A Gift Horse

"You have to realize Jack," she continued, pausing briefly to close her eyes with apparent appreciation of Angela's tongue. It didn't effect her voice. "It's both your faults. You know the unfortunate mishap. You know what I'm talking about. It was easy to discover the source of the bug. We have our devices, too. We saw you installing the cameras in the alley. We weren't worried until you got inside. We didn't think you were clever enough. I had to calm my associates. They wanted you both dead. But like I said I like you. And I especially like Angela. In fact Angela and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on." She smiled and licked her lips and sighed. My unrelenting fucking remained unabated. The grimace on my face as I suckled Angela's nipple was purely sexual. I was hearing her every word, but I was still inside the giant throb of sex.

"Yes I know Angela is the clever one. It is her strong suit. It enabled me to save your lives. I'm not going to tell you what's going on. It doesn't matter. There's nothing you can do about it. Not a thing. So I give you your darling Angela to covet or fuck or love for one more moment."

She urged me to lift up my torso. She kissed my lips, her tongue slithering quickly inside. Her tongue slid down my neck and played with my nipples. I felt my orgasm building. The tongue lowered slowly until it played at the place where my cock and Angela's pussy were merging. Her fingers reached around to play with my balls. One finger sank inside my anus. And I erupted. I wailed out my orgasm. My hands still gripping Angela's hips, I held her against me with all my might. I wanted my entire being to enter inside her and stay. But all I could keep inside her and for only moments longer was my giant load of sperm. Once ejaculated, my cock quickly softened and slipped out of her saturated hole.

I stared into Angela's wide sad eyes as if my life would end if I couldn't see her and she couldn't see me. All I could see were those eyes. The rest was still covered by Shirley's fabulous ass. I didn't care how fabulous it was. Tears ran down my face. Angela's tears slid out sideways and pooled in her ears.

The door opened. I should have done something at that point. Something heroic perhaps. Instead I stared, unmoved. The prick of the needle of the syringe pouring oblivion into my blood via a vein in my neck was barely felt. Then I felt nothing.

10.

Once the murk subsided, I found myself naked in my own bed. Through the liquid haze my sight slowly panned across the little apartment until it stopped at the computer monitor. It was quiet, cold and gray. Maybe it was all it would ever be without Angela captaining its visionary space. I struggled, hung over, empty, to the chair before it. I turned it on. I began to type. My head felt like a spike was wedging it open with some unknown hammer. Perhaps it was God's hammer. I stopped typing. I didn't care about myself. But I had to eat. If only to record what had happened, to fix what had happened, I needed sustenance.

Though it tasted like nothing, like cotton, I managed to swallow a large sub Connie had prepared earlier that day, or whatever day it had been. Two days ago? Longer? The thought of the bar flashed through my brain. I trusted the new bartenders. I didn't care though if they filched me, if the money was gone, if they closed up due to my absence. It just didn't matter. I downed a large bottle of water. My head cleared. I began to type.

Hours later, finally done, I looked at the computer's time and date. Two days had passed since I had entered Shirley's home. Who knows how long since I had last seen my lost angel, Angela? It was midday, just afternoon. I called my uncle.

"Jack? How's it going, kid? How's everything going at the bar? Heard you've done terrific."

I found the hangover still lingering as Uncle Charlie's voice boomed into my ear. I bravely kept the phone against my ear. "Listen Uncle..."

"I know I should have come by. I've heard you've done terrific work. I should have invited you up for a dinner or Upstate to visit your Aunt Martha. Been busy. You must be busy too."

"I gotta talk to you Uncle Charlie. It's about the bar. Well not the bar. Next door. There's..."

"Jack!" Charlie exclaimed, then quieted. I could hardly recognize the voice being from the same source. "Never mind about next door. That's not something you should..."

"There's something fucked up going on there..."

"Look, kid. We are not going to talk about next door."

"But my girlfriend's gone!" I said, the sobs rushing out from my constricted chest. "She...We...were there and she's still there and she's...I don't know...she's trapped."

"I can't talk about it. And you shouldn't either." His voice returned to its bombast, "There's plenty fish in the sea, young man."

"Shit, Charlie, I love her. Not only that but I think she's kidnapped. It's fucked up."

