A Private-eye Full

Chapter 1

I'm Mike Taylor and I was watching an apartment complex. That’s what I was being paid to do, I’m a private investigator. My mission was to record the coming and going of a man whose estranged wife believed he was up to no good. I had been watching the apartments off and on for two weeks and had come to know who belonged and who didn’t. Up to this point the subject of my surveillance came home from work, went in to his apartment and stayed there until he left for work the following morning. From what I could tell he was behaving himself. In fact he was boring as hell.

The woman in the apartment above him was a hot to trot blonde and she was rowdy enough for several people, but no one was paying me to keep up with Blondie which I considered a shame.

I had noticed that the apartment at the far end of the two story strip was occupied by a large impressive black man. I also noticed that the big black man didn’t lack company and like the blonde he seemed to be a social creature. Both the blonde and the black were active, but my subject was about as active as a turnip.

I had reported to my client that there didn’t appear to be any hanky-panky, but she insisted that I continue on. She was paying so I was staying. I also was hoping that I didn’t die from shear boredom.

I knew from watching the apartment that the trash collectors would be coming early the next morning so I made plans to come back during the night and collect my clients husband's trash. I recognize that it’s not very noble, but as a rule it’s very educational. People have this stupid mind set that if they wad it up and toss it, that it’s gone for good. Nothing could be further from the truth. Never, never throw anything away that you don’t want the world to know. If it has your name or any identifying numbers, such as account numbers, credit card numbers, bank records, best shred or otherwise destroy it before you toss it

I arrived back at the apartments about three in the morning. My thinking was that everybody should be in bed by that time. I was right about that. The neighborhood was as quite as a tomb, but I had made one slight miscalculation....none of the trash containers were marked. I didn’t know which belonged to the subject of my investigation. Like a good scout I was prepared so I bagged all the trash from each of the six large cans.

There were eight apartments, but two were empty, so I had six large trash bags to search.

I decided to wait until later in the morning, at a civilized hour, to check the trash bags. I took a shower and went to bed. I remember smiling as I drifted off to sleep, wondering what the city trash collector would think when they came to eight empty containers.

I got up at the crack of noon and was soon hard at work on the trash bags. I quickly identified the first three by mail that had been carelessly thrown away. The forth container was not from my subjects apartment, but it was, by far, the most interesting. There were two large photo albums and nine video tapes cassettes. A quick examination of the photo albums aroused my interest. The big black man and apparently some of his black male friends, were photographed in all types of action shots with white women. There was a wide variety of action, twosomes, threesomes and group shots. All were of black men and white women. This type activity is one of my things and I have long recognized that I am a voyeur. I guess all investigators and photographers are voyeurs if they’ll admit it. I lay the photos and tapes aside and continued what proved to be a fruitless search of the rest of the trash. My subject had thrown nothing incriminating away, but I wasn’t too surprised. I had a suspicion that the poor man was just trying to get away from the woman he had married.

Chapter 2

It was Saturday so I decided to go and watch the apartments for a while. My subject was off on weekends so I reasoned that if he was going to do anything it would be today.

Just as I parked my car I saw the big black man come running down the sidewalk from his apartment. He ran to the trash contained and threw off the lid. Empty was not what he apparently wanted to see because he pick up the container and slammed it back to the sidewalk.

I could hear him cussing as he slammed the trash container down again and again. A young black woman came running up to him apparently trying to calm him. He picked her up and slammed her down just like he did the trash container.

Unhurt, she bounced to her feet and attacked him. I got out of the car, not to intervene, but to hear what they were saying. I not a coward, but when I said this man was big I mean really big.

“You stupid cunt bitch!” He shouted, slapping her. “You threw away a million bucks and a lot of fine pussy. I’ll kill you, you bitch!”

“You don’t need ‘dem white bitches,” The small woman cried, hitting him on the chest with ridiculously small fists. “You got me!”

“I ain’t got shit ‘cause you’re dead, you stupid bitch.” He had her lifted by the neck and had drawn back a meaty fist.

Coward that I am, I couldn’t just stand and watch so I started across the street to stop what I believed was going to be a murder . Just as I pulled my trusty gun out of its holster I saw the police car pull up.

The big man saw the cops about the same time I did and he threw the woman at them. She literarily flew through the air like a rag doll. Big man whipped a big gun out of his belt.

