Title: Pulped 
Author: Ursula 
Feedback Email: Fan4Richie@aol.com 
Author's Website: http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/~ursula/ 
Category: Humor, AU (Alternate Universe)   
Pairings: Mulder/Krycek       
Rating: NC-17 
Spoilers: None 
Permission to Archive: DIB Full House 
Series or Sequel/Prequel: One of a Kind 
Notes: Thanks to Sebastian for volunteering to beta this monster. The
Mulder voice that sets the tone came to me in a dream. I'd like
another one like that.
Warnings: This is very AU with gender roles very twisted. 
Disclaimer: X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Fox TV and et
al.
Summary: Really, really AU with shades of Sam Spade in a universe far
away where a few gender roles are skewed differently.

Pulped
by Ursula

Part 1
Please see part 0 (template) for warnings and summary.


PULPED:

Yeah, I knew he was trouble from the moment he walked in the
room...six feet of green eyed, brown haired, long eye-lashed trouble.
He was wearing black leather and blue jeans, and from the moment I saw
him, he had my heart on a chain. He walked straight by my partner,
Dana Scully. She sat behind her big walnut wood desk...never could get
the money to buy me a desk. I sat behind a slightly wobbly card table.
I saw her eyes follow his ass...blue eyes bouncing off that
tight-cheeked piece of paradise.

He held out his hand and said, "Krycek, Alex Krycek..." He had a
breathy growl of a voice...like he spent a lot of time in smoke filled
rooms, singing the blues and with his looks, making them for a hell of
a lot of sad sack guys and gals.

I leaned back in my chair and looked him slowly up and down, pausing
in the middle until a deep red blush settled over his high sharp
cheeks. "Yeah, babe, what can I do for you?"

He blinked those errant eyes, big limpid pools of innocence. Did I buy
it? Nah, but I was thinking about leasing a piece.

>>>>>>

So, babe, give me another...I can take it. Oh, forgot to introduce
myself...Fox Mulder, private dick. Well, it's been around a few times,
but I wouldn't exactly call it public anyway.

This was my life...one cheap office...and a dive upstairs with a pull
out bed and an ironing board that served as my table. A cockroach
called Archy and a stray alley cat named Mehitabel were my best
friends - other than Scully.

About Scully, she's a hard boiled egg...Looks petite and pretty and
has big eyes as innocent as a frigging bluebird, but let me tell you,
cross that little beauty and she'll have your balls for breakfast.

I'm not a bad looking guy myself when the light is right, you know. My
nose is a bit on the big side and my chin a little on the weak side,
but hey, I'll do. You look at me the right way and I'm pretty. You
look at me the wrong way and...Well, babe, don't do it.

"Thanks, babe. This story makes a guy thirsty. Line another one up."

"So where was I? Oh, Yeah, the hook..." 

>>>>>

"Have a seat, Krycek. What's your beef?" I said. He sat down. He
didn't just plunk that ass down. He stretched and undulated until he
was sure I couldn't take my eyes off him. And for a guy whose last
date was with a plain brown covered magazine, this was just about
enough to get a rise. Still, I eyed him like the cheap trick he was
decked out to be.

Another flutter of those eyelashes. He said, "Mr. Mulder, I work at
the Pussy Cat Club. I'm a performer...my stage name is..." He lowered
those pretty eyes and then brought the whole show back to my face. He
said in that just-got-laid voice, "The Velvet Rat."

"The Velvet Rat?" I exclaimed, choking back a laugh.

Krycek blushed and said, "It was supposed to be "Cat" but the marquee
guy thought it was funny."

"I've heard of the Pussy Cat Club", I admitted. Hell, yes, I had. A
classy place that I could hardly afford unless a client paid big. Not
often that one did.

Scully would have done all right on her own, but women had a hard time
taking a man seriously in a job like private detective and they
doubted Scully's abilities when they found out that the good-looking
guy wasn't her secretary. A lot of women think that testosterone runs
our lives, making our judgment untrustworthy. Scully doesn't think
that way; she says I'd have no common sense even if I were a woman.

"My career is very important to me," the hot babe said. "It didn't
seem to be a problem at first. You see, when I auditioned, they said I
didn't have enough experience. So they said, be a cigarette seller and
we'll see. I had hoped for more. I won six amateur contests in my
hometown. But I needed the money so I said yes. My second week on the
job, the owner finally came by. He was an unpleasant man...gray
haired, wrinkled, a bad suit, and he smoked constantly. He kept
calling me over and he would run his hand over my ass. You know the
outfits the cigarette sellers wear? Black velvet shorts, net
stockings, red sleeveless silk tee shirt? He tucked a fifty in my
waist band and said, buy something pretty."

So I was lost for a few minutes, mentally dressing Alex, the babe, in
those minute black shorts and the tiny muscle shirt. And then
undressing him.

Scully said, "You could have given it back, Mr. Krycek. It would have
been the decent thing to do."

Krycek sighed and sniffled. Scully stood up with a faint sound of
disgust and found him a wad of tissue. He looked up at her and made it
obvious that he was a two way street with two yield signs, no stop
sign.

He replied, "I know it was, but I was barely making enough money to
eat and have a roof over my head. That fifty was a chance at a real
costume."

I went over to sit on the edge of Scully's desk. Mine falls over if
you try that. Krycek followed, sitting in the good client chair, the
one without the duct-taped rip in the seat upholstery. He dabbed at
his tear filled eyes. "The next night," he said, "A limo pulled up
outside my room. It was Mr. Spender's limo. The driver was an oily
zoot suited tough gal named Louisa Cardinal. She said that Mr. Spender
wanted a private audition. I was so excited that I didn't even think."

Scully muttered something about "Air headed bimbos."

I shushed her and patted Krycek's arm. "Tell me all about it, chico."

Krycek sighed and took out his compact; he didn't powder his nose,
just glanced at his eyes. Scully was right. What a bimbo! But hot,
sexy, long-legged bimbos are my favorite kind.

Krycek continued. "He lived in a big house on Queen Anne. It was very
beautiful and I was thrilled just to be there. He was in the living
room. I walked in. He turned on the phonograph and I went into my act.
I put my heart and soul into it. See, besides dancing, I play the
guitar and sing. In the club, when I'm done, I sing a little blues
number. By the end, all I'm wearing is my guitar."

I was thinking that I might tell him I needed to see the act just to
get a good picture of the story in my head. Scully kicked me. Guess
she has known me for too long.

Krycek said, "The long and short of it...Spender said he loved my act.
He asked me for dinner and a few drinks. When I wanted to get dressed,
he said to have a drink first. Next thing I knew I was in his bed. It
wasn't a Mickey Finn. It was something different. No matter what he
told me to do, I did it."

Krycek burst into bigger tears. He said, "Mr. Mulder, he took
pictures. He said if I squealed that he could have me arrested for
prostitution. Ever since that night, I have been his slave in all but
name. Sure, I dance at the club now, but that's as much freedom as I
get. I couldn't be here now, except the old man's son covered for me.
Jeffrey is as almost as much a prisoner as I am. All his dad thinks
about is matching him up to the right women, someone with money and
power. And his mother, Cassandra, is so cock-whipped that she won't
stand up to him. All she thinks about anyway is aliens. Illegal aliens
and conspiracies. So Mr. Mulder, can you help me? Can you get those
pictures back so I can be free to pursue my art?"

The bimbo didn't even have cash, but the diamond earrings he gave me
were one hell of a retainer. As soon as he left, I knew that Scully
would start. And I was right.

Scully shoved out of her desk and slammed the door...after a last peek
at that undulating ass. "What a load of crap!" she yelled.

Wincing, I retreated behind my pitiful card table. Scully wasn't
having it. She crossed the room and said, "After all your talk about
wanting equal rights...don't you know that men like that set your
cause back fifty years? Do you really want to have women looking at
you and just seeing your pretty face and thinking about a piece of
your ass?"

I didn't swing that way. After two horrible relationships, I decided
that women were not my thing. I just couldn't seem to find a lover who
respected my mind. No, they wanted to whip my butt and keep me
barefoot in the kitchen. I was lucky that neither of them had any
interest in pregnancy. Otherwise, I'd also have a kid to take care of.
I don't think I had much dad potential. Poor kid, even Archy, the
cockroach, complained about my cooking. If I had a kid, the social
workers would probably have to take the poor little tyke. For all they
say about how powerful paternal instinct is, I just didn't want to
have a kid. Sure they all said that my biological clock would push me
harder in a few years, but I doubt it. Maybe every woman didn't want
to be a breadwinner just like every man didn't really secretly yearn
for the right women to marry him and protect him.

Scully poked her sharp little finger in my face and said, "Well?"

