Don't Fear The Keeper (Noir Themed Discussion)

[Jones_Tims]

A noir, crime-themed thread. Heavy noir dialogue is recommended, but not compulsory.

September 8th, 1940. Police Precint 11, East Saint Crux.

'Evening, lads.

Lieutenant T. Jones here. We have a serial kidnapper roaming around the streets, so every minute we waste, it's another minute given to the culprit. That being said, let's get straight to the facts.

In the last two weeks, eight broads went missing. All of them were living alone in their apartments. They were aged between 25 and 38. Five of them were divorced. Two of them were widows. The last one, poor las, wasn't even married yet. This morning, four of our officers found something rather disturbing and insane in their mailboxes. Photographies of those missing ladies. There were five photos of each broad. In each one of them, they were stripped down of their clothes... only wearing a pair of panties and some stockings, but also some high heel shoes. No good, God fearing citizen of Saint Crux would imagine this becoming a reality. But we're just getting started here. All those broads had their right legs chained and their mouths gagged with some white handkerchiefs. They were shown in most of these photos doing some chores in a dark room. Definitely not the same room in each photo. They were all sewing something. Each one of them had small pieces of white fabric in front of them, and they were sewing something... some sort of pattern over that fabric. They could be handkerchiefs, or who on this dear Earth knows what. In most of the photos, you can see that they are tearing up. Crying and sobbing. In other photos, where their backs are turned, you can see some whip marks on their bare backs. Those poor backs... pale white, stained with dark lines. Bloody marks... Poor broads. Anyways, there's one last photo, where all eight of them are asleep... on some dirty floor. Their heads are resting on some large sacks. Two of them have their panties stained with blood. Possibly some period blood. Or maybe... No. Period blood. It can't be anything else.

One last detail... all those photos had a short message written on the back. It said: "Don't fear the keeper".

We do not know anything about our culprit, other than his... or her interest in women that are living alone. Pretty young... young or middle aged women. Half of them are blondes, two are brunettes and two are redheads. All of the victims come from the urban area. All of them living in apartments. We have no info about how they disappeared. Their relatives or friends just reported that they went missing. Nobody claims to see how they disappeared. The boys checked the apartments of the victims, and they didn't find anything suspicious. No sign of a fight, or a struggle. No fingerprints. Sure, there were some skirts and dresses thrown on the bed... but that's not really something uncommon.

We have a few broads at the station... who claim that they know something about this... "Keeper". Whether they really have something or they just want their five minutes of fame, we'll find out sooner rather than later. I want everyone to keep their eyes wide open for any clue. If you have to arrest some innocent bloke or broad to get some intel out of them... so be it. If you have to go hard on them to make them spill the beans... so be it.

Not to put any pressure on you lads... but the chief is watching us closely. My ass is on the line on this one.

 

[malins]

I'm banging away at the typewriter in my small cramped attic room, ding! another line.

Finally some new ideas!

What I should be writing, should have been writing on for a long time is ...
ummm a dissertation on medieval theology (don't ask) but I have been taking other things from life ...
and well those have to be paid for and so far I've made the best of my writing to do that!

You very well might have read some of my stories without knowing it! -- they're all pseudonymous serializations in the papers & pulps.

Even a 'high brow' citizen might have picked one up when it was left somewhere or the wind blew it by and read a few paragraphs for guilty pleasure ...
... some of them are straight up romance and bodice rippers but the ones that sell the best ...
are 'rippers' of another kind.
Actually the author has an arrest warrant for obscenity and promulgation of vice on their head but no traces are going to lead to me, haha.
In those stories I always put one certain male character with clear descriptions, where everyone's supposed to think 'that is the author with his sick obsessions inserting himself as the luciferian protagonist' and they are looking for someone who fits the description ...

... and of course not only doesn't he exist ... a person of such depravity cannot possibly exist!

he can only spook through dark imaginations...such as mine ... , and sometimes it's a relief to explore them just a bit, put a foot into shallow water but don't go to deep where the sharks and the deep-swimming ones could take you ... a lot of people enjoy those thrills and that is why I have readers. (Like you. Admit it!)

