The Slut in Room 101

I thought I might be sick at my stomach.

As I left to head home, I could only pray that Billy would keep quiet, but I had my doubts that he could do that for very long. I was sure that if the cops ever took him in for questioning, we were doomed. Why in the hell did I have to try to get payback on that rat-bastard doctor? Why hadn't I just filed for divorce from Doris and let it go?

Doris! Omigosh, I had been planning to confront her about her cheating tonight. Well, that was out the window now. I'd just have to go home and act fat, dumb and happy around her. What a pain that was going to be! I hoped I could pretend well enough to fool her.

When I got home it was worse than I expected. No sooner had I walked in the door than Doris came running up to me and proceeded to burst into tears. "What is it, honey?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Johnny," she sobbed, "it's so horrible! That nice Dr. Fisher, the one I call on all the time, he's been murdered! It's all over the news."

"I can't believe it," I said, trying to sound shocked and sympathetic. "What happened?"

"They found his body in a motel room," she wailed. "His throat had been cut!"

I know I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't help saying, "They found him in a motel room? Sounds like he must have been meeting someone for a little afternoon delight."

"You don't know that!" she snapped at me. "Anyway, you need to get your mind out of the gutter at a time like this."

"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to make light of such a terrible tragedy," I said contritely. It really galled me to have to speak nice about the bastard. I didn't want to see him murdered, but I wasn't exactly torn up about the fact. And it really poured salt on my wounds to know the true reason Doris was so upset.

The whole evening went on like that. Every time she came into the room Doris was all teary-eyed; when we watched the news she kept her face buried in her handkerchief. It was enough to make me sick, especially when the TV reporter began talking about what a terrible loss his death was to the community.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," I thought. "They should be talking about what a low-down cheating scum he was, not praising him to the skies. It just isn't fair!"

Doris went to bed without even eating dinner so I had to make myself a sandwich to avoid starvation. But the truth is I wasn't all that hungry myself. In addition to the strain of having to pretend to be a concerned husband around Doris, I was worried sick about what might happen next. Billy and me had tried to be careful, but what if we'd left some evidence behind? What would I say to the police if they came for me? Who would ever believe that we'd tied Fisher up but hadn't harmed him, except for that little tap on the jaw?

After a sleepless night I went to work the next day but there was no relief there. Doctor Fisher had bought cars from us before and his murder was the number one topic of conversation. Everyone had a theory about who had done it and why. I thought about trying to offer some alternate theory in hopes of throwing people off the track, but for the life of me I couldn't come up with anything. Finally I settled for keeping quiet and hoping the whole thing would blow over quickly.

When I met up with Billy at the bar that evening, it was obvious that he was eager to see me. "You'll never guess what I learned about the Doc's murder," he greeted me loudly as I walked to his table.

"Be quiet, Billy," I hissed at him. "I thought we weren't going to talk about that with anyone."

"Sure," he said, "but you've gotta hear this. My buddy at the station learned something the police haven't told anyone yet."

Despite my nervousness I couldn't help being curious. "Well, what is it?"

He leaned over the table toward me. "When the police found his body, the killer had carved the word 'SLUT' into his chest! They figure it was a revenge killing."

Wow, that was a shocker! I sat back and tried to consider the implications.

"That's not all," Billy said. "The cops are pretty sure the killer was a man. They don't think a woman woulda been strong enough to knock him out, strip him and wrestle him into a chair. They figure it woulda taken a pretty big guy to do all that."

At that last piece of news, my head started swimming. "Oh, Jeez, Billy, I'm in for it now. If they ever connect us with this, I'll probably wind up in the chair!"

"But you didn't do it," Billy protested.

"Yeah, but how am I gonna prove that? I had the motive, I fit the description and I sure had the opportunity. All they're missing is the murder weapon."

"I've been watching those true crime shows on TV," Billy said. "You probably threw the murder weapon away."

"Billy, you're not helping here. I didn't do it, remember?"

"Oh, right."

If I'd been apprehensive the night before, tonight was even worse. Hell, if I looked at all the evidence even I would think I was guilty. The only positive thing happening for me was that tomorrow was my off-day and I didn't have to go listen to all that endless speculation at the showroom about the murder. But that didn't help me sleep any easier.

