You can read the first Nicky Noir story here.
It’s only Monday and I’m already out of good feelings for the week. Here’s a word to the wise: if it’s Monday, stay in bed, snuggle up to someone with no morals or read a goddamned book. Don’t spend a Monday morning—morning for godsake!—trawling Koreatown looking for a pin.
Now, I know a lot of uptown folks won’t be too familiar with the term, I forgive you your ignorance and I’ll lessen the suspense: a pin does in the underworld, the same thing it does in your garments, namely, it sticks things together. They’re go-betweens, intermediaries, conciliators (if you’re the sort that needs a two dollar word to make things plain). I need to find one if I’m going to have any hope of picking up a lead for my case.
Saying ‘my case’ makes it sound like it’s more than just a worried mother looking out for her son, who’s stirred up some trouble by consorting with the city’s seedier element. This wouldn’t be too much of an issue, except that this young man’s mother is practically dripping wealth. One look at mama bear in her black fur coat, chic bob, and tight pressed lips was all Penny—my long-suffered and long-suffering assistant—needed to accept the job on my behalf. I was elsewhere negotiating a different sort of payment with a strawberry-blonde in a love nest across town.
I heard word from a semi-reputable source that I could find what I was looking for in the kitchen of a local restaurant. I skip the front entrance and circle around back where an older korean man sits on a milk crate and eyes me suspiciously.
“I’m looking for Shin,” I say, a little louder than necessary. “Shin. He works here?”
“You speak this loud all the time?” the man asks, then spits on the ground. “What do you want with Shin?”
“Just to ask him a question.”
“I could be.”
Just then the back door opens and a younger man carrying a bus tub full of lobster and shrimp shells walks out. He glances at the older man and then at me before going over to a nearby dumpster and throwing the shells in. He pauses on his way back to the door.
He says something to the other man in Korean which gets him a short reply. He makes a face and looks over at me. “You’re looking for Shin?”
“I am,” I say. “I was also under the impression that I’d found him.”
The young man laughs. He takes off the stained white apron around his neck and throws it at the other man who catches it and snaps something else in Korean. The younger man smiles and laughs it off. He turns back to me and gestures to the street. “Follow me.”
“Where are we going?” I asks.
“You want to see Shin, right? We’re going to see Shin.”
I’m starting to get the feeling across my forearms that says, “trouble.” But what choice do I have? I have to find this kid and without a valid contact, no one in Koreatown is going to speak to me. I follow this guy through the streets. He’s a burly sort, a real bruiser. Hair shaved down low and fists shoved in his pockets. I can see the outline of his knuckles through his trousers. What kind of guy balls his fists even when they’re in his pockets? Trouble.
He takes me to a tenement and we jog up thirteen floors before he stops at a landing and goes straight. When I tell you that I’ve never been so thankful to see a random apartment door, please understand that includes the door of every floozy, loose acquaintance, and knife-smiled gentleman I’ve ever fucked. After thirteen floors I’m feeling like I’ve smoked every cigarette in the city simultaneously. I’m courteous enough to keep my wheezing to myself and this guy is courteous enough not to mention it. Thirteen floors and not even a sigh from this ox.
I shake my head. The youth is always trying to show us up.
He unlocks the door to the apartment and I follow him in. I watch him lock up behind him and throw his keys on a table beside the door.
“So you need Shin. Why?” he asks.
“I’d prefer to tell him that directly. Unless you’re Shin.”
He cocks his head and licks his lips. “The one and only. So how can I help you, Nicky Noir?”
“You know who I am,” I say. I’m genuinely surprised. Not many people know my name who I haven’t punched in the face or fucked in the face. I don’t recall doing either to this man.
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s my business to know who’s playing in my sandbox. I’m assuming you’re looking for the kid.”
“You assume a lot,” I say. “But yes, I am. Do you know where he is? Is he safe?”
Shin—and I’m certain that’s not his real name—shrugs.
“The kid is just stupid and scared. He owes some money that he can’t pay back, he can ask mom but is afraid she’ll disinherit him.” Shin scoffs and smiles and shakes his head, like this situation is entirely beneath him. “Better to be without your inheritance than without your fingers.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“That depends,” he says. “I expect to be paid for the privilege.”
I reach for my wallet and make a show of starting to count out bills. “Everything costs money these days. I remember when people saved lives for the hell of it.”
