Killing off the Ho,Ho,Ho's

I'm sure that in the life of every private detective there comes a day when he is woken up by a pounding on his door. And that, after he foolishly opens the door without looking first, he gets his ass beaten up by three incredible women who were dressing in black vinyl, leather, studded belts, and high heels. Also of course, this theoretical private detective will have to endure those three sexy women with huge breast dancing the Merengue on his testicles with their high heels.

But did I have to be hung-over when it was my turn?

The night before this beating I had been at a bar celebrating having money and being alive. So many times in the last few weeks those two items had been a problem with questionable outcomes. Hence the desire to celebrate my good fortune.

And I had.

I drank, a lot. I mean a ... lot.

And then I made a little pay-for-play hook up with a dainty flower from the gutter who said her name was Candy. Candy Samples. Oh, dear lord, let one of them grow a brain. Well, anyway I got my rocks off in her pretty mouth, tossed her the twenty she'd asked for, an extra ten for a tip and then made my drunken way home. A nice normal night in the big city for this nice normal private detective, right?

So.

Why was I woken up at an unholy hour by three women with triple-D breasts? I wasn't sure but I'm certain I would find that out ... since they kidnaped me after the beating.

All in all, this was not how I wanted to spend Christmas Eve.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

My ass was cold. Literally, my ... ass ... was cold.

That would be because it was sitting on some damp and cold concrete in what I think was a sub-basement. Or possibly a sub-basement to the sub-basement. Either way, it was dark as shit, cold as hell and I was hurting worse that I had ever hurt in my life.

My balls feel like oranges.

Those big navel-kind, the ones that look like orange softballs when you see them at the grocery store.

Yeah.

"Oh, god damn it all."

With a few more swear words and a lot of painful grunts and groans, I got to my feet. My so very bare, bare feet. Well, that's just fitting, since I seem to be completely naked in the cold ass -- (see what I did there) --place, and shoes would just have ruined the nude ensemble. Still, I can't say I was happy about this discovery.

I also wasn't Sneezy, Sleep, Dopey or Doc either.

"Hey! Let me the fuck out of here!"

In retrospective, letting the women that beat me up know I was awake probably wasn't a great idea. You know those flashlight-looking tasers? Those damn things really work. And they hurt, like a lot. I think when all this crap is over, providing I'm still breathing and not maggot chow, I need to aquire me one of them. You know, just for personal protection.

Anyway, when I woke up the change of decor suited me. Being strapped down in a chair with a bright light in my face is a vast improvement to being in that cold damp room with no light.

But my ass is still cold.

Oh, well can't have everything in this world. Glass half full kind of thoughts.

Yeah.

That bright light in my face did at least give me the ability to see my captors clearly for the first time. Clear enough to recognize them. They were part of a local all-female gang called the Sisters of No-Mercy and these three were, in no particular order, Mad Donna, Bubbley-Squeek, and their nominal vice-pres, the ever lovely Miss Behave.

Did I mention that the Sisters are mostly drag queens? And they have a few Trans-women, thrown in to confuse the issue? Anyway, on with my Christmas Eve kidnapping.

"Why did you do it, John?" asked Mad D, dramatically cracking the knuckles of her right hand by squeezing her fist tighter.

"Well, when I was very young I discovered that touching myself felt really good and ever since then, I just can't help but beating my dick as if it owes me money--"

SMACK!

Okay, yeah my smart mouth may not be my best friend today.

I spit out a mouthful of blood. "If you ladies don't stop this foreplay I'm going to get turned on here soon."

Bubbley-Squeek giggled, hence where she gets her nickname, walked over, sat down straddling my legs, pressed her huge tits against my bare chest, leaned in by my face and licked the drooled blood off my chin.

"We're just getting started playing, Taline. Wait till we break out the strap-on and the duct tape."

"Bubbles, no flirting," said Miss Behave, as she sparked the stun gun again. "Besides, Johnny boy here not going to last that long. Start talking or I will--"

"Oh, yadda, yadda, yadda. Will one of you three Daughter's of Dorothy just tell me what the fuck I've supposed to have done already? I'm at a loss for even why I'm here."

SMACK!

That earned me a loose tooth, my lip busted open again, and more blood in my mouth. Oh well, at least it got me my answer from Miss Behave.

"Candy. You killed her, you pig! I just want to know why before we snuff your ass."

