The Maltese Falcon

The Stuff That Dreams are Made Of

Part B

Part 10

Sam's POV

The kid was…uncertain. I could read that in his blue eyes, in the posture of that sleek body. I should reassure him. 

I should… 

I kissed him. His lips trembled under mine, and then they parted and allowed my tongue total access. I was determined to take it slow, and easy. But the kid began sucking on my tongue like it was a delicacy he had been deprived of for too long. 

His cock had become hard again, and he was rocking against me, seeking to find the end of the rainbow. Soft whimpers spilled from his mouth, and I knew I wouldn’t last very long. 

Miles had been a tough fuck. He let me have him when he was in the mood, but made me work hard for whatever I wanted. And even then he was unlikely to give it to me. 

This young gunsel was giving himself to me, wrapped with a shiny ribbon. I knew that whatever I wanted to do to his irresistible body would be fine with him. 

He had even given me the power to destroy him by informing his real employer, whoever that might be back east, that his pet killer had a fondness for members of his own sex. 

That knowledge drove me wild. “Tell me you want this, Cookie! Tell me you want me to fuck you into next week!” 

“Yes!” he whispered hoarsely. “Love me…!” 

That was not what I was expecting to hear, but the need was riding me so hard that I dismissed the thought that maybe we should talk about what we were starting. I pulled a jar of cold cream out of the night table. 

I had placed it there months ago, in hopes that maybe once Miles would want to spend the night with me at my place instead of some anonymous hotel room. 

I forced that thought away as well. Miles was dead. And this kid was very much alive, writhing under me as if he wanted to squirm under my skin and become a part of me. 

I covered my cock with the cool, slick stuff, and then scooped a fingerful up and began preparing his virgin ass. He was so grass green he had no idea how it could be between men. I kept him on his back and rubbed my thumb over the slit that was already beading with precome. 

 I wanted to see his face when I fucked him for the first time. 

He stiffened as he felt my finger pressing in, and then he relaxed completely and accepted the intrusion. I slid a second one in, and then a third. He was hot, and tight, and I couldn’t wait a moment longer. I pushed his legs back and apart and positioned my cock at his entrance. Then I locked his fingers with mine and thrust forward gently, slowly entering his body. 

His eyes dilated so widely the blue of the iris was the merest ring around his pupils. I eased in another inch and he bit down on his lower lip, which was already swollen from his earlier abuse of it. 

“No, Cookie!” I said softly as I leaned over and licked that lush lip. That pushed me deeper into him, so deep that I crossed the spot that captured his interest. 

“*Oh*!” 

“Like that, Cookie?” 

“Oh yes!” 

I withdrew a little, then surged all the way in until I was buried in his snug channel up to my balls. 

Somehow his ankles were locked behind my back and he was thrusting strongly to meet my lunges. I couldn’t tear my gaze from his, couldn’t close my eyes to pretend he was someone else. 

I found I had no desire to do so. 

He belonged to me, as Miles never had, and I determined to mark him as mine. I found a spot just next to his adam’s apple that would do very nicely, and began to suckle. The kid was so far gone he had no idea what I was doing. And I’m not sure if he would have objected if he realized it. 

“Fuck me, Sam! Make me yours!” 

That whisper did it for me. I began coming as if it had been months since the last time I had been buried in a warm body. 

Well…it had, but it wouldn’t have made any difference if I had fucked the entire San Francisco police force over the long holiday weekend. I was filling him with my hot semen, and he was pouring himself over his abdomen and mine. 

With a final groan, I thrust one last time and collapsed bonelessly on my lover. The kid blinked owlishly, as if he couldn’t understand how he had wound up under me with me so deep inside him he couldn’t tell where he stopped and I began. 

“Are you all right, Cookie?” 

“Mmmm.” His murmur was replete with satisfaction. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

“If you had, Sam, you wouldn’t be lying on me like this. You would be clutching yourself in pain.” 

“Oh?” I was kind of entranced. It had never been like this with Miles. After he let me fuck him or suck him off, he couldn’t put enough distance between the two of us. There had never been time for pillow talk or cuddling or…anything. But the kid was actually petting me, running his hands over the muscles of my back, down past my waist, palming the curves of my ass. 

“Yeah,” he grinned at me cockily. “I would have shot your pathetic little dick off!” 

“My what?” I wrapped my hands around his throat and pretended to throttle him. 

“Pax, Dream, pax!” He laughed, a carefree, youthful sound, and I was reminded of his tender years. “You’re a magnificent specimen of manhood. I’m your devoted slave!” 

Miles never called me pet names. Well, I never called him any either, for that matter. The thought of my dead partner shattered the mood. 

I rolled away from Wilmer and got up. 

“Sam?” I hated the uncertainty I heard in his voice. 

I couldn’t look at him. “I’m just going to get something to clean us both up.” I went into the bathroom and ran the cold water, then doused it over my face. 

“Did I do something wrong?” He was behind me, in the bathroom door. I turned on the hot water and waited while it warmed up. 

That was the one thing about this building. It took forever for the water to heat up. 

“Did you kill my partner, Wilmer?” I finally faced him. 

He was shaking his head. “No, Sam. I had no reason to shoot him then. He was still alive when I killed Thursby.” 

“Thursby didn’t shoot Miles?” I had been pretty sure of that. Miles would never follow the man he was tracking into a blind alley, with his gun in his pocket and his coat buttoned over it. He wasn’t that stupid. 

And then it hit me, what the kid said. “What do you mean, no reason to shoot him then?” 

He shrugged casually. “When I first came into town. I didn’t know you. Didn’t know how much he had hurt you. I’d kill him now, Sam. Just like that!” And he snapped his fingers. 

I sagged against the sink. Wilmer took the washcloth from me and soaked it, then squeezed out the water and shut the faucet. Gently he wiped me off, and nonchalantly cleaned the evidence of our recent activity from his body. I scrubbed my face with my hands. “Aw, Jesus, we have too many suspects! Cairo, Gutman…Miles’ wife.” 

“What about the O’Shaughnessy dame?” the kid asked mildly. 

“Effie’s woman’s intuition feels she’s all right.” 

“And how right has that been before?” 

I gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “Yeah, oke, nine times out of ten it’s been off. She seems so sure this time.” 

“Humph!” The kid turned back into the bedroom, and I followed him. He was limping a bit, and I knew that in spite of what he said, I must have made him a little sore. 

He gathered up his clothes and sat on the edge of the bed, putting on his socks and trousers. Interestingly enough, he wore no undershorts. I felt myself begin to stir again. 

“You’re leaving now?” 

He paused as he buttoned himself up, and I realized that in spite of his attempt at insouciance, he was unsure of himself, of the situation he found himself in. “Unless you have a better idea?” 

I walked up to him and pulled him into my arms. “Oh, yes!” I tipped his chin up and looked into his face, with its appearance of youth and innocence. Until you observed the eyes with their guarded and world- weary expression. Then you understood the truth. 

This was no kid, no youngster. Wilmer Cook was, in fact, a deadly killing machine. 

Was I out of my mind to keep him in my bed, in my life? 

I exhaled, letting him feel my breath on his lips before I fitted our mouths together. 

I never had been too bright when it came to the men I loved!

####

Part 11

I sat there, just watching him. He lay sprawled on my bed, looking so impossibly young I wanted to rail at the heavens. 

He rolled over and my gaze went to his cock, which lay, half hard, on his thigh. Under my fascinated gaze it began to swell and lengthen. 

I refused to allow myself to linger on that temptation and looked away, only to find I was drowning in the blue of his eyes. My breath caught in my throat and my mouth went so dry I couldn’t have worked up enough spit to fill a thimble. 

“Wilmer…” 

“*Cookie*,” he interrupted me. “I…like when you call me Cookie.” 

And just like that, I could breathe again. I didn’t smile, but I know my eyes had warmed. 

“Cookie. We have to get dressed. I need to get you back to your employer’s hotel, and then I want to find out about this damned black bird.” 

“The Maltese falcon? I can tell you most of what you need to know.” He got out of bed and came to stand before the chair I had dragged over to watch him as he slept. I leaned back, saying nothing as he sank to his knees between my legs. 

The young gunsel leaned forward, balancing his weight on my thighs, and he blew on my cock. It was suddenly, achingly hard, jutting toward the body that had given it such pleasure. Before I could ask him how he wanted it this time, his mouth was around the tip, teasing the slit with his tongue, slowly taking in more and more of me. 

I was shuddering, in a fever of rapture. Miles would never do this for me, and it had been too many years since an eager mouth had swallowed me. “Cookie!” I groaned. 

He licked the underside with broad sweeps of his tongue, then began sucking on me fiercely. As his head bobbed up and down, his teeth scraped me every other up stroke, and I trembled from the sensations that were sweeping through me. 

His palms glided over my knees, his fingers firm on my thighs, stroking up past my waist to tangle in the dark curls that covered my chest. He tugged on the hairs, then found my flat nipples and ran his nails across them. They had never felt so sensitive. 

“Cookie, stop! I’m going to…” but it was too late. He purred and the sound vibrated through me and I was coming, pouring myself into that hot, wet mouth. He suckled harder, and I had no choice but to fill his eager mouth. 

I sagged back in the chair, and with one last swipe of his tongue, he released me, kissing his way up my chest. He slid his hand around my neck and pulled my head down to meet his mouth. I tasted myself on his lips, and moaned as his tongue began a tantalizing duel with mine. 

His cock was nudging my flaccid length. “You didn’t come!” I whispered against his lips. 

He laughed and leaned away to stare into my eyes. “You’ll take care of that for me, won’t you Sam?” 

I shouldn’t have felt disappointed. I shouldn’t have. Miles wouldn’t even have done that much for me. But… 

I sighed. “Sure, kid. You want to sit on the chair or the bed?” 

He looked confused. “We can make love that way?” 