“Must have been a long time ago,” Shin muses. “And I’m not interested in your money. The people I work for compensate me very well for my time.”
“Yet you work in a restaurant, throwing out what’s left of lobsters instead of eating them,” I say calmly, still counting off bills. I know this guy’s type: all talk and bluster for all those muscles. He’s right about one thing though, everything—and everyone—costs money.
Shin gets this smug smile and I figure it’s because I’ve finally hit the right amount. I extend the cash in his direction and he reaches for his zipper instead. Trouble.
“I work at the restaurant because labor keeps a man grounded. I like to work. But you, I get the feeling you don’t like to work so hard. Still you’ve got quite the mouth, Mr. Noir. I wonder how good you are with it.”
“Pity you’re not a pretty lady. I don’t think I’ve ever been with an Asian before. Granted I’ve spent enough time drunk in this city that anything is possible.”
“Now why should a little thing like a cock spoil our fun?” Shin asks, as something very not-little tumbles out of his pants. “Crawl over here on your knees and put my dick in that smart mouth of yours. I think that’d be a nice show of good faith.”
This is the second time in two months that a man has used his cock as a bargaining chip in my presence. Think that says something about the company I keep?
“Think I’ll pass.”
“You sure? I mean, small price to pay to save a life. I won’t even tell anyone. What’s a little secret if it keeps the kid intact?”
“Maybe you should save this kid’s life out of the goodness of your heart.”
“My heart?” Shin grabs his cock from the base and squeezes up like a tube of toothpaste until a fat pearl of precum dribbles out. He lets it hang. “That’s not where I keep the goodness, Nick. Can I call you Nick? Anyway, Nick. If this precum hits the floor, our negotiation is closed. The kid loses a couple of his fingers and that’s just the start. You don’t need fingers to do what they’ll make him do to make up the money he owes. Or teeth for that matter.” He smiles widely.
I watch the translucent liquid move slowly from the head of his now-hard cock. I don’t like being coerced and it galls me to think that Shin might be bluffing. But if there’s a chance this kid is in that deep then there’s not much of a choice here, is there? Besides, Penny’s eye for money is never wrong and if this kid’s mom can pay what Penny thinks she can…Fuck it. I can buy back my dignity later.
I get down on my knees and kind of shuffle across the floor. It’s not crawling, not exactly, but Shin doesn’t make a point of it. No doubt he’s too pleased with himself to quibble.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had to crawl for something I wanted, but that’s a story for a different time. I stop in front of him and try to lift my hand to Shin’s cock but he slaps it away like I’m a kid grabbing for cookies before dinner.
“Open your mouth, tilt your head back.”
Is he going to piss in my mouth? No fucking way. If he pisses in my mouth, I’m firing Penny for getting me into this job. She gets to sit in the office and read magazines while I gargle some underworld flunky’s piss? I tilt my head back anyway, I mean, I don’t know for certain he’s going to do it. I decide that if he does, I’m going to fight him. It’s not that I’m ethically opposed to piss-play, but I’m wearing my nicest vest.
Shin stands over me and squeezes the fluid completely free from his dick. The long thread of prespunk lands in my mouth and Shin closes my jaw manually. He says, “now swallow.”
I do. It’s a little bitter, but a little sweet. “Good boy.” He slaps my cheek twice.
“Now let’s discuss the kid,” I say, and start to stand. He puts one hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down to my knees.
“Who said we were finished here? We’ve just opened negotiations. I have aspirations of fucking that tight ass of yours.”
“I’m going to have to disappoint you then. You’re not fucking my ass for the president’s life much less some wayward rich kid,” I say. “No one fucks me.”
It’s a lie, but I figure with a little conviction I can sell it. I’ve already crawled for this kid (and the paycheck he’ll bring me) I don’t think I should have to take it in the ass for him too. Especially not with what Shin’s working with. Even given an entire afternoon to prepare for that, I have the feeling I’d still have nothing but regrets once that monster was inside me. And have I mentioned it’s a monday morning? Not the way I want to start my week: butt-fucked into oblivion by some power-tripping thug.
Shin gives me a look like he’s sizing me up then he backs off. “Fine. I’ll leave your ass virgin, but I’m still fucking your throat. No more deals.”
