The story below is based on the catfight from the Hart to Hart episode Max's Waltz:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlLpoKMAA48&ab_channel=Henchwomen%26VillainsInga Hamilton was seething with anger. The 38-year old blonde was part of a ruthless criminal gang that had successfully conned a selection of wealthy widows out of millions of dollars over a period of several years. This mainly involved Inga's suave, attractive boyfriend seducing a series of women - usually older ones - and then persuading them to invest their fortunes in non-existent commercial real estate projects.
Once the money hit the conman's account, the gang disappeared, leaving the victims - and the police - baffled. Multiple false identities ensured that the trail was stone cold long before law enforcement ever opened an investigation.
The latest con had been going well, until the intended victim's previous romantic squeeze - Max - had become suspicious. Max was butler and chauffeur to a millionaire businessman, Jonathan Hart, and now Hart and his glamorous wife Jennifer, a stunning 42-year old with auburn hair, were onto the gang, and the whole scheme was unraveling.
The panicking crooks had kidnapped their latest victim, Dorothy Prince, along with Max. The two were securely tied up in Inga's boyfriend's hotel room. They'd seen too much and the gang had decided to kill them. Inga was fine with that. It wouldn't be the first time they'd resorted to murder over the years.
The cold, ruthless blonde was already an accessory to murder, kidnapping, extortion, and much more besides. She'd face a life sentence if caught, so the stakes couldn't be higher for her. But if they could just eliminate the interfering Harts, and then quietly disappear, Inga had millions in the bank already. Indeed, it was only her greed, expensive tastes, and the lure of what she regarded as easy money that had persuaded her - against her better judgement - to agree to this latest con. She'd told herself it would be the last one. After this one, she planned to live on her ill-gotten gains for the rest of her life. With the stolen money she'd amassed, she'd want for nothing.
Inga had been told to fetch the car and wait at the front of the ballroom which the conmen had been using for some of their activities, as the wealthy widows they preyed on liked ballroom dancing. It was on the ground floor of a large, upscale hotel, and Inga was just coming back to report that the car was safely parked in an alleyway outside, when she heard a commotion.
As she pulled the curtains aside and entered the ballroom she saw that Jonathan Hart had just tackled her boyfriend's accomplice and was struggling with the hired killer. Mrs Hart was present too, and had obviously just freed and untied Max. But Inga saw the hired killer's gun on the floor, and realized that all she had to do was pick it up, shoot Jonathan Hart, then Max and Jennifer too, and they could all make their escape.
With a brief, contemptuous glance at Jennifer Hart - who Inga regarded as nothing more than an interfering rich bitch - the icy blonde ran across the wooden floor towards the gun. She cut a glamorous figure in her short-sleeved, low-cut red dress, with a slit down the side to display her shapely legs. Along with her strappy high heeled shoes, the outfit wasn't conducive to speed, but with the gun only feet away she wasn't worried, and felt a wave of determined satisfaction that she'd be able to save the day.
Noticing the blonde enter the room and rush towards the dropped gun, Jennifer Hart immediately realized Inga's murderous intent, and knew she had just seconds to act. She rushed after the blonde villainess and closed the gap. Jennifer too was wearing high heeled shoes that were awkward to run in, and an expensive designer dress with a low-cut sleeveless top with virtually no back to it. But despite her attire, she knew she somehow had to stop Inga.
Even as the murderous blonde stooped down and picked up the gun, Jennifer pounced, bending down and grabbing for the weapon, the two women struggling desperately for possession of it. As the two women stood up straight, it was Inga who had the gun in her hand. Her eyes blazed with fury and she stared daggers at Jennifer, desperately trying to aim the gun at her.
"Let go, you bitch" Inga spat.
But Jennifer held Inga's wrist in a vice-like grip, knowing full well that her life - and that of Jonathan and Max - depended on preventing Inga from gaining full control of the pistol.
Inga was desperately trying to aim the gun at Jennifer, and even fired, but Jennifer was still gripping Inga's wrist, spoiling the blonde crook's aim, and the shot fired into the ceiling.
"I'll kill you," Inga hissed, desperately struggling to break free of Jennifer's surprisingly strong grip.
Unsteady in their high heeled shoes, the two women struggled furiously, gasping with exertion, Inga's eyes blazing with hate, Jennifer's reflecting her steely determination.