I try to be quick and often bang out stories that include some references to current events, that makes them more believable.
Problem is this year current events, ... all the mess in Europe and so on ... has caught people's attention so much it's been hard to get room to print my smut ....

and also I've been stuck in a rut.

... but ... these rumors of the "Keeper",

... that's just the right material! Everyone is wondering about him but nobody wants to admit they've even heard of it! So I will make somethign up and rename everything a bit so no one will know where I picked up what little I know.

And I'm wondering about what they are sewing, in my first draft I've decided ... it is a sacrifical dress ...

That's because of that grizzly old schooner captain at the harbor, who seems next to immortal, and the things he told me from back in the days of the copra trade out in the Pacific, what he'd heard of a strange cult out there worshipping ... something ... among sand and sea. Always things he'd only 'heard' about but the way his voice changed ... and his eyes ... still seeing though clouded ... his look goes all far away when he talks of it ...

I knew for sure he was there.

And "I knew for sure he was there" is as as good as any other phrase to start the next episode!

A shiver runs down my spine as, while I pause briefly, ... I hear floorboards creak but that is just other tenants moving about below.

Of course in real life I know for sure nobody is there.
Nobody here but me and the clack of the typewriter!

 

[Jones_Tims]

I'm banging away at the typewriter in my small cramped attic room, ding! another line.

Finally some new ideas!

What I should be writing, should have been writing on for a long time is ...
ummm a dissertation on medieval theology (don't ask) but I have been taking other things from life ...
and well those have to be paid for and so far I've made the best of my writing to do that!

You very well might have read some of my stories without knowing it! -- they're all pseudonymous serializations in the papers & pulps.

Even a 'high brow' citizen might have picked one up when it was left somewhere or the wind blew it by and read a few paragraphs for guilty pleasure ...
... some of them are straight up romance and bodice rippers but the ones that sell the best ...
are 'rippers' of another kind.
Actually the author has an arrest warrant for obscenity and promulgation of vice on their head but no traces are going to lead to me, haha.
In those stories I always put one certain male character with clear descriptions, where everyone's supposed to think 'that is the author with his sick obsessions inserting himself as the luciferian protagonist' and they are looking for someone who fits the description ...

... and of course not only doesn't he exist ... a person of such depravity cannot possibly exist!

he can only spook through dark imaginations...such as mine ... , and sometimes it's a relief to explore them just a bit, put a foot into shallow water but don't go to deep where the sharks and the deep-swimming ones could take you ... a lot of people enjoy those thrills and that is why I have readers. (Like you. Admit it!)

I try to be quick and often bang out stories that include some references to current events, that makes them more believable.
Problem is this year current events, ... all the mess in Europe and so on ... has caught people's attention so much it's been hard to get room to print my smut ....

and also I've been stuck in a rut.

... but ... these rumors of the "Keeper",

... that's just the right material! Everyone is wondering about him but nobody wants to admit they've even heard of it! So I will make somethign up and rename everything a bit so no one will know where I picked up what little I know.

And I'm wondering about what they are sewing, in my first draft I've decided ... it is a sacrifical dress ...

That's because of that grizzly old schooner captain at the harbor, who seems next to immortal, and the things he told me from back in the days of the copra trade out in the Pacific, what he'd heard of a strange cult out there worshipping ... something ... among sand and sea. Always things he'd only 'heard' about but the way his voice changed ... and his eyes ... still seeing though clouded ... his look goes all far away when he talks of it ...

I knew for sure he was there.

And "I knew for sure he was there" is as as good as any other phrase to start the next episode!

A shiver runs down my spine as, while I pause briefly, ... I hear floorboards creak but that is just other tenants moving about below.

Of course in real life I know for sure nobody is there.
Nobody here but me and the clack of the typewriter!

(She abruptly ceased her typing, overwhelmed with the images and ideas running through her head. She heard knocks from outside her apartment. She didn't expect anyone. Who could it be? She was also a lonely woman, living all by herself in East Saint Crux. The ideal victim for The Keeper. She uncovered the peephole, to take a look at who was lurking outside her apartment. It was Joey Tarantello... a caporegime of the Barbaria Crime Family. Dressed in his dark coat, wearing that striped, red and black tie around his neck. You could feel the smell of cigarettes, perfume and liquor that enveloped him through the hard wooden door. Definitely not The Keeper. She felt mildly disappointed. Nevertheless, she opened the door).

