5 - Dark Continent

          “So you think our resident Nazi offed him?”

           “Yes. I'm convinced of it,” Sam nodded under the dim office light, “Dr. von Fromm was the one who sent my brother to Africa to get the plant. He heard all the stories and it intrigued him.”

           “Walking dead? Bullshit. Just a bunch of voodoo nonsense, if ya ask me. Your brother's too much of a brain to fall for all that zombie garbage. What would get a genius like your brother ta go all the way over to Africa? Did he actually believe the stories? ”

           “I don't think so. He's a scientist so he felt much like you. I think he believed that often there's a kernel of truth behind such legends. Enough to get him to go, at least.”

           “An' this legend was around for centuries all over the Dark Continent, no doubt. Thousands of years, even. No wonder he went.” I lit my cigar, noticing it went out as I listened to her story. “That's gotta be some plant.”

           “Quite. This was his second time over there.”

           The dame said that like an after-thought; like it didn't matter. I couldn't believe it. “His second time?”

           “Yes, why?”

           Why? Was she kidding? It was expensive to travel to Africa, let alone to do it twice. Not to mention the dangers in such a place for a white man; a pip-squeek scientist with dough enough ta be trampsin about in the jungle. And Dr. von Fromm was helping to bankroll this. What was he after that was so important? Did they miss finding the plant the first time? Or was there something else?

           “You tell me, sweet cheeks. Why did your brother go back over there? Did Dr. Frankenstein send him for another batch?”

           “I don't know,” Sam sounded terse, “he doesn't tell me everything, Mr. Dirken.”

           “Please, call me Dick.”

           “That's why I'm hiring you!” It was like she never heard me, just kept on spewin', “You're supposed to find this stuff out. You're supposed to find my brother... if he's alive.”

           She was sobbing. Again. I moved closer to her. How her chest heaved up and down was memorizing. I mentally slapped myself. Time to derail this one-track mind.

           Shit... my cigar was gonna go out. Again.

           This was gettin' old.

           “Easy now, sister. No need fer all the water works. I'll find 'im. I'm the best, remember?” That part sounded good to me. “He can't hide. I'll find 'im.”

           “And if he's dead, Mr. Dirken?”
           “Please, call me Dick.”

           “And if he's dead... Dick,” she said that like she never had one in her mouth before, “If my brother's dead?”

           I felt sorry for her. Maybe she never had. “I'll make 'em pay, Sam. I'll make 'em pay.”

           I don't know why I said that. Especially if that Nazi fuck was behind all this. He could make guys like me disappear with a snap of his finger. I was out of my league and I knew it. But I had a hot dame cryin' in my office. What else was I supposed to do? I let the macho bravado kick in. I said it. And I felt good for it.

           I think she did, too. Her look softened in the gray light like she was finally noticing me. I like to imagine she dug what she saw.

           'Cause I did.

           Then I heard it. A scream. A dame's. Came floatin' up to me through the open window behind my desk. She was in trouble. No. Terrified. What I heard after that chilled my blood.

           It sounded like she was being torn apart.

           I ran to the window. I couldn't believe what I saw. She was being torn apart. A mob, moaning and chewing, fell upon her and ripped at her in a spray of red. Black snakes of bowel spilled onto the street. The mob lunged for the intestines like children going for candy tossed from a circus parade. Her screams dwindled to frothy gurgles. Then silence. The mob shuffled on.

           I looked wide-eyed up and down the street. The mob was approaching from the south. Their gray, moaning forms filled the blocks south of my building as far as I could see under the street lights. The flesh eaters crashed street-level windows in and shambled inside neighboring buildings. The muffled screams from those death traps filled my ears. The mob eyeballed the windows below me pretty heavy like.

           I felt as vulnerable as a choir boy in a rectory.

           How didn't I notice this before? This was nuts. Christ, I really was getting too old for this.

           I opened the top drawer of my desk. Thank God for John Browning and Colt Manufacturing. I palmed my .45; put her back where she belonged. I was feeling safer already.

