The Case of the Colossal Crusher
A Par broiled Detective Story
By Jgrimm  jgrimm@prodigy.net 


It was a brisk fall afternoon, the air was so crisp it was like taking a bite
out of a ripe apple. I had just finished up the Case of the Wrangled Rattler
and was resting on my laurels (and letting my wounds heal). I was just about
to send another shot of cheap whiskey down to join it's brothers under my
belt, when my receptionist/secretary, Dorothy, knocked on the door. It seems
that I had a potential client waiting.

I quickly put away the bottle and told her to send em' on in. My office door
opened and in walked a tall, beautiful blonde. She was wearing an overcoat
with padded shoulders that was unbuttoned enough to leave no doubt about her
being a mammal, but invited conjecture on whither or not she was wearing
anything underneath it. When I stood to great her I was surprised to find that
she was taller then my 5'10". A quick peek showed me that it wasn't because
she was wearing heels.

"Detective Dixx, I presume?" She asked in a throaty voice.

"That's what it says on the door, Miss...?" I let the question drift out like
a trout lure. Actually, what it says on the door is 'Lyl Dixx, Private
Detective, No Job Too Small'.

"Mrs." She said, much to my disappointment. "Mrs. Francis Doyle." She offered
me a short, firm handshake and sat in my rather ratty visitors chair.

"And what can I do for you, Mrs. Doyle?" I asked.

"You can find my husband for me." She said.

"Not that I don't want the job, Ma'am." I told her, putting on my best manners
like a cheap suit. "But the police can usually do a much better looking for a
missing person then I can."

"Oh, he's not really missing." She said. "He left me, but he took some papers
of mine when he left, and I want them back."

"What kind of papers?" I asked.

"Private Papers, Mr. Dixx. Very private." The way she emphasized 'private'
made parts of me sit up and take notice. It caught my attention like a New
Yorker catches a cab.

"Are we talking potential blackmail, here?" I asked her.

"That's a limited possibility," She admitted. "But he would be almost as
embarrassed as I would be if they were made public."

I sat and stared off into space for a moment. I had just gotten paid the day
before for the Rattler case, and I really didn't need the money just yet, but
this sounded pretty low-key, just another variation for the 'Cheating Spouse'
file.

"All right, Mrs. Doyle, I'll take the case. I get $75 a day plus expenses, and
I'll need a week in advance." I told her.

She got up and leaned over to place an envelope on my desk, showing me a lot
of cleavage and still no hint that she was wearing anything under the coat.

"There's one thousand dollars, and all the information I have about when
Parker left me, and who his friends and colleagues are." She looked down for a
second, then up at me through her eyelashes. "Please don't fail me, I'd be
ever so grateful."

I walked her to my office door, the watched her walk through my tiny waiting
room to the outer door. She open the door, then turned to look at me.

"Is your first name actually 'Lyl'?" She asked, pointing at the legend on the
door.

"Yes," I shrugged. "It's pronounced 'Lyle'."

"Don't people make fun of your name?"

"Not more then once." I growled. She laughed a low, throaty laugh that made
parts of me tingle, then softly closed the door. I could hear her striding off
down the hall. I turned to see Dorothy looking at me.

"Not more then once?" She mimicked.

"Oh, hush!" I growled at her. "Go back to your typing or something."

I went back into my office and firmly closed the door on Dorothy's laughter.
Sitting down at my admittedly cheap desk, I opened the envelope to find $1,000
in brand new fifties, three sheets of neatly typewritten paper, and a
photograph of her and her husband at their wedding. He was a tall, dark,
slender man, and his new wife was a slender vision of blonde loveliness in her
wedding gown.

I leaned back and read them over. Parker Doyle had married Francis Christie
just before the war. Mr. Doyle had spent the war working at DuPont, and had
still been working there until three months ago when he had disappeared. He
and the missus had not had any children, and the only thing he had left behind
was a note saying he was leaving.

The list of friends, family, and colleagues was actually fairly short.
Apparently his mother was dead, and his father lived in an old folks home
upstate. He had one brother living in Chicago, and no other siblings. His
friends seemed to mostly be neighbors, and there was only three co-workers
listed. I was making notes in the margins, planning out my strategy (simple
first step - talk to everybody) When Dorothy opened my office door and looked
in.

"It's 5:00, Dixx." She told me.

"Hmmm?" I looked up. "Oh, okay, Dorothy, go on home, I'll still be here for a
bit."

She left the door open, and I watched her get her things together. Dorothy was
my third, and by far the best, secretary. From the shape of her eyes and her
waterfall of long black hair, she had some Asian ancestry somewhere, but she
was almost as tall as I was. She was almost as decorative as she was
efficient. She seemed to put a little wriggle in her walk as she moved. She
opened the outer door then turned.

"Good night, Little Dixx!" She called out, then quickly shut the door behind
her before the eraser I threw at her got there.

I grinned to myself. I could always trust Dorothy to deflate any pretentious
balloons I sent up. God help me if I ever had to pay her what she was worth.

I worked for another half hour or so, then put the papers away in my lone
filing cabinet. I shrugged into my shoulder holster, and checked to make sure
my second-best friend was ok. I'd been carrying the same .45 automatic since I
was a army paratrooper, and I felt naked without it.

I put on my coat and tucked the envelope full of fifties into the inside
pocket, I'd drop it off at the bank on the way home.

The next morning, I had Dorothy get me an appointment with Parker Francis's
boss, a Mr. Chandler, while I placed a call to his brother in Chicago.

"Doyle Residence." I heard a male voice say after a few rings.

"May I speak to Ellery Doyle, please?" I asked.

"This is he."

"Mr. Doyle, My name is Dixx, with two x's, I'm a private investigator in New
York. Your bother's wife has hired me to find him." I said into the phone.

"Find him? Has he disappeared?"

"Not so much disappeared as run away," I said. "He left a note saying he was
leaving her. He seems to have taken some things that she wants back. Have you
heard from him in the last three months or so?"

"My brother and I had a falling out three years ago when he put Dad in that
damned home." He told me. "We haven't had any contact since then."

