I saw her enter the office as if through a cloud of smoke. She moved towards my desk, a vague spectral figure in burgundy, her heels clicking against the cheap tiles, and I decided it was probably best to extinguish my cigarette. The smoke dissipated.

“These things will kill you,” she said, her lush voice somehow familiar. She was very short, but her cold blue eyes held authority. She had the austere, wavy hairstyle of a movie star and her dark red dress looked like it cost more than my entire office. Suddenly I remembered why her voice sounded familiar. She was a movie star – Natalie Noir. I’d heard her on some radio drama, and probably seen her on the silver screen too; what was it? That’s right; “The Sister of Frankenstein.”

“My life is full of danger,” I responded, unconsciously grabbing and lighting another cigarette. “Marlon Phillips, at your service. Now, what might a big-shot movie star like you be doing in this part of town?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament, Mr Phillips, and I cannot go the police, so I have need of a private investigator. Miss Tyria suggested you are discrete and efficient.”

Ah, Miss Tyria. That explained how she had found her way to me. Tyria was a charlatan but she was smart and those Hollywood types trusted all the spiritual nonsense she spewed at them. I had helped her in a precarious situation the year before; I guess the fact that I had not revealed her scams to her clients – or her numerous affairs to her rich old husband for that matter – had contributed to this recommendation. Which was just as well, because she had somehow tricked me into getting paid mostly with sex, rather than dollars.

“That I am, Miss Noir. Would you like a drink?”

She declined the offer, which was for the best – all I had was the cheapest whisky money could buy. The kind preferred by thugs in dim-lit underground bars and by broke private eyes who are not used to entertaining high society. But she did extend her hand with the cigarette holder, expecting me to light it for her. I used a match, though a woman like that demanded a silver lighter.

“Not afraid of slow death either, are you?” I asked.

“That is the least of my fears at the moment, Mr Phillips,” she said, blowing the smoke in that seductive way that only beautiful women can.

I decided to open the window before the room filled with smoke again; it was a chilly evening but smokers tend to be used to the cold, and she didn’t complain. I made a mental note to get the janitor to fix the air duct filters.

“So, what troubles you Miss?” 

She sat at the one good chair in front of my desk, her crossed legs lifting her dress to her thighs. I took out a notebook and a pencil, thinking it would be hard to keep track of what she said if I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She was really very petite – couldn’t be more than 5’ and very slim, with a modest size but immodestly exposed cleavage.

She probably noticed my stares, but was used to them – movie star and all. I sat back on my armchair. It made a screeching sound and I mumbled a curse.

“I am being blackmailed,” she said finally.

It sounded like a familiar scenario. I ventured a silent guess: a girl from the countryside comes to the big city to be a star; but somebody from her past haunts her and tries to take advantage of her newfound riches. A former lover maybe.

“I’ll need more info than that I’m afraid,” I said instead.

She made a nervous move with her head, then took a deep breath and looked straight into my eyes – which had fortunately just stopped looking at the way her chest heaved.

“Someone took some photographs of me at a very…private time. They are threatening to take them to the press unless I pay them off.”

“And you want me to track them down. This won’t be simple – any idea who it might be, or how they acquired these pictures? Were they stolen or taken during the uhm, incident?”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea of who it is. Or at least there is a limited list of suspects. You see, it all happened while I was off on Mandible Island for shooting some scenes in a new picture. We were only eight people there.”

This was getting interesting. I leaned back on my chair. From out the open window, the usual sounds of the city vied for my attention: Jess in the apartment next door faking being close to an orgasm; drivers shouting at each other; the doomsday prophet at the corner warning about the Jezebels and the fornicators around us. Miss Noir was courteous enough to pretend not to hear Jess’ monotonous ‘yes, yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me harder’ routine.

“Tell me what happened, then. And who these people are. Spare no details; it will make my job easier.” I lit a cigarette, forgetting I had one already in my mouth, and immediately put it out and threw it away.

"I am not supposed to say anything yet, but we are shooting a new take of the Isle of Dr Moreau. It's a loose adaptation but it plans to be more artistic rather than a horror film, so it seemed like a good opportunity," she said.

"Well, for what it's worth, I loved you in the Sister of Frankenstein," I interjected.

"I'm not in that, Mr Phillips. That's Lucinda Lugard; lots of people confuse the two of us, God knows why. I admit there is some surface resemblance, but I actually have acting talent."

Fuck, that doesn't look good for a man at my line of work, I thought, but Miss Noir brushed it off.

"I was in Cyclops and the Maiden," she continued. I admitted I hadn't seen that one, but knowing her radio dramas seemed to please her.

