“Maybe a bit of both.” You reply, draining the last of your whiskey.
“Maybe.” She echoes thoughtfully. “Now remember what we’ve spoken about this evening. Don’t get in my way. Vandergraaf is important to me and to my family. I won’t let you interfere with my plans.” With that, she turns and walks away, the lights of the casino catching the sequins on her red dress and making her shimmer as she returns to the roulette table. The bartender whistles appreciatively.
“She’s a beauty that one, mister.” He tells you, leaning over the bar conspiratorially.
“Beautiful but deadly, pal.” You reply gruffly before heading for the door.
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“I could ask you the same thing, lady.” You reply.
“He’s a good friend.” She replies carefully. “I like to look after my friends, especially from those that would do them harm.”
“Very generous of you to take such a personal interest in his wellbeing. I wonder if such benevolence extends to his wife?” She raises an eyebrow.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re implying, Mr Harlowe.” She replies, steel in her voice now. “Though perhaps you should be more concerned with your own wellbeing. Stay away from this one before your luck really does run out.” With that, she turns and walks away.
“You’re playing with fire with that one, mac.” The bartender chuckles as he polishes the bar with a cloth.
“She’s a pistol alright.” You murmur, watching as she returns to her place at the roulette table. You drain the last of your whiskey and head back out onto the street.
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“Another time perhaps, sweetheart.” You grin, pulling away and scrambling up off the couch.
“What?” Lois growls, her eyes widening before springing to her feet. “Why, you son of a bitch!” She slaps you across the face, hard enough to make you wince and your eyes water. You don’t object. You both know you deserved it.
“Always a pleasure, Lois.” You grin.
“It damn well coulda been!” She grumbles. “Was a time I’d see you undressing me with your eyes. I’d catch you checking out my butt or my tits.”
“Don’t pout.” You grin, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Seem to remember you saying that the last time.” She mutters as you turn and pull open the door. “Just remember the goddamn story’s mine when you crack the case!” She calls out.
“I won’t forget.” You reply, flashing a smile over your shoulder before closing the door behind you and avoiding the narrowed eyes of her secretary as you hurry through the large office.
As you drive through the city back towards your office, you grin, feeling as though you are on the brink of cracking the case. It’s all starting to fall in place. However, with murder and the mob involved, you’re feeling a little out of your depth. Deciding it’s too big for a lowly gumshoe like yourself, you make a sudden turn, deciding to take the case to your old pal Nancy Morton down at the local Police Station. As you take the turn, you hear the squeal of tires as the car behind you follows you. You glance up, seeing a big, black Oldsmobile filling the rear view mirror. Looks like you’ve picked up a tail.
“Goddamn it.” You mutter, pressing your foot to the pedal, the engine roaring as you accelerate. The Oldsmobile matches your speed. Glancing again at the mirror, you see a silhouette of two men sitting inside the pursuing vehicle. A heavy set man in the passenger seat and a thin man in the driver’s seat. You sigh recognizing Valentina’s thugs. Weaving in and out of the traffic, you try to lose them, but the hood manages to match your maneuvers and keep close.
You head out of the city, the tall densely packed blocks of downtown giving way to sparse low buildings as you drive through the suburbs. As you streak down the highway towards Long Beach, you spot a ramp down to the concrete storm drain that was once the Los Angeles River. Maybe you can outrun them in a straight line. You reach under your left arm and pat the pistol in your shoulder holster. Either that or try to shoot the sons of bitches!
Try to outrun them
Try to shoot them
You pull on the handbrake and twist the steering wheel to one side. The Buick squeals in protest, the tires screeching as you slide sideways on. The hood slams on his own brakes, the back end of the Oldsmobile fishtailing as he just about keeps control. You see their eyes widen as you pull the pistol from inside your jacket and open fire. Gunshots echo down the street, the hoods ducking down as the Oldsmobile’s windshield shatters. Screams of terror ring out as passers-by scatter for cover. You keep firing, emptying the whole clip into the car, bullets shredding the interior. As the gun clicks empty, an eerie silence falls over the street. You reach into your pocket for another clip, unsure whether to finish the job or make a break for it.