As the two men continued to fight on the other side of the room, Jennifer decided to use her grip on Inga's wrist to her advantage. Taking a few steps backwards, effectively pulling Inga with her, she deliberately fell back, maintaining her tight grip on Inga's wrist and dragging the blonde forward. Partly because of being caught off balance, and partly because of her high heeled shoes, Inga was unable to stay on her feet.
She cried out in rage and shock as Jennifer pulled her to the floor. Jennifer hit the floor first, but - having executed the move - was ready for it and rolled skillfully, even as Inga fell over her. Caught by surprise, Inga landed harder, gasping in pain.
Jennifer moved quickly to exploit her advantage. Inga still had hold of the gun, but Jennifer had retained her hold on the blonde's wrist, and now used her other hand to grab for the gun, seeking to wrestle it out of Inga's grip.
"Drop it, Inga," Jennifer gasped, twisting the blonde crook's wrist savagely, then slowly but surely wrestling the gun from the villainess's grip.
Wincing in pain and with a look of shock, fury and despair on her face, Inga was unable to keep hold of the gun, and Jennifer finally wrestled it from her grasp. Mrs Hart stood up and briefly held the beaten blonde in check with the weapon, with Inga still on the floor, helpless and defeated. Satisfied the villainous blonde was no further threat, Jennifer turned to face the two fighting men, and pointed the gun at the bad guy.
"Alright gentlemen, I'm afraid this is the last dance of the evening."
As it happened, Jonathan didn't need her help, because at that precise moment he slugged the villain with a knockout punch, effectively ending the fight between the two men.
Exhausted from their respective struggles, the Harts stood there for a moment, as the defeated Inga crawled on her hands and knees, having been disarmed and overpowered by the woman she'd written off as a spoiled rich bitch. But Inga was close to the entrance, and while the Harts discussed the situation among themselves, Inga crawled through the curtains and stood up.
Unsteady on her feet, she knew she had to move quickly if she was to get away. Seething with fury, the murderous blonde staggered away, incredulous that Jennifer Hart had got the better of her, when she'd got to the gun first.
After a few moments, Jennifer noticed that Inga had slipped away. She handed the gun to Jonathan.
"You take care of the bad guys and wait for the police. I'll see if I can find Inga."
Jennifer walked briskly out of the ballroom and headed to the hotel reception desk. She was still breathing hard from her struggle with Inga, but composed herself and put on a good act.
"Hello there," she began, smiling. "I've come from the ballroom - I'm one of the dance partners for the classes. My friend Inga had to leave, but she dropped a key. I need to return it to her before she goes home. She probably doesn't realize she dropped it - she's a glamorous blonde woman in a red dress. She's been staying with you for a day or two, I believe."
The desk clerk looked at his computer for a moment.
"Inga ... Hamiliton. Ah, yes. Oh, I see she just checked out."
Jennifer looked crestfallen. But the clerk continued.
"But she's just gone up to her room to fetch something".
Jennifer thought quickly. "Oh, what's the darned room number? She did tell me, but ..."
"507," the clerk offered, helpfully.
"Of course, that's it. I'll see if I can catch her."
Inga, meanwhile, was in her room, throwing expensive designer dresses into her suitcase. She could have - and should have - left immediately, and headed to the car that she'd parked in an alleyway by the hotel's goods entrance, but greed, arrogance and stupidity got the better of her. Plus, she wasn't thinking straight after the shock of her recent struggle with - and defeat by - the interfering Hart woman.
Closing the suitcase, she headed for the door and opened it, when she suddenly remembered her purse was in the room safe. It contained her current fake ID, some expensive designer jewelry that belonged to some previous victims of the gang, a sizable amount of cash, and her own small, automatic pistol. She propped the hotel door open with her suitcase and headed for the room safe. It took her three attempts to open the safe, as she was shaking and flustered from her recent fight and defeat, but she finally retrieved her purse, after having wasted another few valuable minutes.
Purse in hand, Inga headed for the door, propped open by her own suitcase, only for the door to swing open, revealing Jennifer Hart.
"Leaving so soon, Inga?" Jennifer asked, sarcastically. "No need to rush, there are some nice police officers on the way who want a word with you."