And my alcohol dehydrated brain popped the clutch and dropped into high gear.

"When did she die? She was very much alive when I left her at five minutes to midnight. I dropped her off at the corner of 2nd and Charles; by a lamp post with a Trump sucks Rumps bumper sticker. She was wearing some candy cane striped pair of short shorts, with a hot pink crop top, and rhinestone heels. Candy said she had two more hours till she was calling it a night."

All three women were looking at me blinking.

"Focus ladies. When was she found? Where was she found? What was she wearing at the time?" I turned and spit a gob of blood out to clear my mouth. "I'm not her killer, but finding out why bad shit happens is what I do. Give me some intel here already."

Miss Behave punched me in the gut.

"Nice try John, but you were the last one seen with her. She sent me a text message when you picked her up but not one when you supposedly dropped her off." A hand hard as steel, with sharp as razor fingernails, grabbed me by the throat and made me look her in the eyes. "Why did you kill my little sister, maggot? Talk!"

"Hard ... to ...talk ... when ... you're ... choking ... me."

Coughing and gasping, I slumped forward. Oh, how fucking more lovely can this get? I had a psycho drag queen big brother; of the dead girl I got head from last night, wanting to torture a confession out of me. And nothing I say would make them believe the truth ... wait a minute.

"You keep track of her by her phone?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'm her pimp."

"Okay, that is nine kinds of fucked up right there, MB. But ... no, no ... listen to me here." I lifted a finger on my tied down right hand. "Do you have a laptop or tablet handy? The laptop would be better, but I can make a tablet work in a pinch."

"What the fuck for?"

"Well, if I told you how to balance an egg on its end, anyone could do it. Give me five minutes on a computer and I will prove that I didn't kill Candy."

Mad Donna was sent out the room and Bubbley-Squeek sat in a chair in front of me looking at my swollen balls.

"Wow, those must really hurt." She gave one of those giggles. "Imagine what they will feel like when we drive nails into them and heat the nails with a lighter."

I looked up at her, my expression going blank. "The pain will start in the balls and travel up the iperineal and pudendal nerves and the spermatic plexus, which include nerve paths in the groin and abdomen, around the spine and even a little ways down into the anus. Odds are that level of pain will put me into shock and I will die within a few minutes. If you want to impress me on how to hurt someone, torture them, read a book."

Mad Donna came walking in with a laptop under her arm. She placed it on an empty chair and pushed it over next to me.

I looked down at my hands with a "Really?" expression. With a shake of my head, I sighed. "Go to http:OnionAbyss124\spike\huntress. Type phone; and Miss Behave's cell phone number."

"What?" The vice-pres got to her feet.

"Do you want to learn the truth about your sister?"

After a moment she grimaced and nodded to Mad Donna.

When I saw that it was done I looked over at my kidnapper. "Check your phone."

She pulled out her cell phone, looked it over and gave me a humph and a smirk. "Was that trick supposed to do something?"

The speaker on the phone next to me crackled. "Was that trick supposed to do something?"

Ever seen three drag queens about shit themselves? I can now make that claim. When the slowly got their jaws back closed and their eyeballs back into the sockets, I was the center of attention.

"What the fuck? How the fuck did that do that?" asked Miss Behave.

"What the fuck? How the fuck did that do that?"

"You might want to type null\G\phone. That will stop it," I told Mad Donna, nodding toward the laptop with my chin.

"You might want to type null\G\phone. That will stop--"

All eyes.

Sitting back in my chair as if I was in a comfortable recliner, I let my smile grow.

Miss Behave spat. "Cute trick, Taline but so fucking what?"

My smile became a grin. "Type in Candy's cell phone number."

I saw hesitation till Behave herself moved forward to do it. After a moment the laptop began to pipe out the oddest of sounds. Feet walking, papers being shuffled. A door closed then opened again. Low voices mumbling, words indistinct. They drifted louder and faded to nothing. More paper shuffling. A loud clang that startled the ladies around me.

"That's Candy's cell phone, most likely sitting in a ziplock bag, in a white plastic basket, in the evidence room at the police department. Fourth floor, west side of the building. By the fake fichus tree."

They looked from me to the computer and back a few times, listened for a few seconds longer and then Miss Behave pulled out a knife to make Crocodile Dun Dee jealous. She stalked over to me and put it to my throat.