"Anyway, we went to Mandible Island with a skeleton crew for a few scenes. We were four actors: myself, the damsel in distress; Cliff Anderson, the eponymous doctor; Therese DuMal, who plays some hybrid monster and the doctor's assistant; and Conrad Chandler as the protagonist. Then there was Cecil van der Schnapp, the director; Kenny, the cameraman; Anna, Cecil's assistant; and Lin, the make-up artist.

On the first couple of days, the filming went well enough. Cecil had a tantrum but nothing out of the ordinary.” She blew out another long puff of smoke that seemed to slither its way towards me. “On the afternoon of the last day, things got ugly. Cliff showed up drunk. Cecil started screaming and threw a glass at him, but he missed and hit Conrad, then he began shouting at me; he called me a no-good harlot so I slapped him. Anna shoved me and I fell onto Kenny. I think I broke one of the cameras. There was just a general kerfuffle."

"Hm. Why did, ah, Mr van der Schnapp, turn on you?"

"Apparently, he didn't want me in the movie. The studio forced the issue."

She crossed her legs the other way and looked me straight in the eye. "My name attracts people to the cinemas, Mr Phillips, and I would like to keep it that way."

I nodded. "What happened then? I imagine there was a lot of tension."

"Oh, these things happen more often than you think in film sets. Conrad didn't really get hurt so he didn't make a fuss, although I think he did threaten to quit the film. Once everyone calmed down and Cliff was sober enough, we wrapped up the scene and retired. Not that we did it very well. It might have to be cut in the editing, frankly.”

“I am guessing you didn’t retire alone.”

“No. I did not.”

She fell silent, extinguishing her Lucky Strike in my cracked ashtray. The pile of cigarette butts had formed a monument to my procrastination, and I made another mental note to clean up the place.

I decided to give her time. She looked outside the window into the evening sky, unblinking. My office was on the 24th floor, and the elevator smelled like old piss. Coming here was a difficult decision for her. She would not back out. I just had to gain her trust. I offered her one of my own smokes, but she rejected it with a wave of her gloved hand.

"I think I'll have that whisky now if you please."

I jumped up to serve her. I got the cleanest glass I had and poured her a little more than I normally would have, apologising for its quality.

"Relax, Mr Phillips. I wasn't born rich, nor do I much enjoy the company of most people in the industry. Little starlets who think they can just take over, pompous fools, drunkards and plotters, the lot of them."

She took a sip, then another. "I spent the night in the arms of Therese. You can guess why I cannot go to the police. Even if they caught the blackmailer, someone would talk. Rumours would spread."

She got up, pacing around the room, her heels keeping rhythm to her dirge. "There are some who can weather such storms; some too bright to be dimmed by people's malice. Alas, I am no Greta Garbo. There are others who are tolerated because they are no big stars – Therese is one of them. No one cares who she sleeps with, but they will care about me, Mr Phillips. And I won't have all I've achieved crumble because of some peeping Tom."

"May I ask what the incriminating material is?"

Natalie stopped pacing, reached into her pocket and took out an envelope.

"Here; you might as well have a look. If you don't catch whoever's responsible you are going to see it in the papers anyway," she said, throwing it on my desk.

I took it slowly, then extracted the photograph carefully. I checked it with a magnifying glass just in case there were any fingerprints, but saw nothing. Only then did I see the image. Miss Noir, seemingly looking straight at the camera, mouth half-open in ecstasy and torso arched, sitting on the face of another lady, whose mouth is apparently pleasuring her. The light of a lamp in the room illuminated Natalie's face. It was quite frankly an exquisite photograph, even if one disregarded the beauty of its subject matter. Worse, there was no denying it was her in the picture.

The back of the picture said: "I have more pictures of you two degenerate whores. Quit the film or these go to the Weekly Planet. You have a week." I handed the envelope back, remaining sitting; my hard-on would be all too obvious if I got up.

"A week will be next Saturday. The production team will be meeting with me to discuss some extra scenes I want added to the script. I hope you will be able to reveal the culprit before then — because I do not plan on quitting."

Five days. I'd have to work overtime. Just as well. I was beginning to get used to Jess' moans. The day before I had made small talk with an old lady in the lift. If I got any softer the next thug I investigated would spread me on bread.

"Do you think any of these people had motive for such an act? You said the director didn't want you in the movie."

"Yes. Cecil was once high and mighty, when Death of a Nation hit the theatres, all those years ago. But then came the fall. He hopes this film will be his comeback, if not artistically, then at least to the good side of the industry. That's why he has so many tantrums; he wants everything to go perfectly, so I'd imagine he'd hate losing control over who his female lead is.

