A Case of Gone


Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 31,000
0 Ratings (0.0)

Nick Case is one tough private investigator. He’s big, he’s black, and he’s bad news if you cross him. He’s a man’s man but the ladies seem to love him… and we do mean love him.

Nick is an excellent chef and a collector of guns and other dangerous weapons. He is no man to fool with. He loves country music and will defend his preference with vigor. He doesn’t consider rap to even be music.

Nick has to use all his resources on this case that threatened to swallow him. One of his best resources is his long time friend Tony De Angelo who remained with the police department after Nick left. He also uses the offices of a county detective, Amanda Jordan.

Yes, the story has interracial sex. It has a lot of sex and should not be missed by mystery lovers and lovers of hot sweaty black on white sex.

Like all of the Nick Case mysteries this one starts slow but hang on and get ready, because when it heats up it get’s sizzling hot.

A Case of Gone
0 Ratings (0.0)

A Case of Gone


Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 31,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
In Bookshelf
In Cart
In Wish List
Available formats

The next morning , after a long exhaustive night of studying the photo albums for clues, I left to find Tiger Wilson. Of course his parents or in his case, parent, didn't give him the name Tiger. He gave it to himself because he thought it was cool. I suppose to his street cronies it was cool.
If it had anything to do with commercial sex of an interracial nature, Tiger was the man who would know things. He ran a long string of white whores that catered to men of color as he liked to phrase it.
Tiger Wilson's method of adding to or replacing his whores was simple but effective. He would locate run-away's, gang girls, or dissatisfied housewives and offer them home, hearth, and drugs. Once they were hooked on his kind of sex and drugs he would put them to work. He always kept a couple of newly acquired white girls close at hand until he was tired of them. He called them his kittens. He thought having tiger kittens around was cute.
Since Tiger Wilson stayed on the move I didn't know where he was located at the moment but I knew Tony De Angelo would. Tony kept up with pimps not because he was a police detective but because he would sometimes need their services. Also he kept up with them because pimps were always a good source of information. What the pimps didn't know their whores did.
After I went out on my own, Tony stayed with the cops and made it all the way to detective lieutenant. He was in charge of the homicide division for his precinct.
Tony was married to an Italian beauty queen but it was an on and off again arrangement. Tony would seek company from some other woman, his wife would find out, and she would toss his ass out. Tony would run free and wild for a week, a month, and on one occasion six months before the little woman would forgive him and take him back. It was a bizarre arrangement but it seemed to work for them so who am I to judge?
Because I was a well-known and admired private detective I was admitted to the detective's bull-pen without any hassle. Maybe it was because everyone knew Tony, the lieutenant, and I were tight. I went into his office without knocking.
"Who let this bum in here?" Tony bellowed. "Ain't there any security in this place?" He scowled at me. "What the fuck you want?"
“I have a case and I could use some help,” I told him.
“I’m sure you do,” he said with a snort. “I guess you think I’ll give you the required help.”
“Always hopeful, Tony,” I said. “I need to locate Tiger Wilson.” I smiled as his eyebrows shot upward.
“Ah, our old friend Tiger Wilson,” Tony said. “Tell me about it.”
“You ain’t got a whole lot, do you?” Tony observed when I finished. “I’ll do some checking and get back to you in a few days. I'll be needing to look at those photographs.”
“I was hoping for something a little quicker,” I said.
“Of course you were,” Tony said sharply. “Say I get busy and on my own time I get some information. What’s in it for me?”
“I have a lasagna for you in the freezer,” I told him. “I made some a few days ago.”
“You think you can buy me off with food?” he snapped then smiled. “Yeah, I guess you do know you can. Oh, by the way, I found a Russian automatic pistol for your collection. I’ll leave it when I pick up my lasagna tomorrow.”
Tony and most of the cops that work out of the central station know I am a collector of weapons and know I pay off with food I make myself. Tony is the only person I trust with a key to my apartment. He’s the usual bag man who delivers the guns and takes the food. At last count, I have a bit over three hundred guns.
"You think your missing girl is tied with Tiger?" he asked.
"I have no reason to think so, but he will know who she may be tied with. Does he drive a new black Aston Martin DBS V12 with flames on the fenders behind the wheels?"
"Shit, Tiger can't even pronounce Aston Martin," Tony scoffed. "No, he drives a pimp-mobile. A red Caddy cunt-vertible with fake fur on the dash and seats. What kind of asshole would put flame decals on an Aston Martin?"
"Beats me," I said. "Any idea where Tiger is hanging out these days?"
"Last I heard he was hanging out at a coin operated laundry on Center Street. The Wash and Suds. It's a place where you can get your clothes washed and have a beer at the same time. Since Tiger moved in you can also get your ashes hauled, I guess."
"I would think so," I said. "Do you have any idea what time he shows up?"
"Not until late afternoon," Tony said. "He sleeps late. You know every time I talk to that piece of shit I feel the desperate need to take a shower."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. That begs the question, why is he still in business?"
"If it wasn't Tiger, it would be someone else pimping those girls. It's a nasty circle but apparently he takes pretty good care of the girls in his stable. Some pimps are downright vicious."
"I guess you are right," I said. "Can't save the world, can we? By the way who do I owe for the Tommy gun?" Tony had brought me a Thompson .45 caliber submachine gun in perfect condition complete with a drum magazine.
"A sector car operator took it off some gang-banger a few days ago. I paid him ten dollars for it so you owe me. Make it two lasagnas and we'll call it even."
"Okay, but what was a gang-banger doing with a classic weapon? They mostly like the sexy stuff like Uzis, Tec 9, or Mac 10's."
"He was dead so he couldn't answer that question," Tony said. "Probably stole it from some collector who didn't have a license for automatic weapons so they couldn't report it. Who knows? Go away and let me get back to work."