“What?” Now I was confused. 

“I wanted to be inside you. If you don’t want that, though, I won’t do it.” 

“You want to fuck me?” 

“Well, yes!” 

I was on the bed, on my knees so fast, the kid felt the breeze. 

**** 

 The kid was sitting there watching me when I finally came back to my senses. “Are you oke, Sam?” I could see in his eyes how concerned he was. 

“Never better, Cookie!” I stretched indolently and finally got a good look at him. “You’re dressed!” I was disappointed. 

“Didn’t you need to see the fat man?” 

I caught the warm washcloth he tossed me and wiped myself off. “I thought you were going to tell me about the black bird.” 

So he told me the story, which began sometime in 1530, when the Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, also known as the Knights Templar, petitioned King Charles of Spain for three islands, one of which was Malta. The king agreed, but in recompense, he requested a falcon be given him every year, a token of his continued rule of Malta. 

The knights were weary of their travels, and in gratitude for the bestowal of these islands to their order, they determined to give him not a simple living creature, but a bird created from beaten gold, and encrusted from top to toe with all manner of jewels: diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, stones of such value and purity, their like had seldom been seen since. 

The ship that was to carry it to the court of King Charles was intercepted by the notorious buccaneer, Khaired-Din, also known as Barbarossa, and sunk with all hands. It was thought the bird went down with it. 

But then rumors began to surface. It was seen in Algiers, in Sicily, in Turin. By the time it turned up in Paris at the beginning of the century, it had acquired numerous coats of lacquer, and only a truly discerning eye could tell what was hidden beneath the outer layers. 

Such a man was Wilmer Cook’s true employer. He discovered it in a little shop on the Left Bank while he was in the City of Lights on the honeymoon he had promised his wife. 

But his movements were under constant scrutiny, and a Bolshevik attempted to relieve him of the priceless ornament, along with his life. That was when General Kemidov stepped into the picture. He destroyed the fanatic, saving not only the Don, but his wife as well, and placing the Sicilian under a heavy obligation. 

As a token of his gratitude, the Don gave the Russian general the black bird, telling him of his suspicions of its value, and swearing him to secrecy, for fear of the threat of murder and theft that overshadowed all of the previous owners. 

“General Kemidov was a good man, but he was Russian. He had that sadness they are so fond of hugging to themselves,” the kid remarked. “You’d think no other people in the world had a hard time of it. It has to be those long winters. They’re enough to depress anyone!” 

I paused in the knotting of my tie and just indulged myself in watching his lips as he spoke. “What does the General being a Russian have to do with the price of booze?” 

“Whenever he was overcome with melancholy, he would drink.” My gunsel accepted casually the fact that the soldier, so highly decorated in the Great War, could still be prey to the heaviness of heart that tormented him on occasion. 

“And that explains it?” 

The kid shrugged, his eyes going hot as I bent to retrieve my shoes. I froze in that position, and shot a glance at the bedside clock. Regretfully, I didn’t have the time to take him back to bed. I sighed and waited until he took up the thread of his tale. 

“When Kemidov got depressed, he drank. When he drank, he talked. Too much this time. The fat man has been looking for the falcon for almost twenty years. He heard stories, and had Thursby call on the General.” 

That caught my attention. “And Thursby killed him?” 

The kid nodded. “He wasn’t supposed to, but Thursby always had a mean streak. Except when it came to beautiful dames.” 

“Like Brigid O’Shaughnessy?” 

He nodded dismissively. “He was a sap. I’d never play the sap for a woman!” 

Would he play the sap for me, I wondered? 

“So who has the black bird now?” 

“Kasper Gutman knows. I couldn’t find out from him. The only time he talks is in bed. I could have gotten the information from him that way but…” 

I grabbed his wrist and squeezed it hard. “You let the fat man touch you?” 

He let me hurt him, shaking his head. “He wanted to, but I introduced him to my friend Sam Colt.” Wilmer pulled out the automatic that had been in a holster tucked in his waistband. 

How had I missed seeing that? 

He ran his fingers over the curve of my cheekbone. “My boss doesn’t approve of this type of thing, Sam. You realize that, don’t you?” 

My mouth dropped open in disbelief. Was he saying… 

“I’ll die for you Sam!”

####

Part 12

Walking out of my bedroom, I came to such an abrupt halt that my gunsel stepped on my heels. 

The little man was sitting calmly on my settee, pointing the same small compact pistol he had aimed at me the day before in my office. 

“How very interesting, Mr. Spade!” Joel Cairo said with a smirk. “You spent an inordinate amount of time in your bedroom with our young friend here. Perhaps I could convince you to spend as much time with me?” 

He cocked his head flirtatiously, and I sneered at him. 

“What are you doing here, Cairo? A bit of breaking and entering?” I disregarded his remarks as beneath me. 

He accepted my dismissal of his lascivious invitation easily. I really wasn’t his type. But I didn’t like the way he was eyeing the kid. “Actually, Mr. Spade, I intend to search your apartment. The item I was seeking was not in your office, so now I will see if you have it concealed within these rooms.” 

I fell back a step laughing helplessly. Wilmer scowled at me, and then curled his lip at the man holding the gun. 

“Of course I will need to be certain that you both are unarmed,” Cairo said as he approached us. “Be so kind as to turn out your pockets, please.” I stepped between him and the kid and raised my arms. 

“Go ahead and frisk me. I stopped packing heat months ago!” The grin I gave him was just a baring of teeth; there was no humor in it at all. 

Those soft, plump hands moving over my body were nothing I couldn’t handle. But I would be damned before I let him touch my gunsel. I kept my body angled so that I constantly blocked his access to the kid. 

Wilmer Cook stepped to the side and began emptying his pockets onto an end table. Both the little man and I watched in amazement as the pile of weaponry grew and grew. 

A Colt automatic was removed from each of his topcoat pockets. A Luger followed from inside the coat. Two more small pistols were withdrawn from his suit jacket along with a Buntline Special and another Colt from the holster at his back. 

Then he leaned over and jerked up his trouser cuff, to display a derringer strapped to his ankle. 

And I had to shake my head, a genuine grin on my face this time. How could I possibly have missed all that? 

The kid caught my eye and his lips parted in an expression of such sweetness that I couldn’t catch my breath. “Ain’t love grand?” he asked in a soft voice, knowing it was the cloud of lust surrounding me that prevented me from seeing how well armed he was. “That’s it, Mr. Cairo,” he spoke in normal tones. 

“Perhaps I should search you myself to make sure!” 

The gunsel relaxed back against the small table and crossed his legs at the ankles. The look he turned on the little Levantine was cold and deadly. “Touch me, and you’ll be picking lead out of your liver!” 

Joel Cairo sniffed and turned away to begin looking in drawers and closets, peeking under the bed, turning over skirted easy chairs. He even opened the stove, and looked into the icebox, growing more and more frustrated. 

“It’s not here! Where can it be? It is not here!” 

“I could have told you that, Cairo.” I took out a cigarette paper and began to sprinkle tobacco on it. Wilmer took it from me and licked the edges. He rolled it and sealed it with languid movements, passing it between his lips. 

Effie had done this a thousand times for me, and it had left me unmoved. 

Now I was hard and aching, in spite of the fact that I had come again while the kid was buried deep in me.

**** 

I was trembling on my knees, waiting for him to make a move. His warm hands followed the curve of my buttocks, then traced the shadowed crevice, pausing to dip a fingertip into my opening. Involuntarily, my hips jerked. I was dry, but I’d take it, for him. 

“Sam.” His low voice sliced through me and I closed my eyes, swallowing heavily. I had never had this done to me, and I wanted it. I wanted it very badly. 

His lips whispered over my spine and his fingers slid under me to cup my balls and stroke my burgeoning cock. “Fuck me, Cookie!” 

He must have been paying closer attention than I had given him credit for. When his fingers came back to stretch me, they were covered in cold cream. They were gentle, and thorough. “Please, Cookie, don’t make me wait!” I was actually begging him to fuck me. 

Carefully, slowly, he began pressing himself into my ass, sliding past that ring of tight muscle. I dropped my head onto the bed and angled my hips so that he could take me completely. 

His lovemaking was a torment. He thrust easily in and rocked back out, hitting my pleasure point each time. “Harder, baby, harder!” 

But long minutes ticked by and he kept the pace gentle, until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I bucked onto him frantically, and forced him to increase the tempo. My loss of control seemed to be the signal he was waiting for. He began pounding into me, his moans joining mine to form a counterpoint. 

“Sam!” 

I could hear the panic in his voice. “Come for me, baby. Fill me. Show me how much you want me!” 

His essence was hot, scalding hot and I felt him deep inside, flooding me. And then I was covering his hands with my own hot semen, and he smoothed it over my torso, massaging it onto my nipples, teasing nerve endings that pleaded for more. 

He collapsed on my back, and I stayed like that, with him covering me, for as long as my quivering legs could stand it. Finally I was forced to ease us down onto the coverlet and he slipped out of me. 

I couldn’t resist asking. “Did you…enjoy that, Cookie?” 

“It was delightful.” 

Oh. That was rather a bland way of putting it. 

“Delicious.” 

That was better. 

“De-lovely!” 

“Are you teasing me?” I demanded. 

Laughing softly, he rolled me over and took me into his arms, smearing his own chest with my come. “Do you mind, Dream?” 

“Do you know what I do with smart-alec little gunsels like you, Cookie?” 

His head was tucked under my chin, and his thick hair tickled my chin when he shook it. 

“I eat them for breakfast!” 

**** 

We were quiet too long, staring into each other’s eyes, remembering. Cairo got curious. And hard. He still held his little pistol, and thought that gave him some clout at our little tea party. 

He reached out with his free hand to touch Wilmer’s obvious arousal. The kid casually clipped his jaw with a hard left hook and knocked Cairo onto his rounded ass. 

