I hate goddamned fucking kids on goddamned fucking skateboards. They’re all assholes who don’t give a flying fuck about anything except showing off the latest trick they’ve learned to other fucking assholes on skateboards. They wouldn’t bother me if they stayed in one of those skateboard parks, but they don’t. They think the sidewalks belong to them. I wish helmets and pads had never been invented. It’s fun to watch them when they fall down and bust their ass. It would be more fun if they really got busted up a little when they do. Maybe then they’d develop some common sense. At least a cracked head would weed out the biggest assholes, for a while at least.
They’re a real pain in the ass. They seem to think everybody walking down the sidewalk should get the hell out of the way when they go weaving back and forth from one side to the other . This little asshole whizzed by me just as I stepped out the door of Phil’s Package Liquors with a new bottle of scotch. You shouldn’t have to look both ways when you step out of liquor store, so I didn’t. His backpack caught my arm and caused me to drop the paper sack with the bottle.
Now, nobody sells twelve-year old scotch in a plastic bottle. That would be like painting a Cadillac with a dog shit. Twelve-year old scotch always comes in glass bottles, really nice glass bottles. If you drop a glass bottle, it breaks. That’s what happened, and my forty-five dollars worth of twelve-year old scotch splashed all over me, the sidewalk and a particularly hot little brunette who happened to be walking by.
She was pissed and called me a stupid jerk. I was pissed too, and I yelled at the kid on the skateboard.
“You little asshole. I hope you crash and break your neck.”
The kid stopped, turned around, grinned, and gave me the finger. The hot gal was using a tissue to wipe the scotch off her pantyhose and told me she thought I should buy her a new pair.
I thought about saying I’d do that if she let me take the old pair off and put the new pair on, but I didn’t. Twenty years ago, I would have, and she’d probably have smiled and blushed when she said, “no, thank you”, but not today. People are so goddamned sensitive about everything these days, she’d probably have had me arrested or something. That’s OK though. I never liked pantyhose anyway.
Instead, I went back inside Phil’s and bought another bottle of Glenfiddich. When I came out that time, I did look both ways. I was hoping the kid would come back so I could trip his ass. He didn’t though. That pissed me off again.
I was still pissed when I got back to my office. It was only four in the afternoon, but I figured a couple fingers of Glenfiddich might help, so I wiped out the glass on my desk with my shirttail and popped the cap on the bottle. A couple swallows later, the smooth, smokey taste took away a lot of my pissedoffedness. After another, I was almost back to normal. My ex claimed my normal is what most people call being a bastard, but then she was a raving bitch. Besides, my job requires being a bastard most of the time.
I’m a PI. For those of you who take great pride in abbreviating everything with two or three letters when you text, that stands for “Private Investigator” and not some bullshit you just made up in hopes it’ll make some internet dictionary someday. We used to be called “private dicks” too, but I suppose “dick” isn’t what they call “politically correct” today. That’s a damned shame. I liked being called a private dick.
Some of the subjects of my investigations have had other names for me. Still do, too. Those names aren’t politically correct either, but that doesn’t seem to stop them from using them. I guess it depends on if you’re the one doing the offending or if you’re the one who thinks their being offended.
Anyway, I’ve been a PI for about thirty years now. I learned my trade right out of high school when PI’s were real investigators. We didn’t have computers or cell phones or GPS units in our cars back then. We relied on our skills and our experience with just how fucking stupid people can be to do what our clients asked us to do.
It took a lot of walking and a lot of talking to people with some scams thrown in to get people to show us what we wanted to know. None of us back then ever really broke the law. We just stretched it until it squealed. When I used to do skip traces, it squealed pretty loud sometimes.
I rarely do those anymore. They pay pretty well, but they’re a bitch. Skips will do about anything to avoid going back to jail, and that includes causing a lot of pain to the guy trying to take them there. It may surprise some, but the women were the hardest to find and the worst about scratching and biting. Every woman should have to register her purse as a deadly weapon too. The goddamn things usually weigh a ton and they hurt when they hit you.
I do use some of that new technology now. I have a cell phone with a GPS map program, and I traded my old 35mm camera for a Nikon digital a few years ago to save the cost of film and developing time. I use both, but mostly I use my head like I’ve always done. I don’t have to remember which buttons to push to use my head. All I have to do is think.
I lit a cigarette before opening the mail I’d picked up off the floor in front of the door. Before you start, I already know, so shut the fuck up. Hell, after all the TV commercials and billboard ads, a blind and deaf moron would know by now that smoking is bad for you. Most people would say drinking a double scotch at four in the afternoon is bad for you too. Thank God I don’t live in California. Everything is bad for you there except maybe snow peas and water and they’ve probably just not gotten around to testing them yet.
What I figure is living is bad for you. If you live, you’re going to die. I, for one, would like to spend the time before I cash out by really living, not by trying to do anything and everything to postpone that event. There are too many people who didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, ran a mile every day and watched every single calorie they ate who died in car crashes or had heart attacks before they were forty. I don’t have any desire to lay in bed in a nursing home either, although if the nurses had nice tits and asses and let me have a feel a couple times a day, it might be tolerable.
No, I figure when your time’s up, it’s up, no matter what you do.
So, lets just come to an agreement before I go on. I’ll take care of my business and you take care of yours, well, unless I’m investigating you. If I am, I’ll soon know more about you than you do. I’m fifty one, and if I don’t know what’s right for me by now, nothing you say is going to change that. It’ll just piss me off and I’ll tell you to go fuck yourself. That’ll piss you off and we’ll never get anywhere.
The only thing in my mail that day was a handful of subpoenas and summons from a couple law firms I work with. Unless you’ve gotten one, you probably don’t know what one is or how you get it, but when a lawyer needs you in court, he’ll get a subpoena or a summons, and somebody has to deliver it to you. I’m one of those somebodies. It’s one of the ways I make my money besides investigating and that’s a good thing considering today’s PI market.
There are a couple high-priced PI firms in the area that use all the latest technology in their investigations. They’ll hand you a report filled with video clips, digital photos and a detailed record of their investigation on fancy paper in triplicate for about the price of a nice used car. If the lawyer thinks the client has a good case, meaning one he can settle out of court for at least a few hundred thousand or get the millions he’s sued for if it goes to trial, the high-priced firm gets the job.