But sadly, I am afraid they all might have had motives. Anna will do anything for Cecil. Cliff has both a drinking and a gambling problem. Word is he owes money everywhere. Conrad seems nice, but he's got a big idea of himself – gets mad if he has to share the screen time, if you will, especially with a woman. As for Lin, Therese left her a couple of months ago. She didn't take it too well. That leaves Kenny. I don't really know him. A bit secretive, that one. I don't trust him."

I thought a simple cameraman would probably be too intimidated to mingle with all these stars, especially if they were prone to such fits of rage. Then again, the photographs were taken from a distance, with a zoom lens. Otherwise she would have noticed the culprit's presence. I guessed Kenny the cameraman might have access to such a tool. Then there was the artistic quality of the picture; though that might have been random chance. I didn't say anything. It was too early.

"If you don't mind my asking, how long had this affair been going on? Could whoever took the pictures already know about it?" I asked.

She sat down again. "It was the first time. I have had affairs with women once or twice before, but nobody knew it, I am sure."

I wrote down a few words in my notebook, then added some nonsense to pretend I was taking detailed notes.

"Thank you, Miss Noir. I must tell you, I cannot promise results in such a tight timeframe, but I will devote all my attention and resources to your case." I offered her a card with my office and home number. I assured her she can call any time of day or night, though I would probably not be there to pick it up. "I will need a deposit to carry out my investigation. The rest of my pay is contingent upon solving the case."

She took a huge amount of money out of her purse and handed me what I asked for.

"I am not sure you should be carrying that amount of money in this neighbourhood, Miss Noir. It's getting dark. Let me escort you to a taxi," I said. I knew a couple of P.I.s that would have already contacted their 'associates' to mug the poor girl the moment she got out of the building, then split the profits.

"Thank you, Mr Phillips. I must seem like a total fool. A spoiled rich girl, completely out of touch. It's this extortion, really. It's clouded my judgment." She offered me her elbow and I clumsily grabbed it.

I stood behind her on the elevator. The back of her head barely reached my chest. Someone had probably been fed up with the piss stench and cleaned up a little, so I could smell her perfume. It smelled expensive. It was mixed with a lingering note of cigarette smoke and alcohol, and it took me a while to realise that was me. Her hair fell on her left shoulder, leaving the nape of her neck and most of her upper back exposed. I started to wonder about the possibilities.

"So what did Miss Tyria tell you about me?" I asked, foolishly perhaps.

"She said you are good at what you do. She shared some more details but I am sure you noted she is prone to exaggeration. I did not believe half of what she told me." She said the last bit turning her head back to glance at me mischievously. The elevator reached the ground floor.

I walked her to the main street. We passed a poster for the Sister of Frankenstein. Starring Conrad Chandler and Lucinda Lugard. I took a look at the painted face of the woman on the poster, then at Miss Noir.

"You really look a lot alike," I said.

"Nonsense. Though that role does fit her. She's got the talent of a reanimated corpse."

I was pretty sure her doppelganger played the role of the Doctor's sister and not the Monster's, but it was a good jab.

I chuckled, and got her into a cab. Then I got to work.

***

My work was not all that different from Miss Noir's, though I often got paid in bullets and had no audience. I needed to investigate the suspects without alerting them to the fact there was an investigation. And I had already decided my role in this play. I called my contact at the Gazette and asked for the props.

I showed up at Cecil van der Schnapp's office a little before nine o'clock. His assistant, Anna, opened the door and I barged in before she could keep me out. I introduced myself as Montgomery Kent, reporter of the Gazette. I needed to talk to Anna as well, so I decided to start off with her, bombarding her with questions to throw her off.

"My sources tell me there are frictions during filming for the Isle of Dr Moreau. Is it true that mister van der Schnapp hit Conrad Chandler? Are producers going to fire him? Why are there going to be extra scenes added?"

I had half expected Cecil's assistant to be a blond bombshell, but I was wrong. Anna was a girl avoiding eye contact, tall – for a woman – and severely dressed in a tweed suit over a silk blouse. She sported a pixie cut, framing a freckled, bespectacled face that I thought would make a fine canvas for a cum Pollock.

Still, despite her shy demeanour, she was not easy to intimidate. She stretched her hand to bar me access to her boss’ office and forced me to sit down.

“I've been on both sides of such conflicts, Mr Kent, and trust me, it's nothing that doesn’t happen in every major production. Cecil’s…Mr van der Schnapp’s job is quite safe, I assure you. Hammer-Goldsmith Pictures know they’ve hired a visionary.” She spoke very softly.