Inga's shock at Jennifer Hart's sudden appearance gave way to fury, and then to murderous intent.
"I-I'll fix you, you interfering bitch," Inga spat. She fumbled in her purse, hand closing on her automatic pistol, but lost a few priceless seconds because of the tangle of necklaces and bracelets cluttering her small designer purse.
Jennifer saw Inga fumbling frustratedly in her purse, and from her words and her facial expression read her intent. Even as Inga got a grip on her weapon and drew it out of her purse, Jennifer launched herself at the murderous blonde, grabbing her wrist, forcing her arm up, and tackling her down onto the large King size bed. For the second time in a matter of minutes, Inga found herself with a gun in hand, with Jennifer Hart gripping her wrist, preventing her from using the weapon.
Gasping with effort, Inga desperately tried to point her gun at Jennifer, but the feisty Mrs Hart retained her tight grip on Inga's wrist as the two women struggled on the bed. Inga was on her back, with Jennifer atop her, but Inga rolled her off with a cry of rage, only for Jennifer to do the same, until both women rolled off the bed and fell onto the floor, their fall cushioned somewhat by the thick carpet.
Inga retained her grip on her small automatic pistol and was still desperately trying to aim it at Jennifer, while Jennifer - knowing the heartless blonde would kill her if she could - concentrated her efforts on maintaining her tight grip on Inga's wrist and not letting the murderous blonde aim the weapon at her. Inga's expression was a mask of fury, her eyes blazing with hate.
"L-let go of my wrist, you bitch," she screamed, gasping with exertion. "I-I'll kill you".
The two women rolled over and over on the hotel room floor, first one on top, then the other. Their skirts had ridden up to their waists and their shapely, pantyhose-clad legs tangled and kicked as the combatants rolled back and forth across the floor. Both women's high heeled shoes occasionally snagged on the thick, plush carpet, and the stiletto heel snapped off one of Inga's shoes and one of Jennifer's. After more rolling and kicking, Jennifer lost both her shoes, though Inga's shoes stayed on, as they were strappy pumps, buckled at the ankles.
Inga was getting increasingly panicked and frustrated, knowing the police were on their way, and knowing that if she was apprehended, the full history of the gang's crimes would eventually be discovered, which would mean life sentences for sure. Conversely, if she could get away, the car was parked in a side alley. She would slip away and live off the millions safely stashed away in several accounts she could access with her various carefully-constructed false identities. She knew that her struggle with Jennifer would determine whether it would be a life of luxury, with expensive restaurants, fine Champagne and her pick of men, or a life sentence in a brutal women's prison.
The stakes were even higher for Jennifer, who realized she was fighting for her life. She knew Inga would use the gun if she could, and that even more determined than Inga.
With a gasp of effort, Jennifer twisted Inga's wrist, simultaneously slamming the blonde's hand on the floor. While cushioned by the plush carpet, after having her hand slammed onto the floor five or six times, Inga finally lost her grip on the gun. Jennifer reached for it, but Inga also grabbed at it, and the two women struggled furiously for possession of the pistol, neither managing to get a firm grip on it.
Increasingly desperate, Inga tried another tactic, raking at Jennifer wildly with her nails. Jennifer responded in kind, and for the next few minutes a vicious, catty struggle ensued, as the two women knelt on the floor facing each other, hitting, slapping, scratching, pulling hair, and tearing at each other's tops.
Their designer dresses were soon wrecked, the tops torn and open. The two women tugged and pulled at each other's bra straps, which stretched, with each woman having a strap slip off the shoulder. This caused their bras to come askew somewhat, but without completely dislodging them.
Insults were exchanged, but for the most part the two women were gasping, groaning and grunting with effort, and occasionally yelping with pain as a blow landed. Inga made repeated lunges for her gun, but on each occasion Jennifer pulled her back, with Inga screaming in frustration.
After a few more minutes, the pace of the struggle had slowed down, both women tired to the point of exhaustion from the life-or-death struggle. Both Inga and Jennifer were scratched and bruised, their designer dresses and expensively-styled hair ruined, their bodies soaked with perspiration.