Two black cops jumped out of the patrol car and yelled for the black man to freeze. He didn’t, but I dammed sure did. I didn’t like the way this was shaping up at all. By my count there were three black men all with guns and one puny white private eye. I slowly squatted down between two cars and carefully peeked over the back fender.

The big man carefully took aim and shot one of the cops. I couldn’t believe it. He just stood there and shot the cop. The other cop started shooting and I guess he shot the big man five or six times before the hulk fell. I put my gun back into the holster and stayed where I was. I knew from my own experience that the surviving cop had adrenalin pumping in by the buckets and he was very likely to shoot anything and anybody that surprised him.

Soon the place was crawling with cops and ambulances and fire trucks. I casually drifted over to where all the action was. I recognized one of the plain clothes cops. His name is Richard (don’t call me Dick) Elliott. He’s real touchy about the name.

“Hi Dick,” I said. “What’ch got goin’ on?”

“What the hell you doin’ here?” he growled. I think he likes me, but is afraid to show it.

“Aw Dick,” I said. “That ain’t no way to talk to your star witness. I saw this evil deed and I am ready to stand up and be counted.”

One of the paramedics stepped up, “Lieutenant, your officer is going to be okay, but the other man is dead.”

Dick grunted, “What about the woman? She going to be all right?”

“Yeah, we are going to transport, but she’ll be okay, I think.” the paramedic said. “Mostly abrasions and some bruising.

Dick Elliott turned to me, “Well ass, let’s have it. What did you see?”

We are such good friends. He used to call me asshole but now he has shortened it. Sort of like a nickname. I told him what I had seen. He seemed satisfied that it was a “good shooting”.

“You know his name?” I asked.

“Yeah, Darrel Green. Called himself “ Hammer”. Got a rap sheet ‘bout four yards long. Mostly small crap. Pulled a couple years for armed robbery sometime ago.” He cocked an eye at me “Why are you so interested?”

“Oh just nosey,” I answered casually. “Been watching this place for a while. Lot of women going to be unhappy he’s dead.”

“I guess,” He answered. “Vice seems to think he had some amateur hookers he was pimpin’ for. Don’t matter now I guess.”

“Not to “ Hammer”,” I said.

I made a trip to the police station where a bored stenographer took my statement. I signed all three copies and bid my friends good day.

I decided to go by the apartments again just to take a look around. My client’s old man had not even come out during all the excitement. To be honest it was my curiosity about the late Hammer that led me to his apartment.

I casually strolled around the area for a while before approaching the dead mans apartment. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t to find the apartment door standing slightly ajar.

I eased the door open with the barrel of my gun and was met with the small black woman Hammer had used as a shot put. She squealed and I nearly shit. I don’t know who was the most surprised.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded gruffly.

“I live here,” She said, her eyes darting around, coming to rest on my pistol.

“No you don’t.” I said. “Who are you and what do you have there?” She was holding a brown attaché case made of some kind of reptile skin and she was backing up as I entered the room.

“Tell me now or later down town,” I bluffed. “Up to you.”

“I’m Betty,” She said her voice quivering. “Betty Harrison. My ...er...ah...boyfriend lives...er...ah...lived here.” Tears started down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and there were several darker places on her face and arms. There was a band aid over one eye.

“What’s in the case?” I demanded. “Drugs?”

“I don’t know,” She answered sitting the case down and taking a step away from it. “I was just going to keep it until.....” Her voice trailed off.

“Until you could peddle the drugs?” I asked, trying to sneer. Frankly I doubted that Darrel Green, A.K.A. Hammer, was a dealer. I hadn’t seen any activity that would indicate drugs and I can usually spot it.

“No, no I don’t have anything to do with drugs,” She said. “I don’t know what’s in the case.”

“You are lying,” I said. It’s very hard to do the “good cop/bad cop” thing when you are by yourself, so I was just doing the bad cop half of the routine.

“Just some papers,” She cried. “I swear that’s all I know ‘bout. It’s locked and I ain’t got a key.”

“What kind of papers, Betty?” I asked. “If it’s locked how do you know what’s in it?”

“I saw Darrell put some papers in it this morning just...just before...ah...you know.”

“Did the cops talk to you?’ I asked.

