Rex Harrison PI

Rex never ran so fast, the sour taste of panic rising in his throat. This was a strange emotion for the steely like Rex. He opened the unlocked door and took the steps two at a time.

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Helen sat tied painfully tightly in a chair in an expansive and empty room in the warehouse. She looked fearfully around. Having changed out of her working dress and into a pretty blouse and skirt, Helen had flopped into an easy chair, awaiting the return of her two roommates from their work. She wanted to keep the dress nice for Rex. Strange violent men kicked in her door and dragged her here. A big fat man questioned her about the woman that came to the office. At first, she had resisted bravely, but after a half dozen hard slaps, he raised his fist, punching her so hard she was afraid he had broken her jaw. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, and as he raised his fist again, she told him where Rex lived.

"Oh, God, I've betrayed Rex," her guilty mind wailed.

All the men but one left the warehouse with the fat man. The one left behind spread a large tarp over several strands of rope.

Satisfied, he approached her and said, "Well, it's about time."

Her heart sank. She could see a shoulder holster under the man's coat, and she couldn't control her tears weeping as he released her legs and helped her to her feet. Barefoot, her shoes lost somewhere between the warehouse and her room, he led her to the middle of the tarp.

Shaking uncontrollably, she whimpered, "Please, no."

"Don't take it personally, babe. It's just business," he replied.

Standing in front of her, he stopped.

"That's a lovely blouse you have on," he said.

She didn't answer. What was she to say? The man about to kill her complimented her on her blouse?

"You're about my wife's size. It would look nice on her. Take it off. I'd hate to get blood on it," he said to her amazement.

She stood frozen, her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open.

"Oh shit, yeah, your hands are tied," he laughed.

He pulled a switchblade, stepped behind her, and cut her bindings. Returning to his place, he smiled and nodded for her to do as he had asked.

Stupefied, she wailed, begging, "Please, no, you don't have to do this."

His patience wearing thin, he growled, "Take the fucking blouse off."

Wailing she started to unbutton it. The humiliation pained her almost as much as the prospect of her death. Slowly she unbuttoned the blouse and hesitated, looking at him silently, eyes pleading. He motioned with his gun to get on with it, and she shrugged it off her shoulders. He stepped forward and took it holding it up to admire as her arms crossed instinctively across her chest, hiding as much of her as she could.

He placed it in the crook of his left arm and, looking up again, said, "That skirt is nice too. Take that off."

Tears dropped from her eyes as she removed the skirt and handed it to him, left only in bra, panties, and half-slip. Admiring it, he put it carefully with the blouse in the crook of his arm.

"These will look nice on her, thanks," he said. Sighing, he pursed his lips and said, "Like I said, lady, don't take this personally. It's just business. Now, turn around. You don't want to look," he said, in a kindly tone like a caring doctor telling a child not to look while they are getting a shot.

Her head drooped, tears dripping, as she turned, her arms modestly clutched tight to her chest weeping. Standing there, her back to him, she took a long deep, stuttering breath. She jumped at the ear-splitting report of a gun and felt something warm and wet splash on her back. Whirling Helen's fist coming to her mouth, she saw the man who was to kill her lying on the tarp, one side of his head nearly gone, blood and brains everywhere.

"Helen," she heard and looked towards the door seeing Rex standing there, his still smoking gun at his side.

"Rex," she screamed, racing to him and leaping into his arms. "I was so scared, Rex. I'm sorry I told them where you live," she wailed.

Taking a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back, hesitated momentarily, and planted a kiss on her hugging her tightly. She melted into him, surrendering, opening her mouth to welcome him, and giving herself to him. They stood in the middle of the room, filled with the scent of spent gunpowder, blood, and death, passionately kissing, unconcerned with the surroundings. The universe, to them, was reduced to just their two beating hearts. It was at that point each began to realize what that meant.

"Are you all right," Rex questioned, checking her for wounds.

"Yes, I'm ok," she whispered.

"I was so afraid," Rex confessed. "I can't lose you."

With that, she again threw herself at him hugging and kissing him.

Knowing this wasn't over, Rex took off his jacket and wrapped it around his half-naked secretary.

"He fell on your clothes, they're covered in blood. We've got to get out of here," he said urgently, wrapping Helen in his arm and leading her to his car.