           “Time ta get a move on, doll.”

           Sam looked white as a sheet. She didn't look out the window – she didn't need to. The heiress just heard the screams. Heard them getting closer. Heard the gnawing of teeth on bone.

           And saw the fear in my eyes.

           We were in some real deep shit. Finding her brother took a second seat to getting the hell out of there. You bet your sweet ass, it did.

           By the looks of it, the Dark Continent found it's way here.

           Sure as shit.

Z Strain excerpt

Hello Zee Fans,

Looks like you're gettin' a twofer today: two posts in one day. Not 'cause I'm extra generous, mind you. It's just 'cause my brain has more in common with the walking dead than it does a brain surgeon. I told you tons of great stuff about "Z Strain" but I forgot to give you a sneak peek. Shame on me!

You all deserve ta get Klamorized, so here's the excerpt:

      There just wasn't enough tables. This simple fact was impossible to ignore. It seemed the more windows they boarded up, the more there were. The whole damn diner was nothing but windows. There was nothing but zombies outside those windows, too. Breathing against them. Pressing against them. Banging against them.

      Dee was going to suggest they all pen up in the kitchen. That was the most secure room in the restaurant. Another fact impossible to ignore. He was going to suggest it, but there was no point. You see, there was one more fact impossible to ignore.

      The zombies were already crashing in.

      The old trucker was the first to fall. About a dozen came busting in from the left. Nobody expected it. The Zees were tearing out his throat and pulling at his guts before you could say: Order up!

      Blam! Boom!

      Rocky's shotgun spit fire. Zombie heads burst around the falling trucker. Jose shot into the chaos, missing nearly every shot he picked. God, in His infinite mercy, allowed the fry cook to make one shot. The one that counted. Jose shot the old trucker dead. Right between the eyes.

       A dozen more flesh eaters slowly made their way through the broken window. Rocky and Jose kept them busy. More heads burst. Dee couldn't get a clear shot. The diners scattered in all directions.

      Crash! 

      The window next to Rocky gave way. Jose was grabbed and pulled out, screaming. Kelly ran up, swinging a chair violently at the zombies.

      More diners panicked, running blindly into the clutching hands of hungry zombies. It wouldn't be long until the guns were empty and they were all served up piping hot. They needed more weapons.

      “Chuck!” Dee still couldn't get a shot, “Knives! Anything!”

Millie's boyfriend made for the kitchen. Steph and Millie made for Dee.

      Crash! Uhhhgh! 

      Eight more Zees broke in from the right.

      Dee cried out over the pandemonium, “Steph! Behind me!”

      The veteran finally got a clear shot. He fired with practiced ease. The Zees fell like ducks in a row. More slowly took their place. Unseen ghouls pressed against the upright tables between the two zombie fronts. They bowed and creaked under the weight of dozens of dead.

      The tables wouldn't hold for long.

      Rocky swung the empty shotgun like a bat. Each swing knocked a Zee head off. Steph and Millie threw anything they could find at the oncoming ghouls: metal napkin holders, salt and pepper shakers, ketchup bottles, and coffee mugs. The survivors labored on, throwing mugs and swinging chairs. Anything to slow the starving zombies.

      Bonehead, fresh from a run to the kitchen, handed out knives, rolling pins, and brooms to outstretched hands. The stranded diners did all they could to hold off the inevitable. It was a zombie Alamo. They had to get to the kitchen.

      Deb screamed. Zombies flooded in through the kitchen door. The old waitress couldn't move; paralyzed by fear. A few Zees slowly surrounded her... and devoured her. It was like chewing on gristle, but at least it was warm. The rest went for the meat in the center of the diner. That was where it was the tenderest.

      The column of Zees split the survivors into two groups. Divide and conquer. It was a good plan. Dee didn't have time to wonder how the zombies got into the kitchen. He only had time to shoot.

      The diner was a deathtrap. Anyone still alive could figure that out. At least if you intended to stay that way.