“What about, ugh,” I pretended to consult my notes. “Natalie Noir? Some say she was forced upon him by the producers, and now I hear she is adding extra scenes to the film? Surely that’s not a trait of every major production, Miss. No director likes a diva, especially when he didn’t choose her.”

I noticed Anna frowned a little at this. I couldn’t know if it was the mention of Natalie or irritation at how the information had leaked so quickly. She chose her words carefully and diplomatically, which I felt was of little help to my investigation.

“It is no secret that Mr van der Schnapp did not pick Miss Noir for the role, but it is not true she was forced upon him. He is happy to work with an actress of her reputation. And I am sure she is grateful to learn from one of the greats of the field. I know nothing about any added scenes though. You will have to talk with Mr Cecil himself.”

She was lying, but that was to be expected. I arranged with her to meet van der Schnapp on the following day although Anna told me the only problems in the film were the ones caused by nosy journalists. I gave her a fake business card and she returned it with the time of my arranged interview with van der Schnapp and a note that said ‘Don’t be late’. She escorted me to the door and closed the door almost before I had even exited.

I hadn’t asked about Cliff Anderson’s drinking problem – there was no way she would answer that, and besides, it seemed to be common knowledge in the industry, not something a reporter would inquire about. Besides, it was the time of the evening when a dedicated investigator might find a has-been actor in a bar and share a few drinks with him.

Fortunately, I knew where to look. I used to meet Miss Tyria in a certain establishment where she would point out various celebrity frequent customers to me. Cliff was there almost every day, save when he had filming.

The atrociously named ‘Alcohole’ didn’t look like a place where movie stars would go. It was in a basement, on an otherwise mostly residential street, and looked fairly unassuming. That was probably the point, as it had become a secret nexus for people who wanted to remain incognito. There was a sort of code of silence about the place, fuelled by rumours – which were probably entirely true, as the most dangerous rumours tend to be – that it was owned by the mafia.

Of course it was not simply a place for a famous person to blend in and avoid attention. It offered other amenities, as Miss Tyria had been quick to point out to me. She had taken me through a door and a corridor to the glory hole room, which she was very fond of. When the first cock appeared through the wall I sort of jumped in surprise, which she thought was very amusing.

She sucked it dry very diligently, her head moving rhythmically back and forth while her long black hair remained almost unnaturally still. When she had swallowed her dose and another one appeared, she invited me to take her as she devoted her full attention to it. I lifted her skirt and found nothing beneath except for her eager cunt. She had swallowed another two loads by the time I came on her bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, I offered to help her climax with my hand, but when another erect cock emerged, she had another idea.

“Why don’t you give it a go?” she had asked quietly, and without much deliberation I fell on my knees and took it in my mouth. Maybe she really has psychic powers and something possessed me; or more likely, she had read my face as she did with her clients. In this environment, hidden from sight and prying eyes, I had realised as soon as she brought me that I wanted to offer my mouth as a devotional shrine to cum.

So I sucked that stranger’s cock fervently, feeling its head rub against my tongue and the top of my mouth, licking its shaft, anxious to please for the flimsiest reward, like one of the cheap whores that offer their bodies to me in the dirty alleys of the haunted mirage that replaces the big city come nightfall. Miss Tyria, her hand rubbing her pussy looking at the scene she had orchestrated, had reached ecstasy just as I was feeling the warm cum down my throat.

It was a meeting to discuss her payment – how it ended up with me sucking cock and her paying half what we had agreed is perhaps another testament to her mystical powers.

This time however I was here on business. I spared no more than a glance to the back door that led to the glory hole room, and quickly noticed Cliff sitting in a corner. He was easy to spot – the goatee was a very rare stylistic choice, likely limited to actors who were used to playing the part of the villain.

Judging by the bottle, he seemed to have already been there a while. The reporter routine was not going to work here – not in this setting, where reporters would be thrown out.

So I sat next to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

He appeared a bit confused, trying to understand why he should know me. I didn’t give him time.

“I hear you’re working with that bitch, Noir. We were together in Scarlet Moon, and I tell you, she almost wrecked the whole thing. It’s a wonder we ever wrapped it up.” I had deliberately picked a film of Natalie’s that hadn’t come out yet. It was still a risk, if he had heard differently from other people involved.

“Really? What did she do?” he asked, forgetting that he couldn’t really place me.

“You know, just constant complaints about her role. She wanted more screen time, eventually they just cut some of the scenes she wasn’t in.”