>>>>>

Rex knew they had to get off the streets. With two dead cops in his apartment and another down the hall, the entire world would be looking for him. Well at least, every cop in New York. They had to go to ground until they could meet with the FBI. Hopefully, they would be all right after that. He knew they would know his car, so he decided on a hotel he knew of. It wasn't seedy and had an underground parking lot. That would get his car off the streets. It not being seedy meant the cops weren't routinely strolling through the parking garage either. He couldn't run around with his shoulder holster and gun the way it was since Helen had his jacket, so he pulled into an alley.

"Stay in the car," he warned and exited with his keys.

He unlocked and rummaged through his messy trunk and found another jacket. It didn't match the pants he had on, but he didn't give a fuck at this point. He also grabbed a box of ammo, slipping it into his pants pocket.

"Shouldn't we change jackets?" Helen said, still shaking badly. "The one you have on doesn't match your pants. It doesn't matter what one I wear."

"Helen, you are..." he stammered.

"Oh, for fucks sake. You worried about Kitten's modesty?" the gold digger blurted out.

"Shut up," he bellowed.

"No, Rex, she's right," and she removed the jacket.

He was so startled that he hesitated an obscenely long time drinking in this luscious view of Helen.

"Nice tits, huh, Rex?" Deborah chided.

Bright red Rex turned his head and growled, removing his jacket.

He hadn't found anything looking remotely like a skirt, dress, or anything feminine in the trunk. His jacket on Helen only went to mid-thigh, and the half-slip..., looked like a half-slip. Happy tits, the gold digger was in that skin-tight red dress, erect nipples looking like they were trying to poke their way out, and the relatively thin material made it quite clear she had nothing on underneath. They looked like a guy with two hookers settling in for the night as they approached the desk.

That was precisely the look that the guy at the desk gave them. Every hotel, seedy or not, gets some of that type of trade it's just that the hoity-toity ones relegate it to one floor of the hotel so as not to disturb their legit guests.

Rex silently cursed as the guy pushed the key across the desk and said, "Four-seventeen."

"Shit," he thought, "The fourth floor."

He silently cursed again when he found it was at the end of the hall. If they came for him in force, there would be no escape. It was too high to go out a window, and the hallway would trap them. He sighed and hoped this wouldn't be his Alamo.

Once in the room, he said, "Get some sleep," sounding more like Captain Rex in Italy than Rex, the civilian private eye.

So the two women settled into the bed, exhausted from fear, while he sat in the soft chair. He thought Helen would have trouble sleeping but soon heard her smooth rhythmic breathing. Fear is exhausting, he knew from experience. The gold digger was snoring about this time, and he even nodded off in fitful sleep.

>>>>>

The sunbeam through the slightly parted drapes hurt his eyes as he blinked awake. Checking his watch, he saw it was almost eight am. He got up and padded silently off to the bathroom, took a leak, and doused some cold water on his face.

"Man could I use a shave and some coffee now," he whispered as he dried his stubbly and still tired-looking face.

Returning to the room, both women sat up, yawning. Helen demurely, and sugar tits obnoxiously loudly.

"What size dress do you wear?" he asked.

Both women looked at him and scowled.

"What size dress do you wear, Helen?" he repeated, irritation in his voice.

"A small," she stuttered. Turning to the gold digger, he squinted, "Thirty-fours?"

Immediately getting what he meant, the gold digger said Thirty-six," proudly thrusting her tits forward.

"I can go with you if you want," Helen said, having figured he was looking to buy her some clothes.

"Or, I could," giggled Deb.

"No, Helen, you aren't dressed decently, and as for you, they're looking for you. The last place you need to be is on the street," he snapped. With that, he placed the key on the desk, turned to the door, and said as he opened it, "Don't open the door to anyone but me."

He had spotted a small dress shop across the street and jaywalked, hoping it would be open this early. Relieved in finding it open for business, he entered the shop. Luckily no one was there except one sales girl. She was tall, thin, and curvy. He guessed the dame had been or was a model from how she posed and moved. Her skin-tight dress hugged each curve, and her ample tits stuck straight out.

"Can I help you with something, sir?" she said, obviously flirting.