"Oh, well, sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Doyle, please call me if he does
contact you." I gave him my office and home numbers and hung up.

"Scratch one." I said to myself as I crossed his name off the list.

Dorothy knocked on the door and stuck her head in to tell me that Mr. Chandler
would see me tomorrow at ten, and that she was going out to get some office
supplies, "While we can still afford them." Without much left to do in the
office, I headed off upstate to see the Elder Mr. Doyle.

It was a three hour drive through some of God's prettiest country to get to
the place. When I got there, I gave my card to the receptionist and asked to
see the doctor in charge.

Soon a small, neat, gray-haired man came out and introduced himself as Dr.
Lawrence Sanders. I gave him my spiel and asked if I could see Mr. Doyle. He
agreed and asked the receptionist to send for the floor nurse to take me to
him.

Soon a matronly, bosomy nurse showed up, her name tag read 'Charge Nurse
Paretski'.

"I doubt Mr. Doyle will be able to help you much." She told me as she lead me
down the hall. "His mind's been going since he's been here."

She showed me to a sparsely furnished room. It was small, but brightly lit by
a large window that let in the fall sun. There was a radio on small table
playing softly, and an old man propped up in the bed, listening to it with his
eyes closed.

Nurse Paretski softly touched the man on his shoulder to get his attention.
"Mr. Doyle, She said a little loudly, "You have a visitor."

"Eh, what's that?" The old man startled.

"You have a visitor!" She repeated a little louder. She pointed to me.

"Oh, hi there!" He grinned at me, some of his teeth were missing. "Say, you
look kind of shabby for a doctor."

"I'm not a doctor," I told him. "I'm a P.I. from New York."

"A P.I. you say? Someone lookin' to file another paternity suit agin' me?" He
cackled.

I smiled. "No sir, I'm looking for your son, he's left his wife." I told him.

"Ellery? Ellery's left his wife? Why did he do a dang fool thing like that
for?" he asked.

"Not Ellery, sir, Parker."

"Ellery's got himself a fine lookin' wife, and three sweet kids, he'd never
leave em!" the old man declared.

"Not Ellery, Mr. Doyle." I tried again. "Your other son, Parker, has left his
wife. Have you seen him lately?"

"Parker? Nope, been a month o' Sunday's since I've seen that boy." He said.
"Now why'd Ellery go and leave his wife?"

I tried to explain again, but the nurse stopped me.

"If you'd wait for me in the corridor please, I'll settle Mr. Doyle." She
said.

As I waited in the corridor, I heard her tell him that every thing was all
right, and she turned up the radio a little.

"If you'll come with me," She said as she stepped into the hall, "We keep a
record of all our patients visitors. We can check and see if Mr. Doyle's son
has been by lately."

When we checked the log book, it showed that Parker Doyle had visited his
father regularly once every month until two months ago. His last visit was
just two days after her had left his wife.

"Were you on duty that day?" I asked nurse Paretski.

"No, I was off with the flu that week," She told me. "Nurse Grafton was
covering for me."

"Is she here, can I talk to her."

"No, it's her day off, but she'll be back tomorrow."

I gave the nurse my card, and asked her to have Nurse Grafton call me when she
could. I mentally labeled the day a semi-success as I drove back to the City.

When I got back to the office, I found a note from Dorothy stating that she
had left early for a dinner date, and that there were messages on my desk.

There was a message from an insurance salesman, a bill collector, and my next
door neighbor complaining about the dog that I don't have keeping her awake
all night. There was also a message telling me to call Lt. Wambaugh at the
19th Precinct. I tossed the first three in the trash and called the
Lieutenant.

"Wambaugh!" a gravely voice barked.

"Hey Joe, What do you know?" I greeted him

"Dixx, you schmuck! How's it hanging?"

"Same as always, Joe, What's up?"

"You get a visit from a classy broad, goes by the name of Doyle?" He asked.

"Tall blonde?" I asked him. "A looker with a padded overcoat?"

"That's the dame."

"How did you hear about her?"

"Hell, Dixx, I sent her to you." He told me. "She was cluttering up the
station pestering us to find her old man for her. She's been in here every day
for the past week."

"Did you find anything?"

"Not much, the neighbors heard them arguing some a few days before he left.
Not a trace of him since."

"He visited his father upstate a couple days after he took off." I told him
about my visit with the elderly Mr. Doyle.

"You always were a lucky S.O.B." He told me. "Even in the Army people would go
out of their way to tell you things. They wouldn't even give us the time of
day when we called them."

After giving me what little information they had, the Lieutenant insulted my
sexual prowess and hung up on me.

I put my notes away and locked up. I stopped at Chinese take-out place on the
way home and ate a solitary meal while listening to the radio.

I dressed carefully the next morning, including my best suit. Okay, my only
suit. I didn't want Mr. Chandler to dismiss me as some kind of bum.

I got to the office a bit late, to find Dorothy gone, and a note from her
saying something about her mother. I hoped everything was all right. I sat at
my desk and went over my case note for a bit, then left for my interview with
Mr. Chandler.

When I got there, I was shown in to a large office. Mr. Chandler wasn't there,
and his secretary asked me if I wanted some coffee while I waited. I looked
around the office as I sipped hot coffee. From the look of things, I could pay
the rent on my office and Dorothy's salary for six months for what it had cost
to decorate in here.

After about fifteen minutes, A tall, gray-haired man came in. I put down my
coffee and stood up.

"Mr. Dixx? I'm Dr. Chandler." He introduced himself. His handshake was the
brisk clasp of a man who clearly had better things to do with his time.

"What can I do for you?" He asked me as he sat down behind a desk you could
have launched a small aircraft from. He gestured me to take a seat across from
him.

"I'm here to talk to you about one of your employees." I told him. "Parker
Doyle."

"Parker? What does a P.I. want with a biochemist?" He asked me.

"His wife hired me to look for him." I said. "He left her about three months
ago, but took some things of hers with him, and she would like them back."

"Really? Hmmm." Dr. Chandler leaned back in his chair. "We seem to have a
problem here, Mr. Dixx."

"A problem?"

