Frank Devaroux, P.I. Case File 01

She thought for a moment. "Seven."

"Seven," I repeated. "Seven brands, seven women sold into prostitution."

"Prostitution?" she asked.

"Oh, I haven't told you about that yet. Come on, I think some of the Thai can be salvaged. You like Thai food don't you?"

She did. So we split the food between us while I filled her in on what Dakota had told me.

"So," she said carefully about a half an hour later, "you know that Ronnie was selling women into prostitution. And you think that whoever killed him was getting revenge by torturing him."

"That's what I think," I replied.

She sat back on the couch and tilted her head back to look up at the ceiling.

"What...?" I started, but she shushed me.

"Quiet, I'm thinking."

I sat back in the chair, chewed some Thai food, and admired the view. Eloise was really very lovely. She was athletic, that was for certain, but she carried a little extra muscle on her body that most women would have thought un-feminine. Her breasts, well, I've already waxed lyrical about her breasts. Her breasts, and real hips, gave her that very female form which is hardwired into the male psyche. Deep down in my soul her silhouette stirred ancient instincts that recognized 'woman' and the sweet pleasures of the flesh.

"He's a serial offender," she pronounced.

I shook my head to get the sex out of it and tried to focus on what she was saying. "Yeah, seven repeats of the same crime. So?"

"Which murder is the most important in breaking a serial murder case?" she quizzed me.

"We don't know we're talking about murder," I pointed out. "All we know is that Ronnie was selling these women into prostitution."

"Humor me," she replied. "Which murder is the most important in breaking a serial murder case?"

"The first. That's the one done with the least expertise, when the most clues will be left behind."

"And it's often the most personal. The murderer builds himself up until he strikes at someone close to him; he has a closer association with the first victim than he will with subsequent victims. So we need to look at the first victim."

"Which we think is Uma."

"Uma," she confirmed.

"Which means I need to talk to Veronica Emerson."

"Better you than me," she told me and put another bite of green curry into her mouth.

"Thanks. And what's this sexism about calling the hypothetical serial killer a man? Women kill too."

"Women aren't serial killers. That's a guy thing. Women kill for money, jealousy, revenge, or in anger and then they're done with it. They don't get a sexual charge out of it and go on a spree. Mostly."

I set down my box of noodles and closed my eyes.

"Too spicy for you?" she needled me.

"Quiet, I'm free associating."

It took me a couple of minutes but I finally figured out what was gnawing at me about Dakota.

"I'm glad he died a slow, painful death," I repeated.

"Well, he seems to have been a total bastard," Eloise allowed.

"No, that's what Dakota said to me. She was angry and she wasn't being guarded. Thing is, I told her Ronnie was dead, but not how he died. Come to that," I added, "she didn't seem especially surprised when I told her Ronnie was dead. I'm just guessing, but it could easily be that she already knew."

"Speculation," Eloise pronounced. "I can't even take that to my Lieutenant. He'd laugh at me and tell me to go get some real evidence."

I stood up. "Pick me up," I said.

She looked at me for a moment and then spread her legs. "Me so horny. I fuck you long time. You like fuck virgin?" she said in a really bad imitation Asian accent.

"Ha, ha. Get up and try to lift me."

"Waste of time, you're too heavy. I could unbalance you if you like, though," she said, shifting to make herself comfortable again.

"You already do," I shot back at her. Yeah, weak, but at least I was in the game. "But that's kind of my point. Ronnie was a little shorter than me, but he was carrying some extra weight. Most women couldn't have gotten him up onto that pipe he was hanging from."

"A guy? Maybe more than one woman?" Eloise speculated.

"Maybe. I don't know. And he died of suffocation. Someone tortured him to death, and trashed the house."

"You think they were searching for something," she observed.

I nodded. "Yeah. Maybe. And maybe it was a woman trashing the house of a guy she really hated. Y'all do that."

"Not me," she shook her head. "I'd plant a bag of fertilizer and some bomb-making stuff in your car and call Homeland Security."

"Good, because I like my apartment clean." We looked at each other for a minute. "Tell me what you want," I told her.

She sighed. "In specifics I'm not sure exactly what I want. I want to experiment, to find out what I want. Easier to tell you what I don't want."

"Go for it," I prompted her.