I stared down at my badly worn shoes and sulked for a while. It didn't
work. Scully said, "Are you going to take his case?"

I finally looked up and said, "Yes, I am."

Luckily, Pendrell showed up just then. He worked as a laboratory
technician at a blood lab down the street. He was everything that I
was not; nicely dressed, his sweet rosy complexion subtly highlighted
with makeup and the latest styled suit on his trim body. He was
Scully's perfect man. She could respect him intellectually while not
having to be embarrassed to be seen with him. Pendrell was so
traditional that I bet he still waxed his chest to get rid of the
unsightly hair.

Scully forgot about me as her lover entered the room. "Oh, Pendy," she
said, fondling the silk of his suit. "Did you get all dressed up just
for me?"

Pendrell blushed prettily and span around to show off his outfit. He
said, "I hoped that you would like it."

Scully said, "I like it. I love it. Let's go someplace nice and
dance."

Scully shot one glance back at me as she left. She said, "Mulder, try
to use your brains instead of your balls. Think about Krycek. He's a
tramp. I've seen guys like him my whole life. He's trouble. Trouble
with a big "T". You know I want you to be happy, but you need a steady
woman or a man with more common sense than you yourself?. And, Mulder,
be careful."

One minute after she left, I cleaned out the petty cash and started
for the Pussy Cat Club. There was just time to catch the show.

____________

The Pussy Cat Club was just as I remembered it. The door was part of
the show. A blonde woman in a lion tamer's outfit held two perfectly
matched twin brutes at the end of her chain. The guys were dressed in
fake lion skins that barely covered their rippling thigh muscles. Both
were tawny, tanned, and had jaws so stalwart that they could have
cracked walnuts like I munched sunflower seeds.

The line of women waiting to get in was rowdy. Out-of-towners, glad to
shake the disapproving eyes of their hubbies, vied with the local
in-crowd. I saw that Krycek was on the advertising poster. He posed
demurely with one naked thigh peeping out from behind a guitar. Damn,
I wanted the poster! As I was admiring the finer points of the art, I
felt a hand grope my ass.

A husky female voice said, "Oh, sweetie, what's a nice guy like you
doing alone at a dive like this?"

"Having my ass groped by a total stranger," was my reply. Now I
remembered why I usually asked a female date to take me here. Maybe I
should have waited for Scully. A pretty guy alone at a place like this
was a target for a hell of a lot of sexual harassment. The women were
so keyed up that the line just about reeked of estrogen. The few other
men were with their dates. They were all better dressed than me and
looked resentfully at my unescorted presence as if I was here just to
put a move on their dames.

The woman laughed. She was a brown haired gal with those huge shoulder
pads in her power suit. She looked self-confident and was a beauty,
not classical in her looks, but attractive all the same. Two other
women who looked adoringly at her every move accompanied her. She
said, "Why don't you sit at my table, pretty thing? I'll get you in
sooner. The name's Didi, Didi Xander."

Okay, so I could be a bit of a slut myself...Mulder-Slut was my last
girl friend's favorite name for me. I batted my eyelashes and smiled
as if I was just a little shy. She ate it up. A subservient little
woman came out and said, "Oh, Ms. Xander, you don't have to wait out
here. Your table is ready now."

You could feel the power rush after that expensively outfitted woman.
I let myself be dragged along in the undertow. I found myself sitting
next to her at the stage front table. One of her sycophants, a big
woman named Mary, gushed, "Ms. Xander is a famous writer. She's also a
producer. A very important woman."

I smiled even though Didi's hand was creeping along my thigh. One of
the cocktail waiters sidled up. He wore the same outfit as the
cigarette-boys, but his sheer sleeveless shirt was gold lame instead
of red silk. He posed like Michelangelo's David; one hip jutted just a
little to show off his cute round bottom. Mary, who seemed to be the
wag of the group, tucked a sizable tip into the tight velvet shorts.
He wiggled as if offering a little more for the money.  I bit my lip,
swallowing a lecture on sexual harassment. This wasn't the time or
place.

The music started and the first act slunk into the spotlight. He was
costumed as a Mounty...incongruous in the traditional double-breasted
red uniform, which was so much better suited to a woman. Naturally,
they struck up Indian Love Call for his turn. He was really good,
graceful and sexy. He was gorgeous; his face was sweet and innocent
and he had beautiful eyes. The wolf dog that danced with him was a
funny touch at first, but later you could see how the pair were in
perfect harmony as if reading each other's minds. He finished covered
only by the broad brimmed black hat and the shiny boots. The group of
woman applauded wildly as he exited; I wiggled in my chair, aware of
the exact length of my cock as it pressed against my cheap trousers.

Didi looked at my heated face and said, "Oh, I see, sweetie, that's
what you like...any chance that I could watch some time?"

I blushed and she said, "Just teasing...maybe."

The next act didn't appeal to me too much. The guy was vapidly pretty
and his act was run of the mill. I noticed that the room was falling
silent as the man left the stage. Then a yearning whisper filled the
room...

"Velvet...Velvet...Ratty boy..." came the female demand. Oh yeah, if I
had been hard before, now I was steel...

The music sounded like a primal heartbeat. The beat of the drums was
loud enough to resonate in my chest. The saxophones kicked in, moaning
low and sweet as if they were about to come. The stage was in total
darkness. The first trickle of light merely caught a glisten of
velvet. It licked its way up from tight black jeans to Krycek's
poet-shirt.

Krycek sat on a lounge, his guitar in hand. One bare foot rested on
the fabric of the lounge. The other just touched the floor, spreading
his shapely thighs wide apart. He sang in French to the throbbing
tune. He didn't quite have a professional voice, but it was perfect in
this context. Krycek was a lover longing for his sweetheart. After a
verse or two, he set the guitar down on the lounge. His hands raked up
the velvet shirt; fingers played beneath, revealing his sparsely
haired belly, shining ivory in the dimmed lights.

Krycek sighed and walked toward the edge of the stage. He prowled,
showing his stuff as his hips teased beneath the black denim. His
shirt eased away, revealing a well-developed chest. He hadn't shaved
or waxed, but the few hairs that sprinkled his stomach and chest
seemed primal and sexy rather than uncouth. A drop of sweat trickled
down his body, slowly gliding down and disappearing into the waistband
of his jeans. He began to sing again, his voice yearning. By chance or
purpose, he was looking my way as his extraordinary eyes gazed out at
the audience. I knew enough French from the finishing school to
recognize that he was using the male gender as he called to his demon
lover.

His hands stroked his body as he moved and slowly he writhed out of
his jeans. No breakaway clothing for this man. His act was so genuine
that every member of the audience must have felt a voyeuristic thrill
to see it. Now, he stood clad only in a black pair of boxers. He
followed the undulations of the music, roaming the stage with
increasing frenzy. His hands molded his flesh under the satin drawers.
His fingers delved beneath them as he arched, his passion on display
to the crowd. There was a last rumble and a blink of the light.

When the stage lit again he was sprawled on the couch, his guitar
barely covering enough to advert a raid. My hungry eyes explored his
lean hips, imagining my hands tight on that silken flesh. I found
myself staring at one black curl, revealed periodically as the guitar
gently wept out his song.

"Oh, God," I exclaimed after the stage had blacked out and the lights
come back on. It took a while for the women to settle down. For a
moment, I felt unsure of myself. Nice boys don't go to places like
this and every woman in that crowd was on edge. The room throbbed with
their sexuality. I had to tell myself that I was liberated man. The
wet spot on my boxers reminded me of just how much I had enjoyed the
act. Even if guys only had one orgasm, it didn't mean that it wasn't
natural for us to have sexual feelings...

I didn't have long to recover. A well-dressed man moved toward Didi's
table. She eyed him with a wary expression. "Ms. Xander," he said, as
if coyly flirting. He wore too much blush, his eye shadow was green,
and he had just a hint of lipstick on his nicotine yellow teeth. I
eschewed make-up myself but that didn't mean I didn't know how to put
it on. My father may have drunk too much behind his lace curtains, but
he taught me every manly wile. It wasn't his fault that I had no taste
for the frills of my gender.

Spender held out his hand and Didi shook it firmly.

"I'm Carl Spender, the owner of this club," he announced.

I noticed he had in tow an over-dressed young man who seemed about to
die of mortification. Spender shoved the young man into view and said,
"This is my lovely son, Jeffrey."

Jeffrey was all right. Thank God that he subscribed to Cosmo magazine
or something because he had a palette perfect makeup job. His pants
were a little revealing, snug in the crotch, but he didn't look cheap
as his father did. He wasn't a beauty, but he did have a sensuous
mouth and sweet, sad eyes.