"Yes, you see, Parker took a leave of absence from us about three months ago."

"Did he say why?" I asked.

"I'm sure he did, it'll be in his file." He leaned forward and pushed a lever
on his intercom. "Mrs. James, could you bring me Parker Doyle's employee file,
please."

"Yes, Doctor." His secretary's voice came back tinnily.

In less then a minute, Mrs. James came in and laid a folder on Dr. Chandler's
desk.

"Yes, here it is." Dr. Chandler announced. "He requested a six month leave of
absence for family reasons. Around here, that usually means that the man's
wife wants to see more of him, or to get a divorce. We do tend to work long
hours."

"And what kind of work was Mr. Doyle doing?" I asked.

"I'm afraid that's classified, Mr. Dixx." Dr. Chandler said a bit coldly.

"Oh, Hmmmm. I don't really need to know what he's doing, Doctor." I told him.
"I was trying to find out, if he was trying to continue his work on his own,
what kind of facility would he be looking for?"

"Ohm yes, I see." He thought for a moment. "You might try looking for places
where he could get a lot of power. Also places that he cold get into and out
of discretely."

After a few more questions Dr. Chandler started making 'I'm a busy man'
noises, so I wound things up and left.

I got back to the office, and Dorothy was there. I asked her about her mother,
and she told me that it was just one of those "woman things" that I didn't
want to know about. She also told me that Nurse Grafton from the Old Folks
Home had called.

"When can I call her back?" I asked.

"You don't need to." Dorothy told me. "Here's my notes on our conversation."

"And how did you know what questions I wanted to ask her?"

"Hmmf. As if there's anything going on in this office I don't know more about
than you do!" She tossed her long hair and turned her back on me haughtily.

I did the only thing I could do in a situation like that: I went to my office
and closed the door.

I sat at my desk and went over her notes. According to Nurse Grafton, Parker
Doyle had shown up one day quite out of the blue. He visited his father on a
regular schedule, but this visit was the wrong time of day, as well as the
wrong day of the month.

She hadn't overheard anything pertinent, but when Dorothy had asked her to
describe Mr. Doyle appearance and demeanor, she had recalled that he had a
"musty, stale smell about him, not as if he was dirty, but that his clothing
had been inadequately cleaned after spending time in a filthy place. Almost a
smell of rotting fish and garbage."

Wait a minute, that sounded familiar. What had Dr. Chandler said? Some thing
about lots of power and discrete accessibility. I got out my map of New York
and poured over it. What I needed was a major industrial complex, one of those
that sprang up during the war, and almost as soon as the war was over shut
down almost as quickly. I needed one that was...

"HAH!" I shouted. "Found you, Parker old boy!"

Right there, down by the docks, right smack on the Hudson. A blighted sprawl
of abandoned factories and warehouses. Perfect hiding place. There must be
twenty ways in and out of the area, not counting the river. I'd have to do
some snooping, but I could feel that I was getting close.

I took the picture that Mrs. Doyle had provided and stuffed it into my pocket.
My 45 went into its holster, and a couple of spare clips into my other
pocket. Parker Doyle probably wasn't the only thing hiding in that area, and
most of the others would be much more dangerous than a research scientist.

As I left the office, I told Dorothy that I'd probably be gone for the rest of
the day, and that she could take the rest of the day off to spend with her
mother if she wanted. I headed for the Hudson.

I stopped and got a hotdog from a vendor on the way for lunch, and promised
myself I'd eat better at dinner.

When I got to the factory complex I parked on the side of the road and walked
in. Driving a car through the are would have just drawn attention to me, and I
didn't want Parker Doyle to see me coming.

I knew that the area was large, and the chances of finding him quickly were
slim at best. It took me over two hours to make a sweep of the perimeter. I
didn't find anything, but I was able to check out all the available entrances
and exits.

Figuring that he'd want to bury himself as deeply as possible, I headed in
toward the center of the area. It was starting to get dark, and the lighting
in the area was iffy at best. I was glad I had a sturdy flashlight with me. It
made a pretty good substitute for a billy-club, too.

I had gotten to the center, and was spiraling my way out checking doors and
peering in cobwebbed windows, when I got a big break. Half a block down the
street, under one of the few working streetlights, I saw what looked like
Parker Doyle scuttling by.

I followed him, keeping my distance. He went to one of the more dilapidated
looking buildings and slipped in. I waited for a bit, then went after him. The
door was locked, but my hand-dandy (and illegal) lock pick it got me in
without too much trouble.

It was dark inside so I pulled out my flashlight and put one hand over the
lens before turning it on. I spread my fingers just a bit to let out a little
light, just enough too keep me from tripping over the debris laying around. I
couldn't see where Doyle had gone, but there was what looked like a cleared
path wandering deeper into the place.

I worked my way in, careful not to run into or trip over anything that would
alert Doyle that someone else was in the building. After a while, I heard the
sound of a door opening and closing just a bit further ahead of me. I was
heading for the sound when there was a loud click, and I could see light
through the cracks in a wall ahead of me.

With the extra light I easily found the door. Turning off my flashlight, I
held it in my left hand while I loosened my 45 in it's holster. Doyle hadn't
looked like the violent type, but you never know what people will do when you
surprise them.

Stepping up to the door, I gently turned the knob, it wasn't locked. I quietly
opened the door and stepped into the room. Doyle had his back too me while he
was putting some groceries on a shelf. I took advantage of his inattentiveness
to look around.

The room was larger than I had thought it would be, a good thirty feet by
forty feet. Stuck into one corner was a cot and a table with one chair and a
camp-stove on it. Another, larger, table was set up like a chemistry lab, with
various tubes and beakers and whatnot. Near the table was a large electrical
console with a thick cable trailing off into on wall. There was a large pit in
the floor with a hoist over it, and the rest of the room was filled with
broken down machinery and columns supporting the roof.

I gently coughed to let Doyle know I was there. He whirled around and let out
a startled gasp. He was dirty and unshaven, with a hunted look in his eyes.

"W... W... Who are you?" He asked.

"My name's Dixx." I told him. "I'm a Private Detective. I'm not here to hurt
you."

