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Subject: {ASSM} New TG from Waldo - Marlowe - Part 1 of 7
Date: Tue, 17 Oct 2000 00:10:12 -0400
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Marlowe
By Waldo (mellin6695@aol.com)
If you're not an adult or interested in stories with strong
sexual content, then don't read any further. All rights
reserved by the Author.
This may be re-posted on the Internet on free sites such as
Fictionmania, Sapphire's Place or other non-pay sites where stories
are distributed for free to the public. Just send me an e-mail
telling me where you've posted it.
Chapter 1 - The Client
My name is Marlowe. I'm a Private Dick but before you get your
bowels all uptight, that just means that I'm a detective.
I'm not "that Philip Marlowe" although my business card just has
the last name on it so that people subconsciously link me with that
famous detective to get me some more work. My first name is
Darrel. Now you see why I go by just my last name. Darrel
Marlowe doesn't have the same zip or image power that the name
Philip Marlowe has.
My ex-wife says that I'm more of a dickhead than a Private Dick.
She said in our last court hearing that there was nothing private
about my dick at all. She said that I shared my dick with every
sleazy two-bit whore in the many bars up and down Sunset Strip.
That certainly wasn't true. There were several bars that I wouldn't
go into because of the clientele, several other bars that I was
barred from just because of my rough and rambunctious younger
days, and several two-bit whores that I somehow missed when I
was going through that phase of my "we both know our marriage is
over" stage.
I went into business for myself about four months ago. My
experience to get my license was based upon my six glorious years
on the LA Police Force's Homicide Squad. Would have stayed
longer with them and eventually retired from the Police Force to
someday manage a bar in Florida but toward the end of my
shortened police career, there was a bit of trouble where it was
widely rumored that I roughed up a suspect. I didn't touch the
bastard. It just so happened that he accidentally fell and I just
happened to have my fist balled up when he fell on my fist,
resulting in his nose being broken while he was in my custody.
They didn't buy my excuse that it was an accident because I
claimed that he accidentally fell on my fist twice in a five second
period. If he hadn't been the bratty nephew of some big-shot
Senator, I would still be on the force. I argued at my hearing that if
I had know at the time that it was going to cost me my job, he
would have fallen a couple of hundred times. The bastard was a
real prick with no respect for the law or me.
I specialize in missing persons now. After all, the police force
currently has a monopoly on being the only ones who can work on
murder cases which doesn't leave too much else for those of us
with no other skills. So it's a very narrow market and I have to
work where there's some potential work.
Only work has been slow lately. Very slow. So slow that you can
find me sitting at my desk almost every day waiting for some
customer to call me. I usually sit in the dark and smoke cigarettes
while I'm waiting. I sit in the dark because my deal with my
landlord is that I also pay my electrical bill so because my client
case load is low, I sit in the dark a lot.
I've had some cases since I opened my office. Six to be exact. So
I've been gainfully employed by customers about three weeks out of
the last four months. And my biggest case so far hasn't paid off
because my missing person's lawyer is still doing the typical court
delay tactic and I don't get paid until I testify in court. It could be
two years before I see that three thousand four hundred and
seventeen dollars.
But that is the name of the game. I knew it when I went into this
business of being a Private Dick but I didn't have too much choice.
After all, where else can a thirty-five year old burly ex-cop who was
washed out of the police force on brutality charges go to make a
living? So I specialize in Missing Persons but I won't turn down any
case that pays me my expenses plus at least two-hundred-fifty a
day. I would even look for a missing dog if the reward were high
enough.
I'm good at what I do. Mainly that's because I'm very suspicious of
everyone from my six years on the Homicide Squad. I'm so
suspicious that my ex-wife says that I'm also the most paranoid
person that she ever met. I'm not sure yet if that was a compliment
or a put-down. You see in this business, you can't take anything
for granted and have to be suspicious of everything and everyone
until you've actually confirmed the facts. Even the facts that your
customer has provided you. Customers always lie. Customers are
always very self-serving.
******
June 12th.
It was a hot day. Every day is hot in Hollywood. I was sitting at my
desk with my feet propped up on the desk and enjoying the slight
breeze from the overhead fan. I've got air conditioning in my office
but seldom use it because the fan is much cheaper. My lights were
turned off to conserve electricity as usual and the only light in the
room was coming in through the drawn blinds from the outside
noonday sun. I keep the blinds closed to keep the summer heat
out and also so that the noisy neighbors across the street can't
peek in at me. There's another couple of Detective firms across the
street and they enjoy looking at my office to see that I don't have
any clients and that I am spending most of my time with my feet
propped up on my desk.