“Oh. Well, in our case I hear they are adding a couple more scenes with her in the script. Can’t say she was too bothersome about it though; the only one who complained was Conrad. And that's because I am going to be in the new scenes and he is not. Jealous bastard." He shook around his glass before taking another sip. "But you’ll never guess who they are bringing in to write those extra scenes.” He had quickly eased into talking to me as if we really knew each other for years. A predictable combination for a drunk who meets thousands of people.

“Who?” I asked, though I was more interested in Conrad’s complaints.

“Donald fuckin’ Fairweather! They won’t credit him of course, but he is slithering his way back. And frankly, why not? People have gotten away with worse in this place.”

I nodded. The name was somewhat familiar – Fairweather was the protagonist of some other sexual scandal a few years past. I would have to look it up.

I chatted with him a little more, trying to get some more info about his opinion on Natalie and the suspects. I was quite sure he wasn’t the guy – the blackmailer didn’t ask for money, and sabotaging the movie intentionally was not something a man with gambling debts would aim for. So I bought him another couple of rounds, easily keeping up with his drinking rhythm – which probably made me seem all the more trustworthy. Surely he knew me from somewhere.

He described my client as a ‘foxy little broad’ but easier to work with than Vivian Lee. He didn’t care much for Conrad, as was already clear, and avoided Therese, whom he apparently found too European, whatever that meant. Cecil he described as a vicious little man who deserved his fall from grace – another scandal I didn’t quite remember – but begrudgingly accepted he was a good director, for all his mood swings.

I couldn’t really casually mention Kenny, Anna, or Lin the make-up artist, but he did make reference to a feisty bitch that I assumed was the director’s assistant.

I left him, telling him I’ll see him in the game, giving him a vague frame of reference – implying I must be one of his gambling companions. That ought to keep him from wondering, I thought.

I woke up early for my appointment with Cecil van der Schnapp on the next day, and arrived after three coffees and God knows how many smokes that had done little for the hangover. Worse, the conversation seemed to be going poorly. A shrewd, balding and slightly overweight man in his middle years, Cecil wore the permanent frown of a man who thinks he’s been mistreated, misjudged and misunderstood.

Warned about my questions by Anna, who was present and watchful of me the entire time, the director was rather cagey. He reiterated he had no problem at all with his actors, and that the extra scenes I had heard about, if they were to be scripted at all, would be there to serve his artistic vision and not assuage the caprice of any starlet.

“There would be no Hollywood without me, my good sir,” he said. “I have done more for this place than anyone alive. Where would all these people be if I hadn’t opened their eyes with After Midnight in Berlin and The Death of a Nation? To think I would abide by any sort of outside interference with my work is…it’s absurd.”

I didn't chance to mention Fairweather; knowing too much might be suspicious even for the most nosy reporter, and I needed to familiarise myself with his story. Only during the end did he say something useful.

“I don’t even know where these rumours come from, Mr Kent. I never explicitly asked for another actress – if anything, it was Conrad Chandler who wanted the production to pick Lucinda Lugard instead, but even he dropped the matter quickly enough once the casting was done. And good thing he did, because I’ve seen Miss Lugard act.”

I suppressed a smile. Maybe our protagonist had a girlfriend who wanted the part in Cecil van der Schnapp's comeback film. Maybe he thought he could get it for her. Having failed to locate Kenny the cameraman, I set my eyes on Conrad. But first, I decided to do a little more research on the other name popping up in the investigation.

Fortunately, my Gazette contact could easily point me to the source of the Fairweather story, though not before sharing at length his opinion of jazz journalism. I got my hands on the February 29, 1932 copy of the Evening Scandal; the author of the piece was really Fairweather himself: drunk out of his mind he'd narrated the whole thing to a small crowd during a dinner party, a crowd that included the Scandal's gossip columnist. The story was supposedly printed as told, though I think it might have had some stylistic embellishments:

"People think all those pretty movie stars had to screw their way to the top, but it's not so common. Don't get me wrong, lots of would-be starlets try that path, but it doesn't lead far if you don't have talent, and if you do, you probably know you can make it without fucking the producer, or for that matter, the writer.

"What's that? Well yes, I've indulged. No one you know though – not that I would tell. In fact, one of the best...no, no, I shouldn't tell that story. No, it's...ok, fine. So, this girl comes in my office. You know the style of the girl who wants to be an actress for the stardom of it? Big boobs, soft voice, all that? Well, this girl was not like that at all. Cute face, but kinda tomboyish, flat-chested, not really the kind of person you see as a star.

"Now, to be fair, she didn't ask to be a star. She asked me to write an extra small role for her in a screenplay I was working on. Two lines really. Just enough so the studio would just take whoever I suggested without an audition. Naturally, I asked why I should do that, right? And she said...no, not that. She told me it was because the small role she suggested would 'enrich the main character's journey'. Apparently, she was a secretary or something, and had checked the drafts and came back with corrections!