Spender warbled, "Jeffrey isn't attached right now, Ms. Xander. He
just completed finishing school. He was the star of the debutante ball
last fall. He wore a lovely suit designed by Madame Russell. It cost
me more than two thousand dollars."

The poor kid was just dying. Didi had a warm heart to go with her
roving hands.  She smiled at Jeffrey and said, "You sound as if you
are the sort of a young man who would enjoy a private party. And I
happen to be having one this Saturday."

Didi was subtle enough to hide the hints, but she went right into,
"I'd love to have a couple of your entertainers come too. Perhaps that
beautiful man who sang and maybe the other one who was dressed as a
Canadian Mounty?"

Spender looked as if that was hardly what he had planned, but the long
silence from Didi said volumes about her expectations. I stayed in the
background for a while until I had the urge to get away from Spender.
I stood up and said, "Got to powder my nose."

Jeffrey quickly stood and said, "I'll go with you."

As I left, Didi remarked, "It's so cute the way guys always like to go
to the powder room together. Makes a gal wonder what you talk about in
there."

I could about hear Spender batting his eyelashes at the woman. He
said, "Well, about how attractive women are, of course. We can't say
that around you, after all. We'd lose all our mystery..."

Jeff Spender checked everywhere as soon as we entered the restroom. He
did need a piss and after three drinks, so did I. I eyed his
shorts...pretty silk number with little fleur de lis all over them.
Despite my vow to live like a woman in a woman's world, I still had a
yen for pretty things. I fought the urge to ask him where he'd bought
them.

Spender shook it dry then sprayed a little male deodorant over his
crotch. He was one of those guys who always liked to be fresh and
pretty for the women. I said, "Your father is something else. He
really must care about you the way he talks."

Spender said in a shaky voice, "I hate him. I really hate him. My mom
met him in a place like this...I know he married her for the money. He
controls almost every minute of my life and I am going crazy. He's
trying to marry me into some important family. I want to marry for
love...why can't he understand that?"

I bit back my response. Poor kid was hook and line for the whole
romantic rap. Why disillusion him? Wait until his princess charming
was off fighting dragons and he was stuck cleaning the castle.

Jeffrey said, "You're Alex's private detective. I recognize you. He
described you in great detail. See, I don't mind what my Dad does...my
Mom has her sweet young psychics on the side anyway. But Alex is so
unhappy. I just have to help him."

I said, "Can you sneak me into his dressing room?"

Jeffrey shook his head. He replied, "Some of the customers are pretty
pushy. Dad keeps the performers guarded. I'm not supposed to know
this, but I think Dad makes the dancers go out on dates that he picks.
He doesn't let just any stage door Jane pick them up. But if Alex goes
to that party; I'll do something to distract Louisa...she would be a
lot more concerned about Jeffy picking the wrong woman then she would
be about Daddy's kept boy disappearing for a while."

(Continued in part 2)


Part 2 
See part 0 for header information.


Jeff plainly regarded this as a romantic escape from his father's
tyranny. I didn't know about the romance although I wouldn't mind a
tumble with that velvet rat. Besides, Scully and I need the work. The
earrings locked in our cheesy office safe might finally buy me that
desk...

Jeff hurriedly powdered his nose and refreshed his lipstick.  He
looked at me a little strangely as I ignored the well-lit make up
mirrors. He said, "If you forgot your makeup kit, you can borrow
mine."

I replied, "No, I don't wear any. Tell Krycek I'll see him at the
party."

Jeffrey said, "Okay, um, here...so you can buy a party suit and get
your hair done."

The kid handed me two hundred dollars from the fat money roll he
carried. I tucked it in my pocket. I guessed I would have to buy
something or I wouldn't blend in at that party.  I gritted my teeth.
Would I have to put out for Didi to get an invite?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I gazed into my drink like the meaning of the universe was in the
swirling molecules. Hell, maybe it was. I couldn't tell if Sam, the
bartender, was listening, but it didn't matter. It still beat getting
a free trip to the psych ward for talking to myself. I swiveled on the
barstool as a group of women came into the room. I let my legs swing
wider, teasing them with a view of my package. Maybe I had learned a
trick or two from Krycek. My confidence gained me an appraising look,
but the business women were too intimidated to try any pick up lines.

I said, "So, anyway, I swallowed my pride and asked Pendrell to give
me a hint or two. I hadn't looked in a fashion magazine since I broke
out of finishing school. The beauty shop was absolute hell...the
horror...the horror...sixty minutes of nothing but gossip and doggy
comments about men who weren't there that day."

Sam finished polishing a glass and commented, "But your hair looks
great, Mulder."

I snapped, "That's not the point..."

The bartender smirked and said, "You never did say whether you had to
put out for Didi Xander."

I felt my cheeks heat...the ones on my face; I know what you're
thinking. "No,"  I replied. "I told her that I was in love with Krycek
and would do anything to see him. She's a dame with a heart of gold
even if she does pinch like a lobster."

The bartender leaned on her muscled arms and asked, "So that
party...what happened there? Was it as wild as the newspaper said?"

"Wilder," I replied, thinking back to that night.

>>>>

I strutted into the office, decked out in my party suit. I had gone
for the whole show...tight pants, cut away jacket to show a little
cleavage in my ass. Plenty of sequins on the coat...

The tight fit of my dress shoes pinched my toes and I was
uncomfortably aware of my lift and separate underwear. The padding and
support emphasized my cock and balls, pushing them forward like I was
offering them on a platter. Now I remember why giving up all this shit
had seemed like such a good idea.

It was funny though how you could give something up for twelve years
and it all comes back. I hadn't used a lick of makeup in all that
time, but now I was cover-boy material. It made me feel very strange
and I didn't like the way Scully looked me up and down, a pink color
traveling from her cheeks down her neck. Scully said, "Why, Mulder,
you are a guy!"

I curled a lip at her and said, "Yeah, I stand up to pee too. So
what's new?"

Scully said, "Sorry, it's just that you look...you look so pretty."

If she pinched me, she was a goner even if she was my best friend and
partner...

I said, "I'm going under cover..."

Scully said, "I think I should go with you. Mulder, you know things
happen to you..."

Okay, so sometimes I dropped a gun, got bashed in the head; it wasn't
because I was a guy. Damn it, I was as good as any woman, no matter
what Jane Edgar Hoover said.

I shook my head and said, "Scully, you don't have to protect me. I
think I can control my testosterone long enough to solve this case.
Hey, how many blackmail cases have we solved this year...dozens...the
case of the Harried Widow, the case of the Purloined Loin, the case of
the Missing Series Star...Now that was a rough one. Remember the
producer killed him for the insurance and tried to cover it up?"

Still looking worried, Scully said, "Just be careful. I'd hate to have
to break in a new partner."

With these words in my ears, I walked out the door. It was a tough
world out there, but I was tougher. I was Fox Mulder, private dick...

I have to admit part of me wanted to go crawling home to daddy when I
was dropped off at that party. I could hear the wild shrieks of
laughter from a block away. There were enough of those paper Japanese
lanterns to ignite a fleet. The champagne corks popping sounded like a
fifty gun salute. I straightened my back, put steel in my buns, and
walked up to the door.

The butler was at least six foot tall. She was very blonde and Nordic,
one long cool drink of water. She said, "May I take your coat, sir?"

With her glacial blue eyes on me I felt as if I was stripping right in
front of her. I saw Didi in the crowd. She had the Mounty on one arm
and a pretty tawny number on the other. She struggled out from her
trophy males to greet me with a warm kiss on my cheek. She whispered,
"He faked a headache and he's lying down in one of the guest rooms.
Third door on the left."

I didn't need to know which one was Louisa Cardinal. She exuded an air
of menace, a human shark trolling through the crowd. Her eyes were
flat and cold. I could see the extra bulge beneath her arm that had
nothing to do with an ill-fitting bra. I shivered as her reptilian
gaze traveled up and down my body.  She was like a mortician, getting
ready to fit me for a shroud.

I knew I couldn't slip upstairs with that tough number watching me. I
looked around and saw Jeff. He knew how to pick them. He was chatting
up one of the entertainers...a woman who looked like she could drag
little Jeffy into a cave and send him back bowlegged. She already had
her hand wedged into the waistband of his pants. Cardinal's eyes
widened as she saw Jeff slip out the door with the bad woman. She was
off like a shot and I pitied the gal who made the move on the
debutante.

As Louisa shot out the door, I made for the stairs. I could have found
that bedroom door by radiant heat alone. I didn't bother to knock. I
had the feeling I was expected.

Krycek lay on that bed like a prime piece of beef. One arm was behind
his neck and the other gently cupped his balls. His legs were as wide
open as the Golden Gates and I was already reaching for my toll.