I leaned over and wound my fingers in his cravat, the color of a ripe, Halloween pumpkin today. I yanked him to his feet, and shook him like a rag doll. “You keep your fucking hands off the kid, you got that, Cairo?” 

“That’s the third time you’ve put your hands on me!” he snarled. I tipped up his chin and planted one in his kisser. 

“And you’ll keep taking it until I say otherwise!” 

The phone rang and I looked toward it uncertainly. “I’ll watch him, Sam,” the kid said softly. “Go ahead and answer it.” 

I went back into the bedroom and picked up the receiver. “Spade.” 

“Sam!” 

“Effie, what’s wrong darling?” I could hear the strain in her voice. 

“Can you get down to the office right away, Sam? Please don’t ask questions! Just get down here!” 

“I’m on my way, Precious!” 

I strode into the other room, barely noticing that Cairo was no longer on my setting room rug. 

“Cookie…” 

“It’s oke, Sam. Just because you fucked me, doesn’t mean I expect us to be pinned. I’ve got some work to do too. You go on, and I’ll see you at Gutman’s in a couple of hours.” 

“Where’s Cairo?” 

“I threw out the trash!” 

And the door closed behind him before I could protest. 

I hadn’t had many relationships in my life, and those few I’d had were intense in the extreme. 

After Miles, I’d wondered what a no-strings affair would be like, had been desperate for one, for a hard, fast fuck with no emotional ties. 

Now it seemed the kid was giving me what I wanted on a silver platter. 

Only problem was, I no longer wanted that: I wanted strings on him. I wanted him tied to me so tightly he’d never get loose. 

And if that meant facing down his employer back east, well… 

I went to a cabinet set into the wall beside the highboy and pulled out Miles’ gun. I tucked it into my jacket pocket, grabbed my hat and headed for the office.

####

Part 13

Effie was not happy. I would have sworn her eyes were shooting sparks. She jumped to her feet when I got to the office, hurrying toward me. Her grip on my arms was strong, but she couldn’t seem to get a word past lips that were pale with anger. 

“What is it, Precious?” I asked softly. 

 “It’s Iva, Sam! She’s…” 

“I’m suing you for the wrongful death of my husband!” The door to the inner office had silently swung open and Iva stood there. 

How is it some women can look like angels in black? The bordered mourning veil framed her heart-shaped face, a stark contrast to her blonde hair. She was the image of the bereaved widow. 

Until you saw her green eyes, hard and flat and so totally cold that I shivered in spite of myself. 

“Miles knew the score. He was a big boy, Angel.” I went into my office and she stepped aside to let me by. “Every time we went out on a case there was a chance we wouldn’t come back. Miles knew that!” 

“*I* didn’t know that! I would never have married him if I had known!” 

“Wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Well, that’s neither here nor there now, is it? Miles is dead and there’s nothing either of us can do to bring him back!” 

“No there isn’t,” she agreed venomously. “But I want his share of the business, and if you aren’t prepared to turn it over to me, I’ll have my lawyer serve you with papers!” 

I sauntered behind my desk and dropped down into my chair. I pulled out the cigarette papers and tobacco and began to make a cigarette. “Getting a little greedy, aren’t we, darling?” 

“A girl needs to look out for herself, nowadays!” 

“Oh?” I cocked an eyebrow at her and stuck a match. “I was sure Miles said something about your family being…comfortably off?” 

Her seal fur piece slid off her shoulders and she flung her little black handbag onto the client’s chair. She leaned over the desk, balancing her weight on her flattened hands. “Leave my family out of this!” she ordered shrilly. I caught the hint of alcohol on her breath. “They warned me not to marry a low life skirt-chaser like Miles Archer! They told me…” 

“Tell me something, Precious. Where were you the night Miles was shot?” 

She recoiled as if I had slapped her. “I…Why, I was at home! In bed!” 

I shook my head and regarded the glowing tip of my cigarette. “Oh, you may have been in bed, Angel, but it wasn’t at home. And it sure as hell wasn’t Miles’ bed. You had gotten in not many minutes before Effie came to tell you about your sudden loss!” 

“Effie! That little bitch! She doesn’t like me; she’s never liked me! She’d say anything to get me in Dutch!”

I was starting to feel worn down. “Listen, Iva. I don’t care that you were seeing someone on the side. I’m sure Miles was as well.” Sure? I knew for a fucking fact he was!

She looked at me petulantly. “You’re just jealous he wasn’t seeing you anymore!” 

“Iva, darling, you’re out of whatever little mind you have left. There was never anything like that between Miles and me!” I lied carelessly through my teeth. 

“That’s not what he told me!” 

“And of course we both know how truthful Miles was!” 

The fight went out of her and she sagged into the client’s chair. “I need money, Sam! I have to get out of town!” 

“If you say so, darling. Why now, though?” 

She covered her face with her hands. “Some snooty boy came by and told me that I had angered a very powerful man! He told me if I didn’t leave San Francisco within the next few days, I’d be wearing cement overshoes!” She peeked through her fingers to see how I was accepting her pronouncement. 

I kept my gaze polite. “Aren’t you being a little overdramatic, darling? And why shake me down for half the business?” 

“I need that money, Sam!” she repeated. 

“Isn’t Miles’ life insurance enough for you, Iva?” 

The startled look on her face would have been laughable, if the whole situation wasn’t so sad. 

“Let me guess: You had no idea Miles left you with $10,000 in insurance? Jesus, Iva, you make me tired! Go collect the money and then get the fuck out of town!” 

She rose slowly to her feet and gathered her things, fussily adjusting the fur around her shoulders. She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and patted the veil into place. “You…won’t think unkindly of me, will you Sam? I’m really not a bad person, once you get to know me!” 

The door closed behind her and I began to swear, flatly and viciously. She wasn’t a bad person, no she wasn’t. 

There was a tap on the door and Effie peeked around cautiously to see how she would be received. When I didn’t throw anything worse than a dirty look at her, she came in and sat on the corner of my desk, picking up the cigarette makings and rolling one. I looked from the cigarette between my fingers to the one in hers, and threw her a questioning glance. 

She placed the cigarette between her lips and struck a match. 

“Since when have you picked up this habit, Precious?” 

“Since this whole case has started making me nuts!” She drew in a lungful of smoke and began chocking on it. I plucked the cigarette from her fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray. 

“Take up something else, Angel. This is a filthy habit!”

”I need a drink, Sam! The black widow scared me spitless!” 

I took out two glasses and poured a shot for each of us. 

“Now that Iva is out of our lives, what will we do to amuse ourselves?” I asked idly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. 

“I’m getting married, Sam!” 

My eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Angel…this is so sudden! Who…?” 

She stared moodily at her drink. “Yeah, I’m going to kill Mrs. Chairface, and marry Chair! How does that sound to you?” 

“Effie, my own true love, I think you need a vacation. A very long vacation!” 

“It’s good to hear you laugh again, Sam. It’s been too long.” She tossed back the remains of her drink and slid off my desk. “I think I’ll go home early, if that’s all right with you?” 

“Sure thing, Precious. Just lock up behind you, will you? I need to do some thinking before I go see the fat man.” 

“Where is he in all this, Sam?” 

“He wants the Maltese falcon that seems to have everyone in an uproar.” 

“The Maltese what?” 

“Sorry, Angel. I forgot you missed the latest installment of our little cliffhanger.” I explained about the black bird. 

“And is Miss Wonderly involved with this?”

”Her name is O’Shaughnessy, and yes, Angel, she is in this up to her undeniably pretty eyebrows!” 

Effie snorted and threw up her hands in defeat. I couldn’t blame her. This case had more twists than a scenic railway. She walked into her office. 

And screamed. 

I bolted around my desk and made for the door. Before I could reach it, a figure dressed in a black trenchcoat and fedora pulled low over his face staggered in, dripping blood all over my hard wood floor. He was clutching a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tie up with string. 

I caught him as he began to collapse to the floor, but he was almost dead weight. All I could do was prevent him from hitting the floor so hard he hurt himself. Not that he could be hurt much more; he was in a bad way. 

His lips were by my ear, and as I eased him down he whispered a few short phrases. I turned him onto his back, but he stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, his last breath rattling in his throat. 

I glanced up at Effie. 

“I locked the door, Sam!” She was always rock steady in a crisis. 

“Good work, Angel! Get your hat and coat on.” She followed my orders and hurried back to my side. I was on the phone. “Get down here right away. I need you now!” I hung up and saw the blood that covered my hand. I took out a handkerchief and wiped at the stains. Pointing to the mysterious package, I began giving her instructions. “Chair’s coming to pick you up. Take this down to the train station and put it in a locker. Hold onto the key, and don’t tell anyone about this!” 

She looked at me reproachfully. “As if I would, Sam!” 

“I know, Precious, but this would cost your life, and I do love you Effie!”

“I know, Sam. Just not the way I wish you could! You’ll get in touch with me when you’re ready to have the key back?” 

I nodded. “If I tell you… ‘The kid’s mine’ then you’ll know you can send it to me wherever that might be. I’ll have Chair come pick it up. But if I say… ‘He belongs to the fat man,’ get that key to the police and tell them what you know. I’ll leave a letter in our safe explaining the whole situation. Now go, and tell Chair to make sure you aren’t followed!” 

Her face was pale. “Be careful, Sam!” She kissed me, her mouth caressing mine, then picked up the package and hurried out. 

But not before I had seen the sheen in her eyes. 

Damn! Why did life have to be so complicated? 

####

Note: The rumrunner belongs to Raymond Chandler, and it’s his disappearance which caused the chain of events that involved Philip Marlowe in The Big Sleep. Brioski, for all the kiddies out there, is a lemony-tasting fizzy drink along the lines of Alka Seltzer, that’s good for what ails you. 