I thought that I had found a customer that morning. While reading
the newspaper, I saw where a man's wife had ran off with his best
friend and dog. Yeah, the best friend was fucking the old lady and
the two lovers skipped town taking the hubby's dog with them. So I
called the hubby to offer my services for a reduced fee just because
"I didn't like to see anyone lose their pets". He didn't buy that
phony attempt to drum up some business and told me that he was
glad that the bitch was gone then hung up. Don't know if he was
talking about his wife or the dog.
Yep, it's slow.
Then I heard the elevator door open on my floor. I share the floor
with four other tenants but they use their office space more as a
mail drop than as an active office environment so we get very little
traffic on this floor. I could hear the hard click of high heels
echoing from the hallway corridor so I knew it was a woman and I
was trying to estimate her height and weight by the sound of her
footsteps. Hey, if Sherlock Holmes can visualize that type of
analysis, so can I.
I don't know why but I knew that the woman was probably a babe.
After all, only a luscious babe would be wearing high heels at two
p.m. on a hot June day in LA. Was she a blonde, brunette or
redhead? She had to be going to Gerald's Accounting Service at the
end of the hallway because he was the only one on this floor who
ever got any visitors. I also deduced that if she was a client of
Gerald's, then she didn't have any money and was probably a
hooker. Gerald specializes in that sort of customer and every once
in awhile, a really nice piece of ass walked down the hall. Hey, I
even know several of Gerald's clients either professionally from my
old days on the Homicide Squad or from my days when I had a
couple of bucks burning a hole in my pocket.
I had just decided that she was a blonde because almost every
woman in LA is a blonde when her footsteps stopped just outside
my door. Quietly easing my feet off of the desk and dropping to a
more professional sitting-up straight position, I held my breath as I
tried to figure out what she was doing. Either she was reading my
name on the door or she was lost and getting ready to call someone
on her cell phone for directions.
Then I saw the door handle turn and the unlocked door opened. I
wished that I had the lights on at that moment so it didn't look as
if I was sleeping.
Sleeping! That's it. I'll pretend that I was about to take a quick
nap because I was out following a suspect all night. That
particular excuse worked several times with my ex-wife.
The bright lights in the corridor blasting into the office blinded me
so that all I could see was her outline against the relatively bright
hallway lights. That was barely enough light for me to tell that she
was tall and built like a brick shithouse. But that was enough of a
glimpse of her for Richard to decide that he liked her. That's what I
call my partner between my legs. Richard sounds better than dick
or cock. Women like it when you give personal names to your body
parts.
Yeah, Richard liked what he saw. Or rather liked what he couldn't
see because it was only the outline of a tall woman with long legs,
wide hips and long shoulder-length hair standing in the doorway.
When she timidly asked "Is anyone in there?" in a husky sexy voice
that reminded me of that Lauren Bacall sexy woman character who
stood in a doorway and asked for a match, I thought of several
witty replies. Fortunately I didn't use them.
"Come in. I was out on a case all night and was just resting my
eyes."
Leaping to my feet, I came around my desk and rushed to the open
door as I tried to make out her features. Flipping on the light
switch quickly illuminated my office and the front of my visitor so
that I could see her without staring into the too bright light behind
her.
Richard definitely liked what I was looking at. This was one
luscious babe standing in my doorway. Being a Private Dick, I
immediately memorized all of her features.
She was tall. I'm five foot ten and her twinkling green eyes were an
inch higher than my eyes but she also was standing in three-inch
high heels so I guessed her to be about five foot eight or nine. The
next thing that I noticed was the exposed cleavage and a set of
man-made boobs that I guessed filled a 36 or 38 D bra. While her
cleavage looked real, I'm an expert at determining if the boobs are
real or fake. Although they looked very real, I knew that they were
fake ones that had been created by a skilled and expensive
surgeon.
She was a blonde. Long silken curls in a full hairstyle that must
take her an hour or two every day just to brush it into the way that
it looked now. Her face was the next thing that I noticed. Twinkling
green eyes with just enough makeup to call attention to her eyes
but enough makeup to make the rest of her gorgeous face look very
natural. Her perky slender nose and high cheek bones showed that
she had an ethnic background which appeared to be Norwegian.
Her perfect lips were the type of lush voluptuous lips that you see
in lipstick advertisements where you just want to pretend that you
will one day be able slide your Richard into lips as perfect as that.
If my ex-wife had a pair of luscious lips like this babe's lips, I
would still be married to the old woman. Naw, on second thought
the main thing that I didn't like about my ex, was my wife's
frequently too big mouth.