I figure I can live with that.
Shin grabs me by the throat and starts feeding me his uncircumcised cock without buying me dinner first. The things we do for Justice.
He’s hunched over me and his dick is sliding down into my mouth across my tongue, I’m a little hard, but I’d never admit it. He’s sneering like a full-blown lunatic. The people I associate with…
“Not so smug, eh?” He’s leering at me. Trying to get a rise out of me. I could bite him, but I’d rather not explain to the client that I got her son killed because some twenty-year old got overzealous on the rhetorical language.
I start to choke as his big dick forces its way between my breathing and my gag reflex. He only gets harder.
“That’s what I want to hear, choke on my cock, asshole. I’m gonna’ drown you with cum.”
I don’t doubt it. So remember when I said I was a little hard? I lied. I’m extremely hard. What can I say? I guess my favorite time of day is half-past crazy, even on a Monday.
Shin starts to fuck my face explicitly. He’s up on his toes, angling his cock into my mouth with his fingers and humping forward with his hips. I breathe in between thrusts, or when his thrusts start to go too long, instead of breathing I just hope I don’t pass out. He smells like a mixture of grilled food, sweat, and the vague masculine aroma of a guy who doesn’t give much of a fuck about how he smells. In another situation, in a different apartment, Shin would be the kind of guy who’d be riding my cock in a bathroom with me sitting on the closed toilet while he balances against the sink. He’s not the kind of guy you bring into your bed. He’s a little too filthy for that. Goddamn I’m hard.
Shin’s breathing starts to get ragged. I know, sure as shit, where this is headed. Shin pulls out of my mouth and starts jerking off furiously. His face is flushed and he’s scowling.
“I’m gonna cum all over your fucking face, asshole.”
I don’t doubt it.
It’s not until Shin is actually cumming on my face that I consider that there was another way. I could have pummelled him to submission and made him tell me where the kid was. Another detective, maybe a better one, would have intimidated him instead of letting him shoot his load on said detective’s face. But whatever, I’m here now and the situation is what it is.
Shin cums a lot. Several shots land on my face, in my mouth, up into my hair, but he also shoots a few that go wide and land—where else?—on my nicest fucking vest. That irks me more than anything else: more than the threats of fucking my ass, chopping off my client’s son’s fingers, etc. Did he have to get it on my vest?
Shin backs up a few steps and looks at his handiwork. I’m already wiping it off my face with my sleeve.
He’s got this wry grin on his face.
“So where’s the kid?” I ask.
Shin gestures in the direction of a backroom with his thumb. “He’s sleeping in my guest room.”
“And why is he sleeping in your guest room?” I’m standing up now and trying to get the jizz out of my hair.
“Because he’s my boyfriend,” Shin answers.
“So all that shit about him owing money to the underworld gangs—”
“—was bullshit,” Shin finishes. “He’s never been in any danger. He doesn’t gamble. Hell, he doesn’t even drink. He doesn’t have much in the way of vices aside from associating with me. I guess some people like a seedy element, you know?”
“Can I speak with him?”
Shin waves a hand casually as he zips up his fly. I walk to the backroom and find the son of my client lying in bed masturbating. He waves with one hand.
“Sounds like you two had fun,” he says.
I watch the little pervert orgasm then toss him a jacket that I pick up from the floor. “Clean yourself up. We’re going to see your mother.”
It turns out that mom and son are in the middle of a tiff so he storms out and shacks up with his boyfriend. She, of course, has him spied on and catches wind that he’s been seen with a known criminal and assumes the worst.
When I explain all this to Penny back at the office, she tells me that she has two questions:
“So did we get paid?” she asks, her eyes hopeful.
I give her a share of the cash and she fans herself with it. “What could be sweeter than money?”
“A sane clientele?”
She ignores my question and asks another of her own. “So did he actually piss in your mouth?”
I give her a look. She knows what it means.
“If he had, darling, you’d be looking for a new detective to torment.”
“How could I ever leave you, Nicky? When you supply me with the finest clothes, the greenest bills, and the sickest stories.”
I give her another look. She bats her eyelashes as innocently as a jackal. I put on my hat and leave start to leave the office.
“I’m getting drunk, Penny. Wake me on Wednesday.”
If there’s one thing I hate worse than a Monday, it’s a Tuesday.