The Case of the Alabaster Ass – Part 2 A Dan Diamond mystery by j.
I was falling asleep, nodding off in the passenger seat as the SUV sped across the desert toward Las Vegas. Then Trudy leaned over and pinched me hard on the head of my penis, and I came wide awake with a yelp of pain.
Trudy. Gertrude Nguyen. A curious combination of names that she came by because she had a Vietnamese daddy and was named after her German mother. She was a great-looking dame, with long, inky-black hair and a slim, almost boyish little body that was unexpectedly fitted with large, perfectly round tits that she must have inherited from her mom. But Trudy was as mean as a mother-in-law with a boil on her butt.
She had me riding naked in the front of the car. She had fastened cuffs around my wrists and just above my knees, and when she linked each wrist to the leg on the same side, I was in a sitting position but pretty much helpless.
Trudy could have put me in the back seat, where I would have been lying down and out of sight. But she had ordered Dundeen to ride in back and installed me up front for everyone and his sister to see. Of course, all they could tell was that I wasn’t wearing anything above the waist, but anyone who happened to glance into the car must have wondered about the bright-red rubber ball that was crammed into my mouth and held tightly in place with a leather cord.
And she didn’t bother to cover me up when we pulled off the interstate. We had already stopped twice at service stations, once to get gas and once for Dundeen to take a lengthy dump. I got some curious looks from people walking past the car, but no one had been close enough to see that I was bare below the waist, too. I was hoping that Trudy didn’t get an urge for a Big Mac and start looking for the nearest Golden Arches. I’d be a real hit in the drive-through.
I’d met Trudy for the first time when she came walking down the stairs into Spanky’s dungeon, along with Dundeen and Nicky Balls, and there was no reason why she’d hold any kind of grudge against me. Still, she seemed to delight in tormenting me. My inner thighs were covered with red marks where her long fingernails had pinched the tender flesh while we were driving along. Maybe Nicky had told her to make life miserable for me. Maybe it was just because she was a mean broad.
When she woke me up with that pinch on the head of my dick, she didn’t look particularly mean or angry or anything like that. She wasn’t laughing at me either, not even a little grin. Her face was without expression as she reached over again and pinched me even harder. My prick was semi-erect, probably because I was riding naked next to this beautiful broad, and the mistreatment made it harden even more. I suppose she wanted to make sure I’d stay awake and think about my predicament. If that was it, it worked.
We drove another thirty minutes or so until we hit this wide spot in the road called Baker, a bunch of fast-food joints, crappy restaurants and service stations trailing along I-15. She took an exit ramp, and I thought, “Oh, oh, the broad wants a McMuffin!” It turned out that she just had to stop and pee. She pulled into a spot on the edge of a service station’s lot, told Dundeen to keep an eye on me and headed for the little girls’ room. When she was away from the car, I turned to look at Dundeen and began grunting at him frantically through the ball gag. I wanted a quick talk with him before Trudy got back.
“If I take that gag out, you’re not going to start shouting or something, are you?” he asked.
I shook my head no, and he began untying the gag. I needed to know what was going on. When Nicky Balls came down into Spanky’s basement, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at me for a few minutes, nodded at Trudy and went back upstairs, closely followed by Dundeen. Trudy had reached into her purse and come up with a syringe. A little shot of something or other in the arm, and I didn’t wake up until we were driving through the San Bernadino Mountains.
As the fog seeped out of my head, I realized that I was all trussed up and feeling like a naked turkey heading into Thanksgiving week. I’d been on the 15 going to Vegas many times, so I was pretty sure where we were pointed, but I didn’t know why. The only other time I’d met Nicky, he had told me that he didn’t hold a grudge over my part in his brother’s death. Had he changed his mind? And what in the hell was he doing with Dundeen, the guy who actually pulled the release on the guillotine that left Joe Balsemo’s head moaning “I ain’t got no body!”
That’s exactly what I asked Dundeen when he got the gag out of my mouth.
“What in hell is going on?” I said.
“We’re on the way to Vegas,” he said.
“I can see that,” I said. “But why are we going there?”
“All the equipment from my show is still in storage there,” he said.
“So?” I asked.
“So that’s where the guillotine is,” he said.
