The River Nile: The Sin City Novels 2

By Kemosabe

Murder---Sex---Showgirls---White Slavery
Las Vegas rocks with the murder of superstar showgirl Ida Champion. Tension rides high in Sin City as Fargo Jones, novice PI, investigates. Suspense, anxiety, and pleasure befall our timid hunk hero. He deals with decadence, showgirls, a female impersonator, the Chinese mafia, white slavery, and sexual encounters around every
corner as he pursues and catches the killer.
-Outrageous Sex-
Rock watches in the shadow of Jiminey's bedroom doorway as Ida rides Jiminey to climax, then turns him over, straps on a dildo, and rides
him to another. When they finish, he can’t help lingering to admire his lover. A vice like hand clamps his arm. Damn! His eyes lingered too long. Ida yanks him into the bedroom and slaps him around until he cries. Still wearing her strap-on, she throws him face down on the bed next to Jiminey, rips his pants down, penetrates his anus, and rides him as well.
-Murder-
A blur of something passes over Ida Champion’s eyes followed by blinding pain in her throat. Her breath. Something around her neck strangles her. Have to get loose. She reaches back clawing at nothing. Her fingers fail to get under the chord-like thing around her neck. Goddamn! Some motherfucker is squeezing the life out of her. Nothing to stop it. She pulls away with her neck toward the front of the car. It makes it worse. Her arms start flopping around as she bounces in
the seat. Like the chicken flopped after her uncle wrung its neck and flung it into the dirt. Consciousness dissipates. Light dims. Lungs
crushing. Stamina, weaker and weaker. Air! Goddamn! God...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kemosabe
• Release date: Dec 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465715197

Kemosabe

Linton Lewis*~KEMOSABE~*Writes #fempowerfiction Bold and Boiled Harddigitally published novels by EdivaSin City Crime Novels,THE BLACK WIDOW RANCHTHE RIVER NILE,The Hollywood Crime NovelsMACHALANDTHE PECKING ORDERCandy Rules Novel,COMING OUT,All can be purchased digitally at Kindle, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Apple, Sony, Diesel, Kobo, etal.Linton Lewis grew up in Atlanta and attended Georgia Tech University before enlisting in the navy. He studied acting at the Academy Theatre in Atlanta and pursued an acting career in Hollywood while working as a caddy and assistant caddymaster at Bel Air Country Club. He worked as a craps dealer and supervisor on the Las Vegas Strip. He sold real estate in Simi Valley, Atlanta, and Las Vegas before boldly dipping his pen into the boiled hard #fempowerfiction writing inkwell.

Book preview

The River Nile:

The Sin City Novels

kemosabe

Copyright 2012 by ediva

Smashwords Edition

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Chapter 1

Fargo Jones’ butt hurt. He groaned and shifted in his seat. Stakeouts, he hated them. He was on the clock making fifty an hour, so why should he complain? Still, his ass ached and shifting to his other cheek hadn’t helped much.

He jumped. The garage door started to open. Adrenalin thumped in his chest erasing all thoughts about his butt. Irene Prances came shooting out of her garage in her little Mercedes SL. Fargo fired up his Bronco and slipped in behind her. Or would have if the muffler hadn’t popped away waking half the neighborhood. He had to get that fixed.

Henry Prances hired him to watch his wife when he left town and it looked like she was finally making her move. She motored down Spring Mountain Road towards the Strip but pulled up short into the Chinatown shopping center. She valet parked at the Fervor, a new Las Vegas nightclub. Damn! Dressed for comfort he wore shorts. He hadn’t thought about having to trail her into some swanky club.

Fargo looked around for a parking space. No way was he going to pay for valet even if it was free. The last time he tried to tip an attendant with some change she threw it back in his face. He drove back two blocks and parked on the street.

Let’s see some ID there, speed, said the huge Chinese doorman standing in his way. Fargo fumbled for his wallet, dropped it, retrieved it, and handed it to the doorman. Take it out of the billfold. The doorman looked up at the sky as if saying why me lord. Fargo fumbled and finally handed his driver’s license to him. The doorman looked shocked. Listen kid, you’re never gunna to get in a bar with a phony license saying you’re twenty-eight when you look barely twelve? Get outta here.