The military stopped using the Thompson machine guns after Korea but there was a world of them out in collections. Truthfully they belonged in gun collections because they weren't very good or very reliable. The recoil made them climb so you had to spray from side to side and still it was hard to hit what you wanted to hit. However, it was nice to add it to my collection.
As I drove to Capitol Motors in search of information about a black Aston Martin DBS I gave some thought about Nancy Gordon and specifically about giving her the opportunity to go black. She appeared to be to be a woman who would appreciate my black cock.
Capitol Motors was a bust. In fact the salesman I spoke with actually paled when I mentioned the flame decals. His reaction reinforced my idea that no one but a no-class low-life would do that to a beautiful automobile.
My next stop was at a photography studio. Howard Grant was a photographer I knew pretty well. I showed him one of the non-graphic photographs I had with me.
"Not mine," he said. "But it's good work and my best guess is Pinnacle Photographs on Short street. I don't know who is running the place because they just opened a few months back. Every studio I know always puts their imprint on anything this good."
"I'll check with them," I said. "Anybody you know does nude work?"
"We all do," he said with a grin.
"Any of them doing porn?"
"None that I know about. but it wouldn't shock me if they were. Some will do whatever the customer wants."
"Any market for good porn?" I asked him.
"Sure, always a market for that shit," he said. "There's a new publishing company in town that will buy anything you got if it's good," he said and smiled. "Or so I hear."
Before I left to seek out Pinnacle's studio I got the name of the new publisher. Blushing Pink Publications
Short Street, as the name implied, is a short street. Only three block long before it changes to another name for no apparent reason. Pinnacle Photograph studio was about half way and there was a small parking lot beside the building. It wasn't exactly a low rent district but it didn't miss by much. A sign on the door said "closed" so my luck was holding firm.
I sat for a few minutes pondering my next move when what to my wondering eyes should appear was a black Aston Martin DBS V12 with flames on the fenders behind the wheels. It came roaring out of an alley beside the photography studio.
It happened so quickly I didn't get a look at the driver. Following the fucked-up car caused me to break several of our city's traffic laws. I lost him when I had to stop at a light or hit a couple cars. I felt bad about losing the car but I did manage to get a tag number so I felt pretty good about that.
I still had a few friends at the cop shop besides Tony and I called one of them to run the number. He did and I wrote down the name and address, thanked my friend and promised him a rhubarb and pineapple pie for his trouble. Love might make the world go around and money may grease the wheels but food worked just fine for me.
Once I managed to purchase a very large second-hand freezer. When the mood to cook hit me I cooked a lot. I went home to take a pie out so it would appear fresh when my friend came to get it. I left it on the counter with a note to Tony to keep his hands off the promised pie.
I then left to go find the owner of the Aston Martin. The name of record was Leroy Burns and the address was an apartment downtown. Two blocks down from the apartment building I found an attended parking garage. The friendly attendant told me there was indeed a nice fancy Brit car there with flame decals.
I went back to the apartment and wondered what the best course of action was. If Leroy had something to do with Lisa Parks disappearance I didn't want to spook him. On the other hand, I didn't have any other lead to follow at the moment. What to do?
I elected to wait before I braced Leroy Burns. I had a name and I knew where he lived so he could wait until I talked with Tiger Wilson.
It was shortly after five that afternoon when I went to the Wash and Suds. What had been a huge coin laundry was now a smaller laundry, a bar, and a partitioned office in the back. I walked past the beer-tender and saw him push a button that I was sure would alert Tiger to my arrival. He did not disappoint.
I was met at the door by a tough guy by the name of Roy Carp. I say tough guy because Roy and apparently Tiger thought so. I remained unconvinced.
"It's Case, the private dick," Roy called back into the office. "You want I should let him in?"
Apparently he was given permission to allow me to enter. Both Roy and I knew he couldn't stop me. It was just showmanship on Roy.
"What's up?" Tiger asked once I was in the room. The room contained a bed, a worn sofa and a few ragged upholstered chairs. Tiger was on the sofa and a young woman was sitting on his lap. He had a extra girl nearby as well as Roy and another man. The other girl was passed out and snoring softly. I didn't know the other bodyguard but I knew the type. He was anybody's dog that would hunt with him.
"Need some information, Tiger," I said taking a seat more or less opposite him. "Of course I thought of you because you keep your ears attuned to what's happening around this town."
"That's a fact," he acknowledged modestly. "How you like my newest kitten?"
She was not legal but I wasn't her daddy, a vice cop, nor was I working juvenile. She was pretty in a slutty kind of way. She was wearing a loose pair of shorts and a tube top. Her mouth was void of lipstick and was puffy like she had been engaged in some heavy kissing.
"Nice," I said while not meaning it.
"Got her broke to ride," he said. He made her get up and he jerked her shorts down. She wasn't wearing panties and her pube was shaved clean. "The bitch minds good, don't you bitch?"
"Yes, daddy," the girl said and returned to her seat on his lap. Tiger roughly shoved her legs apart and he begun to play with her pussy.
"This kitten loves to fuck, ain't that right, Kitten?" She cooed and nodded her head. "She really likes black cock. Take it all three fuckable holes." He was massaging her clit hard and I could see it wasn't a nice feeling for her. He reached over to a table and took a long neck beer bottle, finished it off, and handed to it her.
"Fuck your cunt with this bottle, little kitten," he said. The girl eased the neck of the bottle in her pussy and begun to stroke in and out. "Won't be long before she will be able to fuck herself with the other end. After a few months of big black cocks, it will go right in."

Read more