"Yeah, I need a dress, small," he blurted out.

"Well, we have a wonderful sale on these evening gowns," she began.

"No, I don't want an evening dress, just something that fits," he said, somewhat embarrassed.

Severely disappointed, the sales girl turned to another rack saying, "We have these casual swing dresses. As you can see, we have several colors."

He knew now she was a model because she didn't want to deal with the low-priced stuff. He picked out a solid green one with a triangle of matching green polka dots on a white field that went up the right leg to the waist. A slash of the same material arched across the front above the breasts. It was knee-length, and he thought it would look nice on her, not that that mattered.

"I need a bra and panty set, bra size thirty-six," he said beyond embarrassment.

She scowled, "Sir, that would be much too large for someone in a small dress."

"One is for my sister and the other for...my girlfriend," he said, thinking on the fly.

"Oh, she said, sounding disappointed at the word girlfriend, "What color?"

He thought for a second, "She'll have a red dress on."

"Oh, I would suggest a red set," she said, picking one off the rack, but he knew it wasn't right. It had all those shoulder straps, and the gold digger had an off-the-shoulder dress. Women whose bra straps showed practically had to leave town.

"The dress is off the shoulder. Wouldn't the straps show?" he blurted out.

"Oh, well, then you need this style," she said, pulling it off the adjacent rack. "Will that be all?"

"Yes," he said, relieved.

They went to the cash register, and she rang them up. The fucking underwear cost as much as the dress.

He forked over the cash, and as she handed him his change, she smiled flirtatiously, held his hand, and said breathily, "Please come back anytime. We have a nice selection, and I would love to show you what we can do for you."

Her flirting wasn't, lost on him, and under different circumstances, who knows? He jaywalked back to the hotel, chaffing at the elevator's slow pace.

Knocking on the door, he said, "It's me."

The door swung open, and Deb laughed, "That was quick."

He placed the bag on the desk, pulled out the dress box, and handed it to Helen. She opened it and removed the dress with a squeal, and her face lit up. He liked that.

"This is beautiful," she exclaimed, clutching the dress, to her bosom and smiling that wonderful smile of hers.

He reached in again, pulled out the bra and panty set on a hanger, and handed it to the gold digger.

"Nice," she said, whistling admiringly.

Then she pulled her arms out of her dress and pushed it down to her waist to put it on, exposing her tits.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

"What? You didn't mind last night," she teased. Then, looking at Helen, she pinched her nipples, pulled them out, and shook them tauntingly, "In fact, you thought they were pretty nice when you sucked them."

Helen stood there, eyes wide and mouth agape, staring. Then she turned to Rex, her eyes reddening with the telltale signs of the start of tears.

Lowering her head, she clutched the dress to her chest and croaked, "Excuse me," as she stepped in front of him.

As the bathroom door closed, the gold digger mocked, "Aww, the kitten is upset."

Rex came as close to hitting a dame as he ever had and growled.

"Oh, poor Rexy is upset too," she taunted.

The gold digger wrapped the bra around her just below her tits, hooked the hooks, and slid it around to the front, her tits still in full view.

"Last chance, Rexy. I'm putting the girls away," she teased.

Rex blushed and looked away. Deborah then put the girls away and pulled on the panties.

"Mm, nice fit. You did a good job, lover," she said, tossing her head and heading to the bathroom as Helen came out.

Sugar tits, of course, had to open her fucking mouth again, "Yeah, Rex, keep her barefoot, and you know."

Helen's eyes were red, and it was clear that she had washed her face. The dress looked pretty on her. He did notice that neither had shoes and thought about getting both to a shoe store, but, again, it would be dangerous, so he opted to hope they would be all right.

Helen wouldn't look at him and just stared out the slit where the drapes almost came together. He wanted to say something to make it all right but had no idea what or how to say it. Rex called room service for breakfast because he wanted to stay in the room as long as possible. None of them ate very much anyway. When the time for them to leave finally rolled around, he had the women wait for him some distance from the desk while he settled up. He was concerned that the cops might have been around, handing out pictures and descriptions for the desk jockeys. The desk clerk last night got a good look at them. There was a different person on the desk, thankfully. Soon, they were turning onto the street.

