Frank Driver, Private Eye

I realized that I had never given him my name. "Driver," I said, and reached over with my off hand to shake his.

"Mister... Driver?" he amended his question.

"Can you keep a secret, Marcus?" I asked.

He nodded. I believed him. He didn't look like he was much of a talker.

"That's good, because we're gonna be doing something very secret," I said, conspiratorially.

He eyed me with suspicion. "My momma's gonna tan my hide if I do something bad," he warned.

I chuckled. "No, no," I said. "You and I are the good guys. We're going to stop a bad guy from doing something bad."

His eyes lit up like saucers. "You mean it?" he asked.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my PI license. He took a step to the side, frightened. "You're... a cop?" He looked around, frantic.

This again. The cops in this town had a bad reputation.

"No, no. I'm a private investigator," I said. He looked at me again more relaxed, but not sure if he could trust me. "People hire me to go find bad guys that the cops can't find."

"So you're not a cop?" he asked again.

"I'm not a cop."

He thought about it for a moment. "Okay, then." He slipped into an even stride next to me.

I explained to him what I wanted him to do, and made sure that he could do everything exactly as I needed. I didn't want him getting any ideas of being a hero or trying to catch the bad guys like in the matinees. I made him repeat everything back to me, just to be sure.

We arrived at where I needed to be, and I stopped. "Here," I said, taking off my hat and holding it out to him. "Let's switch."

He looked at my fedora with wide-eyed amazement. He took off his tattered flat cap and handed it to me. He put on the hat, and brushed the brim with his fingers. It sat too large on his head, but he wore it like a crown.

"Looks good on you," I said. "I'm going to want it back, but for now you can take care of it for me."

He beamed.

"Okay," I said, putting the shine box out in front and tucking my coat beneath me so that I wouldn't have to sit on the soaked ground. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "Good," I said. "Go."

He took off and disappeared. I lifted the camera pouch over my head and brought it under the flaps of my coat to the best of my ability. I tried to protect the lens and the camera from the rain, but had to practically shove it under my armpit to do it. Still, I couldn't be caught fumbling when I needed it.

I looked up and saw Tammi on the corner. She hadn't been there a moment ago. I was so shocked that I nearly dropped my camera from underneath my coat.

She looked ridiculous. Blood red lipstick. Thick mascara. More rouge on her cheekbones than in a paint store. Her hair was held back by a bright red barrette that clashed with the two other shades on her face. Her makeup made Raggedy Anne's look subtle.

She held a beach-ball colored umbrella over her head, and had found a leopard print stole to wrap around her shoulders. Underneath she wore a simple frock with polka dots and black and white saddle shoes. She was a collision of visuals.

The most significant of all, though, was that her dress was just a couple inches too high to be proper. The hem sat just above her knees, showing off two of the most shapely calfs I'd ever seen on a woman. They moved like scissors as she paced her corner, occasionally crossing them to lean against the leeward side of the building.

Tammi had gams. Who knew?

I looked at my watch. It was 4:45. This was the grunt work of investigations - the waiting.

"All glamorous dames and blowjobs," I muttered to myself under my breath. I had found minor shelter in an alley across the street where I could see Tammi, but was still getting soaked.

The street was sparse for a Saturday afternoon. Normally there would be a bustle as women brought home the groceries to prepare for dinner, kids would be out in the street playing stickball. Even in the rain. Slushball was even more fun. But not in the Basement District

Here, the occasional pedestrian rushed by. Head down and collar up to protect against the rain and the cold. More than one woman looked up in time to see Tammi working her corner, and crossed to the other side of the street in disgust. Tammi smacked her gum and waved at them, grinning like a fool.

I shook my head. Smartass.

A door burst open and a woman with a disheveled red wig staggered down the stairs, completely incendiary with anger.

Moleface.

She was obviously drunk. Even so, she managed to cross the street to where Tammi stood without falling and killing herself. She put a crooked finger in Tammi's face. I expected a catfight.

Instead, Tammi just smacked her gum and smiled back at Moleface. This, of course, just made her more irate. Even though her voice was in a register that only dogs could hear, the message was clear: this is my corner!

