The city has a thousand stories. Some of them are even decently written. This might be one of them.

Only the games have been made up to protect the storyline.

~~~~~

My name is Friday. Jo Friday. I’m a cop. According to my Chief of Police, I’m also a cunt, a lesbo, and a bitch – or at least, that’s what he calls me when he's in a good mood. But then, I call him a prick, an asshole, a motherfucker, and a fucking pig.

We’re not friends, as you may have guessed, which is why he’s constantly trying to shaft me.

So when I get the call, I already know what it’s going to be: Another unsolvable murder, the latest in a string. A murder with no murderer. A victim with no assailant.

Murder by death – whatever that means.

“Butch,” the voice says – I hate that – “I’ve taken McIntyre off the case. The mayor’s breathing down my neck, so now it’s your ass on the line. Find this perp. Fast!”

And the phone slams down.

I knew this was coming. I’d kept abreast of the file, and now, inevitably, it’s landed on my desk. Well, that’s good news and bad news, right? I always get the cases no one else can figure – and almost always solve them.

Sighing, I grab my sergeant and we head out to the scene, perhaps the most expensive hotel on the Strip. Hell, staying one night in their penthouse suite costs more than my mortgage costs in a year.

This time, the victim – if that’s what he is – is Longo Tugs, a top Wall Street tech bro. He’s worth billions, and not just a piddling few. And he’s been slumming in the haunts of Sin City.

The Mayor’s office is going to be breathing down my personal neck in no time. This bozo was a donor, which means political clout, with and beyond the mayor, including the governor, two senators, and, it’s rumored, the president.

Fuck.

~~~~~

.

It might have started one night much, much, much earlier at a local whore house – except the moderators wouldn't have allowed that many muches.

Then again, maybe they would…

.

Maple, a woman with coffee-colored skin, a beautiful smile, and owner of The Raging Stallion, tapped the large woman seated at the security monitors on the shoulder. “Mary, this is Carl. He’s the new bouncer who’s going to work with you.”

Mary looked up at the woman, glanced skeptically over at Carl, then turned back to the monitors. “Looks like a wimp,” was all she said.

Maple patted Mary’s shoulder. “He’s slim, but make no mistake. He can do the job. He’s just retired from the Army. Careerist – and a Green Beret.”

Mary looked back at the trim, middle-aged man, slightly surprised. “Well, then maybe there’s hope for him.” She heaved herself up from the squealing chair. “Hi. I’m Mary – Marines, retired.”

Carl took her hand and matched her grip. “Semper fi,” was all he said.

“Betcher ass, sonny. Sit yerself down, boy,” and she patted the chair next to her.

“Carl, this is Proud Mary, whom I’ve told you about. Don’t give her any shit – but don’t take any, either. Now, you two kids play nice and get to know each other. And Mary – brief him on how things work around here, okay?”

Mary gave Maple a side-eye, then snorted, but nodded, “Yes ma’am, boss ma’am,” then turned back to the monitors.

Maple turned on her heel and left, closing the padded door behind her.

“Okay, so we monitor all the rooms to make sure the johns don’t take liberties with our kids. Or at least, no liberties that they’re not paying for – or that the kids object to.”

“Kids,” said Carl. “Guys as well as gals?”

Mary turned sideways and gave him a look. “Yeah. Guys, gals, trans, and no-stated-gender folks. Maple’s Canadian, see, and she believes that the government has no fuckin’ business in people’s fucking.”

Mary turned back, “And I, and everyone else here, backs her on that.”

She turned to face Carl full on, “You?”

He shrugged. “When I joined up, I was just eighteen, and Mama told me that whatever got you through the night was fine – just don’t frighten the horses. And don’t piss off the sergeants.” He grimaced. “Of course, that was before I became one.”

Mary looked at him, “You were a non-comm?”

“Battalion Sergeant-Major, ma’am.”

