I’m not usually one to worry, at least not about Tammy Ng.

With a good head on her shoulders, a black belt and a
marksmen’s certificate, on a rational level I’ve assumed that she
could take care of herself in the two years we’ve been partners. Even
for a dame, she’s downright dangerous. But there are some things you
just don’t learn on the target range or the gym mat. You can hit the
target every time, or leave your opponent in competition looking up at
you as they lie on their back on a gym mat, but none of that indicates
whether you’ll shoot straight or move fast when things get real.

Technical skill is important, but the target range isn’t real
people trying to kill you and no matter how dedicated your sansei or
judo master, in the back of your brain you still know it’s a class.
Only when someone is pointing a gun at *you* or running at *you* with
a broken bottle or a tire iron will you find out if you’ve got the
stuff. And if you don’t then you have no business working on the
streets.

Tammy had all the right skills, and there are all kinds of
neat things I can say about her, but she is young. Strong, smart,
cultured in ways I’m not, dedicated and a strong sense of Truth,
Justice, and the Armenian Way, but still, young.

That’s one of the reasons I was worried when Sammy the Sleeper
walked into our office that night. That, and the memory of Ben Siegal.

Years ago, before I was a P.I., before I was in the C.I.A. and
before Steinbrenner screwed up the Yankees, some gangsters had some
small measure of class. They were hoodlums, all right, but they were
somewhat organized and they occasionally operated out of a sense of
honor, loyalty to family, friends and organization, something I value.
Today, since Gotti and has ilk have followed the traditional career
path, they whole bunch have been acting exclusively like the lowlifes
that they are. Today they are almost all stupid murderous bastards.
Years ago they were in it for the money, or the excitement, or because
they were total psychos, but some of them were also rebels of some
sort. The old guy I first worked with went back to the early forties
and he’d known Benjamin (“Bugsy”) Siegel. He hated the nickname
“Bugsy,” went to concerts and plays, laughed at Robert Benchley and
Dorothy Parker and saw larceny as a game. He was still a guy who did
illegal things, but his word could be trusted most of the time, and
most of his crimes were relatively victimless. If you get taken at a
crooked card game, not too many people lose sleep over it, nor should
they. Ben used to say, “We only kill each other,” and to a great
extent, that was true then.

It isn’t anymore, and that was the other reason I got worried
when Sammy came through our door. Tammy had insisted on doing this job
alone, in a city with war zones where kids get shot in crossfires
every month. Where cheap crack has cheapened life while it fries
brains and spreads AIDS. There are not very many Ben Siegels nowadays.
Whenever I walk down Grand Street near Seward Park and Amalgamated
Houses I pass Ben’s old office and I think about him, and how things
have changed.

P.I.’s like me have traditionally maintained some contact with
the bad guys ’cause when you work on the street you have no choice.
Your credibility, your word, your honor are were worth something and
sometimes you took a job as a negotiator or go-between when two groups
of local bandits had a falling out but didn’t quite feel like killing
each other off. Tammy has gone off that afternoon to make a routine
message drop to Bobby R. Bolizi and his brother Sean. They’ve been in
a dispute with another of what the papers like to call “underworld
families.” I like to call ’em pathetic sleazeballs.

Tammy had insisted that she go alone on this, something I
wasn’t entirely sure had been a good idea. But as a backup, I’d had
one of my street informers, Sammy the Sleeper, quietly hang out on the
corner of Bleecker and Broadway, where Tammy was supposed to make the
delivery. When he walked in at 7:30 P.M., I wasn’t entirely surprised
at his message or excited tone.

“Mr. B, dey took her.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘they took her’, Sammy?'”

“Four of ’em came at her at once, real fast. Right in front of
me as I was makin’ like I wuz sleeping on da street. She kicked one in
da balls right away and he goes down. She jabs another and smacks him
in the ribs and he goes down, too. Another one of Ratso’s guys walked
up to her while another stuck a needle in her from behind. She turned
and slugged da guy who stuck her, but then she slumped and they loaded
her in their car and drove North.