I saw a woman in a movie recently that looked a lot like this babe.
The actresses name was Nicole Kidman so I filed that fact in my
mind. I also filed away that this woman's tits looked much greater
than that actress's little boobs.
Still playing Sherlock, I decided that not only was this babe a very
beautiful woman, but she also had a lot of money. After all, how
many women can afford to look the way that she looked. I knew
that the realistic boobs were expensive and looking at her face, I
quickly decided that she had probably had a little bit done to her
face also. After all, a face as perfect as her face typically isn't
natural. And she was dressed in an expensive china white cocktail
dress that showed off her curvy figure in addition to showing off
just the right amount of cleavage to be almost acceptable by most
old church-going biddies. The expensive designer's white shoulder-
less dress made her tanned arms, upper chest and long slender
legs look darker, as well as confirmed that she wasn't hiding a
pistol under her clothes. The way that expensive designer dress
hugged her body showed that she probably didn't have any panties
on although there was just the barest tell-tale sign of a strapless
lacy bra under the dress. While she looked soft and cuddy, her
firm shoulders showed that she spent a lot of time swimming in
the pool as well as spending time beside the pool to have such a
nice tan.
Long dangling golden ear rings hung from each ear that I knew had
to set some man back at least ten thousand and there was a
delicate gold chain around her slender neck that probably cost
more than my old car was currently worth. She was carrying a
small white purse, one of those small hand purses that women
take to cocktail parties that only had enough room for a credit
card, a tampon, a pack of cigarettes and a house key.
Yeah, she looked to be in her middle twenties, about five foot eight,
one hundred and forty portioned pounds of perfect womanhood.
Richard was getting huge, heavy and hot as I checked her out.
"Are you Mister Marlowe?"
Her question startled me from my re-examination of her breasts. I
glanced back up at her gleaming eyes as I mentally changed my
previous evaluation to 38 small D or large C.
"Uh yes, please come in. Sorry I wasn't expecting any one and had
just finished a case so I was resting my eyes for a few moments.
One of the benefits of being your own boss is that you can take a
nap when you feel like it."
I moved out of the doorway and she walked by me, leaving a trail of
the most delightful delicate scent that caused Richard to leap to
attention so hard that he almost slapped against my belly. I don't
know what the name of the perfume was that she was wearing but
I knew that it had to be expensive. I also noticed that her body
when seen from the side was an almost perfect model's straight
shape. And when seen from behind, well, let's just say that
Richard almost did an unmentionable in my underwear. I'm a boob
man but she had a perfect ass and her tight dress showed how
shapely perfect her ass was.
I could only stand and watch as she moved by me and headed to
the client's chair in front of my desk. As she sat down, I grimaced
because I knew that there was probably dust on that chair from
my lack of clients and she was going to get her impossibly white
dress dirty from sitting on my chair.
Moving around the desk to my chair, I noticed that she was sitting
on the edge of her chair and holding her back stiff while clutching
the purse tightly in her long delicate fingernails. For the first time I
noticed that her long fingernails had polish that matched her
lipstick and I wondered if her toe nails also matched. I felt a silent
inquiry from Richard as Richard was suggesting to me that I
should look at her feet and maybe politely suck on her toes a little
to get to know my visitor better but I ignored him. Richard has
frequently got me in trouble.
As I sat down in my chair, she spoke again in that type of husky
bedroom voice that reminded me of the great female sexpots of
movie fame. "Mister Marlow, my name is Tanya Browning. I hate to
barge in on you without an appointment but I had to see someone
today. I called the detective who is working on my case and he
recommended you. A Lieutenant Harrison."
Jeff Harrison. My frequent bar-hopping partner who I currently
owed about three thousand dollars. He probably sent her to me to
help me earn the money to pay him back.
"Yes, I've worked on few cases with Lieutenant Harrison."
Cases? Yes, cases of beer. Jeff and I have drunk a lot of beer and
chased a lot of women together.
"Mister Marlowe, I want you to find my missing husband for me."
I glanced down at her cleavage again then back up at her very
attractive face. I suddenly suspected that she was lying to me. A
sane man wouldn't run away from a beautiful woman that looked
as good as she looked. Hell, most men would have to be driven
away with a baseball bat. Speaking of baseball bats, Richard was
getting pretty heavy and large within my trousers.
"How long has he been missing, Mrs. Browning?"
"A little over two years now."
I smelled something wrong. I've got a nose for trouble and when a
beautiful woman says that her husband has been missing for over
two years but she's just now seriously looking for him, there has to
be more to the story. She was covering something up. Did I
mention that I'm sometimes very paranoid and don't trust anyone?
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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