Chapter 4

Tina walks into the office, dragging off her heavy coat and stomping her feet, leaving snow on the mat just inside the door.

"I hate snow," she gripes. I don't mind it. I like snow, but not when ya gotta go out in it. The streets are a fucking sheet of ice out there."

Tina turns and smiles. Yeah, that's better. She has on one of her office outfits: real forties looking, with shoulder pads and the whole nine yards.

Tina poses for me. Yeah, she is major hot. And I got a major hard-on for her.

Well, more than that. Hell, old guys can dream, can't they? I'm getting plenty, but I know that it will go away soon enough.

Fuck, no use mourning over something you haven't lost yet. Just close your eyes and pretend it will be there forever.

Yeah, da Nile is more than just a river in Egypt.

"Wonder where Muscles is?" I wonder aloud. She's my new partner, the more active part of Murray Antoinette, Private Investigations. Yeah, I changed the name, since it ain't just me any more.

Tina shrugs.

"She was still looking for Billy Croft last I heard," she says.

Billy Croft is a stupid, lazy nigger. No, I'm not racist. Not all blacks are shifty, lazy, none too smart and willing to do anything illegal to make some easy bucks.

But Billy Croft doesn't know that. He's living a bad stereotype that never held much water anyway.

Billy Croft wants to be the ultimate nigger.

He was doing pretty good at it, too. At least, he was until he sold a quarter pound of meth to an undercover officer.

Now Billy's looking at adding convicted felon to his already dubious list of achievements.

Problem was, his friends came up with the ten percent of his bail.

And he's on the street.

Last week, he has his preliminary hearing. Everyone shows up but the guest of honor.

Billy Croft skipped out on his bail.

What's this got to do with me, you ask? Absolutely nothing, except for one little thing.

Muscle's first accomplishment after I hired her was getting a juicy contract with Ace Bail Bonds, owned by a friend of hers, Maria Delucchi. We do skip-tracing for them.

And Billy Croft used Ace to put up his bail.

So Maria gets twenty grand from Billy's friends to put up a two hundred thousand bail. He shows up, everything is peachy keen and she keeps the twenty grand.

But Billy doesn't show up. And his bail is revoked.

So Maria has to come up with Billy or she has to come up with a hundred and eighty grand.

She'd rather come up with the guy.

That's where we come in.

Bounty hunting is interesting work. Billy has no civil rights, since he basically sold them to Maria when he got the bail guarantee.

So the people hunting this asshole down don't have any of that bullshit "rights" stuff to stop them when they come after him. You can kick in doors, do warrantless searches, go on private property without permission, intimidate people and generally kick ass until you find him.

Then you can kick his ass too, if it needs it.

It's kind of like police work, only with a lot less rules.

Billy Croft thought the twenty grand bought him his freedom. It did, but only temporarily. So now, Billy Croft just bought himself a world of hurt.

Tina smiles.

"I like to tell people my boyfriend is a bounty hunter," she says.

I gotta smile. Her big brown eyes have something akin to hero worship in them.

Yeah, I'm human. This girl thinks I'm hot shit in a champagne glass. Who am I to tell her it's more like cold piss in a Dixie Cup? Tina's smart. She'll figure it out soon enough.

And Tina knows where the door is. It'll close behind her, and that will be that.

The door opens and Muscles stalks in.

"Hasn't anyone told the weather it's March?" she bitches. "It's a fucking blizzard out there!"

Muscles drags off her coat and throws it on the rack. She's wearing her usual, a muscle T and jeans, with shit-kicker black engineer boots and an old checkered wool shirt over the T.

She's got Dyke written all over her, which is a good thing. Because if some guy mistakes her for straight and gets overly friendly, he's not gonna do that ever again.

But he won't have a penis left anyway, so the whole problem is moot.

Yeah, I really like Muscles. She's a hell of a partner. Hell, our first skip trace job, she ran the guy down, disarmed him and beat the crap out of him.

Then came back to the office and fucked the hell out of Tina, she was so excited.

Yeah, it's just like having a male partner, but Muscles is much more fun to watch.

She looks over at me.

"We got a problem," Muscles says.

"What you mean we, Kimosabe?" I ask. Damn, Muscles just looks blank.

