Gun Moll Catfight

Dolores Jones, a striking 30 year old brunette private investigator, had been working the case for three months when everything unraveled. She'd got herself a job as a cocktail waitress at the Venus Club, where two other waitresses had gone missing over the last couple of years. The local police knew the club was owned by a local crime boss, Tony Di Angelo, and was a front for a wide range of illegal activities, including drugs, prostitution, money laundering and much more besides. But they could never build enough of a case to make anything stick, until recently.

Dolores had been hired by the sister of one of the missing girls, and had found out the chilling truth, from gaining the confidence of some of the other waitresses and dancers at the club. The two missing girls had been offering extra services to rich customers as part of a blackmailing sting. But they'd either skimmed some money, or knew too much about the illegal activities, or both. Nobody knew for sure. But they'd been driven out beyond the city limits by one of the crime boss's lieutenants - one last year, the other the year before - and never seen or heard from again. Apparently they weren't the first.

According to what Dolores had been told by some of the other frightened employees, the crime boss's mistress - a sultry 30 year old redhead called Lola Devine - had been a key player in the murders, gaining the missing women's trust and then luring them into the car with one of the crime organization's muscle thugs.

Dolores had amassed enough documents and testimony to bring down the operation and had kept the police informed, but something had gone wrong. A clerk at the police department had run up gambling debts and was passing information to local criminals to work off his debt. He'd somehow found out about Dolores being an undercover PI, and word had quickly reached Tony Di Angelo. Realizing he'd be facing murder charges, but having already amassed millions, he'd cut his losses, cashed in his assets and was about to head to a small local airport where he kept a private aircraft.

Ahead of fleeing to South America he'd called Lola, told her to collect the fortune in stolen jewels that he kept at the club, and then join him at the airport. He'd also told her that Dolores was an undercover PI with enough information to send them both to prison for life, and that she should take care of her. Which is how Dolores found herself alone with Lola in the lavish penthouse apartment above the club, at the point of a gun.

Both women were dressed as all the waitresses at the club were attired, in short, tight, flimsy slip dresses that left little to the imagination, and high heeled shoes. Dolores was wearing a red dress and Lola's was white. The evil redhead eyed Dolores warily, a small revolver in her hand.

"You interfering bitch," she snarled, "you've caused a lot of trouble. But I guess life on a beach in South America won't be too bad, with all our money to keep us company."

Dolores thought quickly. It was clear to the resourceful PI that the redhead intended to kill her. She needed to make a move. She thought quickly and then launched into a story.

"You won't be going to Rio, Lola. Mr Di Angelo has double crossed you. He's long gone, I'm sure. Why, even the jewels in that case are fakes. I saw him switch them last week."

It was a desperate bluff, but she counted on Lola's greed and stupidity, and knew that the gun made the villainess arrogant and overconfident. Dolores had been edging closer to the redhead, who was glancing nervously at the jewelry case that was resting on a small table beside them.

"N-no," Lola gasped, "h-he wouldn't" - she glanced at the jewelry box again, panic and confusion in her eyes, her gaze shifting rapidly between the box and the woman she'd been ordered to kill. But Dolores had slowly closed the distance between them, and took advantage of Lola's panic and indecision, suddenly thrusting out her arm, her hand grabbing Lola's wrist and forcing her arm up as the panicked gun moll fired her weapon, shots hitting the ceiling.

The two women struggled desperately and furiously for possession of the gun, unsteady in their high heeled shoes, aiming kicks at each other's ankles, gasping with effort, and yelling threats and abuse at each other.

After several minutes of struggling on their feet, knocking over the table with the jewelry case on it, their shapely bare legs tangled and both women fell hard on the floor, Lola losing her grip on the gun, which slid away across the floor. She lunged for it desperately, but Dolores pulled her back, the girl crook screaming in rage and frustration.

The two women struggled furiously on the floor, rolling over and over in a leggy tangle, slapping, scratching and pulling hair. As they rolled over and over, their shapely bare legs locked, tangled and kicked, resulting in both women's high heels coming off as they rolled back and forward across the floor, first one on top, then the other.

The contents of the jewelry box were spilled across the floor beside the fighting women. The redheaded femme fatale was intimately familiar with jewels and Lola had a look of fury on her face as she saw the jewels were the genuine items and realized Dolores had tricked her, distracting her just enough to make her move.

Screaming abuse at the interfering PI, the murderous redhead raked at Dolores with her nails and the fight raged back and forward for several minutes, both women's bodies slippery with perspiration, with both of them hitting, slapping, scratching, kicking, spitting, biting, pulling hair and choking each other in a life-or-death struggle.

The feisty PI knew she was fighting for her life. Lola was involved in at least two murders, and would surely kill her if she got the chance. Lola was equally desperate, knowing it was a life of riches and luxury if she got away, but life in prison if she was caught.

After ten more minutes of desperate struggling, both women were scratched, bruised, sore, sweaty and exhausted, but still evenly matched. Occasionally one of them made a lunge for the gun, only to be dragged back by the other, screaming with frustration. All the fighting took place on the floor, the women often locked together in a sweaty tangle, sometimes slapping and scratching, other times with their hands in each other's hair, tugging furiously.

Finally, the two women broke away from their tangled rolling, both of them breathing hard, breasts heaving, glaring at each other with hate in their eyes. They were both on their knees facing each other, too exhausted to stand.

With jewels, overturned furniture, and both women's high heeled shoes scattered round the room, Lola scooped up one of the shoes and threw it at her hated rival with a scream of rage. It missed, as the plucky PI dodged, but the move gave Lola a chance. Looking around desperately, she saw her gun a few feet away on the floor and crawled towards it, her face a mask of hate.