“Three out of four, not bad for a kid. It mas a mistake to let
her go alone. She ended up falling for the old, ‘Stuck with a hypo
while you’re distracted’ trick. Shit. Did you get the transceiver on
the car?”

“You mean da chip thing?”

“Yeah the ‘chip thing.’You get the license number?”

“No, but I got da chip thing on.”

The one good thing about this situation was I knew I could
probably figure out where they’d taken Tammy, although I didn’t know
why. The Bolizi Brothers were not very bright and had graduated from
the Obvious Gangster School. I slid my chair over to my PC and began
the process of logging into the city’s Real Property Database. I
conducted a search under the names Robert and Sean Bolizi, and came up
with ten properties, only one of which seemed like the kind of place
you’d take a hostage.

Then I switched to a terminal program that would pick up a
signal from the transmitter chip that Sammy had clipped onto the car.
Tammy also had one if the lining of her leather jacket for very short
range, localized work. After studying the screen I screwed the
silencer onto my 9mm, put on my shoulder holster, tucked the backup
pistol and knife into their respective places, put on my jacket and
headed out the door, along with enough electronic equipment to keep my
ten-year-old nephew captivated for 15 or 20 seconds.

My $39.95 investment at Radio Shack brought me to a medium
grade health club in Chelsea. I opted for the through the basement
level. Three open workout rooms, two handball courts, and a third room
with cardboard over the windows and a “Closed for Renovation” sign on
the door. I flicked on the locator and listened to the beeping in my
earplug as I walked toward and away from the suspect door. There were
no other doors nearby down the hall and only a set of windows running
almost at the ceiling level. I took out my mini stethoscope and placed
it against the door. I could hear male voices. Not too neat and not
very distinct.

I glanced up at the line of wire meshed windows near the
ceiling. It would have to come to that. I jumped, grabbed the ledge,
and recalling the colorful admonitions of my high school gym teacher’s
about the lifestyle choices of anyone incapable of doing at least ten
pull-ups, brought my head above the edge. I peered through the small
window.

It was a relatively large gym; large enough for a basketball
court, as long as you weren’t going to have TV cameras and there were
only going to be a few spectators. Bobby, Sean and three of their
steroid gladiators were talking quietly. Tammy, always the center of
attention, was naked, spread eagled, ass on a bench. Her legs and arms
were stretched and tied to four gymnast rings which had been lowered
from the ceiling for this purpose. If the Bolizi’s had been pros I
would have surmised that they were playing on nakedness and
humiliation as tools of interrogation. But Robert and Sean were not
pros and you could be pretty sure that they had merely enjoyed the set
up when they first saw it in “Teenage Cheerleader Sluts Held Captive”
or something like that.

I couldn’t see everything, but they were talking to Tammy and
I could see she had that determined ‘fuck you’ look in her eyes.
Clearly they wanted information. Under other circumstances, seeing
Tammy this way might have made me want to reenact a scene or two from
“Teenage Cheerleaders,” or the Candida Royalle equivalent, but duty
called. I looked around the room for alternative entrances.

At the very end of the corridor was another door. Unlocked, it
led to a narrow stairway, which led to a corridor along the top of the
gym, more doors and the tops of the mini bleachers and a catwalk that
edged the entire gym. I tried each door quietly looking for a vantage
point behind the Bolizi’s that would let me get the drop on ’em.

I listened.

“Look, liddle, girl, your boss has known the Wild Skull gang
for five years. He’s best friends with Romero Torres and he knows
where they have their cash stashed. I’m betting you know that too and
that you’ll tell us rather than have us cut off your sweet little
clit.”

Robert Bolizi slowly played with a knife one foot away from
Tammy. He slid the blade over her thighs and calves and stomach and
then over her breasts. She was doing a pretty good job of looking
aloof.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I gave you
the package you asked for and if you had any honor you’d call that
business and I’d be outta here.”