Finish the job
Escape before the cops arrive
Deciding it’s going to be either you or them, you snap another clip into the butt of your pistol and climb out of your car. You approach the bullet riddled Oldsmobile, steam pouring from the shattered radiator. Your feet crunch on broken glass as you cautiously approach the door. Raising your pistol, you pull it open. Your eyes have just enough time to widen as you find yourself staring down the barrel of a tommy gun, the hood’s sneering face behind it. He pulls the trigger, the muzzle flash blinding you as bullets tear through your chest. At point blank range, you are dead before you even hit the ground.
THE END
Go back a few moments and rethink your actions
With steam pouring from the Oldsmobile’s radiator, you figure the hoods are in no shape to continue their pursuit. You throw your pistol down on the seat beside you and slam the Buick’s stick into reverse, straightening up in the road. As you prepare to pull away, you glance up at the rear view mirror, your eyes widening as you see the hood and the thug clamber out of the car. Both are carrying tommy guns.
“Shit!” You mutter, slamming your foot down onto the gas pedal. The Buick lurches forward as you accelerate away. You hear the tommy guns open up, the loud clack of the automatic weapons audible over the roar of the engine. You duck low as bullets slam into the rear of the car. Your foot is jammed down to the floor as you accelerate hard. You hear a loud pop and the car lurches to one side. As you fight with the steering wheel, you realize they must have hit a tire. At the speed you are going, it is impossible to keep control and as the front fender digs into the road, your world tumbles around you as the car is flipped into the air, barrel rolling down the street. Your head smashes into the steering wheel and everything goes black.
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You swerve to the right, smashing through a couple of metal mesh gates, wincing as the gates scrape down the sides of the car and dreading to think of the damage to your beloved Buick. You bounce down the ramp to the broad concrete riverbed, losing a hubcap as you hit the bottom. With no cars ahead of you to worry about, you gun the engine and glance in your rear view mirror. The Oldsmobile’s still back there.
“Let’s see if you can keep up in that piece of crap.” You murmur, watching as the needle on the speedometer continues to climb. There’s been very little rain that summer and the concrete is bone dry. You grin, enjoying the exhilaration of the chase and the roar of the engine. You weave beneath the supports of a couple of bridges and swerve around some debris from the last time the river was actually worthy of its name. Your gaze flicks back up to the rear view mirror and you smile with satisfaction as you begin to leave the Oldsmobile behind. As your gaze returns to the windshield, your eyes widen.
“Shit!” You curse, spotting a bunch of kids playing baseball ahead. It’s too late to brake, so you wrench the steering wheel to one side. The sudden change in direction coupled with your momentum sends your car tumbling, rolling over and over as the kids scatter out of the way. Metal crunches and crumples as you are thrown violently from your seat. You grunt as your world spins around you, smashing you into the roof before cracking your head on the stee
ring wheel. As the Buick slides to rest on its side, your vision darkens as you lose consciousness.
Continue
You stir, wincing at the pain from the bruise on the side of your head. Your wrists are bound together with rope and you can feel a blindfold over your eyes. A length of cloth is tied around your mouth as a makeshift gag. You are bouncing around on your side and can hear the growl of an engine. Judging by the hard floor and the stifling heat, you guess you’ve been bundled into the trunk of the Oldsmobile.
After a few minutes, the car slows to a halt, the handbrake ratchets and the engine dies. You can hear the doors open and footsteps outside. The trunk lid is opened and you are grateful for a little fresh air. Hands grasp you and pull you roughly out of the trunk and onto your feet. The traffic noise and hubbub of the city have been replaced by the whistling of a gentle breeze and birds singing in the trees. The air smells fresh and you know you are out of the city. You wonder if you have been driven to a secluded rural location to be shot like a dog and dumped in an unmarked grave. You try to speak, the gag making it an incomprehensible muffled mumble.