I thought about playing hard to get. Scully's words about not letting
my hormones run my brain drummed in my ears, but it would have taken a
saint or a eunuch to resist that ivory skinned beauty. However, I
struck a pose against the door, lit a cigarette and gave into a fit of
coughing as I remembered that I didn't smoke.

"Mulder," he said, trilling my name out in a way that made me feel
dirty, hot, and bothered. "You have to help me. It's getting worse."

Krycek sniffed and I was sunk. I grabbed my clean handkerchief and
crossed the room like the devil was on my tail. He took the thing and
dabbed at his eyes. I suddenly realized that those long lashes were
real. I don't care how waterproof mascara is supposed to be. You can
always see its traces on white cloth. From those sooty lashes, I was
drawn to look into his eyes and the next thing I knew we were in a
clinch. My faux silk party suit was piled on top of his designer
threads. Our lips were welded together like platinum to gold in a
wedding band.  I knew I should come up for air, but that kiss made
autoerotic asphyxiation into a team sport.

A pinpoint of consciousness later, I realized I was on my back, Krycek
crouched between my wide-open legs. He was playing me like a flute and
the music emerging from my throat was damn close to The Flight of the
Valkyrie. His tongue was curled around the head of my cock, tickling
the inside of the slit with humming bird darts. One of those long
fingers that I had admired was strumming in my anus, finding my g spot
with ease. No matter what the sex therapists said, I had never found
that magic heterosexual-sex only miracle pleasure spot on the
underside of my cock. No matter how much they tell me that the
ultimate orgasm was rubbing that against a vagina, I had never felt
it. But this...this was buzzing my body into one moaning, groaning
pleasure dome. His big green eyes ate me up as he swallowed me deep. I
think I hit high C before I dissolved into a wasted heap.

It took me a bit to get the picture as he coaxed me over on my side. I
was still a blissed out puddle of man as I lay there with him kissing
the back of my neck. I felt his finger slide back inside of me, eased
by something that felt greasy and warm. I opened my legs wider. Just
call me Mulder-Slut. I couldn't get enough of him. I was just going to
be the good guy and let him get his piece of paradise. One orgasm is
all we're good for...that's what they told us in human sexuality in
college. I remember the pitying looks the women gave the few guys in
the class when they heard that.

I guess Krycek must have skipped the sex education classes. Maybe he
challenged the credits.

His finger gave way to another while his free hand quivered up and
down my shaft. I was relaxed, not expecting much more than some nice
feelings as I gave back pleasure in my turn. The brief burn as he slid
inside me was familiar and welcome. I relaxed to it, enjoying being
filled. I expected that he'd be in a rush. But instead his hot hard
length inside of me slid in and out with a maddening slowness. I
pushed back, trying to let him know that it was okay. I was ready.
Give it your best shot, babe.

Krycek must have had nerves of steel because he just let it build and
build, his hand strumming my cock...and that full, teasing sensation
inside of me. When his cock brushed over my g spot, I wailed. Forget
one orgasm. I knew I was building for one hell of a second coming. I
was writhing on the bed...proving all over that I wasn't the kind of
good boy who didn't really enjoy sex. I yowled like a cat in heat and
he echoed my cries right back. His hand flew on my shaft as his cock
dissolved my insides in wave after wave of pleasure. The sudden
release as we both came was like spiral force, flinging us briefly
apart.

Krycek cleaned us up and then crawled into my arms. My wild thing now
seemed shy and timid, gazing into my eyes like I was his knight in
shining armor and he was my sweet laddy, ready to give his favor to
his chosen champion as she rode off to war.

"I didn't know it could be like this," he said.

As I said to my sister, the bartender and piano player, 'Play it, Sam,
play it again'.

I knew he was taking me for a ride...you don't learn those tricks in
grammar school. But I was ready to buy a lifetime pass.

Krycek whispered in my ear, "Spender will be out of town tomorrow. I
know he keeps the pictures in the safe in his bedroom. It's hidden in
this bust of David in his room. Please, Mulder, I can't take what he's
doing to me. He's making me into a prostitute and he beats me. Look."

Krycek pointed to some fresh bruises near his nipple and to an
abrasion behind his ear. The insides of his thighs were also marked.
None of it would show under a show spotlight. Dancing must have been
painful with those welts on his legs. I felt like I was ten feet tall
as I cuddled him close. "Don't worry. You give me that bust and I'll
get you out of this mess."

Krycek looked at me with those scintillating eyes and I was lost.  I
told myself that he wasn't a bad boy, he was just playing the script
Spender wrote. I'd have to ditch Scully. She'd never approve of me
breaking into a house to crack the case...

_____________

The thick fog was on me like a fur coat on a dowager. I had a cab drop
me a block away from Spender's place. His Queen Anne house cast a
snobby eye on the hoi polloi of the neighborhood. It was tiered in at
least four levels, each boasting decks or balconies to take advantage
of the views. This morning, I had found detailed floor plans of both
Spender's office at the Pussy Cat Club and his house slipped under my
door. Stamping my feet in the clinging cold, I waited until the house
was dark and silent before making my move.

I found Spender's bedroom without a hitch. The bust of David stood
against a wall. It stood, large and heavy set, on a marble-like
display. I felt like a pervert as I ran my hands all over the statue
looking for an opening. I finally found an indentation along the sides
and pushed heavily on it. The bust sprang apart. I looked down at a
combination lock. All right, time to see if my lessons from the
Amazing Madame Amanda, safecracker extraordinary, had paid off.

I wore a stethoscope that I had purloined from one of my frequent
emergency room trips. Straining, I could just barely hear the tumbles
of the lock. It took me two tries before I hit the right sequence. The
safe opened smoothly and spilled its lush loot in front of my greedy
eyes. Spender had an incredible collection. A velvet bag held uncut
diamonds. Several jewelry rolls contained necklaces, earrings, tie
tacks and bracelets enough to decorate the King of England. A plastic
keeper held a signed Marilyn Monroe rookie baseball card.

Hell, Spender really was a blackmailer. I found a package of
compromising snapshots of a presidential candidate with that hot
starlet, Joe DiMaggio. He had their love letters too. After a long
moment of thought, I tucked the whole nasty file into my knapsack.

A moment later, I found the Krycek file. I was glad that I was wearing
gloves. The file was sticky with a residue that I didn't mind when it
was fresh, but found repulsive in this form. Apparently Spender found
the evidence of his dalliance with Krycek exciting material.

I growled to myself when I found a date book. Young Jeffy was right.
Spender used his pretty boys to troll in important women and catch
them in the act. He had his nicotine stained fingers in a lot of high
places. Not a popular guy. I finally stuffed every file I could find
into my backpack. I was going to bring this evil man down.

Before going to the Pussy Cat Club, I stopped at the all night bus
depot and rented a locker for thirty days. A few incidents along the
way had taught me not to bring evidence home or to the office. I
placed the files into the locker, scribbled Maggie Scully's address on
an envelope and mailed her the key with a note asking her to keep it
for me. I didn't have to say that she should give it to Scully if I
disappeared. Maggie Scully was an officer in Naval Intelligence. She
was a tough number and would know what to do with this information.  
The Pussy Cat Club was closed by the time I arrived. I took out my
handy lock picking kit and set to work. That lock was as easy as the
dancers that frequented this shady dive. The club was redolent of
smoke, booze, and still had a hint of the raging hormones that
resulted from the heated performances. I made my way to the back and
found the door with the neat gold sign that said Spender.

The small flashlight that I gripped in my teeth clattered to the floor
as I turned its beam toward the desk that dominated the richly
appointed office. I had just seen enough to tell me that Krycek's
problem was no longer how he was going to get away from Spender. The
man's head lay on the big green blotter. I didn't need to check his
pulse. No one could have survived with a hole that big in their skull.
As I stepped closer for a look, I heard an alarm ringing out. Seconds
later, before the alarm could possibly have been heard, sirens
clamored, approaching the club at great speed.

I hoped Scully hadn't spent too much money on Pendrell. I had a
feeling she was going to need it to bail me out. I wasn't stupid
enough to run. I just stood there waiting for the cops to show. Hell,
I hadn't touched the body nor was I carrying a piece. I was ready to
blink my pretty eyes and pout my seductive lips. To hell with
principles, there are times when masculine wiles are justified.

I stood with my hands raised as a trio of cops burst on the scene. I
recognized Lieutenant Fowley and put a brave face on it. We had broken
up years before when she said she wanted a husband who stayed at home.
One woman in the household is enough, she had said, wanting me to quit
my job. I pasted a sickly grin on my face as she recognized me.