“Not dat simple sweet cakes. If you’re lucky, I’ll have Sean
here eat your pussy one more time before I end your life of orgasms.
Or you tell us where the Skulls are this week. We need a quick
infusion of cash and we decided they are going to be ripped off.”

He cut her a nick on her left leg. Just enough to draw a drop
of blood. That was more than enough for me. None of this wait till the
last possible moment. I quietly opened the door and unfastened the
hanging rope from its attachment against the high wall. I made a quick
judgement, wrapped it around my right arm and stood at the ready.

I was probably the only one who heard the “Pfft!” of the
silencer, but Bobby certainly seemed to feel the bullet shatter his
hand as he dropped the knife, clutching his suddenly-bleeding
appendage. I launched myself off the catwalk and swung downward, aimed
at Steroid Monster No. 1. He turned just in time to get a face full of
my boots and be catapulted into dreamland. Releasing myself from the
rope I landed on my feet and promptly fell onto my ass. Hey, if you
want perfection, go to Indiana Jones. The momentary fall left me
pointed in the right direction and I got off a shot into Sean’s arm
before he could draw his gun and one into Bobby’s knee which dropped
him to the floor.

I jumped to my feet and hissed “Freeze!,” which turned Steroid
Monster No. 2’s draw into a sudden change of heart. His compadre’s
neurons were taking a bit longer to transfer the sight of my gun
pointed at them to the four or fives brain cells he used for judgement
and I shot the knife he drew out of his hand by shooting him in the
arm. I found the sedative in Sean’s bag and quickly shot each of them
with Happy Juice to keep them quiet. Damn! Forgot to swab with
alcohol. They might get cooties.

And then there was Tammy.

“The next time I rib you about not needing you, you get a free
blowjob, OK? I can’t believe I let them get me like that.”

“You did OK kid. Just fine.”

The sight of Tammy’s small but very tight body spread apart
was leading to distinctly unprofessional thoughts. I came to her,
leaned over her and kissed her. Long, slow and loving.

“Don’t do that to me again Tammy. I couldn’t deal with losing
you.”

“Feeling’s mutual sweet cheeks. I haven’t had someone be a
hero to me in a while. Quite a rush.”

My hand moved down to her thighs and then cupped her mound.
She was wet and getting wetter.

“What a nice idea, Backrub. I’m yours. Do with me what you
will. This is certainly one we’ve never done before. Do we have to…
in front of THEM?”

“They’re out. In a week if Bobby isn’t dead I’ll tell this
story and let it get around he couldn’t get it up and that he slept
through all this.”

She laughed and I began to play with her pussy. Tammy locked
onto my eyes and communicated lust as it can only exist when you are
relieved not to be dead. Life affirmation, joy, lust. She moved her
hips against my hand as I tickled her clit and slid a finger into her
moist cunt. I glanced around to take in the view of her spread eagled
body, legs and arms stretched and helpless, totally in my control and
pulsing against me. The taut arms, legs and thighs were beautiful, her
torso was flushed pink and beads of sweat covered her face. Tammy
whimpered and called my name as I fingered her and nibbled her neck.
She thanked me over and over, said she’d known I’d come for her and
told me she was mine. She yelped and came, tossing herself violently
back and forth.

I dropped to my knees. I watched her intently as I licked. Her
entire body swayed and squirmed with the rings as I licked her pussy
and then butterfly-tongued her very exposed little anus. I slid a
moistened finger into her ass, wrapped my lips around her throbbing
clit and sucked. I’m always amazed at how much noise she makes during
lovemaking for such a small woman. She whimpered, cursed and screamed
as I licked and sucked. And then she asked me to fuck her.

I took off my pants and stood by her side, bringing my cock to
her face. I rubbed it indulgently over her face and then her lips, at
which point she turned her head, moved slightly and took me into her
mouth. She sucked me loudly until I was hard and wet with her saliva.
She rubbed her ttongue under my shaft, moving her head side-to-side. I
took my cock out of her mouth, rubbed it against her cheek once again,
and then moved in front of her.

