Daring Adventures of Dick Wrencher

The Daring Adventures of Dick Wrencher - Private Eye

Any references to persons real or fictional, living or dead, name or no name, is totally intentional, but totally fictional - if that makes any sense. But there's not a whole lot in what follows that makes too much sense either. Except when you've got a Dick that is stout as Dick Wrencher you don't need any sense. He would tell you, "It only interferes with gettin' things done."

Good-Bad, Good Ole' Days​

A 1950's Noir Fantasy​

"You are a dick!"

"You're a complete dick!"

"You've always been a dick!"

"You always will be a dick!

Anytime someone asks me why I became a Private Eye, these words I've heard so many times come back to me.

"It just seemed like a natural," I would answer.

It's a sleazy business, and you can't pick your customers, but you do set your own hours. What was walkin' through the door of my office right now was certainly a customer I would pick - at just about any time.

"Hello, my name is Dolly. Are you Mr. Wrencher?"

I was right away suspicious. I made it a point to never use my name.

"Yeah. That's me," I said. "Did somebody send you?"

"Well let's just say that you were highly recommended."

A Private detective's work begins with a thorough investigation of the customer. So I looked this dame over good. It's been a long time since a broad walked into this office wearin' a mink. In fact, it was twenty years ago, and that broad was my mother (Bless her soul). And what my mom had on amounted to the top half of jacket! We never had any money, but she put her arm on the old man to get that thing, and kept it there until he made all the payments. He finally disappeared, a little disabled. But that was his problem. He didn't know how to handle dames. I didn't set up shop here to try and solve everyone's problems; just the ones who had the loot, and if they were a 'looker' like this broad, the lootin' was so much better. I was sure she had the clams, from the jewelry hangin' around her neck. As for bein' a looker, you just had to drop down a little and see the two jewels hangin' there. This dame was stacked!

So Dolly then told me she's got problems. Well, we all got problems. I just needed to know if this was a case for me (which usually means, no problems).

"Have a seat," I said as I dusted off the wooden chair. "You want somethin' to drink?"

I reached for my buddy Johnny, Johnny Walker, and poured myself a double.

"Scotch okay?" I asked. It better be. This ain't the Diamond Lounge; that's all I got.

"Okay," she said. "I could use a drink."

I poured her a stiff one, thinkin' to myself, 'I got another stiff one here for you', when we get around to that part of the interview. She told me that she thinks her husband is cheatin' on her, and that she just has to know for sure. This babe must have grown up in Disneyland. Of course he's cheatin' on her. Why else would he be covering her with a mink?

All of a sudden, things were startin' to heat up, so I offer to take her coat.

"I wish you would," she said

I liked it when dames got in the wishin' mood. I got in the wishin' mood myself, as I peeled the mink off of her and looked down over her shoulder. This gal had some moxie. Between that coat and those two jugs I was starin' at, she had to be hauling around an extra fifty pounds.

So I asked her, "What makes you think he's cheatin' on you?"

She went through a whole list of stupid shit that confirmed it for me. I was wrong. She didn't grow up in Disneyland; it was Coney Island! This babe was a dimwit for sure. I just tried to make good use of the time by starin' at her tits as she talked. I told her she wasn't givin' me the straight dope. Meanwhile things were gettin' straight in my pants.

I know how broads think. So I laid it out. She was goin' to have to shoot straight with me, if she wanted me to shoot straight with her. (That one went right over her head).

So she started to cry. These dames always pull that shit when they've got somethin' they're just dyin' to get off their chest. And I tell ya, this one had a lot on her chest. Even her nipples were as big as the shot glasses we were drinkin' the Johnny out of. I poured her another one.

So then she got down to it. She said that three nights ago she waited up for the old man to come home. She put on her sexiest negligee. Silk, she tells me, black and not too much of it; so smooth that it feels wet. She said the lace came up to just here, and she drew a line with her fingers just below her swollen nipples. She put her hands under those jugs and pushed them up; to show me how that contraption she was wearin' gives them a little lift. She said she had her hair down, so I told her to show me. She took off her mink hat and these chestnut brown waves toppled down like the water at Niagara. (I had a wet case up there once, sometime remind me to tell you about it.) The blinkin' neon light from "Henry's Galaxy Lounge" across the street made it look like her hair was on fire. I needed another shot to clear up my vision.