“Tryin’ ta say something, eh?” The hood gloats, before yanking the gag out of your mouth. “Well say it already. Ain’t no one else gonna hear it but us.”
“C’mon fellas.” You plead. “Can’t you tie something over my nose too? The stench of you two is somethin’ else!”
“Still bein’ a wiseguy, huh?” The hood replies. “We’ll see how far that smart mouth of yours gets you when you meet the boss.” The thug grips your arm as he leads you into a building and up some stairs. Floorboards creak and you hear the click of a door lock opening, the hinges squeaking as the door swings open. You are shoved roughly inside, losing your balance and falling forward. You grunt as you hit the floor. You lie there for a moment, hearing the door close behind you. You can hear someone breathing.
“Who’s there?” You call out. Footsteps echo around the room and you breathe in a familiar perfume. You smile, knowing who she is before she speaks.
“You’re becoming a pain in my ass, Harlowe, ya know that?” Valentina tells you, the click of her heels tapping closer. “I’ve had my boys put the hurt on ya, and still you won’t take the hint. So what’s a girl to do?”
“Let me guess. Dead men tell no tales?” You reply grimly.
“I don’t want to kill you!” She laughs. “Not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Despite the reputation of the mafia, we are business people. We kill you, we’ve got the cops sniffing round. Nah, not good for business.”
“So what am I doin’ here, sister?” You grunt.
“I’m going to make you an offer.” She purrs. “A thousand dollars to stay away from the Vandergraafs.” You whistle.
“That’s some serious dough, lady!”
“We can afford it.” She chuckles. “Agree and I’ll even throw in a sweetener.” You hear her kick off her shoes and feel a foot against your ribs as she rolls you onto your back. You feel the floorboards give slightly as she walks around you before feeling the instep of her foot caress the inside of your thigh, her toes sliding up between your legs and teasing your balls through the fabric of your slacks. You grunt, the unexpected contact giving you a tingling sensation in your groin.
Resist the bribe and her feminine wiles
Accept the bribe and give in to your lust
“Tempting sweetheart, but I gave a woman my word and I ain’t about to break it.” You tell her. The foot immediately leaves your groin.
“Foolish sentiment.” Valentina sneers.
“Probably.” You grin. “I’m a womanizer, a drunk and a pretty shitty human being, but I still got my principles. They ain’t for sale for no measly thousand bucks and a quick roll in the hay.”
“Then you leave me no choice, Mr Harlowe.” She replies sadly. She pauses, slipping her shoes on before you hear the heels clicking as she walks away and a door squeaks open. You hear two sets of heavier footsteps approach and you sigh, knowing who they belong to.
“You’re a stupid asshole Harlowe, ya know that?” The hood tells you. “Turning down a piece of skirt like that? Sheesh!” You hear the sound of something sloshing in metallic cans and then the strong odor of gasoline fills your nostrils.
Beg for mercy
Remain strong
“You don’t have to do this fellas.” You call out as you hear the liquid poured out all around you. “Get Valentina back in here. Tell her I’ve reconsidered. I don’t even want her money.” Your voice starts to crack as panic threatens to overwhelm you.
“You’re pathetic, you know that Harlowe?” The hood replies, disgust in his voice. “You’ve made your choice. Now take the consequences like a man.” He draws closer and you feel gasoline soaking through your clothes as he empties the rest of a jerry can over you. Terror wells up inside you as you consider the horrific death that is just moments away.
“Not like this.” You beg. “Just shoot me in the head for pity’s sake!” The hood and the thug ignore you and you hear them throw the empty cans to the floor, their footsteps retreating.
“So long Harlowe.” The hood calls out from the door, his voice echoing around the room. You hear the click of a lighter and the whump as the gasoline combusts. You let out a blood curdling scream as the flames consume you. Death is mercifully only moments away, but the agony you endure seems to last an eternity as you are roasted alive.
