THE CASE OF THE GARDENERS BOY
The Case of the Gardener's Boy Part Nine
A Randy Harden Story
© Van T Z Boi 2018
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From Part Eight
"Oh don't you worry Randy," he tugged at his shorts and the fly opened wider, the pink head of his upright cocklet slipped out and winked at me, "I'll make it worth your while too."
The office was closed, the lights out, Donny had clearly locked up and gone for the day but there was likely to be a note left out for me if anything had been heard. I felt for my keys and was about to unlock the door when I felt the hard roundness pressed against my back. I tensed and heard the sound of breathing in my left ear.
Part Nine
The blunt roundness was pressed hard, the power behind it spoke of hard muscle, the heavy breath that my ears had heard was augmented by my nasal receptors which picked up the acrid tang of smoked tobacco mixed with the soury acidic overlay of garlic.
"The Don's compliments and he would like a word with you," the accent was decidedly Un-American, more probably Sicilian or Italian to my ears, the gun was pressed right against one of the bones in my spine and as it was punched into my back, the sharp searing pain flared along the whole column of my backbone. I sucked in a hard breath to help combat the surging pain and fell forward against the office door; my head instinctively helping me keep my balance and my temper. As I trembled held against the door, hands weaved expertly around my body, searching my clothing; whoever the owner of the gun was he wasn't alone. The seeking hand search was professionally quick.
"He's clean," the owner of the second voice was nasally American.
"Okay Mr Private Dick," the gun was shoved hard against my back and I was edged to the side. "Now be a good little detective and keep quiet," I twitched, controlling the urge to swing wildly around, the trick had worked before but professional common-sense told me that was unlikely to work this particular time.
I edged to the side and was allowed to turn around, the goon with the gun was a head shorter than I was, he wore a grubby once dark brown fedora over greasy looking black hair and his complexion was the swarthier side of olive. His nose was squashed at the tip, broken during the violence that his role accustomed him too. Facing him the garlicky breath was even more rancidly acrid. His companion was tall and thin, but the stance of his body was balanced and ready, he was not one to trouble. I caught sight of the eyes, fathomless, dark brown pools; a lack of emotive content informed me this was a killer; a psychotic man who would snuff out life without a moment's blink of an eye. I sensed the coldness in him, the façade of icy incongruity was presented but my hackles rose, this `cold' man was definitely the more dangerous. I shivered as I caught his look but I continued to seek and observe, sure that there would be some weakness. I concentrated on the man with the gun.
"Hello Silvo," I spoke to the goon, I knew him from my time in the force. His mouth grinned, the tobacco stained teeth bared in the thick lipped smile. Silvio Napoli, at least that was the name on his rapsheet but I was sure that back in Italy he probably had another name; one which was wanted by both Interpol and the Italian State police. He was I knew part of Nico Scarpetti's Mafia family, one of his soldiers.
"Randy," his smile broadened. "It's been some time, eh," he waved the gun gently and turned slightly to his companion. "We go back aways, Randy's cool he won't be any trouble," if it had been anyone else I would have jumped Silvo but the other man was clearly dangerous.
I was aware the man was assessing me, "If you say so," he said, his tone flat, unconvinced. I relaxed; I was clear in my mind that Nico Scarpetti wanted to see me. Why? Well that was a different question. Alert but less concerned I walked back down the stairs and outside on the street a long dark saloon was parked with the engine running. I got in the open door at the back. Another soldier sat there, he was a stranger to me, Silvo slid in beside me, the backseat was roomy enough for all three of us; the other man slid into the passenger seat beside the driver. I saw Mikey watching us from his paperstand and hoped he would so and say nothing; the death of an unknown boy was not something I wanted on my conscience.
The journey was conducted in oblique quietness and yet as in these situations there was an air of tension inside the car. I bumped against Silvo as the car hit a pothole, unrestrained as I was I surreptitiously relieved him of his gun which I slipped behind me. The car drove through the city and out towards the docks, we were waved through the dockyard gate, the uniformed custodian did not even bother to make a notation on his log. The car drew up outside one of the large warehouses that abutted the docks; it was much larger than the one I recalled staking out as a police officer when we were keeping an eye on the advancement of Nico as he crawled up the ladder of criminal success and succession within the local mafia grouping. Not a single light was to be seen, the building appeared empty and closed. I stepped out of the car when Silvo opened the door and indicated with his hand.
"Silvo you've left your gun behind," I spoke softly, a broad smile turning up the ends of my mouth.
