Case of the Fertilized Fish Ch. 01

This story is part of an ongoing series. The chronological order of my stories is listed in WifeWatchman's biography.

Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racism, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

There may or may not be discussion of political issues in my stories. If you are a Snowflake that feels you need to be protected from any mention of politics, then click the Back button now, and never attempt to read any of my stories ever again. You've been warned.

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This story is submitted for the 'Hammered an Ode to Mickey Spillane' 2023 challenge. It is independent of my Iron Crowbar series.

Dedicated to my friends Dan and Julie, who are good and generous people. One of their real-life experiences was the inspiration for this story. And apologies in advance to a lot of #WhiskeyTube people for the riffs of their secret identities...

Part 1 - Prologue

The smoke from the barrel of my .38 Special curled up slowly as it mixed with the aromatic fumes from my Alec Bradley cigar. If my finances were as good as my aim, I'd be on Easy Street. Instead, I've got an office on Riverside Drive, and a nasty relationship with a string of collection agents and reporters.

That's me, Russ Ferrament. I'm a Private Eye. I pack eight slugs. Six are in my revolver, and they pack a wallop. The others are in my bourbon flask, and they pack a wallop, too. And today, I had needed both.

"Looks like you've saved us the expense of a fair trial by a jury of this loser's peers." growled Police Lieutenant Bentley Bayse as he examined the body lying face-down on the rain-soaked street, the glare of the streetlight offsetting the dull, dark gray of the sky in the late afternoon.

Bayse was a longtime veteran of the Spring Valley Police Force. He owned a bluetick hound named 'Smokey'. His advice on what bourbons to buy was always good. His advice to duck when I was about to be shot was good, too.

"Good shooting, Rogue Two." said Detective Nick Adrian. Nick was a young but promising Detective on the SVPD. His wife was very pretty, and had brains, too; she was a Ph.D. Some guys have all the luck. Me, I've got the pain. Mostly in my bad back.

"He missed. I didn't." I said.

"Lucky you." said Nick. "It's Friday the 13th, too. Must be your lucky day."

"And this bozo's unlucky day." said Lieutenant Bayse, chewing on his Alec Bradley cigar. Best. Cigars. Ever.

He finally said "All right, Kira, get Ferrament's statement and he can go. We know where to find him if we need to talk to him again." Officer Kira David, a very attractive young Police Officer with designs on the Presidency of the United States, took my statement.

"Okay, Friday, April 13th." Kira said as she wrote the date on her affidavit sheet. She noticed that I was trying to look down her blouse, distracted by her impressive chest. "Pay attention, Ferrament. Let's start from the beginning..."

Part 2 - The Client

The beginning, she said. For me, that was ten days before, on April 3rd. I was sitting in my office on Riverside Drive, seeing the lines of the sunlight coming through the slats of the blinds, given a liquid texture by the dust swirling in the air. I had a hard decision to make: should I keep watching that little insect flying lazily from beam to beam of light, or start work on my next case? Oh wait... there was no next case. My appointment calendar looked like an arctic wasteland.

And then the door opened, and in walked trouble. Brunette as usual. But this woman was anything but usual. Dames like her were the kind a man should avoid, but of course I didn't. My heart and loins were equally on fire and I took in the sight of her, the smell of her, knowing that it was wrong but feeling so right. She knew she was irresistible, and her body was making promises that my capacity for decency couldn't keep up with.

She looked to be in her thirties, but couldn't completely hide that she was in her upper 40s, if not 50 yet. Her mane of raven black hair, pulled back into a bun, was lustrous, and an unspoken invitation to wrap a man up until he was helpless in her velvet warmth. Her beautiful face was long and sallow. Her full lips were painted with bright red, glossy lipstick.

Her eyes were blue, and would have been mesmerizing except that they were lifeless pools of primordial emptiness that would suck the very soul out of a man. If Life had depended on being formed in her eyes, we wouldn't be here talking, and I wouldn't need another slug from the bourbon bottle.