Next, she told me how she was waitin' on the couch with her legs up and left only one light shinin' just on her. I pointed to the davenport behind her in the shadow against the wall and aimed my interview light on it.

"Sit over there," I said, "so I get exactly what you're telling me."

So she kicked off her heels and moved over to the couch to give me a feel for the whole scene. As I'm gawkin' at her slender long legs, she pulled up her dress over the garter snaps. This dame might not have too much goin' on upstairs, but somewhere this doll learned how to put on a show. When I was still stupid, I would blow a small fortune on the broads over at Jingo's, but I don't remember any that gave me a look like this one did. Under the desk, my right hand was givin' my dick more than a look right now.

She continues with her sob story about how her 'hubby' came home, but hardly paid any attention to her. I'm thinkin' to myself that, if he can afford to eat out better than what he's got cookin' at home, this guy must be really rollin' in it. But I've always said, 'Show me a beautiful dame and I'll show you a guy who's tired of fuckin' her'.

'Good thing,' I thought, sizing up my odds, 'Somebody's got to do the job'. But then she got into it more. She told me that she helped him take off his coat and wiggled her tits all over his chest. So, what did this clown tell her?

"Not now, baby, I'm tired."

Of course he's tired, he just spent the last four hours doin' 'Johnny-boy push ups' at the Plaza Hotel.

So she told me that then she started to ratchet it up. She undid his pants and started to give him the blowjob of the century. Dames like this always think that they got the world's best blowjob. We'll find out about that later on. She went on to tell me, that the bastard's dick is was limp as his story.

Then she started to cry and slobber all over my davenport. I'll just add the cleanin' charges to her bill.

"But," she said, "The worst is, I just don't think I have it anymore."

Well, she is missin' a few digits in her IQ score, that's for sure, but the rest of her is fully loaded.

So I went over and sat next to her on the couch and said, "Look Doll, sometimes you just get stuck with a looser. Anybody that doesn't think that you're the hottest show in the Big Apple must have a broken thermometer. No wonder he couldn't get it to rise."

That perked her right up. She just wrapped her arms around me, like she's drownin' or somethin', and then started to kiss me all over my face. I thought to myself that I just wasted three fingers of Johnny Walker on this broad; she must have been loaded already when she walked in here. So I peeled back her dress to get a good look at these huge melons. You don't even see them like that at Mario's Fruit Market. Well, I started workin' them over like I haven't eaten in three days. She rolled her head back and around, gaspin' and moanin'. The way she was reactin', it was like nobody had been eatin' there for three years.

So I did a little investigation under her skirt. Man, she was drippin'; someone left the faucet runnin' up there. She started to moan even louder. Dames are so fuckin' complicated. She wants me in there like I should have started yesterday, but then she's got a hundred dollars of lace from Macy's blocking the way.

I put two fingers around the crotch and just pulled. At one time I used to feel bad about stuff like that. Those knickers cost more than she was goin' to be paying me for a week of snoopin'. But what the fuck, that sugar daddy of hers could afford it.

One of the things I liked most about broads like this is that they are always clean. Not like the dames hangin' around Danny's Hot Spot. Gals like this spend half the day gettin' clean and then they don't do nuthin' to get dirty the rest of it. We were just about to change that right now.

I picked her up and carried her over to my desk. Of course it was covered with all sorts of important papers, mostly research stuff like the Daily News. Maybe there was a pizza box under there somewhere. But I don't have time for housework. Besides there was a ton of splinters there from a nut case I had in here two years ago. She carved up the desk with her switchblade while she was describing what she was goin' to do to her old man once I got the lowdown on him. I told you this was a sleazy business. She was a screwball all right. We got that squared away right there on the desk. I bet she was pullin' splinters outta her ass for a week.

But back to business; Dolly here started to thrash around and make a racket. If I don't get my silencer out and put it work, Little Anthony will come down from the third floor with his uncle Guido and give me a little talk about keeping the peace. So I slipped my peacemaker into this broad and she started to wiggle and drool all over the place. It was like I was on the pier at the fish market when they brought them in right off the boats. And talk about fish, she smelled so good I had to temporarily pull back out and get my face down there just to sample today's catch.