“Well, shit – maybe we will get along. I worked for a living, too – not like the fucking fancy-pants officers.

“Okay, lemme show you some things.” She touched one of the screens, which immediately expanded from a small image on the side to the center of the monitor screen squarely in front of Mary’s seat.

The image showed a statuesque blonde wearing dominatrix gear – black gloves, high boots, a black leather teddy with cross-straps here and there, and a Lone Ranger mask. Platinum blonde hair fell around the edges of the mask. She had candy apple lip gloss that sparkled.

“That there’s Mistress D. Stands for Diamond. She’s beautiful, cold, and hard. She caters to folks that like things rough, but creative. Watch…she’s working with the Kanleys – repeat customers, who are the lifeblood of our business.”

Three people walked in – a naked, willowy redhead with hair down to her ass, and two hunky men, both dressed alike. The two men also looked alike.

“Identicals?” Carl asked.

Mary nodded. “They both fell in love with Maureen and she with them, so rather than choose, they both married her. Not legally – they flipped a coin as to who was on the marriage license – but in fact. They live together, sleep together – and don’t anyone hurt any one of ’em, or the other two will come after ya, guns-a-blazing.”

Mary turned back to the screen. “Maureen’s a natural sub who loves pain. Not blood or anything permanent – but she cums something fierce when she’s also hurtin’. You’ll see.”

Mistress D moved Maureen up onto a wide bench on her hands and knees, legs spread wide and cunt fully exposed, then cautioned her to stay still. Next, Mistress D took an anal hook, lubed it well, and slowly worked it into Maureen’s anus, making Maureen shiver. Mistress D smacked her ass hard, then left the exposed loop end of the hook lying on Maureen’s back.

“Stay still, I said.” Maureen didn’t move a muscle and looked as if she’d been turned to stone. Carl could just barely see her breathing – shallowly.

Next, Mistress D braided Maureen’s long hair, then wrapped it through the loop on the end of the hook, knotting it and pulling it tight, forcing Maureen’s head up until she was facing front, her mouth open, throat distended, back painfully arched, with her hair being pulled back straight back. Maureen tried to swallow, which elicited another smack on her ass.

Next, Mistress D positioned Maureen’s wrists on the bench about eighteen inches apart, enough that she could support her shoulders, then fastened the ties so that her hands were firmly fixed to the bench. Then she likewise fastened Maureen’s knees and ankles to two wings that separated so that her legs were almost painfully spread and her cunt completely exposed, with space between her legs for someone to stand.

Finally, Mistress D took clover clamps, attached one to Maureen’s right nipple, the other to her left. Finally, she threaded the wire that connected the clamps through a ring between Maureen’s hands, then slowly pulled it tight enough that Maureen’s breath became labored, and her tits were distended down towards her hands, then tied it off.

Mistress D stood back and admired her work. Maureen could neither move nor relax. She couldn’t take pressure off her knees and drop her bum or relax her arms because the anal hook would pull her hair and her asshole tighter. And she couldn’t lift up any further to relieve the pull on her hair or the clover clamps would increase their grip on her nipples dramatically. She was frozen, locked in place. Virtually any movement would increase her pain.

Madam D picked up a crop and lightly slapped Maureen’s ass, causing her to shiver and her tits to tremble. Smiling, Mistress D moved around behind her, and flipped the crop up sharply, smacking the flap between Maureen’s legs on her cunt lips and clit. Maureen’s whole body vibrated, seemingly bouncing back and forth as pain racked her tits, then her ass and hair, back and forth until she was finally able to control herself and come to a stop.

Mistress D smirked and turned to the Kanley twins. “She’s all yours, boys. Enjoy!” and stepped back to watch.

Alan Kanley moved to her head, leaned down and kissed her forehead, then unzipped his trousers, pulled out a fat, seven-inch cock, and had her lick its tip and head. She had to stretch her tongue to do so as she couldn’t move her head. Once the cock was covered in spit, he started to feed it into her mouth, pushing back, causing the clover clamps to pinch. She gagged as it went in, then she settled in while making pained sounds as her nipples were pinched tighter by the clover clamps.

