Acquaintances, Bygones, Ethics, and Life

Part of The 2021 "Hammered: an Ode to Mickey Spillane" Author Challenge.

***WEDNESDAY

"Oh God... Oh God, yes!" The feminine voice, husky with arousal, seemed amplified in the Spartan cube of an office. "Oh yes, like that!" I redoubled my efforts, lapping from the bottom of her pink seam to the swollen bead at the apex, swirling around it, then closing my lips gently, almost touching the aroused skin, and sucking gently before repeating the swirl and reversing course, pushing the tip of my tongue further between her labia as I zig zagged back to the starting point.

The pleasure and urgency in her voice drowned out the quiet drone of the 24" flat screen mounted over the big but mostly empty lateral file cabinet along the wall. Her scent had long since filled my nostrils, and I had stopped worrying about why she was letting me do this on the wide second hand desk the movers had cursed about for half an hour trying to wedge it into the tiny room. I added a huff at the bottom of the next cycle, a little air pressure into her enflamed vaginal vault, a tease of things to come, and wondered if it was time to at least open my fly. Her hands came down, fingers closing on my ears, palms pressed against the rough stubble on my scalp above my ears as she pulled me against her sex.

"Yes, yes, yes!" I could feel the spasms as her thighs pressed against my cheeks. An... acquaintance I once shared a place with for a few nights had insisted getting a woman off orally was dumb. His position was that women would choose that over the cock if they learned it was that easy.

I listened politely, then argued I had never had a woman choose the former after enjoying the latter. I'll admit, I probably used more colorful language. I know I did not admit that I enjoy getting a woman off with my tongue. Who wants to be considered... lacking in any department when it comes this pastime.

"Oh God!" she moaned as I forcefully thrust my tongue into her channel, flexing the tip, imagining I was hammering her G spot, whether I was or not, and then bringing it up and out, lapping at her like a big Irish Setter, applying persistent pressure to her bead. She stiffened, thighs flexing wide, hands still pulling me against her sex, as her twitching climax redoubled.

"Mmm" she managed a few moments later. Or maybe it was an hour, I had no place better to go and had returned my attention to working up and down her seam and only teasing the little man in the boat. "God, that's amazing," she sat up, looking down her trim body as I paused, looking up at her, my nose nestling against her clit. She giggled, rocking her hips inviting more. I made her wait for a moment, letting my eyes roam up from the neatly trimmed strip of tightly curled dark blonde pubic curls just above my nose, up the flat almost muscular stomach, navel adorned with a silver loop that had a dolphin bauble presently flat against her skin, prickled with gooseflesh in the cold air and with just the hint of perspiration... glow when you see it on a woman.

I had to skip an appreciatively long assessment of the high young breasts tipped by erect deep pink nipples that capped lighter pink areolae because she was still looking down at me. So I held her gaze as I tongued slowly up and down her slit, then pushed between her slick folds. Her eyelids grew heavy, partially hiding the clear blue irises. She bit her lower lip and smiled.

"You'd better stop or I'll forget what we need to do next."

That interrupted the musing I had been entertaining about how I had come to this amazing point in life. And not just wondering why she had chosen that particular time to come in to my office, climbing the desk with an obviously carnal intent, all while holding my attention, quietly asking if I had ever 'properly used my desk.' There was obviously more planning than I had expected, but then again in the six months since I had hired Lacey as my secretary she had offered no indication she might be interested in a broken down PI. I was sure I had never seen the hint of a nipple before, and the way she had opened her dress, revealing herself to me as she reversed herself on the worn oak surface... That had been something out of a strip club or a wet dream, not what I had expected.

"You usually wear a bra," I heard myself answer, rather than stand up to take advantage of her clear invitation. She giggled.

"I did not know you noticed," and a taunting frown, "Are you saying you don' t like this?"

"Hell, no! And thank God for button front dresses," I assured her, lapping at the honey leaking from her aroused sex, "I just meant... Well, you have amazing breasts, I'm sure I would have noticed that before if you had been braless." And true to form I set about ignoring the little voice in my head screaming 'you idiot, what are you doing?!' Had I said it has been a long time? Not years, but not weeks. Or that sex just for pleasure is not really in my nature? Ignoring present circumstance, you understand. She was still smiling down at me, not covering up, not getting offended. She treated me to an eloquent shrug, which set her breasts moving tantalizingly, drawing my attention from her eyes.