"Worse, she was right. It was a good addition. But why, I asked, should I get you to play it? 'I want to be in the movie industry', she said. 'In some capacity'. I told her that's her reason to want it, but not a reason for me to do it. So she sighed heavily and asked 'what if I sucked your cock?'. That might convince me, I said.

"So she gets down on her knees and takes it in, and by God, that was good head. So I grab her by the hair and tell her I want to fuck her little cunt – and she kind of shies away, and tells me she'd like me to fuck her as well, but there's a bit of an issue. And as she gets up, I see the issue bulging from her pants like a cudgel.

"But by that point, I'm far too horny to care. I turn the little whore around and lift her skirts. She's got thighs and an ass as good as any of the girls seeking the chance to show their talent. My cock slides in and she moans like any other girl. Who cares if her cock's as hard as mine?"

The passage went on a little further, ending with the cross-dressing boy getting sucked off as well, but I got the gist of it. I wasn't sure if Fairweather got ostracised for his actions or for talking about them so openly, with the rest of the attendants – according to the Evening Scandal – not batting an eye at the debauchery.

In any case, it seemed unfair to be cast away for something like this. Unfair, but expected. I probably would have trouble getting any information out of the people I associated with if they knew I sucked cock at the Alcohole. Life is a play, and for the part of private investigator the audience requires a more traditionally masculine performance.

I wasn't sure if and how Fairweather fit in the puzzle, but I felt it was time to put some pressure on Miss Noir's co-star. A quick look through the papers confirmed my suspicion – Conrad Chandler and Lucinda Lugard were by no means the hottest or most famous couple in town, but their recent dating still occupied a few gossip columns here and there. With his Douglas moustache and her ample bosom they seemed a quintessential movie couple, even if a little lackluster compared to the originals they emulated. The same gossip columns also seemed to suggest that Lugard's once-promising career had been in decline.

That was a job for Montgomery Kent; but I decided to try a phone interview this time. From what I could tell Chandler seemed willing to share some details of his social life with the papers in order to keep his place in the spotlight. Being able to defend your little corner in the jungle of stardom might depend on your partner defending theirs.

I managed to reach him in the afternoon. I started off with a few casual questions before starting to encircle the point like a vulture, smelling death:

"How is it working with Natalie Noir, considering she and Lucinda do not seem to be on the best of terms?" I asked.

"Miss Noir is merely a little frustrated at being mistaken for Lucy. There is plenty of room for two beautiful petite brunettes in this business, I assure you. It has not impacted our collaboration one bit." He sounded a little tense, and I tried to push.

"But some say that you tried to get Lucinda cast in the Isle of Dr Moreau; surely that shows some bad blood."

"I just offered an opinion when asked, Mr Kent. And before you ask, no, Lucy did not ask me to help her get this or any other part. I only suggested our on-screen chemistry may appeal to audiences."

I tried another angle. "What's your opinion on the alleged involvement of Mr Fairweather in the new scenes – and your absence from them?"

"It's news to me, but in any case, I have absolute faith in Cecil Van der Schnapp's vision. I know he'll do whatever is needed to ensure this movie succeeds."

Chandler's resort to generic answers like that told me I'd get nothing more out of him, unless his last phrase was taken literally. In any case I was none the wiser. Maybe it was time to talk with my client again. See if she has insights on anything I had found so far.

We met on Wednesday evening at a little café in the high end of town. I wore my best suit, though my ragged appearance still turned some eyes, especially when people noticed who I was sitting opposite to.

Natalie was wearing a formal-looking skirt with a suit, probably the outfit that best conveyed the message that she's here on business, not pleasure, preventing any rumours from forming. The skirt still exposed her up to the thigh when she crossed her legs, and I did stare.

She ordered a martini. I took a coffee to appear more focused on the job.

I filled her in on the investigation so far, though I had precious little to say. All the suspects seemed to be trying to hide something, save perhaps Cliff, but in truth, none seemed to have that much of a motive. There were still more leads to follow. I told her I would try to find something about Lin the day after, and try to locate Kenny, but she was agitated. She was running out of time.

I asked her about her relationship to Fairweather, the disgraced screenwriter.

"He's an old friend. I intervened on his behalf. I didn't demand more scenes, that was Cecil's idea - he wanted to flesh out my character or something. The original screenwriter of the film is unavailable, and I just mentioned that Donald – Mr Fairweather – would be a good choice to make the changes. He's desperate for work so he'll cost little and do it without credit."