Joey: Evening ma'am. Tutto a posto? Wait, don't answer that. I know you must be working hard or be hardly working and I don't want to... KEEP you distracted from your work for too long. Let's get straight to business... I know a guy... who knows a guy... who might know you. Rumor has it, you like writting. Writting about... interesting topics. That's none of my business, you know. Maybe you heard... quite a few goomas went missing recently. Beautiful ragazzas, nevertheless. Maybe you know... the coppers suspect a serial kidnapper, as my goons informed me. No matter what you do, until this wave of mysterious disappearances is over, I expect you not to publish anything related to it. Capiche? I mean... after all... you are living all alone... and... you know... without some bloke protecting you... hah... who knows... maybe one night you go to sleep and bada-bing bada-boom, you'll wake up at the bottom of the ocean.

(Tarantello left, leaving his notorious odor around her home. He was still the same. Condescending, mellow and only interested in business. Too boring and cliche for The Keeper.)

-Quicknote: Yes, I am aware that Italian-Americans don't speak like that, I'm just keeping the noir vibe-

 

[malins]

Good old Joey.

He always talks like that ...

well not really!!!
once I heard him talking to his lawyer and that sounded very different.

Truth is we all have our roles to play and our masks to wear and that kind of talk is part of his mask.

He is not going to appear soft and tell a girl like me he's worried about me getting in trouble.
Now I'm not naive and I know he can be as brutal as needs be ... but to me, he'd only ever consider that if I gave him cause and I won't.

Because he's sort of right.
And so I'll sort of obey.

I'll keep writing of course ... but I'll postpone submitting.
I'll take the risk of someone else doing the first pulp version of ... well in my write up he's not the 'Keeper' he's the 'Taker' not very original I know ... but that is part of the art ... don't try too hard to be original, just work with the tropes, it's in how you do it.

Problem is maybe the Keeper is a Reaper, a ripper ... well the original ripper was across the pond but ... grandpa told me the story about the Servant Girl Annihilator, over in Texas ... they never caught him. Maybe this is a new girl annihilator. Probably plays for keeps.

I can rewrite my stories but if it ends wrong I can't rewrite my life.

I need to be more careful in general maybe.
Not just with writing about the Keeper.
With my other life too.
I might be a target both ways ...

You may have been wondering how a girl like me even knows people like Joey Tarantello.
Or why a girl like me needs the not inconsiderable, but always insecure stream of income from being a successful anonymous writer of pulp debauchery.
A girl who lives almost mouselike in an attic ...

well let me tell you ... I have masks to wear too.

If you look in that closet and you see the shoes, dresses, hats, handbags, jewelry ... you'll know where the money goes.
Mousy by day but by night I am quite something. And the exciting thing is ... I show up at just enough balls and parties and opening nights and shows that people know me ... but because I'm connected to nothing I am always the mystery girl. And that is what I love. I'm not some tycoon's trophy wife, no one knows what I am. And so all eyes turn to me. And that's funny because sometimes I don't like getting too much attention at all ... but what I love is if I can have it when I want it and then just disappear again ... leaving everyone wondering, who is this, will she be back.

How this all started is a long story but let me tell you sometimes things just happen. And I wouldn't want to go back.
But I realize I may have to be a bit more careful.

My daytime self, mousy writer, ...
might attract the bad kind of attention if the wrong people understand I'm writing about the Keeper.

My now-and-then nighttime self ...
would be the perfect victim for a Reaper. Beautiful mystery girl vanishes. Mystery girl found brutally dismembered. A tragedy ... but nobody really knows who she was. A case for the file cabinet.

Okay mystery girl dismembered is a good phrase again, I can make something of that ... as long as it's not me...

 

[Barbaria1]

This is really quite ingenious and fun. Kudos to T-J and Malins!

a caporegime of the Barbaria Crime Family.