Meanwhile, Adam Kanley moved to her back, stepped between her legs, unzipped his identical cock, and rubbed it up and down her already dripping snatch. She shivered, which caused the clamps to bite. Then he slowly pushed into her cunt until he bottomed out, which forced her forward, pulling on her hair and ass.

The two twins smiled at each other, then started to spit-roast her, moving back and forth in rhythm like a two-man saw, forcing her body to move, clamping her tits and yanking her hair and anus, making her squirm and cry out around Alan’s cock – until he made her gag by shoving his cock further forward. Tears started leaking from her eyes.

Mistress D stepped forward, moved the crop down Maureen’s front between her legs, and started slapping the girl’s clit with the flap – which quickly sent Maureen over the edge in a shuddering climax of pain and ecstasy…

Carl wiped his forehead. “Are all the, uh, encounters this intense?” he asked.

Mary turned to look at him, “Nah. Mistress D is a special. People come to her for very specific and exotic varieties of play. We serve all kinds here, most of ’em pretty plain vanilla. Lemme show you another kinky one, though.”

She leaned forward and touched another screen, which blossomed into the center of the console. “This is Suzanne. She’s a switch on the BDSM scale, and Jonny there is one of her regulars. He’s here for some CBT.”

Carl crooked an eyebrow at Mary quizzically. “Cock and ball torture,” Mary elaborated.

Carl’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline as he watched…

Jonny was standing naked, hands tied to a ring suspended from the ceiling, legs fastened wide by a spreader. His nipples were clamped with alligator clips, and a wire ran down from them to a battery pack Suzanne held in her hand. The power cord also ran down to his pubic area, where his circumcised cock was hard and throbbing. It was being dragged down by a silken rope looped around the crown of his cockhead with a weight attached at the end. The weight jerked up with each pulse and swung back and forth. The slim electric cord circled the cockhead just behind the silken cord, where the shiny skin from the foreskin scar was.

Suzanne looked up at Jonny for a second, then smiled and twisted the dial on the battery pack. Jonny jerked as blue sparks leaped around his nipples and his cock.

“That’s gotta hurt,” commented Carl.

Mary shrugged, “Not as much as you might think. It’s a tiny voltage, but pretty good amps. Really just a tickle – but the psychological effect is much stronger, and that’s what she’s doing – tickling him in his sensitive spots before the dénouement.”

“And what’s that?”

Mary glanced at the clock. “Watch. I think she’s about to finish him off as his time is about up.”

Carl turned back to the screen…

Suzanne turned the dial off, then reached around and undid the electric cord, releasing Jonny’s nipples and cockhead. He barked in pain as the blood rushed back to his nipples.

Next, she removed the silken cord from around his cockhead, causing his cock to spring up, bouncing, purple, veined, and oozing precum. “Ready to cum, Jonny?” she asked.

He licked his lips, shuddered, exhaled noisily, then nodded.

Suzanne brought a small table over, lifted his cock and balls onto it, then adjusted the table’s height until it was just below the level of his cock. His balls were laid out on the table and looked sore and red. Clearly, Suzanne had been working on him for some time.

Suzanne lifted his cock, grasping it in her dainty hand, then started to pump her fist up and down its length. Each time she moved it a bit faster on the downstroke, smacking his balls with her fist, crushing them slightly between her fist and the tabletop, making his body jerk.

She started slowly, then picked up speed, increasing the impact with each stroke, making a wet SMACK, SMACK, SMACK sound each time. His balls were being punished, and precum was leaking freely down its length, drizzling over her hand onto the table.

Jonny started panting, then started screaming, “Oh god, Oh God…OH GOD I’m CUMMING I’M CUMMING!”

