Film Noir Catfight: Thief vs. Private InvestigatorA brunette crook is at a remote hideaway, about to escape with a fortune in stolen money. A blonde private detective has figured out the case and called the cops, who tell her to wait, because they can be there in an hour. But the determined, independent-minded blonde isn't taking any chances that her quarry will slip away, and goes to the gun moll's hideaway - just in time, it turns out: the brunette bad girl has the front door open and her car is in the driveway, engine running and door open. She's in the front room, about to close the suitcase full of stolen money, on the point of slipping away for good.
The blonde rushes through the open door. Startled by her sudden last-moment arrival and recognizing the interfering blonde private investigator from her earlier snooping, the panicking brunette crook fumbles in her purse and pulls out her gun. She's already killed two people for this money and knows that if she's arrested, it's a life sentence, or maybe even the electric chair. Reacting to the danger, the feisty blonde rushes forward and grabs the brunette's wrist, forcing her arm up as she fires, shots hitting the ceiling. The two women struggle desperately for possession of the gun, the brunette still firing, but the shots hitting the walls and ceiling, going wide as the blonde keeps the brunette's wrist held hard and tight in her hand, the gun moll screaming in rage, panic and frustration. As they stagger unsteadily around the room in their high-heeled shoes, struggling over the gun, their bare legs tangle and they fall heavily, the brunette losing her grip on the gun, which slides across the wood floor.
The two women fight furiously and desperately, the blonde PI fighting for her life, the brunette crook knowing it's a life of riches and luxury if she can get away, a life sentence - or worse - if she can't. They roll over and over on the wood floor, hitting, slapping, scratching, kicking, spitting, biting and pulling hair. The brunette makes another desperate lunge for her gun, but the blonde grabs her from behind, pulling the screaming crook back at the very last moment, arm coiled round her throat, just as the brunette's hand was closing on her gun.
The two women's short, flimsy, skimpy slip dresses are ripped and torn, and their high heels come flying off as their sweaty bare legs tangle and kick, as the two women roll over and over on the floor, alongside and over the stolen money, which has spilled from the open suitcase - the struggling women having knocked it over as they rolled over and over. The foul-mouthed bad girl screams abuse at her blonde opponent and the two women claw at each other wildly, raking each other with their nails and tearing at each other's dresses, which are ripped and torn to the extent that little is left to the imagination.
Now dressed in little more than panties, with a few strips of their dresses stuck to sweat-soaked bodies, the brunette catches the blonde with a lucky blow, stunning her momentarily. Sobbing with rage, she crawls towards her gun, her hand closing on it, turning to face her hated opponent. Realizing the danger, the blonde throws herself at the girl crook, hand grabbing her wrist at the last moment, forcing the brunette's aim wide, then slamming her hand on the floor, twisting her wrist savagely, screaming at her to drop the gun. The gun fires twice more before clicking empty, just as the blonde slams the girl crook's hand on the floor a final time, causing her to lose her grip on the now empty weapon, which slides away across the floor.
Panicking, the brunette murderess scrambles to her feet and runs for the open door, but the blonde PI follows, dives full-length, wraps her arms round the girl crook's sweaty bare legs and tackles her down hard on the floor. The fight resumes, with both women rolling over and over on the wood floor in a sweaty tangle, hitting, slapping, scratching, choking, kicking, spitting, biting and pulling hair, the blonde PI gasping with exertion, the brunette bad girl sobbing with rage and panic. After a life-or-death struggle lasting fully 30 minutes, the two women are soaked with perspiration, slipping and sliding off of each other, nearly exhausted. Finally, the feisty blonde PI rolls the brunette femme fatale onto her back, straddling the girl crook and sitting astride her, pinning her down. The brunette murderess bucks and kicks wildly, sweaty bare legs waving and kicking helplessly in the air, eyes wide in panic, screaming abuse at the blonde private investigator. But the blonde grabs the screaming girl crook by her sweat-soaked hair, pulls her up off the floor a little, draws back her other arm, balls her fist and then KOs the evil brunette with a savage punch that would make a championship boxer proud. The gun moll's head snaps back sharply and her eyes roll back, as she's knocked out, flat on her back, out cold, her limp body pinned under the exhausted-but-triumphant blonde private detective.