If the case is iffy, I get it, though those are getting few and far between. I understand though. Lawyers are just looking out for their bottom line so they won’t take cases that don’t show promise of generating enough income they can buy a few more custom-tailored suits and maybe that new, red sports car they’ve been drooling over.
Usually I get what I had in my mail – some sort of notification to a person they have to appear in court. I deliver the notification in person. It doesn’t pay quite as well as investigating – only a couple hundred each – but it pays my office/apartment rent and keeps me in cigarettes, scotch, and frozen dinners.
I do get some walk-ins from time to time. Usually they’re people who would rather as few people as possible know about their problem or people who would rather have that nice used car instead of a fancy PI report. Since I’m the only one in my office and my fees aren’t all that high, that attracts some people.
None of the subpoenas or summons looked interesting and I had a couple weeks to serve them, so I tossed them back in my in-box and took another sip of scotch followed by a drag on my cigarette followed by another sip of scotch.
My world started getting a lot better after that, well except for sex. That hadn’t gotten any better no matter how much scotch I drank or how many cigarettes I smoked. My sex life dried up a year before my ex divorced me. That was eleven years ago.
I did try to find an agreeable woman once the old ball and chain was history, but I was forty at the time and women that age are looking for “friendship that may lead to more as we get to know each other better and find there’s a connection”. At least that’s the way they put it in their profiles on the dating sites.
See, I’m not technologically illiterate after all like you’re thinking. I own a computer and I use it, and not just for dating sites and on-line auctions. There are a couple of porn sites that are pretty damned good. A guy does what he has to do.
I was just looking to get my ass laid, not sign up for a live-in woman who would try to change me into her idea of perfect. I finally gave up after one told me she wasn’t that kind of woman. I apologized for thinking that just because she had most of her tits hanging out of the neck of her dress and when she bent over her ass cheeks showed, she was out to get fucked. That got me slapped in the face and I decided no piece of ass was worth getting my own ass hauled off to jail if I slapped her back.
I was sitting there contemplating my plight when my office door opened and a redhead about forty-five walked through the door. She’d probably been good looking when she was thirty, but like some women, her face hadn’t aged very well. She had that sort of look that happens when a woman’s face loses skin tone and the fat that gives her round cheeks and full lips goes away. She wasn’t ugly by any means, but she wasn’t going to have to choose which fashion magazine to pose for either. Her long hair was pretty neat though.
The rest of her had fared pretty well over the years. Her T-shirt fit tight enough I could make out the embroidered decoration on her very well-filled bra, and her jeans, the kind with holes all over them, fit really tight to a pair of slender legs and an ass that was maybe a little wide, but still one I’d have loved bumping with my belly.
I asked the woman how I could help her. Her voice was kind of harsh.
“You’re a PI, right?”
“That’s what the sign on the door says.”
“I can fucking read, but you don’t look much like a PI. I want you to prove my husband is fucking around on me.”
“I can do that if that’s what he’s doing, but I need some information first. Have a seat.”
She sat down, fumbled in her purse until she produced a pack of cigarettes and an expensive looking lighter, then stuck a cigarette in her mouth and flicked the wheel on the lighter. She almost had the flame to the tip when she stopped.
“You mind if I smoke? Looks like you are.”
I shook my head.
“No, go ahead.”
The tip of the cigarette glowed red as she inhaled. The smoke trickled from her mouth as she spoke.
“OK, what do you need to know?”
“Your name for starters. It helps to know who I’m working for.”
“I’m Randy Lake and don’t fucking smile because I’ve already heard it a fucking million times. I’m not that slut porn star. I stripped for a while before I got married, but I’ve never fucked any guy in front of a camera.”
“Well, you have to admit your name is pretty distinctive.”
“Are we gonna talk about my goddamn name or about what I want you to do for me?”
I figured she could be a real bitch if she wanted to because she was already making a good start, but at least it was easy to understand what she said.
“OK, what’s the problem you want me to solve for you?”
Randy didn’t beat around the bush like some people. She took another drag on her cigarette and then exhaled as she talked.
“My goddamned husband is fucking a divorced woman who listed her house with him. That’s when he’s not fucking his secretary. I want you to get me enough proof I can take his ass to court and take all his money.”
“What leads you to believe he’s doing these things?”
“He owns a real estate business and he listed the woman’s house a couple months ago. Since then, he calls her every other day and talks to her for at least half an hour.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know because he has her number in his cell phone and that’s what his call history says he does.”
“He let you see his cell phone?”
“Oh hell no, but I’m not some dumb-ass blonde like his secretary. I peeked when he put in his password one day. Honestly, you’d think he’d pick something with more imagination than “big tits” but that’s what it is. I looked while he was taking a shower and her number is there and he hadn’t deleted any of his calls to her or hers to him.
“His secretary’s home number is there too. He doesn’t call her very often, but then he sees the bitch every day. I know he’s fucking her too. His office closes at five and it’s only a ten minute drive from our house, but some nights he doesn’t get home until almost seven. He always says he’s just working late to get ready for a closing or to submit a loan application, but we oughta be rolling in cash if that’s the case.”
“Maybe that’s what he’s trying to do, make more money. How are your finances?”
“We’re doing OK. I don’t drive a Mercedes like I’d like to, but I get a new SUV every year. He gets a new car every year too. All told, I think we’re worth about a million, but that’s not enough for as many houses as he claims to be closing.”
I’d tried to offer her some suggestions as to why her husband’s actions seemed suspicious for a reason. More than once, I’d investigated a supposed cheating spouse only to find out there was nothing going on. The complaining spouse didn’t believe me and a couple times I got stiffed on my fee. Randy seemed to have a counter for my suggestions, so maybe there was something going on. I gave her one last out.
“Well, Mrs. Lake, I’ll look into it for you. My fee is three hundred a day with two days in advance. If I don’t find anything in two days, I can keep looking or you can decide you’re satisfied. If I keep looking, it’s another three hundred a day payable at the end of each week.”
My fee schedule usually scares off people who aren’t sure, but it didn’t scare Randy.
“Do you take checks or do you have to have cash? I can do either one today.”
“I’d really rather have cash. I can take a check, but I won’t start anything until it clears and the money is in my account.”
Randy stubbed out her cigarette and then dug into her purse again. After piling a bunch of her crap on my desk, she finally pulled out a wallet. She unzipped it, thumbed through three different sections, then pulled out six, hundred-dollar bills and tossed them on my desk.