Sir, I just look young. Here’s my PI license. I’m here on a case.

Vincent Fargo Jones Private Investigator. These are the best damn fake IDs I ever saw. He handed them back to Fargo. Now beat it.

But sir, these are not forgeries.

I don’t care if they are or not. You ain’t getting in here in them shorts. This is a high class joint.

Maybe this will change your mind. Fargo smiled and flashed a one-dollar bill.

A line had formed and the doorman grimaced. He yanked his thumb towards the parking lot. I said beat it. You ain’t getting in here and that’s that.

Back in the parking lot Fargo fumed. What’s happened to this town? You can’t even buy your way past these goons any more. He’d have to find another way in. He entered the service entrance in the back. Halfway through the kitchen a cook in a tall white cap stopped him.

Where in the fuck’ve you been, speed? Why was everyone calling him speed? He was no faster than anybody else.

Well, I, um...

Never mind, just get your ass over there and get cracking on them dirty pots and pans.

You must have me mixed up with someone else.

You’re from the Culinary Union right?

Wrong.

Don’t give me that shit. I saw you look over at them pans. Just because you came in late and they got stacked up don’t mean you’re going to dodge outta here. Now get your ass over there before I loose control of myself and start kicking the shit outta you.

The rubber apron hung too long and the rubber gloves were so tight O.J. couldn’t have squeezed into them. He’d been scrubbing on one pot with steel wool and metal brushes for five minutes and he couldn’t make a dent. All the while the cook stood across the kitchen glaring at him. Finally Fargo looked up and he was gone. He quickly shed his apron and gloves and slinked off.

Inside the place jumped. Looking for Mrs. Prances he threaded his way through the wild and flailing dancers. They bumped him hard a couple of times. One spun all the way around with his arms out and smacked Fargo right in the face. He stumbled out of control and landed in a booth. He looked across the table, and Jesus Christ, there sat Irene Prances. She didn’t notice him as she smothered a young stud half her age with kisses and embraces one hand anchored between his legs.

He clicked on the brand new miniature recorder strapped to his back with its antenna peeking out of a buttonhole in his shirt. Ah, modern technology.

Oh, Randy, I’ve missed you so.

I missed you too, hon, but I still don’t like meeting in a public place like this.

Henry probably doesn’t know this place exists, or anyone who would come here. He’s all tied up with his country club and golf.

I don’t see why I can’t come over to your house when he’s gone.

Too dangerous. The neighbors watch our cul-de-sac like air raid wardens. Let’s dance.

She turned and saw Fargo. Hey, speed, this’s our booth. Speed, speed, this had to be a clue or something.

Ops, sorry. He genuflected his way back on to the dance floor and paid for it with a vicious blow to the kidney.

The lovebirds moved out on the floor. He followed and clicked away with his new mini-camera with the lens sticking out of another buttonhole. Ah, modern technology. If these gadgets worked, and they’d better for all the money he’d spent on them, he had enough to file his report to his client.

He threaded his way towards the front door wondering if he would be hassled again by the big Chinaman. He gasped as a flurry of attention stirred around two beautiful women coming in, a blonde and a brunette. He knew them both intimately. They stopped near the entrance as the brunette shaded her eyes from the flashing lights coming from the ball on the ceiling.

God, what gorgeous women, said a woman in a nearby table.

Yeah, the tall brunette is Ida Champion. She stars as Cleopatra at The River Nile. You’re not going to believe this but the blonde is a man, said her partner.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Nope he’s Jiminey Ginger a female impersonator also appearing at The River Nile.

Ida pointed to an East Asian waving to them from his raised booth. Look there’s Johnny Chin the owner of the joint. She guided Jiminey in front of her. They headed straight for Fargo. He retreated past Chin’s booth but still within earshot.

Johnny stood. Welcome to the Fervor girls. Or should I say boys and girls.

Either is fine. Have you met Jiminey?

Naturally I’ve seen his show and enjoyed it, but I have never had the pleasure.

Jiminey Ginger, Johnny Chin.

How do you do?

My pleasure.

Johnny motioned for them to join him.

Does this place jump like this every night, Mr. Chin? asked Jiminey.