But where did this come from? I’ll have you know the family is quite upstanding ... pillars of the community, in fact. Any suggestions of association with crime are nothing but scurrilous lies! The family solicitor will be calling, and if that fails a couple of hoods will be dispatched to fit our detractors with cement shoes.

 

[Jones_Tims]

This is really quite ingenious and fun. Kudos to T-J and Malins!


But where did this come from? I’ll have you know the family is quite upstanding ... pillars of the community, in fact. Any suggestions of association with crime are nothing but scurrilous lies! The family solicitor will be calling, and if that fails a couple of hoods will be dispatched to fit our detractors with cement shoes.

Joey: Hey, sorry boss! I like to... use that term in order to remind them who's in charge on these streets... going a little rough on them stoogies.

 

[malins]

It goes back to kids forming gangs in the streets and meeting up at street corners for fights. One pack called themselves the Romans and so the others were the Barbarians I guess ... and then it stuck...

 

[Jones_Tims]

Good old Joey.

He always talks like that ...

well not really!!!
once I heard him talking to his lawyer and that sounded very different.

Truth is we all have our roles to play and our masks to wear and that kind of talk is part of his mask.

He is not going to appear soft and tell a girl like me he's worried about me getting in trouble.
Now I'm not naive and I know he can be as brutal as needs be ... but to me, he'd only ever consider that if I gave him cause and I won't.

Because he's sort of right.
And so I'll sort of obey.

I'll keep writing of course ... but I'll postpone submitting.
I'll take the risk of someone else doing the first pulp version of ... well in my write up he's not the 'Keeper' he's the 'Taker' not very original I know ... but that is part of the art ... don't try too hard to be original, just work with the tropes, it's in how you do it.

Problem is maybe the Keeper is a Reaper, a ripper ... well the original ripper was across the pond but ... grandpa told me the story about the Servant Girl Annihilator, over in Texas ... they never caught him. Maybe this is a new girl annihilator. Probably plays for keeps.

I can rewrite my stories but if it ends wrong I can't rewrite my life.

I need to be more careful in general maybe.
Not just with writing about the Keeper.
With my other life too.
I might be a target both ways ...

You may have been wondering how a girl like me even knows people like Joey Tarantello.
Or why a girl like me needs the not inconsiderable, but always insecure stream of income from being a successful anonymous writer of pulp debauchery.
A girl who lives almost mouselike in an attic ...

well let me tell you ... I have masks to wear too.

If you look in that closet and you see the shoes, dresses, hats, handbags, jewelry ... you'll know where the money goes.
Mousy by day but by night I am quite something. And the exciting thing is ... I show up at just enough balls and parties and opening nights and shows that people know me ... but because I'm connected to nothing I am always the mystery girl. And that is what I love. I'm not some tycoon's trophy wife, no one knows what I am. And so all eyes turn to me. And that's funny because sometimes I don't like getting too much attention at all ... but what I love is if I can have it when I want it and then just disappear again ... leaving everyone wondering, who is this, will she be back.

How this all started is a long story but let me tell you sometimes things just happen. And I wouldn't want to go back.
But I realize I may have to be a bit more careful.

My daytime self, mousy writer, ...
might attract the bad kind of attention if the wrong people understand I'm writing about the Keeper.

My now-and-then nighttime self ...
would be the perfect victim for a Reaper. Beautiful mystery girl vanishes. Mystery girl found brutally dismembered. A tragedy ... but nobody really knows who she was. A case for the file cabinet.

Okay mystery girl dismembered is a good phrase again, I can make something of that ... as long as it's not me...

September 9th 1940. Police Precint 11

As Mallins was struggling to fill her first pages with what would later turn into an anonymous narration about the "Keeper"... or "Taker" as she called the culprit, lieutenant T. Jones was banging his head against the wall, struggling to make sense out of all the piles of papers that were already filling his office. Crime scene investigations, officer reports, statements and all that. All just a bunch of gibberish, considering that they didn't really have anything. Just smokes and mirrors, no solid evidence. Somebody was going to kill him someday, he knew that. He expected he'll end up gunned down by the goons of the local Mafia, or stabbed in the back in a dark alley by some cold-blooded killer. However, he never expected that bureaucracy will burry him alive in mountains of papers and envelopes.