Hope you liked it. Naturally, there's tons more in the 460 page tome to satiate that Zee hunger of yours. Mosey on over to the kindle or nook stores and pick yourself up a copy, pardner. 

Stay in the saddle n keep yer eyes peeled,

Rutger

Z Strain

Let's us pause a moment for these important messages...

Hello Fellow Zee Heads,

I hope you're enjoying the offering so far. What do you think about this unique experiment? No where on the net is there such a collaborative concept for an online serial - especially in the zombie genre. Just post what you would like to see, and kick back and enjoy the action. The more you get involved, the wilder this ride will get! And I got some pretty wild shit planned as it is! So please, post a comment and let us all know what you would like in your zee tale.

Speaking of zee tales, have I got one for you! If you like your action cold and bloody, and your sex hot and rough (what manly man doesn't?) then you have to get your hands on a copy of my latest zombie novel "Z Strain". This is book one in an action-packed trilogy written with you, the die-hard zombie fan in mind.

       
I've taken a few chances in this novel. Added some twists never seen before with our beloved zombies. Even added some characters I'm sure you're gonna love. There's a babe in there that... man, you gotta check this out! The characters alone would make an awesome, weeks-long-immersion video game bug-out. If you dig zee games or graphic novels, this is a read you're definitely gonna want to add to your collection.

The novel is over 102k words (that's 460 pages at 12 font), so it's quite the tome. There are also some pretty neat extras I added in the back just for you. At under three bills, this entertainment value is an honest to goodness no-brainer. And I have to admit, this is exactly the kind of book us zee heads needed for a long time. Honestly, with the rest of the series (Z War and Z Pocalypse) and the ever increasing heat, this shit is to die for. Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy today!

For those of you with a kindle, here's where the magic is: Z Strain
and heck, if you don't have a kindle, don't let that stop you! You can still download and read kindle books on your pc or smartphone with the free kindle app available here.

For my friends with a nook, check this out: Z Strain
Ditto for those of you without an ebook reader. Get the free app here.

For those old-school bibliophiles out there, here's where you can get the print book on amazon: Z Strain

There's no excuse for any true zombie horror fan to not check this out!

When you're done enjoying this new take on the zombie, don't forget to leave the good word. You can post a review on either amazon or barnes and noble's listing, and also on goodreads.com here or here to really make it official. I would sincerely appreciate the support.

Don't forget to check me out on Facebook. I posted some cool copies of cover art I considered before actually deciding on the cover starin' you right in the eyeballs. Stop on by and let me know if you think I made the right choice.

As always, this zee's for you - you deserve it! Keep your blades sharp and the ammo handy,

Rutger

4 - Eugene Aaron Carminstein

      Eugene Aaron Carminstein. Not the kinda name you give to a monster. That's the kinda name you give to a... well, nerd. Yeah. A real pin head. About that tall and that skinny. Just look at him. Kinda makes your skin crawl that the Lord Almighty would even let something like that breath. Something like that breed. He was a total douche bag. That's what Eugene Aaron Carminstein was. A total fucking waste of life.

      That was before. In a past life. Before all the shit went down. Before this life. The one where he became a monster. A pissed off, hungry monster.

      Eugene Aaron Carminstein: zombie. Had a nice ring to it. Gene would've smiled as he shambled out the glass door of the Chem Cure Pharmaceuticals' main headquarters, but he was too tired. Sick. Tired. And pretty goddamn hungry. The thoughts he struggled to hold onto – the anger – were quickly fading. Like it was all from a dream that he awoke from suddenly. The blurry image floating in the fog shimmered like the image in a mirage: the harder he concentrated on it, the further and more distant it became.

      But he could remember the hatred. All of it. Every last bit.

      She fucked him. The bitch actually fucked him. That burned deep. Real deep. She would pay. They all would pay.

      Eugene Aaron Carminstein moaned. His cry was lost in a sea of undead as they slowly crept out that glass building near the docks. Slowly crept, like a pestilence from God, toward the building across the lot. It wasn't long before the screams filled the night air. It wasn't long before the eating began. The swallowing. The temporary respite from the pain of having your soul torn out, your body reanimated, as the freshly torn flesh settled on home. It was so warm as they chewed. So warm in such a cold mouth.