Again Charlie had his quiet voice. "I'm sorry son. Just believe me. There's nothing...we won't talk about this anymore..."

"But Uncle Charlie..."

"Look," Charlie said, then paused. His normal voice returned, "Gotta go kid. Keep in touch."

"But we've got to get the police..."

"No police. It wouldn't do anything. Believe me. Forget it. Forget her."

"Click," went the phone, and to the dial tone I said, "I'll never forget." I finally hung up.

I decided to mull it over. I needed to jump into the routine of the bar. I walked out, seeing relief in the faces of Connie and George, the most recent bartender I had hired. I let George go for the day and worked the slow afternoon bar. Connie watched me most of the time. He knew something was wrong. He asked a couple times. I couldn't say anything. He asked about Angela. Tears emerged at the corner of my eyes and dried there. I didn't talk. He probably thought she'd left me, and I had gone on a binge. It's what I hoped he would think. I knew I couldn't get anyone else involved. I knew I was on my own.

So I mulled as I pulled the tap and poured the drinks during the slow afternoon. I was a dull machine, unable to make contact with any of the regulars. All I could do was get their drinks and make change. The mulling was effective. I realized Uncle Charlie was right. Otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned it. I couldn't call the cops. They were paid off. I knew a couple myself that gave me the wink when I poured them bourbon or vodka in the Styrofoam cups most days. Their fake coffee. They'd even witnessed Anders and Fast Freddie Jr. in action, and though I noticed maybe a twinge of embarrassment, I could swear they nodded to each other. New York City is built on those winks and nods and the cash that flows beneath them. Without it, without the structure of corruption, the city would probably tumble into a chaotic mess.

Who could I talk to? Angela was the only person I could trust. I didn't want anyone else involved whether I could trust them or not. Rachel was the only other person who knew about the killing, and she was too much involved with Anders to be completely trusted. And Connie and Hazel, well, I could no more put them in danger than I could shoot them myself. Then I thought of Angela's place of employment. They may even have known about our little investigation. Unfortunately Angela was never willing to divulge her source of income. She took pride in her secrets. She told me she just wanted to protect me. I wish she had protected me and herself from all this shit.

Once Harry, the night bartender arrived, and I told him I was okay, not to worry about me and other such bullshit, I slid back into my apartment. I entered into the computer and got little out of it. Except for our investigation next door, in which she had given me the password, everything else she was working on was protected in such a way as I could not get inside. I looked around the edges, dumped files, e-mail. Nothing. Damn her. No hint of her place of employment.

I grabbed a yellow pages, and perused the Private Detective listings. I looked for an office nearby. Not too nearby. I figured someone too close may have been infected by my particular neighborhood corruption. I found a listing and lifted the phone. Then the paranoia deepened. I must be tapped by now. I gingerly set the phone down, not wanting to hurt the ear listening in I guess. Tearing out the yellow pages listings, I grabbed some cash and a jacket and raced through the bar and outdoors.

After several blocks, I walked into a coffee shop where there was a pay phone. After ordering a blt and a coffee, finishing off the sandwich in a few seconds, I brought the cup to the phone, fed it and dialed.

I asked for background. I didn't want the connection to be too deep with the cops. Five calls later a woman answered. I liked her voice. All the others had either been gruff or too connected or both. She understood my concern for background, admitted she had never been a cop (the ones who did were proud of it, which I could understand) but said she'd been at it for five years and was good. I liked her confidence. And her voice was warm and deep and steady. Soft and sensuous like a warmed up pillow. It was nearing five o'clock, so I knew I had to be clear to her the urgency of the situation. I could imagine her about to walk out the door when the phone rang. I had heard impatience in some of the earlier voices. She was a tiny bit reluctant. I heard it in the pause, the sigh, and the way she said yes. I told her I'd hurry.

The cab bumped me up to the West 40's, and let me out in front of a nondescript old office building. I called her office, MMJ Detective Agency on the door phone, and she buzzed me in. I entered and rode the clattering little old elevator to the fifth floor, got out and searched for her office. I spotted the lit window down the hall. The door opened into a waiting room with an empty desk. No secretary. Standing in the doorway of her office was my detective.