“Here you go. Now catch the bastard for me.”
I kept Randy there until I got her cell phone number, her husband’s name, their address, the address of his office, his auto make, model and license number and the name and address of the woman whose house her husband, Bill, had listed. Randy asked if I didn’t want a picture of her husband, and after digging in her purse again, tossed one on my desk.
When she walked out of my office, her ass cheeks had that great little up and down rock that really grabs my attention. I was thinking it would probably be great to see those cheeks naked, even better to give them a little squeeze or three.
I could have driven to her husband’s office that afternoon. It was five and if he was boinking his secretary, they both might still be there, but I thought better of it. I like my scotch, but I have a rule about drinking and driving. I do one or the other, but not both on the same day. It’s one of a few rules I have to keep myself on the mostly straight and usually narrow path. I also don’t fuck married women, though I’ve had the opportunity, and if I come across something that’s truly illegal, I always call the local police station and give them all my information. Those rules keep me on good terms with the cops and keep me from getting shot by a husband who’s short on understanding and long on protecting his ego.
Instead, I tossed a frozen dinner in my microwave and poured myself another two fingers of scotch. After dinner and a movie on TV, I hit the sack.
I did take that drive the next morning about ten. I thought Randy’s financial situation was a lot more than just OK. Most houses in the affordable range in town don’t have a tall, wrought iron fence all around them and they don’t have a four-car garage and sit on a five acre manicured lawn.
The other woman’s house was a nice house, but not great. I didn’t see any cars in the drive so I guessed either Bill was at his office or this wasn’t his day to keep Marjorie Downs filled in, so to speak.
His car was parked in the lot at his office. Randy didn’t know what kind of car the secretary drove, so I parked across the street at a strip mall and wrote down the make, model, and license number of every other car in the lot. I’d come back a little before five to see who got into what car. There would probably be more than one woman because selling real estate seems to be a popular career for women, but if one stayed past closing time and was a blonde, it was probably the secretary. I’d follow her home so I knew her address too.
I did a little more driving before going back to my office. I’d asked Randy if there were any other places Bill might go from work. She gave me two. One was a sporting goods store. Randy said Bill liked fishing and sometimes stopped off there to buy stuff for a weekend fishing trip. The other was a titty bar on eleventh. She said if Bill was selling industrial properties, he sometimes took potential buyers there for drinks and a little fun so they’d be more willing to work with him instead of another agency.
I knew of the titty bar from another investigation. It was an OK place. By that I mean they had security in place and as far as I knew there had never been any fights or any girls who got mauled during a lap dance. It was also advertised as the place to go if you wanted to see big tits and when I went in I found out that was true.
The girls weren’t particularly pretty, but they’d wobble their big knockers in your face once you paid them for a lap dance. I didn’t ask for a lap dance. I was watching a guy to see if he did, and besides, if some broad is gonna push her big tits in my face, I want to give them a squeeze or two. That would have gotten me thrown out on my ass. Most of the tits looked like they’d been helped along with silicone anyway. I like my tits soft, not hard.
I figured since “big tits” was Bill’s phone password, he probably wasn’t taking clients there. He was going there to have some fun when he wasn’t poking his cock in Marjorie or his secretary.
I needed to know where else he might go after work because I intended to follow him to see if he stopped off at either Marjorie’s or the secretary’s house. You can’t follow another car very closely or the driver will notice that you’re making every turn he does. You have to stay back and hidden in traffic. Once I knew where he might be going, all I had to do was stay close enough I could see if he changed direction. Even if I lost him, I could just drive to his probable destination and confirm he was there. If he wasn’t, I’d just check the others.
That evening at about four thirty, I pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall far enough down that my car was mostly hidden by a couple others. It’s a pretty nondescript car anyway, an older model sedan with faded paint and a few dents, so most people wouldn’t recognize it if they saw it more than once, but you can’t be too careful. I watched the door of the building, and when each person came out, I used my binoculars to track them to their car.
The first person out was a man who got into a shiny black Mercedes sedan. As he was pulling out of the lot, a group of four came out, two women and two men. They were talking to each other and smiling, so it didn’t look like anything was going on between Bill and the women. I wrote a description beside each woman’s license number just in case Bill had more than two fish on his line – 456L013, tall brunette, little tits, boy’s ass, 847D201, short, black hair, fat ass, big droopy tits.
Nothing happened for the next half hour and by then I had to take a leak. That always happens when I’m watching somebody and it always happens at the wrong time. You finally give up and go somewhere to take a leak and when you get back, your target is gone. I carry a gallon jug in the back seat for such occasions, but there in a public parking lot in broad daylight, I couldn’t use it. Thankfully, I usually get the first warning when there’s still some capacity left. I used that extra capacity that afternoon.
The door opened and a little blonde walked out followed by Bill. He walked her to a Toyota sedan, license number 455K213, and they stopped to talk.
I can’t read lips worth a shit, so I couldn’t tell what they were saying. I could tell a lot by their body language though. The little blonde kept touching Bill on the arm. Some women are just natural-born touchers, so that might not mean anything, but just before she got into her car, she stroked his chest. Most women wouldn’t do something like that unless they knew the guy really well.
Most guys wouldn’t do what Bill did either unless they wanted to get their ass in some really deep shit. He stroked her cheek once, and when she turned to get into her car, he squeezed her ass. The touch to her cheek would be enough to have a lot of women screaming sexual harassment. In today’s world, a pat on the ass is a guarantee of a charge of sexual assault if the woman wants to take it that far.
The blonde just turned, grinned, and then pulled his hand off her hip. It looked to me like she enjoyed it. I checked off box number two in my notes - sex with the secretary. I couldn’t prove anything yet, but it looked like they were doing the dirty deed when they got the chance.
I’d have known Bill’s car even if it hadn’t been the last one in the lot because of his license number. He had one of those dumb-ass vanity plates and somebody at the license department was asleep at the switch when they issued it. It read, “8IN4TNA”.
Bill got into the black Acura, backed out of the parking space, and barked the tires when he pulled out onto the street. I added a third box to my checklist and then checked it – egotistical asshole.
