Night Train Girls

I was sitting in a coffee joint watching some joker pull all the soft insides out of a bagel when a guy slides his fat ass onto the stool next to me. That kind of thing sets me on edge, especially when the joint's just about empty.

"Your name Webb?" he says.

"Who's askin?" I say.

"Your girl told me I'd find you here. I'd like you to look into something for me."

He told me the details and I was off and running on the craziest case I've ever been on. The underside of the sleazy night in a way I hadn't seen it before. I've been a private dick for twenty years, working all kinds of cases, but you never know what goes on in this crazy fucked-up world of ours until you see it with your own eyes. And your own dick.

—

The night was blacker than a cheap tuxedo when I stumbled out the door. It wasn't easy dragging myself out of bed at 2 AM. A gargle with a shot of bourbon and a cup of black joe got me started, but the humid air and the quiet darkness threatened to put me back in the arms of Morpheus.

I took a cab to the station, wondering if the fat ass at the diner was smokin' something. Walter was his name, an expensive-suit-wearing pear-shaped guy with cigarettes on his breath. He told me a story that sounded crazy, but in this city nothing's crazy I guess. Housewives from the distant suburbs turnin' tricks on the overnight trains? Lot's of 'em? It's not like there's private rooms to work with — he says they're doin' it right in the seats, sometimes like a big ol' orgy, and get this — he thinks one of 'em is his wife. That I had to see.

I threw the cabbie a tip and walked into the station. "Schoolsgate," I say at the ticket window. The old broad looks at me funny, like she doesn't approve. For a second I thought she was gonna go all Kim Davis on me, but she took my money and slapped down the ticket.

The train breezed up to the platform, pushing a foul stench. I boarded the last car and took a seat in the back so I could keep an eye on things. There were only three others in the car when the doors shut — a businessman, a drunk guy, and a broad. She sure didn't look like a lot lizard. More like a forty-year-old from the junior Mahjong league.

We pulled out of the station and the drunk was down for the count, mouth open, slouched in his seat like a stiff. The businessman looked like an easy mark, the kind of guy who's got a wife at home that's buttoned up tighter than a nun. He pulled out a newspaper and settled in as the train hissed its way away from the city lights.

The filly saw me looking, but gave things a minute to settle down. I was a little surprised when she got up and headed my way. She was a Big Bootie Judy and had a beak on her like a toucan, but the rest stacked up nice. A pleated skirt and a lightweight cardigan sweater gave a suburban afternoon vibe that was a little odd on a 2 AM train.

"You ride before?" she asks.

I get a closer look at her. Thick make-up spackling a few cracks, but apart from the beak not bad at all.

"No," I say.

"Want some company?"

"Sure," I say. "Knock yourself out."

She slides onto the seat next to me and her perfume hits my nose — thick and sweet, like flowers with syrup poured all over 'em.

"You gonna be ridin' again?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "Probably quite a bit."

"It's usually fifty for a blow and a hundred for the works, but cute new guys get a twenty-dollar special, as long as you promise to come back." Her eyes twinkled with all the mischief she could muster, and she was mustering pretty good.

Walter had given me a picture of his bride, and this dame wasn't her. He was right about one thing though — there was dirty shit happening on the late-night train to Schoolsgate.

I pull out a twenty — Walter's covering expenses after all — curious to see how everything worked. "What's your name, honey?" I ask.

Trixy, she tells me, and she doesn't waste any time. My pants are open and my dangler's in her mouth lickety-split. She's good at it and I harden up in no time. She pulls a happy-hat out of nowhere and rolls it onto my salami. Next thing I know she's straddling me. Commando under the pleated skirt, she sinks down on me with a splitchy noise and we both groan. I look around to see what's happening. Nothing. Businessman's got a clear view of us, glances up and acts like he's seeing nothing new. His newspaper's more interesting.

Trixy's bouncing, either liking it or a damn good actress. She unbuttons her sweater as the heat builds and she smiles at the look on my face. "Wanna see?" she says, all breathless like, and she pops open the front of her bra. Her tits aren't as big as her ass, but they're nice. "You can touch," she says. "Oh yeah!" she moans, still bouncing as I take two handfuls.

The train seems to float through the darkness as Trixy works her magic. My hands shift to the big ass under her skirt, smooth and warm, with nice muscles flexing as she works. You'll be gettin' in shape sweetheart, if you keep this up, I think to myself. She gives me a sexy look and I feel it — her pussy squeezing me different as she rides. It's her way of ending things — there's no way out and I cum with a mumbling "Jesus!"