Part 14

Being thought to be a crooked private eye had its advantages. You got to meet all manner of shady characters, who accepted you as one of their own. 

I called in a favor from a former bootlegger who used to run rum out of Mexico. He retired once Prohibition had been lifted and was working as bodyguard for some millionaire general up on Nob Hill. 

I had pulled Sean Regan’s chestnuts out of the fire on several occasions when our favorite assistant DA got too snoopy. Now I had a body lying on the floor of my office, and I needed his help. He was more than happy to assist me out of this jam. 

“They’ll find him in some alley, if the rats don’t get to him. Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’ve got it covered!” he told me over the phone. I could hear the smile in his voice, rough velvet over his Irish lilt, and I regretted, vaguely, that the time had never seemed right for the two of us. 

Regan sent over some muscle and they removed the stiffening body of the ship’s captain who had delivered the paper-wrapped parcel. 

**** 

I was crouching low, smoothing the wrinkles out of a small area rug when I heard the outer door open. “In here, Chair,” I called. 

“Doing some redecorating, Sam? Funny, you never struck me as the interior decorator type!” 

I froze. “Damn!” I swore under my breath, then unwound myself and rose to my feet. Brigid O’Shaughnessy was draped seductively against the frame of my office door. 

“Hello, Angel. Slumming?” I asked carelessly. 

She laughed. I could imagine her practicing that tinkling, girlish titter in the privacy of her bedroom, and it didn’t surprise me in the least that any number of men had fallen prey to it, including my married partner. 

It did nothing for me however, grating on my nerves, like fingernails across a blackboard. 

“You’re so funny, Sam!” Her eyes didn’t look the least bit amused, and I backed away from her involuntarily. Whoever had labeled the female of the species the weaker sex had never come across Brigid O’Shaughnessy! I would never want to meet her in a blind alley! 

She examined the pale ivory gloves she wore, smoothing them over her fingers. “May I have a drink, please?” Her tongue peeked out to moisten her full lower lip. 

Adam told God, “The woman tempted me.” Well, obviously, she couldn’t tempt me, but I could see why Miles, or any other sucker would follow her without question, grinning and licking his lips. 

I poured a couple of fingers of rye into a glass for her and set it on the edge of my desk. 

“Won’t you join me, Sam?” 

Reluctantly, I filled my own glass and knocked it back. She tasted hers delicately. 

“What news have you for me, Sam?”                                 

"Kasper Gutman wants to see me this afternoon.” I tossed out the statement and just let it hang there between us. 

“The fat man?” She was uneasy now, and I found that interesting. Gutman made her wary. She pulled the sleek, silver case from her handbag and made a production of selecting and lighting a cigarette. “Why would he want to see you, Sam?” 

“I’m assuming it’s about the falcon. That makes two other people aside from you who are interested in the black bird.” 

Her eyes flickered up to mine, then darted away to contemplate the plume of smoke she blew from her elegantly painted mouth. “I’m so tired of this, Sam! I don’t know whom to trust; I’ve been betrayed on every side! I need your help so desperately!” Her voice throbbed with emotion. 

“You have my help, Angel. You’re paying me twenty dollars a day for it, remember?” 

“Is that how much your loyalty is worth? I don’t have much money left, Sam! What if Gutman offers you more? The only thing else I could offer you is my body!” 

Why was she so deliberately planting the idea of naked, sweaty bodies in my mind? 

I thought, not of her, but of the young gunsel, moaning and shaking under me as he came, and I grew hard.  

She had no idea what caused the sudden flush to mount my cheeks. The tiny, self-satisfied smile that curled her lips told me she thought she had succeeded in bemusing me with the offer of her body. But to what purpose? To have me so distracted that I would overlook the little fallacies that fell tripping from her tongue? Or so enamored of her that I would wind up playing the sap for her, as so many others had? 

Obviously, she was unaware that my preferences ran to a hard male body rather than a soft female one. 

“You’ve got some things you can raise money on, haven’t you? That cigarette case, the furs you wore the first day you were here, some jewels? Hock ‘em!” I said hardily. 

The next thing I knew, she was plastered against my chest, her arms clinging to me, the cloying scent of her perfume clogging the back of my throat. Her shoulders shook as if from the force of her weeping. 

“I’m sorry! You’re right! I don’t deserve your help, but oh, Sam! I need it! I’m so very alone!” 

I couldn’t prevent the short bark of laughter. “You’re so very good, is what you are, Angel!” I took her arms from around my neck and eased her away from me. She was making me edgy, as if my skin was suddenly several sizes too small for my body. 

Her eyes were dry. 

“I’m not a good person, Sam,” she shrugged, realizing I wasn’t buying her act, changing tacks so quickly she made me dizzy. “I’ve done things… Well, be that as it may, I do need your help. Won’t you please help me?” she fluttered her lashes and begged prettily. 

“Now you’re really dangerous, sweetheart!” I put the desk between the two of us and reached for my tobacco pouch. I had to get her out of my office. “Listen, Precious. I have a meeting with Gutman in about an hour. Why don’t you go on back to your apartment and wait for my call? I’ll let you know as soon as anything important comes up.” 

“You promise, Sam?”

I opened my eyes very wide. “Of course, darling!” 

I forced myself to take her elbow and walk her into the outer office. She gave me a smile that was supposed to be tremulous, but somehow fell short of the mark. “I’ll wait for your call, then, Sam.” Her voice took on a breathy tone. “See you later, sweetheart.” 

I released my breath only after the door closed behind her, and I was able to lock it. 

**** 

I sat at my desk and took a blank sheet of paper from the top drawer. The point of the fountain pen that had once been Miles’ needed to be cleaned. Then I filled it, and began to transcribe the events that started with the firm of Spade and Archer taking on the simple job of tracing a runaway schoolgirl. 

The sharp, staccato rap on the outer office door pierced the intensity of my concentration. I reached for the automatic in my pocket and went to see who was there. 

I spared a glance at the small area rug I had thrown over the bloodstains left by my late, sea-faring visitor. 

Through the frosted pane, I could see the peaked cap of a Frisco cabby, and sighed in relief. Chair had seen Effie safely home after the stop at the train station, and now he was here to take me to my meeting with Kasper Gutman. 

“C’mon in, Chair. Have a drink. I just need to finish this and then we can get over to the Alexandria.” 

“Sure thing, Boss.” He poured himself a shot but sipped at it cautiously. Chair had sampled my whiskey before, and he knew how high-octane I liked it. 

I sat back down behind my desk and picked up the pen again. Everything that would help Tom Polhaus nail Miles’ killer was in that letter. The information about the Maltese falcon was incidental, and only mentioned in passing. 

I tugged on my lip with thumb and forefinger, carefully considering the course I was about to commit myself to, and then I grimaced. What would it matter? If the Frisco police sergeant ever read this, I would be dead. 

In painstaking detail, I fingered the murderer of Floyd Thursby and the captain, Jacoby, whose ship had gone up in flames in the harbor. I reread what I had written, then folded the pages meticulously and slid them into an envelope. Tom Polhaus’ name was scrawled across the flap, and then I sealed it. 

I tossed the letter into the wall safe that was hidden behind a really poor copy of Whistler’s Mother and threw the combination. “Give me a minute, all right, Chair?” 

He nodded, trying to swallow the last mouthful, and I walked down the corridor to the washroom. 

My face, reflected back in the flyspecked mirror, looked grey and drawn, and I scrubbed at it with rough hands. Not only was I putting my reputation on the line, and my life, but my self-respect as well. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself that I played the sap for no one. 

My head was starting to pound and I had a hollow feeling in my stomach. The booze I had tossed down earlier was taking great pleasure in letting me know the havoc it was playing with my stomach lining. 

I ran the water, and while I waited for it to become cold enough to drink I finger combed my hair, trying to give it some semblance of order. 

The blue bottle of Brioski stood on the shelf above the washbasin and I shook the crystals into the glass of water. Closing my eyes, I swallowed it down without pausing, only just preventing myself from gagging. 

God, I hated that stuff!

#### 

Note: The ‘crippled newsie’ line is directly from the movie, only Sam actually spoke it. 

Part 15

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t see the kid when I walked into the lobby of the Alexandria. And then, somehow, he was there behind me. “Twelfth floor,” I told the operator as I got onto the elevator. 

Wilmer Cook was ahead of me as we stepped off the elevator. He led the way down the corridor to the fat man’s door. “That’s rather careless of you, isn’t it, Cookie? I could take your guns away from you. Think how disappointed in you your employer would be!” 

“Would you tell him a crippled newsie took them from me, but you made him give them back?” He leaned toward me and his blue eyes grew hot; I shuddered and hardened. “Know something, Sam? I never put myself in a dicey situation. You want my guns? They’re yours. All of them! And fuck Gutman! He’s not the boss of me!” 

I pressed close to him. “No, he isn’t, is he? And you’d die the hardest way possible if your real boss ever discovered how you’re dropping the ball out here!” I was dead serious. 

When had I started to put concern for his safety above everything else? 

“Am I? Is that how you see it?” His face lost all its warmth and became expressionless. “You really think I’m that incompetent?” 

“I think that maybe you’ve gotten carried away by your first walk on the wild side!” 

“Yes, I can see that you do.” His lips were a thin slash in his face. “Did this afternoon mean anything to you, at all? Or was it just a no strings fuck with a tenderfoot from back east?” 

“Cookie…” I shut my mouth. What could I say now? That I cared for him more than I had ever cared for anyone, including my partner, Miles Archer? That I didn’t think I’d be able to bear it if he was harmed? 

We were involved in something particularly nasty that could see him sent up the river for the rest of his life at the very least, or dead at the worst. I stared bleakly into the future, hating what I saw there. 

It was too late. Perhaps it had always been too late. The letter pointing the finger at Thursby’s killer was sealed in my safe. If anything happened to me, Effie would hand it over to Tom Polhaus. 

