt riding up almost to her waist. Your gaze drifts back between her legs and your eyes widen as they linger on a dark triangle of curls and the delicate folds of her slit peeking out beneath.

  See how things pan out

  Move closer

  “You need some help there, doll?” You smirk, stepping towards her.

  “There’s a real man, Neville.” She tells Vandergraaf. “Willing to help a girl in distress.” He glances across at her and glares sullenly, folding his arms across his chest. “Now kiss me, Harlowe.” You move eagerly towards her and stoop over her, your eyes fixed on her pouting red lips. As you draw closer, her lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Not there.” She breathes, her brown eyes glinting before flicking downwards. You grin and shrug casually before dropping to your knees before her. She stretches her legs wider as you drop your head between her thighs. The aroma of her arousal fills your nostrils and you can feel the heat radiating out from between her legs. You grasp her thighs and stretch out your tongue, tracing her slit upwards before flicking the tip over her clit. Valentina gasps and shivers with pleasure.