St. Valentine's Day Massacre Fiasco


Tags: Humor, .

Desc: Humor Story: Harry Dick (and his Dick) are on the case again. This time mobsters from Chicago are in New York to murder the President of the United States.

Valentine's Day, 1948

Violet Barfly was the kind of broad you really want to get next too. Her monstrous 44DD's had the kind of jiggle that gave guys a headache and a double sized boner, even sitting still. When she walked, her ass gyrated like the roller coaster at Coney Island. She was topped off with a head of long blond hair and the face of Jean Harlow. This babe was one hot orgasm waiting to happen.

Harry Dick couldn't help watching her as she swivel-hipped across 5th Avenue towards the low-rent office building where he had his office. Harry's Cock noticed the Barfly dame too and stretched over the window sill to get a good look at the broad.

"She wants me, Harry, I can tell," Harry's Cock leered. "And, I think she's coming here."

"Get back in my pants and shut up," Harry growled angrily.

"If you'd keep your hand to yourself, I wouldn't get all excited, Harry."

Just then, the door of HARRY DICK, PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS opened and Violet jiggled into the outer office like a proverbial bowl full of Jell-O. Moments later the intercom buzzed. "There's some tramp her to see ya, Harry," came the voice of Harry's secretary, the luscious and well stacked, Miss Maria Torres.

"Send her in, doll," Harry and his Cock said in unison. Harry hurriedly stuffed his copy of the latest issue of "HAIR PIE" magazine in the top drawer of his desk.

The door to the inner office opened and Violet Barfly jiggled into the room. Harry motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Harry's Cock was doing some motioning of his own.

"Now then," Harry said, professionally, "What can I do for you?"

"I know what you can do for me, baby," Harry's Cock remarked, with a big, one-eyed grin.

"Oh, Mr. Dick, it's just awful. My boyfriend is missing," Violet sobbed into a ruffled hankie.

"Now, now. Tell me all about it," Harry told her.

"Yeah. And sob more. It really makes your tits jiggle," said Harry's Cock.

"We were going to Atlantic City for Valentine's Day, you know. It was going to be a really big deal. He even got us reservations at a really classy motel and everything," Violet sobbed. "I'm not sure which one, but he kept referring to it as having a big 6 on the sign and told me they would keep the light on for us."

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Keep the tears coming and soon I'll be cumming too," Harry's Cock said gleefully.

Harry slapped his cock under the table and whispered, "Shut the fuck up. This is business."

"Oh yeah, Harry. Slap me around some more. I like it."

"Now, Miss... ?"

"Barfly. Violet Barfly."

"Okay, Miss Barfly, when was the last time you saw your boyfriend?"

"It was the night before last. I met him at the Ass Pump Room over on Quincy Avenue. We go there a lot. I work there sometimes."

"Ass Pump Room, eh? Don't think I know that place. What kinda joint is it?"

"Ass Pump," said Harry's Cock, grinning wider than ever, a drop of precum dribbling down his shaft.

"It's a real nice place, Mr. Dick. It has red flocked wall paper and really beautiful black velvet paintings. A real classy joint, you know."

"And you say you work there, sometimes?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I work there on Thursday and Friday nights. I'm trying to earn enough money to buy my invalid mother a wheelchair," Violet said, still sobbing.

"Hmm. Sounds like a real nice place," Harry said. "And what time did your boyfriend leave?"

Violet had to think for a minute. "I think it was around midnight. He said he had a meeting with some guys from out of town."

"Do you have any idea who these guys were?"

"No. But he said they were from Chicago."

"Well, Miss Barfly, I'm pretty busy right now but I'll try and squeeze you in. But I don't work cheap. I charge $19.95 a day plus expenses," Harry said, sitting back in his cheap, Naugahyde office chair.

"Yeah. And I'd like to squeeze into you too," interjected Harry's Cock.

"Well, I'll have to dig into the wheelchair fund, Mr. Dick, but here," Violet said, handing over two crisp, new twenty-dollar-bills.

Violet Barfly stood and leaned over Harry's desk, her right hand extended to shake. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Dick. I'll keep in touch," she said leaning over even farther. Her fun bags were about to pop out of her low cut dress.

"Oh, God. I'm fucking dying down here," moaned Harry's Cock.

Harry shook Violets hand, while staring at her knockers. "I'd like to touch... I mean, and I'll keep in touch with you too, Miss Barfly."

Violet turned and walked to the door. The whole room seemed to undulate with the movement of her ass as she walked. At the door, Violet turned. "Oh, one more thing, Mr. Dick."