"What?" I ask her. "You never heard of the Lone Ranger? And Tonto, his faithful Indian companion? They get cornered by a bunch of Indians and the Lone Ranger looks over at Tonto, and says, "Well, Tonto, looks like we've had it."

Muscles looks at me blankly, just shaking her head.

"And Tonto looks over at the Lone Ranger and says, "What you mean 'we' Kimosabe?"

At least she has the decency to smile, but a joke's not a joke when you have to explain the fucking thing. I guess she was raised on Sesame Street or maybe G.I. Joe.

"Anyway," she says, "I found where Billy Croft is hiding out. He has a cousin in Reno. He went to stay there."

"Shit," I say. We get paid the same whether we take him in town or Afghanistan. I mean, Maria would pony up more if she had to, but our deal is twenty percent.

Yeah, it's a shitty deal for Maria. She gets ten percent down, and if the asshole skips, it costs her twice that to get him back.

But a lot of people never skip, so if you're lucky, you make nice money.

Billy Croft is already adding to how hard he gets taken down when we finally find him.

I look over at Tina and grin.

"Hon, get on the computer," I tell her. "See what the weather is doing in Reno, Nevada. Looks like I'm going on a business trip."

Shari grins and starts hitting keys.

The weather sucks.

No, it's not snowing, but the fucking wind is ripping through Reno like a heavy fart through jeans. Sixty miles an hour, with gusts to ninety.

"We call them Washoe Zephyrs," the guy pushing our luggage says. "It gets lots worse than this."

He's checking out Joyce, probably wondering why this hot chick is traveling with me.

Joyce surprised me when she showed up in a dress and high heels and even totally made up. Now, I'm not complaining. This chick is really hot and looks great.

I'm just used to the old, boots and muscle T Muscles, not the lipstick lesbian Muscles.

She smiled at my surprised look. Yeah, I think my jaw bounced off the floor.

"What's the matter, Murray?" she asked. "Forget I was a woman?"

I nodded. Muscles is more of a man than me and six other guys combined.

But she looks damned nice in a dress.

We pick up the rental car and head downtown. It's blowing like a son of a bitch, but we park in the parking garage at the International, so we don't have to walk in it.

We take the elevator to the Sky-walk level and walk toward the main building.

Yeah, it's a Casino. Hell, what did you expect? I go to Reno and stay in a Motel Six?

I don't think so.

This blonde babe walks by, carrying a tray of drinks. Her big breasts are half exposed, and her pussy's barely covered by the little strip of fabric that passes for a crotch on her outfit.

She smiles when she sees me checking her out, and smiles over at Muscles too. Yeah, she's checking out the cocktail babe right along with me.

"I like this town," Muscles says. I nod. Gambling, hot babes in hotter outfits, twenty-four hour bars and legal brothels just over the county line.

What's there not to like?

We get a room together. Yeah, it's cheaper, and it has two beds. It ain't exactly like we're strangers, or lovers for that matter.

We're partners.

Besides, one of us gets lucky, maybe the other one does too.

At least, that's my take on it.

We eat dinner in the buffet. Holy shit! We're not talking a salad bar and a few entrees here.

We're talking a hundred and fifty feet of food, plus the huge salad area, dessert buffet, seafood, steak, Mexican, Italian, fucking everything!

Yeah, we pigged out.

Then we went downstairs into the main casino. It's huge: two square blocks of slot machines, blackjack tables, you name it. And hot little cocktail waitresses and cigarette girls and dealers everywhere.

Reno has more great pussy per square foot than any place I've ever been.

Except maybe Vegas.

I've decided I'm gonna retire to Nevada. The whole state is nothing but nothing for miles and miles, but boy, you hit town, you know it.

I play Blackjack, while Muscles pulls handles. My dealer is a hot babe with a cold streak, couldn't make a hand if you gave her a hammer and nails.

An hour later, I've had four free drinks, Chivas, and I'm up over three grand.

Can't complain about that.

We go see a hot show. Man, I've never seen so many boobies and bare asses in one place before. And the show is well done, not just some rip off crap to show tits and ass and nothing else. These babes are professional dancers. Our waitress even flirts with Muscles, which takes the sting out of the three hundred she lost on the slots.

