New Pulp Press

"Bullets, Booze and Bastards"

Sample story from Suicide Blonde

The name is Stone … Axis Stone, occupation private detective, you know somebody says follow that dude, so I follow him, somebody says find a missing chick, so I find her and what do I get out of it? Fifty bucks an hour and expenses and if you think that buys anything fancy these days then you’re from outer space – it’s a labor of love but if I want be honest – it’s the only gig I feel comfortable doing ... You’ve probably heard about some of my cases on the news, well whatever you hear or you read, the real thing is something else ... and there’s only one guy who knows that – I know it.
It was a stinking hot day outside. Sydney is like that at summer time. But my office is cool – in both ways. The chorus to the song The Terrible Tango cranked up and cut the tedium, it was the ringtone of my smartphone – one of my favorite songs. I searched for the phone under a pile of unpaid bills and credit card demands piled high on my desk – found it and put on my most congenial voice, hoping for a gig.
“Axis Investigations, Stone speaking.
A silky, breathy voice at the other end purred, “Mr. Stone, sorry I’m out of breath I was running to get out of the rain.”
“Rain? You’ve got to be kidding!” I looked out of the window at the blue sky – there wasn’t a cloud in it. “Are we on the same planet?” I challenged.
“I’m sorry Mr. Stone, I should have said I’m in Brisbane and it’s pelting down cats and dogs.”
“I see, miss …?”
“Lola Lovejoy.”
The name rang a bell. I’d seen it in the newspapers: nightclub singer Kitty Lovejoy kidnapped in some exotic place – yeah, the Philippines that was it.
“Are you related to …?”
“Kitty? Yes, she’s my sister.”
“So, what can I do for you Miss Lovejoy?”
“You know that she’s missing in the Philippines, well we’re having some difficulties dealing with the police in Manila, and the Australian Consulate there can only provide us with limited assistance and won’t get involved with the kidnapping investigation.”
“Yeah, that’s their policy as I understand it. So, go on … where do I come in?”
“My father is a prominent Brisbane identity and wants to keep our name out of the newspapers.”
“A bit late for that isn’t it?”
“No more I should say, what’s been reported so far has already done some damage.”
“So what’s the bottom line Miss Lovejoy?”
“We need representation in the Philippines. Dad doesn’t trust anyone there, so I contacted you.”
“How did you find me?”
“On the net … can you meet us in Brisbane for dinner tonight?” She asked tentatively.
“Email me an open date return ticket and credit my account with three hundred bucks and I’ll be there.”
The crud weather made the ninety-minute flight to Brisbane a turbulent affair but nothing that a couple of in-flight Scotch’s couldn’t settle. I must admit I don’t get to fly up front often and I could get used to all the attention business class provided. I was sat next a businessman who by his demeanor and dress made a living out of being a bore. He only spoke to me once during the flight and his breath was so ripe I made sure there wouldn’t be any more conversation by ignoring him. A sultry-looking girl with short dark hair and boobs about the size of tennis balls, the business class hostess, was pleasant enough but that’s about as far as it went – even that ended with her smile. She was a walking advertisement for braces – could eat an apple through a tennis racket.
I decided to kill time by mentally undressing the girl across the aisle. Evaluating people was one of my routines – especially pretty girls. In her mid-twenties with shoulder length well-groomed blonde hair, dressed in an A-line summery pale blue floral print number that showed off both her cleavage and her long tanned legs, she was dressed to impress. The gold bangles on both wrists and the long beautifully manicured fingernails told me she was a model. I followed the line of her shapely legs down to her shoes, unmistakably Jimmy Choo – expensive. She caught me looking and loved it, the edges of her sexy red painted mouth rose with a clipped smile. I immediately checked her ring fingers knowing she would instinctively fiddle them if she was taken, but she wasn’t wearing any. Instead she reached down, and as though she was reading me better than I her, slipped off her shoes and began gently massaging her feet. That pretty well did my head in – Mr. Happy sprang into action trying to fight his way out of my pants. So, by the time the plane landed at Brisbane airport I was as horny as hell. As we deplaned I got into position directly behind her and squeezed up tight enough for Mr. Happy to rub into the cleavage of her lovely rear end. Again she didn’t mind at all and gently pushed back with her butt to make better contact. I pulled a business card and slipped it to her. She took it with a silent wink. It pays to advertise.
Waiting at the airport cab rank, I was setting my wristwatch back an hour for daylight saving, when in my periphery vision I was struck by a pair of red, Luis Vuitton open toed, high-heel shoes. I followed the shapely, tanned legs up to find a real honey: the sort you’d prefer to spread on a bed than on bread. A strawberry blonde with wide-spaced blue eyes and garbed in a thin silk dress that clung to her slim, well-proportioned body like paint to a wall – only a wall is a flat surface. This dame even surpassed the blonde on the plane.
“Mr. Stone?”
“All yours.”
“Lola Lovejoy.”
Her husky voice matched her name – Lola was a stunner – the gig was getting better by the second.
“I have a car waiting … follow me.”