He was headed north on Pleasant, and that was in the direction of Marjorie’s house. I let him get a block ahead before pulling out onto Pleasant. At each stop light, I watched to see if he changed direction, but he never did. When I drove past Marjorie’s house, the Acura was parked in her drive. Check box number one – sex with Marjorie.
It wasn’t any use hanging around. All I’d get would be a picture of him coming out of the house. Not only would that evidence be explained away by any reasonably competent attorney, most clients wouldn’t believe it proved anything either. I figure Randy might be more believing, but she wanted something that would hold up in court. I drove home for another frozen dinner washed down with scotch and then had a double scotch for dessert.
The next afternoon at about four thirty again, I was parked in a different spot at the strip mall across from Bill’s office building. This time, I’d brought along an oldie but a goodie – a parabolic microphone with a cassette recorder. Yes, you can still buy brand new cassette tapes.
Before the days of “bugs” and intercepting cell phone calls, both of which require getting into someplace or getting hold of a target’s cell phone, we PI’s used parabolic microphones to listen in on conversations. Now, anything I recorded wouldn’t be legally admissible in court. You have to have at least one party’s consent for that to happen. I wasn’t after that. I just wanted to see what Bill and the secretary talked about if they stopped to talk again.
Just like the afternoon before, Bill and the secretary were the last two to leave the building, and just like the afternoon before, they stopped at the secretary’s car to talk. I’d chosen a parking spot that had my passenger window facing Bill’s office building so all I had to do was roll down that widow and point the parabolic dish at Bill and his secretary. What I heard was interesting to say the least.
Bill – “Are we still on for Saturday?”
Secretary – “Yes, if you can still make it.”
Bill – “Great. I’ll have the blanket on the beach and wine in the cooler. Is one-thirty still OK?”
Secretary – “I’ll be there.”
Bill – “You’ll wear that little suit I like won’t you? I love seeing you on the beach in that.”
Secretary – “I don’t know. The last time I did, I got sunburned.”
Bill – laughing, “I’ll keep you rubbed down with suntan lotion.”
Secretary – giggling, “The last time you did that, you got carried away.”
Bill – “Well, what did you expect?”
Secretary – “I expected a little foreplay first.”
Bill – “OK, if the lady wants foreplay, she’ll get foreplay. We’ll have lots of time anyway. The bitch is going to see her mother on Saturday.”
Secretary – “I’ll be glad when this is all over and we don’t have to hide anymore. The beach is OK, but in your office…I’m so scared somebody will see us. How much longer will it take?”
Bill – “Well, you know how lawyers are. They have to dot every ‘I’ and cross every ‘T’ three times. They tell me about another month and they’ll be ready.”
Secretary – “God, I hope so. We’ve already waited six months.”
There was some more conversation about people in the office, but I had enough to make a start. I rolled up the window and drove home, then called Randy’s cell phone. When she answered, I asked if she was in a place where we could talk. She said she was, so I asked her if Bill had told her about going someplace on Saturday.
“Yeah, he said he’s going fishing, but I’d bet he’s going to be fucking his secretary instead.”
“Where would he go to fish?”
“We own some property on the lake, well not really on the lake. It’s back up a creek that feeds into the lake. Bill wanted it because he said fish like to stay in places like that. That’s where he always goes.”
“What’s around it?”
“Not much of anything except farms on both sides. We had to put up a fence to keep one of the farmer’s cows out.”
“Is there a cabin?”
“No. The only thing there is a fireplace and a beach Bill made by having sand hauled in. He never stays out there overnight so he said we didn’t need a cabin.”
“How would I get there?”
“Just take 46 west out of town and turn onto County 4. It’s a drive with a gate about eight miles further. Why?”
“Just checking on something. I’ll let you know if it turns out to be anything. Are you going anywhere on Saturday, just in case I need to get in contact with you?”
“Yes, I’m going to see my mother.”
“Will your cell phone work there?”
“What do you mean? Of course it‘ll fucking work.”
“OK, like I said, I’ll be in touch if this turns out to be anything.”
Her voice got that harsh sound then.
“I suppose you’ll want to be paid for the three days between now and Saturday too.”
I did expect that since I’d already told her my fee schedule, but if I didn’t find out anything, it was going to be difficult to convince her she should pay. I was going to keep following Bill every night, but I still had the subpoenas and summons to serve, so they’d pay for my time even if she didn’t.
“Mrs. Lake, tell you what. If I don’t find anything, I won’t charge you. If I do, you pay. Fair enough?”
“Do I get to decide if you found anything?”
“Yes, you get to decide, but I won’t give you anything less than positive proof.”
“Fair enough then.”
I parked at the same strip mall every afternoon for the next three days and listened in on Bill and the secretary talking, but heard nothing really new. She promised to wear his favorite suit and he promised to keep her oiled up. If what I thought was going to happen did happen, he was going to oil up more than just her outside.
I did follow her home one afternoon and it was easy to see why Bill didn’t just go to her house like he did Marjorie’s. Bill was an asshole, but he wasn’t dumb. She lived in an apartment and there were security cameras in the parking lot and on all four corners of the building. Any divorce attorney worth a shit would check the blonde’s apartment complex for security cameras and subopena all the recordings as evidence.
Friday morning, I drove over to Bill’s office to make sure he was there and then drove out of town on 46. When I got to County 4, I turned off and followed it until I came to a gate. I looked at the map on my cell phone and smiled.
The place was off the road quite a way upstream on a creek like Randy said, but it looked like at least the beach would be visible from the lake. I drove back to the closest marina and rented a small boat for the day.
When I motored up the creek to the place, I knew I had Bill if he did what I thought he was going to do. The beach was just like Randy said, sand dumped on top of the clay bank and it was quite a way up the little creek that fed into the lake. I motored around the entrance to the creek and found a place where I could see the beach but still be far enough out in the lake to not look like I was watching. The telephoto lens on my Nikon would get me close enough to grab pictures of anything going on.
If he’d been smarter, Bill would have built a cabin so he’d have someplace to take the secretary. The reason is because of the law concerning photographing people. The key phrase is “a reasonable expectation of privacy”.
If you’re inside, even in a tent or your car, you have a reasonable expectation of privacy and any pictures I might get wouldn’t be admissible as evidence. If you’re out in plain view of anyone, even if you’re on private property and that view is a ways off, you don’t have that expectation and I can take as many pictures of you as I want. I can’t trespass on that private property to get them, but I’d be on public property on the lake.