"I just thought... well you've been so nice, and you seem so lonely," another shrug, "I just thought this might be-"

"Ahem..." I blinked in surprise, belatedly aware I had heard the door open while we were talking. It was not a reassuring recognition, my sense of alarm magnified in the way Lacey's eyes went wide as she glanced frantically over her shoulder at the door. I took the moment to rock up and fall into my seat, simultaneously using my toes as an anchor to pull myself closer to the desk. I could not see around her, but clearly we were not alone. I cursed myself for an idiot, trying not to cast blame on my receptionist/ seductress, who should have made sure the office was closed, even if it was almost 7 PM. Stupidly I glanced at the clock, over the door, which I could see over Lacey's shoulder: 7:44. My epitaph could read he was dumb but put in the time.

"I'm sorry, sir," Lacey could see our guest, and was trying unsuccessfully to get her dress together with one hand, still bracing on the desk with the other, "But we're closed."

"Oh, I know," answered I voice I immediately recognized. I considered the reach to the sawed off 12 gauge I installed beneath the desk the same day the movers had gotten it into its new home. I did not move. How else do you prove you have moved on if you let the past impact the present. I set a reassuring hand on Lacey's bare knee, cursing his poor timing, winking at the embarrassed, scared young woman and using my left hand to bring the right edge of her floral dress to her left hand.

"This is too urgent for you to give us a minute, T?" I heard him chuckle. Had forgotten how sanctimonious he could be without speaking a word. Almost forgotten.

"If it was, would I be here?" I snorted derisively.

"I cannot imagine any reason you would be here." When he offered no response, I leaned back in the chair, turning it so I could see him around Lacey's perfect figure as she struggled to get the dress buttoned without exposing herself. I had a momentary satisfaction as his eyes lingered on her for too long, momentary because the monkey brain acted like my Belgians when one wants the other's bone, 'Mine!' Maybe he knew that, because when he did look at me he smiled more broadly. The Asshole.

"Have we met, miss?" his eyes did not leave mine. I saw Lacey roll her pretty blues before she carefully scooted off of the desk on my side, smoothing the summer dress down as much as you could with 3 buttons mis-aligned before she turned to face him, back straight, all defiance.

"I'm sure we have not. I'm sorry, but we're closed," she reiterated, "Would you like to make an appointment for tomorrow?" That annoyed him, I could tell though he did not make it obvious.

"You do choose a type," he taunted me, pausing to see if I would take the bait. But I have moved on. "Young lady, are you 21 yet?"

"I'm 27," she lifted her chin, "And you're not my father." I was grateful she had not said 'almost 28,' no point in giving him any quarter.

"Go on out and make sure the door is locked," I touched her flank, hoping it was a professional reassuring movement. "In fact, you can go home if you want." Lacey looked our guest up and down pointedly.

"No, I'll wait," she said, "But I did lock the door." And then she was out of the office, and I let my guest, another old acquaintance from a past life, sweat in the silence. Or pretended it might leave him unsettled, at least.

"Really, Abel?" he shook his head, "She could be your daughter."

"She could be your daughter," I shot back, "But I wasn't making babies when I was sixteen."

"Try eighteen," he paused again. I let him fish for hooks and look for tells. My policy is to let people think what they want, it's pretty hard to change someone's mind, even if you have the facts in black and white in front of them. What is the adage, 'don't argue with a fool and risk stooping to their level?'

"Abel Security Services," the television seemed to blare at just that moment, "Call us if you are in trouble, we can help or find someone who can, because Abel Security Services Kick..." a basso sound effect replace the obvious. I felt my advantage dissolve.

"I'd say that's cute," Thomas moved into the room as if it was his, "But it's sad, isn't it?"

"Business is up," I answered, "And everyone seems to have seen it." And did not tell the bastard I had bartered my services for the series of ads, or that I had let them use their professional judgment in what sort of ad to create. The pinnacle of my marketing plan had been finding a name that would rank above 'ACME' in the phone book. Except no one used phone books, any more.

