Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume Two

Gypsy rose from her chair, trying to keep her balance. "You're telling me to keep away from him?" she screamed. "After what you've done, you stinkin' bitch, after you…" she raised her arm and splashed the gin at Cynthia.

The liquor hit her in the face and ran down the front of her coat. She stepped back in surprise trying to wipe the stinging liquid from her eyes at the same time. When she blinked in an effort to clear her vision, Gypsy leaped at her, catching her off balance and she fell to the floor, Gypsy on top of her scratching at her face and pulling her hair like a crazy woman.

The door burst open, banged against the wall and Al and the stagehand rushed in. They managed to pull the girls apart and Cynthia leaned against Al, panting and gasping. Gypsy squirmed wildly in the other man's arms, trying to get back at Cynthia. It was only when he slapped her sharply on the face that she quieted down and then burst into tears.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Al said and steered her rapidly out the door. They left by the rear exit and stopped in the alleyway until she could recover her breath and her composure. They walked out to the sidewalk and down the street to another bar.

With a couple of scotches lying warmly in her stomach, she soon felt better and asked why he had called her. "And if it's anything about Gypsy, I don't want to hear it. I've had enough of her for one evening!"

He looked at her solemnly and said, "No, it's about Harris."

"Conrad?" She looked at him completely surprised. "What about him?"

"Nothing much, really. Just a rumor I've heard. I still see a lot of my old newspaper pals and they told me about it."

"What, for heaven's sake?" she inquired anxiously.

"Well, it's really more than a rumor. To be exact, Bob knows the guy and says he's already started on it."

"Al," she said impatiently, "Will you please stop mumbling and tell me what's going on?"

"There's this guy named Joe Flanagan on the 'Evening Star'. According to Bob, he's a young squirt of a cub reporter who doesn't know his ass from his ear, however, but he got the bright idea if he did a big expose on his own and presented it to his editor, all written and nicely tied up with a red ribbon, he'd be the fair-haired boy."

"Expose?" she said.

"Yeah. Expose of Harris. And you know as well as I do that there's enough dirt to be dredged up about Harris and his crooked deals, in and out of politics, to raise one hell of a stink."

"But would they publish it? After all, Conrad's a big guy in town."

"Yeah, they might. Stan Morgan, the editor, would never dare order an investigation himself or it'd be his neck, but the trouble is their circulation has fallen lower than a stripper's morals and if he were presented with the stuff all wrapped up, he might just print it. After all, once the stuff was out, the public would probably get so aroused they'd demand a full investigation, and if Harris was convicted, Morgan would be riding high and so would his circulation."

"Yeah, I see. Not very nice, is it?"

"Thought you might want to tip Harris off. Not that I have any great love for the bastard, but after all, you'd be dragged in for your share of publicity too as his number one girlfriend."

She looked at him startled. This aspect of it hadn't occurred to her.

"My God," she said, "I hadn't thought of that. I'll call him right away." She got up from the table and went back to the telephone booth and didn't return for five minutes.

"He's getting ready to go out," she said, "but I told him it was important so he said for me to come right over."

"Good, and take it easy, kid," he said, winking at her.

"What's the guy's name again?"

"Joe Flanagan, on the Evening Star."

"Got it. Thanks a lot, Al."

She picked up her gloves, kissed him lightly on the cheek and left.

She hailed a cab and gave Conrad's address. Her heart was pounding so fast that she thought that it would come right through her chest. She wondered how he would take the news that he was about to be exposed by some punk newspaper cub, yet she was afraid at the same time. Conrad was not an easy man to get along with from a business standpoint. She knew that he had people taken care of when they had caused him the slightest problem, and she couldn't help but feel responsible for almost signing this Joe Flanagan's death certificate.

She had almost forgotten that she was upset with Frankie, that he hadn't come home and that he was with another woman. The situation with Conrad was utmost in her mind and she was trembling as she paid the cab fare and raced up the stairs to Conrad's apartment.

He greeted her at the door and held her close for a moment.

"What's the big rush. What's so important. Here, sit down, you're shaking."

He walked to the bar and poured her a drink and handed it to her. He was dressed only in a silk robe and she could see his strong muscular, hairy legs as he crossed the room. The robe came apart slightly and she stared at his loose hung genitals as he sat down next to her on the couch.

She took a big gulp of her drink, cleared her throat and began to repeat the story as Al had told her.

"I don't know what they have already, but it doesn't look good and I thought that you might like to know."

"A young punk, eh?" he almost spit out. "Doesn't that just take the cake."

She just looked at him, not knowing whether she should say anything else, afraid of what he would say next.

"Well, love, I can't thank you enough. Looks like your daddy Conrad will have to have him cut down to size. I wonder who's been spilling the beans to him and how much he's paying for it."

He reached across the back of the couch and pulled her to him, his hand grabbing roughly at the warm, soft fullness of her breast. She fell against him weakly, opening her legs slightly so that he could reach under her skirt and begin to fondle the soft flesh of her inner thigh as his fingers searched for the elastic of her panties.

His robe had fallen completely apart and his massive organ was jutting up from between his legs like a long distended pole. Her eyes watched fascinated, as it jerked up and down as it grew more swollen with desire. She smiled to herself as she felt his fingers reach the juncture between her legs and begin to rub the tiny hardness of her clitoris.

"Take off your clothes," he whispered huskily. "I like to watch you while you undress, you're so beautiful."

Obediently she pulled herself away from his grip and slowly began to strut in front of him, unbuttoning her dress as she walked.

She watched him as his eyes devoured her every move and she knew that he was getting more and more excited with each piece of clothing she removed. She undulated her hips at him so that her pelvis rotated provocatively just in front of his face. His hands reached behind her and pulled her roughly toward him, his mouth and tongue nibbling and licking at her pelvis through the sheer silk of her panties. Her hands unhooked the elastic of her brassiere and she let it fall to the floor as her breasts hung full and free, her nipples pinkish-brown and erect.

"Oh God, you're so beautiful," he moaned, as he tugged at her thin panties until they fell below her knees and she was clothed in only her silk stockings and thin, tight garter belt. She ground her hips into his face as he licked and bit gently at her vaginal lips and bud of her clitoris.

"Oooooohhhhhh baby," she whispered. "Do it to me. You're so good."

She looked down and could see that his massive penis had grown to monumental size and was bobbing up wildly in anticipation of taking her.

He pulled her down onto the couch and ripped the taut stockings from her legs so that she lay completely bare and vulnerable to his demanding touch. He covered her breast with his mouth and began sucking noisily at the plump mountain of her bosom, biting gently at the stiff, erect nipple.