"This is bullshit. So the fuck what, Johnny boy? We get to hear her phone."

Lifting my chin, I looked her in the eyes as the blade scraped away some of my stubble. She was not prepared for my smirk.

"Donna dearest, would you be so kind as to type ... eleven thirty-seven, December 23rd?" When she went to type it out I corrected her. "Nope, do it like a check, in numbers. 11:37--12/23/16 or it won't work."

"What won't work?" asked Miss Behave.

Next to us the computer began to give off soft sounds that would be easily recognized by any fan of porn. A wet slurping, a soft feminine moan, a deeper male one. Over and over. To Miss Behave's puzzled look I gave a sad grin.

"That is last night, in my car, as Candy was going down on me. Here in about a minute and a half, I'm going to orgasm, she's going to laugh. Compliment me on the amount and the taste of my cum. She will then -- after about a minute of small talk while I paid her an extra ten dollar tip -- leave me and walk off down Charles Street."

There was my deep groan. A happy giggle.

"Damn, sweetie, what a gusher. And umm, you're sweet."

Mumble, fumble, a car door opens, closes, and the sound of her heels on concrete. As she walked away I could hear my car start. Seriously, I shouldn't have been driving. I was too tore-up to even walk last night. Speaking of which, I could seriously use a drink.

... click ... click ... click ...cli "Well, hello Santa. I know you can't be here for me; I'm on the naughty list. Or did Mrs. Claus turn you down one too many times? Want a bit of Christmas Candy?" ... shuffle ... shuffle.

We all were silent as Candy screamed.

It was a brutal scream. One of pain and terror. The type an animal chewing off its own leg might make. And then there was another, weaker. And another and a guttural sound, a loud thunk, more sounds that I knew to be a knife in flesh, soft crying, gasping breath one soft sound of Candy choking as she begged for God to help her. Then a terrible silence.

"Ho, Ho, Ho."

Miss Behave was in tears. Bubbley-Squeek was covering her mouth and looked sick. Mad Donna was listening with an intensity that was terrifying to see. Her eyes bright red with fury and hate.

"Candy --" I said into the silence, drawing all eyes to me. "Was killed by Santa Claus."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

The clothes I was putting on belonged to Bubbley-Squeek, she and I were the same size. Well, if you discount her huge double-D front porch. The three women had apparently tossed me into the trunk of a car still in my bare skin and belly lint. Well, a few bruises here and there in for coloring.

"Sorry about the balls, John."

Looking over at Miss Behave, I let her see in my eyes just how much I was willing to accept that apology.

After a moment she grimaced and shrugged.

"How did you do that trick with the phone?" she asked after a moment.

For a second I pondered whether to give up that small secret and decided she couldn't copy it easily enough.

"I know a hacker, goes by the name of Huntress. I read that the NSA had figured out a way to turn on a person's phone and use the mic to listen to conversations. I felt that was an interesting trick that could be useful to me and asked Huntress if she could manage that. She hacked her way into the NSA's mainframe, copied all their information on it, then she one-upped their best efforts and figured out how to use the phones own recording function to backtrack for up to 24 hours. Most phones now days are nothing more that little computers and anything a computer can do, or be made to do, my Huntress can make happen."

"It's good to have friends with skills." She stepped up beside me and lightly touched my arm. "I want to be a friend, and I have skills. I can help with the pain we caused."

Unable to even believe what I was hearing I gave her a look of total incredulous disbelief. "You beat the hell out of me and now you want to try and come on to me?"

Miss Behave shrugged. "Some men pay me a lot for that very service." She bit her bottom lip, and, I had to admit, she did look sexy ... in a psycho drag queen kind of way.

"Not a chance."

Again she gave me a sexy smile. "I can call my sisters back and we could all ... apologize." Miss Behave ran her hand up my arm and stepped closer. "We're kind of specialists in swollen balls. I mean, we all know what it feels like, the slightest touch being agony. But imagine their soft tongues bathing them."

For half a second ... "Cut the crap."

She shrugged and backed off. "Don't say I didn't offer to try and make our mistake right. So, Taline, what can we do? I want to know who killed my sister. We have money; we can pay to hire you."

Oh, how badly I wanted to tell her what she could do with her money.

"Look. I've got a friend that is an ME. I'll call her and, providing she's still talking to me, she can get me the autopsy report. And, if we're really lucky, she did the job herself. She has no inner prejudices, so she wouldn't see a dead hooker as a waste of time that some ME might, and she is as thorough as it gets."