By the time we leave, Muscles and I are pretty loose. She takes my arm, which surprises me.

"I don't usually drink that much," she tells me, her eyes both bright and unfocused.

We walk through the Casino. Muscles is having a little trouble walking, so I put an arm around her to steady her. She moves up against me and lets me help.

We get up to the room and Muscles turns to me.

"I wanna ask you something, Murray," she says, slurring only slightly.

"Sure," I say. Shit, she's drunk. I hope she's not gonna get maudlin on me. A mean drunk you can beat the crap out of, but a crying drunk is just pathetic.

"Do you think I'm sexy?" she asks, looking at me, almost fearful to hear the answer.

That one is easy.

"Christ, yes," I tell her. "I always have."

Muscles kisses me. Not her tough, take control, 'guy' kiss, but a soft, almost pleadingly erotic kiss.

Hell, what can I do? I want to, and Jack likes Muscles, even though she scares him too.

I kiss her back.

"Just make love to me, Murry," she says, looking into my eyes. "No bullshit, no regrets. Tonight, I just want to be a woman. I want you in me."

I kiss her more passionately. Sure, she's muscled and twice as strong as me.

But she's still a woman, and a damned desirable one.

We kiss wetly and I begin to run my hands over her. She moans and lets me. She opens my pants, taking Jack out gently and petting him, like you might a dog was was nervous.

"I think Jack's a little afraid of me," she whispers softly. "Tell him it's all right. I want him in my pussy tonight. I just want to enjoy him tonight."

I kiss her deeper and slide my hand down over her pussy. I've been in her ass, but her pussy is, as is tattooed on her mons, For Women Only.

At least, that's usually the case.

Her pussy is surprisingly soft for such a hard woman. Joyce moans and spreads her legs for me, as I touch her through her panty-hose.

"I hate these fucking things," Joyce says softly and pulls her panty-hose off. Then she pulls off her panties and lays back on the bed and waits for me.

I slide on her, cupping her naked twat with my hand. She is soft and hairless and slick, and she moans as I finger her.

Jack is getting ready, stiff and excited. Hey, Muscles has been a buddy for a while, but Jack always had to use the back entrance.

Now he's being invited to come in the front door, as a very honored guest, and he's going to enjoy the opportunity.

I slip her blouse open and suck a small, firm nipple into my mouth, rolling it gently with my lips and tongue. I can smell her arousal, and also her nervousness.

I slide down her hard body and between her big, strong thighs. Her pussy is pretty, small outer lips and very long inner lips, inviting a mouth to suck them and lick them.

I do, and Muscles moans and spreads her legs further.

Jacks dancing in Muscle's hands. Then Joyce, her real name, slides her mouth over him, gently and deeply.

Yeah, Jack's a little scared. One bite and he's history. But Joyce isn't thinking of biting. She's kissing and licking and sucking at the little guy and pretty soon he's bouncing up and down and dancing for her.

Joyce giggles.

"He's such a cute little prick!" she says, then kisses him.

"I want him in my cunt, please, Murray," Joyce says. "I know I'm drunk, but please, just fuck me like a woman."

I slide around and put Jack to her entrance. Muscles may not seem very feminine at times, but Jack knows the territory. It's a pussy, and he loves pussy diving. He jumps right in, going deep and long, and Joyce moans as her fills her very narrow pussy.

She kisses me, reaming my mouth hard. She's getting turned on, and the nervous little girl I started out with begins to become the strong woman Muscles really is. She starts moving her hips, more fucking herself on Jack than being fucked. She's moaning and kissing and pulling my ass forward to drive Jack deeper inside of her.

"Make Jack come off in my pussy, Murray. I want you to."

Jack wants to too. In fact, he's well on the way to doing just that.

Muscles is so tight and hot and slick, and Jack is getting real excited.

Then Muscles groans and orgasms, and drags my ass hard toward her, driving Jack really, really deep. Jack jerks and comes off and she comes off again too.

"JESUS CHRIST! YES!!" she screams and arches up, clamping down on Jack with pussy muscles stronger than anything I've ever felt. Jack is struggling and being massaged by Muscle's tight pussy and that brings me another fucking wonderful spasm and I start yelling too.