Again the two women knelt on the floor, face-to-face, this time with their hands in each other's hair, tugging savagely, heads being pulled from side to side, gasping with effort and crying out in pain. Shoving Jennifer backwards, Inga made yet another lunge for her gun, but Jennifer pounced on her and pulled her back at the last second, just as Inga's fingertips were brushing the weapon, causing the blonde to cry out in rage and frustration.
Noticing one of Jennifer's high heeled shoes on the floor beside her, Inga scooped it up, and with a scream of absolute fury threw it as hard as she could at her hated opponent. Jennifer ducked instinctively, and the shoe flew over her head, missing her by mere inches before crashing into the wall and falling to the floor.
Frustrated at her miss, Inga then threw herself at Jennifer and knocked her onto her back, attempting to scramble astride her hated foe. But Jennifer was wise to the tactic and rolled over sharply, dislodging the blonde.
Again, the two women rolled over and over across the floor, fighting desperately, hitting, slapping, scratching and pulling hair. Their designer dresses were in shreds, pantyhose torn, bodies soaked with perspiration, hair and make up ruined.
Inga fought like an alley cat, screaming foul-mouthed abuse at Jennifer, spitting and even biting in her desperate attempt to get the better of the glamorous auburn-haired beauty. Jennifer, while more ladylike, was no mean hand in a fight, and far from being a pushover, was more than holding her own against the increasingly desperate blonde murderess.
"Let go of me you bitch," Inga screamed, by now sobbing with rage and frustration at her inability to overpower Jennifer, and her rising fear that she wouldn't be able to get away before the police arrived.
But try as she might, couldn't get free of the determined Mrs Hart. Her nerve was beginning to go, and panic was setting in as she realized the police had likely arrived by now. She should have been long gone - and would have been, had it not been for the interfering Jennifer Hart. Inga's fury was directed at Jennifer, but she was angry at her own stupidity in going back to her room, when she could and should have just left. And she was furious that she'd twice now had a gun in her hand, only to be wrestled down and disarmed by Mrs Hart.
These latest desperate thoughts spurred Inga to fresh efforts, and as the two women continued to roll over and over on the floor, back and forth, in a leggy tangle, Inga finally managed to scramble astride Jennifer.
With a cry of rage and fury she slapped Jennifer's face savagely, palm and then backhand, rocking Jennifer's head sharply to one side, and then the other. She then thrust her hands into Jennifer's messed-up hair, and slammed her head onto the floor once, twice, and a third time.
Feeling Jennifer go limp, and desperate to end matters, Inga got off her supine foe and crawled slowly across the floor towards her gun, sobbing with rage, determined to kill the woman who'd caused her so many problems.
Had Inga been thinking straight, she'd have realized that the thick carpet had cushioned her blows, and that Jennifer - while dazed - wasn't out of things altogether.
But Inga was sore and exhausted from the desperate struggle, and was blinded by her rage and hate. As she crawled slowly across the floor on her hands and knees, her face a twisted mask of hate, Jennifer blinked to clear her head, and sat up. Seeing Inga crawling towards the gun, Jennifer quickly scrambled after her, knowing her life depended on it.
Jennifer's high heeled shoes had come off earlier in the struggle with Inga, and while one was on the other side of the room, after Inga had thrown it at her, the other was on the floor in the middle of the room, alongside Inga's discarded purse. The stiletto heel had snapped off earlier in the fight, and Jennifer instinctively scooped up the shoe as she scrambled across the floor in pursuit of Inga.
Inga meanwhile had reached the gun. She was sobbing with rage, and on the point of exhaustion, which caused her to fumble as she picked up the weapon, still on all fours. This lost her a few seconds and enabled Jennifer to close the gap.
With a surge of triumph, thinking victory was hers, Inga finally had a grip on her automatic pistol. But at the last moment, before she could turn and fire, the feisty Jennifer Hart rose to her feet behind Inga, swung the shoe and caught Inga with a cracking blow on the back of her head, just as the murderous blonde was struggling to her feet.
Inga's world suddenly went black. Her eyes rolled up and she fell forward onto the thick carpet, losing her grip on her gun, which fell out of her hand and ended up out of reach. Jennifer let go of her shoe and rolled Inga's limp body over, so the blonde was on her back. Scrambling astride Inga, breathing hard, Jennifer seized the blonde's wrists and pinned them hard and tight in her hands, before even realizing that Inga was out cold.