The gunsel was waiting for me to say something that would make it all right, that would give him some sense of reassurance that he hadn’t put his neck in the noose for a worthless piece of shit. 

I was silent for too long. “C’mon. The fat man wants to see you!” He fell back into his role of hired gun and opened the door to Kasper Gutman’s suite. 

I followed him in and watched as he crossed the floor to a small bedroom off the sitting area and closed the door firmly behind him. 

“Hm, hm, hm,” Gutman laughed, his belly jiggling the elaborate watch fob that dangled from his vest. His eyes glinted with evil humor. “Is Wilmer giving you a hard time, Mr. Spade? He can be such a temperamental youth! Of course, he’s the best in the business; I got him from someone who should know!” He voice was heavy with innuendo. 

“Of course,” I agreed blandly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing he had struck a nerve. The kid told me he had never had a man before. Instinct told me that I could trust him, but could I trust my instinct? I forced myself to shrug it off and got to the point of our meeting. “What are you willing to give me for the Maltese falcon?” 

“You have it?” His face was avid with greed to possess the priceless bird, my phrasing of the question eluding him totally. 

“I…can get it. I want to know if it’s worth my while even talking to you about it.” 

“Who else could you bargain with, Mr. Spade?”

”Brigid O’Shaughnessy, perhaps?” 

“Hm, hm, hm. You’re a day late and a pound short, as they say on the continent, Mr. Spade!” He raised his voice. “Come and join us, my dear!” 

Another door opened and she came in, once again the hesitant schoolgirl, and I wondered if Kasper Gutman had any idea what lurked behind that innocent façade she presented. 

“Brigid, darling. How delightful to see you here. But I thought we agreed you would wait at your apartment until I contacted you?” 

“I got worried, Sam. You didn’t call, and it got late, and…I got worried.” 

“Of course you did, Precious.” Oh, she was good. She was very good! Mainly it was that tremulous quaver in her voice, I think. I turned back to the fat man. “Where does she stand in all of this, Gutman?”

”One might say we worked on opposite sides of the fence, until it became clear that we would do better on the same side, so-to-speak. Joining forces, if you will. The falcon is worth enough to make us all very, very wealthy! And of course we wish you to join us as well!” 

I walked over to the sideboard and poured myself a drink. My stomach was warning me I’d regret it, but I ignored it and swallowed the whiskey. 

I already had more regrets than I could deal with. What was one more? 

The door burst open and Joel Cairo hurried in, as fast as his tiny, mincing feet would allow, waving a newspaper that was somewhat worse for the wear. “It arrived last night! The La Paloma, with Jacoby as the captain! That must be the same ship!” Then he noticed me and came to a sharp halt, the momentum almost causing him to fall on his face. “Mr. Spade,” he said hollowly. “How nice to see you again, sir.” 

“Hello, Joel. Fancy meeting you here! This is starting to feel like old home week! Anybody else coming, or can we get on with this?” 

The little man cast a look that was almost scared in the direction of Kasper Gutman. “It’s quite all right, Joel. We’re all business partners here, after all. We wish each other only the very best!” 

“If you say so, Mr. Gutman.” 

But I could see the Levantine was not happy about the turn of events. I sat on the arm of the settee and watched him from under my lashes. “What’s the story on the La Paloma, Cairo?” 

Stubbornly, the little man refused to say anything further. 

“Maybe we ought to get your little gunny out here to beat the information out of him,” I remarked casually to the fat man. 

“By Gad, sir, you are a hard man! Hm, hm, hm.” 

I was getting tired of being a joke to him. “I’ll show you how hard I am!” I sprang to my feet and threw my glass against the coffee table, where it shattered. “There have been four deaths so far, counting the Russian who started it all! Yes, your Captain Jacoby is dead. He died in my office!” I could see the three of them were taken unawares by the news by the varying degrees of shock on their faces. 

The girl’s lips were trembling. “Jack? Jack is dead?” A single tear clung to her lashes and then fell to roll gracefully down her cheek. She sank down onto the settee and buried her face in her hands. 

“Sweetheart, I didn’t think you cared!” I murmured dryly. 

“You don’t understand. He was kind to me! He would never think of betraying me as Floyd did!” 

“Sure, Angel. Sure. Whatever you say.” 

The look she cast me was venomous, and I was thankful she wasn’t a black widow spider. I could almost feel her fangs sinking into my neck. 

“Hmmm. This definitely puts a spanner in the works!” The fat man thoughtfully stroked his double chins, trying to fit this piece of information into the puzzle. It had taken him long years to get even this close to the black bird, and he was not about to let the death of a player in his game get in the way. He waved it aside as inconsequential. “We know for a fact that the inestimable Captain Jacoby was in possession of the Maltese falcon. Perhaps the bird is still on the La Paloma. We shall all go down to the dock and search the vessel!” 

“That will prove to be a waste of time.” All eyes were fastened on me now. 

“Perhaps you will allow us to be the judge of that, Mr. Spade!” Joel Cairo spat as he settled his cashmere coat on his shoulders. 

I shrugged. “Suit yourself!” 

They headed for the door, except for Gutman, who was watching me calculatingly. “The good captain was the last man to have the Maltese falcon! It must be on the boat!” 

“Must it? If it is, then it will be nothing more than a melted bit of scorched metal. La Paloma was torched earlier this afternoon and burnt to the water line!” 

I thought for a moment the fat man was going to have a heart attack. His face turned a pasty white and he staggered back, only just catching himself against the settee. 

Joel Cairo began to whine, “That’s impossible! It can’t be destroyed!” 

Brigid O’Shaughnessy stated coldly, “I want my 5,000 pounds. I don’t care who pays, but the money was promised to me and it’s mine!” 

“Now, now, Miss O’Shaughnessy. We have all taken a grievous loss. There is no need of any one of us to have to bear the entire burden of it!” Gutman had pulled a large square of linen from his pocket and was dabbing at the drops of perspiration that beaded his temples. 

“*I’ve* lost two perfectly good lovers to this fiasco, and I want my money!” 

“This is a decidedly unpleasant side of your personality, darling!” I took the risk of drawing her attention. 

Her eyes narrowed. “You said Jack died in your office. Was he alive long enough to tell you where he had hidden the falcon?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“*Wilmer*!” 

The young gunman appeared so fast I knew he had to have been listening at the door. “Yeah, Mr. Gutman?” 

“Our dear friend, Mr. Spade, is keeping some vital information to himself. See if you can convince him it will be in his own best interests to talk to us!” 

The corner of the kid's mouth kicked up. "Sure thing, Mr. Gutman! It'll be my pleasure!" 

#### 

Note: Wilmer’s POV 

Part 16

I closed the bedroom door behind me and crossed the carpeted floor to stand in front of the window. The view wasn’t much, just the brick walls of the building that stood across the alley, shades pulled down as if concealing the secrets that dwelt within. 

I fumbled in a pocket for the pack of cigarettes I had picked up earlier, on my way back from the harbor. I had crushed it when Sam Spade refused to see me as anything other than a kid who had seen too many B-movies, who was playing at being a badman.  

The red circle on the battered package, the logo of Lucky Strike, had drawn me when I was still in knickers, and I had never seen any reason to change my brand. I shook out a cigarette and struck a match with my thumbnail. 

The smoke was acrid and biting. I swallowed it and let it trickle out through my nostrils, the burn almost a punishing entity. 

I ruminated on the enormity of my stupidity. I hadn’t lied when I told Sam that I wasn’t expecting us to be pinned. But I really thought… 

…that he cared about me? That maybe there was a future for us, together? 

I threw my topcoat over a chair and sat on the bed, my head buried in my hands, the cigarette between my fingers dropping ash on the carpet. 

He made it obvious that all I was to him was a one-night stand. And I didn’t even get a whole night, just a few hours on a typical, overcast, Frisco afternoon. 

I was a fool to think I could trust a gumshoe. But I couldn’t believe he would throw me aside like a used Kleenex. 

All I had left was the hope that he wasn’t the sort to kiss and tell, because if my judgment was that far off, if word of my folly ever got back to my employer on the east coast, I was a dead man. 

Like in that new game the Parker Brothers created, I wouldn’t pass Go, I wouldn’t collect $200, I would be permanently, and irrevocably dead. 

I needed something to keep me busy. I dropped the butt to the floor and ground it negligently into the rug. Let that pig, Gutman deal with the hotel manager when he complained about the burn. 

The Colt automatic was a comforting weight against my back. I removed it from its holster, then took a kit that contained a soft cloth and a small bottle of graphite from a dresser drawer. 

With gentle hands I set about cleaning my weapon. The odor of cordite lingered in its muzzle. 

The revolver had been fired earlier that afternoon, after I had left Sam. 

It was really too bad about the fire. I guess I should have been more careful where I disposed of my smokes. 

The black bird was gone, and I suspected the ship’s captain had it tucked firmly under his arm as he stumbled down the gangway and into a waiting cab. I dismissed its whereabouts. Retrieving it was not part of my job. 

**** 

Making sure the Colt was fully reloaded, I fed a round into the chamber and holstered it again. I could still hear the murmur of voices in the other room, although the tone was starting to get strident as tempers flared. 

Cairo must have joined them at some point, and that dangerous O’Shaughnessy dame. I leaned closer to the door, trying to get a handle on what was going on out there.  

And then Kasper Gutman bellowed my name. I opened the door and went into the sitting room. “Yeah, Mr. Gutman?” 

“Can you convince our very dear Mr. Spade that it is in his own best interest to disclose the information he has?” 

I couldn’t help it. I grinned. “Sure thing, Mr. Gutman. It’ll be my pleasure!” I nodded toward my bedroom door. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Spade?” I was going to get my hands on him, one more time. It might be for the last time, but I’d make damn sure that no matter who came after me, I was the one he would remember. 