“What’ch mean?” she asked. “Ain’t you a cop?”

Opps, “Of course,” I snapped. “I mean the other cops.”

She stilled looked at me suspiciously. “Yeah, some. They asked me what I knew about Darrell.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told ‘em that Darrell hated cops, ‘specially black cops.”

That shouldn’t come as any sunrise to the men in blue. “Did you tell them why Darrell would start shooting at the cops.”

She shook her head slowly. “I guess nobody will ever know that. He was pretty mad at me and I guess he just flipped. I don’t know.”

“Why was he mad at you?”

She shrugged her shoulders, but didn’t answer.

“Come on Betty,” I said gently. “Let’s get this over with here and now without anybody getting hassled.”

Betty Harrison gave a big sigh and then started talking.

“I threw some dirty pictures and tapes away. Darrell was pissed at me for that.”

“What kind of dirty pictures?” I asked.

“Darrell had a bunch of white sluts that was ho’in’ for him. Him and some of his buddies took pictures of them doing all that stuff. I got mad and threw them in the trash. They was already gone when Darrell found out about it.”

“What do you mean, “whoring for him”?

“You mean you don’t know what ‘ho’in’ is?” she said cutting her eyes at me.

“I know what it means,” I said. “What do you think it means?”

“He’d make dates with black men for them to go fuck. Then he would collect money. What’s that sound like to you?”

I had to smile even if she was getting over her initial fear. “Sounds a lot like whoring to me,” I said. “What’s in the case you were sneaking off with?”

Betty Harrison shrugged her shoulders again, “Names I guess” she said. “Phone numbers, addresses. I don’t know for sure. Darrell was careful not to let me see what all was there.”

“Where are you from, Betty?” I asked.

“Greenville, South Carolina,” She answered. “Darrell was going to marry me, he said he was!”

“Yeah, I guess he was,” I said slowly. “Go home to Greenville, South Carolina, Betty Harrison. There ain’t nothing here for you now.”

I watched Betty walk down the sidewalk and when she had turned the corner I made a quick inspection of Hammer’s apartment. It was a nice apartment and it was full of stereo equipment and all kinds of electronics. I figured as soon as the word got out that Hammer was no longer among the quick, his stuff would quickly vanish. Since I’m not a thief I left the apartment pretty much as I had found it. Of course I took the attaché case with me.

Chapter 3

The photo albums were a pornographer’s dream come true. Most of the women were decent looking and a few were dammed good looking. On average, not a bad crop of females. The men were all black and hung so as to shame a pony. One of the black gents had a dick that must have been at least a foot long and as big around as a beer can.

The video tapes were a lot more of the same, but with action and sound. One woman in the videos and the still photos had caught my attention. She was tall, about five seven or eight and built like the proverbial brick shit house. It was apparent that she really like to fuck and she seemed to specialize in double penetration. One dick in her cunt and another in her ass. In one of videos she had one in each orifice and one in each hand. Three holes and two hands. Come on boys, no waiting.

In spite of her carnal activities she seemed to have some style and class. On one of the videos she appeared in, she was wearing, briefly, some expensive and tasteful clothes.

Hammer’s locked briefcase slowed me down for about twenty seconds. A pry bar soon took care of the locks. It was soon apparent that Hammer was a good record keeper. In printed block letters he listed all the women, a photo of each, and a description of what they would and wouldn’t do for the client. It was also soon apparent that Hammer had little or no problem using blackmail to achieve his goals. It looked like some of the people was sending monthly cash payments to my good buddy Darrell. The others put out for Darrel, his friends and a few good customers. Darrell charged anywhere from $100.00 to $1000.00 for the services of his whores.

The briefcase also contained a package of cash. A quick count showed that to be twenty-five thousand bucks. No wonder Hammer was so pissed off at the world. “Hammer” had lost his leverage for blackmail that apparently was a pretty good income producer.

I got up and got myself a beer and sat contemplating the situation. I had the names, addresses and phone numbers of fourteen women who were either paying off in cash or pussy and making ol’ Hammer a good living. The obvious question was...what was I going to do about it?

After several cool ones I still had not fully decided, but I had a fair idea that I was going to help myself to some of Hammer’s Pussy.

