The Maltese Fuckin' Ch. 2

Ch. II: The Streets of Sin City

Frankie Mancuso was director of security for the establishment where Dr. Masterson had been found murdered in room 33-B. He knew better than to immediately notify the police. The maid who first discovered the body was sent off with an escort and a substantial amount of cash to visit her family in Mexico City.

The first person who Mancuso called was Charles Fish. Known affectionately as "Charlie the Tuna" to his friends, he had been a P.I. for more than forty years. Frankie's father, Jack Mancuso, had served with Charlie and often talked about the cold weeks they spent in Bastogne together in December 1944 while serving with the 101st Airborne. The Tuna, now seventy-seven, was partially crippled by arthritis and couldn't get around very well. Complicating his immobility was the fact that the radiation treatments he was currently undergoing for prostrate cancer were causing him to spend most of his time in the bathroom.

Charlie had been with the F.B.I. for ten years after the war and then became a private investigator. His broad client base ranged from ordinary citizens to Fortune 500 corporations and Lloyd's of London. He had been exposed to just about every type of illegal behavior and had been primarily responsible for solving several high-profile murder cases and many other unusual crimes. The Tuna had been retained by numerous police departments and governmental security agencies to conduct a variety of complex criminal investigations. He also on occasion was technical consultant to several rather famous authors of both crime fiction and nonfiction.

At this point in his long career and life, Charlie was financially and intellectually independent to the point where he could pick and choose his cases. He was fanatic about constitutional issues and often accepted a case because it involved a blatant violation of constitutional rights, which he considered detestable. Otherwise he selected cases which he found extraordinarily interesting to him personally and which nobody else seemed to be able to make much progress in solving. This case, the one Frankie Mancuso had described to him, Charlie agreed to accept because of his long friendship with Frankie's father.

The Tuna had numerous investigative operatives but the three girls were his obvious favorites. "Charlie's Angels" he called them which they hated. He often joked with them that he was the brains and they were the brawn, although he was quite certain all three were much more intelligent than he was. He liked to antagonize the girls with his favorite line from his favorite movie, The Maltese Falcon, "You've got brains. Yes you have." Then he would add, "And everybody wants a piece of your brain!" and start cackling.

What Charlie liked best about the three was that they were very willing to use the most effective means available to man, or in this case woman, to extract information. Not guns although he knew the girls never went without. Not torture. Not their style. These girls often used, well, let's just say they could tease and tantalize anyone to the point of verbose confession. Definitely his angels were the cure for lockjaw Charlie thought with a smile. The Tuna was often shocked by their liberated sexuality and they often tried to embarrass him. He knew they were not lesbians but they seemed to enjoy one another's company immensely. They were always touching and feeling and kissing each other and poking fun. A purely delightful trio.

Charlie knew Sal Slade was already in Vegas because she was at this very moment working a case for him. The case of the two very attractive younger women married to older doctors who mysteriously disappeared at the National Rodeo Finals in Vegas two months ago. They rode off with two tall dark Harley riding strangers. He was so fond of Sally and she was like the daughter he never had. Only Charlie and her mother called her Sally. No one else would dare. She was either Sal or Ms. Slade. And in his opinion the most beautiful creature God ever made. Tall, long blonde almost white hair, emerald eyes and the milkiest skin he had ever seen. She could almost pass for an albino but for her eyes. The kind of skin that would never tan and Sally often joked about her bouts with sun poisoning and said to give Caitlin and Kim the jobs that involve the beach and the bikinis. She'd take the dark bars. When he thought of her eyes, he thought of this Maltese Fuckin' rare jade piece with embedded emeralds Frankie Mancuso had mentioned in their conversation.

"Sally," Charlie began as soon as she picked up on her cell phone, "I've got a hot one, a really hot one. Get in touch with Caitlin and Kim and have them get here to Vegas as soon as possible. Once you have talked to them get over to my office and I'll begin to fill you in. Be here in an hour."

"How should I dress, Tunafish?" Sal asked seriously. Sometimes Charlie complained when she showed up in her jeans and Fucking Bruiser t-shirt.

"Get dressed to kill, Sally. I want to maximize the acquisition of information and minimize bullshit. We need to work fast on this before the police get involved and totally fuck it up. I fixed you up with a lunch date with one of the principal witnesses."