Then we just lay there in the bed, coated with sweat, and trying to learn to breathe again.

"Fuck," Joyce says. "That was really nice."

"Yeah, it was," I say. Even Jack, who has decided that he is uninjured by Joyce's pussy contractions, is just laying inside of her, enjoying her comfortable pussy still tight and slick on him.

"Well, I guess men aren't that bad," she says with a chuckle.

"Nah," I say. "You might have just gotten a dud."

"No, I didn't. You were great," Joyce tells me.

"No," I explain. "I mean the guys you had before."

Joyce rolls over and smiles at me, and kisses me very gently. She smiles and lays her crewcut head on my chest.

"I never had a guy before," she tells me. "You were the first to go there."

I lay on the bed, just blown away.

I'd just had sex with Muscles.

And she had been a virgin.

The next morning we get up and showered and dressed.

Muscles is her usual self, and so am I. Yeah, we had sex last night. So what?

Muscles comes out of the shower in just, well, muscles. She put on a pair of boxer briefs and her camo gear, with all the pockets.

First she straps on ber shoulder holster, with her big.45 auto. Then she starts filling her numerous pockets. Taser, sap, whip baton, extra clips for her.45, knives, cosh, handcuffs, plastic zip straps for extra restraints,.38 snubby,.45 derringer. All the usual equipment she carries now.

"Hot date?" I ask.

She smiles grimly.

"Yeah, but Billy Croft doesn't know it yet," she says.

I sure wouldn't want to be him right now.

I slip on my coat and snap my Dog on the back of my belt. I certainly don't mind having Muscles along, with all her stuff. But me, I never went in for all that shit. I got a.44 magnum on my belt and a little Smith and Wesson.38 Featherweight snubby in a last ditch holster on my right ankle. I carry a folding knife and I got my fists if I need 'em.

And I got an attitude.

That's all I've ever required.

Muscles drives though the streets of Reno. When you get past the Casinos Reno looks tired, like a hooker with a hangover,

well used and not too happy about it. There's nice sections, I'm sure, but we aren't going there.

We head out on Fourth Street, where the hookers and the strip joints compete with the regular businesses for customers. It's morning, and the regular places appear to be in control.

At night, I understand it's a whole 'nother story.

"Billy's cousin has a place over on Malluchi," Muscles says. "We're gonna check there first."

Malluchi is a slum. Not your big city, rotting buildings, bums sleeping in the street slum. It's your residential, old cars rusting by the houses, tired lawns competing with peeling paint and kid's abandoned toys on the dying grass kind of slum.

A teen-aged girl walks past, in shorts despite the cool day. She's maybe twelve, but has nice tits and a hell of an ass. Muscles smiles over at me.

"Twelve will get ya twenty," she says with a leer.

I put up my hands in defense.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna fuck her. I was just looking."

Muscles laughed.

"Better get her soon, Murray. She'll be burnt out by sixteen."

Muscles is right. It's kinda funny. Muscles was dating this thirteen year old, and making all the excuses anyone would for someone they have a real hard-on for.

But she has a good head on her shoulders. She understands the street. Not as well as I do, but Muscles is smart and a fast learner.

I gotta smile though. Odds like twelve will get you twenty are the lifeblood of the gambling industry.

But, of course, Muscles wasn't talking odds. A twelve year old can get you twenty years, no matter how many guys she may have fucked in the past six months.

Muscles slowed the car.

"The house should be up here, on the right. One four one one."

I look ahead. The house on the corner is sat at an angle. An old Camaro is parked in the drive, all fat tires and primer paint and shiny aluminum hood scoop.

Several kids are out playing in the yard, and four bigger gang-types punks are behind the Camaro, talking.

Billy Croft is one of them.

Muscles guns the car and turns the wheel, hard. We slew up to the curb, blocking the Camaro. I'm out of the car in a second.

Billy looks up and his eyes get real big. He turns and starts to run.

Muscles is out of the car an instant later, starting after him.

That's when I see the gun.

One of Croft's buddies has reached under his leather jacket and I see blued metal.