Dolores saw the danger and scrambled after the redhead femme fatale. Lola was sobbing with rage, cursing her stupidity in letting the PI get too close to her, but had a murderous expression on her face as she reached her gun, her hand closing on it.

"Oh no you don't, Lola," Dolores gasped, tackling the gun moll down hard, just as her hand closed on her weapon. The brunette PI had the redhead crook face down on the floor and straddled her, her hand scrambling for the redhead's wrist, gripping it hard and tight in her hand, then twisting savagely, pulling the screaming redhead's arm up high behind her back.

"Drop the gun, Lola", she hissed. The panicking redhead was screaming and struggling, kicking her shapely and sweaty bare legs furiously, but Dolores had her straddled and pinned, face down on the floor. Lola still had her gun in her hand, but was unable to use it.

Dolores had Lola's wrist gripped hard and tight in one hand, and was using her other hand to grip Lola's arm a little higher up, but still below the elbow, twisting the redhead crook's arm up savagely behind her back in a perfectly-executed hammerlock.

"Drop it Lola", the feisty PI yelled. "Drop the gun, you murdering bitch, or I'll break your arm." The screaming girl crook was in an impossible position: face down on the floor alongside the fortune in jewels, straddled, pinned, her breasts squashed painfully on the floor as the PI's weight pressed down on her, her arm and shoulder in agony. She tried to reach back with her free hand, clawing desperately, but it was hopeless.

"Let go of the gun, Lola," Dolores gasped, twisting Lola's arm up even higher behind her own back. "Drop it, Bitch". Sobbing with rage, pain and fear about her fate, the evil redhead finally had no choice but to release her grip on the weapon.

Sobbing with relief at having so narrowly escaped being killed, Dolores scooped up the weapon. She grabbed Lola's sweat-soaked hair with her other hand, pulled the sobbing girl crook's head up a few inches off the floor, and then clubbed her savagely on the back of her head with her own gun, releasing her grip on Lola's hair as the girl crook fell forward, stunned and hors de combat.

Dolores was sitting astride her beaten foe, who was face down on the floor, straddled, pinned and helpless under the exhausted-but-victorious brunette PI. Dolores was breathing hard, her breasts heaving, but she still needed to do a couple of things. She grabbed Lola's wrist again, repeating the earlier move where she'd finally disarmed the gun moll, twisting her arm up high behind her back a second time.

"OK Lola," she gasped, "tell me where Mr Di Angelo has gone, or I swear I'll break your arm." Sobbing and screaming, her nerve completely gone, the defeated girl crook told the feisty PI everything, in between yells of agony and sobs of fury. Her face was pressed down painfully on the floor, as were her breasts, and while she was still struggling weakly, the determined PI had her under complete control.

"Looks like you won't be needing those jewels, Lola", Dolores sneered down at her defeated foe, still gripping her wrist hard and tight, still keeping Lola's arm twisted up painfully behind her back. Lola's face was inches away from some of the priceless jewels. A pearl necklace had snapped as the two fighting women rolled over it earlier, and it was now draped over Lola's free hand.

"No cocktails on the beach in Rio for you, you murdering bitch," the PI hissed. "Just a life sentence and a prison cell until the day you die. Now, put your other arm behind your back or I swear I'll break your arm."

Sobbing with fear, rage, pain, shame and humiliation, Lola complied. In a final irony, Dolores wrapped the snapped pearl necklace around the sobbing girl crook's wrists, tying her hands together behind her back in a painfully tight fashion.

With a satisfied look on her face, Dolores got up slowly, standing over her defeated foe, who was face down on the floor, sobbing her heart out. Dolores used the apartment's telephone to call the police, telling them to ground flights at the airport and intercept Mr Di Angelo, and to come to the club's penthouse apartment to arrest Lola for murder.

The police arrived ten minutes later. Lola was still face down on the floor and two cops hauled the sobbing girl crook roughly to her feet, untied the pearl necklace from her wrists and replaced it with handcuffs, the cold metal digging into her slender wrists. Lola winced in pain, her wrists already bruised from Dolores having tied them so tightly with the necklace.

An hour ago Lola had looked sexy, sassy and sultry in her little slip dress and heels, and had been anticipating a life of luxury in Rio, filled with lazy days on the beach sipping cocktails, and champagne and gourmet food in the city's fancy restaurants.

Now, she was a hot mess, with a life sentence in a brutal prison ahead of her. One of the shoulder straps of her slip dress had been snapped in the desperate struggle, and one of her ample breasts was on display. She was led away by the cops, sweaty, disheveled and barefoot, hands cuffed behind her back.

As the police marched Lola towards the door, they passed Dolores, who was giving another cop her statement. The two women's eyes met briefly. Lola glared at the brunette PI, but there was shame and fear in her expression too, as well as fury. She'd had the gun, yet had been tricked, disarmed, overpowered, straddled, pinned and defeated by the feisty brunette PI. It wasn't just defeat, it was total humiliation.

Dolores looked Lola directly in the eyes, her expression a mix of satisfaction at her victory, and contempt for the gun moll who'd plotted the deaths of at least two other young women. Lola couldn't meet Dolores's gaze and looked down.

As she was led out of the room, head down, cuffed, with her arms behind her back, the certainty of a life sentence finally hit her, and she had a sick, tight feeling in her chest, and a look of absolute despair on her face. Her sore, sweat-soaked body was shaking with sobs, and though she didn't realize it at the time, she'd relive the agony of her defeat at the hands of the feisty brunette PI every day for the rest of her life.