"Shame, shame, Tunafish! You shouldn't say that naughty word "F" word. And you complain about the variation of that word on my t-shirt. What a fucking hypocrite! Well, I guess you can say fuck. You are certainly too old to do it. I'll see you in an hour,"

"You're a good man, sister," Charlie responded as they both hung up.

Caitlin was living in western New York and told Sal she could be on a flight to Vegas in two hours so to expect her by dinner time, so make reservations at her favorite dining spot. Caitlin Cornplanter, Ph.D., was a Seneca born in the only city which lies within a reservation, Salamanca. She was one of the more than five hundred now living descendants of the great Seneca chief, Cornplanter. Chief Cornplanter's mother was a Seneca and his father was an Irishman, or so most said. Her hair was extraordinarily red and one would think she was a sassy Irish lass but for her rather dark complexion, buckskin garb and braids that usually hung over her breasts. And everyone said she had the most extraordinary sky blue eyes.

Doc, as Sal called her, was a professor at the Harvard Divinity School on indefinite sabbatical to complete her book, of which she would tell no one of the subject matter. She had been teaching courses on comparative religions and Native American studies. Being fluent in Hebrew and Greek and several Native languages, she occasionally taught a language course when the dean said he needed her. Dr. Cornplanter was also a lecturer at the Chautauqua Institution during summers and she kept cajoling Sal and Kim to spend some time with her there in the summer. She insisted it was one of the most intellectually and spiritually stimulating environments anywhere. Art, drama, religion, history, music. It had the best of everything so she claimed.

Kim Wright was a former resident of Las Vegas now living in Bloomington, Indiana. She told Sal she could easily get a flight to Vegas which would put her at McCarran International at about the same time as Caitlin so Sal could pick them up together. Kim was a stunning multi-racial woman. Her mother's name was Tran Thi Kim Hong, Vietnamese, and she died in an automobile accident when Kim was eight. Her father, Jesse Wright, was a black retired Army officer. He brought his wife to the states in 1970 and Kim was born in 1972.

Notre Dame was where Kim did her undergraduate work and first became interested in serial killers. She did her masters at Indiana where she was now close to completing her Ph.D. in Mass Communication with a required minor in Journalism. All she had left was her doctoral dissertation and an oral exam defending it. Her dissertation was on the media's treatment of female serial killers and she was planning on eventually turning that dissertation into a book. Kim had been an investigative reporter with the Las Vegas Review-Journal, the largest paper in Nevada, until six months ago when she resigned to concentrate on her other priorities.

While at Notre Dame in South Bend, Kim became interested in the serial killer Belle Gunness from LaPorte which was not far away. Almost ninety years ago Belle lured men to her LaPorte home with love wanted adds and murdered them. She faked her own death in a fire and was never apprehended. The much more recent case of Aileen Wuormos was also one which fascinated Kim and was the one which changed the nature of the typical serial killer profile. Aileen turned the tables on the male serial killers who offed prostitutes. She was a bisexual prostitute who murdered her johns along deserted highways. Once apprehended she confessed to disposing of seven men who picked her up hitch-hiking and then exchanged money for sex, then shot and robbed them and left their naked bodies beside their used condoms several miles from their abandoned cars. This is what fascinated Kim. Female serial killers who used sex to lure their victims into their trap. The ultimate femme fatale. When Sal called and briefly described the case, Kim could hardly wait.

Knowing Caitlin and Kim were on their way to sin city, Sal made her way to Charlie's office in her Toyota Land Cruiser. She had told the girls not to hassle with bringing their guns because she had some new toys for them. Charlie filled Sal in on what Frankie had told him about the murder of Dr. Masterson. "Sally, meet this Miyuki Huang, the fellow who was with the late Dr. Masterson just before his last date with Lilith, at noon," he said and handed her a card with the address.

Miyuki Huang was a yakuza. Japenese Mafia. He was the so-honbucho, the territory chief and responsible not only for Las Vegas but all of California and every other thing west of the Mississippi River. Huang was overseer of everything from money laundering to nanotechnology.