      The relief was short lived. Like Gene's happiness. Short. Cold. Temporary. Soon the icy teeth would gnaw yet again on those brittle, dead bones. Then the rotting of the flesh would begin. The pain could only get worse. That was the Promise. The Promise of Death.

      The ranks of the undead grew steadily. There was no other choice. They had to feed. They had to grow in strength. In numbers. They needed relief from the pain. Everyone knows misery loves company. Undead company.

      Gene fought the hunger. He fought the pain. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his short life. More accurately, in his short death. He wanted to save room. Save every tiny crevice in his shriveling stomach for that bitch. For her warm flesh. Those bloody, pulsating pain killers. Eugene Aaron Carminstein forgot her name. Even forgot what she looked like. But he remembered her smell. Her stench. That was all he needed.

      That... and the Instinct. The one that enticed him out the gate like a hooker on two for one night. He stumbled into the cold night just ahead of the throng of flesh-eating ghouls as they stopped to gather more recruits. Stopped to ease their collective pain. Gene slide his feet painfully along the wet pavement, and deeper into the city. Further and further ahead of the zombie army. His army. His creation. Following the Instinct. She lived out there. Somewhere.

      He trusted the Instinct. The Instinct and the hatred.

      Turns out, that was all Eugene Aaron Carminstein ever needed.

3 - Sam Tight

     “My name is Samantha Tight, my bro...”

      “What?” My mind was wanderin'. It does that in front of number 10 dames.

      “Tight.”

      “I'm sure you are.”

      Yeah. I heard right. Reality crashed the party in my head.

      Sam pulled the fur collar a little closer to her perfumed neck as she settled her wicked form into that leather chair. Her carefully lined lips twitched slightly. Her dark eyes widened just a hint more than normal. Not so you would notice, mind you. But a trained dick like me would. She was uncomfortable. Like she finally noticed the neighborhood she was in. The kind of man she was talking to.

      Or maybe she was in danger.

      “My brother is Dr. Bradford Tight. Have you heard of him?”

      “Who hasn't? Owns Chem Cure Pharmaceuticals. A real big man.” I wanted to spit that last bit out. It was all as obvious as her ta-tas. I mentally slapped myself. I was so caught up in her body I completely missed the obvious. Man, I was getting too old for this shit.

      It all fit. Perfectly. The fancy clothes. The “I'm all that” walk. Right down to the scent of condescending cunt as she sashayed into my office. She was from big dough. Scratch that. She was from: Big Dough. You know, the side a' town that wouldn't give blokes like us the time of day. Let alone a hand job.

      “A dame like you can buy this town. Get all the dicks ya want. What do you need me for?”

      “My brother's missing. I think I know who's behind it.”

      “Then go tell the cops. Fill in a missing persons. You know the drill. A rich dame like you oughta get them tearin' the town apart before the ink's dry.”

      What was her game? I poured myself a long one from the glass bottle between us. The liquid fire went well with my cuban.

      “I'm not sure how high up this goes. My going to the police would only alert...” her voice softened, “them. Put me in more danger than I'm already in,” she played the damsel in distress well.

      I almost fell for it. The liquor went down hot and fast. Almost.

      “Oh... you're good sister. Really good. Come in here all dolled up. Play the scared sex kitten routine ta butter me up.” I stood up to show her the door, “I'm too old for games, lady. Get out.”

      She stood. Her dress clung high on those milky thighs. Too high. It was a relentless siren song to a hot-blooded dude like me. She was plying her trade. Big time. The captain was going down with his ship.

      She approached, as seductive as a black widow to the fly in her web, “Please, Mr. Dirken. My brother's in danger. He needs you,” her warm hands massaged honey on my chest. “I need you.”

      I held her close; enjoying the warmth. Just for a moment. Then steel slammed over my eyes. There would be no happy ending to this massage, “You can take that tight-ass dress of yours, and get the fuck out.”