Silvo was like a pantomime goon, he slapped his hand at the place where the gun had been stashed; the flat smacking sound met with the empty pocket and his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open.
The other man in the backseat lifted the gun from where I had left it, "Here Silvo," his voice was tired but carried the accent of his birth. He grinned at me, there was no malice, he understood the comical aspect f the situation but was fully aware who was in control.
"Ah Rhandee, naughty naughty," Silvo grasped his gun but after looking at me kept it in his hand. A vein in his neck pulsed, I knew what I had done would be reported back and Silvo woud have some sort of price to pay
"Can it Silvo," the cold man spoke, "stop playing around." His authority impressed itself on Silvo who frowned but stepped behind me.
"This way," the cold man indicated.
I peered into the gloom; a darker shade formed itself in my eyes. A door had been opened in the wall but it was still pitch-black, not a sign of life or light. I stepped into the dingy darkness, I could sense a feeling of space, a cool breeze played about me. I was pushed forward so that the cold man and Silvo could enter behind me and I heard the slight swish as a door was closed. The cold man knocked lightly on the blackness before him; I heard the sound of his knuckles against wood. A small square opened in the darkness, an indistinguishable face behind which there gleamed a pale light.
"You got him?" the hoarse voice floated from the opening.
"What the fuck's the matter with your eyes, you think this is a ghost," the cold man leaned towards the hole. "Get the fucking door open, you think the boss's business is going to want to wait on you." The hole abruptly closed and the muted squeaking of a chain grated on my ears. I followed the cold man into the dimly lit aperture.
The owner of the hoarse voice sat on a stool, his twisted arm told me that this was Lefty, one of Nico's gang that had had a bad break in his arm following one of the many fights that took place between the rowing mafioso factors. Lefty had recovered but his left arm remained twisted and his position as a heavy in Nico's close guard had been reduced; now it looked as though he was working as a warehouse keeper, but one with loyalty and lack of guilt where muscle needed to be used. We walked past him, I heard the rasping sound of the chain as the door was closed, `Nico was much more careful about security these days,' I thought.
The next door opened onto an illuminated walkway, no windows just closed doors ran along the corridor. I could not hear a thing, the walls and doors must have been heavily insulated, even the sound of our footsteps as we continued down the walkway sounded deadened in some way. A small foyer like space appeared at what seemed to be the end of the corridor and we came to a halt before a lift. My guide pressed a button and the lift door swished silently open. I was gestured inside, the two men stood either side of me as the cool man pressed the buttons. The lift was smooth, no indication of jerking which was more commonplace in the converted warehouses; money had been heavily spent to ensure that even the lift made no noises to alert anyone passing by. A slight jerk and the lift came to a stop, the doors swished open and I entered a well-lit space; immediately I noted the heavy duty coverings that blocked the light from the windows. We walked past some empty desks to the furthest one, here a figure sat; I could see papers spread across the desk as I approached.
"Well Randy Harden," Nico Scarpetti looked up, his hand shifted the papers so that they were obscured.
I studied the Italian gangster, Nico Scarpetti must be what, `forty-two' now, I did my mental arithmetic. He was still slim and clean shaved, hardly a trace of the shadow that hourly danced across his chin. The dark eyes were endless as they glanced back. My eyes moved down his body, he was still lean and I suspected toned, here was one Don who would not lean towards the fattening excesses of his compatriots and dead predecessors, I felt a tremor slide down my spine as Nico's empty eyes caught mine. He was a killer with contempt for life, any life that got in the way of his business.
The last time I saw him was about four years ago, just before my shooting, He was a suspect in one of the murders that sprinkled a growing criminal side of city life. I had been sent accompany one of the detective's dealing with the case. I recalled the chill of his presence and the fact that he exuded a manliness that choked the air around him. As then my dick quivered and bloated between my legs. Little Randy was agog with lust as he scented the hint of possibilities. Scarpetti was a hot prospect despite being beyond my orbit.
"Mister Private Dick, the man who has been making waves," Nico spoke matter-of-factly, just the hint of Italy in his voice. He stood up and walked up right in front of me, I caught the expensive aroma of his aftershave; it nipped at my nostrils and ebbed inside my head. I also caught the full blast of his inherent masculinity, Little Randy thickened and quivered as I inhaled. A rush of blood surged inside me, I had to fight to stop myself from throwing myself at him, the rich essence of pure brutal manliness wafted over and around and through me. My head spun with images of Nico mounting me, breeding me and me swallowing his cock, sucking his manly seeds, `I would have bred his baby if it were possible' such was the sensual devastating effect he was having on me. He leaned closer, his breath flowing across my face and I inhaled the intoxicating aroma of molten lust.