"I don't want to play I've got a secret. That kind of pain... I'm not interested in pain. Maybe a very little, just so that I know that you can inflict it and that I can't stop you. I don't want to be cut, or marked. I'm not interested in anything to do with scat or age-play. Humiliation... that's kind of exciting, but it's also very scary. I couldn't be strung up in front of a crowd the way you did with Sariel at that club." Her eyes got a little narrower as she remembered about Sariel and looked up at me.

"She called me on the phone," I told her.

"That's all?" she asked.

"That's all," I confirmed.

"I was jealous of the attention you gave her, and the cuddling afterwards," she confessed. "Am I allowed to be jealous?"

"Yes, but you probably won't need to be. If I'm with you, then I'm with you."

"Are you with me?" she asked quietly.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm with you."

"Celebration sex?" she suggested just a little shyly.

"Take your clothes off," I told her, "and stand up. I'll need to know what your safe word is, too."

****

Uncertainty is a big factor in making sex exciting. Let's face it, married sex doesn't hold a candle to first sex with a new person. Why? Because there's no adrenal rush pumping up the heart rate and tripping all those nervous response biological functions. You've got to get to the right place, mentally, for the sex to be exciting. I'm not making excuses for what follows, I'm just saying, there's a lot more to sex than a few minutes of squishy rutting. Particularly when your brain is wired like mine is. Keep that in mind.

I'd seen Eloise naked, or nearly so, before, but she was still undiscovered, still new, to me.

"Put your hands behind your head," I told her. She licked her lips and did. I walked around her and stopped behind her where she couldn't see me. "Spread your legs," I said.

I didn't have to see her face to know that she was blushing. Women are very sensitive about their body image. Everyone knows that telling a woman she looks fat is a bad idea, but think about why that is. For Eloise, this was an incredibly difficult act; she was being judged by a man she was interested in. What made it even worse/better for her was that this position was one she was used to inflicting on other people. I could see her skin twitching.

It was heaven for me. Partly because I enjoyed making her nervous, partly because I love it when a naked woman obeys my commands, but mostly because she trusted me enough to give me this gift. The power of consent always lies with the submissive, and when they give it to you... I'm sure I was shaking as much as she was, which was another reason I was standing where she couldn't see me.

"You have an exceptional ass, Eloise," I said in my most matter-of-fact tone of voice. In truth, I'd seen better, but if you had asked me to name two I couldn't have. Not to save my life. Besides, those asses were far away and covered in clothing, this one was right there in front of me. I ran my hands over her ass, palms stroking, fingernails gently raking, and gave each cheek a squeeze. "Very spankable," I offered.

"Th-" she choked and swallowed before managing to say "Thank you, sir."

"And polite," I said cheerfully. "That's good."

I walked back into my bedroom and pulled the magic suitcase out from under the bed. True, it's a trifle clichéd, but why change things that work just because they're clichéd? I pulled out a pair of wire nipple shields and walked back into the room.

Eloise, I could see, had been wondering what I was up to. I walked around in front of her and met her eyes, smiling at her.

"You're doing very well, Eloise," I assured her as I pinched one of her nipples, rolling it back and forth between my finger and thumb. She gasped and her body flinched, but she didn't pull away or protest. I pinched open one of the shields and settled it over her nipple. I smiled when I saw her other nipple was already hard and erect, perfectly ready for the second shield.

"You're a naughty girl, Eloise," I gently chided her. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

She nodded her head, unable to speak, and I saw the wetness building in her eyes. She jumped as my hand cupped her mons and closed her eyes. I didn't allow her that privacy, though. I was too far gone into the moment, and right then she wasn't allowed to hide from me. I pinched one of her breasts, hard. "Eyes open," I ordered.

She gasped and opened her eyes, looking directly at me.

"Better," I said, and released her breast. My other hand traipsed through her soft pubic hair for a few moments before grasping it and giving it a firm tug. Her eyes went wide in surprise.

"This, is unacceptable," I declared. "I will not have you hiding your pussy from me, Eloise. Unless it's ugly. Is it ugly?"

The shock on her face was electrifying. This wasn't what she had expected and she wasn't certain if it was what she wanted. Uncertainty. I frowned at her, but inside I was smiling.

"I'll need to see that," I declared and walked over to my chair. Sitting down, I pointed to the floor in front of me. "Hands and knees, Eloise, facing away from me. Hurry!" I chided her as she moved slowly to obey.