Fowley walked over and had a look at the body. Her eyes traveled to
the open safe door. She nodded to the big male cop that had arrived
first on the scene. She said, "Skinner, search this man thoroughly."

The cop was big. I don't mean tall...I mean this guy rippled with
muscles. He looked as if he woke up every morning and bent an iron bar
into a chair to sit at the breakfast table. His voice rumbled from
somewhere in the subbasement. "Yes, Ma'am," he said. He had nice eyes,
big, brown and soft, but he was all business as he patted me down. I
recognized the type. A man in a woman's job, knowing he had to be
twice as good to prove he could do it.

As his ham of a hand patted my inseam, I felt the urge to press
forward a little. I blinked my eyes and said, "I don't usually go this
far on the first date."

Skinner ignored my comment and said, "He's clean, ma'am. Nothing on
him but some burglary tools."

Fowley had sorted some clues into an evidence bag. She made way for
the medical examiner. Looking me up and down, she said, "Mulder, you
haven't changed a bit.  And unless this guy has found a unique way to
commit suicide, you are in a hell of a lot of trouble."

Giving me a last look from her sharp blue eyes, Fowley shook her tawny
head of hair and her aristocratic face scowled. "Book him, Skinner,"
she bade as she turned back to the crime scene.

Sitting in the back of the squad car, my wrists tightly bound in
cuffs, my thoughts turned to Krycek. A pretty face, a sad story, and I
had fallen for it.  That guy who set the marquee must have been a mind
reader. The blinking lights advertising "The Velvet Rat" had it right.
Krycek had fucked me over in more than one way...he was a rat with a
pretty face and a beguiling song.

______

"Pass me some of those sunflower shells, Sam." I said, spinning my
shot glass in idle circles. My sister had blown off her job as a
psychologist and bought this bar instead. I liked it. It had
atmosphere and class. And besides, mom and dad hated it.

Sam shoved the bowl in my direction and went to serve the well-dressed
woman who had just walked in the door. I looked at the gal out of the
corner of my eyes. She was beautiful...her hair was red like Scully's
and her green eyes were almost as pretty as Krycek's. She looked
confident, poised, and I bet her underwear cost more than my suit. She
was just the kind of woman that dad had always said I should marry.
'Someone to take care of you,' dad had said, 'and cure you of your
notions.'

Sure, dad, and have you gone to that support group for alcoholic
homemakers yet, Mr. Happy-with-his-life?

Sam came back and snatched a handful of seeds from the bowl. She
remarked, "Fox, I should go into bail bonding on the side. I could
make a living just from your escapades."

I muttered, "Don't call me, Fox."

Sam snickered. I love her dearly and she is the least chauvinistic
woman that I know, but in some ways she is still the younger sister
who took my dolls and painted them green.

Sam asked, "So how did you get out of jail?"

_______

The jail was busy as ever, despite the late hour. I was plunked down
to wait to be booked, seated with the usual array of hookers and
dopers. The sleazy guy that sat next to me wore hot pants despite the
cold, damp weather. His shirt was open to his naval and a gold ring
hung from his nipple. He was wearing a jock support that pushed his
cock out as if he had a permanent erection. I think it was one of the
padded kind. The hooker reeked of cheap perfume. His face was caked
with makeup and his blond hair was brittle with bleaching. He chewed
gum with a vacant expression, waiting for his pimp to show up and bail
him out.

I recognized one of the other hookers from my days on the force here.
Charlie was an elegant black man who wore a classy dress suit instead
of the tawdry garb of the other men. He looked at me with surprise and
said, "Mulder, I thought you quit?"

I said, "I did. I'm just having a little problem. How about you? This
isn't your scene."

Charlie snorted and said, "A little mishap. One of my Janes has
decided that she is in love with me and wants to take me away from all
this. She turned me into the cops when I was entertaining an out of
town guest. I'll get it straightened out."

I settled back on the bench, watching the parade of woman being booked
in. Charlie asked, "Hey, Mulder, why'd you quit vice?"

I said, "Dead end job for me. I was starting to feel that I wasn't any
different from the guys that I was arresting every day."

That was the truth. The day I was turned down for the FBI academy, I
realized that I was never going to be promoted out of Vice. I looked
in the mirror as I went out on decoy duty and I felt exactly like the
hooker I saw. I turned in my resignation at the end of the day.

(Continued in part 3)

Part 3 
See part 0 for header information.


I looked up from my thoughts as Skinner's mass blotted out the rest of
the room. "They're ready to book you now," he said.

Two of the men's section jailers were out sick that night, leaving
only one on guard. Lucky Skinner, he was drafted for the duty of
searching me and booking me into the jail.

As I grabbed my ankles, I reflected that Skinner was seeing me at one
of my best angles. Despite his professional attitude, he looked a
little interested. Too bad, under different circumstances, this could
have been fun.

I called my lawyer, one of the few male attorneys in the town. He
yawned into the phone and mournfully asked, "Again, Mulder?"

I said, "Be kind, Frohike, it's not my fault. I was framed."

Frohike promised to call Scully and I hung up. Skinner walked me to a
holding cell, past reaching hands and vulgarly whistling women. He
looked uncomfortable... more so actually than I was. I smirked at him
and said, "I worked vice when I was stationed here. I had a huge
choice between working juvenile and working vice. Surprised that they
let you into major crimes. Maybe things are improving since I was
here."

Skinner showed a flicker of humor. He said, "Maybe, but I'm too plain
to work as a decoy and they said I intimidated the kids."

I laughed and entered the jail cell. Home, sweet home. Between a jail
cell and a hospital bed, sometimes I wondered if I really needed to
rent that room. I had barely laid my head down on the rock hard
mattress when a voice said, "Up and at them, Mulder. Fowley wants to
talk to you."

Diana looked no more mussed than she had a few hours ago. When we
lived together, I never saw her look frazzled. I'd wake up and see her
lying flat on her back, hair still smooth and face looking freshly
washed. If she didn't have morning breath, I'd have turned her in as
one of those pod creatures in my favorite Weird Science magazine.

Fowley said, "Lord knows there are times when I'd love to pin
something on you, Mulder. But I don't think you're guilty. Skinner
tells me that you didn't have any powder burns or residue on your
hands or clothing. No one found a gun on you or on the premises. Sing,
Mulder. Explain what you were doing there."

It took a good thirty minutes to tell her the story. I could see by
her expression that she believed me and also that she thought I was
stupid, bamboozled by a conman. She nodded at Skinner and said, "Go
check this Krycek out. Bring the son in also. We should find out if
Jeffrey Spender was supposed to inherit anything from his old man."

I swallowed my pride and told Diana about the files I had found...just
fibbing a little by saying a source had got them to me. She was very
interested in seeing them. Off she went to get the manager to open my
locker. I was sent back to my cell to contemplate my troubles. I just
wish I could stop seeing Krycek's beautiful green eyes and sweet pink
lips... I knew I had been played for a fool. The man had used me and
blown town.

Sure enough, when Skinner came back, he had Jeffrey Spender, but not
Alex Krycek. Jeffrey's makeup was smeared. His face was puffy from
crying and his nose, a near match for what I liked to think was my
classical Roman proboscis, was very red. They arrested him as a
possible material witness and put him in my cell. He was scared to
death. His father may have been a cheap crook, but he hadn't let
Jeffrey experience the seamier side of life.

I sprawled back against the wall and watched the kid fall apart. He
sobbed, "I've read about those places. Am I going to be raped by some
inmate crazed for female company? And I read about this guy who the
guards molested. They say the women just walk in and use you when they
feel like it."

I said, "Jeff, you're only being held as a material witness."

Jeff sniffed and wiped his face on a wad of toilet tissue. He said, "I
heard them saying that I had a motive if I inherited anything from
dad. I don't think that I am. As far as I know, the only thing he has
in his name is a part interest in the club. My mom is the one with all
the money."

Well, he sounded to me as if he really didn't know what his father was
doing. I settled back and asked, "What about Krycek? Do you think that
your father might have left him something?"

Jeffrey's eyes widened and he said, "I doubt it. Alex cried a lot
because dad was so mean to him. That's why I was trying to help him
get away. My dad was just using him. He loved having control of
people. That was his thing. But that wasn't what I wanted to tell you.
I told that Fowley woman. I don't think Alex ran away. His guitar is
still there and he loved that thing. He wouldn't take off without it.
I was out on a date tonight. Someone I met at the party. When I got
home, Alex's room looked ransacked. I think someone took him."

I digested this information slowly. Did I dare hope that Alex was just
what he told me? What had really happened? I wanted to believe in him.
Damn, I needed out of this cell and out where I could find the truth.