After hours of reading the same reports over and over again, he decided he just hit a brick wall. Well... both literally, considering he was banging his head against the wall in frustration, and metaphorically. So, he decided he needs to get back to his old days, as a lower rank detective, walking the walk and chatting with strangers, to gather some info. Of course, he wouldn't reveal he's a cop. He would just wear his dark brown coat and hat, checking out the darkest and filthiest spots in the Saint Crux underworld.

As he left his office, he noticed the photo of his ex-wife, on his desk. She was still so young and beautiful... just like in the photo. She was about... 29. He lowered the photo and left the office. He didn't want to think too much about her. Getting attached to someone, that's what gets you screwed up in this line of work.

He stopped by Blue State, a night club in the Italian territory. Territory of the Barbaria Family, that is. Back in the 20s and early 30s, during The Prohibition, the place was notorious for selling illegal alcohol. The police raided the place three times, but nothing really came out of it. Maybe, the old chief wasn't this crusader of truth and justice, everyone assumed him to be.

Nevertheless, he entered the club and ordered a Gin Rickey. Gotta look inconspicuous. What a great excuse for his habbit of drinking. As he was holding the glass in his hands, he took a look around the club. Most of them were Italians, talking in their native language... He didn't understand a thing... except for "Si",
"Grazie" and other basic stuff. However, he noticed a familiar face or two. A broad, he only knew as @Eulalia was hanging around there. He bumped into her around the Precint several times in the past... they did some small talk... although he never figured out who is she or what's her trade. What was she doing here, anyways?

The other familiar face he noticed, was none other than the leader of the Barbaria family. You could see her, surrounded by four of her caporegimes and another six goons guarding their table. She was wearing her dark, expensive suit with thin white stripes and a fedora, to cover most of her facial features. You never knew if in the shadows of the fedora, her eyes were pointed at her caporegimes, or they were actually watching you.

 

[Jones_Tims]

It goes back to kids forming gangs in the streets and meeting up at street corners for fights. One pack called themselves the Romans and so the others were the Barbarians I guess ... and then it stuck...

Romans and Barbarians... the two old street gangs in the southern suburbs of East Saint Crux. The Italians were the Romans, and the Irish... or the Micks, were the Barbarians. First, they beat each other with sticks and stones. Then, in their teen years, they turned to baseball bats and brass knuckles. Later, in adulthood, they switched to knives, pipes and golf clubs. These days, it's pistols, revolvers and tommy-guns. Back when they were kids, it was just plain vandalism. Later, it evolved into destruction of property. In the 20s and the early 30s, it was bootlegging. These days, it's gambling, racketeering, extortion, blackmail and prostitution. They called themselves in their early days "The Romans" and "The Barbarians", but you start to wonder... which one of them was more barbaric?

 

[malins]

They called themselves in their early days "The Romans" and "The Barbarians", but you start to wonder... which one of them was more barbaric?

They insist they are all very very honorable gentlemen today...

 

[Jones_Tims]

A noir, crime-themed thread. Heavy noir dialogue is recommended, but not compulsory.

September 8th, 1940. Police Precint 11, East Saint Crux.

'Evening, lads.

Lieutenant T. Jones here. We have a serial kidnapper roaming around the streets, so every minute we waste, it's another minute given to the culprit. That being said, let's get straight to the facts.

In the last two weeks, eight broads went missing. All of them were living alone in their apartments. They were aged between 25 and 38. Five of them were divorced. Two of them were widows. The last one, poor las, wasn't even married yet. This morning, four of our officers found something rather disturbing and insane in their mailboxes. Photographies of those missing ladies. There were five photos of each broad. In each one of them, they were stripped down of their clothes... only wearing a pair of panties and some stockings, but also some high heel shoes. No good, God fearing citizen of Saint Crux would imagine this becoming a reality. But we're just getting started here. All those broads had their right legs chained and their mouths gagged with some white handkerchiefs. They were shown in most of these photos doing some chores in a dark room. Definitely not the same room in each photo. They were all sewing something. Each one of them had small pieces of white fabric in front of them, and they were sewing something... some sort of pattern over that fabric. They could be handkerchiefs, or who on this dear Earth knows what. In most of the photos, you can see that they are tearing up. Crying and sobbing. In other photos, where their backs are turned, you can see some whip marks on their bare backs. Those poor backs... pale white, stained with dark lines. Bloody marks... Poor broads. Anyways, there's one last photo, where all eight of them are asleep... on some dirty floor. Their heads are resting on some large sacks. Two of them have their panties stained with blood. Possibly some period blood. Or maybe... No. Period blood. It can't be anything else.