The next day Doris left the house to go to the gym, probably to try to sweat away her sorrow through exercise. I decided to try to block out my worries for a while by doing some yard work. It was a pretty day and the lawn definitely needed mowing, so I stripped down to an old pair of shorts and set to work in the front yard.

While I was hacking away at my grass in ever-smaller rectangles, a car pulled up in front of our house and an attractive young woman got out. When she started walking in my direction, I quickly cut the engine on the mower. She seemed to be looking me over carefully as she approached.

"Is your wife home?" she asked.

"Damn, must be the Avon lady," I thought. "No, sorry," I said to her with a smile, "you just missed her. I'm her husband, Johnny. I'm the only one here."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a card. "I'm Detective Monica Ferguson. Would you have her call me when she gets back? I'd like to ask her a few questions about Doctor Morris Fisher."

A thrill of fear shot through me. "Why do you want to talk to her about him?" I asked a little too quickly.

The detective smiled as she reached out and patted my hand. "Don't be alarmed," she said. "We're just trying to talk to everyone who had contact with Dr. Fisher. His office staff told us that your wife is one of the drug company reps who called on him regularly."

"Oh, right," I said. "Shit," I thought, "that sounds just as stupid as when Billy says it."

While I was berating myself mentally, she kept looking at me appraisingly, and I wondered if she was flirting with me or evaluating my criminal potential. Finally she asked, "What about you? Did you know Dr. Fisher?"

"Sure, I knew him," I said, and then realized what I had said. "I mean, I knew of him through Doris, but I've never uh, actually been introduced to him."

She looked at me a moment longer and then said, "Okay, thanks for your cooperation. Don't forget to ask your wife to call me." Then, as she started to leave she paused and added, "See you around."

I stared at her as she walked away. "Why in the hell did I say I knew Fisher?" I asked myself. "I wonder if I sounded suspicious. And what did she mean by 'see you around?" Needless to say, any peace and tranquility I'd achieved working in the yard was long gone now.

That night the local evening news had an interview with the police chief about the Fisher murder. "We've uncovered important new evidence in the case and hope to make an arrest in the near future," he intoned pompously. My blood pressure attempted to climb Mount Everest.

I could hardly wait to get together with Billy and find out if his contact knew anything about this latest development. Even before we were seated at the bar table I began to pepper my friend with questions.

"The chief is bluffing," Billy said flatly. "My buddy says they got nothing new, they're just hoping to flush somebody out of cover."

"But the CSI guys have had time to go over that motel room with a fine-tooth comb. Maybe they turned up something."

"My friend says so many guests stayed in that room and it's been cleaned so many times that there was nothing they could use," Billy said.

Then his face got a concerned expression. "You don't look so good, Johnny. You gotta ease up a little - don't let this thing get to you."

"That's easy for you to say," I snapped at him, "you didn't have a police detective come to your house yesterday."

"Was it a woman named Monica?" he asked. When I nodded in surprise, he went on. "Yeah, the same one was at the hospital fishing around. She even talked to Phyllis. They've got nothing; they're just grasping at straws."

When I left the bar I kept thinking about what Billy had said. How could he be so cool when I was going crazy with worry? How could he be so sure that his buddy at the TV station really knew the whole story? Eventually I came to the conclusion that Billy's optimism was in opposite proportion to his IQ. And since I'd sneaked a peek at Billy's IQ score in his file before he flunked out of high school, that thought scared the hell out of me.

After another sleepless night and several handfuls of antacids, I knew I had to do something. There was no way I'd last until the police caught the killer, especially since the one they were most likely to catch was me. I figured my only hope to save my neck was to try to find the real killer by myself.

The only problem with that plan was that I didn't have the first idea about how to conduct a murder investigation. Sure it looked easy on television but how would I do it in real life? "Think, think!" I urged myself.

Okay, I had to assume that whoever killed the doc knew him. It seemed pretty unlikely that a total stranger would wander into a motel room and kill whoever he happened to find taped to a chair. And what about that "SLUT" gashed into Fisher's chest? If that was a random act, I'd eat my hat.