"Don't forget," she says when she climbs off, "you only get the special if you promise to pay full price next time, right?"

She pulls the happy hat off of me, trying to keep the chowder inside, and tosses it on the floor. She tucks me in nice and gentle, puts her twins away and winks.

"You spend quite a bit of time here?" I ask.

She eyes me with a little squint. "You ain't gonna ask me a buncha questions are ya?"

"Are there other girls?"

"What's wrong with me?" she asks. "You didn't like?"

"Oh, I liked it, doll. I liked it a lot. Just wonderin' how much of a party it is around here. I'm new in town."

"Oh. Yeah, well...there's others. Sometimes it's a little more of a party. I been steerin' clear of those cars, for a little while anyway. Some of the guys weren't treatin' me nice, ya know?"

"They give the girls trouble?"

"No, it's not really that. I just ain't into the back door and they think once the ball gets rollin' they can just stick it wherever, ya know? You seem nice though. You wouldn't just do that to a girl, would ya? Without her wantin' ya too?"

"No, doll, I wouldn't do that. Can't blame 'em though —you got an ass on you that screams fuck me."

"Yeah? You like?" she says, twisting in her seat to show off her big ass booty. "My, uh...friend...says it's fat."

I look into her hazel eyes and see she's hiding something. Something big.

"Does your...friend...know you're here?"

"Fuck no."

The train slows as it pulls into a station. Trixy gets up and starts to walk away.

"Don't forget, bring some bank with you next time," she says. "I'll make it worth your while."

She winks and settles into a seat under a florescent light that turns her pale green, waiting to see if a new mark boards the car. He does. He glances at me as he boards, and then in the other direction at the businessman and the drunk. He decides to make the move and sits next to Trixy. Just before the doors hiss shut a conservative looking couple board, the woman about sixty, wearing a long coat. She's got 'Old Bag' written all over her face.

Trixy and the mark talk quietly, watching as the old couple settle in across from the nefarious transaction.

"You don't mind, do ya honey?" Trixy says to me as they slide into the seat across from me, about as far away from the old couple as they can get. She opens the Joe's pants and sucks in his nozzle. Pretty soon she's up on him like she did me — straddling him in his seat, with her pretty pleated skirt hiding the hoopla.

The Joe hangs on longer than I could — note to self, you gotta up your game — and lets loose with a moan. The old bag up front's been watching, giving her hubby dirty looks. When Joe's nozzle popped, the old biddy made some noise, one of those "you disgust me" groans. Nobody paid her much attention. Trixy rolled off, and another happy hat hit the floor with a splat.

The rest of the ride was more of the same, for two hours up to Schoolsgate. Trixy got off at the station up there, maybe riding back in another car, another train, or maybe she lived in those parts. Who knows.

—

The next day I'm in my office, trying to keep the daylight from spoiling my nap.

"Jesus, it's dark in here," Nora says to me when she walks in. "Rough night?"

"You ever ride the northbound trains at night?" I ask.

"Not lately. Why, what's up?"

"You know that schmo you sent to the coffee shop yesterday?"

"Yeah. What was his name, Walter or somethin'?"

"That's the schmo," I say. "He thinks his wife's a pro, workin' the trains at night."

"No shit? They doin' that these days?"

"Yeah. I saw some of the picture last night."

"X-rated flick?"

"Triple X."

"You make your debut?"

I didn't say yes and I didn't say no. Nora knows me pretty well after taking care of the office for years, and the little smirk on her face told me she guessed right. She had a helluva face, Nora. Smooth and bright, like she took care of herself and always got enough sleep. Just the opposite of me. Down below her face, where her curves met the dim office light, she was plenty smooth there too. Plenty smooth. She had Trixy beat in the looks department, that was for sure, but Trixy shouldn't feel too bad, 'cause Nora, she's a knockout.

"I'm gonna need some dough for this case, sweetheart," I say to her. "Walter's buyin'. There won't be no receipts or nothin', but I'll keep track for ya."

"Yeah, okay Webb. Don't do nothin' I wouldn't do," she says with another smirk. She turned on her high heel and clicked her way out of the room. Her pinstripe pants let just enough of the jiggle through, and when that shit overlaps onto Nora's wiggle...it'll stagger you when your stone cold sober.

Nora and me, we spend the afternoon on the phone, looking into Walter Ningsworth and his frau Amanda. Walter is second in command at a big finance company and they live out in the Westside 'burbs. Amanda's a pretty good looker — Walter gave me her picture and Nora dug up some others — sleek and slim, with raven hair and some dark red lips that look like they could make a man whimper. Wally must have lost his way and piled on the pounds after they were married. Either that or Amanda goes for money over studs. Or maybe she just gets her studs on the side, one Joe at a time as the lights of the Northern 'burbs flash by.