"What do you want?" my voice squeaked an octave higher than usual and I felt my throat tighten, but we had never spoken so he would not know how I sounded normally..
"More to the case what do you want with my van," Nico sat back on his desktop, instinctively me eyes sought the evidence between his legs, the tailored trousers did little to conceal the wedge that hung between his legs and my mouth filled with saliva at the drool inducing thought of his thick cockhead.
"Your van?" I was puzzled, my detective brain was on auto pilot whilst Little Randy's brain piloted in another direction.
"The word is you want to know about an Acme van." He folded his arms across his chest, "I own the Acme laundry, so what does a private dick want pushing his nose into my business?" his tone was direct and I felt the menace thicken in the air.
I breathed hard, so Acme was part of the Scarpetti empire,' for a moment with my old police hat on I wondered what sort of business' Nico was running under the auspices of a laundry. I checked my thoughts; I had other fish to fry here.
"I have a witness that says that your van was in the vicinity where a boy was kidnapped," I spoke as matter-of-factly as I could whilst my head ran with various lines of thought.
"I don't do kidnapping," Nico's lips were thin. He paused and tapped the edge of the desk, his manicured fingers making a clicking sound against the wood. "Where was this van supposedly seen?" he quizzed me. I gave him the location, his forehead frowned, "We don't, Gordon, not our area?" the question was directed at the cold man, I now had part of a name.
"Nah Boss, we don't operate out that way, it's too low class, no mulah for us there," Gordon replied after a minutes reflection.
Nico looked back at me, "Not my van then," he smiled, the menace slid from the air. "What's the name of the missing boy?" I told him he looked at Gordon.
"Nothing to do with us boss," Gordon's reply was quicker.
"Ask around then," Nico stood up, "I'm sorry that there is someone missing, but it's nothing to do with me; as a courtesy I'll ask my men to put the word out." He moved close by me and I inhaled the heady odour of desire, whatever he was, he was all man and I wanted him, Little Randy was panting hard between my legs but I knew Nico was a womaniser of the highest degree.
"The boy's father works at the Academy where your son goes," I spoke to his back.
"Ah Nick, my little Nick, my little waste of a fuck of a son!" Nico growled and spun around, he frowned his smooth brow furrowing, "I'll speak to my boy but," his head nodding he held his palms upwards, "you know what young men are like." He returned to his seat. "Gordon will take you home," he spread his papers across the desktop. I was dismissed.
In the dimly lit corridor I breathed heavily as the sweats of terror and man lust dribbled down my spine. Gordon looked at me out of the corners of his dark eyes, "The boss don't lie," he said flatly, "this boy has nothing to do with his operation or the Acme business. The guys will find out, if there's anything to be found out, the boss don't like his affairs attracting the wrong sort of attention."
Gordon drove me home in a bright red sports car, it somehow suited his persona. At my door he stopped me, grabbing my arm, his grip tight but not frightening, "Show me what you've got on the missing boy, maybe the boss can do more?"
Inside as I made coffee he glanced at the papers I had with me. Always with regard for security when taking work home, I kept the Dearborne name out of the loose copy paperwork, just writing `client' where necessary and I was nervous about Gordon asking or demanding a name.
"Your `client' apparently wants to keep this as quiet as we do," Gordon raised an eyebrow as he spoke and I nodded. He sipped the coffee and we spoke, he was intelligent and understood the problems but I had mostly covered the ground, there was little he could add which could be of immediate help. "Perhaps the boys will turn up something," he said and finishing his cup stood up.
I followed him to the door; he turned hesitantly and held out his hand, it trembled and my mental processes went into overdrive. I caught his twitching hand and pulled him close; Little Randy had already spotted the prospect and jumped forward between my legs. I brushed my lips against his, there was a lone memorable moment, our lips just touching and then we were hell for leather, 'and why would an operative like Gordon want to involve himself so directly in a missing person case?' My instinctive detecting mind had evinced the reason behind the interest, the thickening swelling between his legs gave Gordon away, so my question to myself was answered. We danced our way to the bedroom.