"What do you want with me then?"

"Your wife hired me to find you and get back the papers you took when you
left."

"Papers?" He looked puzzled. "I didn't take any papers of hers. I barely took
anything at all."

"You know the papers I want, Parker." Came a voice out of the darkness behind
me.

I stepped sideways and turned to look, keeping Doyle in the corner of me eye.

Francis Doyle came striding into the room like a queen entering her throne
room. She was wearing the same overcoat I had seen her in before.

"Thank you for finding him, Mr. Dixx." She said as she walked by me. "I can
take it from here."

"Francis! What... how...?" Parker stammered out.

"What's wrong, Parker, Aren't you glad to see your dear wife?" She put her
hand on his chest and pushed him back till he hit the wall.

Parker somehow produced a knife and slashed at his wife with it. Francis's
free hand slapped at his arm and the knife went flying.

"A knife, Parker?" She asked. "You know better then that!"

There was a loud crack as her hand returned to slap him across the face.
Parkers head wrenched sideways and a splatter of blood flew to pattern the
wall.

"Hey now!" I said and I hurriedly grabbed her arm as she pulled back to slap
him again.

It was like grabbing a heavy steel cable. There was absolutely no give in the
flesh under the sleeve. Francis looked at me for a moment.

"Stay out of this, Dixx!" She said. She pulled her arm forward, pulling me
along with it. She flung her arm out again, and her forearm caught me in the
chest. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, and I went flying across the room
to slam into the electrical console.

I must have blacked out for a moment. When I came to I was slumped to the
floor at the base of the console. Francis had grabbed Parker by his lapels and
was holding him against the wall. His feet were a good six inches off the
floor, and Francis was repeatedly slapping him, alternating backhand and
forehand.

"Where," slap, "are," slap, "the," slap, "papers?" She hissed. Parkers head
rocked with each slap and the wall had more blood spattered on it.

She stopped slapping him to let him answer her, but his eyes rolled up in his
head and he slumped unconscious.

"You pathetic little..." She muttered and let him drop to the floor. As she
started rummaging around his kitchen area I got up and quietly slipped up
behind her. I had picked up my flashlight and was intending to clip her with
it when she turned around.

As my arm came down, she snatched the flashlight out of my hand. Taking it in
both hands, she snapped it in half, the batteries went flying, and she tossed
both halves of the shattered flashlight after them.

"You don't listen very well, do you?" She asked. Her fist shot out and slammed
into my ribs. It was like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer. I felt one of my
ribs break and the air wooshed from my lungs.

"I told you to stay out of it." She punched me again. I tried to block it, but
was only partially successful. There was a crack as my arm broke, and her fist
slammed into the side of my head.

I went down for a moment, but struggled back to my feet.

"My, but aren't you the tough one." Francis said. As she pulled her fist back,
I pulled out my 45. Before I could get it pointed at her, she wrenched it out
of my hand.

"A gun, Mr. Dixx?" She laughed. "You pulled a gun on me?"

She placed one hand on the grip and another on the slide. She twisted, and I
saw the receiver begin to flex when the whole assembly exploded into it's
various pieces.

"It's time to say Goodnight, Mr. Dixx." She said. The sledgehammer hit again,
and I went out like a light.

* * *

When I came to, I couldn't figure out what was going on. I seemed to be up
higher than I had been. As I began to feel more of my aches and pains, I
realized that I was trussed up like a chicken and hanging from the hoist. I
tried to struggle against by bonds, but stopped with a gasp as my broken rib
and arm complained loudly.

There was a loud crash, and I looked to see Francis throwing Parker's lab
equipment across the room. She had taken off her coat, and I was shocked to
see enormous muscles bulge and flex as she moved. She was wearing what
appeared to be a dancer's leotard, a pair of shoes, and nothing else.

Huge shoulders sloped down from a thick neck to immense upper arms that looked
to be as big as my thighs. Her forearms were probably as big as my upper arms,
but ended with small but obviously powerful hands. From her broad shoulders,
(they looked to be even broader then mine), her torso pinched in to a
surprisingly small waist before spreading out to her hips. Her legs were long
and incredibly thick with muscle. The thighs were huge slabs of muscle, and
her calves bulged with a huge ball of muscle.

"Damnit Parker!" She yelled as she smashed the chemical equipment. "Where did
you hide them?"

A quick glance showed me that Parker was still slumped at the base of the
wall, but he was tied up, too. His terrified eyes followed his wife as she
destroyed his makeshift laboratory.

Having cleared the table of apparatus, Francis picked up the heavy granite
topped table and threw it across the room. There was a giant crash as it
smashed into some of the old machinery and broken pieces of both table and
machine scattered across the floor.

Francis stalked over to her cringing husband and stared down at him.

"If you don't have the papers here, then you'll just have to tell me where
they are?" She said.

"I don't have them." Parker said brokenly. "I destroyed them."

"I don't believe you." Francis stated coldly. "You would never destroy ten
years of your life's work."

She reached down and twisted on hand into the ropes binding him. She
effortlessly picked him up and held him at arms length, then slowly brought
him closer till they were face to face.

"If you won't tell me, then I'll have to get more... personal... with my
persuasion." She said.

Her arm straightened and she let go of the ropes. Parker flew a good twenty
feet to land with a thud on the cot.

Francis stalked over to him, picking up a can off the table on the way.

"Do you want to se one of the tricks I've learned, Parker?" She asked him.
"It's a dandy way to open a can without an opener."

Her huge arm tensed as she squeezed and the ends of the can exploded as the
middle collapsed. Pea soup sprayed everywhere. Francis tossed the can aside
and I was shocked to see that it had been squeezed down to the thickness of a
pencil.

"You are going to tell me where the papers are, Husband mine." She smiled at
him as she put one hand on his knee. "There's no doubt about that."

"I told you, I destroyed them!" Parker said.

"Even if you destroyed them, you still know the formulae." Francis said.

"I... I forget." Parker stuttered.

"You FORGET?" Francis yelled. "This is your wife your talking to, Parker
Doyle! You've never forgotten a thing in your life!"