Mr. Huang was seated at a booth at Kady's Coffee Shop at the Riveria waiting for Ms. Slade. Nearby tables were occupied by his bodyguards. Sal strutted in the place in a black short and sleek midi bandeau. No straps, all you could see was curves and it molded perfectly and contrasted dramatically with her milky white skin. She snuggled up in the booth right next to Miyuki and said demurely, "Hey slant eyes, what's this Black Dick, this Charcoal Charmstone, this Maltese Fuckin' that everybody's all steamed up about? Start talking before I send you out for sushi."

The so-honbucho roared with laughter. Just the right touch to really get his attention Sal thought. He put his hand just under the edge of her midi bandeau, above the lace of her nude beige thigh-tops with pink lace and just barely touching her almost matching pink cupid thong. She didn't remove his hand but instead looked him in the eye and startled him with, "You behave or I'll shit in your pillow!"

They got along famously over their light lunch and Sal let him keep his hand where it was as long as he promised to keep it still. Miyuki revealed certain details regarding the subject of which Sal was most interested. "It is locked in my safe at my office in Los Angeles and heavily guarded," he confided. "I am sworn to secrecy regarding how I acquired it and who possessed it all these years. It is not mine. I am the negotiator for the owner. Although I certainly can't let you view or hold it at this time, I will give you these pictures."

The pictures were obviously Polaroids and one was before the application of the black coating and one was after. "Well, tell me about it, Mr. Huang, please?"

"I don't think so, Ms. Slade. The individual I represent does not want much about it disclosed, particularly regarding its ownership over the past several thousand years. He does want to sell it so some description has to be provided via pictures and such. A serious buyer would be permitted to visually inspect it."

"I'll let you slide your hand up further inside my panties. How does that sound, dude?" His eyes began to glaze and he began to drool ever so slightly. "But not now. I have to rush off to the airport and pick up my two girlfriends. I'll call you either this evening or tomorrow morning. You do understand, Mr. Huang, that your life could be in danger? I see your bodyguards. I know you are well protected. But still, you take care." With that she was hurriedly off.

Kim's plane landed first and Caitlin's flight arrived only fifteen minutes later. They rounded up the luggage and threw it in the back of Sal's Land Cruiser. "Let's see the toys, Sal," Caitlin insisted. "I feel naked without mine."

"Holy shit, girlfriend!" Kim exclaimed, "where did you get that arsenal?"

"It's a long story which I'll tell you later. You can rest assured I didn't pay for any of it. A gift from a very satisfied client who happens to be a gun dealer. I recovered his irreplaceable antique firearms which were stolen. You should have seen some of that stuff. A French Model 1822 Service Pistol, a Civil War Lemat Percussion Revolver, a British Flintlock Sea Pistol, a Silver Mounted Queen Anne Pisol and a Blunderbus with a spring bayonet."

Caitlin perused the selection of Ruger pistols and revolvers. She picked up and admired the Ruger Super Redhawk .44 magnum revolver. It weighed three pounds and the barrel was 7 1/2 inches long. "Yeow, that's too much gun for me." She then picked up the Ruger KP97D .45 pistol which weighed half as much. "I'll take this one." Kim selected a Ruger P94 9mm which was just slightly bigger than the one Caitlin chose.

"What are you packing, Sal?" Caitlin asked.

"These Rugers are nice but I'm not giving up my Glock 27. Easier to hide in a place that's quicker to get to, if you know what I mean."

"Well, now that we are all armed and dangerous," Caitlin said with a chuckle, "let's eat. I'm starved! We are going to my favorite place, right?"

"Is that all you think about, eating?" Kim joked. "Some things never change. Me, I am just so damn happy to be back on the streets of sin city. Yes! Do you have any idea how fucking boring Bloomington is?"

Caitlin's favorite place was off the beaten path in a shopping center off the I-95 Lake Mead Boulevard West exit. A cafe and wine bar. "I would like a bottle of Peju and bring a bottle of Gaulach Bundschu for these two. I'll have the poached salmon and they will each have the steamed little neck clams and New Zealand mussels." They each knew very well what the others liked when it came to wine, food and most other things.

Sal had told Kim and Caitlin what she knew of the case on the way over. How Dr. Masterson and Lilith met at the blackjack table, their dinner and dancing, her Harley and the fact his body was found with all the blood drained from it and his penis missing. "Let's get to a possible motive. This Maltese Fuckin' thing. Doc, look at these Polaroids. What do you make of it?"