So the question was who would want to kill Doctor Fisher besides me? No, wait, I didn't want to kill the Doc, I just wanted to humiliate him. It was somebody else who wanted him dead in a very unpleasant manner, but who?

Since I didn't know Fisher, I'd have to talk to somebody who did to get the answer to that question. And the best source I could think of was his wife. Maybe she could suggest who might have had it in for her late husband. Okay, so now all I had to do was figure out a way to get her to talk to me, a complete stranger.

I'll admit it: what I did next was really stupid. But I was growing increasingly desperate with every passing minute and I couldn't think of anything else to try. So on my next day off I went to a store and bought myself a toy detective's badge painted gold. It would never stand up to close inspection; all I could hope to do was bluff my way through with it. Besides, I'd seen somebody do something like that in a movie that was "based on actual events," so maybe it would work for me too.

Accordingly, I put on a suit and tie and drove over to the late Dr. Fisher's house. It was every bit as impressive as you'd expect for a successful doctor.

I sat in the circular driveway for a minute trying to get up the courage to go try to see the doctor's wife. I knew the chances of her talking with me were slim. I knew the chances of my learning anything significant were even slimmer, if I did get to talk with her. But I also knew for sure that I didn't want to go to prison and become Bubba's boyfriend, so finally I walked up and rang her doorbell.

The woman who opened the door reminded me of cut flowers that had been in a vase too long. The beauty was still there, but I could see that it was fading fast. The other thing I could see was the highball glass she held in her hand. That wasn't helping her looks either.

I held up the badge that I clipped inside my wallet and said, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Fisher, I'm Detective . . ."

"Another one?" she interrupted me. "Well, I hope you're the good cop."

"Um, what?" I asked.

"Isn't that the way you people do this? The woman I talked to the other day was definitely the bad cop, so I hope you're the good cop."

"Um, well . . ." I stuttered.

"Never mind," she said, "come on in," and she motioned with her drink for me to enter.

"Want to join me in a little scotch and soda?" she asked as she led me into her den.

"No thanks," I said, "I'm on duty."

"Well, there's no sense in it going to waste," she replied and proceeded to mix herself another. Judging from the lurch in her walk, this wasn't her first refill of the day.

When she came back and sat down, I flipped open the little pad I'd bought to try to look official. I wished that it didn't have "Hello Kitty" on the cover. "First, Mrs. Fisher, let me extend my sympathies on the tragic loss of your husband . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, he's dead. Let's get on with it," she said impatiently.

I was so surprised by her attitude that I couldn't help myself. "If you don't mind my saying so, Mrs. Fisher, you don't seem to be mourning his passing very deeply," I ventured.

"Mourning? Hell, I'm celebrating," she slurred, taking another swig of her scotch. "My late husband was cheating on me, Detective. As far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved."

I wondered if she knew about Doris, but I decided it wouldn't be very smart to ask. Still I was curious about her attitude. "Well if he cheated on you, why didn't you just divorce him?" I asked.

"Couldn't afford to," she said blithely. "I signed a prenuptial agreement when we got married. If I divorced him I'd walk away with nothing more than what I brought into the marriage. No, the truth is, somebody offing the bastard was the best thing that could have happened to me."

I blinked in surprise. Wow, if ever anybody wanted to incriminate herself for murder, she sure just did! But if she had done away with her hubby, why would she say something like that, especially to a cop? Maybe she'd had more to drink than I'd thought, or maybe she was innocent and extremely naive.

But I didn't want to jump to conclusions so I decided to ask her about other suspects. "Mrs. Fisher, do you know of anyone who might have had a motive for killing your husband?" I inquired.

"Oh, sure," she said blithely, "several of them."

"Really?" I asked in surprise.

"Sure, it could have been any one of the husbands of the wives he screwed," she said nonchalantly. "My late husband just couldn't keep his pants zipped; over the years he cheated on me numerous times. It wouldn't surprise me if a jealous husband decided to get revenge." She gave a bitter little shake of her head. "My Morris was a real slut," she said.