The library's main reading room is cavernous, and he placed them at a table two-thirds of the way to the rear of the room. He had plenty of room to maneuver if he had to and a good line of sight to any exit. They didn't wait long.

Two men in suits entered, looking around. The only way they could have looked more like FBI agents would be with F, B, and I tattooed on their foreheads. One was blond and tall, and Rex immediately disliked him. Not because he was tall or blond but because the man's demeanor reminded him too much of stiff-assed Nazis. The other was a bit shorter and stockier with a darker complexion, probably Italian or Hispanic or someone with a good tan.

The shorter one noticed them and led the way. There was no doubt in Rex's mind that he would get arrested. Three dead cops and another guy dead in or near his apartment would pretty much guarantee that. Ballistics would also tie him to the warehouse, but that one he had a solid chance to beat with his witness Helen.

The two women sat in chairs, and he stood behind them as the two agents approached. They were leary of him, and, in their shoes, he would have been, too. The shorter one spoke first.

"I am Agent DiTucci, and this is Agent Svenson. A woman called us claiming she had information on the Silverman disappearance?"

"I called," Helen said timorously.

"She called for me," Deborah spoke up.

Both men's eyes turned to Deborah. She spoke at length about what she knew, filling in all the gory details and other things Calabrese was responsible for she hadn't disclosed to Rex. Even he was shocked by all the things she knew about Calabrese. No wonder Calabrese was going to cancel her.

When she finished, Helen spoke up and related her account, tying Calabrese nicely into kidnapping, assault, battery, and two more attempted murders.

"We have been trying to get Calabrese for some time now," said agent DiTucci. "He is a snake and always seemed to get away. The police involvement indicates that we need to get you all someplace safe. The local office should do nicely. I'm going to radio for some transportation."

"No," Rex said way too loud, drawing a few stares. Continuing, almost in a whisper, he said, "The cops and the crooks know what your vehicles look like. A bus suddenly leaving the FBI office would lead them right to us. I'll drive them there."

Nodding, DiTucci said, "I see what you mean. Ok, we'll meet you there."

Somehow they made it there undetected, and Rex sighed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him. He had to give up the 45 leaving him feeling vulnerable and naked. Then came the interrogations, and when they learned of the dead cops, he confessed everything but the second shot at the third cop. They had to detain him, but all they did was cuff one arm to the interrogation table.

Investigations like this take more than a few minutes, so the women were found accommodations at the station, and Rex found himself in a holding cell. They were held in custody at the station for about three weeks. Calabrese and the goons of the minor organized crime family found themselves in deep shit. The FBI arrested Calabrese that evening, and the other families, sick of this smaller family making it bad for business, put them permanently out of business. Internal affairs decimated the ranks of the bad cops, and for a time, their precinct was a sterling example. Nothing ever lasts long, though.

The gold digger agreed to testify, so they put her in protective custody. From what Rex heard, she was very popular with the agents assigned to guard her. Helen also agreed to testify and was whisked away, where he had no clue. Rex, and his testimony, wouldn't be needed as it seems he was on the razor's edge of being indicted himself, but the DA figured that his case, with both women's testimonies, would only end up justified self-defense.

At his apartment, Rex found the landlord had fixed the door to his apartment, and thankfully, his stuff was still intact. His office was another story. He found it had been broken into and cursed out loud that they had stolen his Jack Daniels. It took him most of the day to clean up the mess and replace what was lost. They hadn't seemed interested in Helen's desk, and he guessed they weren't looking for dame stuff. He settled in, and with the attention, they had gotten in the papers, his phone began to ring off the hook, and he was busy like never before.

>>>>>

He didn't go looking for another secretary, and each day looking at her empty desk was strangely hard on him. Fuck he even dusted it once in a while. The new bottle of Jack didn't last long, and he even started keeping a second at his apartment for the evenings. Most mornings, he awoke with a headache and backache from falling asleep in his chair. The lonely days became weeks and then months.

One morning, as he was scribbling notes after his third call, Rex heard the doorknob turn. Instinctively he grasped the 45. In walked Helen, in that dress he had bought her. His eyes went wide.

"Good morning, Rex," she said in that sing-song voice that he missed so much. "Do I still have a job?"