Tammi suddenly lunged at Moleface in a feint, raising her fist. Moleface lurched backwards, her drunken limbs not cooperating all at once. She twisted her leg as she tried to avoid the punch that didn't come, and fell straight into a puddle. Tammi laughed.

Embarrassed and humiliated, Moleface picked herself up. Water streamed down her legs as she stormed back across the crosswalk. With a vulgar gesture at Tammi, she disappeared back into her walkup.

Movement across the street caught my attention. A man approached Tammi from the opposite direction. His shoulder's were hunched, hands in pockets. He looked every bit the loser I expected, except he was too thin. His hat covered his face, but I hadn't seen Trixie's attacker clearly either. I wasn't sure.

From his hiding place Marcus caught my eye, and I nodded. He took off like Jesse Owens. Man, the kid was fast. He raced around the corner, and bumped into the john as he was trying to hand Tammi something. Marcus spun, never losing his balance, made an apology to the man and kept running.

Tammi laughed, and reached for the john and kept him from falling. He jerked away and said something to Tammi. She shook her head, laughing harder. The man stuffed his hand back into his pockets and rushed off into the direction he came from.

I relaxed, not realizing that I had instinctively become tense. The moment was over. I allowed myself to breathe normally.

Marcus came up to me from behind. He must have circled around the block and doubled back through another entrance into the alleyway. The kid was lightning.

"Mr. Driver," he whispered to me. He wasn't even breathing hard. "I did what you said."

I nodded. "Good work, Marcus," I said. "Man, I don't think I've ever seen anyone run as fast as you."

He broke out into a smile that lit up the street. The pride from the compliment struck home. "What did you see?" I asked.

He crouched down conspiratorially. "He was a preacher-man," Marcus said. "He was trying to give the girl a piece of paper to go to church."

I felt the corner of my lip rise. Tammi may have been playing a part today, but she wouldn't have gone to church on any other Sunday either.

"Good job, Marcus," I said, and patted him on the shoulder. "You'd make a great private eye."

He beamed. "You want me to get back in position?"

I nodded, and then immediately clamped down on his shoulder. Hard. He froze. "Wait!" I hissed.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I could feel it. A vibe. Someone was coming.

Instinctively, I pulled Marcus behind me. He crouched and knew to stay quiet. I was liking this kid more and more.

I heard the footsteps first. I needed to play my part, stick to my role. I was the out-of-luck shoe-shine man, waiting for the rain to break so that I could make some money from the people who desperately needed to get the splatter and mud off their shoes.

Under Marcus' too-small flat cap, I could only see the man from the thighs down. Trixie's assailant had been in dark shadow, so I couldn't see his face or any other recognizable features. But he had been big - just over six feet - and built like a half-track. When he moved, he moved with purpose and weight.

The guy walking past was solid. I saw his shoes. His shoes told a story all their own. They were black, the leather soles had been repaired more than once. The man didn't have money to spend on new shoes, but he relied on them.

I glanced up, but the man had already passed by and all I could see was the back of his coat and hat. He crossed the street without looking to see if any cars were coming.

I frowned.

He projected more than just an anticipation of his destination. He walked as if the rain didn't matter. He walked with purpose. I'd seen that kind of walk before. It was a walk of someone who was always on his guard.

I swallowed. It was a cop.

Dammit. I remembered that I had asked Murph to hold off on calling in the leads until today. They probably took their time getting prepared to come to the Basement District and follow up. Murph had kept his promise to wait, and now here we were.

Tammi and I were going to get busted for running a stakeout, and the whole plan was going to get shot to hell. We'd probably have to go down to the precinct and get it all sorted. Maybe I could get Murphy to step in and we might get her out before she had to spend any jail time.

As he approached Tammi, I expected the man to place her under arrest. My body tensed and I prepared to run over and try to prevent that from happening. I felt Marcus peek around from behind me.

Tammi saw him coming, and glanced up at one of the windows on the third floor of a nearby tenant house. I saw Trixie turn pale white, and nod. Without giving any indication she saw Trixie, Tammi put on the charm.

I felt a rock get stuck in my throat. This wasn't just a cop. We had found our mark.

The mark was a cop. The cop was the mark. Oh crap.