It’s been jumping every night since I opened it a month ago. And please call me Johnny. Mr. Chin is my father’s name.

Ida and Jiminey started toward the dance floor. Intrigued Fargo followed still keeping his distance. As soon as the dancers saw Jiminey, they cleared the floor. Ida held back looking content to give Jiminey the spotlight and watch as his inspiration shot to the top. The background babble stopped and the crowd watched him dance, spellbound.

Fargo winced as he saw his ex-boss, the owner of The River Nile Hotel and Casino, Marge Protsky, coming through the front door and she spotted him. Well I declare, Fargo Jones, I haven’t seen you since you quit me.

Hi, Marge, how are you doing? He hugged her neck and gave her a peck on the cheek.

She pushed his shoulders back to arms length and shot him a full blast of lust, of which she always had a generous supply. Without, she said.

That’ll be the day.

She looked down and admired his legs, raised her gaze back to his eyes and stopped. Youngun, you’re a delight for these old eyes. I never tire of looking at you. If I was forty years younger I’d gobble you up with a silver spoon. You’ve always had the greatest eyes, large moist and brown. You should have been a movie star. What are you doing here, prowling?

I wish I were. I’m here on business.

Following some errant husband or wife?

Something like that.

How is your private investigator business going?

Keeping all the wolves from my door. Knock on wood. He rapped the top of his head with the knuckles on his fist.

You know you’ll always be welcome back at The River Nile.

Thanks, Marge.

Ida and Jiminey stopped dancing, and Ida steered Jiminey back towards their booth. A rough-looking man stepped into Jiminey’s way with a surly glare. Hey honey why don’t you do that with a man?

Why would I want to do that, sugar? Jiminey pinched his cheek and shook it.

Try a real man, sweets.

Jiminey looked around with his arms outstretched hands turned palms up. But I don’t see any real men.

I’ll show you a real man. He grabbed Jiminey, pulled him into his arms and tried to kiss him.

Hold on there partner. This here, um, person belongs to me, said Ida as she grabbed a place on the man’s shoulder that brought Jiminey’s instant release.

So you like it rough, huh? The man rubbed his shoulder, his eyes blazed. I hate fucking queers. He launched his right with force towards Ida’s face. She stepped aside, caught hold of his arm as it went by missing her and slung him sliding on his butt out in the middle of the dance floor scattering the dancers.

His face turned red. In a furor he jumped to his feet and ran towards her dropping his head at the last moment. She stopped him with a knee to the face that put him on his back. She straddled him, her tight mini-skirt sliding up to her crotch displaying both gorgeous powerful legs. She stabbed his ribs with her knees, punishing him hard, and then put his lights out with a couple of sledgehammer blows to the face.

Great security you have here, Johnny, Ida said looking up at Chin and taking his proffered hand to help her up.

You were never in danger, my dear. Besides, I love watching you in action. You are a lethal weapon. He motioned to two of his boys and they muscled the tough man out.

Jiminey went into Ida’s arms. Honey, I loved it too. You are such a brute. I’d feel safe anywhere with you. All eyes focused on them as they kissed, Ida taking and Jiminey giving.

What are you two lovebirds up to? asked Marge Protsky.

They separated and smiled at the woman. Hi boss. What’re you doing out so late? asked Ida grinning. I thought the recommended senior citizen bedtime started at eight P.M. Marge was over sixty but her beauty still persisted and didn’t look a day over forty.

I can still keep up with you two lovebirds. In my day I went day and night. Love your place, Johnny. Thanks for the invite.

It’s an honor you grant on me, madam. To have the owner of The River Nile come to my place gives it great notoriety.

Do all of you know Fargo Jones? She motioned to Fargo standing by. He used to work for me. He now has his own private detective agency.

No. I’m Johnny Chin and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones. He gave a quick nod in Fargo’s direction.

The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Chin. said Fargo trying to catch his quick look and failing.

We know him from backstage and went to school with him. Ida gave him a hard stare. A shiver of fear ran through Fargo. She still intimidated the shit out of him.

Jiminey’s eyes gushed friendship and winked but didn’t speak.