One last detail... all those photos had a short message written on the back. It said: "Don't fear the keeper".

We do not know anything about our culprit, other than his... or her interest in women that are living alone. Pretty young... young or middle aged women. Half of them are blondes, two are brunettes and two are redheads. All of the victims come from the urban area. All of them living in apartments. We have no info about how they disappeared. Their relatives or friends just reported that they went missing. Nobody claims to see how they disappeared. The boys checked the apartments of the victims, and they didn't find anything suspicious. No sign of a fight, or a struggle. No fingerprints. Sure, there were some skirts and dresses thrown on the bed... but that's not really something uncommon.

We have a few broads at the station... who claim that they know something about this... "Keeper". Whether they really have something or they just want their five minutes of fame, we'll find out sooner rather than later. I want everyone to keep their eyes wide open for any clue. If you have to arrest some innocent bloke or broad to get some intel out of them... so be it. If you have to go hard on them to make them spill the beans... so be it.

Not to put any pressure on you lads... but the chief is watching us closely. My ass is on the line on this one.

TO ANYONE NEW ON THIS THREAD

This isn't in anyway, something scripted. You may join whenever you wish, as a character (or multiple characters, as long as you mention which personna you adopt when posting a message), that can really be anything in the noir theme... a cop, a gangster, a private investigator, a corrupted public official etc. I'm just here to control the Keeper's spree, the Lieutenant and the Caporegime.

 

[Barbaria1]

He stopped by Blue State, a night club in the Italian territory. Territory of the Barbaria Family, that is.

That’s where our family business was run, largely from the large round table in the back, where the Godfathers ... my father and his father before him sat with their muscle standing behind them. Since I took over the business, headquarters has moved to the cellar, where I have an oak paneled office and a grand desk just down the corridor from the sound-proofed “persuasion room” and not far from the place where we keep the white slave trade girls in cages before a shipment goes out. On most nights, however, I can be found seated at the round table, conducting da family business.

 

[Barbaria1]

The other familiar face he noticed, was none other than the leader of the Barbaria family. You could see her, surrounded by four of her caporegimes and another six goons guarding their table. She was wearing her dark, expensive suit with thin white stripes and a fedora, to cover most of her facial features. You never knew if in the shadows of the fedora, her eyes were pointed at her caporegimes, or they were actually watching you.

I had that suit hand made ... cost a lot as ya said ... and f ya could see under the table you’d know that a tight mini skirt and diamond studded 6 inch heels completes da ensemble. Very sexy!

 

[Jones_Tims]

I had that suit hand made ... cost a lot as ya said ... and f ya could see under the table you’d know that a tight mini skirt and diamond studded 6 inch heels completes da ensemble. Very sexy!

T. Jones: Evening, ma'am! Don't think for a moment I didn't notice you... classy and expensive. Now, I'm a man of old fashion upbringing... it wouldn't be appropriate to be caught staring under the table at a woman's legs, hah. However... I may have heard that... you might have a... backroom... with broads that won't mind a bloke having his way with them. I always had a thing for... three girls at once... a brunette, a blondie and a redhead. My question is... how much? Money on the table, you know my policy.

(Lieutenant T. Jones had to play the role of the sexually obsessed bloke to get as many intel as he could about the Barbaria Family... and anything they may know about The Keeper. Maybe their prostitutes knew something. Maybe they spent a night with a weird guy who might fit the profile. One thing was for sure...he was going to talk with women fitting the profile of the kidnapped victims... redheads, brunettes and blondes. Not married or separated from their husband.)