"Yes? What is it?"

"These guys, Geraldo, that's my boyfriend, was supposed to meet. They were Italians and I think they were in the music business."

Harry considered this for a moment. "What makes you think that, Miss Barfly?"

"Well, he said they all carried violin cases. So they must be musicians or something." With that, Violet opened the door and was gone.

"Hmm," Harry thought, "Violin cases... Italians... from Chicago? Sounds like mobsters."

Harry turned to the window of his office and watch Violet Barfly walk out into the street, wave down a cab and climb in. Harry's Cock continued to dribble.

The intercom on his desk buzzed.

Harry pressed the button on the intercom and said, "What is it, doll?"

"You have a phone call, Harry. I'm going to lunch now. Bye," Maria said.

Harry picked up the telephone. "Harry Dick here."

"Hi, Harry," came the voice of the insane author and sometime porn-monger, Jenny Jackson.

"Oh, Shit. There goes my day," Harry said, into the receiver.

"Now, Harry. Don't be like that. I did send you a real case this time. Sounds like this Barfly woman's mixed up with real mobsters."

"You sent her?" Harry asked, suspiciously.

"Of course, Harry. I'm the only one who writes you. Who else would have sent her?"

"Son-of-a-bitch," mumbled Harry under his breath. "Why couldn't I get a real writer like Mickey Spillane or someone instead of this schizophrenic nut-job?"

"What was that, Harry? I couldn't quite hear?"

"Never mind, Jackson. What's the deal? After all the shit jobs you sent me, now you send me a good job for once?"

"Just trying to make it up to you, Harry. I'm thinking I could make you the next Mike Hammer or something."

"Yeah, yeah. Like, I really believe that, Jackson," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"And look at me. I'm all soft and shriveled again," remarked Harry's Cock.

"I know you're busy, Harry, so I'll let you get to work," Jenny said. "Oh, and tell you cock to shut the fuck up. Cocks aren't supposed to talk."

The phone line went as dead as Harry's Cock was feeling.

The door to Harry's private office opened and Police Inspector "Boney" Malone entered the office. "So, Jenny actually gave you a case, eh, Dick?"

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. A worn out flat-foot," Harry said, with barely disguised dislike.

"Knock off the comedy, Dick," Malone said, seriously. "I hear Jenny sent you a case involving some Italian mobsters from Chicago."

"Maybe. What's it to you?"

"Those Chicago mobs are mixed up in a lota stuff, Harry. Stuff like, prostitution, loan sharking, drugs and porn. I'm here to tell you to back off."

"Boney, every case I get, you say to back off," Harry said, trying to act tough. "Now, I admit, Jenny has sent me some pretty phony cases, but this one is big."

"Look, Dick. Jenny tells me you are on to something. It's Valentine's Day, right? You ever hear about the St. Valentine's Day Massacre? That was Al Capone and his Chicago mob."

"Well, no. Not really. But that don't mean anything, Boney. This is my case and it's going to make me a big name in the detective business in this town."

"Yeah? Remember what you said about the Christmas Dildo Caper? That case was going to put you on the front page. At least your Christmas Tree made the front page of the Times, even if you didn't."

"Hey. Don't remind me. Okay?"

"The boys down at the precinct are still laughing, Harry."

"Fuck off, Boney!"

Malone was still chuckling when he stepped out of Harry's private office. There he turned to Maria Torres and said, "You ready for lunch, baby?"

"Oh yeah," Maria said, with a wide smile. "You going to give me a big sausage for lunch again today, Boney?"

Harry Dick parked his 1924 Packard on the street, down the block from the Ass Pump Room. After locking his priceless piece of junk, he swaggered down the street and entered the club. Violet was right. The Ass Pump Room was really swank.

Dick walked up to the bar and waved at the bartender. The bartender blew his nose on his bar towel and asked, "What'll it be, buddy?"

"A little information," Harry said, handing the bartender one of his business cards. These cards he'd gotten at a garage sale in Yonkers the previous summer. The cards had been printed for "Big Al's Fine Frozen Meats" but Harry had artfully crossed that out and wrote in his own business name.

"Fucked up card, guy. Where'd you get these? Some garage sale or something?"

"None of you lip," Harry said in his best tough-guy voice. "You know Violet Barfly?"

The bartender looked nervous. "Yeah, I know her. Who don't?"

"You ever seen her boyfriend?"

"Yeah. He was here a couple a nights ago. Kind of a squatty, Italian guy."

"That's him. You seen him since?"

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