Her hand clamped to his knee and she began to squeeze.

"Lying to me is only going to cause you pain." She hissed. "Let me show you
what I mean."

Her muscles bulged as she squeezed harder, and even through Parkers screams of
pain I could hear the SNAP as she shattered his knee. The screams ended as he
fainted again.

"GOD DAMNIT!" Francis screamed. Her fist came back but she redirected her blow
to the wall. There was a huge gong type sound and the thick metal panel
crumpled under the force of her blow.

"You are such a pathetic little man!" She told her unconscious husband. "I
don't know why I ever married you!"

She stood up and turned from the cot. She looked up and saw that I was awake.
She walked over to the hoist and chains rattled as she lowered me to the
floor.

"Have a nice nap?" She asked me.

I pulled my legs up and tried to kick her, but her arm flashed around and I
gasped as my leg broke.

"We can't have you doing that now." She said.

She strode off to the other end of the room and came back with a large chunk
of debris.

"This feels like it's about 150 pounds." She said as she hefted it with one
hand. "It should help keep you from doing anything stupid."

She lashed the chunk of debris to my ankles and let it dangle. My broken leg
screamed in protest until I was able to take most of my weight with my other
leg.

"Huh." She grunted. "You're still conscious. You're a lot tougher then Parker,
that's for sure."

She went over to the hoist controls and maneuvered me until I was hanging just
inside the edge of the pit. My feet were about two inches above floor level,
and the lump of debris was hanging inside the pit. When Francis came back to
confront me, our eyes were on the same level.

"What happened to you?" I asked her before she could start another rant.
"How...?"

"How did I get this way?" She asked. "You like these big muscles?"

She reached out and grabbed my coat. Her enormous arm bulged hugely as she
lifted my weight and the weight tied to me off the hoist chain until she was
holding our combined 350 pounds straight up in the air. She smiled as she
lifted me up and down a few time before letting the hoist take my weight
again.

"This is all my dear sweet Parker's doing." She told me. "Do you know what he
was doing during the war?"

"The wouldn't tell me." I told her between gritted teeth. The lifting hadn't
done my rib any good.

"He was involved in research for the purpose of developing a 'Super Soldier'."
She told me. "They wanted a way to give a man superior strength and agility.
To be able to create on command the perfect soldier. They tried again and
again, but all they ever got were death, deformity, or insanity."

She began to pace back and forth in front of me.

"Then the war was over, and they decide to close the experiment down as
unsolvable. Parker believed that they were on the verge of a breakthrough and
argued strenuously against the closing. They ignored him, of course, and
reminded him of the oaths he took about ever talking with anyone outside the
project about it. Then they sent him home.

"They didn't know about his eidetic memory. He came home and set up a lab in
the basement. It took him a few years to get everything together, but he was
finally able to recreate the latest version of the formula. The problem was
that he didn't have anyone to test it on. The little coward wasn't willing to
take it himself.

"So the little bastard snuck into our bedroom while I was asleep and injected
ME with the stuff.

"I woke up screaming as my body absorbed the stuff. It felt like my veins were
on fire and every muscle in my body was cramping simultaneously. I must have
screamed for a good half hour before the pain began to subside. My darling
husband stared and watched the whole time.

"By the time it was over, I looked like I do now. I was enraged at what he had
done to me, and I tried to get up and lunge at him. I missed him completely
and ended up smashing through the wall into the next room. I tried again, but
this time I ended up laying in the smashed remains of our dresser. I was
yelling and screaming like a madwoman the whole time, telling Parker that I
was going to rip his head off.

"I must have scared the crap out of him, because he was gone by the time I was
able to get enough control to chase after him. By the time I was able to get
down stairs, I had smashed more holes in the walls and shattered the stair
railing. I was also incredibly hungry."

"I made it into the kitchen, but when I tried to open the refrigerator I ended
up ripping the door off. I tried to grab a bottle of milk and it exploded in
my hand.

"Everything I touched broke or pulped. I couldn't control my new strength. I
was forced to eat the remains of the food off the floor. It took me three days
to be able to pick something up without destroying it. It took me another week
before I was able to move around without destroying the furniture.

"Luckily, we has set up the basement as a bomb shelter, so there was plenty of
food in the house. It a month before I felt able to go outside without giving
my strength away. While I was hiding, I tested myself, trying to find
something I couldn't lift."

She flexed her arm and I watched her bicep swell into a huge ball of muscle.

"I'm about ten times stronger than you are." She said. "I can pick up about
fifteen hundred pounds over my head one handed and hold it there for fifteen
minutes. There's no doubt that I'm the strongest person on the planet."

"Then why do you want the formula." Came a pain wracked voice from the cot.

"Why?" She whirled and stalked over to her husband. "Because I want to be
bigger! I want to be able to rip off the door to a bank vault and take what I
want. I want to be able to pick up an armored car and take it home so I can
open it at my leisure. I want what I want, when I want it, without anyone
being able to stop me!"

"I'll never tell you the formula." Parker said weakly.

"Oh, you will!" Francis growled. She looked at him, then back at me
speculatively. "Let me show you why."

She propped Parker up so that he could see me better, then walked over to me.

"This is going to hurt you a lot." She said with a vicious smile. "But I think
it will be worth it."

She set herself and her fist shot out and smashed into my side. There was a
sharp crack and I gasped as she broke another rib. Her fist shot out twice
more and two more ribs were broken.

"Oooo," She said. "I bet that hurt. But I know where It will hurt even more!"

"Let's see how much punishment Lyl Dixx's little dick can take!"

She reached out to grab my crotch when there was a loud yell and a thud, and
Francis went flying!

The person that hit her bounced to her feet, and I was surprised to see
Dorothy standing there!

"What the hell!" Francis said as she got to her feet. "I don't know who you
are, Bitch, but you just made the last mistake of your life!"

She charged at Dorothy like an angry bull, but Dorothy spun out of her way and
slammed a fist into Francis's kidney as she went by. Francis yelled in shock
and fell to her knees. Before Dorothy could move, Francis was up on her feet
again.