The fat man wasn’t happy that I was depriving him of his little show, but I didn’t give a damn. I crowded the private eye into my room and locked the door behind me. Sam turned to face me, sure I had been putting on an act for the trio in the other room. 

Then he saw my eyes, and he actually backed up a step. That must have been the moment when he realized that I wasn’t as young as I looked. I watched his adam’s apple as he swallowed jerkily. I watched as his tongue swept out to moisten his lips. 

And then I was taking those lips with my own, tasting him, teasing his tongue with mine. He moaned and wrapped his arms tightly around me, taking over the kiss, holding me so close it became almost impossible to take a deep breath. 

I decided that breathing was vastly overrated when compared to being kissed by Sam Spade, and I blissfully surrendered to him. 

The past, the future, nothing mattered, except the now, his mouth feeding ravenously off mine, his hands shaping the hardness of my erection. “I’m sorry, Cookie! I’m so fucking sorry!” he muttered as his lips traced my throat to the pulse that beat in its hollow. 

He had me back against the door, the sound of my body hitting it indistinguishable from the sound of someone landing there after being punched. I groaned, and that too, was misleading. 

His fingers were at my belt, tearing at it, and then my trousers were slipping down around my ankles. He spun me around and slammed me up against the wall this time, nudging my legs apart, releasing his hold on me only long enough to free himself from the prison of his pants. 

I was whimpering, and those in the other room heard that, and then the slap of flesh on flesh as he slid into me and set up a pounding rhythm. One hand covered my mouth to muffle the sounds of wild pleasure I couldn’t swallow. The other was wrapped securely around my cock, and he stroked and fondled and tormented me to a mind-shattering climax. 

A few more thrusts, and Sam was following me over the rainbow to a land of Technicolor dreams. 

Finally, he slid out of me easily, and I felt bereft. When I turned around, he had himself tucked neatly away. I frowned. That wouldn’t do. He looked too…contained. 

My fist shot out and I caught him unprepared. He took the blow to his mouth and staggered back, falling to the edge of the bed and sliding down to the floor. 

He made quite a bit of noise. More than was warranted by that punch, which I hadn’t had my heart in. He touched the corner of his mouth, catching a drop of blood from his torn lip. 

“Enough, kid! No more! I’ll talk!” He was going to make me look good. 

I bit my lip and bent to yank my trousers up, wincing slightly at the pull of muscles so hardly used. Then I reached down to him, extending my hand, and pulled him back up to his feet. 

“Why are you sorry, Sam?” I asked him as I ran a hand through my hair, trying to erase the traces of how he disheveled it. 

“Everything I’ve said to you, and you had to remember that,” he said acerbically. 

I got my surprise under control before he could see it. “You haven’t said all that much to me, Sam!” I remarked. “Never mind. Just give me a story I can tell the fat man.” 

He looked tired. “I have to make a phone call. Effie will give the package to Chair and he’ll bring it here.”

I nodded and turn to open the door. Sam grabbed my arm. “What?” 

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

“You didn’t hurt me, Sam.” 

“I meant…before. You’re not a no-strings fuck, Cookie. But I know I’m going to lose you. And oh, God, it’s going to hurt!” 

####

Part 17

The fat man got a look of glee on his round face when he saw the trickle of blood at the corner of my mouth. But then his glance sharpened and he turned on the gunsel. 

“He doesn’t seem to be injured too greatly, Wilmer!” 

The kid sneered at Gutman. “You didn’t say you wanted the marks visible. You want I should make him take off his shirt? The bruises around his gut and kidneys should be turning a nice shade of purple any time now.” 

I tried to make myself look pitiful, and in pain. My Wilmer was one tough cookie. I hadn’t realized how tough. Gutman would be wise to watch his step around the young killer. 

And the fact that he was a killer, had so easily killed at least two men in the short time I knew him, gave me pause. I had shot men myself, in the course of my work, and I suppose he saw it in much the same way. But was I putting my neck in a noose for him? 

Was I willing to do that for him? 

I tabled that thought for another time, when I would have the leisure to examine it more thoroughly. Now I had to convince the fat man that his gunsel had pummeled me enough to make me talk. 

The kid could see that although Gutman remained silent, he badly wanted a close look at my body, and I watched in fascination as his mouth tightened. He was not about to let anyone see what belonged to him. I could read that in the glance he threw my way before his eyes became shuttered. He stalked up to the fat man, shoving his face close to the suddenly perspiring jowls. 

“Are you saying I don’t have the moxie to do my job, Mr. Gutman?” His voice was low and menacing. 

Kasper Gutman backed away involuntarily. “Hm, hm, hm,” he laughed nervously. “Not at all, my dear Wilmer! Not at all! Of course I trust you to follow orders.” 

The kid nodded shortly and turned away. “Start talking, tough guy!” he ordered me. I felt my cock swelling, and I was amazed that his tone of voice excited me. 

I cleared my throat. “Sure, kid. Sure. Just don’t slug me again!” 

He glared at me, afraid that I was laying it on too thick, and I pulled out a handkerchief, ostensibly to wipe the blood from my chin, but actually to hide a smile. 

“It will take a little time to get my hands on the falcon. I have to make a phone call.” 

The fat man graciously gestured toward the telephone on a lowboy. I picked up the receiver and gave the house operator Effie’s phone number. 

“Can we trust him?” Cairo asked as I was waited for the connection. 

“You have no choice, Cairo,” I answered. “I know where the falcon is, and I’m the only one who can get it for you. Now play ball, or I’ll take this game to the D.A.!” 

He scowled, but sat down. A good distance from Brigid O’Shaughnessy, I couldn’t help noticing. 

“Precious, it’s Sam. I’m fine, Angel. No, the kid’s mine!” I risked a grin at the gunsel. “Now listen carefully, Precious, this is what I want you to do. Get in touch with Chair and have him retrieve the item. Tell him to bring it to the hotel he dropped me off at. Is that clear, Angel? Good. Enjoy your weekend, darling. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” 

I hung up, Effie’s anxious advice ringing in my ear. “Be careful, Sam. I worry about you!” 

Well, that wasn’t anything new. I worried about me too! I sat on the arm of the settee and pulled out my tobacco pouch, trying to give a good impression of someone in pain. “This shouldn’t take too long. Let’s get comfortable, kiddies, shall we?” 

**** 

Gutman, Cairo and the girl had their heads together, obviously making plans on how to spend their filthy lucre. As long as she got her dough, Brigid seemed inclined to accept the loss of the men who had paid the ultimate price for her favors. 

Every once in a while, one of them would cast an eye my way. I made sure I seemed relaxed and unconcerned, smoking one cigarette after another. 

For the first time in months I was packing heat. Gutman, at least, was aware of that, but he assumed the gunsel had relieved me of my pistol. 

He assumed wrong. 

My glance kept wandering to where the kid sat, away from the three furies, and my brows snapped together in a frown over my nose. His legs were spread wide, and he was not wearing the topcoat that would have shielded his lower body. He saw where my gaze was drawn, and a small smile teased his lips. His tongue peeked out as if to taste me on his mouth, and under the guise of making himself comfortable, he rocked his hips, just a trifle. 

I growled under my breath and surged to my feet, taking a step toward him. I don’t know what I would have done if not for the knock on the door. 

Yes, I do. I would have yanked him up out of that chair and kissed him to within an inch of his life. And the devil take the Maltese falcon and the three who wanted to possess it! 

But there was that knock, and so I did nothing. 

Kasper Gutman plodded to the door and hurled it open, not even bothering to inquire who was there. Chair flinched away, not expecting it to be opened with such violence. He looked around the fat man until he spotted me. 

“Boss, you oke? Effie said I wasn’t to give you this unless you told me yes.” 

“I’m fine, Chair. Thanks for bringing this by.” I pressed a tip into his hand, and he started in surprise. I never tipped him. He pocketed the bill with a strained smile and handed me the package. 

I knew that once he was in his cab, he would unwrap the single and find the message I had scrawled across it in the event it became necessary to call in the cavalry. 

I closed the door and turned to find Gutman so close to me his breath fanned my face, the scent of eucalyptus making my eyes tear. His pudgy fingers reached graspingly toward the brown-wrapped bundle, and I surrendered it to him. He put it on a console table and pulled a small knife from his vest pocket. 

In spite of its size, it had a wicked, sharp blade and it sliced through the string as if it was butter. Cairo couldn’t wait for it to do its work on the wrapping covering whatever was within it. He began scrabbling at it, tearing strips of paper off and flinging them to the floor. 

Burlap batting secured with more twine covered the figure and Gutman cut it free. All three of them worked feverishly to reveal the statuette hidden by its padding. 

And then the fat man set it upright on the table, and we all saw the black, lacquered bird. 

Gutman swallowed hard, his mouth watering, as if in the presence of a sumptuous feast. 

Cairo licked his lips and clenched his fingers spasmodically. 

Brigid O’Shaughnessy reached for it with greedy hands, fondling it as if it was a lover. 

And then her head reared back, and she stared accusingly at Kasper Gutman. “It’s smooth!” she hissed. “Where are the jewels?” 

Gutman’s eyes were blind as he stroked over the porcelain feathers, and then he began to cut into it with the knife, seeking what was beneath the protective coating. 

Cairo accepted it first. “Fake!” he wailed. “It’s a fake!” 

Brigid snorted in disgust and turned away to throw herself into a side chair. 

The fat man wiped a hand over a face pale with shock. Drops of clammy perspiration ran from his temples to his jaw and dripped onto his stiff collar. His eyes darted frantically this way and that, as if seeking an explanation within the room. He staggered backwards and fell into a chair, staring in horror at the black bird. 

“You fool! You miserable, blundering fool!” Cairo shouted at him. “All this time, we’ve been chasing a chimera! It was a counterfeit!” He flung himself down on the settee and began to weep with frustration. 