"Mary Margaret Jones," she said with a smile, her hand raised to shake mine. I paused to take her in. She was a lovely woman, big, tall, over six feet, with skin like creamed coffee. I couldn't tell her shape. She dressed comfortably and deliberately without accentuating curves. Probably wanted to avoid making her gender an issue in her business. But her smile was most attractive. I could swear I felt a flash of excitement we shared between her dark brown eyes and my weary blue ones. I thought that was fucked up timing for such a reaction. I even had tingles in my balls and a slight penile expansion. I finally walked over to her and raised my hand.

"Sorry. Jack Newman," I said as I shook her hand. It was warm and soft and nearly as big as mine. We looked at each other eye to eye. She was my height and I had a few inches over six feet. I glanced down to check for heels. Her shoes looked comfortable and had heels as high as mine.

"Come on in," she said and gestured to a nice old arm chair which I found firm and high. When she sat behind her desk, we were still eye to eye. She obviously wanted her clients at an even keel with her, neither below of above her. Despite the danger of divulging my crazy story to a perfect stranger, I couldn't have felt more comfortable. I had wondered how I would broach the subject, was a bit concerned about breaking through the tension and the confusion as well as what I could and couldn't say. I knew it would be a lot easier than I had feared.

"So what's the problem?" she asked.

"I need to know where a friend of mine worked."

"You mean a background check?"

"No. She, uhm, technically still works there. I mean as far as work knows."

"You want to know where she works now? Not where she is, where she lives?"

"I know both those things. She lives with me, or, well, she used to." I felt guilty saying that to her. It was a complicated emotion. I was attracted to Mary, which was weird, and weirder still I wanted the feeling to be mutual, but I was telling her I had a girlfriend and I was willing to pay her to find out about this woman who I obviously loved. But the good thing about this screwed up feeling was it kept my despair at bay.

"If she left you, I hate to say this, it may be that things didn't work out. And if she didn't tell you where she worked, maybe there was a reason."

"Well yes, there was a reason. It's complicated."

"And you say you know where she is?" asked Mary. I could see the realization of what I had said changed her. Reluctance became curiosity. Her intelligent eyes stared into my blurry eyes.

"Yes. Yes I do. Unfortunately."

"She's not dead is she?"

"No, thank god. I'm pretty sure she's not. I hope not."

"And all you need from me is to find out her place of employment?"

"Well yes. She worked for me part time nights. A waitress at my club. Bradley's. But mostly, you know, nine to five kind of thing she worked at some sort of investigative agency, some sort of whistle blower type agency which I guess got into some heavy stuff, and she didn't want me to know much about it. She never told me the name or location."

"So what happens when I find out about this place."

"Well I, well, like I said, it's complicated."

"Look, Jack, this is how it works. I need to know as much as possible. I need to know the truth. Not just to, you know, solve it, but to justify my solving it. I have to trust you as much as you have to trust me."

"Okay. I want to tell you everything. And maybe if I do, you could turn me down. I wouldn't blame you. It's not any ulterior motives. It's basically to find a way to get Angela back. But to do that means to get into some pretty dangerous areas, to step on some sore toes which have the ability to retaliate, well, lethally. Whatever you do, whether you help me or not, this has to stay between us. For your own safety. I like you. I hope to hell the feeling I get from you is true, that I can trust you."

"You know I feel the same. I don't mind telling you I have gotten some pretty strange people walking through the door asking me to do some crazy stuff. And the way this is starting, its as far into crazy as I think I've heard without being, you know, like obviously insane. But I like you. I trust you. I can tell you're upset. Everyone who walks through the door, I mean, if it's a personal problem, and not some guy's business to collect people, well, they're upset. But it's deep. I sense real fear. I hope it's not paranoid. Can I tell? I don't know. This is what I think. You tell me every detail of the situation you can manage, and through the details maybe I'll know if I can do it. Okay?"

I told her everything I could remember: from the phone call from Uncle Charlie that started it all to Fast Freddy's involvement, to the clientele, to the performances, to Rachel and Anders and the gang, to the video cameras and bugging, to the killing, to Shirley and of course as much as I knew about Angela. I ended with my last conversation with Uncle Charlie. The kinkier stuff I left out of course. But otherwise it was a complete description leading up to and including the events which had taken Angela away.