Miss Behave nodded. The sadness in her warred with her inner waves of anger. I read her face like a newspaper headline. That her sister's body had been the plaything of various men was apparently okay, but that an autopsy had been done on that same body seemed to upset her. The earlier sexiness I had seen was quickly replaced by disgust, but I didn't let it show on my face.

"I'll let you know what I hear and you can decide then if you want to hire me. I can be pricey."

Miss Behave looked at me and her eyes were that psycho cold again. "So was Candy."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Leia Morgain, medical examiner, friend, lover, partner in crime ... was not answering calls from me. But that's fine. I know where she works, lives, shops. Hell, technically I know things about her that no one knows. What she tastes like, how to make her to orgasm in seconds ... and why she's mad at me.

Honestly, why hold a grudge? Just because I shot exactly half her left earlobe away. I did save her life. I went alone into a bad guy hideout armed with my skills, my wits, my fucked up brain, and one huge fucking cannon. My AR-15 Beowulf, .50 caliber, engine block cracking, cinder block breaking, steel door-destroying monster. Then I took on a psycho ex-porn star. What more can you ask from your friend-with-benefit than that? Hot sex, right? That's it. So why won't she answer my phone?

Women. Shoot one little ear lobe to shreds and it's bitch, bitch, bitch.

The cab fare across town almost required me to take out a loan. There is a reason I have an RT Lifetime Pass to ride the bus. That reason would because I saved the mayor's daughter and asked for that as my reward, but really that aside cab fare is getting ridiculous.

A civilian walking into the forensic laboratory of a major police department usually requires a lot of jumping through hoops. Me? Well, I opened the door, winked at the guard, and went inside. Ah, the perks of being a living legend here in this city.

"What the fuck do you want, John?"

Like that one.

"Evening, Princess. How's the ear--"

Clang, clang, clash-clang!

Ducking and dodging metal specimen pans, I sprinted to one side and hid myself in her office. "Now, now darling. Let's talk about this."

"Get the hell out of my office, you bottom feeding, piece of ragged maggot vomit."

Got to love my little Princess. Her name calling does become inventive when Leia is really mad.

Like now.

"Come on, love. You know the only bottom I feed on is yours," I said, looking around the corner of the office door at her.

"Don't you fucking dare try to sweet talk me, you pustulant ridden--"

I missed whatever else she called me when the tray of medical autopsy instruments crashed into the wall next to my head. Having a steel plate in my skull will not help me if I get a scalpel in the eyeball.

"Leia I need information!" I yelled, trying to drown out her screaming profanities.

"You need to be ass raped by a syphilis ridden convict, with a fifteen-inch dick and unlimited Viagra!"

"It's not Thursday yet!"

She paused. I heard a huff of a laugh she tried to hide. Then a metal tray hit the door and bounced into her office. Then more cutlery.

With a sigh, I looked around her office and saw my desperately need shield. Going to her desk, I grabbed her laptop, unplugged it, and held it in front of my face as I stepped around the door.

"Damn it, Leia I might have a case. I need to see an autopsy report."

"Put that down so I can kill you!"

Thankful that least the rain of medical supplies had stopped, for the moment at least, I decided to press on.

"Her name was Candy Samples. She was a prostitute; came in some time last night after midnight. Murdered in some vicious way? Ring a bell?"

There was a deafening silence in the lab.

"Leia?"

"Yeah, she was brought here." I heard a metal on metal sound and peeked around to see her standing by a table full of glassware. A heavy looking, metal microscope by her hand. She met my eyes and grimaced. "I did the exam ... it wasn't pleasant, John."

Oh, shit.

"Tell me. Maybe I can bring in her killer."

Leia stood for a second looking at me. Her eyes were cold. "I want an apology, dinner, a gift and a night to make my toes curl. And if so much as one of my pink pinkies is left uncurled, I will castrate you."

I slowly nodded. My swollen balls flinched at any more threats towards them. They were past the point of surrender for one day.

I watched Leia ass when she walked to get the report. With a face reminisced of Carrie Fisher and a body to make Shakira jealous, my longtime lover was only getting better with age. I grimaced when I saw the white bandage on her ear. That she was having reconstruction plastic surgery to repair the ear was a given. She saw my face when she brought me back the file.