When she had complied with my direction I grunted in frustration. "I can't see it, Eloise. Spread those legs, and use your hands to clear away that unsightly hair." She was really shaking by that point and I was certain she was crying. I ignored that, because she hadn't used her safe word. Some of you, no doubt, will be making fun of the big, bad policewoman reduced to tears by a guy telling her what to do. Fuck you. Eloise was pouring her heart out in front of me and I treasured every moment of it.

Obeying my commands meant that she had to rest her head on the ground and reach back between her legs to smooth her pubic hair away from her sex.

"I still can't see well enough, damnit!" I growled. "Spread those pussy lips, I want a better look at you."

She obeyed, and I took a minute to catch my breath before speaking again.

"I'm disappointed, Eloise."

I paused.

"That's a beautiful pussy. Stunning. Why have you failed to keep it neat for me?"

It was a shockingly petty thing for me to say; I relieved her fears, raised her hopes, and dashed them down onto the rocks of my disapproval. Cruel? Sure. But I loved it. That moment was almost orgasmic for me.

I leaned forward and gave her ass a slap; not particularly hard, because pain wasn't my objective. I was going for shock. She'd just been spanked by a man. "Say, 'I will keep my pussy clean for you, sir'," I told her.

"I-, I will k-keep my pussy clean for you, sir," she whimpered.

I smacked her ass again. "Louder."

"I will keep my pussy clean for you, sir," she repeated.

Smack. "Once more."

"I will keep my pussy clean for you, sir."

"Okay then," I decided, "I forgive you. For taking your correction so well, I'm minded to reward you." You come up with great dialog through the fog of overwhelming lust, I was doing well just to be able to form simple sentences. Unbuckling my pants I dropped them down around my ankles and knelt behind her. I was so hard it hurt. Sorry ladies, strictly average here, but, as we guys with average dicks like to lie 'It's not the size of the rod, but how you wiggle the worm.'

Eloise was so wet that I slid easily into her. We both gasped and paused, just savoring the feel of our joined bodies. I reached down, searching for and finding her clitoris and putting my finger tip squarely on top of it. The state she was in, pushing the magic button was enough to do the job. She came, loudly too, which I really, really liked. I didn't have to do anything except hold on, one hand on her hips, the other firmly pressed against her.

It took a few minutes for her to calm down and I'm sure she was expecting a dressing down for finishing without permission. I've read about that in a lot of stories and I've heard subs and doms talking about it, but it just isn't something I can get behind. I want my partners to come loud, long, and often and if that means building the mood again before I come then, hey, I can live with that burden; I'm here for the night.

I decided to take another tack. I chuckled. "You're a very responsive girl, Eloise. I like that. But you've gotten me all messy." I withdrew from her and sat back in my chair. "Come clean me up, Eloise."

If you've never had a blowjob from a woman who needs to please you, then you've never had a blowjob. I'd just given Eloise a mild experience of a type that she had longed for since puberty and I could see her determination to pay me back in her eyes. Her cheeks were still tear-stained, but she wasn't crying anymore. I didn't try to control her, just leaned back and enjoyed the show.

And it was very enjoyable. In retrospect I can offer the comment that she wasn't particularly skilled at the physical aspects, but the total package... She was loud, she knew how to play up the visual aspects, and there wasn't anything actually wrong with her physical technique. I was groaning in inarticulate joy in next to no time, which she took as encouragement. I wanted to hold off. No, really. I wanted to sit back and think about baseball and not come so that I could use that 'failure' on her part to lead into some more play. But that just wasn't possible. The best I could manage was to pull out at the last second and come on her face and chest.

"Finish cleaning me," I told her.

She licked the remaining cum from my cock, milking it a little with her hands, and then smiled up at me.

"Was that good, sir?"

There's lying, and then there's lying. I'll lie to a partner if it's part of the game, building the mood. But not at a time like that, when emotions are laid bare and our usual social defenses are stripped away.

"That was great, Eloise. Clean yourself up."

She ran a finger over her face and then, smiling wickedly at me, put it into her mouth and sucked it clean.

"Thank you, sir," she said when she pulled the clean finger out her mouth.