Everythin' I did sent her over the edge. This gal had a way of makin' you feel appreciated. Not wantin' to disappoint her I slipped the barrel of my magnum, hard, right up her. This classy broad was so tight; in no time I was pumping bullets into her.

One day they'll look back to the 1950's when we really did business right.

I gave her a chance to tidy up a bit while I told her that when it came to gettin' things done, she could count on me. And while we are gettin' around to countin', I tell her my fee is a hundred dollars down and twenty dollars a day plus expenses. She pulled two hundred out of her purse and told me that the extra was in case I ran into any problems. I told her that I'd have the dope on this guy in no time. She gave me some addresses and a phone number. She even had a photo of this guy. I helped her on with her coat.

"And then what?" she asked.

"You'll need a good lawyer. I'll call you," I told her. How many times I've used that line. They don't call me a dick for nothin'.

I closed the door behind her and she went down the stairs. I moved over to my desk and looked for my phone to make a call. These calls were my favorite kind. After the phone rings once, some sassy babe answered. I told her I wanted to speak with Mr. Worthy, and to tell him it was Dick Wrencher. Three secretaries later, he finally picked up. I told him that his wife Dolly just left and it cost him another two hundred. He wanted to know if I peppered her. I said of course, but that that wasn't part of the deal and if he wanted more, he was goin' to have to drop a few more big ones into my account. I told him I couldn't recommend a lawyer to her because he hadn't told me what to tell her yet. So he transferred me to yet another secretary, (nice dame that one was), to get the name of a lawyer. With all those secretaries, it's no wonder he doesn't have time for Dolly.

It All Happens On The Street

Meanwhile, while Dick is bein' his sleazy best upstairs, Dolly leaves the building and steps into a waiting limo.

"How'd it go baby?" came the voice from the darkness inside the car.

"Just like you said it would, Derek," she said as she hopped in. "He bought the whole package."

"I told you, baby, we'll get that jerk husband of yours and when we do, you'll be rollin' in it."

"That gumshoe was also a real jerk," she said, "You're the only dick for me."

With that she reached over and pulled this guy's huge cock out. She just smiled at him and said; "Now that's a dick!"

"Make it quick baby," he said, "I got lots to do tonight."

A few minutes later the limo pulls over to her townhouse on 60th. When she got out, she was still licking her fingers.

"See you later, baby," he said to her.

Once around the corner, he said to the driver, "Shorty, pull over to my office there, I have to make a call."

Derek stepped into the phone booth, dropped in a dime and dialed.

"Dick Wrencher," was the answer on the other end.

"Pop, it's goin' just like you said it would."

"These people just have too much money and absolutely no smarts," Dick said, "It's just our job to lighten their load."

"Pop, is it always this easy?" Derek said.

"A lot of the time yes, and you just move on. That case is closed, but, there's a story I've never told you. It goes back to a time before you were born. It starts at The East River. I'll tell you just like it happened to me."

The Mystic River

Using my binoculars, left over from my stint in North Africa (that's another story), I could see a late model sedan pull up to the wharf on the other side of the East River; an Olds, yeah, a '53. It's foggy, and I'm a little distracted by what Miranda is doin' in my pants, but I still got an eye for business. Two goons get outta the back seat. In the darkness it looks a scene from a Boris Karloff movie. Sure enough, the trunk pops open, and they reach in and pull out a sack. With a toss, whoosh, it's into the river.

Business must be good in Brooklyn, and that's always good for me. I feel another missin' person's case comin' my way. These are the easiest. If these guys did their job right, I'll be spending more time at the track, because there's nothin' to do with a case like that. I can string out this gig for a long time if it doesn't wash up on Governor's Island. The mob contributes to the population of the Mystic, and I make my contribution to my bookie. It's the simple rules of life. Those guys in the fancy suits, two blocks behind me there on Wall Street, would make a lot more money and do less jumpin' windows, if they would learn the basic facts of economy from me.

In the meantime Miranda here is doin' some fancy jumpin' of her own. I think she learned it at La Rosa Negra on the upper story. You don't even hear about the upper story unless you're connected with Felipe Burro. He runs all the garbage collection in Spanish Harlem. Big Business - I think more moves through the garbage in this town than gets checked in at the morgue. If you understand money and you understand the difference betweenbein' stiff, andbein'astiff, you do great in this town.