They talk about a feeling of ice running through your veins when you realize that you are in really deep shit, but I’d never known before what a great description that is. I felt as if a whole iceberg had landed on me.
“Nicky’s pissed at me, huh?” I said.
“You could say that,” Dundeen replied. “He’s gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to give you a send-off just like Joey got.”
“Back in Santa Barbara, he told me that he wasn’t mad,” I said.
“And you believed him?” Dundeen asked. “Hell, he had a drug deal going that he didn’t want to screw up. When there’s hard cash involved, Nicky doesn’t mind putting off his personal vendettas for a while.”
I thought about that a moment before something occurred to me.
“Hold on,” I said. “You’re the guy that actually deep-sixed Joey. How come you’re not the one whose neck he wants under that blade?”
Dundeen hesitated. “Well,” he said finally, “I may have given Nicky a little different take on what went down.”
“What!” I sputtered.
“I told him I thought that you were the one in the guillotine,” he said. “I told him that someone switched in Joey without my knowing it.”
I let that sink in. “And you fingered me as that someone?” I asked at last, already knowing the answer.
“I’m afraid so,” Dundeen said. “I really am very sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
I sat there stunned as he popped the red rubber ball back into my mouth and tied the cord around my head. When he was done, I turned and looked back at him with what I hoped was a plea for help showing in my eyes.
“Say, I’ve got this great new bit with a dollar bill that has a little door cut in it,” he said. “I wish I had time to show it to you before Trudy gets back.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He’d just told me that I was screwed and that he was responsible, and now the Great Dundeen wanted to show me a magic trick!
* * * * * * * * *
I couldn’t figure out where in the fuck I was when I woke up. I knew that I was hanging from the ceiling, with my bound wrists and arms drawn up over my head and my toes barely touching the floor. I knew that I was still naked. I knew that I still had that ball jammed into my mouth. I knew that I had a hell of headache. And I knew that the headache probably was the result of whatever it was that the lovely Trudy shot into my arm after coming back from her pee stop in Baker, sending me nighty-night again.
But I was in one of the strangest places I’d ever seen. It looked like one of the medical rooms at Miss D.’s joint, the ones where she and her girls serviced their clients whose tastes ran to enemas. Since a shot of water up the ass didn’t really ring my chimes, my sessions were usually in the dungeon room, but I’d been in one of the others a couple of times when the dungeon was occupied. They were just like examination rooms in a doctor’s office, which wasn’t surprising, because Miss D. had taken over the facilities of a small medical clinic that apparently moved out when the neighborhood slid downhill a little.
Anyway, that’s how this room looked — like the office of a very strange doctor with some peculiar ideas about how to treat patients and a whole wall of enema bags and butt tubes in a dazzling array of colors. The room was huge, though, like a warehouse or an airplane hanger. The area where I was dangling, close to the wall with the enema equipment, was brightly lit, but the far parts of the vast space were dark, and I could barely make out the shapes of some very odd-looking devices. I thought I recognized the tall outline of Dundeen’s guillotine.
I wondered why in the hell someone would want to fit out a room so large like a doctor’s office, even a doctor’s office that was a sex shop in disguise. I didn’t have time to wonder very long, because a door somewhere in the darkness on the far side of the room opened and someone came in. Actually, three someones came walking across that huge space in my direction.
One was Trudy herself, which was no surprise, but the other two caught me off-guard. I could have expected Spanky, I suppose, but if she had decided or been ordered to make the trip to Vegas, why hadn’t she ridden with us? The third woman was the one who really startled me. She was wearing a small Lone Ranger style mask that covered her eyes, but I still recognized Mrs. Van Meter. The last I’d heard, she and her husband were kicking back in the Santa Barbara lockup while the district attorney decided how many drug counts he was going to dump on them.
It would have been hard to dream up three nastier broads or to think of three whom I’d be less happy to see.
They stopped in front of me and looked me up and down. I looked back. I wished that I had the will power not to have an erection, but a stiff dick was pretty much of a sure thing when I was hung up naked like that and three dames were giving me the once over. I looked down to see for certain, and my prick was hard all right, sticking straight out and looking strangely longer than usual. Then I did a double take. My penis had red and white stripes. I didn’t know whether someone had given me a quick paint job when I was out of it or whether the after-effect of the drugging was causing hallucinations. But I guess it wasn’t my imagination, because the candy-stripe cock prompted some laughing comments.