 

[Barbaria1]

Barbaria: Well would ya look at that? Walks in like he owns da place. Brazen much. I had to call off da muscle with a nod before they took it on themselves to teach him some manners. Not bad lookin’, though, I hadda admit. Three whores ... blond, brunette and a redhead, huh? That’s a new one! I nod to my capo signaling: Give him what he wants, but keep him under surveillance. Get it on film. And bring him to me downstairs when he’s through with da girls. Then we’ll talk about what he owes us. Meanwhile I send some guys out to sniff around and see if they can dig up some dirt on who this guy is.

 

[Jones_Tims]

Barbaria: Well would ya look at that? Walks in like he owns da place. Brazen much. I had to call off da muscle with a nod before they took it on themselves to teach him some manners. Not bad lookin’, though, I hadda admit. Three whores ... blond, brunette and a redhead, huh? That’s a new one! I nod to my capo signaling: Give him what he wants, but keep him under surveillance. Get it on film. And bring him to me downstairs when he’s through with da girls.

Lieutenant T. Jones entered the backroom, where three women were waiting for him. The redhead, the blonde and the brunette. Their placement allowed their hair colors to create some weird... Belgian flag. Too soon to bring up Belgium... considering what went down in Europe last summer...

He suspected that the Mafia might set him a trap, so he had to think three moves ahead. He sat next to the broads, studying their breasts and gently caressing them with his hands, while his head slowly tilted, trying to catch a glimpse of any hidden camera. No way Barbaria would just give him three broads at such a cheap price... he knew her dames were brought from heaven but God damn, they were expensive as hell. Something was up... but not that damn hidden camera... the ceiling wat pitch black and soft... nothing hidden there. He switched his "attention" from the blondie to the brunette, continuing his examination of the room... and of the dark haired broad's body. There it was! Hidden behind the decorative plant. A small pepphole with a little reflective glass behind it. He knew what he had to do now.

He stood up and grabbed the brunette, telling her he wants to try something rough. He grabbed her from behind and forced her against the wall, touching her breasts and her belly. Then, in a swift motion, he swinged her to his right, making the poor broad trip and kick the decorative plant slightly to the right... blocking the camera's field of view. To make sure he got it right, when he went to grab the girl, he pushed the plant a few inches further with his foot. It was done. Nicely covered. They had all the intimacy he needed.

Lieutenant T. Jones: "Sorry for the intrusion, ladies. I didn't mean to scare you. I was just... redecorating around here... so we can have a proper... conversation. Now... I know that you don't usually get a very big cut out of Barbaria's profits... which is a shame for such beautiful and talented broads like yourselves... I'm here to fix that. I'll have a little something for each one of you... but I need your help for this one. You may have heard about The Keeper and the strange disappearance of eight women in town. Well... I have a personal score to settle with this scumbag. I need to know if you noticed anything suspicious these last two weeks.... some weirdo asking you to do some messed up stuff... gagging, bondage, the whole shebang. Or maybe... some weird, unusual handkerchiefs... anything like that?"

The broads weren't silent for long before they started mumbling about some shady character... skinny, pretty small, but dressed in a large coat... almost too large for his stature. They didn't make out his features or who he might be... but they noticed the strange silhouette peeking around the corners of their brothel in the last days. The blondie also mentioned some guy, nicknamed @old slave. They didn't know exactly what his business was or his whereabouts, but it was something. Lieutenant Jones had two leads. Now, he only needed to thank Barbaria for the service and get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

Too bad that Barbaria's capo had another plan in mind. He signaled Jones to head downstairs.

 

[Barbaria1]

Okay, he’s a sly one ... blocking da camera lens like dat. Also pretty fuckin’ dumb. Didn’t occur to him that da room would be bugged too? I told my Capo to put him on ice for awhile, while I figure dis thing out. And, as for the ladies, I ordered ‘em strung up naked in the persuasion room until I got down there to personally oversee their floggings. Disloyalties of any kind are frowned on in da organization and dealt with severely.

 

[Jones_Tims]

Okay, he’s a sly one ... blocking da camera lens like dat. Also pretty fuckin’ dumb. Didn’t occur to him that da room would be bugged too? I told my Capo to put him on ice for awhile, while I figure dis thing out. And, as for the ladies, I ordered ‘em strung up naked in the persuasion room until I got down there to personally oversee their floggings. Disloyalties of any kind are frowned on in da organization and dealt with severely.

