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From: Desdmona22@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Rough Cut: Chap 14 by Desdmona (Hard-Boiled Mystery)
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Date: Sun, 11 Apr 2004 17:10:02 -0400
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The following story contains sex scenes that may be offensive to some. Read 
at your own peril. This chapter may be particularly graphic for some.

The year is 1940. Tailing Kitty Winslow was supposed to be an easy gig. 
Cincinnati dick, Moe Gafferson, finds out that nothing is ever easy.

*****************************************
Rough Cut - A Moe Gafferson Mystery
Written by Desdmona
Edited by Poison Ivan


Chapter 14



Mona Dale lived on a small street in a platted area of
Norwood. Most of the houses were the already-cut-and-fitted
types that were popping up all over America. Mona's was no
different - a story-and-a-half bungalow designed with bevel
siding and painted yellow. The main roof sloped down over a
large front porch that boasted two potted mums on stone
columns. The architecture of the house had as many graceful
curves as its occupant.

The lawn was littered with fallen leaves in decaying shades
of red and orange. Moe shuffled through them searching for
the sidewalk that led to the front door. Danja's slack body
seemed even heavier with the blood saturated blanket around
it, and managing the few steps up to the porch wasn't as
easy as it should have been. The night's autumn breeze blew
across Moe's wet leg and left him cold.

Carrying a half-dead girl had a way of disintegrating a
man's patience. He kicked at the door. "Mona, open up." When
she didn't answer immediately, he kicked it again. The
portico lamp switched on just in time to keep him from
booting a third time.

A seasoned nurse like Mona was probably used to seeing a lot
of blood, but not at midnight on her front porch. She swung
open the door and said exactly what Moe was feeling. "Holy
Mother of God!"

"Hurry, Mona. I need your help."

Mona unlatched the screen door and stepped aside to let Moe
and his bundle pass through. "She needs a doctor, Moe."

"You're the next best thing, baby, and there's no time for
debate."

Mona motioned for Moe to follow her off to the right of the
front door. "This way," she said and led them up a short
flight of stairs. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know why she's bleeding."

Mona shot a look down at Moe's pant leg. "Why are you
bleeding?"

"I'm not."

Mona's eyes popped wide, but she held her tongue. She led
them to a back room on the second floor and pointed to a
twin bed in the corner. "Get that blanket off her while I
get some supplies." Mona yanked back the bedspread and then
hurried out of the room.

Moe eased Danja's body down on the crisp, white linens of
the bed and worked at uncoiling the blanket from around her.
Her pale blue lips and matted yellow hair stood out against
her ashen skin. Moe had forgotten she was nude until he saw
her under-ripened nipples flat against her chest. He'd
nearly finished unwrapping the blanket when Mona rushed back
in with rags and her medical bag. She stopped on a dime.
"Where are her clothes?" The words scraped through teeth
clenched so tight paper wouldn't slide between them.

"There wasn't time to find them ."

Moe started to explain, but he'd just freed Danja's lower
body, and the only thing he could hear was the whoosh of his
pulse rumbling through his ears. Once, in a slaughterhouse,
Moe had seen something that might compare to the crimson,
jelly-like lump that lay between Danja's legs. Tiny unformed
limbs protruded from the mass. Moe swallowed hard, gulping
for air and forgetting to breathe out. "Is that what I think
it is?" He tried not to revisit his dinner.

Mona cast a look of pure disgust Moe's way. "Go downstairs
to the kitchen and clean yourself up. I have enough to do
without trying to step over you."

Finally, remembering to exhale, Moe heaved a sigh. "I figure
I can help. I'll do anything you want."

"I think you've done enough already, don't you?" There
wasn't an ounce of compassion in any syllable she spoke.

"Mona ."

She met Moe's eye for the first time, and all he could see
was a world of hurt. "Moe, it'll be easier _for me_ if you
wait downstairs."

There was nothing he could say to that. At least nothing
more important than Mona fixing up Danja. So he turned to
leave. "Holler if you need me."