Tammi smiled at the man and twirled her umbrella in a flirtatious fashion. Can you be flirtatious with an umbrella? Well, Tammi did it somehow.

"Oh man," Marcus whispered. "She's busted." Marcus knew the guy was a cop, too.

I started to rise, when Tammi threw her head back and laughed. I sank back down on my haunches.

Tammi slipped her arm in the crook of the cop, and they started walking away.

Dammit. We should have chosen a place where they could go that I could see his face. As it was, I couldn't see anything at all about the man.

"Should I go again?" Marcus asked, ready to take off after them.

A thought suddenly hit me like a brick through a window. After what I had just witnessed, a vague notion was beginning to form in my cobwebbed brain. If I was right...

I was suddenly flooded with a sense of dread and fear. I remembered how the Slicer-Dicer had tossed Trixie at me with no more effort than a baseball. I couldn't believe I had put Marcus in such a dangerous situation. Tammi was bad enough, but there was no way I could risk anything happening to him.

What an idiot I'd been. "No," I said. "Change of plans."

Marcus looked at me, the excitement palpable in his eyes.

"I don't know if that's our guy or not," I lied, not sharing what my gut was telling me. "But I really need you to do something else."

I told him what I wanted him to do. As comprehension dawned, his excited expression started to fade. Soon, he was crestfallen.

"Well, being a private detective ain't like being in the movies," I said. "In real life, it's not glamorous work."

"I can't go to the movies," Marcus said, frowning. "Mama says we can't afford the money."

I nodded, understanding. "Well, good thing I'm paying you," I said, forcing a small grin to lighten his mood.

It didn't work. He looked down at the ground and shrugged.

"Look," I said, talking to him at eye level. "What I'm asking you to do is very important."

"Yeah, okay," he said, not believing me.

"Marcus, look at me," I said. He looked up. "I'm serious. This is probably the most important thing in this entire case. If I'm right, you are going to be the one who solves it."

His eyes brightened at that. "Really?" he asked, excitement creeping in.

"Absolutely," I said. I meant it, too.

I looked up at Trixie's window. She was looking straight at me, and beckoning me furiously with her hands to go to her.

"Right now, I have to go talk to a witness," I said. I swapped my hat for his, and started to pull the camera strap over my head. I handed it to him, and he took it.

"Do you know how to use one of these?" I asked. He nodded.

"Good," I said. "Because for a private investigator, taking pictures is one of his greatest weapons."

A realization dawned on me. A picture! Dammit! I had completely forgotten to take the picture! I cursed at myself under my breath. Chalk another mark up on the idiot board.

Well, maybe Marcus could be more on the ball than I was.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Driver," Marcus said. This boy was made for greater things than shoe shines, I could feel it.

I nodded, and made my way across the street to talk to Trixie.

Chapter 8

Trixie was waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

"A friend let me stay with her for now," she said, indicating the apartment. She turned and walked into it, and I followed.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Working." She thought for a moment, and then decided to add, "She's a secretary for some big-time lawyer."

It didn't look much different than Pixie and Trixie's apartment.

Off my look, she scoffed. "Yeah. Lawyer pulls in fifty dollars an hour, and all she can afford is this dump in the Basement District. She's been working long hours and said I could stay here until I leave."

"Leave?" I asked. "Where are you going?"

"I'm outta here," Trixie said, indicating her bags. Me, being Mr. Observant, hadn't noticed them at first.

"Won't the police want you to testify?" I asked.

She snorted. "Yeah, right, like the police would do anything for me. Why should I do anything for them? I just wanna be as far away from here - and him - as possible."

She had a point.

Truth be told, that wasn't my problem. I walked over to the window that overlooked the street corner. I wondered about how Tammi was getting on. Across the street was the shabby hotel for Tammi's plan, but I couldn't see into the room as the blinds were drawn.

Trixie came up beside me. "I think she'll be okay," she said, then turned and walked back into the room.

"What makes you so sure?"

"He was very gentle, very tender," she said. "I know he tried to kill me later, but that's not the kind of guy he was at first. He was actually really sweet."

I turned to her, and my jaw dropped. She had taken off her clothes, standing in nothing but black garters and high heels. Around her neck, though, were the bandages from the hospital. She looked like a sexy blonde version of Elsa Lanchester, except with a short haircut to her shoulders.