On Saturday about noon, I rented a boat again and motored over to a spot outside the creek where I could use my binoculars to see most of the beach through the trees but not in the spot I’d picked the day before. I needed Bill and the secretary to get comfortable before I anchored where they might see me and started taking pictures.
About twenty after, Bill drove up and parked on the grass beside the rock lane that led back to County 4. He carried a big blanket down to the beach and spread it out, then went back to his car and carried a cooler and a couple of towels to the blanket.
About five minutes later, the secretary drove in and parked beside Bill’s car. When she got out and took off one of those beach sarong things, I could see why Bill wanted her to wear his favorite suit. It was a white bikini that almost wasn’t there. Her tits weren’t all that big but since she was a pretty small woman, they looked big on her and the bikini top didn’t cover much besides her nipples. She had side tit, bottom tit and a whole bunch of top tit and cleavage. My binoculars let me get a good look at the bikini bottom and the camel toe she was sporting too. She grinned as she walked up, and then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Bill.
I waited while they sat down and Bill poured them both a glass of wine. They talked for a few minutes before Bill started rubbing sun tan lotion all over the secretary. When he took off her bra, I used the oars on the boat to move to my spot and then dropped the anchor. I hung a fishing rod over the side but there was no line in the water.
If they looked up they could see me, but as far away as I was, all they’d see at that distance was a man in a boat who was fishing just like at least a dozen others around the lake. I didn’t have that problem. The six hundred millimeter lens on the Nikon is the same type of lens wildlife photographers use so they won’t scare the animals and through the viewfinder of the Nikon, Bill and the blonde looked only a few feet away. That big lens cost me a ton of money, but the first case I used it on paid for it and then some.
It captures really good detail at up to about six blocks and on that case I was only two blocks away on a hill above the Andrews’ back yard. Her husband suspected she was up to something. He was going to be away on business for a week and asked if I’d watch their house to see if anything went on. Well, like he thought, something was going on. He just didn’t know how much until I showed him the pictures. Apparently Mrs. Andrews liked men other than her husband, and more than one at a time to be exact.
What went on was three guys fucking Mrs. Andrews everywhere she could fit a cock. Usually it was one fucking her while she sucked on or jacked the other two cocks, but I did get a dozen shots of her riding one guy with another fucking her in the ass and the third with his cock in her mouth. Mr. Andrews was grateful, grateful enough his check let me pay for the lens and have enough left over for about a month's worth of scotch, cigarettes, and a couple week’s worth of frozen dinners.
Anyway, that lens did another great job with Bill and his secretary. I got several pictures of Bill squeezing the secretary’s tits as he spread lotion on her. I didn’t expect to see the little rose tattoo just above her right nipple, but it was there and would be more proof that it was her and not some other blonde.
Things got really interesting when Bill started rubbing lotion on the secretary’s belly. He kept sliding his hand under the bikini bottom and down between her legs. It didn’t take long before the secretary stretched out on her back and rolled the bottom down and off her feet.
I always thought suntan lotion tasted like shit, but evidently Bill didn’t. The secretary had no sooner spread her legs than he was on his belly with his face pushed into her shaved pussy. I got some good shots of that too, and a couple more when he worked his hands up her sides and started pulling her nipples.
She didn’t last much longer. Bill was munching away and rolling her nipples when the secretary opened her mouth and lifted up her hips. My Nikon caught that as well.
After staying arched up like that for a while, she fell back down and pushed Bill’s head away. He grinned, stood up and stripped off his shorts, then knelt down between her spread thighs. His cock bobbed in the air as moved closer on his knees and I saw her mouth open again when his cock went home.
I kept taking pictures every few seconds until the secretary arched up again. Bill started pumping away like crazy, and rammed his cock in her hard several times before she eased back down on the deck. I could tell he was panting just as hard as she was. He finally pulled out, and I got a couple shots of his wet cock before he put his shorts back on.
I already had enough to make Randy’s case about the secretary, but I went back to my first spot just to see what was going to happen next.
The secretary stuck one of the towels in her crotch and then laid on her stomach while Bill oiled her up some more. He seemed to like oiling her ass cheeks the best. After about ten minutes, he’d pulled the towel away and all he was oiling up was her pussy. I know that because she spread her legs so he could reach it easier. It wasn’t long before he lifted her up on her knees, opened the fly on his shorts, and shoved his cock in her again.
I didn’t stay for the finale. I had enough already and besides, I was starting to get pissed at Bill. I mean, it seemed like the only way I was gonna get myself fucked was to pay for it and I’m not about to do that. For about the street price of a handjob in my car I can get a bottle of really good scotch and the scotch will last longer. Bill had just fucked his little blonde twice and he didn’t have to pay anything, well not yet anyway. I figured he was going to pay dearly once Randy saw the pictures.
I turned in the boat and then drove back to my office. After confirming the pictures showed their faces and the three I took of their cars would verify it was Bill and his secretary, I called Randy.
“Mrs. Lake, I think I have what you need.”
“You saw them fucking?”
“Better than that. I have pictures. When can you come to see them?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
It was actually two hours and fifteen minutes, and Randy apologized.
“Some goddamned fucking idiot decided to cut over two lanes on the interstate and caused a wreck. I sat there in fucking traffic for almost an hour before they got it cleared, and by that time I had to pee so I had to stop at a truck stop. Let’s see what you have.”
I’d transferred the pictures to my laptop so I started paging through them. When I got to the pictures of the secretary without her bikini bra, Randy laughed.
“Her boobs look hard as rocks. I bet she had a boob job. That’s probably why Bill likes her. He likes big boobs. Mine used to be sit high like hers, but then they got bigger and started to sag.”
Randy frowned when she saw the picture of the secretary just before Bill went down on her.
“I’ll be damned. She’s shaved her coochy. I don’t know why any woman does that. She looks like a little girl, not a woman. Maybe Bill likes that, but I don’t. I keep mine trimmed, but I’m never gonna shave there again. Had to do that when I was stripping, and it itches like hell when it starts growing out again.”
The rest of the viewing went about the same way. Randy kept getting madder and madder, and by my rough count called Bill a “fucking bastard” six times, a “goddamned fucking asshole” at least three, and twice said she’d like to cut off his fucking dick and ram it up his fucking ass. I figured Bill was going to regret even having a secretary before Randy was through with him.