      I pushed her toward the door, pissed at my weakness. It's been too long, my man Dick. Way too fuckin' long. May have to pay Mama-san Kuki a visit later. Take the edge off.

      She turned quickly, still attached to my arm, “Please, Mr. Dirken. I need your help! There's no where else I can go. It's Dr. von Fromm. It's Dr. Gunther von Fromm!”

      Ice flowed in my veins.

      “Not that Nazi bastard.”

      “Yes, Mr. Dirken,” her voice was soft again. Soft and covered in fear, “that Nazi bastard.”

      Dr. Gunther von Fromm was a notorious Nazi sympathizer. The fund raisers he would have for those overseas fascists rivaled any I'd ever seen. And for a town with plenty of glitz an' booze, that was sayin' a lot. I wasn't sure what that fuck Hitler had in mind, but the fact that von Fromm supported him just didn't sit right in my book. Not by a long shot. Besides, I had run ins with krauts before. The kind I like to forget.

      I poured myself a stiff one. Sam moved closer; a timid mouse. She acted like just talking about this could get you killed. I felt the fear ebb off her in heavy, cold pulses. This wasn't your typical bullshit job. Not by a long shot. When that sexy dame walked into my office, my whole world changed.

      The fact that that bald, Nazi bastard was the most powerful man in town didn't help, either.

      Dr. von Fromm was co-founder and chief investor of Chem Cure Pharmaceuticals, Inc. A real mover and shaker. The dangerous, self-serving type. He had the mayor and Chief of Police in his back pocket. He had damn near everyone in his back pocket, in fact. Probably Mama-san Kuki, too. So much for taking the edge off.

      The eye-candy's brother, Dr. Bradford Tight, was the true brains behind the operation. A real chemical genius, too. His development of sulpha antibiotics single-handedly saved the lives of millions, especially during the Great War. Truth is, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for his drugs. Probably be dead from gangrene back in the trenches somewhere. Yeah. I had ta help the dame. In a way, I owed her.

      I owed her brother. Big time.

      I set the empty glass down on my desk. I looked her dead on; eye to eye. She understood in a glance. I would take the job, but she had to play it straight. No lies. Period. She walked right into my office like a slut on strike and put my neck in the same noose hers was in. I didn't like it. It was gonna cost her.

      I had danger and Big Dough on my mind. The edge was settling in like a lover.

      “Three hundred a day plus expenses. You do what I say, when I say. And no bullshit. Ever. You lie or keep shit from me, I walk. Clear.”

      “Crystal,” Sam sounded relieved.

      Maybe I should've asked for more dough; she seemed to agree too quickly. Maybe she's in even worst danger than I thought. Yeah. Right. As if that was possible considering the man involved.

      “I want a grand up front. No refunds.”

      “Of course.”

      “All right, sweet cheeks. Lay it on me. When did you see your brother last. More importantly, why do you think our Nazi wannabe had anything to do with it.”

      She melted into my leather chair. Her eyes glowed in the dim room. Pulled me in. Coaxed me like a vixen in heat. That sexy tone to her voice didn't hurt, either. I was hooked. I was horny. I was in danger.

      And I was never more alive.

      I leaned against the desk and listened. Closely. I didn't like what I heard.

      Not. One. Bit.

2 - From Zee, With Love

Lakeside Business Park. Chem Cure Pharmaceuticals' main headquarters. Sub-level 13.

      “Go fuck yourself,” the waif-like voice echoed off sterile walls. “An'... an' the horse you rode in on, too!”

      O.K. So that wasn't original. But to the skinny shadow in that dim hall, it was as spine-building an act of defiance as any ever recorded in human history. Like the iconic scene in Taxi Driver, Professor Eugene Carminstein was proclaiming to the silent sentinels in his head, “Are you talkin' ta me? Well... are ya?!”

      He felt bigger with every utterance. With every step that echoed in that steel-plated corridor. The door at the dark hall's end loomed large. Like the obsessive thoughts in his raging mind. Bigger. Ever bigger.