There was something there. I could almost make the connection. If only I had ordered a vodka, then my brain might have worked. I didn't mention anything, not wanting to give Miss Noir false hope. I hurried off. There were still so many threads.

I decided to go after Lin, the make-up artist, immediately. No point wasting time. I didn't know how to approach her though; she was not someone the press would be interested in, and I couldn't reveal myself as an investigator to a suspect, or she would release the incriminating material.

I was still debating this when I got to her place. She lived in the suburbs, in a quiet neighbourhood with houses that enjoyed relative isolation. I entered the back yard, approached the house, and immediately decided Lin was an unlikely suspect.

Through the window, I could see Lin had company. She seemed to be quite over Therese DuMal; the two men ramming her backside and mouth were as good a remedy for a broken heart as any, though I knew from experience that women who were so generous with their bodies rarely suffered from the particular malady. In the absence of any other known personal grudge towards my client, I could not believe the woman entertaining these gentlemen – one of which was rather famous, and famously married – would hold the affair with Therese against her.

Even more than that, I had deduced that the blackmail note had been written by a right-handed person, while Lin was using her left to jerk off the cock in front of her.

Still, I had come a long way from the other side of town, so I decided to remain a little while longer – there might be some clue hidden among the moans, I told myself.

Lin must have been in her forties, but she could have fooled anyone with her lean body and ageless face. Years later, I learned she was a Mercedes de Acosta type, having pulled a lot of famous men and women to her bed. At the moment, though, it was her who was being pulled by her long black braid as the gentleman behind her rear side was thrusting faster and faster. Her other partner was taking matters into his own hand, ready to empty his balls on her face.

When I returned to my apartment later that night, I was not sure if in my fantasy I was one of the men taking Lin, or her.

By morning, I was ready to hunt down the last piece of the puzzle, hoping it would actually give me some idea of how to proceed. I had considered Kenny the cameraman a plausible suspect when I first heard the story, but now it seemed a long shot. The blackmailer had not asked for money, which implied a personal reason. Unless they were acting for a third party, I thought.

Kenny's apartment was not very far from my own. I had decided there was no time for tricks – if he wasn't home, I would just break in and see what I could find.

I knocked several times, without getting an answer. Seeing a neighbour passing me in the corridor, and mostly in order to justify my presence there and dispel any suspicion, I introduced myself to the old woman as Kenny's friend, and asked if she had seen him.

"Not for a couple of days. Last I saw him was Monday evening, he left in a hurry," she said.

I thanked her, pretended to leave, and when she had gone down the stairs quickly came back and picked the lock, as any half-decent private detective ought to be able to do.

The apartment was empty. No signs of struggle. There was a small dark room with developed photographs, but though I searched thoroughly, no images or negatives of Natalie or for that matter any other explicit material.

I was getting frustrated at another dead end when I saw a note on a table by the front door.

"Docks. At 21.00. Come alone." I smiled. It was the one small coincidence I needed. Once I realised the culprit, it all came together. That same night, I slipped a note of my own below a door.

***

I was waiting below the promenade, where I could not be seen by anyone approaching. It was a little before dawn, with a dull, grey light over the sea. The true colours of the world, before humans flooded the city to paint it with their lies.

Hearing steps come down the stairs and onto the grovels of the beach, I emerged from behind, gun in hand.

She heard the gun cock and stopped. Slowly she turned around.

"I guess your name is not Montgomery Kent."

"I guess your legal name isn't Anna Smith."

She said nothing.

"Is Kenny dead?" I asked.

No answer.

"No matter. That's not the case I'm on. You are going to surrender to me all the photos you took of Miss Noir, and their negatives."

"Or what? You gonna shoot me, big boy?" she sneered.

"You can't go through with it now, Anna. Not only do I think you committed murder, but even your blackmail would backfire. Everyone would know."

She hesitated.

"Ok, you want the full exposition – good, I like that part too. Here's what I think, Anna. I think you want to be in the movies. I think you have the talent. But the industry will never accept you. So you attached yourself to Cecil. He'd been cut out for years, so he appreciated a helpful assistant who knows what she's doing. Maybe he knows, maybe not. He strikes me as the kind of guy who can ignore things right in front of his eyes if they do not interest him.

"You probably have taken a more creative role as well. You suggested a few extra scenes be added to the script. Cecil took credit for the idea but it didn't matter, you just want to be involved. You probably suggested you could write them yourself but the studio of course wouldn't have it. Trouble is, they asked Natalie's opinion. And who did she suggest but Donald Fairweather, the one guy you fucked to try and get in the business. He would meet with Cecil and the producers so Cecil would want you there. And Fairweather would recognise you.