The gunsel watched the whole show as if it was an entertainment set out for his sole enjoyment, his attention going from one to another of the participants. I forced myself to take my eyes off his compact body. 

“Where is it, Angel?” 

Brigid O’Shaughnessy started. “What, Sam?” 

“Your little playmate was the last one to have it. He got it from you, he told me that before he died. I have to assume that you were the one to make the switch!” 

For the first time, she looked truly frightened. “That was the one I gave him, the one I got from Kemidov, I swear it!” 

Wilmer Cook pinned her with a fierce look. “You got the falcon from the Russian?” 

She barely spared him a glance, trying to convince me of her innocence in the switch. “Kemidov wouldn’t give it to me. He had it in his arms, and we struggled. Floyd shot him!” 

“Then the Russian made fools of all of us!” Cairo whined. “And the real falcon must still be somewhere in Constantinople!” 

With an effort so massive it was obvious even where I sat across the room, Kasper Gutman pulled himself together. He wiped the sweat from his face and neck and carefully got back to his feet. Approaching the black bird as if it was alive and might attack him at any moment, he picked up his little knife, folded it and placed it back in his pocket. 

He straightened his suit jacket and spared the bird a rueful look. A sigh shook his bulky frame. “Well, I have spent seventeen years looking for that little beauty. Another year will only amount to five and fifteen-seventeenths per cent of the total time expended.” 

Cairo was on his feet. “You’re going to Constantinople? I am with you!” 

“Excellent! Excellent!” The fat man reached for the telephone to contact the front desk and have his bill drawn up. “We’ll leave as soon as the loose ends here are tied up.” 

“Not so fast,” I said softly. “There are three dead bodies to be accounted for, and the police will be arriving here shortly. You’re going to need a fall guy for them.” 

Four pairs of eyes were centered on me. The kid’s were cool and considering. The others showed varying degrees of wariness. 

“What do you mean, a fall guy?” Gutman asked. 

“Just this: the cops aren’t stupid. If we give them someone to pin those murders on, then the rest of us walk! I stick my neck out for no man. Or woman! So choose who you want to throw to the wolves!” 

“Hm, hm, hm! Suppose I choose young Wilmer there?” 

“Fine! Is he the one? Are we agreed on that?” I was calling his bluff and hoping desperately he wouldn’t realize that I was bluffing in turn. 

“You are a hard man, sir!” 

He didn’t know the half of it!

#### 

Note: Joe Baskopolous belongs to Milton Holmes and Adrian Scott, screenwriters of Mister Lucky. The phrase aces, as I use it here, means it was an excellent way to get the heat off Wilmer.

Part 18

Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that the fat man was willing to sacrifice the young gunsel. Not only had Wilmer refused his attempts at seduction, but he had made it more than clear that he was quite willing to shoot Gutman if he touched him again. 

“Very well, Mr. Spade,” the fat man said, oozing false regrets. “Wilmer Cook has been like a son to me, but if I must offer him as a sop to the excellent police force of San Francisco, then I must.” He sighed mournfully, but I could see the vengeful satisfaction on his plump face. 

The gunsel stiffened and began to rise, until he caught my fierce glare. I slid my gaze toward the door, then turned my back on him and gathered the attention of the three who had set this whole affair into motion onto me. 

Walking casually to the sideboard, I poured myself a drink and held the bottle up inquiringly. At their nods, I filled three more glasses with whiskey and presented them to Gutman, Cairo and the girl. Then I positioned myself so they faced me, with their backs were to the outer door. 

I deliberately kept my eyes on them, fearing if I watched as my lover slipped out of the hotel suite, and probably out of my life, they would tumble to the fact that I had an ulterior motive for discussing the matter with them. 

The door closed so silently I shouldn’t have known he was gone. 

But I knew. And my heart felt as if it had been ripped from my chest and held up, beating, for my inspection. 

I blew out a steadying breath and contemplated the amber liquid in my glass. “So, the three of you will be heading for Constantinople?” 

“Hm. Hm, hm. Yes, my boy. As soon as my very dear friend Joel, and the inestimable Miss O’Shaughnessy get their affairs in order, we shall bid your fair city adieu and make our way east.” 

Brigid excused herself to use the powder room. She glided out of the room, and in spite of our preferences, the three of us watched her appreciatively. “That’s one deadly dame!” I murmured as I took a swallow of the whiskey. I set down the glass and reached for my tobacco pouch. 

“Indeed, sir! Indeed! It will behoove me to tread warily around her. Whatever split I see fit to cut her in on will probably not be enough for her.” 

“She killed Miles, didn’t she?” 

“Of a certainty, my dear Mr. Spade! How did you guess?” 

“You get to know a man when you… work with him as long as I did. Miles wasn’t the smartest man I’ve known, but he’d been around the block a time or two. He knew what was what. And he never would have followed a man he was shadowing into a blind alley, with his overcoat buttoned and his gun on his hip. He wasn’t that dumb!” 

“But…?” 

“But he would have followed her, grinning and licking his lips.” 

“And so he wound up dead.” 

“Yeah.” I drew deeply on the cigarette I had built and let the smoke fill my lungs. And the kid hadn’t done it. I had been pretty sure, but it was nice to know that the last time I would ever fall in love, it would not be with my partner’s killer. 

She came out of the bathroom and draped her furs elegantly around her shoulders. Cairo was already in his cashmere coat, and the fat man was reaching for his derby and walking stick. “You’ll lock up as you leave, Mr. Spade?” 

“Sure thing, Mr. Gutman. Do you mind if I keep this as a souvenir?” I hefted up the black bird. 

“Not at all! Not at all! Au revoir, my dear Mr. Spade.” 

Cairo saluted me with a vague wave. His mind was already on the trip to the Middle East. Brigid O’Shaughnessy gave me a flirtatious smile and toss of her head. I might have been the one who got away, but she never gave up hope, and if this adventure didn’t pan out, she might try her luck with me again. 

If that ever came to pass, I’d have to make sure I got out of town, fast. 

The door closed behind them and I stood there cradling the falcon. I ran my fingers over the smooth curve of its head in a soothing, repetitious movement, gazing at the chair where the kid had been sitting. 

The kid…I really had to stop thinking of him in those terms. He was older than I had given him credit for. Twenty-five? Twenty-six? He hadn’t been playing at being a badman. 

He was a badman, and I was so hard from wanting him that I ached. 

**** 

It wasn’t a knock on the door that shook me from my reverie. It was a pounding typical of a Frisco cop. 

“Come on in, Tom; the door’s not locked.” 

Tom Polhaus pushed the door open and walked in. “You left it to kind of the last minute, didn’t you, Sam? We could have missed them!” 

“But you didn’t, did you? Then you had plenty of time.” 

Tom huffed and walked to the table that still held the glasses we had drunk from. He picked up one that contained some whiskey and raised it to his lips. “Want to tell me what this was all about, Sam?” 

“Who’s got them?” 

“Lieutenant Dundy is taking them downtown. He’s thrilled. He’s going to be busier than a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest! This should help him make captain!” 

“Bully for him!”

”Ah, Sam, don’t be like that!”

I scowled at him. “The dame killed Miles. The other two were in on this with her. If you track them back far enough, you’ll find they were involved in the murder of a Russian general living in Constantinople.” 

“That’s not my jurisdiction, Sam.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Come on, Sam. Help me out here!” 

I sighed. “All right, Tom. What else do you need to know?” 

His lip twisted in disgust. “I’ve got one other body, Sam. Who killed Thursby?” 

That’s right, the police had no idea the ship’s captain Jacoby had been shot. Sean Regan had done me a big favor. 

“Who shot Thursby? Joe Baskopolous, I imagine.” 

“*Joe the Greek*? What’s he doing on the west coast?” 

I shrugged. “You’d have to ask him that, Tom. If you can find him.” That wouldn’t be too likely, since the Greek was working the rackets on the east coast, last I heard. A two-time loser already, one more rap wouldn’t do him much damage. Unless he was dumb enough to let his temper get the best of him again and he killed someone. 

The New York City D.A. would like nothing better than an excuse to send Joe up for life.

And Joe stayed as far away from this coast as he could. Blaming him for Thursby’s killing was aces. 

And if it got the kid off the hook… 

I walked to the window and stood looking out on the street, twelve floors below. Even if Cookie was down there, I wouldn’t be able to distinguish him. He was long gone, and the likelihood that I’d ever see him was fading as rapidly as the fortune this chunk of black lead represented. 

Absently, my fingers traced the lines of the falcon. 

“Sam, what is that?” 

“Hmmm?” I dismissed the kid from my mind. I’d need to stay sharp or I’d wind up in jail with the three who were already in police custody. And I really didn’t think I wanted to spend the next twenty years behind bars with them. 

I glanced at the black bird I was fondling absently. 

“This, Tom? It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.” 

I handed it to him and walked out the door. 

####

Note: My mother would kill me if she saw the hash I made of the Italian conversation between Wilmer and his employer. Apologies all around. I couldn’t find a Sicilian translation program, so this is regular Italian, such as it is.

Part 19/End

 Wilmer’s POV

I went to ground in a fleabag hotel that didn’t question my lack of a grip, and then sent a telegram to my employer back east. With Gutman, Cairo and the girl under arrest, it would be difficult for me to complete the task he had set for me. 

Not impossible, but difficult. 

I waited to hear from my employer, and tried not to think of the gumshoe who had somehow come to mean so much to me. 

I lay on the bed, tearing pages from the Gideon’s Bible and folding them into paper aeroplanes, tossing them toward a hat I had purchased to replace the one I had to leave behind in the fat man’s suite. 

So far I had managed to get one of them in. 

A hesitant tap on the door brought me to full alert. 

“Yeah?” I barked, reaching for my gun. 

“Umm, Mr. Smith?” The high treble belonged to the daughter of the man who ran this joint. 