      Eugene slid his badge over the electronic lock. The small LED shone from red to green. The steel door slide open.

      Whoosh.

      The pressure across the seals equalized. It all fell on the impotent scientist.

      “Fuck ya all.”

* * *

      Helen Carminstein was bored. She married that ugly twerp for his money. At least the money he was suppose to have. You know... college scholarship – boy genius, they said – lucrative job offers after graduation. The whole nerd-rules-the-world kind of shit. Only it didn't happen. None of it. Gene was too introverted – too cowardly – to speak up for himself. For her. For anything. It was high time to move on.

      She wasted too much time, too much of her body and talents, on that spineless shit. So what if he caught her giving head to Mitch. So what? It was good. It was worth it. At least he had something to suck. Gene might as well have been born with a pussy. Mitch, on the other hand, Gene's lab partner, had balls. Big ones. He had a real future in front of him. A big dough future. The kind Helen deserved.

      And he could screw. Big time.

      Gene? What was there to say? Dildo's gave more action. Shit, his entire life all he ever did was turn tail and run. Hide away in his books, in his lab, and dream up wild shit. Shit he never made a dime off of. Shit she never made a dime off of. What was he gonna do, now? Yeah, Helen wiped her mouth, remembering. It was time to move on.

      For all of his promise, Gene was too weak to do anything. He would never change the world. Not like Mitch would.

      Never.

* * *

      It was exciting. Thinking about it. About what was going to happen. About how he would finally have his revenge. Finally. No more backing down. No more taking all the bullshit. No more being passed over. Being forgotten. Ever. No. After tonight, no one would forget the name of Eugene Aaron Carminstein.

      Ever.

      Especially that bitch. He wanted to be there when she got hers. If there was any truth to the stories – the legends from the Dark Continent – he would be. More than that, in fact. He would be the one to do her. Just the way she deserved. He would be the one to look into her terrified eyes, and smile. How sweet that will be!

      To sink his teeth deep into that hot flesh. To feel the salty blood fill his rotten mouth, swirl around his swollen tongue. To swallow it. All of it.

      Just the way she deserved.

      The diminutive scientist carefully threaded the canister to the fitting. It took him hours to retrofit the lines in such a way as to not be noticed. The security cameras were ubiquitous. Just like his love for Helen. And his hatred for her. It motivated his best work. His life's work.

      A few more turns and the gas would flood the ventilation system. A few more turns and it would be free. Free to do Eugene's will. Free to do as it wilt. Just a few more screws.

      Eugene smiled at the thought. One final screw, Helen. What do ya say? The canister felt cold in his hands as the gas pressure released into the lines. For old times sake.

      The green fog flowed into the lab through the air vents. Flowed throughout the building. Flowed out like his hatred; green and putrid. Flowed out into a cold world. A world he hated so.

      The red alarm lights flashed to the tempo of Eugene's mad laugh. He coughed blood into his hands. The betrayed lover fell to his knees, absorbed in the blood pooling in his trembling hands. What a beautiful sight! The mad scientist's thoughts came slower as his breath came in shuttering gasps. He could feel it. Gene was getting close now. Close to his fantasy fulfilled.

      Thud!

      The petty man fell to the cold tile. His thoughts turned to fantasy as the neurons in his brain fired off for the last time. It was beautiful. Heavenly. All the colors. The singing.

      But most of all, he relished the warmth. The warmth of Helen's blood. Warmth as it burst into his mouth.

      Just as he bit down.

      A stiffness crawled into his joints. Settled in like an aching cold. Eugene knew it was there to stay. Like the image of his wife sucking that bastard's dick. Of her relishing every drop. Every. Fucking. Drop.

      Eugene would relish this. Sure as shit. He couldn't wait for him to take his last breath. And for what would come after. To finally get this show on the road! This was a long time coming, tell you what. Eugene could finally do in death what he was too timid to do in life. He could finally have an impact. A lasting one.