I nearly gasped out loud when she said that. Her using the word "slut" didn't sound like a coincidence to me.

But although it was suspicious as hell, it still wasn't a confession. Besides, she'd just given me several other possible suspects to check out. This detective game was getting complicated.

"Do you know who his lovers were?" I asked somewhat nervously, wondering if she would name Doris.

"Not a clue," she said. "After the first time I caught him cheating, I quit caring."

Damn, there went that lead.

"But didn't you worry that he might fall in love with one of them and dump you?"

"Like I said, Morris just couldn't be faithful - to me or anyone else. But I always knew he'd stay with me because he liked the image he projected in the community of a happily married man."

I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her: what a lousy marriage! "What about disease? Weren't you worried about him infecting you or something?" I asked her.

She smirked at me. "He was a doctor. Even if he did get something he knew how to cure it. Besides, once I realized what was going on, I quit sleeping with him. I haven't been with a man in a long time."

She put her drink down and gave me a long, calculating look. "You know, you're a pretty nice looking guy. How'd you like to end a girl's long drought?"

With that she quickly slid off the couch onto her knees, scooted over in front of me and, to my astonishment, began fumbling with my zipper. "No, wait, Mrs. Fisher! I mean, I'd really like to, but I'm a happily married . . ." And then I stopped short. I wasn't a happily married man anymore; in fact I planned not to be married at all very soon. The idea of getting a little revenge on my wife and some post mortem payback on her husband seemed pretty damned appealing. And since I hadn't been laid in quite some time either, suddenly I was horny as hell. I quit resisting.

The instant she had my zipper down she reached in my fly and yanked out my cock. Quicker than a robin on a worm she bobbed down and slurped me into her mouth. Wow, that woman knew how to give head! In no time she had me fully erect and she had no hesitation about taking me deep down her throat.

Between the action of her tongue and the pressure from her throat, I began groaning and thrusting my hips, heading towards a huge climax. But she slipped me out of her mouth and waggled her finger at me. "No, no, no," she said with a dirty smile on her lips, "I want to get mine too."

She yanked at my belt buckle and when it yielded she tugged my pants down my thighs. Then she stood and hiked her skirt up around her waist. The little minx wasn't wearing any panties! As I stared at her legs and hips, I realized that although her bloom might have faded a little, those long stems were still in great shape. And the fragrance coming from her petals had me more than ready to pluck her.

"Come on, baby," she cooed at me, "I want that big thing in me now." With that she clambered up on my lap and straddled me. I reached between her legs to caress her, but I only had time to discover she was dripping wet before she pushed my hand out of her way. Almost desperately she grabbed my cock with her fingers to line me up and, once she had me where she needed me, she slid all the way down in a single shove. As she did so, she groaned out loud. "Oh, God, I need this!" she exclaimed, and then began to bounce up and down on me, her fingers digging into my back as she pulled me to her.

I felt exactly the same way. It had been a long time for me, way too long, I realized. And this woman knew what she was doing: she rotated her hips, rocked them back and forth, and then resumed her bouncing up and down. For an older gal she sure had plenty of energy.

I was in heaven and I knew that I wouldn't be able to hold out very long. Normally I pride myself on my staying power: I like to get my partner off before I let myself go. But it had been so long that I wasn't sure I could hold off. So I reached my hand under her bottom and tickled her other hole with my forefinger. She really seemed to like that because she began to squirm and moan. "Alright," I thought, "if she likes that, let's see what this does." I pushed my finger up inside her and twisted. Instantly she howled like a she-wolf in heat and fiercely pulled my head into her breasts.

I kept working my finger and suddenly an exquisite sensation shot through my cock as I felt her pussy clamp down on me. Now I was the one who was howling right along with her, and together the two of us rocketed to a climax that must have rattled the windows. As I slumped against the back of the couch, I hoped that her neighbors hadn't heard us; otherwise, they might be calling the cops to report another murder.

After a couple of minutes, Mrs. Fisher leaned back to look at me with grateful eyes. "Oh, baby, that was so good. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it."

I looked at her with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "How in the world did you learn to do that thing you did to me inside, you know, with your pussy? That was incredible."