It was my turn to have trouble speaking, so I just pulled her up into my lap and held her. I don't know how long we just sat there, but my legs were asleep when I finally decided it was time to stop playing.

"Time out," I told her. "We'll play some more again, but let's go grab a shower. Do you want to spend the night here?"

"Will you chain me to the bed?"

"If you like."

"Then yes, I'd very much like to spend the night here," she answered. "I've got to be up early, though. I've got a court date tomorrow."

There's more, but you don't need the details. We showered, I tied her to the bed, we talked until way too late while I casually explored her body, and then the alarm was going off and she was throwing on clothing and giving me a lingering kiss that I could still taste minutes after she'd run out the door. I cleaned up the apartment and then headed out to run.

****

I hate running. I really do. I get hot and sweaty and being out of breath is way too close to the feeling of claustrophobia I sometimes suffer from. The only good thing about running, is stopping. Nonetheless, I do a lot of running. Running away from danger is an essential skill and I hate being heavy and out of shape even more than I hate running. If I go half a mile west I can jump onto the Platte River trail. Gorgeous. It runs past a number of scenic points of interest: the cemetery, the sewage treatment plant, an industrial discharge point, the power plant, the refinery, the slaughterhouse. It's like some sadistic chairwarmer with a grudge against physical fitness and nature thought it would be a good idea to create a nature trail that linked undesirable properties with a strip of asphalt. You don't believe me; look it up.

Running is also a good way to free associate, because God knows no sane person wants to actually think about running. But, as with the night before, my favorite investigative technique was coming up blank. Six miles of pretending I wasn't sweating like a pig gave me nothing but a moderate cardiovascular workout. Disappointing.

The guy waiting outside my apartment was big, clean cut, and well-dressed. Not attorney well-dressed, but he wasn't buying his suits at Penney's either. He didn't strike me as being a Skylark goon like Domingo, but he was used to scanning a street for danger. He spotted me, but he didn't rush me or tense up. He just waited. I found that reassuring. So I walked up to him.

"Frank Devaroux," I said. I didn't offer my hand; my reassurance didn't extend that far.

"Mrs. Emerson would like an hour of your time, Mr. Devaroux. I have a car over here."

"I need a shower and a change," I tried.

"She won't mind," he replied.

I nodded. "Lead on."

He didn't fall for that one either, just stood there and waited for me to walk over to the car with the open door; open because a second goon was holding it open for me. I shrugged and walked over to the car and got in. Why? Because the car had local government tags and the goons struck me as cops. One of them sat in back with me while the other one drove. We didn't talk.

Veronica Emerson, a.k.a. Dana, was waiting for me on a bench in Cheeseman Park. I found that amusing; Cheeseman Park is a notorious place for homosexual assignations. She was smoking a cigarette. Left handed. I sat down opposite her.

"Dakota said you wanted to speak with me," she said.

I nodded.

"About Ronald?"

I nodded again.

"Is this blackmail?"

I shook my head. "What two consenting adults do with each other is no business of mine and the public... I don't much like the public. I just want to hear about Uma."

"Who?" she asked.

"Uma. She was with you and Ronnie and Sariel on the trip to Dallas. What really happened to her?"

"Sariel. I haven't seen her in years," Veronica mused. "She's the one who told you about Dallas, of course. What did she tell you?"

"Not much. What happened to Uma?"

"Uma. She was very pretty and I always disliked that about her. Ronald, Ronnie, would frequently compare us and I always came out the loser. She was prettier, more obedient, younger. That's why they picked her, of course. It all came back to bite her in the end."

She took a long drag on her cigarette.

"Ronnie lost seventy thousand dollars, give or take, on roulette at an after-hours club. A grubby, unlicensed place. He'd been... progressively more stupid all evening long. He'd done some cocaine, been drinking. Earlier he'd beaten Sariel so hard that she had to go to the emergency room. Then he decided to go win his money back from the after-hours place and lost all that money. He'd been signing IOUs all evening and the owner wouldn't let him leave without an escort, a great big black man. I think Ronnie thought he could ditch the escort and make his escape, but that didn't happen. After an hour of stalling back at the hotel room, Ronnie finally admitted he couldn't pay."

"The escort made a phone call and the owner of the casino showed up with two other men. They threatened Ronnie and he just... gave up, told them he'd do whatever it took to pay the debt, offered them an evening with Uma and me."