But talkin' about bein' stiff, I usually don't bring broads along when I work, but Miranda's cousin, Miguel, owns the club downstairs, it's the only way I can get to this great view from the rooftop. But right now the best view is south of the border right here. I don't even know how she manages to do this stuff. She not only provides the hottest action on the rooftop, she's also my best source for the hottest action on the west side.

"Miranda, querida mia, aren't you gettin' tired?" I looked at my watch.

"Yourrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Chica Mala never gets tired of theees deeeck, Deeeck Wrrrrrrrrrrrrrencherrrrrrrrr!" she said.

She had a way of rollin' herR'son the tip of her tongue that made you want to retire and move to San Juan. This Seniorita was a serious distraction to gettin' work done. At least she was able to get me up to the roof, and the way she was rollin theseRrrrrrsswas keepin' my dick up too. So I told myself I would just have to put up with it for a little while longer...

The African Queen Shows Her Face

Three days later while my boy was mindin' the office, I was engaged in a serious poker game at the back ofHorseheads's Reading Room. This place was just a cover for a black market tobacco operation. Now Horsehead, here, some call him "Director" (nobody knows his real name for sure) is just posin' as a Book Merchant, while his crony Red Mullins is mindin' the operation in the back. "Red" and Nameless spend the night moving cartons around, and durin' the day they're writin' gritty stories and sleazy poetry just to keep the vice Squad off their back. I think that half the folks who come through here can't even read.

Eh Voila! 'Cherchez la femme'.Of course there's a dame. There's always a dame. Don't think the Vice Squad is cummin' toHorsehead's Reading Roomjust to read poetry. They got this French babe readin' it to 'em. This sweet thing with lips like cherries, is sittin' on a stool up on a platform givin' them a view while she is pumpin' out these story lines, and all of a sudden these guys are interested in culture. She reads to them in French sometimes. Red tells me that her favorite is to read the directions that came along with her hair dryer. She likes the part where it tells you if things ain't heatin' up, you should check and make sure everythin' is plugged in right. What do they know, this babe is so hot, she wouldn't have to talk at all. The hookers do more business on this street than they do where the Vice Squad never went.

Here's where I come to make my contacts with the boys in Blue from the Brooklyn South Precinct. I'm sure that half of them also can't read. Fortunately they can't shoot straight either. Not that any one of them would ever try to shoot someone, but it keeps them from gettin' assigned to Flatbush, where they might actually be expected to do somethin'.

So I'm lookin' at my hand and I'm holdin' a Queen High Flush - Hearts. I'm starin' at this Queen of Hearts and tryin' not to squirm. 'What a beautiful lady you are,' I'm thinkin'. Naturally I run the pot way up there. And what happens? Jimmy Longfingers (who got his name since he's the Desk Sergeant at the south end), starts tellin' me about this classy dame who filed a missin' person's report today, and so he says, he'snot surewhere he put the piece of paper with the details. He says itmightbe in one of his pockets and if he needed tomake roomin one of those pockets for somegreen, hemightbe able to find it. So I kiss my Queen of Hearts goodbye and fold. These cops got a real feel for when there's money to be made.

So I walk outta there about fifty bucks short, but Jimmy told me this dame looked like that queen of hearts I just kissed goodbye, and that he thinks Fort Knox financed her wardrobe. One thing about Jimmy is he always comes through. So I go right to a payphone and call this dame. She didn't sound too upset, so I'm startin' to think that maybe I don't have a case after all. But then, she says she's interested, and wants to see me this afternoon. She gives me an address up on 62nd Street right off of Fifth Ave. I usually don't let myself be seen in that part of town. It's bad for my reputation. But I tell her I'll be there at three.

*****​

Once I got there, it took me longer to get cleared at the front desk of this townhouse and get up to her flat on the 42 floor than it did to get up to this place from the Lower East Side. A tall lanky guy answers the door in a black suit. He says nuthin'. Then I realize that it's not because he ain't polite. He got this job because he can't talk. It just makes sense. I like doin' business with people like this dame. They got a good feel for practicalities.