I try and get some sleep after dinner, but 2 AM rolls around way to soon. "Schoolsgate," I say to the ticket lady, and she gives me that sideways look again. I see Trixy through the windows as the train comes to a stop. She's in the same car, so I take the next one, figuring I'll work my way towards the front over the next few days to get the lay of the land.

I board the car and see the woman of the hour — a dark babe with an orange afro and an ass that just won't quit. She's all dolled up in a zebra-stripe mini skirt, a tube top that'd make a time-traveler proud, and a fake fur scarf. If it all didn't scream HOOKER it ain't ever been screamed before.

She watches me board and I feel her eyes on me when I take a seat in the back. Two other guys boarded with me and she hits them up first. It's just the four of us as the train pulls out, and she smiles.

"Party tiiiime!" she says, flashing a smile brighter than the city lights.

She stuffs some money in her little purse and pushes the tube top down around her waist. Tits of brown perfection glow in the greenish light, with nipples so arrow-like just the sight of 'em cupidized all the men aboard. We were suddenly in love with her rich brown flesh, and wanted to claim it as our own.

"Come on, sugar," she says to me. "I'll deal ya in for a c-note. You boys'll fuck me senseless 'till somebody makes us stop."

It wasn't the most professional thing to do with Big Walter's dough, but research takes some strange turns sometimes, and Caprice — that's our orange-haired beauty's name — had some tits that wouldn't take no for an answer. Wouldn't even take maybe. They were yes tits, all the way.

She had a yes pussy on her, too, at least that's what she kept yelling when it was full. With three hard cocks at her disposal she was full pretty much all the time. Bent over with her little skirt flipped up on her back, her fine ass looked like the sweetest dark chocolate cake in the bakery. For the big finale when we neared the next station, my compadres frosted that sweet cake with vanilla cream. Caprice took my frosting in her mouth. Never have I seen a more beautiful dark-red smile.

"Caprice y'all!" she said to the two men as they dressed and scampered off at the station. "Tell your friends!"

She pulled a red shop rag out of her purse, wiped the mess off her ass and tossed it on the floor. She smiled at my quizzical look.

"My man works at a garage."

"Mind if I sit with you?" I ask.

"I'm not really into that. Gotta work, you know?"

Nobody got on at the stop. The smile left Caprice's face. She strutted over and sat next to me.

"I ain't seen you before," she says.

"I'm kinda new here. Rode another car the other night."

"Oh. Checkin' out the buffet?"

"It's a nice surprise. How long you all been..."

"Workin' the line? A couple girls been at it a while. Me, I'm kinda new up here. Two months maybe."

"So you each get a car of your own? Somebody keepin' track of things, or are you all just flyin' solo?"

"Who's askin'? You a cop?"

"No baby, just curious."

"Yeah, well, I ain't in a talkin' mood."

Caprice crossed her long legs. The tiny skirt rode up and barely covered her snatch. She caught me looking and smiled.

"You a leg man?" she asks.

"You got some, baby," I say. "You got some of everything."

"You oughta see my momma," she says, and she winks the longest glue-on eyelash I've ever seen. "We double up sometimes, if you ever wanna."

"Here on the train?"

"No, honey, she likes a nice warm bed."

Caprice disappeared up near the end of the line. It wasn't too surprising the girls wanted to vanish — the return trips were jammed with morning commuters, heading to the big city. It was a whole different world.

—

Caprice stayed on my mind all the rest of the night and the next morning. I was tempted to ride with her again the next night, and set up a little party with her and her momma, but I forged ahead in search of Amanda Ningsworth. I didn't know how often she worked, or even if she was on the train at all. Maybe Walter had gotten some bad information. I couldn't ask the other girls and risk tipping Amanda off, so the quest would continue, one train car at a time.

A little after noon that day I pulled the old heap out of the garage and drove out to the Western 'burbs. I staked out the Ningsworth homestead, hoping to get a look at the dish in the flesh. I wasn't disappointed. Out the door with a letter in her hand, she walked two blocks to a corner mailbox, right past my dusty ride. She was a fine looking woman, sleek and slim just like her picture. With well cut shorts and a midriff t-shirt, she didn't look her forty years of age. She was holdin' up a whole lot better than her hubby Wally, that was for sure.