"Ad time during the baseball games?" he actually sounded impressed, "It has to cost a pretty penny." I grabbed the remote from the otherwise empty keyboard drawer and turned it off. "Got a pretty big file cabinet there," he changed course, "Is it really necessary or is it just for show?" Still fishing, an occupational hazard, I was well aware.

"This isn't Remington Steele," I answered, "I work for a living." He seemed disappointed I did not play the game, answering a question with a question.

"Just not as a decorator." His turn not to ask a question. I shrugged, as he returned his attention to the only pictures in my office, a framed promotional poster of Steve McQueen from 'the Great Escape' and beside it on the same wall, a framed promotional poster from 'the Shawshank Redemption,' which was partially covered by a mismatched Barrister's Bookshelf. "That's not at all overly dramatic." Old anger threatened to relight, but that was what he wanted.

"Thomas, what do you want?" He circled back to the client's chairs opposite me at the desk. Looked at them, and after looking at me again, pointedly selected the more worn and threadbare chair no directly across from me. So he still had some street smarts.

"I think I have something you would like."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Not even curious?"

"You're here. After hours. Broke in. Scared my secretary so badly I'll probably be back to the temp agency tomorrow."

"She's not a temp? I swear she looks familiar." I pointedly looked at my watch.

"I need help proving my wife is cheating." He stopped, watching me.

"You need help proving your wife is cheating." He nodded. "Is she?"

"I think so or I wouldn't be here, asshole." I shrugged.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He pursed his lips, watching me intently.

"I almost believe you."

"What's not to believe," I shrugged, "That was a long time ago. I've built a new life. I don't do that now."

"Not anymore, but word is you were pretty good." I snorted.

"If you think I am going to go sit at a bar and your wife is going to hit on me..." We both snorted at that ludicrous notion. More silence.

"I hear you've moved into electronic surveillance."

"I don't think you need to be worried about what I am or am not doing," I let him see my irritation, "And electronic surveillance is a wide open description. I am in corporate work now."

"I'm asking you," Thomas paused, chose his words, "Someone who could understand the... sensitive nature of this, and would not have any incentive to make it public. I'm asking for hep from a..." I swear, he almost said 'friend.' "... former partner." I literally felt my skin crawl. And showed nothing.

"I can do what my ad says," I offered, "I can call Dwayne Tomlin, he's former PD, and is still doing domestics..." Thomas was already shaking his head.

"No. I want you. Only You. And it's a bit of a rush." That was a bit of a surprise. I waited. He sighed. "I am in the running for... let's just say I may leave our old work behind and move into politics, but a messy cheating wife scandal would..."

"Bullshit," I opened a drawer pulling a half empty bottle of Maker's Mark and one shot glass out of my desk drawer. "So you're here after hours, trying to convince me I should help you prove my ex-wife is cheating on you?" I stopped, snorted at his raised eyebrow, "Drinking on the job, you say? I'm off the clock. I would need to drink the rest of this to consider buying what you're selling."

"You know she... has the capacity to cheat."

"Everyone does, Thomas."

"Even you, Boy Scout? That's not the man I remember." I thought he was done, but should have known better, "Then again, the man I know wouldn't be banging the help on his desk." He sighed, adopted a contrived more conciliatory tone. "I'm not holding anything over your head. I'm not twisting you arm. I... I hoped you would want to help me, if only to remind me I was an idiot."

"You are an idiot. And I'm still not helping you." Any response was precluded when Lacey bustled back into the room with the requisite file folder, manila folders, and the label maker that magically appeared a couple days after I hired her.

"So Mister... T?" I winced as we both recognized the humor in that and the irony was totally lost on her. 'God, she is too young,' I thought.

"Mr. Cane," he said at the same time I answered, 'Thomas.' She blinked from one to another of us, eyes tracking to the photo on the top shelf of the bookshelf, from our detective promotion ceremony. That is not art or a picture, it's a memento; it's different. And I knew that she had been putting the pieces together while she was in the front office. She's a smart cookie, not just beautiful.

"Thomas Cane," she looked back from the photo, "His former partner. You two were Cane and Abel..."

"I was his partner, Thomas suddenly seemed to wish he had not sat down, "And it's Cane C A N E, not like the bible."