When I’d clicked through all the pictures, Randy lit a cigarette, blew a stream of smoke in my face, and said, “I guess you do deserve to get paid for this. Now, what about that woman he’s selling a house for?”
“Well, you really don’t need anything else. With what you now have, his lawyer won’t want to risk having a court decide the settlement. He’ll want to negotiate and if your lawyer is worth a damn, you’ll probably get better than half of the assets.
She puffed the cigarette and smoke flowed out as she spoke.
“My lawyer said the more I have the easier it’ll be to get a good settlement. I don’t want half. I want it all, everything the fucking bastard has and everything he’s going to have for a long time.”
“I’ll have to charge you for my time.”
Randy stubbed out her cigarette in my ashtray.
“I don’t give a fuck. Just catch him with her.”
With that, she stood up and left my office, and I was treated to the same up and down motion of her ass. It’s a fucking crime that every woman I meet with an ass like Randy’s is a married client. Just once, you’d think I’d get a single one who’s horny.
It wasn’t going to be easy to get pictures of Bill and Marjorie. I doubted he’d take Marjorie to the lake because her house was the ideal place to have his fun. It was private and since she lived alone, they wouldn’t risk being interrupted by anyone. I did have an idea though, and it didn’t require pictures. It only required Marjorie’s cooperation.
I followed Bill from his office on Monday and he drove to Marjorie’s house. This time, I parked down the block a ways and waited. Two hours later, he came out the door. He was dressed the same as when he went in, but when Marjorie stepped into her doorway and waved good-bye all she had on was a light robe. There wasn’t much doubt he’d been dipping his wick in her. As part of my plan, I snapped a couple of pictures of both Bill and Marjorie.
The next morning, I printed some of my pictures of Bill and his secretary at the lake along with the pictures of Bill coming out of Marjorie’s house and her standing in the doorway in her robe. Then I typed a short letter.
I’m a private investigator working on a case involving a Mr. Bill Lake. As you seem to be involved with him, I need to speak with you when you have the time. I don’t want to embarrass you by going to your house, so please call me at the number on my enclosed business card.
After stuffing the pictures, letter, and a business card into a manila envelop, I made a trip to the post office and sent the envelope to Marjorie via certified mail. I used certified mail because most people will just toss an envelope from someone or some company they don’t know, but they’ll always open certified mail. With certified mail, I’d also have proof it was delivered because she’d have to sign for it. That would eliminate the old “I don’t remember ever getting anything like that” defense.
What I was betting on was that most women don’t like hearing the man who’s fucking them is also fucking somebody else. At best, she’d be like Randy, pissed and wanting to hang Bill by his balls. At worst, I could probably make her believe it would be better for her to volunteer her testimony instead of being dragged into the divorce hearing. Either way, Randy’s lawyer would have proof Bill was fucking Marjorie because she’d have to admit it.
My envelope was delivered to Marjorie the next day, and that afternoon I got a phone call.
“Is this the private investigator who sent me the pictures?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“What’s all this about? If this is to try to get money from me, you’re wasting your time. I don’t have any.”
“No, it’s just a divorce investigation. His wife thought he was messing around and asked me to find out. Turns out he is.”
Her voice went up several pitches.
“His wife? Bill told me he was divorced.”
“No, he’s very married, at least for the time being. I’m sure his wife will divorce him after seeing the pictures I took of him and his secretary. Uh…she thinks something is going on between you and Bill as well. The pictures I took outside your house yesterday make me think that’s true. You’ll probably have to testify at the divorce hearing as to if you and he are uh…intimate.”
I heard sniffing.
“He…he said we could get married as soon as he put his son through college.”
It’s hard to be sympathetic with people so stupid they believe what anyone tells them. I did try, but I doubt I did a very good job.
“I heard him basically make the same promise to the woman in the pictures, so don’t feel bad. He and his wife don’t have any kids, by the way.”
“So he’s just saying that so I’ll have sex with him?”
“That’s what it looks like to me. I’ve seen it before.”
“I’m going to call him and tell him I never want to see him again. That’ll teach him.”
It was time to put the rest of my plan into action.
“I don’t think you should do that. From what I’ve learned about him, that wouldn’t bother him a bit. He’s the kind of guy who’ll just find another woman and feed her the same line. Just make some excuse about not feeling well or something until the hearing so you don’t have to meet with him. When you testify, you’ll be teaching him a lesson he won’t forget.”
“What will they make me say?”
“Well, Mrs. Lake’s attorney will just ask if you were having sex with Bill and what he told you to get you to do that. His attorney will try to make you say it was all your doing and you seduced Bill. Given that Bill’s doing the same thing to another woman, I imagine the judge will believe you instead of Bill’s lawyer. Would you be willing to testify? You should know that Mrs. Lake’s attorney will summon you to the hearing anyway, so you might as well agree. At least that way you can keep some of your pride.”
“Well, I don’t have much pride left after this. Who do I have to tell I’ll testify?”
“I’ll find out who Mrs. Lake’s attorney is and then give you a call. He’ll want to talk with you before the hearing so you’ll know what’s going to happen.”
That afternoon, I gave Marjorie the name and phone number of Randy’s attorney. I knew the guy from a couple of past cases. He’d go easy on Marjorie since she volunteered her testimony and it was to his benefit, but he’d be ruthless with Bill. He’d also be ruthless in negotiating the terms of the settlement. Since he’d pocket a significant percentage of whatever that happened to be, he had a lot of incentive to push Bill hard.
It was a couple months after that I’d just gotten back home after serving a summons to a woman who must have weighed at least three hundred even though she was only about five feet tall. As sometimes happens, she was pissed at getting the summons and since I was the closest thing around, she was pissed at me too.
I don’t know what she had in her shopping bag, but I’m pretty sure there was a canned ham in there somewhere. I saw stars when that shopping bag hit me in the head, but they sorta disappeared when she kicked me in the balls before calling me an asshole and then stomping off. I was sitting in my office chair sipping a scotch and waiting for the last of the ache to stop when Randy walked into my office.
She sat down, searched through her purse for a cigarette and lighter, then lit the cigarette and let the smoke flow out through her smile.
“I’m now divorced and I’m pretty well off, thanks to you. One thing though - Marjorie. You really sent her pictures of Bill and his secretary fucking?”