I entered Tammy up to my balls with one smooth movement and
reached underneath her to grab her ass and then to hold her tight
against me, hold her in my arms. I slapped myself against her
repeatedly, her spread-eagled body waving like a fleshly flag. She
grunted and cursed and told me to fuck her, inviting me to use her
body for my pleasure, my reward.

When she looked me intently in the eyes and told me to empty
my balls into her, I couldn’t take it anymore. She whispered, “Sweet
baby,” to me over and over again as I came inside her, holding her
ever so tight to me and covering her face and neck with kisses.

I untied Tammy, we got dressed and I explained my plan. We
more-or-less hog-tied Bobby, Sean and Steroid Monsters 1-3 as they
slept. Being an ex-Boy Scout, I’d had a lot of training with knots and
before we left, I explained the system to Tammy.

“You learned this warped idea in Boy Scouts?”

“Explorers, actually. You see how we tied them up?”

“Yep.”

“And how we then brought a line from each of them up to the
ceiling and then tied those vertical lines together?”

“Yeah.”

“And how the vertical line runs over to the wall, across the
pulley that we used to haul them up and how the line ends over at the
door.”

“OK, so how does it work.”

“Right now they’re sorta hog-tied and asleep and they’re held
about four feet above the floor. Not enough to kill them, but enough
to make sure they don’t go anywhere and leave them really sore if
they’re tripped.”

“If they had parachutes on they’d look like they were in
midair, skydiving.”

“And the knot that holds them all up is over there against the
corner. It’s a kind of slip knot and when someone opens and closes the
door it’ll pull the slip knot out and… ”

“They fall down go boom! You’re very bad, you know.”

“They’re worse. It’ll keep them out of trouble for a while.
Grab the cell phone and call the cops. They’re gonna love this.”

We left the boys hanging, bruised and partially bandaged. As
we left the room and walked down the corridor, Tammy looked
thoughtful.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Somehow, I don’t feel I’ve got closure on all this. There’s
something missing, something that will resolve this whole thing for
me. Something that will give me some small satisfaction. ”

She bolted back down the corridor, opened the gym door and
then slammed it. A second later we heard a set of loud, nasty thuds,
followed by a chorus of ‘Shit!'”

Tammy came back down the hall, smiling, and put her arm around
me.

“I think that was it.”

AFTERWARD

After giving our statements to the police, Tammy and I went
back to her place for a quiet, cuddly dinner. Later I gave her a
backrub, which turned into an assrub, which turned into a clitrub,
which turned into cowgirl. Not just that Tammy was on top. Tammy puts
on leather chaps, cowgirl boots and a hat that looks like it comes off
the cover of a Ruby Montana catalog – but nothing else. I always get a
charge when she yells

The Bolizi brothers and Steroid Monsters 1-3 did not have
nearly as pleasurable an evening. It turns out that Steroid Monsters 1
and 2 were on parole. They were told to go to jail, do not pass “Go,”
do not collect $200. Steroid Monster 3 was on probation and was
allowed to ride in the same bus back to the Tombs, a colorful stopover
on their way back to Dannemora. Bobby and Sean were arrested on three
or four sizeable felonies, in addition to kidnaping, which is a very
major crime even in New York. If they ever get out, the Wild Skulls
will probably be interested in an intense little conference with them.
It turns out that in addition to our statements and Sleepy Sam’s the
security cameras in the gym were on the entire time, capturing both
their attempt to interrogate Tammy and our flagranting delicto. The
cops, of course, ate this up. Happily, the cops did not press charges,
particularly the young patrolman who said something arguably
flattering but nonetheless disrespectful and very sexist to Tammy as
we all watched the tape. Luckily, the blue color he adopted shortly
after Tammy slammed her fist into his stomach turned back to healthy
pink after a few minutes of recovery on the floor.

The beat goes on.