Jennifer was too exhausted to move, and retained her position astride Inga. She was straddling the unconscious blonde, sitting astride her torso, skirt hiked up to her waist, pantyhose-clad thighs clamping Inga's hips. She had Inga's wrists pinned hard and tight in her hands, with Inga's arms on the floor above her head. Through a mix of exhaustion and cautiousness, Jennifer was leaning forward and pressing down, her breasts pressing down onto Inga's.
Jennifer was close to passing out herself, exhausted from the titanic struggle with Inga, realizing that the adrenaline surge she'd experienced during the fight - which had doubtless kicked in as a survival mechanism - was now subsiding. She was breathing heavily, sucking in air, her heart beating fast.
After around five minutes, Inga slowly came round, dazed and confused, sore all over, soaked with perspiration. Flat on her back, dress torn and open, skirt hiked up around her waist, she blinked a few times, as her vision slowly came back. As her vision - and memory - slowly returned, she had a sick feeling in her stomach as she realized the enormity of her situation, straddled and pinned by her hated rival. Because of their respective positions, Inga could feel Jennifer's hot breath on her face, and see her staring down at her, Jennifer's expression a mix of triumph and contempt.
"St-stay down Inga", Jennifer gasped. "No more high life for you."
Inga struggled weakly, but it was hopeless. She tried to writhe, buck and kick, but was still half out of it from the earlier KO, and was so exhausted from the long, desperate struggle that she had nothing left.
"G-get off of me you b-bitch", Inga sobbed, eyes wide in fear. "L-let go of my wrists."
But it was hopeless. Inga was flat on her back, straddled, pinned and helpless. All Inga could do was look up at Jennifer, the blonde crook's expression a mix of rage, frustration and fear - the latter a consequence of her inevitable arrest.
Sure enough, a few moments later, two big male cops burst into the room, the door of which was still propped open by Inga's suitcase. They'd been directed there by the hotel receptionist, and Jonathan Hart was accompanying them. They all stared in astonishment at the scene that confronted them, with Jonathan looking at his wife with a mix of admiration and arousal.
"Looks like you got her good", Jonathan Hart observed. "She'd have gotten away for sure if you hadn't stopped her. I'm proud of you."
Scratched, bruised, sweaty and exhausted as she was, Jennnifer accepted the compliment proudly, and was glowing with pride at her victory.
"OK, we'll take it from here," one of the cops told the exhausted-but-triumphant Mrs Hart. "You can get off her."
Jennifer sat astride Inga for a few seconds more, staring down into the blonde's eyes, a resolute expression on her face. Finally, she let go of Inga's wrists and slowly got up, standing over her beaten foe for a few seconds, looking down at her, before Jonathan gallantly stepped forward to support his wife's arm and lead her to the side of the room.
The two cops roughly hauled Inga to her feet. She was too exhausted to stand, and they had to hold her up, before reading her her rights, arresting her for attempted murder and kidnapping - while cautioning her that further and even more serious charges were likely, as the investigation progressed. They roughly twisted Inga's arms behind her back and cuffed her hands, the cold metal handcuffs digging into her slender wrists, making her wince with pain.
Inga was sobbing with rage, shame and fear. Sweaty and disheveled, scratched and bruised, hair and make-up ruined, her expensive red designer dress ripped and torn, bra askew. One of the stiletto heels of her strappy gold high heeled shoes had snapped off earlier in the fight with Jennifer, making it impossible for her to walk normally - even if she'd been capable of doing so; which she wasn't, as she was exhausted to the point of collapse, and was having to be held upright by the two cops.
As the cops led the sobbing blonde out of the hotel room, Inga briefly caught Jennifer's eye.
"Y-you b-bitch," Inga sobbed, knowing that she'd be facing life in prison as opposed to a life of luxury, all because she'd been disarmed and defeated - twice - by Mrs Hart, who she'd contemptuously written off as a spoiled rich bitch who was mere arm-candy for her millionaire husband.
Jennifer stared Inga down, until the beaten blonde could no longer meet her gaze. Inga looked down at the floor in shame, utterly defeated, sobbing her heart out, realizing that the gang's previous murders would be uncovered, and knowing with certainty that her defeat at the hands of the feisty Mrs Hart had condemned her to a life sentence in a brutal women's prison.