Frohike and Scully showed up together. Well, that made Frohike happy.
He was pathetically head over tails in love with my partner. Even
though Frohike was an avowed masculinist, I half thought that he would
have thrown it all over if Scully had offered him a lace apron.
Luckily for the cause, Frohike wasn't Scully's type. She liked them
sweet and neat like Brian Pendrell. Frohike tried his best, but he
always looked like a scarecrow stuffed in a suit. His thick hairline
was receding and he had worry lines on top of wrinkles. His beetling
brow always reminded me a little of a gorilla at the zoo. But he was a
good lawyer and he worked cheap. Besides, we were co-conspirators in a
world that didn't want men in professional roles.

Arraignment was promptly at nine a.m. I dressed in the suit that
Scully had brought and was taken in to face the judge. I was surprised
to hear Diana Fowley testify in my favor. She said that I wasn't her
only suspect and that there was reasonable doubt despite the fact that
I had been at the scene when the police appeared.

Judge Rosie O'Meara was a traditionalist. She never had a male law
clerk and pictures of her nicely dressed husband and children appeared
in all of her election campaign literature. I could tell she wished
she could order me into some responsible woman's custody. However, she
restrained herself, although the bail she set was so high that I'd
have to beg for an advance from my trust account to cover it. I forgot
to mention that. My grandfather had campaigned for the male vote. He
said I was the only grandchild worthy of his heritage. That fund had
paid for my education and still yielded enough interest to get me
through the lean times.

Glad to be free, I breathed in a draught of air as I left the court.
Scully said, "Mulder...did you really have to break into that office?
You know Krycek set you up. What were you thinking? You could have
been killed."

I said, "But I wasn't. And I don't think Krycek set me up. Jeff
Spender says that Krycek left his guitar at the house. He says that
Alex would never leave it behind. So I think the man's been kidnapped
or worse..."

Scully just shook her head in disbelief. Skinner had appeared out of
nowhere. He said, "Mulder, I want to talk to you."

The large man looked at Scully and Frohike and said, "Alone."

I said, "Okay, you can give me a ride home. I have to clean up before
I get back on the case."

Scully muttered, "What case? Our client has vanished."

I pointed out, "He still paid us. Those earrings should cover our
time. Besides, if we don't solve this, I think I'm going to have a
hell of a lot more reading time. Either that or I'm going to have a
shocking new hairdo."

Scully shut up at that. She cared about me even though she constantly
questioned my sanity and ability to plan. I nodded at her and at
Frohike and followed Skinner toward the parking lot.

The cop car smelled of smoke, piss, and a subtle odor that my reptile
brain translated as fear. It was old home week to me. I settled back,
suddenly aware of how tired I was.

Skinner said, "It took me a while, but I finally remembered where I
had met the victim. I work late a lot. You know how the man's john is
by the secretarial pool? A mile away from the cow-pen. I had been
keeping awake with some of that terrible unit coffee and that night, I
just had it. I went in and used the woman's can. Someone came in and I
put my feet up on the door. I felt stupid, not wanting to be caught in
the wrong restroom."

"Suddenly I heard Fowley's voice. A man's voice answered. She was
arguing with some one. She was yelling, "You slut...I thought we had
something. After all the things I've done for you! Don't you think I'd
hear that you brought one of those boys home again?"

Skinner said, "The man had a soft oily kind of voice. He kept telling
her that he loved her. Was grateful that she saw something in an older
man. He swore that he was just helping the dancer out."

Skinner laughed. He said, "Fowley's one of those women who can't
resist a certain kind of man. Pretty soon, I heard soft sounds. They
were kissing. She invited him into her office, mentioning the couch in
there."

I blushed. I knew that couch. One day I went in to talk to Diana about
a transfer to major crimes. She seemed warm and receptive. I told her
how much I wanted to be part of a real investigative team and she
rubbed my back. I should have said something, but didn't. One step at
a time and a few days later, I was on that couch with her riding me
like a cowgirl. When I moved in she told me, 'Well, now you can't
transfer. After all, we're involved.' Feel of a velvet lined trap
shutting.

Skinner's eyes seemed to catch my reaction. Maybe he heard about the
couch. I wondered if he was Fowley's type too?

Skinner said, "I had to finish a report. I went back to my desk. I saw
the man leave, but he didn't see me. I decided to get out before
Fowley had a chance to realize I might have overheard anything. She
has quite a temper."

I knew that. I shivered as old memories flooded back. How had I let
that woman trap me in an abusive relationship? Well, never mind. It
sounded as if Spender had handled her. Skinner said, "There were other
nights I heard arguments from her office. I grew to recognize his
voice. But what the hell? Her sex life was her business. I knew I
didn't want her inquiring into mine."

There was something about the way he said that which confirmed my
instincts. He was my kind of man. I said, "But it does make her a
suspect. You heard what I said about Krycek. Believe me. Both he and
Jeffrey Spender say that Carl Spender was keeping Alex as a sexual
captive. He had the poor boy convinced he'd be thrown in jail if he
tried to leave him. If Fowley was jealous, she was as much a suspect
as Jeffrey Spender or myself.

Another thought shuddered through my head. Fowley liked to play
pussycat games.  I wondered if she had found a pretty little rat with
which to play them? 

___________

"Shit!" I exclaimed as I slammed head first into the wall of logic.
What had I done? Diana had those files...had Spender kept pictures or
letters from her? Blinded by the past, I had allowed her to take the
evidence that showed why more than one person had a very good reason
to wish Carl Spender dead.

Skinner looked at me with his placid cow eyes. He asked, "What?"

I said, "I am a certified Grade A idiot. I told Fowley where to find
the files I acquired from Spender's safe."

A very small smile twitched across Skinner's very large face. He said,
"Acquired? That's an interesting choice of words."

I said, "I may have been an idiot, but I don't want to make a habit
out of it. Look, I need help."

Skinner said, "You want me to risk my career for you?"

I just looked at him. I had just met the man, but I felt I had known
him in another life, another place. I said, "Risk it for justice,
Skinner."

There was a long silence. I felt Skinner's decision and stretched out
my hand to him. He was my brother in a struggle we had to win for
every boy who wanted to be a cop, a lawyer, or an engineer. Skinner
clasped my hand and said, "All right. I've tried to play it safe, but
I know Fowley is rotten."

So that was that smell I had sensed around Diana. She was a bad
cop...nothing smells worse than a bad cop.

Skinner said, "What about this Krycek? Could he be in this with her?
Or is he a victim?"

"A victim," I replied. I shuddered and said, "Hopefully a living one.
Diana - Diana can be vindictive. In fact, I don't understand why she's
being so cooperative. She could have blocked my bail. She could have
made a case."

Skinner stopped the car, following me up to my room. I sat down on my
unmade bed until I heard a cry from the window. I opened it and let
Mehitabel in to eat. After I filled her dish, I sprinkled a few crumbs
of food in Archie's glass bowl. Skinner looked and said, "Ugh, a
cockroach?"

Archie wiggled his antenna and brushed his fore arms together. I said,
"Hey, I had fish and they all died. Archie here is just about
indestructible. I like him."

Skinner looked at me as if I was nuts, but he accepted it. He prowled
around the room until he found the poster that had been delivered. He
whistled long and low as he perused it. He said, "This is him? This is
Krycek?"

I nodded. Skinner said, "That's one hot number. I understand why
Spender might want to risk the wrath of Fowley for him."

"Yeah," I agreed. I yawned and realized that I had to grab a couple
hours of sleep if I was going to be able to think. I slammed back into
my bed and said, "Hang around Skinner, or meet me back here. The files
from Spender's office are missing. I bet I know who has them."

Two hours later I stood drinking a cup of joe. The window in my room
was cracked and dirty. Whatever light shown through was as dim as the
smile on the guy who just lost the election. I heard a yowl and
realized that Mehitabel was paying a rare morning visit. We had an
arrangement. She evicted the mice and I paid her with a bowl of cat
food plus the right to sleep next to the radiator, payable on demand.
Other than that, she led her life and I led mine. Still curious, I let
her in. She surprised me by coiling around my legs until I leaned down
to see if she had suffered a run in with a neighborhood dog.

Just as I leaned down, a bullet plowed in and aced a hole right in the
middle of an old picture of my other bad date, Phoebe Greene. I hit
the floor, contemplating a crack that looked just like a profile of
Jesus.

I heard Skinner curse and then a thud sounded. He wriggled on his
belly to join me and said, "You piss anyone off lately besides
Fowley."

I replied, "Believe me. You don't have the time to hear how many."

A while later I held up my blow-up play-pal...genuine hair and nice
little orifices at the mouth and ass. Blam! The doll met its doom. I
growled, "Now, I'm mad. What did Victor do to anyone?"