Gordon's body was all muscle and toned but not overblown, his waist was slim and his cock was slim too, it rose from his groin of dark curly hairs to pulse, jerking rapidly. I stripped him, the gun holster he calmly himself removed and placed it by the bed but that was not the gun I was after. I admired his body as it was revealed, taut, toned and muscled and yet not heavy nor puffed up, the flat stomach rippled as he breathed, his dark brown aureoles goosebumped around the pointed teats; his ardour and his boner raising the heat not only inside me but in the space between up. He stood proudly naked, his killing hands poised at his hips, his swollen manclub jerking and gleaming in the low lighting of my bedroom. His legs were firm and steady, his dark hairs prickled slightly and his thighs indicated they were a ready resting place. I stared into his eyes, the dark pools looked even more bottomless but I sensed a vulnerability; his lips parted and he licked the dark pink kissers. As I took him in, I was not lax, my clothes shredded themselves from my body and Little Randy pounced forward in the air. I could see the knowing submission rising within his fathomless eyes but they kept dropping to admire and worship Little Randy who pranced and swayed; a welcoming gleam on his cockhead face. For an intense moment we held each other's gaze and then reluctantly, seductively his eyelids lowered. I stepped forward. His lips were more than hot to touch, the thin lipline, a red contour of ardent flame as we sucked face. Gordon ground himself against me, our dicks duelling as we fondled and ravaged each other. He might be Nico's right-hand man but in my bed he was my puppy to be played with and Gordon was hot to trot. Our personal scents permeated and heated the breathing space between us. The heady lust ridden aromas mixed and coalesced into an invading stimulant; as if we needed any extra help or assistance at that moment. As the ultimate approached he lost that dominant manic look, a yearning 'little-boy-lost' look slid into place across his face. His hand stroked Little Randy who swelled and spurted a thick drool of precum which slid over his fingers and down his hand. My hand caressed his cock, the slim six incher was as taut as an anchors hawser, the strength of his passion radiated from the solid interior, he was hard and stiff, steely stiff and his balls were hot baubles tight against the base of his flaming torch.
I pushed him backwards; he fell on the bed, by the time I climbed up alongside him he had thrown the covers to one side and lay caressing his dick, lying back trembling and quivering on the cool cotton sheets. I slid on top of him, his firm body was solid and hard beneath me and his lips were hotter than before. I fucked his mouth with my tongue; he sucked and swallowed it, the little shocks of pleasure surging inside me. I twisted his nipple, pinching the taut nub between my fingers, he grunted and his eyes blazed with wanton blinks. I pinched his other nub, his back arched and he leaned back and opened his mouth in clear ecstasy. I smiled to myself, I had his measure now, the killing machine was hidden deep inside as I was offered the real Gordon. Pressing my case I bit his nubs taking them one after another between my lips and pressing, squeezing them hard, his long drawn out satisfied moan was pure encouragement to me. I felt his prick pulse, the gloop of his precum puddled, lubricating his stomach. Down I nipped and bit, raising bruising welts across his chest and his six pack. I knew I was marking out my territory and like a well-trained little puppy he loved me back. I took his cock in my mouth, the purring he emitted was that of a well-tuned engine and I sucked him deep, pressing his accelerator. His hand came up to press my head down, not insisting or demanding, just helping. I swallowed his stiff steel pole, tasting the sweetness of his juice which he poured out for me. I lapped at hics cockslit, working my lips and tongue to deal with the flood of lubing delight his cock bled into my mouth and throat. My fingers slid down between his legs, they widened as I pressed his hot orbs and I followed the thin upraised ridge of skin that led to his manpussy. I discovered he was satiny soft, above his dark curly pubes were iridescent with the drippings of his precum but here, at his most sensitive and vulnerable spot his skin was clear, clearly he shaved this so personal part of him. For a moment I wondered who had shown him, trained him, broken him in this submissive way. I parted his velvet soft yet taut cheeks with my fingers, discovering the satiny soft pucker, the velvet wrinkles pulsed and my finger slid easily inside his manhole. I glanced at his face, his eyes were closed and his mouth slightly parted, he was the picture of sublime bliss. I added a second finger and then a third, his mancunt flowering, blossoming, his rosette pulse gaping, allowing me full and complete acquisitive access to his heaven. I removed my fingers intending to coat them with his juice, the juice that puddled and pooled at his throbbing cocktip but he grabbed my hand.
"No," his voice was flat; "I want to feel you, all of you when..." his head fell back on the pillow, his neck exposed in the most docile puppylike way; his face paling turned away from mine.