This time Francis stalked toward Dorothy slowly, fists balled and ready.
Dorothy fell into a martial arts stance like the ones I had seen demonstrated
during boot camp. Francis jabbed and Dorothy swayed sideways and let her fist
pass by her ear. She counterpunched and there was a meaty thwack as her fist
found Francis's stomach.

Francis just grunted and punched again, this time a roundhouse left. Dorothy
just stepped back and let the power-packed punch pass her by. Francis kept on
swinging and Dorothy kept on dodging, while occasionally landing a blow of her
own that Francis seemed to just ignore.

Suddenly Dorothy found herself backed up against one of the support pillars.
Francis grinned and launched a pile-driver blow at Dorothy's face. Dorothy
ducked and launched her self sideways. Francis screamed as her fist struck the
concrete pillar. Shattered concrete exploded into her face and she staggered
back wiping at her eyes. Dorothy slid forward and her foot came around and her
heel slammed into the bigger woman's stomach.

Francis went flying again, as Dorothy took a quick look at the eight inch
crater Francis had put in the pillar. Francis got to her feet only to be met
by Dorothy's foot coming around in a jumping spin kick to smash into the side
of her face.

Francis's head whipped around but before Dorothy was out of range, Francis had
a hold of Dorothy's coat. Francis yanked her back into a flying fist, but
Dorothy managed to slip out of her coat with a ripping sound and somersault
out of range.

The ripping sound had been Dorothy's blouse, Francis had gotten a grip on more
than just her coat. This was the first time I had ever seen Dorothy without
long sleeves and I was shocked to see the well defined musculature of her
upper body. She wasn't swollen huge like Francis, but her muscles were larger
than normal and very firm. Her shoulders accounted for the padded look of her
dresses, and her waist was slim. Where Francis's stomach looked like
cobblestones, Dorothy's looked like steel plates.

Francis threw Dorothy's clothes off to the side while Dorothy ripped off her
skirt for better range of motion. Her revealed legs were as firmly muscled as
her arms without bulging insanely huge like Francis's.

"Not bad, little girl." Francis said. "But there's no way you can match my
strength. Too bad I have to pound that pretty body of yours into a pulp."

"There's more to fighting then sheer power." Dorothy replied. "Skill is more
important then power, and you move like a pregnant cow."

Francis screamed in rage and lunged for the smaller woman. Dorothy grabbed the
blonde's wrists and fell backwards, pulling the blonde with her. As she went
down, Dorothy's feet came up and caught Francis in the stomach. Her legs
straightened with an explosive "Hai!" and the bigger woman went flying over
Dorothy's head to land with a massive thud on the concrete floor.

By the time Francis staggered to her feet, Dorothy was already running toward
her, and before the big blonde could blink Dorothy's feet smashed into her
chest and knocked her flying once again.

Francis slammed against the wall and bounced forward to meet Dorothy's rush.
Her hands came up to grab Dorothy's foot as it slashed towards her face, but
it had been a feint and Dorothy spun to slam her other foot into the blonde's
stomach.

Francis slammed into the wall again and her hands dropped to her gut. Dorothy
hopped forward on one foot and kicked her in the face. Francis's head smashed
back into the metal wall making it ring like a gong. Her head bounced forward
just in time to meet another kick, and the wall rang again as her head whipped
back.

Dorothy stood there on one leg, her other leg a blur as she repeatedly bounced
Francis's head off the wall, like and expert dribbler playing with a
basketball.

She must have kicked Francis into the wall twenty times before she stopped.

She stood there perfectly poised on one leg, her other cocked ready to kick
again, until Francis fell like a tree to land face down on the floor, leaving
a bloody stain on the wall.

Francis hopped out of the way, then stood up and let her breath out with a
sigh. She turned and walked towards me, and I could see that her kicking foot
was leaving a bloody footprint behind her.

"Lets get you down from there." She said as she came up. "You don't look very
comfortable."

She bent over and reached into the pit and pulled the 150 pound hunk of debris
out onto the floor with one hand. She tried to untie the knot, but the weight
hanging on it for so long made it impossible to undo.

"There's a knife over there somewhere." I told her, pointing with my chin.

Dorothy moved off and searched around for a bit before coming back with
Parker's knife. A quick slash and I was relieved of my excess baggage.

"Let me get you off that hook and on the ground before I get the other ropes."
She said.

She wrapped her arms around my chest and began to lift me. I felt my ribs
shift and cried out in pain.

"Dixx!" she asked, "What is it?"

"Broken ribs!" I managed to gasp out through the roaring in my ears.

"Damn!" She cursed. "Anything else?"

"Left arm. Right leg" I grunted out.

"O.K., lets try this then." She said. "Try to hold yourself upright."

She wrapped her arms around my hips and straightened up, lifting me up off the
hook. I tensed my stomach muscles to hold my self up, but that made my ribs
shift and sent knives of pain slashing through me. Dorothy tried to lay me out
gently, but my right leg hit first and I screamed as the bones grated against
each other.

When I could see past the lights flashing behind my eyes, I could see Dorothy
leaning over me. I could also see Francis coming up behind her with a five
foot section of steel pipe in her hands.

"Ohhh, Dixx," Dorothy said, as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry! I'm so
sorry!"

"Behind you." I managed to croak out.

Francis swung her club like a little leaguer going for a home run. Dorothy
ducked under the swing and lunged at her adversary. The knife in her hand
caught the hugely muscled blonde just under the ribcage. With all the force of
Dorothy's muscular legs behind it, the sharp blade rammed home. There was a
thud as the guard slammed into Francis's thick muscles.

The pipe went flying as Francis's breath went out of her with a "HURK!" It was
a perfectly placed shot to her solar plexus and the blade sliced right through
the nerve center there, totally destroying Francis's ability to breath.

Francis's hands dropped to the knife as Dorothy exploded upward. The heel of
her hand caught the blonde's jaw and I could hear the sickening crunch as it
shattered. Dorothy spun and her back kick rammed into Francis's crotch. Her
leg straightened underneath her and she jumped into a spinning kick that
cracked across Francis's already ruined face.