"What the hell happened? Aaah... fuck me upside-down! Wait... don't take it literally!"- Jones thought, after waking up in some dark room, with his head and shoulders hurting like hell. How long was he knocked out cold? Ten minutes? Half an hour? Two hours? Does it matter? He had to get the hell out of there, as soon as possible. Stick to the plan and keep his wits. He recognized the capo that escorted him downstairs... Joey Tarantello. Now... he and Joey had history. Jones overlooked Tarantello's gambling business a few years ago, on purpose, so he owed him a favor. Tarantello knew Jones was a copper... he wasn't so sure about Barbaria. Did Joey tell her? Did he keep his mouth shut? Who the hell knows...

Lieutenant Jones: "Hey! Hey Tarantello! Yeah, Joey Tarantello! You there? I want to have a word with you!... I'M TALKING TO YOU SON OF A BITCH, DON'T YOU PLAY DUMB ON ME!"

Joey Tarantello: "The fuck's your problem sleeping beauty? You need me to fix your skull again?"

Lieutenant Jones: "Listen... listen man... you owe me one. Let me talk to your boss. Seriously... we need to have a serious conversation. I mean it... Look... the... the boys at the precint... they know I'm here. If I don't get back until morning, AND in one piece, they'll know something's up."

The other coppers didn't know a thing. Jones didn't tell anyone where he was heading, but he had to convince Joey Tarantello otherwise. Now, Joey might have been a cold blooded bastard, but he was a bloke of his word. He headed upstairs to his boss to inform her of Jones' business proposition.

Joey Tarantello: "Hey, Donna Barbaria... the ratto is awake. He says he has a business proposition for you. Serious stuff. Wanna hear it, or should I shut him up again?"

 

[Barbaria1]

Barbaria: “Thanks for da heads up Joey boy. Let’s make him wait a bit, okay? He ain’t going anywheres soon. Ya did tie him down on a chair, right? And I have some business to attend to down in da “persuasion room.” And, oh, do me a favor and leave da air ducts open. I want our friend to hear dem stupid three bitches scream, holler and beg forgiveness under da bite of da lash.“

An hour later I made my appearance in the room where he sat bound to a chair. Joey had trussed him up well ... a real professional, my Joey. I had come directly from the girls’ flogging, still wearing only black garters, hose and heels, my otherwise naked body sheened with sweat from exertion. Wielding a cat and working over, not one but, three misbehaving and not very bright bitches can be hard work. I switched on the lights, startling and temporarily blinding him, then circled slowly around him, my heels clacking on the concrete floor. After several revolutions, I stopped directly in front of him, leaned forward, dangling my bare boobs right in front of his face, and demanded in ominously hissing tones that he come clean and tell me exactly what his game was.

 

[windar]

The phone woke Agent Sam Goldman out of a sound sleep, which was probably a good thing since he had been dreaming that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor and the US was getting into the war. He knew as only someone well connected in the OSS could how unprepared the country was. But maybe in another year if he and his colleagues hustled their asses.

He picked up the receiver. "Goldman here," he said, curtly.

The naked woman lying beside him stirred. "Who is it Sam?"

He listened for a moment, then mouthed, "It's the Chief. From DC."

"Donovan?" she whispered. He nodded.

"Isn't that a matter for the cops?" he spoke into the phone. "Uhh-huh, OK," he said a few moments later. "Alright, we'll check it out." he hung up the phone.

"What's going on. Goldman?" she asked.

"Better get some clothes on, Moore." That was an unusual request for Sam; usually he was asking Barb to take her clothes off. "We got work to do. There's eight women gone missing and Donovan wants us to get in touch with the NYPD and check it out. Could be Nazi spies involved."

"Oh, for chrissakes, Goldman, this is probably some lunatic loner in a basement in Queens."

"For a change, you're probably right, Moore, but just in case, he wants us to have a looksee. So get that tight little into the shower. I'll join you in a sec." Sam watched a Barb stood and made her way to the bathroom. That tight little was a sight to see...