Skinner said, "You keep him busy. I'm going to try to go around and
ambush him."

I watched his powerful buttocks wiggle as he writhed across the door.
Damn, and with Victor deflated, I was up arousal creek without a hole
to plug.

You'd think that the sniper would have tired of shooting household
appliances and trinkets. I sacrificed a surfboard I had purchased from
a surfer on the skids, lacy bloomers my dad had sent me for Christmas,
and a large economy sized package of condoms, only one missing.

Just as I was looking for something else to hold up, I heard a
shout... "Hands up. Police!"

I groaned. I couldn't believe Skinner was going by the book in these
circumstances. However, a shot followed.

Taking a chance, I took a quick peek out the window. Nothing. Angling
over the edge, I saw a crumpled figure at street level. Skinner stood
over it as if he was about to yodel a gorilla yell of victory.

I beat it down the rusted stairs of the fire escape. You could hear
windows slamming and shades being drawn shut by concerned citizens all
over the block.

Skinner had blood splashed up past his elbows as he tried to stop a
sucking chest wound. He snapped, "Call an ambulance."

I ran to the nearest phone book and fought through the used condoms
and wads of chewing gum to dial the number. I didn't have to look it
up and they knew my name when I uttered it.

Back at the scene, I saw the sniper was Louisa Cardinal. Her brown
complexion was fading to yellow and the red blotch at her lips wasn't
lipstick. She looked at me and said, "You killed him. The only man I
ever loved and you killed him."

She was a tough dame...one of the bad gals, but it looked like love
was her downfall...that, and a truly bad case of poor aim.

I said, "Cardinal, Spender was dead when I arrived. The safe in his
office was opened. Think about who had the most to lose... Who told
you where I lived and that I killed Spender?"

Her beady black eyes widened and she said, "Fowley! That daughter of a
dog Fowley!"

Louisa coughed, spitting up bright red arterial blood. Her hand clawed
out, fingers digging into my arm. She said, "Get her. Get Fowley and
send her to hell. She's got Krycek at some old house she owns. She's
going after Jeffrey."

Skinner leapt into action as the ambulance arrived, siren yowling like
a cat in heat. Louisa coughed once more and I saw her body quiver
spasmodically. A moment later she took one more ragged breath and then
she was gone. I stood up and moved to the side, watching the vain
efforts to revive the bad gal. I knew it was a lost cause. She died as
she had lived, a tough woman on dead end street. I lit a cigarette and
let the smoke curl around my fingers even though I didn't smoke. Call
it a one cancer-stick salute to a hopeless love gone fatal.

The beat cops showed up shortly after. Ignoring me, they secured the
scene. However, their comments showed they were aware that I was here.
I had run-ins with these red necks before.

Irene Murphy was the third generation in her family of Irish cops in
this town.  She was a heavily muscled gal with a mustache that would
have looked good on a dime-a-dance guy. She was powerful and squarely
built, looking as if she had forgotten to take off the shoulder pads
she had worn to play high school football. Murphy was so mean that her
nervous habit was cracking other people's knuckles.

Her partner, Jasmine Bates, was a tall, lean, blonde woman. Bates was
the brighter of the two, which in their case meant that she was the
one who didn't get frostbite waiting to see the refrigerator light to
go out. Both of them were known for brutality and an inborn hostility
to male witnesses and victims.

Jasmine snickered and said, "Mulder again. Like I told you, what he
needs is a real woman. A good fuck would get that libber stuff out of
his system."

Irene laughed and said, "Yeah, although I think I'm the one who could
do it. Might give you the leftovers though if you don't mind sloppy
seconds. Wonder what the hell Skinner was doing here though? He
doesn't shove it your face like Mulder did, but he's another one. Too
bad about his face. He's got a nice figure, but I like them pretty."

Jasmine said, "Oh hell, all tom cats are alike in the dark. I'd put a
bag on his head and get me some prime cock."

Skinner had just finished examining Louise, who was now officially a
corpse. He would have a shooting report to file and a shit load of
paperwork besides the dreaded internal affairs interview. He had heard
the last two comments and scowled at the beat cops. He said, "Now if
you two are done with your little fantasies, can you mark off the
scene?"

Skinner looked at me and said, "Back to headquarters. You'll need to
make a report to back me up."

We were just finishing the interviews when Mary Brant rushed up to us.
She was one of the good gals, an honest hard working inspector in
major crimes. She said, "Skinner, you asked me to let you know if
there were any problems with Jeff Spender. He's been kidnapped from
the safe house!"

Skinner threw down the form he had been signing and charged out the
door. It took him a moment to realize that I was right with him.
"You're a civilian!" he growled.

"I'm a civilian who knows where Spender might have been taken," I
riposted.

I could about hear the wheels turning behind that massive skull.
Likewise, I could hear the sound of a rulebook being torn in half.
Skinner nodded and said, "What the hell. My career's probably shot
anyway."

Skinner blew the sirens until we were a few blocks from the house. I
had been here once with Fowley...it was her grandmother's house. It
was a pink painted monstrosity that perched behind a barricade of
iron-spiked teeth. A tower rose from the steep roof, its one window a
balefully watching eye. As we approached, I heard a gunshot...my heart
went cold. Had we arrived a moment too late to save Alex?

______

Half-heartedly, I held out my glass to Sam. She shook her head and
said, "You've had enough, Fox."

Part 4 
See part 0 for header information.


"Don't you think I can hold my liquor?" I asked, as my shaking hand
dropped the glass and the few remaining drops of Scotch onto the
floor.

"You never could," Samantha observed as she went around to clean up my
mess. "Of all the gin joints and of all the towns, he has to hang out
in mine!"

I would have made a snappy comeback but the bar reached up and hit me
in the face. Next thing I knew, I was staring at the ceiling in the
back room. There was a cot back there for the less classy clientele.
My tailbone had worn a comfortable spot in the rubber-covered mattress
of that bed. From this position, you could see the cracks in the
ceiling. If you looked really closely, you could see one that looked
like the big bear. I stared at it until my eyes stopped blurring.

Samantha came in and dropped a cold wet cloth in my face. "Mulder, if
this keeps up, I'm going to write a new will and leave everything to
you just to have the pleasure of disowning you."

I said, "Do that Sam, and I'll tell everyone that you cheat at
Stratego."

"I do not," she said on reflex.

I grinned up at her.

Sam said, "Fox, grow up! Sometimes I wish the aliens hadn't brought
you back. Dad said you would grow out of the stage of asking constant
questions, teasing and rebelling. When, Lord, when?"

I frowned as she reminded me of that dreadful day. Abducted by aliens
and returned with a sympathy note...they couldn't take my curious
babble and the constant splatter of sunflower seed shells in my wake.
I told everyone that the sign stamped on my forehead was really meant
to be detective not defective. That abduction changed my life,
redirected it in my single-minded quest to try to prove my defensive
explanation was the true one.

Sam asked, "Why are you letting what happened to Krycek tear you up?
You barely knew him, Mulder."

Shaking her head, she added, "Maybe it would help to tell me the rest
of the story?"

"Maybe it would," I agreed.

___

Skinner stopped me from running directly into the house. "She's
dangerous," he said. "Use your brains, Mulder."

I calmed down enough to keep from punching him. Skinner asked, "What's
the best way into the house?"

The basement, I thought. There was an old coal chute that might work.
I told Skinner and we crept through the overgrown yard. I gritted my
teeth as I ran into bramble roses as thick as the ones said to have
grown around Sleeping Beauty's castle. As I let go of a branch, it
swung back and hit Skinner who yelped, "Prick!"

I turned around and he said, "The rose bush, idiot. I was snagged by a
thorn." 

__

The coal chute was exactly where I remembered. Photographic memory was
a wonderful thing... except when the Kodak Company sued me for
copy-write infringement. I looked around for something to break the
lock. Skinner reached past me and snapped the rusty hinge. I batted my
eyelashes at him, impressed. He said, "I used to carry a forty pound
purse before I joined the force. It really builds those muscles up."

Skinner had loaned me a spare gun from the arsenal he carried in his
trunk. Quite a hope chest for a guy who claimed to be by the book. I
held onto it as I sped down the few feet of the chute and landed with
a puff of black dust at the bottom on the old coal bin. Someone in
that house was into major league deceit by all the tangled webs I
encountered on the way.

I got out of the way before Skinner's two hundred pound body landed on
mine. While there might be a time and place when I would relish a
close encounter with the man, this wasn't one of them.

The basement was huge. I could hear a trickle of water from some place
and the hollow moaning of the furnace. After a moment, I heard a
voice. It was high pitched with pain, but I recognized Jeff Spender.
He said, "I don't know, Fowley. He never told me."