                            * * *
                              
Moe spent the next two hours doing nothing but squeaking
shoe leather. It didn't take long before he could find his
way through the first floor of Mona's house with his eyes
closed: living room, dining room, kitchen - living room,
dining room, kitchen. He could have walked to Kentucky and
back by now, if he hadn't been afraid of leaving the house.
On the umpteenth trip through the kitchen, he decided to
step out on the back porch. It was two o'clock in the
morning, the moon was high. The neighborhood was sleeping,
but someone forgot to tell the damn crickets. Their trilling
song nagged worse than a mother-in-law. The shadow of two
large crosses - clothesline props - stood silently in the
backyard. Against the house was a good-sized pile of split
maple. He grabbed a couple of logs from the woodpile and
headed back inside. The fireplace in the living room was as
good a project as any to occupy his hands, if not his mind.

Moe might have been able to ignore how the flames reminded
him of Mona's hair if the red-headed nurse hadn't come down
the steps just as the kindling flared up in a perfect flame.
She looked tired - eyes heavy, hair mussed, clothes
disheveled. In her arms she carried a bundle, supporting it
like it was bone china.

"I don't know what to do with this." She pulled the bundle
tighter to her chest, and tears welled in her eyes.

"Is it .?"

"It's a fetus." Mona sniffled, "Maybe three or four months
along."

"Four months? She didn't even look pregnant."

"Some women take awhile to show, especially if it's their
first pregnancy. Add that to poor health. It's possible."

This was out of Moe's league. Cheating wives, one-eyed
chumps, and sleazy politicians Moe knew how to deal with.
But a baby born before it was ready was a different matter.
"We'll have to bury it, Mona." His heart sank at the look of
grief spilling all over Mona's face. "I'll take care of it,"
he said.

"It's a girl."

"You can tell that?"

She nodded and hugged the bundle.

"And Danja?"

"I don't know. She's lost a lot of blood, but I think the
bleeding has stopped. It'll be a day or more before we'll
know about infection."

"And if there is infection?"

"Then she's going to the hospital." Mona's green eyes blazed
as she glared at Moe. "No matter what you say. She _should_
be there now."

"I had to bring her here, Mona. And I don't know if the
hospital is a safe place for her."

"Not safe? Why?"

"Let's just say her sugar daddy has too many connections."

Mona blinked several times like she was flipping through a
calendar and looking for the right date. "Then you're not
responsible for her condition?" she finally asked.

Moe shook his head and felt the tension in his neck pull at
his muscles. "I may be a two-bit dick, Mona, but I would
never do that to a woman."

"My god, Moe. She's undernourished and covered in bruises.
She's torn in places I don't want to talk about, and she
reeks of sex. What the hell were you doing with her?"

"Trying to save her without getting a friend in trouble."

Mona held out the bundle. "You're friends with a man who
would do this to a woman?" She quickly cuddled the infant
close again.

Moe rubbed his hands over his face, wishing he could say
more and hoping through some miracle that Mona would
understand. "It's complicated. But believe me, Mona, the
scut who is responsible for that girl upstairs is _not_ my
friend."

"Then tell me what's going on, Moe."

"The less you know, the better."

"Let me be the judge of that." Her face softened. She
glanced down at the tightly wrapped dead baby in her arms.
"You can trust me, Moe."

Moe knew it was true. She'd stuck up for him. Mona could
have turned her back on him more than once. For instance,
when the cops hauled them into the clink house. Instead, she
gave him an alibi. She could have put him out on his ear
when he showed up tonight. And she could have called an
ambulance at any time in the last two hours. But she hadn't.
Mona Dale was trustworthy. There was no doubt about it. But
he'd made a promise to keep her out of it. Never mind that
showing up at Mona's house with Danja already kicked that
promise in the rear. Moe was able to slim down his guilt by
believing what Mona didn't know couldn't hurt her.

"It's not about trust, doll. It's about bad people doing bad
things to people who know too much."

She stood there staring - eyes big and green - and too smart
for her own good. "It's a little late to pretend I don't
know anything. Isn't it?"

"It's business, Mona. Ugly business."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a fragile knick-knack. Not after
I just spent the last two hours cleaning up that girl." Mona
stared at the carefully-wrapped infant remains in her arms.
Teardrops sneaked down her cheeks in shaky rows. She let
them drip off her face without embarrassment. "Just because
I'm crying does not mean I'm fragile," she said with
indignation, punching each word like a shadowboxing
pugilist.

"Baby, there are a ton of words I would use to describe
you," Moe said. "Fragile isn't anywhere on the list."

Mona glanced over at Moe with watery eyes and trembling
lips. "We need to burry this girl, Moe. And when we're done,
you're going to give me an explanation."