White cream spurted far beyond the tip of his cock as Suzanne continued to pump and pound until only little squirts dribbled out – then stopped. She released his cock, which continued to pulse but was already shrinking.

“You’ve made my hand all dirty, you naughty boy. Lick it clean.” And she held her dripping fist up to his mouth. Panting, he stretched forward and started to lick her hand…

Just then a red light started flashing above the center console. “Uh-oh. One of the kids has used a safe word and the computer picked it up. Let’s see what’s going on.” She touched a screen that was flashing red, and it moved to the center of the console.

“Listen, you little whore,” the john snarled, “You’re gonna do what I say and like it. ‘Your body, my choice.’ Get it?” and he tried to slap her. She ducked, and pushed him away, causing him to stumble.

Mary scrambled out of her seat, steaming from the control room, then raced down the hall with Carl in hot pursuit. Bursting through the studio door, Mary grabbed the gonif’s arm, twisted it into an armbar, grabbed his hair, and frog-marched him out of the door towards the back alley exit. “Let go of me, you ugly cunt! I’ll have you…”

“You’ll fucking have me break your fucking arm, asshole,” was Mary’s reply. She twisted his arm harder and pushed on his locked-up elbow. He screamed.

Maple appeared at Mary’s side. “What happened?”

“It’s one of those fucking asshats who thinks that because they’ve got a dick, they can do whatever they want. Lorraine called out her safe word, and we came and got him.”

The guy was glaring at Maple, who was pulling on a pair of elbow-length blue gloves. Checking to make sure they were on just right, she turned to the asshat – then slapped him hard, with a swing that started at her feet and ended by snapping his head back. It left a handprint on his face.

He shook his head, dazed.

“I’m formally inviting you to get the fuck out of my house, and don’t come back!” She stepped in close until she was almost nose-to-nose with him. “And thanks for dropping by. We’re always pleased to get rid of trash like you.”

She nodded to Mary, who pushed the emergency bar on the exit door with her foot. Carl threw his clothes out, Mary shoved the guy, sprawling, into the alley, then pulled the door shut, slamming it.