She couldn’t be much more than ten, but the piece of shit who called himself her father had already offered her to me. I had taken out some of my frustration on him, pistol-whipping him until his eye was swollen shut and his ear was sprouting cauliflower. But I knew that once I checked out of this dive he’d be back to doing it again. 

“What is it, Sweet Pea?” 

“There’s a long distance phone call for you. Daddy isn’t happy about it. He says he’s missing out on calls from his numbers runners. Could you come downstairs real fast?” 

He wished he ran numbers! Once I finished my job here in San Francisco, I’d take him for a long walk on a short pier. And maybe I’d see if the boss was interested in taking in another kid. 

I rolled off the bed and opened the door. The little girl ducked her head, but not before I saw the fist-sized bruise on her cheek. I bit back a curse and clenched my hands at my sides. She flinched away the first time I tried to ruffle her hair, so now I made it a point never to touch her. 

She trailed behind me down the shabbily carpeted stairs to the lobby. Her father tried to glare through his one good eye, but I stared at him flatly and he shoved the telephone at me and disappeared into his office. 

“Pronto.” 

“Wilmer.” 

“Me Signore.” I swallowed. 

“Come sono tu?”

“I’m fine, signore. E voi?” 

“I’m good, Wilmer. And I’m very pleased with the way you handled this little problem.” 

I began to breathe again. “Grazi. But I’m not finished yet.” 

“Those stronzos?” He laughed and I felt chills run up my spine. “Those pieces of shit will be taken care of in my own good time. Don’t you worry about it, Wilmer.  I’m sending someone out to see you. I don’t want this done over the telephone. That’s so impersonal.”

“I will wait for his arrival, signore.” I took my courage in both hands. “Might I beg a favor?” 

“Si, si! You a good boy, Wilmer.” 

“Signore, there’s a little girl here…” 

I could hear his sigh of relief. “You want to get married, Wilmer? I hope she’s a good Sicilian girl!” 

“Signore, she’s just a child!” 

“Ah?” 

“Her father claims to have a hand in the business. He’s a liar. And he beats her.” 

“Hokay, Wilmer, you want me to make him an offer he can’t refuse?” 

"I'll take care of him myself. Would you be willing to take in the child?" 

I held my breath until he finished considering all the possibilities and grunted his assent. “Sure, Wilmer.” 

“Grazi, signore.” 

“Prego. You stay out of trouble now, you hear me? Ciao, Wilmer.” 

“Ciao…” but the phone was already dead. 

I hung it up and grinned evilly at the little girl’s father, who had been eavesdropping. He turned pale and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted. 

**** 

I expected to have to wait at least a week before my employer’s emissary showed up in San Francisco, but he must have flown, too. Two days later there was a knock on my hotel door. 

My Colt was in my hand when I approached the door. “Yeah?” 

“Let me in, Willie!” 

I holstered the automatic and opened the door to ‘that mick kid, Tom’. “Tommy! What the fuck are you doing here?” 

He grabbed me in a bear hug and swung me off the floor. “God. It’s good to see you again, Willie!” 

“How’s New York treating you Tommy?” 

“Good, kid. Good. I passed the bar, and in a few years, God willing, the Don will make me his consigliere!”

“I’m impressed!” I was also disgruntled. Tom was only a year or so older than me, but he called me kid too. “So how come the signore sent you out here?” 

“Is there someplace private we can talk?” He looked pointedly at the little girl hovering in my doorway. 

“This is Nita, Tom. She’s a friend of mine. Tom’s a good man, Nita. You don’t have to be afraid of him.” She nodded and abruptly ran away. “She’s the one I want il signore to take in, if it’s possible.” 

He raised an eyebrow, knowing there was more to come. 

“Before we leave here, I’m going to kill her old man.” 

Tom had been too involved with the family not to realize I was dead serious. “All right, Willie. Let’s go grab a cup of coffee and you can fill me in.” 

There was a used bookstore two blocks over from my hotel. I had discovered it one day when I needed a place to come in from the rain. There were small tables set up at the back, and we settled ourselves there. The musty smell of books surrounded us, and the owner brought us two cups of black coffee. 

It only took a couple of minutes to explain the situation to Tom. His approval felt good. “Sure kid. I’ll bring her back with me. Just make sure you don’t get caught.” 

“You’re not going to wait for me?” I paused with the cup half way to my mouth. 

“No, Willie. That’s what the Don wanted me to tell you, in person. He was very impressed with the way you handled things out here, especially in seeing that the police in this city would have no way to trace the vendetta back to him.” 

My mouth was hanging open. “I’m sorry, Tom. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything special.” 

“You didn’t call in a favor from Sean Regan?” 

“Who?” 

Tom sat back and observed me carefully. “How about Joe Baskopolous? You didn’t point Thursby’s murder toward him?” 

“Joe the Greek?” My voice went up an octave. “You think I’m fucking nuts, Tom? That man is crazy! I do what I have to do, but I don’t get him mad at me for no reason!” 

“Now that’s really interesting, Willie. Someone went to the trouble of seeing your name stayed out of this feud, and by extension, the Don’s name as well. Whoever did this has earned our employer’s undying gratitude.” 

I was starting to get uneasy. “Just spill the beans, Tom. What’s going on?” 

“The Don told me you wouldn’t try to take credit for something you didn’t do. He’s a fine judge of character, but I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t try to take the easy way out, especially if it meant you were out of the family.” 

My mouth went dry. “Is he ordering my death?”

”What?” Tom jerked away from me. “No, Willie! Nothing like that!” 

“Then what?” 

He slid a piece of paper across the table to me. “Do you recognize this name?” 

I couldn’t speak, I just nodded. 

“You belong to him, now. All debts are cancelled. This man lost a partner to these people. You will become his new partner. The Don expects you to honor his wishes in this matter. Have I your word on this?” 

I didn’t ask how my employer knew of everything that had gone on since I had come to the west coast. He had something of a reputation for being omniscient. 

I nodded again, and picked up the slip of paper. 

**** 

I swallowed hard as I looked up at the façade of the building. My hand fisted in my topcoat pocket, crumpling the paper tucked away in it, and I squared my shoulders. 

He might not want me. He might send me away. 

But I owed it to my former employer to follow his orders. 

I rode the elevator up to the floor his office was on. For a moment I felt frozen outside the door. Then I drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door. 

The woman behind the desk looked up enquiringly and then a huge smile lit her face. She got to her feet and strode to the inner office door. 

“What is it, Effie?” 

“Someone here to see you, Sam. And you’ll want to see him. He’s a knockout!” 

####

Epilogue 

The kid was lying face down on our bed, the sheet pooled low around his waist. 

His life back east had not been an easy one. The skin on his back was smooth and unmarked, unlike his chest, which was pocked with scars from random bullets and knives, and one particularly nasty reminder from a broken bottle. 

**** 

I thought fondly back to the day Effie had announced that I would want to meet whoever had come into the office to see me. I looked up from the mounds of paperwork the aftermath of Miles’ death had entailed, to see my kid shifting uneasily from one foot to the other behind her. 

“Cookie!” I was on my feet and coming around the desk before it dawned on me that maybe I should play a little hard to get. 

But then his face lit up with relief, and such joy, and I forgot that he was a ruthless killer, employed by the syndicate on the east coast. I forgot that by telling Tom Polhaus that Thursby had been killed by Joe Baskopolous I had given the kid something to hold over me for the rest of my life. 

I forgot my vow to never play the sap for anyone, ever again. 

I had the kid in my arms and I was kissing him as if tomorrow would never come. From somewhere in the distance, I heard Effie say something about closing the office early, and then the door shutting behind her. 

The kid’s hands were flexing deep in my hair, trying to pull me closer. Whimpers spilled from him as his tongue explored my mouth, and he rubbed himself against my hardening erection. For days my cock had been good for nothing but pissing, and now here it was, once more gloriously, amazingly ready to fuck! 

I had him that day over my desk. 

**** 

This day, I would have him in our bed. 

I sighed happily as I traced his body with my eyes. Things were working out for us. 

We were now Spade and Cook, Private Investigators, and the unsubstantiated rumor that a former mob enforcer was on the payroll provided us with a certain cachet. We had more work than we could handle. 

Desire tightened my gut, and I climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. The oil cupped in my hands, growing warm in my palms, I poured over him, waking him. He hummed with pleasure as I stroked it into the loosening muscles that defined his back, and he arched into my touch. 

Rocking over him as I worked the oil into his skin, I got the slick stuff all over myself as well. My cock, already hard, quivered with the need to be buried in his tight channel. I moaned and leaned forward to bite at his neck, licking the indents my teeth put there. 

I slithered back until I was nudging the crevice between his buttocks. He raised his hips enough to give me access to the puckered opening, and then I was sliding into his welcoming heat, inch by slow inch. 

His muscles trembled from the strain of holding that position. I slid my knees further apart between his thighs, spreading his legs wider. He went down to the mattress and I covered him completely. I undulated my hips and for as long as I could, I kept my rhythm slow and deep and easy. Over and over I hit the spot that made him burn. 

Finally I felt my balls begin to tighten, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. I reached around and took his weeping cock in a tight grip and matched my movements in his ass with the stroking of my fist. 

I began to pour myself into him, and the heat of my climax and the feel of my hand on him triggered his own orgasm. His hot seed filled my hand. I massaged it into his abdomen and on up to his chest, toying with his flat nipples. 

He groaned and I reached down to take hold of his flaccid length once again. He thrust his hips forward one last time, shivering from the intensity of our lovemaking. 

He was my partner now, in every way that mattered. 

“Morning, Cookie.” I pressed sucking kisses to his jaw, working my way around to his mouth. 

His blue eyes opened languidly and he smiled at me. 

“Morning, Dream.” 

Now that was the stuff that dreams are made of! 

~Fin~

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