Too exhausted to get up, and fearing she'd collapse across her unconscious foe if she tried, the victorious blonde continues to sit astride the beaten brunette, breathing hard, sweaty bare breasts heaving as she regains her breath, heart pounding from the mix of exertion and adrenaline, knowing she came within seconds of death at the hands of the evil brunette. After being unconscious for 20 minutes, the brunette crook slowly comes round - dazed, confused, and still half out of it, blinking her eyes rapidly, trying to clear her head. As she slowly comes round, a look of utter desperation comes over her face as she realizes her situation: flat on her back, with the determined blonde PI straddling her, sitting astride her to hold her down, and pinning her wrists hard and tight in her hands for good measure, even though the brunette is utterly beaten and clearly not going anywhere.
The brunette crook sobs and struggles weakly, bucking, trying to throw the blonde off, her legs kicking weakly, bare feet slipping uselessly on the wood floor. But the blonde PI keeps the murdering girl crook firmly straddled and pinned under her sweaty body, glaring down at her defeated foe in triumph. After a few minutes, they hear the siren of a police car in the distance, the brunette crook feeling sick with fear as the siren gets louder and louder, then stops as the police arrive. A few moments later, two cops burst in, looking with astonishment at the scene in front of them: the feisty blonde PI has the defeated brunette crook straddled, pinned and helpless under her, utterly defeated. Down to just their panties and a few strips of their slip dresses, their scratched and bruised bodies are so sweaty that they look like oil wrestlers. Their hair is so matted with sweat that it looks like wet mops. All around them, scattered on the floor, is the evidence of the desperate life-or-death struggle: overturned furniture, strips of torn dresses, both women's high heeled shoes, the brunette's gun, the overturned suitcase, and millions in banknotes and bonds.
As the blonde PI explains the situation to the astonished cops, the groggy girl crook is sobbing her heart out, facing a life sentence or maybe the chair, as opposed to the life of luxury she was looking at before the blonde disarmed and overpowered her, having arrived and apprehended the fleeing brunette with only a minute or two to spare - a few moments more and the evil femme fatale would have escaped forever, long before the police arrived. If all had gone to plan, by now the brunette crook would have had the money safely in the bank, and would have been in the bar of the luxury hotel she'd already booked. She would have been sipping champagne, and had planned to flirt with and seduce whatever rich businessman caught her eye and most appealed: crossing and uncrossing her legs, the skirt of her short, flimsy slip dress riding up, exposing her thighs and maybe a brief flash of her panties, dangling a high-heeled shoe provocatively from a shapely bare foot. But all her plans have been undone and now she's lost everything - the life of riches and luxury, her freedom, and maybe even her life, depending on her sentencing. The arrogant, sultry brunette murderess had had her evening all planned out, and imagined it would end in a hotel bedroom, with her on her back, skirt round her waist and panties pulled aside, as she preferred, and her legs dangling and kicking, up over the shoulders of some muscle hunk, high heels still on. But now she's flat on her back on the hard wood floor, straddled and pinned by another woman, her wrists pinned on the floor above her head, sweaty, scratched, bruised, hair and make-up ruined, her slip dress torn off and in shreds, her high heeled shoes on the floor halfway across the room.
The cops tell the blonde she can get off the girl crook, and she gets up slowly, unsteady on her feet, stumbling, placing a bare foot on the defeated brunette's stomach to steady herself before she steps away. The cops haul the brunette crook roughly to her feet, read her her rights, and handcuff her hands behind her back, the cold metal digging into her slender wrists, making her wince in pain. She's led away by the cops, groggy, unsteady on her feet and still half out of it. Hair and make-up ruined, exhausted, sweaty, disheveled and barefoot, only shreds of her dress remain, and she's sobbing hysterically with rage and humiliation, not to mention fear about her fate. The blonde private detective smiles in triumph as her beaten foe is led away past her, their eyes meeting briefly. The brunette's body is trembling with fear and shaking with sobs as she's led to the police car and put in the back seat, sobbing her heart out in the back of the vehicle as she's driven away to her well-deserved fate, hands cuffed behind her back, head down, utterly defeated.
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