Maple smiled at Carl. “One less asshat to worry about,” then dusted her hands, and walked back towards her office.

~~~~~

It's now again. I hate those flashbacks, but they come with the territory.

When we get to the luxy hotel where Longo Tug was murdered, his bodyguards are standing around looking sheepish. They can’t guard a client who’s already dead, and they’re wondering how much longer they’re going to be collecting a paycheck.

Meanwhile, the guy is slumped on the floor, face in a rictus of pain and fear. The M.E. is already there, looking over the body. She looks up at me, then shakes her head.

“I won’t know for sure until I get him back to the lab and see what’s on the slab, but I think he's dead. And yeah. It looks the same.” She shrugs. She’s just as baffled as everyone else.

And why wouldn’t she be? No physical trauma, no drugs in his bloodstream, no signs of struggle, no weapons … no nothin’.

Just like the twelve other victims. Same M.O.: dead of no apparent cause. Always seemingly in great pain. Usually alone. Sometimes in a locked room, even. Once on a plane at 36,000 feet over the Mississippi – which is how the investigations started. It was too bizarre, and when the Feds started putting the pieces together, it turned out that there were too many people who died that way for it to be coincidence. Most, but not all of them lived right here in Sin City.

A couple of times, the victims have been with other people. Then it becomes even more confusing. They suddenly go rigid, face frightened, then collapse – dead. No warning. No sign of anything happening. Just one moment alive and perhaps sweating slightly, then BOOM! Dead.

And this guy was in the same room as his three bodyguards no less. And get this: the macho tech bro was dressed like a girly girl. Well, perhaps everyone will remember him as a girly girl. A dead one.

Not a heart attack. No history of heart disease. No signs of heart strain. Heart’s perfectly normal – except it’s stopped. Nothing. Almost as if their oxygen was cut off. Or as if they were all just stopped, somehow.

Worse, the victims almost don’t have much in common. Different races, skin colors, backgrounds, lines of employment. The only thing they have in common is that they’re all men. Tall men, short men, older men, younger men. But being men is about the only trait they share. Oh, and a certain amount of money – never poor or homeless.

The newspapers are having a field day. SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE! scream the headlines, COPS HELPLESS! GUYS WATCH YOUR ASS!

They’re gonna love this one. I can see the headline now: BILLIONAIRE BUTCHERED! SIN CITY COPS BAFFLED!

Plus there’s the mayor breathing down the Chief’s neck. And now mine.

Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck.

I gather all the files that have been assembled. In a fit of generosity – and helplessness – the feds have given us copies of their files because there is one more thing all of the victims have in common.

They all lived in or visited Sin City. Which is where I work. And live.

Apparently, the wages of Sin are death – when the sins happen here.

And now it’s on me to find out how.

Oh, golly.

I take over the conference room – Chief says I’m to have anything I ask for, so he can hang it on me when I fail – and start going through the files, one at a time, looking for something, anything they have in common.

Well, most of them gambled. Check. Sin City, right?

They all liked to drink. Check. Still Sin City.

They all liked – wait…a couple of them visited The Raging Stallion Lounge? They had unmarked, gold-colored tokens from the Stallion. The Stallion’s name isn’t on them, but I recognize them. They’re like extra-heavy, extra-thick poker chips, and the holder is entitled to special rates and treatment. They’re only given to important clients.

This guy had one. I pick up the clear plastic evidence bag and squeeze it by the edges – and the image of a pretty woman sucking cock appears for a few seconds, dissolving into The Stallion’s rearing horse logo before going dark. I even recognize the girl. We dated for a while before I took up with Maple.

At least it’s something, and I need to check it out, so I grab my sergeant and we drive out to see Maple.

Maple isn’t her real name, of course. She’s Canadian and is as sweet as maple sugar. Plus her skin’s that beautiful maple sugar color. All over.

I should know. I’m sleeping with her.

The Stallion is the front end of one of Sin City’s best run whore houses. Prostitution’s legal here, but the authorities don’t like the houses to make too big a deal about it. Fleece them, they say, but don’t frighten the customers.

Sure there are all those card hustlers on the street, offering ad cards for hookers. But they seem almost comical, riffling their card decks, and pushing them on bemused tourists. But the serious stuff has to be more discrete.