"From what I read the story was not so far from biblical." I nearly choked on my Marker's Mark. She had never said a thing that implied she knew who I was. And I certainly don't advertise that. Thomas glared at her, then at me. I threw up my hands.

"Old business," I told him, "I don't ever bring it up. Hadn't thought of you until you... interrupted us."

"Let's just say what you read in the papers isn't always what really happened, Miss." Lacey shrugged.

"I was in high school, it wasn't important to me." I winced. Thomas almost laughed. I swear. "So you've got a domestic for us."

"You were listening?" I had forgotten how mercurial he could be. Lacey snorted.

"This room is soundproofed. But you break in after hours, relying on... strained shared history? That's domestic, it isn't work related."

"And it isn't for your file system," he said acidly.

"Because we aren't taking the case, and he declined our help introducing him to someone who could help," I finished, standing fast enough that they both started. "It's late. I'm going home." It was a shame my erection had subsided. I am getting old enough I do not like to waste those. "Because what he wants is not what we do." 'Because the asshole is married to my bitchy ex wife and I put that part of my life away years ago.' Thomas had the wisdom to stand. He had the arrogance to produce a characteristically hyperbolic business card, handing it pointedly to Lacey.

"In case your boss changes his mind." And then he was gone. Lacey eyed the tumbler of bourbon and the perilously low level of the bottle.

"I think I have some questions," she began, "But if you promise to fill me in over breakfast," she was suddenly the demure coquette. I snorted, then reassessed as I felt Mr. Happy shift in my trousers.

"Did you clock out before you came in before?" I asked, retrieving my second hand tweed jacket and slipping in on over my rolled sleeves before grabbing the battered fedora off of the coat tree inside the door to my office.

"It was right at 7, and I thought the work was done, so yes?" answered as a question.

"Good."

"Why?"

"I'm not a pimp and I'm not a John." She flushed, seemed ready to argue or maybe pitch a fit, too early to tell yet. She nodded, surprising me-- tact is not in my nature..

"I know. That's not what it's about."

"He's almost right," I hated myself for trying to ruin this, "I'm too old for you."

"What he thinks doesn't matter," now there was anger in her voice, "The only opinions that matter are mine and yours. Are you telling me you're sorry I cam in here like that?" I looked around the tired office, mismatched pain on the walls, vents that never quite were cold enough in the summer or warm enough in the winter. But it was my name on the frosted glass on the front door, and it was my life. Who said I was not allowed any happiness." Lacey deftly capped the bottle and returned it to the desk.

"I may be old, but I'm not stupid. Are you hungry?" The way the smile lit her face was painfully endearing. She caught my arm, pulling me out of the shabby office in its run down building. Led me away from where my rusting Jeep was parked in the back. She was nearly skipping as we passed beneath the cold mercury vapor lights, our little corner of the world too under developed for the new blue light LED replacements.

"I am hungry," she said, handing me the keys, "here you drive..." I had to stand in the open door, pressing the button to power the driver's seat of her pretty little Mustang all the way back before I could get in. She sat watching, her lips a silent giggle as I went through the driver's ed checklist, adjusting mirrors, making sure I knew the layout of the tiny interior, and brought the seat belt around my torso. I pulled away from the curb, wondering once again how she had come to ask for a job. Maybe she could offer a thumbnail sketch... after I filled her in, of course.

"I really am hungry," she said again, the first words she had spoken since handing me her keys, "But I know we have a bit of a drive, so I think I'll help myself..." I found myself checking mirrors and windows as she practically dove into my crotch, hands deftly unbuckling my trousers and dropping the zip. I felt myself blush, certain someone was watching, even as I asked how that mattered, we were both adults, and she clearly wanted this. The engine burbled a low basso as I tried to appear unfazed by her youthful zeal. I chose not to warn this might be a one and done... she clearly meant to stay over, and I had no reason to argue otherwise, and an increasingly pressing point of agreement.

She giggled at the way I groaned when she paused working me with her mouth, dragging manicured nails down the sides and bottom of my shaft, resuming a steady bob, taking me easily, pausing every few strokes to... God she was a devlish angel. It became a struggle to hold off. It became a danger maintaining my focus on the road. So I put a had on her shoulder.