They all moved back to the booth. Fargo wound up between Marge and Jiminey. Both played with his legs under the table.

I’m sure you witnessed our superstar take care of the rowdy who confronted Jiminey, said Johnny Chin.

Yes, she gestured towards the door. I see two of your men throwing him out as we speak. Another brawl, Ida? Someday you’re going to hurt yourself and there goes my show.

It’s heartwarming to hear you so worried about your show. Ida gave her a mock frown.

You know you mean more to me than twenty shows. Marge’s moist eyes locked onto Ida’s.

"Speaking of the show, I want to dance, Marge, not just go out there and hit those spots. I need to move and the show needs it too. Jiminey’s a choreographer and he’s been working with me.

Did you talk to Rudy?

Yes. And he said no. And I told him I was going to you. Please Marge? I need this.

I’ll talk to Kathleen. But, Ida, his contract states that he has complete control of the show.

Contract, spamtract, you’re the owner. All you have to do is give the order.

Sure I can order it, but if Rudy walks, who’s going to choreograph the show?

She threw her open palm towards him. Jiminey.

Is that true Jiminey?

I’d do anything for Ida.

I didn’t know you were a choreographer.

That’s how I started in the business.

Have you done shows in New York?

Yes.

Anyway, Ida, I don’t think Kathleen would approve. She’s the one who found Rudy on Broadway and signed him.

Well fuck Kathleen too. She’s just the general manager, you’re the owner. You have to help me Marge. Did you talk to her about putting my name ahead of his on the sign?

It’s the same problem. His contract states that his name appear before all others. Kathleen thinks he’ll walk before letting someone else’s name be posted above his.

"Well la te da, that will solve all our problems. He walks, Jiminey takes over the show, and I get what I want. And Marge I want this."

Let me work on it, hon. I’ll hash it around with Kathleen and see what we can come up with.

Oh thanks, darling. Ida leaned over past Jiminey and Fargo and kissed Marge long and firm on the lips. Her hand grabbed Fargo’s leg and squeezed it hard during the kiss. It hurt so much he almost cried out with pain. Looking away he caught Johnny Chin’s eyes enjoying his silent agony.

I knew I could count on you, Marge. Ida straightened and gave Fargo that cold icicle stare.

What did she want? Fargo could never figure her out. Was this some kind of signal, a warning not to tell about what happened in high school.

Chapter 2

Fargo walked to lunch after third period with his best friend, Arthur Brone. Race you to the line. Fargo said taking off before Arthur was set. He heard him breathing hard down his neck. Arthur was fast. Fargo’s only chance of beating him was trickery. He kept waiting for Arthur to zoom by as usual, but he didn’t, and as Fargo closed in on the line, he knew he had Arthur’s ass beat. Arthur retaliated by pushing him in the back hard, and he crashed into Ida Champion standing at the end of the line.

Ida: by far the prettiest girl in the eighth grade, or for that matter the entire school. When he thought about it, prettier than anyone he knew at Granada Hills High School. Big as she was pretty, she towered over all.

She was looking the other way and Fargo ploughed into her pretty good. Oops, I’m sorry, Ida. He puffed as he felt his face flush.

She turned around eyes showing furor and shoved him hard against the wall, banging his head, hurting him.

He staggered back into the line. Come on, Ida, it wasn’t my fault. Arthur pushed me into you.

I don’t care. She leaned down into his face. "I don’t like being slammed, and especially by you, piss-ant. You put on way too many airs for me."

Uh, well, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and besides, you have no reason to call me names.

"I don’t, huh? Well let me tell you something, piss-ant, I’ll call you anything I want to."

If you weren’t a girl, I’d make you swallow those words.

She flinched at him and terror shot up his spine. What was he saying? She could make mincemeat out of him.

"What’s being a girl got to do with it, piss-ant? I’ll see you at recess, piss-ant. I’m betting you’ll be eating dirt before I swallow any words, piss-ant."

He was scared and pleaded, Come on. Ida?

Don’t come on me, Fargo. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him into her face. I heard Gene Roper, who’s only in the seventh grade, whipped your ass over at the Boy Scouts. When I get through, you’ll think that beating was a picnic.

She was right too. He never saw Gene’s