So The Raging Stallion Lounge is a bar and strip club. After the girls (and some guys) come off-stage, they’re available for lap dances. And if the punters like the lap dance, and want to segue into the real thing – why, that can be arranged, can’t it? Backstage. Quietly. Discretely.

What happens in Sin City, stays here, right?

Maple’s place is one of the busier – and somewhat more fragrant – houses. I frequent her place regularly – but, of course, it’s always with Maple herself. We just happen to be a couple – which is one of the things that gets up the Chief’s nose. He hates lesbians as being unnatural, and in particular, he hates me, but can’t get rid of me. Not only do I qualify as a minority hire, being black, a woman, and a lesbian with a wooden leg named Smith, but I solve the tough cases, usually after everyone else has tried and failed.

He calls me Butch – occasionally leavening it with “Peggy” – to try and get under my skin, but I grew up with that kind of crap. I threaten to call HR – again – and he just laughs in my face. He’s got them cowed, like most of the rest of the City. I figure he’s got dirt on a lotta people. Including, apparently, Maple, although she refuses to tell me what.

As a cop, the Chief looks pretty in a uniform. He’s great at sucking up – and punching down – but could give a fuck about actual police work. He leaves that to his 2-in-C, a reedy-looking guy named Homer, of all things, who likes to write epic poems in his spare time. Fuck ‘em both. Or rather, let’s not.

I figure the Chief is blackmailing everyone he can, some for money, some to protect his cushy job with the big salary. I also wonder whether he’s on the Mob’s payroll, too. I’ve gotta figure out what to do about that. Someday. Not today.

My sergeant and I go through the back entrance of the Stallion, leaving the car in the staff parking lot. Cop cars in front of a strip joint ain’t good for business.

I knock on Maple’s office door, and when she sees me, her face lights up – until she spies my wingman.

“Detective. I take it this is an official call?”

“Yes, ma’am. We just want the facts, ma’am.”

I try to say that with a straight face. It’s a thing with us – ever since I made her watch a black & white episode of “Dragnet” online. I dig it because my name really is Friday – Josephine Carol Friday, fer cripes sake – although our friends call me Jo, Josie, or JC.

I hold up the plastic evidence baggie with the Stallion chip in it.

Maple looks at it, then back at me. “And?”

“It was found on a dead guy.”

Her eyebrows go up. “And?”

“Actually, your tokens were found on two dead guys. Ones that the mystery serial killer did in.”

Maple shrugs. “So? They had good taste.”

I exhale in frustration. “Did you want to do this downtown?”

Her face split into a grin, “Do I get to blow your siren and play with your handcuffs?”

My eyes slid sideways toward my sergeant, but he just snickers. He knows about us.

When she’s finished giggling, she ahems, then says, “Who were these guys? Maybe I can help you here. It would be faster – even if not as much fun.”

I pull out my notebook and give her a couple of names.

She turns to her computer, quickly types them in, then turns back. “Not regulars. First-time visitors, both of them. Got any other names?”

I flipped the pages of my notebook, then read out the other eleven names as she typed them in.

They were all casuals – visiting once and only once.

I’m starting to get itchy about it when Maple frowns, presses a few other keys, then turns back to me.

“That’s odd. On several of those occasions, your good buddy, the Chief, was here at the same time.”

I snort. “He’s not my good buddy – as you well know.” I stop and think. “Print out the names and dates of these visits for me, will ya? And perhaps the dates when the Chief was here as well.”

“You got a warrant, detective?”

I rolled my eyes at that. “What do you think, sweetheart? I can go downtown and get one – but that would just make me cranky. And you don’t want me to be cranky, now, do ya?”

She giggled again, then handed me the sheets from her laser printer.

I took a quick look at them, then glanced up at her. “Don’t leave town, doll,” and turned to leave.

My sergeant snickered again, Maple giggled – and I smiled as I walked out.

But underneath, I was worried. What the absolute fuck was going on between Maple and the Chief?

 .

I got back to the office just as everyone was wrapping up to go home except the night shift. I moved into the boardroom, spread everything out on the table, then closed the door. I wanted to sweat the evidence. It usually helps, but it takes time and concentration.

I kept coming back to the two Stallion medallions and Maple’s printouts. And the more I thought about it, the less I liked it.

There was only one place where I knew I could get more information: in bed.

I headed home.

 .

The sheets were mussed, and we were both breathing hard. Oh, and my nipples ached from being bitten. Likewise my clit. And there were toothmarks on my leg. A wooden hickey, if you can believe it.