A shriek of pain punctuated that answer. I heard Fowley say, "Don't
lie to me. The pictures weren't in the safe in his room. They weren't
at his office. You tell me! Now!"

The cry that echoed wasn't even human. Skinner and I slammed through
that door like a crazed bunch of househusbands the day after Christmas
at a discount sale. Fowley stood over Jeff Spender. He wore nothing
but a peek-a-boo black lace jock strap. He was bleeding freely from a
gunshot wound in his side. Fowley held a gun in one hand and a
canister of salt in the other. Jeff writhed in his bonds; she had
poured the agonizing stuff into his wound.

Fowley turned around. Her voice snapped in that abusive, controlling
tone she had used in the final days of our relationship...before I had
the guts to run away to the battered man's shelter.

I reached out my hand, hoping to remind her of our relationship. "Let
me help you, Diana," I said.

I saw her hand rise, but I couldn't believe she would shoot me.
Skinner shouted a warning and then he fired. Her gun discharged into
the rough concrete floor. As she fell she uttered a sound of
disbelief.

I knelt over her. Her face was rapidly turning a yellowish-gray hue as
if she had become one huge bruise. Skinner said, "I'll call for backup
and an ambulance."

"Tell them Mulder sent you," I quipped, despite the grim
circumstances.

I leaned close to Diana and said, "Diana, what did you do to Krycek?"

She laughed even as her arterial blood pumped her life out onto the
floor. "I raped the little slut," she shot back. "And he liked it.
Pretty, perfidious little rat. He's where you'll never find him until
it's too late."

For the second time that day, I watched my information die with a
suspect. Frantically, I went to Jeff and roused him from his stupor. I
asked, "Jeff, did she show you where she was holding Krycek?"

Spender shook his head and whispered, "I heard him screaming for a
while, but it stopped. She came after me. I'm sorry. I think that she
killed him. It's all my fault." Jeff gave into masculine tears. He
said, "If I hadn't tried to get him away from dad, none of this would
have happened."

I took one of my lacy monogrammed hankies out of my suit pocket. Hey,
a guy had a right to keep one or two pretty things around him. I
swabbed at Jeff's tears and then untied him. I said, "I have to look
for Alex. Don't be afraid. Skinner's gone for help and Diana can't
hurt you anymore."

Jeff closed his eyes and nodded. He was a brave kid and deserved
better than his father had given him. 
____

We searched the house from top to bottom and sideways. Not a clue
presented. I wandered about shouting Alex's name, not hearing a squeak
of a reply. This huge house held a million nooks and crannies. We
found Alex's jacket in one of the bedrooms. Silk ties, one of Diana's
favorite toys, dangled from the four-poster bed. I could smell Alex's
musk in the room and I knew it was here that she ravished my beloved
rat. I found his green silk boxers and clutched them to my face.
Alex...sweet, sweet Alex...would I ever see him again?

By the third sweep of the house, the policewomen were tired. I noticed
that they had police dogs sniffing in the yard. I knew what they
thought. They thought he was dead and buried.

I could have fallen in love with Skinner. He didn't give up hope. We
stood in the attic having just opened all the huge steamer trunks.
Skinner sighed and shook his head. He said, "There has to be something
that we're missing. She wouldn't have time to move him or bury him by
what Spender said."

Skinner walked over, glanced out the window and groaned. He said,
"Mulder, I can't keep the search team here much longer."

"Fuck!" I said, slamming my fist into the wall. To my surprise, the
panel swayed with the impact. I pounded on it. It was hollow.

"Rum-runners!" Skinner said, "It's a false wall!"

We pushed and prodded with no success. Finally, Skinner picked up a
heavy iron coat rack and ran at the panel like a dragon-slaying
knight. The old wood gave way with a resounding crack. I screamed as
bats swirled out of the dark hole. Skinner said, "I see something. I
see a wondrous thing."

Pushing past him, my gun in hand, I bravely risked further winged
rodents. Alex was tied to a beam. His white shirt was streaked with
blood. His head hung limply. I couldn't bring myself to breathe, much
less touch him to see if we were in time. As I finally screwed up my
courage, his head moved. He fluttered those luscious black eyelashes
at me and my heart skipped a beat. Green eyes met mine and he said,
"Fox...my hero"

One of us passed out after that. It might have been me. 
_____ 
Epilog:

Krycek's room was full of chocolate, flowers, stuffed rats, and
beautiful doctors. Earlier he had looked at me with those unfathomable
green pools he called eyes and asked in a puzzled voice, "Fox, why are
the doctors so worried about me? So far three of them have given me a
through physical, including a prostate exam." He fluttered his velvety
lashes and said, "Not that I'm really complaining...it's not bad when
they take their time and are gentle. Almost as good as you are, Fox."

I set his guitar down and sat on the bed. He really looked healthy for
someone who had been at death's door when he was brought into the
hospital. All the doctors had vanished when Alex had asked about the
prostate exams. I'd have to remind myself to have a talk with those
doctors...

Alex was dressed in a black velvet robe. He hated the hospital gowns,
saying he would rather go naked. Popular vote to the contrary, the
head nurse had agreed on this compromise. The bruises on his face had
faded and he was recovering well from Diana's harsh treatment. He felt
healthy enough to ask for his guitar and, adoringly, I had borrowed
the keys from Jeff Spender, surprising Fowley's other victim in a more
than grateful kiss from his doctor, Marita Covarrubias. Jeff had
beamed at me and said, "This is the woman I've been dating. She asked
me for my hand."

My dad would be eaten up with envy. It looked like little Jeff had
snagged every father's dream for his son; he was going to marry a
doctor.

Alex reached for his guitar, the cover sliding aside to reveal the
unfastened robe and every inch of his gorgeous body. He smiled
beautifully as he saw his faithful instrument, and he was glad to see
the guitar too.

I helped him settle the guitar and watched worriedly as he adjusted
the strings. He strummed and promptly frowned. "Something's wrong!" he
exclaimed, "I hope it's not warped." He examined the instrument,
sensitive fingers gliding over the wood's patina. He peered into the
cavity and said, "Hey, something's in there."

Carefully, he loosened his guitar strings and reached into the cavity
in the body. He withdrew an envelope. He opened this and out fell a
packet of pictures. "I think I'm going to toss my cookies," he said
with a grimace.

They were Fowley's lost pictures. Twenty or more poses of her dressed
in frilly male underwear.  In some of them, she was even wearing a
realistic strap-on dildo. Her breasts, never very large, had been
taped flat beneath a camisole tee shirt. The man she was penetrating
did not reveal his face, but I guessed that it was Spender. Fowley had
been an ambitious woman. She hoped to make commissioner and, had these
come forward, it would have ruined her chances.

My inclination was to take the pictures and burn them, but I decided
to give them to Skinner. He was in hot water despite the clear
evidence against Fowley.  This might resolve any remaining questions.

Alex said, "Fox, I need you to hold me."

Sounded good to me. I crawled into bed and was in the process of
kissing it all better when the head nurse caught me.

A few moments later as the big nurse gave me the bum's rush out, I
turned around and snarled, "I've been thrown out of better places than
this!"

Which explains why I was holed up in my sister's bar while Skinner
collected my sexy Alex from the hospital. The ceiling had stopped
spinning so I decided to resume my little chat with Sam. I climbed out
of that cot and climbed back on the bar stool that threw me.

Sam glared at me and said, "You're cut off, Fox. Pull up a cup of joe
and sober up.

About that time the room darkened. Skinner filled the doorway and
said, "Come on, Mulder. He's waiting in the car."

I can't say that the room filled with singing bluebirds and fire works
didn't go off, but I can testify that I teleported to that beat up
Ford Fairlane. Alex and I settled in for a clinch the whole way back
to my place. Kissing Krycek takes precedence over breathing in my
book. Who needed air when there were those hot, pink lips?

In a daze, I stumbled out of the car. Alex carried his overnight bag
and I carried his guitar. We posed for a moment at the steps to my
apartment. I looked at Skinner and said, "Walter, you've been a life
saver through all of this."

I struck a pose and said, "Why don't you come up and see me some time?
If you want me, just whistle. You do know how to whistle, don't you?
Just put your lips together and blow..."

Walter fell back in the car. You know I think he might just pay a
visit and, hell; Alex and I needed the big stooge. You did notice he
was the only one with a car?

As Alex and I tumbled into my bed, I heard a tuneful voice singing,
"As time goes by."

I glanced out the window. A chubby man in a kilt was serenading us
from the fire escape.

I knew it was all over. The fat laddy had sung.

The Posterior

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