Chapter 4

I went to the post office and got a change of address form from the help-your-self counter. I filled it out, listing the new address for Darrell Green as my post office box. I didn’t use my box all that often, but I had open it when I was an optimistic, new PI. I filled in Darrell’s name and also Hammer and scrawled a few other names in the blanks for “others”. I back dated the form a few days. Of course I was aware that if Hammer had a postal box somewhere then this wasn’t going to work, but hope does spring eternal.

Having set my course, I went back to Hammers apartment and after determining that there still wasn’t any activity I slipped the lock that I had set and went it. Mr. Green did have call forwarding so I forwarded his calls to my non-business number. I scouted around and found an old telephone bill. Hammer was a couple months in arrears, but what the hell I had some of his money so I paid the bill and changed the billing address to the post office box. Before I left I went to the service box and disconnected the service line. I went home to look at some photos and wait.

I didn’t have to wait very long. I got several hang up calls the first day and three or four every day for several days before I begun to answer the phone different. The first time I tried my new approach it worked which sure surprised me.

“This is Hammer’s partner. You got business speak, if you don’t then hang up the fuckin’ phone.”

There was a slight pause then a masculine voice said, “Who is this?”

“This is Mike,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Where’s Hammer?” the voice said.

“Hammer is dead,” I said. “Don’t you read the papers?” I didn’t see any point in trying to lie about the obvious.

“Yeah I read the papers. What’ch you know ‘bout Hammer’s business?”

“Everything,” I lied. “What’ch need?”

“Who’s got the stable?”

“I do.” I said. “So what do you need?”

“You got that big titted red-head?”

I scanned the list and photos. There was only one red-head and that was a girl named Carol Miller.

“You mean Carol? Yeah, she still available. Who is this?”

“This is David.” He hesitated just a hair too long. Most people will hesitate before using a name they are not use to using. Also there was not a David on the john list. There was a notation that Carol Miller had visited a person named Tall Man about a month before.

“Wrong answer, Tall Man,” I said and hung up the phone. He called back in a few minutes.

“Hey man,” He said. “Why did you hang up on me?”

“Ain’t got time for the bull shit, Tall Man,” I answered. “We got business, say so.”

“Me and a buddy would like to rent that red-headed gal for a couple hours tomorrow. How much?”

“Same as last time,” I ventured.

“Right,” he said. “Fifty each?”

“I told you Tall man,” I said. “Ain’t got time for the shit. Tell you what, you and your buddy can go fuck each other.”

“Hey wait a minute!” He screamed over the phone. “Don’t hang up. I just forgot. Was it two Hundred?”

“You know it was,” I answered. “How do you want to do it?”

“Same as last time,” The man said.

“That I don’t know,” I said honestly. “You tell me how you did it last time.”

There was just enough hesitation to cause be to think that Mr. Tall Man was about to lie to me again

“She come here to my place in a taxi. We’ll see that she gets home all right.” I didn’t need a stress analyzer to know this cat was lying through his teeth.

“I don’t think so,” I said pleasantly and hung up. Tall Man must have been mad at me because he waited a full five minutes before he tried again.

“Man, if you keep hangin’ up on me I could get pissed off.” He said.

“If you keep jerking my chain you’re for sure gonna piss me off. Let’s try to get this right this time. How does it work?”

Tall Man was in a quandary. I knew some things and I didn’t know some things. He simply didn’t know what I knew or didn’t know. I knew what he was going through. I didn’t have much idea myself.

“Hell, Man,” He said with a great sigh, “We pick the slut up at Hammers and deliver her back there. You best remember that you ain’t the only dude with white bitches!”

“That’s true,” I acknowledge. “But my white bitches ain’t street whores. You got yourself some mighty fine white pussy and no std’s. Here’s the deal, two hundred each for two hours.” I gave him the address of the closed deli across the street from my place. “When do you want this to go down?”

“Tomorrow night, say eight or so. We pay her or you?”

I reasoned that Hammer didn’t want to be seen collecting cash from anybody. “Give it to Carol,” I answered, “She’ll give it to me.”

I had my first pimp deal. All I needed now was a whore. Carol Miller had two phone numbers. One for before five and one after six. It was early so I called the before five number.

“Good afternoon,” said a voice. “Bradford, Bradford and Pope. How may I help you?”

“Carol Miller,” I said.

“This is Carol,” the voice said.