                            * * *
                              
With Mona's direction, Moe found a food crate in the
basement. Mona cleaned the crate and lined it with a piece
of plum-colored velvet cloth from her sewing basket. Nailing
the lid shut was one of the hardest things Moe had ever
done. That is, up until he had to dig a six foot hole in the
back corner of Mona's yard. "Under the weeping willow," she
told him. In Moe's eyes, shroud-tailors skipped a couple
rungs up the ladder of do-gooders for their undertaking
work.

After a good deal of back-straining labor, the digging was
done. Moe laid the crate in the bottom of the grave. He felt
a chill under the cool October sky when he dropped the first
shovelful of dirt back on top of the homemade coffin. When
he was finished, he crossed his body like the nuns had
taught him eons ago, and he fell to his knees. He prayed if
there was a God that He would forgive Moe and take care of
the little girl Moe had just delivered into His hands.

Moe dropped off the shovel in Mona's shed and trudged back
to the house. He could smell his own sweat. And Danja's
blood had dried, leaving his pants stiff and fetid. He felt
dirty from the inside out. He stood on the back porch,
waiting and shivering and hoping the breeze would blow off
some of his stink.

The screen door creaked, and Mona slipped out beside him.
She had bathed. Her skin was shiny and flushed and carried
the scent of Ivory soap. She wore a white nightgown, the
kind that buttoned from the neck to the toes, and her hair
was pulled back in a ponytail. It made her look sixteen -
fresh, unsullied, and sexy as hell.

The contrast of clean versus dirty, or her versus him,
settled into a battle of good versus bad in Moe's mind. He
looked away from her and pretended to find the log pile
captivating. "You'll freeze your ass off standing out here."

She edged closer. "I'll take the risk."

Moe wanted to think about anything but the picture perfect
dame beside him. "How's Danja?"

"She's sleeping. I gave her laudanum."

"She was awake?"

"Briefly. Earlier." Mona fiddled with the buttons on her
gown. "She told me how you rescued her."

Moe glanced out over the yard to the freshly dug grave. He
didn't feel much like a rescuer and certainly nothing that
should be thought of in glowing terms. "Did Danja say
anything else?"

"Not really. She seemed relieved about the baby." Mona put a
hand on Moe's arm. It was gentle and warm. "Moe, I'm sorry
for assuming you were responsible."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It was an easy assumption to
make, doll. I'm no angel."

She pulled her hand away. The loss of contact made the night
wind even chillier. "Let's go inside, Moe."

"I was hoping for a good rain." Moe looked up toward the
clear sky with its million stars hanging in place. "I could
use a rubdown in water."

"Will a sponge bath do?" Her giggle echoed in the night, and
Moe could have sworn the crickets paused to admire the
sound.

                            * * *
                              
Mona sat on the forest green divan in the living room,
sheathed in her white gown and looking like Gabriel without
a harp, when Moe finished in the bathroom. The only light
came from the fireplace, and the shadows from its fire
danced across the walls in sybaritic jubilee. His shirt and
trousers were missing - pinched while he wasn't looking - so
he settled for a hula skirt look with his towel. He held the
edges together tight at his hip. "I could use some digs,
baby."

She languidly let her head fall on the back of the divan and
gazed up at Moe with dark eyes - red-rimmed and slightly
puffy. "I don't know. I hear terry cloth is all the fashion
on the runways of Paris." Her smirk still let her come off
looking like a hot number.

"You're a riot, Doll, but I don't think Costello is looking
to replace Abbott just yet."

She rose up from her seat and glided over in front of the
fire. The fiery backlighting outlined her nudity beneath her
gown like a Greek sculpture - curvy and smooth. "Your
clothes are washed. They're hanging up to dry."

Moe felt a stirring no towel could hide. "Mona, a man can't
see you like this and not want to take advantage."

"No expectations, Moe." She gathered the gown in her hands
and with a slow, deliberate motion lifted it over her head
and let it slip to the floor. Unveiled, she made a classical
sculpture look like modeling clay.