“Very nice work on Mr. Diamond’s dick,” Spanky said. “Very stylish. Now we need to put some matching red stripes on his butt. Not with paint, though, I don’t think.”
“You know, I think I have some things in my purse that will go very nicely with that bright red,” Mrs. Van Meter said, and she began rummaging through the large handbag she had slung over one shoulder.
She seemed to have trouble finding what she was looking for, like a broad who can’t produce her car keys because she’s got so much other shit crammed into her bag. I can’t begin to imagine how many hours I’ve spent over the years waiting for dames to find their keys, but this time I wished that Mrs. Van Meter had taken all night, because what she finally hauled out of her purse was a handful of red plastic clothes pins, the kind that snap on like alligator clips.
God, I hate those big, stiff plastic clothes pins! I don’t mind a little CBT — cock-and-balls torture, remember? — and the girls at Miss D.’s know that clipping a bunch of clothes pins to my privates is a good way to get me turned on. But those are nice wooden pins, the kinder and gentler sort even if they are snap-ons. Oh, they have plastic pins at Miss D.’s, too, but those are for guys who like a lot more pain than I do. Before I start a session, I always warn the lady who’s about to work me over that the plastic ones should stay put in the chest of drawers where the girls keep their little B&D toys. Those pins pinch like hell!
But even if that ball gag in my mouth hadn’t prevented me from talking, I don’t think that these three women would have paid much attention to my pleas for mercy. Trudy took the clothes pins from Mrs. Van Meter without any comment and unsmilingly began snapping them onto the underside of my erection in a long, painful row. The last one went right on the end, sticking out instead of hanging down. Clothes pins clipped to the head of your dick are a hell of a lot more painful than the ones attached to the shaft, and the one that Trudy put on felt as if she’d touched me with a hot poker.
“You need some for his balls, too,” Spanky said helpfully.
Trudy ran her hand down the line of hanging pins, making them clatter as they jerked painfully on the underside of my prick. She seemed to be contemplating her handiwork and considering Spanky’s suggestion at the same time.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said finally. “I think I’m going to save his testicles for when I get my pliers out.”
My bowels clenched. I would have been afraid of soiling my drawers if I’d been wearing any. She had to be kidding, trying to scare me. She wouldn’t really use a pair of pliers on my balls, no matter how mean she was.
Or would she?
“I suppose we should have milked him before I put the clothes pins on,” she said. “I always like the man to have two or three orgasms before I get down to work on him. That way, I know there’s not as much of a chance that he’ll enjoy what’s happening.”
“Well, I got old Dan off four times back in my basement, just like you ordered,” Spanky said. “But then you didn’t do anything to him.”
“I was very disappointed,” Trudy said, “but Nicky was in too much of a hurry to get to another appointment. I hated that, because I’d been looking forward to seeing just how much pain Mr. Diamond can take before he passes out. I guess we’ll find that out now.”
What was with this broad? I didn’t know her from Adam, but she seemed to have it in for me big-time. Maybe she just hated smart-ass private dicks. So maybe my Mom was right when she kept bitching at me about my choice of careers, if you can call what I do a career. But Mom would never have expected me to run into someone like Gertrude Nguyen. Trudy made even Sister Mary Agnes look like a saint. Saint Mary Agnes! Now there’s a thought! Pray for your old fifth-grade victim now, Saint Mary A.! I need the help!
“I think that we’d better clean him up for the big show,” Trudy said.
She walked past me to the wall behind me and came back dragging a length of rubber hose with a brass nozzle on its end. What big show was she talking about? No one had mentioned any show to me. I didn’t have long to think about it, because Trudy turned the nozzle and a blast of icy water hit my belly. She ran the hard stream of water up and down my naked body, taking my breath away and leaving me gasping into the gag. The frigid jet rattled the clothes pins on my penis, just missing my balls, and she raised it to my chest, letting it drill into each of my nipples in turn.