I've been here before, too many times. It's all in slow motion, with every detail burned into your brain like a brand. Your mind is working fast, but everything else isn't.

I'm already going for my Dog, but Muscles hasn't seen the punk with the piece, and she runs right between him and me. I bring up the Dog, cocking it as I do so, and point it right at Muscle's neck.

My finger is inside the trigger guard, but I don't touch the trigger. My guns are all modified, and a half ounce of pressure on the trigger will bring the hammer down.

I don't want to take Muscle's head off.

I wait.

Yeah, it's like that. I bide my time as Muscle's neck moves slowly forward and I see the asshole behind, his hand coming slowly up, with the big automatic pistol in it.

I see his whole head come into view, and I touch the trigger of my Dog.

BOOM! The small framed but powerful gun slams back into my hand.

The guy's head jerks. Suddenly there's blood confetti all over, as the side of his head explodes in a shower of blood and brain and bits of skull.

He's dead before he even begins to fall.

Muscles slows and spins, pulling her.45. No need. Dead Guy's friends aren't trying anything. They just stand in total shock as the body of their friend hits the ground and starts leaking all over the driveway.

"BOND ENFORCEMENT AGENTS!" I yell. "GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND, NOW!"

One of the assholes is quick. The other one hesitates.

Big mistake.

Muscles steps toward him and brings her leg around, kicking him hard in the back of the knee. He goes down like a sack, cracking his head on the trunk of the car on the way down.

Now we got two guys bleeding from head wounds.

Muscles cuffs her guy, then the other one, while I keep my Dog on point in case they try any shit.

Then she looks up and shakes her head.

"Billy got away," she says, pissed.

I nod.

The Reno cops are like cops everywhere: Real proud of their badges and guns, and pissed off at people like us, who get the same toys and who don't have to follow the playground rules.

We spent a few hours at Headquarters, getting our balls busted and our asses sniffed. All the cops were checking out Muscles, even though I was the shooter. One of the cops, a cute blonde chick, took charge of questioning Muscles.

Blondie wasn't trying to get in Muscle's head: Her goal was way lower. You could smell the pheromones going, big time.

They finally let us go. Dead Guy had a warrant on him for Armed Robbery, so they weren't real upset he got dead. Blondie gives us a ride back to the scene, so we can get our rental car.

Muscles sits in front with her.

I take the hint and leave to move the rental car, and sit in it while Joyce and Blondie talk. You could smell the overheated pussy at a hundred yards.

Finally Muscles smiles at her and comes back to the car, getting in the passenger seat.

"We're invited to dinner tonight," she says. "Barbara wants to give us the tour."

"Us?" I say. "It looked like she was about to give you the tour right there, starting with her twat."

Muscles laughs.

"She has a friend for you. She swings both ways."

"Barbara or the friend?" I ask.

Muscles grins.

"Guess you'll have to find that out, Murray."

We drive the streets a while. Yeah, Billy probably went to ground or is half way to California by now. But some guys just aren't that smart. He could still be hanging around.

We go back to the house and question the cousin. She's a big, stupid black woman, not enough brain left to be much use. Crack-head and too old to hook, which means she's got nothing to offer.

She claims she doesn't know shit. Yeah, Billy's been there; No, he's not there now; no, she can't get hold of him.

Same old bullshit.

We get in the car and drive through the Black neighborhood. Dealers are set up on just about every corner.

It has nothing to do with race. I seen Hispanics, Orientals, Italians, Irish, you name it. They all got one thing in common. They're people, and they're addicts. Yeah, being poor has a lot to do with it, but I seen rich addicts too.

You take people, you add in something they will do anything, and I mean ANYTHING, to get, and you got a tragedy happening.

Yeah, sometimes it seems the world is a ball of shit and we're just the flies that live on it.

"I could use a drink," I tell Muscles.

Muscles sighs. She looks tired. It's the adrenaline. You get such a rush going, then everything stops and you just slump.

"I should have seen the gun," she says.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. She shoulda seen the gun. He shoulda seen the car. They shouldn't have walked in that neighborhood. Kennedy shoulda moved over six inches.

It's easy to second guess yourself. And, if you're good at it, you can second guess yourself into a nice, deep hole, and live there for the rest of your life.