I hid my face as best I could when she walked by, but I looked long and hard when she went back to the house. Damn, what a caboose! Sleek and smooth just like the rest of her, it wiggled under those shorts like it had a mind of its own. If she really was a pro on a train, maybe it had one.

"Did you get a look at the tomato?" Nora asks, when I get back to the office.

"She's a ripe one."

"You thinkin' of pickin'?" she says, raising her eyebrow.

"That'd be unprofessional...wouldn't it?" I say.

"Hey, once you start pickin' you gotta keep goin' or they go rotten on you, right?" she says. She snaps her gum for effect, turns on her heel and clicks out of the room.

An hour later Nora appears again, pulling her jacket on in the dimming light of my office.

"I'm headin' out," she says. "You stayin'?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna get some shut-eye on the couch."

"Have fun ridin' tonight. Maybe I should come with? I could use a change of pace," Nora says. She looks like she's tweekin' me, and waits to see how I respond.

"You wanna partner-up on the stake-out? It's dirty out there, you might need some coveralls or somethin'," I say.

"No shit? Slippery and stuff, huh?" she says, snapping her gum again. "If you pay my dry cleanin' I'll give you a hand."

"For real? You want in?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'm feelin'...kinda bored lately."

"I'm supposed to say no right now," I say. "Be professional and all, right?"

"Fuck that shit. You want I should come, or not?"

"Yeah. I want you should come."

It was a big moment. From the second Nora walked into my office for her job interview I've wanted to get dirty with her. I still remember the clothes she had on — a tight gray pantsuit number, with a yellow blouse that was open two buttons too many, or maybe just right, depending on your point of view. She was chewing gum that day, too, and I hired her on the spot. She was so happy I thought she was gonna kiss me. I wish she had.

"So what's the plan?" she asks. "I should dress sexy? What time do you head out?"

"2 AM. We'll catch a cab out front," I say. I leave the dress code up to her, since I don't know what she has in mind. Straight surveillance, or...maybe something more?

—

"Hey, wake up sleepy," Nora says. "It's quarter to two."

I open my dry eyes and try to focus. Nora's in silhouette, lit by the open door to the outer office.

"Fuck. I guess I was out."

"Yeah you were. You looked fuckin' dead. Good thing I'm on the case, huh?"

"You always know how to save me, Nora," I say. I switch on the table lamp and get a load of her. "Shit," I say. "You look...good."

"Is it too much? I didn't know."

"No, that'll work. Damn, you clean up nice."

That wasn't truthful at all, but it was a good saying. Truth was, Nora always looked hot. No cleaning up necessary. But that night she hit me with the full on stuff — dark, smoky eye makeup, the reddest lips I'd ever seen, and a wrap dress that caressed her curves like a second skin. I wanted to tell her she might have a c-note offered her way when the men got a load of her, but I didn't know how to say it.

"You ready, or you gotta shit shower and shave?" she asked.

"Give me a minute, doll," I say.

A wet comb through my hair and a gargle of bourbon set me right. We take a cab to the station, and it feels nice having Nora by my side. She's covered up in a thigh-length trench coat, and with the shadows flashing across her through the cab's windows she looks every bit the part of a lady dick, like she came right off the movie screen.

"Meet me on the platform at Schoolsgate, all right?" I say as the cab rattles along the potholed road.

"Oh. We splittin' up? I ain't ridin' with you?"

"We can cover more ground if we take different cars," I say. "You never know where Amanda might pop up. From what I've heard some of the girls only work once in a while, so each car might be different each night."

"Oh, I get it. So, maybe I'm over-dressed," Nora says. She looks down at her long legs, the nylons shimmering in the flashing light.

She dressed that way for me, I'm realizing way too slow. What exactly did she expect, or hope for, I wonder.

"Yeah, no, we can ride together," I say. "You more comfortable that way?"

"No, I'm good Webb. Like you said, we'll cover more ground."

The cabbie rolls up to the station and we get out. Something about high heels and a trench coat gets me stirring — Humphrey Bogart's got nothing on me with this dame on my arm.

We buy our tickets and wait on the platform. The train oozes in, pushing that foul stench again. A quick look through the windows tells me that Caprice and Trixy are either home with a pizza or up the line in other cars, so Nora and me each pick one and board. I wonder how she'll make out as I settle into a seat in the back. That's when I see the redhead. Strawberry blonde I guess you'd call it, with streaks of gray at the temples. She looks even more suburban than Trixy, in a 'stuck in the eighties' kind of way. It's hard to judge a woman's age sometimes, but if I gotta come up with a number I'll say forty-eight. A damn good lookin' forty-eight. As my Uncle Louie used to say, "She kept real nice."