She walked around behind me and played the water on my back and bottom, and then she must have lowered the nozzle and tilted it upward, because the cold stream probed between my buttocks, seeking the tight ring of my anus. It found it, and the water surged into me like a freezing enema. Trudy held the stream there for a long time, until I felt it was lifting me toward the ceiling, and when she finally turned off the nozzle, I could feel the water draining out of me and down the back of my thighs.
I was soaking wet now, shivering from the cold water. The girls were about to warm me up, but I would have preferred to pass on that. From somewhere, they’d each acquired a long-handled toilet brush, and now they began to scrub me down with the hard, stiff bristles. It felt as if they were taking my skin off. Mrs. Van Meter was behind me, scrubbing away at my bottom until it was blazing.
When my whole body was bright red and burning, Trudy stepped back, drew back her brush and swung hard at the clothes pins dangling from my erection. It took her three strokes to get them all off, two for the pins lined up along the underside and one for the pinching little devil on the end. It hurts like hell when those plastic pins go on, but after a while the skin gets numb. But when they come off, the blood flows back in. That’s real pain! When that last pin popped off the head of my dick? Well, words can’t describe it. On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, because my hard-on showed no signs of going away.
“I believe he’s ready now,” Trudy said.
“That’s good,” Spanky said, “because the audience is here.”
I looked up. Somehow, dozens of people had come into the room without my noticing them. There must have been thirty or forty grinning faces in front of me, and I thought I could see even more in the shadowy corners of the huge room. To my great surprise, I thought I recognized some of them.
Back there at the rear of the crowd, wasn’t that Miss D. and some of her girls? How could that be? And that wasn’t Darrell over there to the right, was it? It sure looked like Darrell’s shit-eating grin. Wait a minute. That was Mrs. Stern behind him, with some big hulk of a guy standing next to her. Joey Balls? That couldn’t be Joey Balls! Joey was dead! What the hell was going on? My eyes must be playing tricks on me.
Then Dundeen pushed through the crowd. He was carrying some kind of a small wooden frame, about a foot and a half tall. There was a piece of shining metal in the middle. I realized what it was. It was a miniature guillotine! There was a large carrot in the opening at the bottom, and when Dundeen was standing in front of me, he raised the blade and brought it down hard. The halves of the chopped carrot sprung apart and fell to the floor!
He handed the device to Trudy, and she fitted it over my erection, positioning my penis where the carrot had been. The red-and-white stripes hadn’t washed away when she hosed me down, so that my dick looked like a huge candy cane fitted into the little guillotine. Jesus Christ, I thought, this can’t be happening! I couldn’t watch. I closed my eyes.
“On the count of three,” Trudy said. “One.” The sac on my balls tightened even more. “Two.” My stomach turned upside down. “Three!” I heard the blade of the guillotine come down with a sharp smack, but I couldn’t feel anything. I opened my eyes and looked down. My penis was still in one piece and Trudy was pulling the wooden frame off it. Now I could hear the laughter filling the room. Dundeen leaned closer to me.
“It was a trick, Dan,” he shouted. “Just a trick!”
There seemed to be a sea of gaping mouths in front of me, everyone laughing, everyone having a grand old time at the expense of the stupid, naked guy hung up for their amusement. I looked down and Trudy was kneeling in front of me, seemingly about to take my penis into her mouth. She looked up at me and grinned, and the grin got larger and larger until her mouth was huge — huge and filled with double rows of gigantic, sharp, gleaming teeth!
I screamed into the gag!
* * * * * * * * *
I sat up yelling, drenched in sweat. Someone was shaking me by one shoulder.
“Hey, Dan!” Dundeen said. “Wake up, man! What’s the matter?.”
I looked around. I wasn’t in a huge room. I wasn’t hanging from the ceiling. The room was fairly small, with a couple of long horizontal windows at the top of one wall, and I was sitting up in a narrow iron bed. I was naked all right, but the only thing restraining me was a iron cuff around one ankle. There was a chain padlocked to it, and the chain led somewhere under the bed.
“Man, that must have been some bad dream!” Dundeen said.
A dream! It had all been some kind of fever dream brought on by the injection that Trudy gave me when we were back on the I-15. I wasn’t about to get my dick bitten off after all. Talk about a relief!
“Where the hell are we?” I asked.