I swallowed.

"I'm not used to paying men," she said. "Usually they pay me. But the way I see it, I owe you my life. And for me, my life is my body."

She raised delicate fingers to the bandages. "I can't do everything, Mr. Driver," she said, her voice getting lower and warmer. Her message was clear. "But aside from that, you can have anything you want."

Her eyes flashed. "Anything."

Trixie's physique fit her name. She was thin with small breasts, and a light blonde bush invited my eyes to the space between her legs. She shifted her weight, and then began to turn in place.

I was treated to the most perfect heart-shaped butt I had ever seen. She looked back over her shoulder and winced a little as the stress on her neck was more than she expected. She slapped her own ass.

"Are you an ass-man, Mr. Driver?" she asked.

"I didn't realize I was until this very moment," I admitted. Normally I was a leg-man, but she had me persuaded.

"Well," she purred. "You can't do anything with your clothes on."

I glanced out the window, but there was no change in the scenery.

"You can't do anything about that, either," she scolded.

I sighed. She was right. Besides, the view was much better inside the apartment. I turned back to Trixie and started undressing.

"Oooh," Trixie cooed, sizing me up. "Looks like I'm not the only one hiding something worth looking at."

A hooker's compliments are worth less than a three dollar bill. Still, it was nice to hear.

I approached her, and she turned around and presented that phenomenal rear to me. It was my first time with a prostitute, but I supposed the etiquette was not to bother with foreplay.

She bent over the kitchenette table, and lust became my autopilot. My hands reached for her on their own and I grabbed her hips. She wiggled a bit, settling into my grip.

Hard as iron, I aimed myself at her vertical slit. She was already as wet as the constant rain, only much warmer. There was heat radiating from her body that guided me onward. As I touched her for the first time, we both stiffened in excitement.

I pressed forward.

She barely opened for me. I was unprepared for the extra work necessary to penetrate her. She bore down and pushed back on me, though, which helped. The head slipped inside, and then we both relaxed at the same time.

I stood still for a moment, savoring the sensation of her tightness. Now it didn't feel like either one of us were trying at all. Each breath seemed to let me sink into her body further and further.

I hit her cervix about halfway in. She jumped reflexively, and I started to withdraw. I'm no sadist.

Trixie, on the other hand, was no porcelain doll. She reached back and grabbed my hand with one of her own, and then used it as leverage to pull back against me. I felt things in her body move out of the way, and then I was fully inside her.

I looked down at the view, and nearly burst. Her shapely bottom was pressed against my hips, creating a visual that I had only fantasized about in my most sinful state of mind. Her tiny figure, thin and delicate in appearance, suddenly looked curvy and hourglass as she pressed into me.

Still, there was something not quite right. Inside her body, I could feel a sharpness to her pelvis. She was all smooth lines on the outside, but jagged angles on the inside. Her tiny body had more sharp bits than a drawer full of butcher's knives. If I moved too quickly I wondered if I'd lose skin.

I withdrew as I normally did, but as I re-entered her I was once again stopped halfway by her cervix. She flinched again. At that instant this was no longer enjoyable. I started to pull out again, and allowed myself to be free with an audible pop! sound.

I looked down at the girl bent over before me. She wiggled a little, expecting me to stick it back in, not knowing that I couldn't bring myself to do it. Disappointment flooded over me in waves. I wanted to be inside her. She looked incredible. She wanted me to take her as well.

I tried again. I entered her, and this time the experience was worse. She had shifted her weight and suddenly her pelvis ground down as I entered her. I felt an uncomfortable bend in my direction and winced in pain - actual, physical pain. This time, I didn't even get as far as her cervix before I pulled out again.

Looking down, I inspected my flesh. I completely expected that I would have found a gaping wound, scrapes, or tearing - for all the pain I had felt.

It was mind-boggling. How could a girl with a body this incredibly sexy be so unpleasant to screw? It didn't seem fair at all.

"Try the other hole," she said, matter-of-factly.

I looked at her. "What?" I asked, dumbfounded. "You want me to put it where?"

She turned as far as she could and smiled. "You heard me," she said, and wiggled again. "Try the other one."