I understood completely, this was a man of pain, he delighted in unemotional killing but his own pain had to be torturous pleasure and I promised myself he would feel every painful inch of Little Randy's insertion. I was not so interested in pain for myself, at least not at the start of a fuck. I grabbed Little Randy, he smiled and poured out more of his welcoming lubing sweetness. Swiftly I worked it over my fleshy meaty grinder, seeing it gleam in the light, almost glowing with expectant desire and rampant lust.
"Look at me," I hissed at him.
His face turned back, there was an expectant look in those dark eyes, I understood completely
The crack as my palm hit his cheek echoed around the bedroom, he tensed, for a second is finger twisted, his hands becoming fists and then as the redness spread across his cheeks he groaned. A flashing glance shot through his eyes and slowly he turned his face away again. I slapped him back to face me, his eyes blazed and a smile, a happy smile formed his lips. I took both his nipples in my fingers and squeezed them tight; my fingernails dug in, blood leaked down his left side. I released his left nub, dipped my fingers in his trailing crimson and wiped it across his mouth; his lips greedily sucked the blood off.
I levered myself up onto my knees, Little Randy pouted and danced, little sprays of precum flitting around in the air.
"If you want it, your going to have to work for it," I stared intently at him, "up on your knees," I barked.
Gordon immediately rose and knelt on all fours, his backside twitched, his globes tense and taut. I slapped him hard, the crack echoed as the previous slap did, his head bent downward to touch the sheet. I belted him again, the red welt already glowing crimson against his pale skin as my second slap landed. Gordon moaned, a deep intense pleasured growl of unique ecstasy.
"Spread your legs wide," I blurted my instruction, the pale, crimson streaked globes before me opened and lowered as he spread his legs wider. I could see the beautiful satiny rosette, it winked flirting with me. I could smell his intensity, the musky aroma of servantile domination laced with the flame of hurtful desire rose in the air. I balanced myself and slapped his balls, the back before me arched and the cry of exclamation was more elation than scream. His balls remained tight against the base of his dick, from this angle I could not see the shaft but it was clear it was statically steely stiff and straight, no weakness there, his cock displayed his wanton desperateness which was his weakness. I hit his balls again, the squeal of loving lust squirreled in the air.
My third slap was across his manpussy, the slapping crack was muted by the globes of his arse which I swear actually moved apart as my hand descended allowing me to come into direct and full contact with his cunt. I was filled with fury at his complacent accepting attitude, `Who had spoiled him in this way?' I asked myself as I stared down at his baboon reddening backside, despite my misgivings about this form of love Little Randy was of a different mind, he wanted his just desserts which were ready and wantonly waiting.
"Let me see your pussy," I demanded. Gordon's hands moved slowly theatrically backwards, his firm fingers eased across his cheeks, working back the firm plush and widening his crack, the fingers tiptoed into the gap and pressing firmly either side of his pussylips dug his fingernails in and pulling his arsehole lips wide, the dark crimson hole opened for my pleasurable view. He knelt there, his body quivering with expectation and I had to force Little Randy to back down such was the arousing nature of what Little Randy was seeing.
I savoured the sight of my puppy-slave exhibiting himself for me; I briefly wondered what Nico would make of his soldier now if he could see him.
"On your back now," I smirked, my tone laughing derisorily at him.
Gordon lay on his back and obsequiously offered his body for my abuse and use.
End of Part Nine
To Be Continued......................????????????????????????????
(Is this a turnabout or what? Will our gallant Randy do the right thing or will sadistic Little Randy ride his wicked way? Is it time for the Private Dick to go really private and disappear? Or do you want to find out what Randy or Little Randy does next? Or Who? Okay Fellow Private Dicks if you do want more and really want me to continue this story then you have to write and tell me or this could really be the last chapter. Don't forget if you like this then I have plenty more stories to whet your appetite, just look me up on nifty's prolific authors listing ( https://www.nifty.org/nifty/authorslist.html scroll down to V for Van T Z Boi ) . Please also remember to make a different deposit in nifty's coffers for without them you would not be able to enjoy this and further chapters. All the best, Van T Z Boi)
(In response to all those who are interested; the Lost/Rejected stories are still undergoing editing and once they have been posted I will announce the link. The good news is that good ole' nifty have provided copies of Detained at Daddies' and Mummy Said' from their records so now I have recovered all the missing stories, so mucho thanks nifty. Sorry I can't be more forthcoming at this time as to when I will be able to post them but please watch this space. Van T Z Boi)