THE HARD-BOILED DICK AND THE POLICEMAN'S BALL

The tomato leans over my desk, giving me an eyeful of the of the ripe melons she's got in her display window. Man, I knew I shoulda been a green grocer.

Between her fingers she's holdin' an ebony cigarette holder with an unlit chesterfield just waitin' to get hot and bothered.

Aren't you going to offer a lady a light?

I only spilled about 20 or 30 matches before i got one lit, and i'm thinkin': "Lady, rub those silk-stocking covered pieces of warm sculpture you keep flashin' at me together, and we'd have bonfire in nothin' flat."

I dropped the match in the ashtray at the point where it was burnin' my fingers. I had to get a grip on myself, this cookie had baked my brains.

Where was i . . . oh yeah, i needed her story . . .

"It ain't pretty," she said. She inhaled, holding the smoke in her lovely lungs, studying my face. "It involves a dirty cop.. If that scares you, we'll end it right here."

That jolted me back from the swim in her Eirie Canal in a hurry.

"Scare me? Ha! Honey, I ain't scared a nothin' ....nuffin' ya hear me?"

That's when she shows me the gun.

"You're a liar." She says, cocking her weapon, "You're scared of this."

Boy, was she fast.

She skipped over the terrorizing bit and went straight into her demands.
"I want you. You and no body else but you. You're going to help me."

I stare at her, "Er....can you repeat that please? Word for word, only much, much slower ....maybe with enphasis on the word you?"

The gun points at my head, "Get clever with me, chum... you get dead."

I look into her eyes and see she means it. Boy oh boy, another f*cked up day at the office. Another woman who looks like a dream, but could end up being a real nightmare....

Then she pulled a blood soaked hanky from her purse, and said:

"Now, the cop I told you about? This is his."

She dropped the hanky on my desk, and a severed testicle rolled out. This day was off to a really bad start.

Well sister, seems you got the balls....tell me more, I'm listening

"My father was Vic, Vic the butcher. You've heard of him, right?"

How I could I not have? Vic had been known as not only a purveyor of fine meat products -- his veal chops had been consistently excellent -- but also as an enforcer for Johnny D. He had gone to that great meat locker in the sky under questionable circumstances, if you can call being ground up and made into sausages and sold at the ballgame questionable. Vic's demise and subsequent, er, second act is why I've become a lacrosse fan.

"Yeah I have. I was in row 17, seat B that day. I still think that guy was safe at second. Tell me more."