THE END
Go back a few moments and rethink your actions
You fight back the terror building inside you, remembering all the times during the war you thought your number was up. Besides, you’re not going to let these two lowlifes have the satisfaction. You listen as they pour the gasoline onto the floor all around you.
“Nothin’ to say, eh Harlowe?” The hood gloats. You know you’re not going to talk your way out of this one, so you remain silent, trying to work an angle to get yourself out of this scrape. You hear the empty cans clank against the floor and their footsteps retreating across the room.
“So long, Harlowe.” The hood calls out from the door. You hear the click of a lighter.
“Go to hell, you son of a bitch.” You shout back.
“You’re already there!” He laughs as the gasoline ignites with a whump. The thug laughs his slow, ponderous laugh and the door slams shut behind them. You can feel the heat all around you, the smell of burning wood filling your nostrils. You don’t have long to act before the smoke overcomes you. You reach up with your bound wrists and hook your thumbs under the blindfold, pulling it up over your face. You gulp at the sight around you. The hood was right about one thing. The blazing inferno all around you is only missing a horned guy with a pitchfork. The flames surround you and are already licking at the ceiling. You struggle against your bonds, but the ropes are tied tightly. There is only one door and it is ablaze. Glass breaks behind you and you turn towards its source. The flames have shattered a window frame. A wall of fire stands between you and it.
Go through the door
Dive through the window
Gritting your teeth, you step through the flames towards the door and grip the door handle. You scream in agony as your fingers tighten around the scalding hot metal knob. You fight the instinctive urge to snatch back your hand and twist the handle. Pain lances up your legs as the flames burn through your clothes. You tug at the door handle but the door is locked shut. You pull away, your fingers smoldering and melted. You drop to the floor and roll around, trying to extinguish your burning clothes. The air is thick with smoke and you find yourself choking as you breathe it in. You feel lightheaded, trying to scramble back to your feet, but finding all your strength has gone, you slump back to the floor.
“Shit.” You slur as darkness closes in.
THE END
Go back a few moments and rethink your actions
“I guess I could be persuaded.” You grin. You hear Valentina chuckle sexily, her foot beginning to work back and forth across your groin. You groan at the s
ensation, your cock rapidly swelling in your slacks.
“You like that, huh?” She murmurs.
“I’d like it even better without the blindfold.” You grunt. She pulls her foot away and you feel her fingers slip beneath the narrow strip of cloth and pull it from your face. You squint against the bright glow of the light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Craning your head forward, you find yourself within the careworn bedroom of some old house. A farmhouse perhaps judging by the rustic looking bed to one side and a threadbare rug thrown over the exposed floorboards. Valentina steps into your field of vision, wearing a creamy silk blouse and a knee length skirt, sheer black nylon stockings stretched around her long legs. Her rich red lips twist in a smile and her dark eyes smolder down at you from beneath long eyelashes as she reaches up and begins to unfasten her blouse. You blink in surprise as her fingers nimbly undo each button in turn before shrugging it off. The garment floats to the floor and you gaze up at her exposed body. Her long, wavy black hair cascades past her bare shoulders. Her breasts threaten to spill out of the top of her black bra. She turns her back to you and bends over, reaching down to lift the hem of her skirt. You groan at the sight of her firm, tanned buttocks, each cheek bisected by the thin black straps between her garter belt and stockings. You’re that distracted at the sight of her shapely ass, it takes you a moment to notice the absence of panties.
“You’re a classy broad!” You grin.
“California’s too damn hot for underwear.” She shrugs, glancing over her shoulder and flashing you a coy smile. She reaches up to the small of her back, unfastening the skirt and shimmying out of it. It slips down her long legs, pooling at her feet. She turns back to you, one hand resting on her hip while the other reaches up to brush a few loose spirals of hair out of her eyes. Her full lips pout and her dark eyes gaze hungrily into yours. God, she’s beautiful. Dangerous, but beautiful. Drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, you no longer care if you get burned.
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