I took a deep breath, slid down between her legs, and started to lick up and down her liquid, fragrant snatch, spreading honey like peanut butter as I went – creamy, not crunchy – but slowly, barely touching her pearl each time, just enough to make her jump.

Even though she was fully sated, her body started responding again. Her ass started to squirm, and her back arch, she pushed her pussy higher, trying to get me to lick harder.

When I got her to That Point, I stopped, and leaned up on my elbow, looking at her.

“What? You can’t stop now!”

I snickered. “Will you talk? Or do I have to get rough wit’ ya?” I say in my “Joe Friday” growl.

She heaves a deep sigh, then rolls toward me, kissing the top of my head. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk! Just don’t … no wait, DO rough me up!” And she giggles again.

I stared at her until she started to fidget.

“What’s going on with you and the Chief?”

Her head snapped towards me, then she turned away, “Oh fuck,” she said quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

I wait her out.

Finally, she turned back to me. “Are you going to be a cop or my lover?”

I chewed on that for a while. “I guess it depends. Tell me and I’ll let you know.”

She stared at me for a long while, then took a deep breath and began.

It took some time.

 .

Later that week, the Chief sauntered into his office, threw his coat on the sofa, then turned towards his desk –

Only to find me sitting in his chair, peg leg up on his spic and span desk blotter.

“What the fuck?” he shouts angrily.

In a leisurely fashion, I put my peg down, then stand up, and say, “Alexander Fogerty, I’m arresting you on suspicion of blackmail and the murder of – well, of a number of people, but for now let’s just say Longo Tugs. You do not have to say anything…”

He walks towards me, then grabs me by my coat collars, lifting me off the floor. “Listen you little lesbian bitch – I’m going to …”

“Go to prison,” I interrupt. “Boys!” I shout – and three uniforms come into the room, followed by the Mayor and the District Attorney.

“Well done, Friday!” the Mayor says, “And it’s about time we got rid of this, this…corrupt cop!”

I pushed Fogerty’s hands off of me, dusted off my lapels, then sauntered back to stand next to the uniforms. “Take him, boys.”

“This is horseshit! I had nothing to do with…”

Interrupting again, “Oh, but you did. You were blackmailing a number of people,” I shifted my eyes to the Mayor and DA, then back to him, “and everything was going fine – until one of them stole your blackmail files from your locked desk drawer. That made them a threat to your income. But more than that, it put him in a position where he could blackmail you. And you couldn’t have that. So you killed him.”

Fogerty was spluttering at this point.

“We found the empty folders in Tugs’ office. Most of the contents were destroyed but the names on the folders match the names of several of the dead guys.” I shifted my eyes back to the Mayor and DA, who stared back at me, then I nodded, “Yeah, the contents were destroyed – but we got clear prints from the folders – and they’re yours.

“But there was one folder you couldn’t find – and didn’t get. Tugs’. You assumed he had destroyed it with the others, but in fact, he was going to threaten to turn you in by selectively sharing parts of that folder with the state police, after eliminating all the choice bits relating to what he had done that you used to blackmail him, of course.

“He quite liked the idea of having the Chief of Police as a marionette, dancing to his tune, and going after his enemies. So you killed him, then found he had destroyed all your blackmail files.”

Fogerty stood looking at me, mouth open. Then he recovered. “And how, may I ask, did I kill him? I was nowhere near his hotel room when he died.”

“No, you weren’t. That was the beauty of it. You found out he was visiting The Raging Stallion, ‘accidentally’ bumped into him, and invited him for a drink – to hash out the arrangements, you said.

“And that’s when you slipped him an organotoxin, synthetic cobra venom. It kills in seconds by paralyzing the nervous system, causing the diaphragm to freeze, and the heart to stop. And there’s so little required to kill that it disperses by the time a medical examiner gets to the body.

“But the real beauty of your scheme was you created a time-release version that only activated after the body dissolved the coating off enough of the toxin. It would be hours, sometimes longer, before the toxin was released, by which time your victims were a long way away. You killed them at a distance, and no one could figure out how.”

I opened Fogerty’s formerly locked desk drawer, and, with gloved hand to preserve any prints, lifted a bottle which I knew contained precisely that kind of toxin.

“You majored in organic chemistry in college, didn’t you asshole?”

Fogerty stood frozen, gawping at me.

“Take him, boys,” I ordered – and the uniforms hustled him away.