“We’re at the warehouse in Vegas where my equipment is stored,” Dundeen said. “Trudy went off to the airport to meet Nick Balsemo’s plane.”
My relief evaporated. My dick might be safe from that miniature guillotine, but my neck still had an appointment with its big brother.
“You gotta get me out of here, buddy,” I told Dundeen, who was sitting next to the bed on a folding chair.
He stared down at the floor and sighed.
“I don’t want to see you get rubbed out, Dan,” he said. “I was the guy who saved you the last time, remember? But I’m in a real spot here. If he doesn’t do you, Nicky Balls is going to do me. I don’t much care for that idea. Besides, Trudy took the key to that padlock with her.”
“Look, Dundeen,” I said. “I suppose it’s occurred to you that I could tell Nicky the real story? He’s as likely to believe me as he is to believe you.”
“Maybe so,” he said. “But, you know, Nicky is really more hacked off about that drug setup that you ruined in Santa Barbara. He may be a little pissed off about Joey, but I don’t think a dead brother makes him as mad as a dead deal.”
“Shit!” I said. “I didn’t really have that much to do with breaking up his little party in Santa Barbara. My friend in the DEA was responsible for that. All I was doing was making a fool of myself running around with my bare ass hanging out of that tiny damn maid’s outfit.”
“Nicky doesn’t see it that way,” Dundeen said.
We sat there for a while in silence. I don’t know what Dundeen was thinking, but I was worried as hell. After ten or twelve minutes, his face brightened and he reached into a hip pocket and took out his billfold. He opened it and pulled out a dollar bill.
“Let me show you something,” he said. “I think you’ll like this.”
That was Dundeen for you. Here I was about to be separated from my head and he still wanted to show me that damn magic trick. Oh, what the hell, I thought. Why not?
The bill he was holding had a small square hole cut into its center, with the cutaway section still attached to the bill along one edge, like a flap or a little door. Dundeen held the bill with the front side facing me and the flap pointing toward me.
“In a minute,” he said, “you’re going to pass through this tiny opening, right through to the back side of the bill. Think you can do that?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem very likely,” I said, “but I’m not going to bet against it.”
He had me hold the little flap tightly between a thumb and forefinger, and then he began to fold the bill into a small package. He folded one section toward me, and I was looking at part of the green back of the bill, the part that has that goofy pyramid with an eye in it.
“The mystic eye,” Dundeen said. “Now watch. It’s going to peer at you from over here, too.”
He folded that section back, did something else, and now the eye was staring at me from the other edge of the bill. That’s pretty wild, I thought. And then he unfolded the bill, and it had reversed itself. I was looking at the back now, at the green side, and I had never let go of that little flap. I really was on the other side.
“That’s amazing, buddy,” I said. “I think that’s maybe the best trick I ever saw you do. How did you do that?”
“With considerable skill, thank you,” he said. “I thought you’d like it.”
“You know,” I told him. “If you can get me through that little hole, you ought to be able to get me out of this mess.”
He stared at me, thinking hard. I could almost see the wheels going around. I was hoping. Really hoping.
“Okay,” Dundeen said.
He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small leather case, which he unzipped. There were some little gadgets in there, and I didn’t know what most of them were, but I recognized the lock pick that Dundeen extracted. The feeling of relief came flooding back as he went to work on the padlock. Now, he was Dundeen the Great in my book forever.
“I hope you know a cop who can get me into some kind of witness-protection program,” he said.
“You can count on it, buddy,” I said.
Dundeen made short work of the padlock. He couldn’t have been working on it for more than a couple of minutes when it snapped open. As soon as the cuff was off, he helped me stand up. I was still a little shaky from whatever Trudy shot into me, but I wanted to get out of that room and out of that warehouse and out of Vegas as soon as I could.
The room opened into a larger space with a bunch of crates stacked against one wall. I figured that they held the props from Dundeen’s show. It was chilly in the bigger room, and I remembered that I was naked.
“You don’t have any wardrobe trunks among that stuff, do you?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Let me check.”
He went over to the crates. He didn’t seem to be having much luck finding anything, but then he pulled a small suitcase from behind one of the larger boxes. He brought it over to me.