Moe let the towel drop from his hips but stayed glued to his
spot. Her mouth parted, and her eyes wandered over his body
like she was memorizing for a test, but she didn't budge.
She looked her fill and then raised her eyes to meet Moe's.
Her face gleamed with undisguised desire. Moe understood. He
had a craving of his own. And the longer they stood apart,
the more his desire was stoked. He wanted her. He wanted her
long, smooth legs wrapped around him. He wanted her tits
playing patty-cake with his chest. And he wanted his cock
seeking her heat and finding her fire.

In the past, he might have rushed and just taken what was
being offered from a woman, but this dame had him going
against his grain. He wanted to take his time, remember
every second and employ every sense: the snap, crackle, pop
of the fire, the smell of her soap and how it mixed with
pure scent of woman; the rise and fall of her chest as her
breathing speeded up; and the warmth of her hand when he
finally grasped it in his.

"I feel drunk, Moe. Like I'm not real."

"If you were any more real, baby, I'd implode."

They came together like puzzle pieces - her every curve
molded to his every line. Their mouths locked. Their lips
softened, and their tongues parried. Her hands slid down his
back and over his ass, caressing and squeezing and
encouraging him closer. There was only one way to get closer
that Moe could see. He pulled apart from her and slipped his
hands in her armpits, lifting her in the air. Mona went limp
until she understood his intent, and then she spread her
thighs, wrapped her calves around his hips, and hooked her
ankles. He lowered her down slowly while she wiggled her
hips to line up hole to pole. She threw her arms around his
neck and held tight as Moe eased pussy and penis together.
Her cunt was warm and wet and cozy, and her cunny-lips
kissed the base of his shaft when he was in as deep as he
could get.  He wrapped his arms around her and they
embraced. Intimately.


Mona used all her muscles to squeeze, and Moe's legs began
to shake. He managed to slump to the floor, sitting flat-
assed on the rug, bringing her with him without breaking the
connection.

"Is this right, Moe?" She rocked against him, forcing her
breasts to swing up to his mouth. Her taut nipples poked at
his lips and played catch-me-if-you-can.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yessss. Oh, yes."

"Then it must be right, doll." He caught one of her nipples
and forcefully sucked it into his mouth. Her body tensed,
and she moaned in pure pleasure. He teased and slurped until
her nipple popped free, and her moan became more of a growl.

Moe leaned back until he was stretched out on the floor.
Mona sat perched over him. Her creamy skin was flushed, and
her breathing was hard and fast. "I don't know what to do."

"Ever ride a horse, Mona?"

"Yes."

"Sidesaddle?

"Yes, but I've also ridden astride."

"Well, doll. That's what you do. Ride me like you're riding
that horse astride."

It didn't take long before Moe realized Mona was an
accomplished rider. Rather than rising straight up, she
pushed her hips forwards and upwards in a gentle thrusting
movement, and then back down full circle into Moe's saddle.
Her back remained soft and supple and as soon as her ass
touched, she was on her way up again in a continuous
rhythmic motion. She was as good as any jockey at the
Kentucky Derby. Better. She had tits that swayed, and a
mouth that gasped in delight.

Her climax, when it came, was worthy of the winner's circle
- all oohs and ahhs and heavenly smiles. She fell forward,
their torsos together, and Moe wrapped his arms around her,
bucking against her, harder and harder, until sweat covered
them both. His orgasm whipped through him like lightning.
With the spurt of his jizz, Mona pushed against him,
allowing her pussy to suckle his cock and milk every drop.

Moe was exhausted. If he'd been standing, he would have
collapsed. The sex hadn't lasted long, but its intensity
outweighed its duration. The dame was a thoroughbred, and
Moe felt like a stud readied for pasture.

Minutes later, Mona was snuggled against him, her head
resting on his chest. Moe felt the smattering of teardrops.

"Someone break your doll, Mona?"

"What?"

"Why the tears?" he asked.

"It's not fair that I should be so happy. Not with Danja in
such bad shape."

"Some folks are just born under a bad sign, Mona. Don't beat
yourself up."

Mona rolled away and sat up. She reached for her nightgown.
"I should go check on her."

Moe sat up himself. He didn't want her to leave just yet. He
didn't want to lose her heat. "I thought you said she'd be
sleeping."

Mona stood to push her arms through the sleeves of the gown.
"I need to see how she is. She lost a lot of blood tonight,
Moe. And a baby."


to be continued...

***************************************
This story was originally posted and illustrated at 
http://www.ruthiesclub.com. 
My eternal gratitude goes to Alexey for bringing Moe to life.
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