“Yeah. It worked too.”
“Oh hell yes it worked. My lawyer had her write a statement about everything she and Bill had been doing and what he’d told her and then sign it. When he showed the statement and your pictures to Bill’s lawyer, he asked what I wanted as a settlement. It wasn’t, “I’ll see you in court” or “we’ll let the judge decide” or anything like that. It was just what did I want.
My lawyer said I wanted everything including the real estate business. Bill balked at that, so my lawyer said he’d just put Marjorie and Sue, that’s the secretary’s name I found out, he’d put them on the witness stand and have them tell everything. He also said he’d make sure the story got in the newspaper, and if Bill could even sell a doghouse after that it would be a miracle.
“Bill’s lawyer asked if they could be alone then, so we went out to the lobby. About half an hour later, his lawyer motioned us back into his office. Bill had agreed to let me have the business and everything else if I let him keep his car, a checking account I didn’t know he had, and the lake property. I didn’t need another car and I didn’t like his anyway, and as for the lake property, I couldn’t go there again knowing what he’d been doing there. I guess it was just to get rid of him I let him keep the checking account. It was only about forty thousand anyway.
“The bastard had the balls to ask me if he could keep working there. When I laughed at him, he told me if he left, he’d take all his contacts with him, but I didn’t care. The other agents did most of the selling anyway. Bill didn’t have time because he was fucking around. I fired him and Sue the day the divorce was final.
“That was two weeks ago. I think he tried to move in with Sue and she might have let him if it hadn’t been for Marjorie. After she heard about that, she was as mad at Bill as I was. The last I heard he was living in a cheap apartment and looking for a job. I hope the fucking bastard starves to death.”
Randy flicked the ash off her cigarette, took a drag, and then blew smoke at the ceiling.
“You know, you could have been a little nicer to Marjorie though. Only a real asshole would tell a woman the man she loves is fucking another woman. That poor girl feels like she’s not worth anything now.”
“Thanks for noticing. It helps to be an asshole to get the job done.”
“As weird as it sounds, I feel sorry for her because that’s how I used to feel. She’s just a nice woman who Bill talked into fucking him.”
“You like Marjorie?”
“Yeah. We have coffee about three times a week now.”
“Well, I’m glad everything worked out for you.”
Randy frowned then.
“Well, everything didn’t work out exactly like I wanted.”
“Oh, what didn’t.”
“While Bill was fucking Sue and Marjorie, he wasn’t fucking me, and as much as I hate him, I miss that. He had a really nice dick. I’ve been thinking about how to find a guy. I don’t mean get married again or even live with a guy. I’ll never trust another man, not after Bill.”
Randy grinned, stubbed out her cigarette and then pulled her T-shirt over her head. I couldn’t tell if her big tits were saggy or not, but her bra sure had them standing proud.
“I just need a man I know won’t try to hide who he really is…like you. You’re an asshole, but you admit it. I think you’re even proud of it. Well, I’m a bitch, I know it and I’m proud of that too, so how about it?”
She slipped her bra straps off her shoulders and then turned the band around and unhooked the four hooks. She was right about her tits. They were big enough they did sag a little. She scratched under the right one.
“Goddamned bras never fit right no matter how much I pay for ‘em. My right boob is bigger so it gets squished and the left one doesn’t get supported enough.”
One of my younger fellow PI’s would probably have said something to the effect that fucking Randy wouldn't be professional, but then, they probably don’t go for years without getting laid, and they probably never met a woman like Randy.
I still hadn’t said anything when Randy stood up, kicked off her high heels, unzipped her jeans and then rocked her hips to get them off her ass. When they were on the floor, she looked at me and grinned.
“Well, are you gonna sit there with that dumb shit look on your face or are you gonna fuck me like I want.”
For you young guys who might be reading this, don’t ever let anybody tell you an older woman isn’t as good in the sack as a young woman. Yeah, Randy’s big tits did sag a little and her ass wasn’t tight at all, but goddamn, did she ever know how to fuck.
My ex used to just lay there. Randy…well, she couldn’t wait long enough to get back into my bedroom. She straddled me in my office chair while she unbuttoned my shirt and then hopped up on my desk, put her feet on the arms of my chair, and spread her legs.
“You take my panties off. Rip ‘em off if you want. I like a man to take charge like that.”
I didn’t rip them off because I’m not really into that sort of thing, but I did roll them down her ass and then off her feet. When I looked back up, she was stroking her red bush. She spread her fingers then, and I was looking a pair of slender and very wet inner lips.
“I’m so fucking horny I’m already wet. Want a taste?”
That was different than my ex too. She always came that way, but she thought it was dirty.
“You really like that do you?”
“Oh yeah. I like cumming that way. You do that to me, it’ll make me hotter and I’ll have to feel your dick in me so I can cum again.”
Well, like I said before, it had been a long time, but as soon as my nose touched those red curls and my tongue sipped between Randy’s long slender lips, it all came back to me. She tasted a little tart and a lot hot, aroused woman, and she moaned every time my tongue slipped up and over her clit. That little button didn’t seem very big at first, but by the time she started humping my face, it was sticking out enough I could suck on it.
When I did that, Randy gasped.
“Oh shit, I’m gonna cum. Don’t fucking stop.”
I didn’t and she did, all over my desk and my face, and she kept cumming for almost half a minute before she squeezed my head between her thighs and panted, “Oh fuck, I really needed that. Now fuck me.”
I finally convinced her that my bed would be better than my desk, but not before she’d unbuckled my belt and pulled my jeans and underwear down to my ankles. She started to jack my stiff cock but I stopped her and then shuffled her back to my bedroom and pushed her down on the bed. As soon as I got in beside her, she started jacking my cock again. Then she grinned.
“You like your dick sucked? I like sucking a hard dick and yours looks really hard.”
Well, it’s not my favorite thing in the world, but I wasn’t about to turn Randy down. As it was, she didn’t wait for me to answer. She just scooted down, opened her mouth, and wrapped her lips around my cock head. That was another thing my ex thought was dirty. Randy seemed to be enjoying herself and so was I, so I let her do what she wanted. It seemed only right to play with her big, stiff nipples while she sucked my cock. The little moans she started making told me she liked that too.
It was after I pinched her stiff, right nipple and then pulled, she gasped, “Oh fuck, you got me going again”, and climbed up on top of me.