“This is all I saw,” he said. “These are the costumes that one of my female assistants wore, but she was a pretty small woman.”
He opened the case. His assistant had been small all right, and her costumes were even smaller. I didn’t see anything that had a chance of fitting me except for one brief, spangled skirt that I could barely pull up around my waist after stepping into it. It was so short that it didn’t cover the bottom curve of my bare buttocks, and the tip of my dangling penis was almost visible in front, but I figured it was better than nothing.
“This will have to do,” I said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Dundeen led the way to the rear entrance of the warehouse. When we emerged onto the loading dock, we were facing the dock on the adjacent warehouse, about thirty or forty feet away. A couple of black guys were in the process of loading a truck there, and a woman with a clipboard was standing on the dock to check off the crates as they loaded them. They stared at us open-mouthed. I couldn’t blame them. Even in Vegas, it’s a little unusual to see a naked guy trying to cover himself with a narrow strip of skirt walk out of a warehouse in the middle of the afternoon.
I nodded to them politely, and we went down the dock steps and around the building onto the sidewalk in front of the warehouse. It wasn’t a busy street, but there were a couple of cars headed our direction. I could see the drivers do double-takes as they passed us and caught a glimpse of what I wasn’t wearing.
“I’m not sure where to go,” Dundeen said. “I’m not really familiar with this part of town.”
We looked up and down the street. About a block away, there was a sign sticking out from a corner building that said, “Mack’s Place.” It looked like a bar to me.
“Let’s try there,” I said.
We hurried up the street. The sidewalk, heated by the desert sun, made me hop gingerly along on my bare feet. Mack’s Place was a bar all right, but it looked a little out of place in glitzy Vegas. It would have been right at home in some factory town in Pennsylvania or Jersey.
We went in. It was dark inside, and it took a while for our eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight. There were a couple of guys sitting at the bar, a few more at tables and a couple at the ever-present slots lined up along the side wall. And there were three young women sitting around a table close to the door, all of them staring at me standing there with everything hanging out. They looked as if they were trying not to laugh, but they weren’t trying very hard.
We went past them, down along the bar toward the back of the room. My naked bottom could almost feel their eyes. When we got to the rear, around the corner of the bar so that my lower half was out of view, the bartender came walking back to us to see what this was all about.
“We’ve got a little problem,” Dundeen told him. “You don’t have anything my friend could wear, do you?”
“I can see you got a problem,” the bartender said. “Yeah, we might be able to fix him up. Why don’t you guys come on back to the office while I’m looking for something?
We followed him down the rear hall, past the rest rooms and through the door of a small, cluttered office. He told us to wait there and left. We stood there looking at each other, and I could see that Dundeen was having trouble suppressing a grin.
“You do look pretty unusual, Dan,” he said. “I bet those girls thought you were real cute.”
“Just don’t start with that,” I said. “I’m not having a real good day.”
The bartender was gone for a very long time. I was beginning to think that he had called the cops and was waiting for them to arrive. Finally, he came back into the room. He wasn’t carrying anything.
“I had to send out for some clothing,” he said. “A friend of mine ought to be here with it in a few minutes.”
“I appreciate that a lot,” I said. “You’re helping us out of a tough spot. I’m Dan Diamond by the way, and this is — ”
I realized that I didn’t know Dundeen’s real name. He’d told me once, but I couldn’t remember what he said.
“Oh, I recognize your friend,” the bartender said. “I caught your show when you were down on The Strip,” he told Dundeen. “Good stuff.”
“Thank you,” Dundeen said. “Glad you liked it. Are you Mack?”
“Mack?” the bartender asked. “Oh, you mean the name on the sign. That’s just a name. The owner didn’t want to use his own name. He’s got a lot of fancier places, and he wouldn’t want his real name on a joint like this.”
“You’re not the owner?” I asked.
“Naw,” he said, “the owner is the guy I called about getting you some clothes. I think that’s him coming now.”
There were footsteps in the hall.
“No, this guy’s not named Mack,” the bartender said. “This guy’s name is Nicky.”
The door opened. Nicky Balls was standing there. He had a thin smile on his face and a very large gun in his right hand.
* * * * * * * * *
NEXT: Chops on the menu?
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