      Cries of panic echoed throughout the complex. It occurred to Eugene, as he lie there dying, how fragile it all was. How fragile one's dreams, one's relationships, one's life, truly was. How in a single instant, it could all be taken away. Just like that. Without so much as a whimper. Or even a “Screw you, too.” How empty it all was.

      The screams of the dying kissed Eugene's ears just so. As he lingered off. The kiss was tender as a lover's promise. The lover he always dreamed he meet. Eugene died with a smile on his cold, small face. A smile and a promise.

      A warm, tender promise.

* * *

      The man in the lab coat stiffly rose to his feet. It was hard to see. Hard to think. And the pain. The pain! Instinctively, the creature knew precisely how to relieve the pain as it racked his body. Knew how to satiate the hunger gnawing at his bones; at his soul. The monster knew exactly what it needed to do. Exactly where it needed to go. Exactly.

      Just like the rest of them. The rest of the recently deceased. All of them. Hundreds. Rising up in that building. Rising up and shambling for the exits. Dead meat sacks with legs. Each stiff step riddled in pain. They moaned and cried. Hungry. Hungry. The Zees stumbled out into the cold night. Out into a new world. An unsuspecting world. A world full of promise.

      A promise unfulfilled.

1 - Lap Dance

      I had to get into her pants.

      Just look at her. At those eyes. Glowing jade under her flowing copper hair. Green beacons that flashed “take me”. Over. And over. An' all those hot curves. How they held those sultry jewels way up there. Just so.

      I couldn't help myself. I took a long eye full.

      Shut up. You would've, too.

      She knew I was looking. Memorizing every flow and ebb of her body. Her sex. Shit... I've seen her type before. A dame like her counted on The Stare. Went to the bank on it. Who was I not to oblige? What with her gettin' all dolled up like that, especially on a shitty night like this, not looking would've been an insult. An there's one thing I'm not, and that's insulting. Not ta late night eye candy, anyhow. Besides, you had ta be dead not to look. Not to want her.
     Over. And over.

     She sauntered into my office. Slowly. Like a stripper. My private stripper. Showing off her best assets. Just for me. These were some big dough assets, mind you.

      I felt cheap and hot under the collar. It was like a lap dance you didn't pay for. One your bro bought but you got ta sneak a peek. Only you got more than a peek.

      It's been a while and the edge was no doubt showin'. I was glad the light was dim an' my fedora was on; low like I like it. I was ready to walk out for the night when her sexy form filled my door.

      And my life.

      Her legs stopped in front of my desk. Mmmm. They went right up and made an ass out of themselves. Naughty. Naughty.

      Yeah. I had ta have her. Big time.

      Shut up. You would, too.

      Hell, any dick would. Especially a private dick like me. Dick Dirken here. Private Investigator. An' judgin' by the looks of her, I'm the best dick she's ever gonna have. Period. She knows it, too. That's why she's here.

      And I mean that any way you wanna take it.

      “May I?”

      Her voice dripped honey on my walnut desk.

      “I think you may,” I motioned for her to pick a seat.

      It was my test.

      I had two chairs on the other side of my ample desk. The desk was a much a piece of furniture as it was a symbol: I don't take shit, so don't waste my time. Of the two chairs, one was intentionally off at a slight angle. Not so you'd notice it, really. More of a subconscious thing. The one at an angle usually meant the one who took it had something to hide. A liar. A cheat. They paid big dough and got part of my attention. The other seat hid nothing. You were either bold and confident, or a psychopath. That got my attention. They paid real big dough. That type could get you killed.

      She took the bold seat.

      Figures. I reached for the cuban I was nursing earlier. This was going to be a long night.

      I drew in the warm smoke. It was smooth. Perfect. Like her. The end glowed cherry under the brim of my hat. Got my mind waunderin'. Some of it on the case that just walked in. I got lost in her legs. Her dress. Her voice.
     The honey flowed over me like warm syrup; hot and sticky. I loved it.
     Ms. Legs began her tale.