john zen, pi
the hot anvil sun had finally dipped into the pacific as john zen pulled up to his office, a second floor walk up in downtown l.a. not really l.a. anymore but more like downtown tj, zen thought, as he slipped the key into the lock. tired, gritty, and thinking only of velda, his busty secretary, he didn’t notice the the door was already open. yeah, velda, he thought, some cheap scotch and a bubble bath with velda. wash away the grime of crime from this world weary soul and partake in her lusty charms. in your dreams, zen, he thought, as he pushed the door open revealing a scantily clad mexican babe of indeterminate age.
that’s me, honey.
oh, senor zen, you must help me. my brother, he has been kidnapped by columbian drug lords.
i see, so why don’t you just call the cops?
i can not, senor zen, i…we…are not in your country legally…and the drug lords will kill my brother if i do.
crap, just what i need, zen thought, as he pulled a flask from a desk drawer and drank heavily from it. lighting a fresh pall mall he spoke again.
look, sister, i’m tired, ok? this isn’t a job for me. it’s for the cops or somebody else, dig? i’m just a private dick. a one man army against a tidal wave of crime. plus, and it’s a big plus, they will not only kill your brother they will kill me too. now scram. i have bills to pay.
oh, senor zen, you must help me…puhhhleeseeezeee…
the micro mini she was wearing dropped to the floor. her ample yet firm breasts teased him from across the desk top.
all of this is yours. whenever you want it, she cooed.
hmmmmm, yes, perhaps i’ve been a bit rash after all, my dear. come, kneel here under my desk while i go over these bills and you go to work on my tool. ah, yeah, that’s nice…ahhh…yes.
in his blow job bliss, zen, missed the dark hispanic male sneaking into his office. the narco terrorist killed them both with a single shot.