I sat down at the Chief’s desk and swung my pegleg up onto the blotter with a hollow thunk. I looked up at the Mayor and DA, who walked gingerly into the room and sat on opposite ends of the sofa.

“What about the other deaths?” the DA asked.

“We’re not sure about all of them, but we found empty file folders for most of them in Tugs’ hotel room. We can only assume that Tugs shredded the contents. Once Fogerty lost his hold over his victims, he decided it was safer to kill them than to leave them hankering for revenge. I believe it was Machiavelli who said, ‘You must either kill an enemy or win him over him. Anything else is dangerous.”

“But we don’t know for sure. All we know is that Fogerty encountered several of those people, and possibly all of them, at the Stallion – or at least was there at the same time as they were. We may never know all the details – but we know that Fogerty is connected with them all. And we’ve got him nailed for Tugs’ death. That should be enough to put him away.”

I glanced over at the two nervous men on the sofa. “Plus we eliminated a notorious blackmailer. That’s a relief to everyone, wouldn’t you say?”

The two men looked at each other, then became profuse in their praise – insisting that I was the obvious candidate to step into Fogerty’s shoes – until I pointed out that I only had one foot.

I reluctantly accepted the job.

We parted as friends. Better: allies.

I won’t confirm or deny that I have Fogerty’s files, which included files on both the Mayor and the DA, which is how Fogerty kept his job.

But it wasn’t Tugs that stole Fogerty’s files from his office drawer or planted the vial of snake venom.

 .

Later that night, after Maple and I finished celebrating at The Stallion, and then again later in bed. I was lying with my arms around her. As she snuggled up close to me, I casually said, “You know, Maple, you’re going to have to stop killing johns.”

She jerked upright and looked at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

I pulled her back down, “Sure you do, doll face. Yeah, I know that Fogerty was blackmailing you, too – don’t worry, I destroyed that file and didn’t read it.”

I glanced at her, “A girl’s got a right to some privacy, I figure.”

She relaxed at that.

“You majored in zoology. At McGill, as I recall. And your thesis was…wait for…poisonous animals and their organotoxins.”

She tensed again but didn’t move.

“When I was working the evidence, it was just too pat that Fogerty tied all those victims together. Sure, his visits overlapped with some of theirs because he was a frequent trawler at your place. But that wasn't enough.”

“The girls hated him,” Maple breathed,  “but he had me over a barrel, so …”

I just nodded. “That was our Alex. Sweetness and light in all directions. And you couldn’t off him because he told you that he had it rigged that your file would be distributed to the press and the DA’s office if he died. You had to put up with him.

“But when and why did you start offing johns?”

She sighed. “I got fed up with certain kinds of men – shitheads, really, asshats – thinking that because they had a dick, they were entitled to mistreat people, especially women. I couldn’t do much about the wider world, but when they came into my place and tried to abuse my kids – it was too much. So I decide to, um, filter the gene pool of some of the filth.

“For some of them, I bought them a drink – suitably laced with Maple’s Secret Ingredient to Cure Asshole-itis. And when I told them, smiling, how much the House appreciated a Real Man, they bought it. You should have seen them puff themselves up over that.

“Others, I delivered the toxin through their skin – with a roundhouse slap, where the toxin delivered was on a roughened glove.

“And those whom I couldn’t get either of those ways I gave a special token, like the one you first showed me, telling them it entitled them to special treatment. When you squeezed it to activate the image, it pricked your fingers and delivered the toxin.”

She was quiet for some time. “Jo?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do I really have to stop? There are so many asshats out there, and so little time. I feel like I’m making my little corner of the world that much kinder by getting rid of them.”

I snorted, and said to the ceiling, “Would you believe it? A murderer with a heart of gold?”

Turning to her, I said, “You can’t keep doing it this way. It’s been written up in police records, and the feds know about it. They would eventually trace it back to you if you kept going. So, yeah, I think you have to stop.”

Maple was quiet again for a while. “How about if I find a different way.”

I heaved a deep sigh. “Women. Well, if you do, you’d better make damn sure it can’t be traced back to you.”

I turned to her. “I’d hate to lose you, babe.”

She chuckled at that. “Okay, let me think…maybe I could just make their dicks fall off…”

See? That’s one reason I love the girl. She's creative.

Think of it as evolution in action.

And don’t be an asshat, okay?