She landed in a crouch and her hand shot out. The heel of her right hand
slammed into the pommel of the knife, driving it even deeper in. She spun
again, and her right forearm smashed Francis's ear to a pulp as her left
pulled the knife out.

Francis stood there swaying. Her once beautiful face was a bloody wreck and
her jaw hung crookedly. Her hands tried to stem the flow of blood from the
knife wound as she desperately tried to draw a breath. Dorothy did several
back-flips then charged forward. Fifteen feet away from Francis she jumped
into the air, did a forward somersault and uncoiled to drive both feet into
the blonde's chest. Francis flew backward and clear over the edge of the pit.

Like a cat, Dorothy landed on her feet and stood up just as I heard the crash
of Francis's body landing at the bottom of the pit.

Dorothy stood there for a moment, shoulders heaving as she tried to catch her
breath. I'd never seen a more magnificent vision of womanhood before that
time. She stood there, a living statue of sculpted muscle, in her blood
spattered bra and panties.

She turned and came back to me and finished cutting the ropes with the bloody
knife. With a look of disgust she threw the knife into the pit.

"You need clothes." I told her. "Take my coat until we can find you some."

She looked down at herself.

"Right. Good idea" She helped be peel off my overcoat and shrugged it on.

"You think you can stand up?" She asked me.

"I can try." I said.

She helped me sit up and, after I got my breath back, slipped under my right
arm and helped me to stand. I stood there swaying for a moment, then I started
to hobble to the door while she supported me.

"Are you all right?" I asked her.

"I'm fine." She said. "the big bitch never laid a hand on me."

"We'd better free Parker, too." I said. "You might have wanted to keep that
knife."

She helped me make my way over to the cot.

"Oh." She said quietly. "Oh dear."

"Well, shit." I agreed. When the pipe had flown out of Francis's hands, it had
landed on Parker Doyle, caving in the side of his head. He was very definitely
dead.

I yelped as I accidentally let my broken leg hit the floor.

"Come on, Dixx. We need to get you to a hospital." Dorothy said.

She helped me out through the door, and we started off over the cluttered
factory floor. After the second time I banged my broken leg against some
unseen object, Dorothy stopped.

"This isn't working." She said. "Your getting more beat up by the minute doing
this."

"Okay," I told her. "You leave me here and go get my car, then come back and
pick me up."

"Why make the trip twice when we only have to make it once?" She asked me.

"What do you mean? You already said this isn't working."

"I'm going to carry you to your car." Dorothy said.

"What? Carry me? You can't carry..." I protested until she slipped one arm
across my back, the other behind my knees and picked me up.

"Here we go," She said, "Just relax and enjoy the ride."

Pure disbelief kept me silent as she set out with a long smooth stride. She
carried me the whole two miles to my car with out breaking a sweat.

"What the Hell, Dorothy?" I asked as she settled me into the back seat.

"Later, Dixx, I promise" She said as she started the engine.

* * *

Two days later, Lt. Wambaugh was visiting me in my hospital room.

"Dammit, Dixx" He growled, "I would never have believed your story if we
hadn't found Francis Doyle's body at the bottom of that hole. It took four of
my biggest men to get her out. She must have weighed 300 pounds."

"So what happens now?" I asked him.

"Not a Goddamn thing." He said. "At least not here. The Feds came by this
morning and took over the whole case. They took all the evidence, both bodies,
and told us to stay the hell away from that factory. They told me that if
anyone from around here showed any interest in the case, that person was in
for a long stay at Leavenworth."

I nodded. The Feds had been here earlier and had told me pretty much the same
thing.

He wandered around the room for a bit, muttering about jurisdiction before
saying that some people had to work and left.

Dorothy came in as he left, and he tipped his hat to her with a muttered "Miss
Sanders."

"Dorothy!" I called.

"Hey, Dixx!" She said and came over to sit on the side of my bed. Her eyes had
dark circles under them and she didn't sound as chipper as usual.

"Hey kiddo, are you o.k.?" I asked her.

"Oh, it's nothing." She said. "How are you doing?"

"Dr. Hillerman says that I have four broken ribs, my left ulna is broken, as
is my right tibia. I have various bruises, contusions and rope burns, and of
course, one hell of a shiner." I gestured to my left eye where Francis's fist
had hit me when she knocked me out.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get there earlier. I had a hard time finding the place."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"You left the map out on your desk, with the area circled."

"Dorothy, how did you get to be so strong?" I asked gently.

She looked down at her hands in her lap.

"I was five when my father died, and we went to live with my grandmother on my
mother's side. That's where I get my Chinese ancestry from."

"So you're one quarter Chinese?"

"That's right. According to my grandmother, there's been an ancient secret
passed down from mother to daughter in our family for over 3,000 years. It's a
way of life involving martial arts, meditation, diet, and special herbs. She
didn't teach my mother the secret because mom thought that it wasn't needed in
the West. But because my father died when I was so young, she thought that I
would need to be strong."

"Just how strong are you?" I asked. "As strong a Francis was?"

"Oh, no!" Dorothy said. "I am no where near that strong. I'm probably about
half as strong as she was."

"But," I protested. "She was enormous! You're not even close to being half the
size she was."

"Oh, that." She blushed. "The training and such makes my muscles much denser
than normal. Her muscles were of normal density, just very large. Here, feel
my arm."

She took my hand and placed it on her upper arm. I could tell her arm was
bigger than most women's, but not spectacularly so.

"Squeeze it." She said. "As hard as you want."

I tried to squeeze her arm, but nothing happened. It was like trying to
squeeze a steel cable. She smiled at me and flexed her arm. I could feel her
muscles expand, forcing my hand open no matter how hard I squeezed. I was
stunned.

"Wow." I told her. "I'm impressed. No wonder you were able to carry me to the
car so easily."

"Yeah." She seemed to hesitate. "I... I gotta go, Dixx."

She stood up to leave. My hand slipped down her arm and I took her hand.

"What's wrong, Dorothy?" I asked her. "Something's the matter, I'm a trained
detective, I can tell these things."