"Well," Caitlin began, "the one here without the black paint is very interesting. It reminds me of a 3,000 year old jade sculpture called the Kunz Axe which has been in the American Museum of National History for more than a hundred years. The Kunz Axe is a part human, part beast representation of an Olmec chief who has transformed himself into a jaguar. The Olmecs were obsessed with powerful predators such as the jaguar. And owls. You do know Lilith is a Hebrew word which means screech owl, do you not?"

"In the event you are wondering, my ancestors came from Asia across the Bering Strait into North American many thousands of years ago. When they arrived, North America was already inhabited. The giants, the Olmec, were already here. They were pyramid builders who were obsessed with skulls and bones and other symbols of death and life, such as phallic symbols. They practiced cannibalism. My people, the Iroquois, and the Mengwe defeated the Olmec and drove them far south."

"Now this jade Maltese Fuckin' is certainly a phallic symbol which most likely was an object of worship. A charmstone is what we call this sort of object today although we do not know what the creators called them. Modern Native Americans, depending on the Native language call these charmstones such words as 'unuk' and 'kwungate' which are loosely translated as 'mysterious thing' and 'medicine stone.' Many charmstones which are thousands of years old have been found many places in South and Central America. Many have been found in northern coastal California which are exactly this shape, a double-ended human penis. But of course those charmstones were not made of jade as this one is. They were usually made from a common dark gray stone called amphibolite schrist."

"These two emeralds embedded this jade charmstone appear to be very rare and valuable. Look at the color. Light emerald green like your eyes, Sal. The lighter the green the more valuable the emerald. The fewer inclusions and less chromium which provide the green color. I just can't imagine what these two emeralds are worth but I will tell you that ones of this quality are rarer and worth more than diamonds of comparable quality and carat weight."

They were interrupted by the waiter and their dinners and all three knew that business talk was over for this evening. They hadn't seen each other for awhile and just wanted to have fun and leisurely enjoy the food and light conversation. Two hours later they were working on desert. Trifle with ladyfingers, expresso, mascarpone cream and imported liqueur.

"How would you two like to spend the rest of the evening?" Sal asked. "Gambling, a show, dancing, what's your pleasure?"

"Sal, speaking of charmstones, do you still have that Fucking Bruiser we had so much fun with?"

"Yes!" Kim exclaimed. "That thirteen inch flexible double dong with the penis head at each end?"

"Yes, I sure do still have good old Fucking Bruiser."

"Let's go play!" the three squealed almost in unison and giggled uncontrollably. Soon they left for Sal's condo.

The three shed their clothes and relaxed in the Jacuzzi for an hour, sipping from the bottles of wine they had brought with them from the restaurant. Sal had printed some stories from an erotic web site, Literotica, which they were reading. "Now, keep both hands on the stories girls. We don't want them getting wet," Sal chided. "And don't pee or cum in the water because the water will turn red. This Jacuzzi is protected by pee and cum detector, you know."

When they got out they toweled each other off, admiring each other's bodies and marveling how different physically they each were. "Kim, you are so smooth down there," Caitlin whispered as she nibbled her ear and felt between her legs. "What are you using?"

"A depilatory called Magic. Best stuff I ever used. Very mild. You two should try some. On second thought ..." Kim paused as she admired Sal and Caitlin with her eyes and then with her fingers. Their nether hair matched the hair on their heads and she knew it wasn't from some bottle. Sal was so almost white blonde and Caitlin was so flaming red.

They played with the Fucking Bruiser and each other for hours. At one point Sal and Kim each had one end of the double dong inside herself and they were smacking their asses up against the other and keeping the good old boy from slipping out with their fingers. Caitlin began laughing hysterically.

"Uh, uh," Kim could barely talk, "what the fuck is so funny, Caitlin?"

"I dunno. I was just thinking about what a great advertisement this would make for racial harmony. With pictures. Fucking Bruising brings a white girl and a black girl together, bumping butts. That's it! The cure for ending racial tension and discrimination. Fucking Bruiser!"

"Shut up, Doc, you stupid squaw!" Sal shouted.

"Sal, I told you the word squaw is a word of Algonguin origin which means prostitute or female genitalia."