There’s something really erotic about seeing my cock disappear inside a hairy pussy. I don’t know what the hell it is, but it is. It felt great too. Once she was sitting on my thighs, Randy clenched her muscles and made me lurch a little. She grinned.
“I’m gonna fuck your dick like you’ve never been fucked before.”
It was hard to remember since it had been so long and my ex had only ridden me a couple times, but I decided Randy was right. She had this way of raising up until my cock head got caught in a tight spot. Then she’d close her eyes and make little short strokes for a while before moaning and then sinking back down. When her pussy lips flattened out against the base of my cock, my cock head bumped into something inside her that felt very snug and very wet.
Now, I couldn’t ignore the pair of big tits swinging over my face. I didn’t want to either. I love a stiff nipple in my mouth and another in my fingers. Judging by how Randy slammed her pussy down over my cock, she loved both too. She was grinding her pussy into my lap when I gently bit her nipple, and that made her gasp.
“Oh God, I’ll kill you if you stop doing that.”
If any other woman had told me that, I’d have chuckled. With Randy, I wasn’t sure so I bit down again a little harder when she was in mid stroke. Randy shrieked and slammed down over my cock again.
I’m not really sure when she actually came. I know she got wetter and wetter and started stroking my cock faster and faster, and after a few of those deep, quick strokes, she threw her head back and started to shake. I changed nipples and gave one a firm nip and the other a pinch and a pull. Randy shrieked again and started grinding her clit on the base of my cock. I felt a gush of something leak out around my cock and down onto my balls.
She murmured, “Fuck me, fuck me and cum in me”, and then gasped. I think she started cumming then, but I was beyond anything except pumping my cum inside her. Once I’d done my four spurts, she kept riding me for a while. Then she giggled.
“Goddamn, I haven’t cum that hard in years. Fuck me again so I can see if it’s the same.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, guys need a little recovery time.”
Randy rolled off me and spread her legs.
“Then finger me until you get it up again.”
Well, that was one wild night. She couldn’t seem to get enough even if it was just my finger rubbing her swollen clit while I sucked and nibbled her nipples. I don’t know how many times she came. After a while it didn’t seem like she actually stopped cumming. She’d just cry out and lift her hips up into my fingers or my cock, then sigh and say, “do me again”.
It was the same the next morning. I woke up with Randy jacking my cock. I only made it once that morning, and that was just a dribble, but that didn’t seem to bother Randy. I fingered her to cumming twice after that. After the second time, she flopped back on the bed, squeezed her big tits and moaned, “I need to be fucked again, but I’m not sure I can move now.”
“That’s good, because I won’t be worth a damn until sometime tomorrow, maybe even the next day.”
Randy rubbed my soft cock a little and frowned when it didn’t do anything except lay there.
“I’ll just have to come back then.”
She did, two days later. She wasn’t quite as horny though. After I licked her clit until it swelled up and then sucked it until she came, she stretched and said, “Damn, I love feeling like this, but I need to be fucked now.”
Once I did and once she’d done that thing with her hips when she came, she sighed.
“I don’t care what Marjorie says, there’s nothing that feels as good as a real dick in me. I cum harder that way than I ever do with her."
“You and Marjorie…you’re…?”
Randy raised up on one elbow and her big tits rolled down toward the bed.
“Well, we were talking one day. Marjorie said she didn’t think she’d ever trust a man again. I said I felt the same way. She said she didn’t miss Bill, but she did miss the sex. No, I didn’t tell her about us. She might want to join in and I want your dick all to myself. I just said there were other ways to have sex.
“I still can’t believe she was so naive, but she was. I had to tell her that girls can have sex too. She seemed shocked at first, but then I sorta seduced her. She came really fast and really hard that first time. I did too after I showed her what to do. Yesterday she came over for coffee and said she’d been reading. I have to ask her for that book when she’s done. She’s not as good as being fucked, but she’s still pretty damned good.”
Well, it was some comfort to know I’m better than Marjorie, and I’m glad Randy didn’t tell Marjorie about me. Randy’s a handful when she’s horny…well, considering how big her tits are, make that a double handful. I don’t know if I could take two horny women at the same time.
From what I saw of Marjorie that day when she stood in her door wearing just a robe, her tits are a little bigger than Randy’s but her ass isn’t quite as wide. It would be fun to see who does what. I figure since Randy’s a pretty take-charge gal, she’d want to ride my cock. Marjorie, well I don’t know Marjorie at all except for what Randy told me. I figure Marjorie is more of the “do what you want” type, but since Bill seemed to like fucking her, I could be wrong. Maybe I’ll suggest we all get together the next time Randy comes over so I can find out.
Nah, that wouldn’t work. They’d end up being jealous of each other and I’d end up watching porn on my computer and jacking off again. I’ve sort of gotten used to Randy’s visits. It’s like being married without all the fucking bullshit that goes on when you’re not actually fucking. Randy comes over, I fuck her until I can’t get it up any more, finger her until she comes a couple more times, and then she goes home. I’m left alone with my scotch and my cigarettes and my frozen dinners. It’s the best of both worlds.
Well, it’s only about three-thirty in the afternoon, but I’ve earned a drink or three. This morning, I served two subpoenas and one summons. The subpoenas were easy because the people were expecting them. The summons, not quite as easy. I’d spent three days tracking down Janice Holmstead, and this morning I finally caught her as she was washing her car at one of those wash it yourself places.
It wasn’t without some benefits. Janice had sprayed down her car and was using a big sponge to wash it when I walked up. She didn’t have big tits, but she also wasn’t wearing a bra and she’d gotten the front part of her T-shirt wet. Her long, stiff nipples stuck out like rocks.
She wasn’t particularly happy about the summons, but I’d expected that. I didn’t expect her to turn the sprayer on me and soak me from head to foot. I had to come back home, shower, and then change clothes before I could go down to Phil’s for a new bottle of Glenfiddich. I didn’t see that asshole kid again, but I guess you can’t have everything you wish for.
I think I’ll pour me a couple fingers, take a sip and then relax with a cigarette or two. After that, I’ll stick a frozen dinner in the microwave and then have dinner. I’ll probably take a nap as well. Randy called me while I was getting dressed and asked if my dick could get hard yet. I’m going to need all the rest I can get.