Several minutes of silence followed my narrative. She was frozen, stunned. Then she made some notes. Her eyes looked deeply thoughtful. They radiated intelligence. She pulled a piece of paper out of her desk.

"Contract. It stipulates retainer, expenses, cost beyond retainer, what you get from me. I take a thousand up front. Covers four days work. I keep it if it ends in less than four days. If it lasts beyond that I charge two hundred a day. Expenses are extra. Can you deal with that?"

I pulled the cash out of my pocket and counted out a thousand. "Great," I said. I signed the contract.

"This is what I see. We need information on Angela. We need to crack the computer. We need someone else."

"The fewer the better. There's danger..."

"Savita is a genius. She's a hacker with style. I've known her since forever," said Mary as she stood and strapped on her pistol, a shiny scary looking automatic as if it was an essential part of her anatomy. "Let's go." Putting on her sports jacket, she slipped the bills into an envelope and slipped it inside her inner breast pocket.

11.

I followed Mary outside her 44th Street office building and into a cab. We headed North to 101st Street near Lexington. She led me into her apartment, a modest, though for the City good sized, one bedroom. During the trip she told me her plan. It was crazy, just like everything else in my life.

In the apartment she stripped down in front of me, getting to her slip. I had a glance at her body at last. It looked spectacular. She showered quickly as I waited on the couch. I saw more of her body as she passed by me only in a towel. Better and better. When she emerged from her bedroom I was in awe. She had on tight spandex pants and a tube top that ended above her navel. Her body was rippled with muscle. Her thighs were large and rippled down to strong knees and calves. Her stomach was tight and clearly muscular. Her breasts pushed the tube top out several inches, barely containing them. They hung strong and firm. No need for support. The nipples were a quarter inch presence on each breast, etched out beneath the shirt. She returned to the bathroom, keeping the door opened. She lifted her hair and pinned it above her head. Just lifting her arms up made me hard. She carefully applied her make-up. A bit garish. She had transformed herself into a party girl. The plan was beginning. Once she had grabbed a long leather coat and found a spot under it to best conceal her pistol, we were off.

We headed South, all the way down to Soho. I waited in the cab while Mary ran into a Cyber Café. A few seconds later she was pulling a thin, short, beautiful dark hair woman with a complexion from the Indian Subcontinent. Her clothes were black and frumpy. Her hair was disheveled. She had that old dark Goth look. Her face and ears were decorated with studs, a couple in her eyelashes, one in her right nostril, one below her bottom lip. I imagined one in her tongue. The thought of it turned me on. I had heard stories. Little did I know.

Once the taxi took off, Mary and Savita performed a long lingering kiss in front of me. Not until it was over did Mary introduce us. A few blocks later, in the East Village we climbed out.

As Savita showered and changed, I sat on the couch in her railroad style apartment. The place was dark and spare, nothing covering the walls of the dingy apartment. While Savita washed and changed, Mary kept up a monologue with her which gave her the rundown of my situation and the crazy plan Mary had hatched. When they walked into the living room, again I was in awe. Savita was decked out in a darker spandex, but hers covered her from above her breasts down to her feet. It was so tight I knew she wasn't wearing anything underneath. When she spun around I was breathless. Though her curves were subtle, they were there, especially her high hard ass, and they were perfect. Her naked arms were lithe and graceful. She was absolutely gorgeous.

To get into the spirit of the deception, we began to party. Though it was early, we found a club that had a few other people and a half full dance floor. For the next four hours, we drank and danced. We were careful not to drink too fast, but by the end of our partying we drank down four cocktails apiece, and the drinks definitely loosened us up. I was slow getting into the dancing, enjoying the sight of the two beautiful and different ladies perform sensuous pas de deux to the thumping club music. Eventually I made it a manage a trois. The drinks and the erotic excitement of moving our hips, sliding our bodies, letting our faces touch, was making me more and more daring with Mary. Our sexual centers moved closer and closer to contact. She seemed to reciprocate the interest in touching. By the end of the night my lump of desire rubbed against her hot damp slit. We were slowly dry humping on the dance floor. I felt the slim body of Savita pressing against my back, her slim little fingers exploring my chest, stomach, thighs and finally my hard cock straining beneath my khaki slacks.