"I... I... It's nothing." She tried to step away but I didn't let go of her
hand. I knew she could break my grip quite easily, but she didn't try to.

"Come on, Kiddo." I entreated her. "When my best girl comes in with circles
under her eyes, I know something's wrong. Now tell Daddy Dixx about it."

Dorothy sat back down on the bed, but I didn't release her hand.

"You were in the war, right?" She asked me.

"Yes, in Africa and Europe, why?"

"So you've killed people, right?" Ah, I thought I saw where this was going.

"Yes, that tends to happen in a war." I said.

"I... I've never had to really use my training before." She said, starting to
snuffle a bit. "I... I don't know."

"Yes, that one." I told her. "I know that one very well."

I pulled her to me. She resisted at first, then let me pull her in. I rested
her head on my shoulder and wrapped my good arm around her. She felt very
solid.

"During the war, there were some men who seemed to delight in the slaughter."
I told her softly. "The more death they saw, the happier they were. No one
wanted then in their unit, because what you wanted was a man more interested
in keeping you and your friends alive then in adding to the notches on their
gun."

"But, I thought you needed to be able to kill in a war." Dorothy whispered.

"Oh, we needed good fighters, yes. What we didn't need were sick bastards who
got their rocks off by killing."

"But, when you killed some one for the first time, did you feel..."

"Depressed, alone, sick to your stomach and sick at heart? Unable to sleep
because of the nightmares?"

She nodded against my shoulder. I could feel her tears soaking into my
hospital gown.

"Honey, every single man with a conscience in the whole damn war felt that
way. I still have nightmares about it."

"But," She snuffled. "How do you deal with it?"

"You talk about it with someone you trust." I said. "That's the main reason
they had chaplains on the front, to give the men someone they could trust to
talk to."

"When does it go away?"

"It never goes away." I told her. "It marks your soul forever. You... just
learn how to deal with it. It's always there, you just don't let it become the
center of your life. That way lies insanity."

"I... just keep thinking that there had to be some way to stop her without
killing her." She was openly sobbing now.

"Do you know what the did to guards who shot a prisoner who was trying to
escape?" I asked her.

"What?" She pulled back a bit at looked at me in confusion.

"They fined him the price of the bullet for not being able to keep the guy
from running, then gave him a carton of cigarettes, and never assigned him to
guarding prisoners again.

"When Francis came after you with that pipe, she was doing her best to kill
you. You didn't have a choice. If you hadn't killed her, she would have killed
you, me, Parker, and who knows how many others before she was stopped."

"I guess." She said as I pulled her head back to my shoulder. "I'm just..."

"Yeah, I know." I told her. I held her for a bit longer, stroking her silky
hair.

"Hey," I said. "I never did thank you for saving my life."

"Oh, well, I had too." Dorothy said. "You haven't paid me yet this month."

"Dorothy." I said seriously.

She looked up at me.

"I mean it. Thank you very much." I leaned my head down and kissed her. She
responded slowly, but then with more enthusiasm.

"Mmmmmmmm." She hummed and snuggled up against me. "Is that how you thanked
your buddies when they saved your life during the was?"

"No, but then again, I wasn't in love with any of them." I said softly.

She startled up and stared at me.

"Do you mean that?" She asked, staring into my eyes.

"With all my heart."

"Oh, Dixx!" She cupped my face in her hands and bent over to kiss me, her long
hair falling to surround us. I could feel tears falling onto my cheeks.

"Hey, is this how react to a declaration of love?" I asked her as I brushed
tears from her cheeks.

"Oh, God, Dixx." She laughed through her tears. "I've been in love with you
since the day you hired me. I just never thought I'd hear you say that you
loved me."

"Oh, really? I guess I'll just have to keep on saying it till you believe me."

"That may take a while, how long do you plan on keeping it up?" She teased.

"Oh, I figure I'll have the rest of my life. That is if you are willing to let
me have that long to try."

"Dixx! Are you...?" She stared at me again.

"I'm asking the woman I love if she'll marry me." I told her.

"Oh, Dixx!" She cried. She started to smother my face with kisses.

"I take it the answer is yes?" I asked after she stopped.

"You damn well better believe it!" She growled.

* * *

"Wow, Daddy! Is that what really happened?" Sara asked.

"It sure is, pumpkin." I told my twelve year old daughter. I leaned over and
kissed her on the forehead. "Now go to sleep, remember you have to get up
early to train with your mother before you go to school tomorrow."

"Okay. Good night, Daddy." She snuggled down under the covers as I turned off
the light and close the door.

I went into the living room and poured myself a drink. I sat down on the couch
to finish reading the days paper. I was just finishing the sports page when
Dorothy came in and perched on the arm of the couch.

"Is she all settled in?" She asked.

"Yep, sung and safe."

"And what story did you tell her tonight?"

"She wanted to know how we met, and when I asked you to marry me?" I told her.

"You didn't tell her everything, did you?" I had managed to startle her.

"Oh, no." I assured her. "It was suitably edited."

"That's good."

"Yes, I made sure not to mention how we spent every night of our honeymoon." I
said as I pulled her off the arm of the couch into my lap. We kissed for a
long moment before Dorothy rolled off my lap and stood up.

"And did you tell her how our honeymoon started?" She asked.

"How it started?" I asked puzzled.

"Hmmmmm, I think I need to remind you." She said.

She bent over and picked me up in her arms and started to carry me off to the
bedroom.

"Did I ever tell you how glad I am that those 'Little Dixx' jokes were so
incredible wrong?" She asked as she kicked the door shut.

The End.

Author's note: Any and all comments welcome. E-Mail: jgrimm@prodigy.net

ICQ: #143178214

The sharp minded among my readers may notice something special about the names
in this story. Except for Lyl Dixx, every one was named for a writer of
mystery stories. See if you can guess who they all are. As a hint, some
characters first name is one writer, while their last name is another. Send me
your guesses and I'll write you a personalized story, you pick the scenario,
if you're right. I'll send you the story and let you decide if you want to
send it to Diana.

Of course. With my luck, EVERYONE will get it right and I'll be writing for
everyone else for the next year. We'll see :^)