“You got a date tomorrow night at eight.” I said.

“Who is this?” She demanded.

“This is Hammers friend, Mike. I got all the stuff and you got to deal with me from now on.”

“How do I know that?” she demanded to know. Carol Miller was a feisty gal.

“Watch the mail and you might catch the pictures as they come in to Bradford or Bradford or Pope. Oh silly me, of course I would send them to the home addresses. Maybe I could send a couple to your home address, too.” I could tell she was thinking. Was I bluffing or not?

“Hey Carol,” I said. “I really like the one where you and Hammer and that long dick goofy guy were tangled up on the floor. You know the one… where your head was under the coffee table?”

“Oh,” she said a small voice. Her voice changed to a more business like tone. I guessed someone had approached her desk or whatever. “May I have a number to call you back? Should be within the hour” I gave her Hammers old number.

She called back in just a few minutes. “What happened to Hammer”?” she asked.

“He died suddenly,” I said. “I’m the man now. You need to be at this address and ready to party with two studs at eight o’clock Thursday night.”

“Do I collect the same?” she asked.

“Sure you do,” I answered.

“How do I get it to you?” she asked.

“When Tall Man drops you off stay put and I’ll find you.”

“I’m glad it’s Tall Man,” She said. “He’s nice. Who’s the other guy?”

“Beats me. See you Thursday night Carol.” I said hanging up. By God, now I was officially a pimp.

Chapter 5

I had checked the post office box every day and it took five days for an envelope to show up in the box. I didn’t see anyone that appeared to be paying attention to me so I took it out. I ripped it open as I made my way to the car. Five hundred buck in cash. There was no return address, but it had a post mark from an outlying community. It matched with the name of Stephanie King. I had already figured out by cross referencing the address, that ol’ Steph King was the wife of Circuit Court Judge, Carl King.

The word of Hammer’s demise apparently had not gotten to the King residence. I knew I needed to contact all the people on Hammers list.

One list was this:

Working Carol Miller- single/Receptionist for Lawyers
Paying Stephanie King- Judges wife
Working Allison Baker- housewife
Working Jan Crane-single/MD
Working Lisa Hurst-single/Bank Manager
Working Kristi Curry-married/Department store clerk
Working Jackie Rupert-married/owner pet store
Working Debbie Palmer-married/co-owner health spa
Working Beverly Jett-housewife/ husband laid off from work, drunk most of the time
Paying Tina Roberts-surgeon’s wife /country club set
Working Vicki LaRue- single/unemployed
Working Keeli Thomas- housewife/husband works nights in plant
Paying Susan Williams- wife of politician big shot
Paying Faye Sawyer- wife of factory owner/country club set

On another sheet he listed each ones address and phone numbers and times to contact the women. On a different he listed their sexual likes and dislikes. For example:

Carol Miller likes gangbangs and DP. Good whore

Kristi likes to be forces to fuck. Warms up slow, but will get it on

Vicky needs money and will do anything

Bev is a hot woman. Needs two or three dicks to keep her happy. Old man is a bum.

Debby likes one on one but will lay still for two or more. Good whore

Jackie will run as soon as she sells pet shop. Likes to fuck, but don’t like to whore. Need new pictures

Allison don’t give a fuck. Likes any kind of sex. Good whore.

Chapter 5

I scanned some of the photos and printed some, using my computer and sent each of the women a photo of themselves and a letter instructing them to meet with me. I set up times and places all over town.

On the same day I was sending Carol Miller to meet Tall Man and his friend I had my first meeting was with Faye Sawyer. I could see from Hammers records that Sawyer had not paid the agreed amount of a thousand bucks for this month or the previous month.

I waited in the quite little bar for Faye to arrive. She was late, but within the accepted perimeters. When she walked in the door she acted like she owned the joint and couldn’t wait to sell it or give it away.

“Hi Faye,” I said after getting her attention. “Have a seat.”

“I won’t be here long enough to sit.” She said, looking at me as though I had a turd on my face. I could see that Mrs. Sawyer and I were not going to get along very well.

I reached into my briefcase and took a photo of Faye Sawyer giving a black dick a real tongue lashing. It was obviously her and she was enjoying her work. I made sure she saw it and then I got up and went to a bulletin board on the wall beside the jukebox. It was a place for business cards and flyers.