"It doesn't mean he'd say anything, but you didn't want to risk it. Maybe you wandered the isle at night, to think, anxious. You noticed Natalie and Therese fucking, and you had an idea. Without Natalie, there was no Fairweather. By the time a new female lead was cast, if at all, they would find someone else for the rewrites. Maybe you enlisted Kenny's help. Maybe you borrowed the camera but he noticed it was gone and realised what was going on. So he asked for a cut, but as we established, you didn't want to risk it. Too much to lose."

She didn't react much at all during my narrative. Now she licked her lips.

"What gave me away?"

"Your handwriting has a distinctive capital D," I said, pulling out the note she had given me and the one I found at Kenny's place.

She chuckled mirthlessly. "Betrayed by the D. Sounds about right."

"The photographs, Miss Smith." I stepped carefully a little closer. It really was very hard to tell that Anna was biologically a man, even knowing it. I understood what it would mean to have what she had built come crushing down.

"I didn't kill him. Blackmailers don't shoot, do they? I threatened to hurt him, though. I think he left town to get away from me."

"Well, good for you both. The photographs. Who knows, you might get away with it. Maybe Fairweather will say nothing. Maybe he won't recognise you. You'll have to take the chance."

"Noir will tell everybody."

"I am not so sure she will. I don't know if she's an understanding person but it wouldn't help her."

It was done. She handed the photos over – she was carrying them with her everywhere.

She turned to leave. "You know, I really could have written those scenes. Hell, I wrote the entire rest of the script under an alias."

***

"Miss Noir – you needn't have come all the way here. You should have learned this neighbourhood isn't safe," I said.
Natalie took off her coat. Underneath she was wearing a black dress that barely reached the middle of her thighs.

"I wanted to thank you and pay you personally, Mr Phillips," she said.“ I dare say you’ve saved my career.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I merely saved your presence in this film.”

She stepped closer to me and looked me in the eyes. She was petite, but commanding. I guess stars are used to look down on people.

“You know, part of why I hired you was that Miss Tyria had told me your dirty secrets – so I thought you are less likely to take up the chance and blackmail me yourself. But I think you’re one of the good guys, Marlon. You’d have helped me anyway.”

I could feel her breath on my face. It smelled like coffee, with a hint of brandy. “It’s not charity, Natalie. I charge a fee.”

“About that…I got all your money here, but I thought you deserve a bonus.” She seemed to simply step out of the dress, which fell on the ground. For a naked woman in a shoddy office in the bad side of town, she was remarkably confident as she put her hand on my crotch to feel my hardened cock.

“I don’t think that’s a gun in your pocket,” she said.

“That’s a lame joke.” She smiled, biting her tongue, then pushed me back on the desk, unzipping my pants. She pushed her stomach against my cock. I grabbed her by the hair and turned her around, bending her over the desk, holding her hands behind her back with one hand and slapping her ass with the other. She let out a tiny moan.

Then I kneeled and buried my mouth in her cunt, spreading her ass cheeks to allow me to reach deeper. At first I just wanted to wet her enough to receive me, but soon her vocal excitement made me determined to fuck her only after I’d made her come with my tongue. It took a while and a few more slaps across her tight ass, but at last I felt her tremble, her juices dripping down my chin.

Before she had time to take a breath, I stood and impaled her. I could fully cusp her tiny ass with my hands as I pounded her. Outside the window the early afternoon sky was cloudy. My mind drifted, partly consciously to make sure I could extend this moment – I never could last very long when a woman was on all fours. At this height, I thought if I opened the window I would be able to smell the promise of rain, but I much preferred the scent of sweat and cum, mixed with Natalie’s perfume and my office’s pervasive smokiness.

My cock slipped out of her, and she took the chance to turn around and switch places with me. She rode me, her hands scratching my chest as she orgasmed again. I got up, holding her in a tight embrace, and pinner her on the wall. Looking into her eager eyes I could hold no longer and made her kneel before emptying my load on her face.

Panting, I sat down next to her and kissed her on the mouth. She made no effort to wipe herself, letting the cum drip on her chest and neck.

“I guess your relationship with Therese isn’t that solid?” I asked, mostly to say something.

“Therese is not a jealous type – at least not when it comes to sex. I think she’s a little envious professionally. She really is talented but her open lifestyle limits her opportunities.”

I nodded, thinking I had forgotten to check a suspect. What if Anna hadn’t just randomly found something to blackmail Natalie with but had been directed?

Oh well. I’d take the next case for free, if it came to that.