Her black dress hugged her hourglass-shaped body, and any man would lose track of time admiring those curves. Her breasts were large, and appeared to be all natural. Her abdomen was taut, toned by exercise, and flared out to wide, saucy hips. The globes of her ass were magnificent, seemingly inviting ones hands to grasp and massage in the hands.

And her legs! The phrase 'legs for days' must've been written with her in mind. Her long slender thighs graduated to curvy calves, slender ankles, and exquisite feet. She was already tall at 5'10", but she wore black pumps with heels at least four inches high. Wonder Woman had nothing on this Amazon goddess.

The dame said she had a case. I thought she herself was a case, but I couldn't choose my clients, especially when she was firing up a lot more than my imagination...

"May I sit down?" she said, her voice low and husky, and like liquid, dripping with sexual promise. I had been staring, totally awestruck by her. I snapped out of it.

"Uh, yes... sure." I finally said. Then I took control of myself. "Would you like some water, or coffee?"

"Is the coffee fresh?" she asked smoothly as she sat down and crossed her legs, those perfect weapons of distraction, slightly moving her dangling foot to keep me mesmerized.

"Not really." I admitted. In fact, it was yesterday's coffee, kept in my little fridge overnight and reheated this morning. The consistency of it was more like mud, which is what my brain had become as I admired this woman's beauty. "So how can I help you, Mizzz..?"

"My name is Laura Thornwell." she said, keeping her voice low and soft, as if sharing a secret and not wanting to be overheard. "I need you to find my fiancé. He disappeared a couple of days ago."

"Just two days?" I asked, too quickly. "Is he in the habit of disappearing, then coming home after sobering up?"

"He's not like that." Mrs. Thornwell replied. " And he doesn't live with me. He'll be allowed to move in after we're married."

"What's his name?" I asked, leaning back and crossing my legs 'English-style', like a figure-four, and balancing my notepad on my thigh.

"David Griese." Laura replied. She described him as average height, dark hair, trimmed mustache and beard.

"When did you last talk to him?" I asked as I wrote the information down on my notepad.

"Three days ago, on March 31st." Laura said. "We had dinner, he stayed at my place overnight. He left the next morning, saying he had meetings with some people he worked with. I didn't hear from him at all that day, and he didn't make an expected delivery the next day, April 2nd, which was yesterday. After getting the call about the undelivered shipment, I called his workplace, and they said he had not come in to work that morning. I've tried calling him several times, and I've received no answer."

"What does he do?" I asked.

"He's an independent contractor." Laura said. "He delivers liquor orders to stores in this part of the State."

I asked "So when you say he didn't show up at work, does that mean he didn't pick up the delivery the receiving customer was expecting?"

"That is correct. He didn't pick it up." Mrs. Thornwell said, seemingly taken aback by my question.

"That would rule out stealing it and disappearing. Hmm..." I said contemplatively. After a few seconds I asked: "Has he had any problems that you know of? Problems at work? Trouble with vendors? Or with recipients of his deliveries?"

"No, none that I know of." she said.

"Have you gone to the Police with this?" I asked. The question was rhetorical. She would not be here if she'd gone to the Police and they had been able to help her. Or if they'd shown a glimmer of interest in her case.

"Yes." she replied. "But they didn't seem very interested. And I believe they are afraid of who my brother-in-law is. Mitt Willard."

I'd heard of Mitt Willard. Who hasn't? He was an entrepreneur, and had acquired wealth through a number of business dealings in the county, from real estate deals and holdings to business startups and venture capitalism investments. He was middle-aged, tall, full head of now salt-and-pepper hair, looked good in the well-fitting, expensive suits he always wore. Some people said he could be Mitt Romney's twin; indeed, Willard looked like the consummate politician.

And that was his problem. Between looking like a politician and acting like one, like the Establishment Republican that he was, he gave off what some would call the 'smarmy vibe'. He always talked in terms of the American Dream, and hard work being rewarded financially. Always about business, and such talk fell on deaf ears when it came to the county's Poor.

Everyone with more brains than a Betta fish knew Willard had achieved his wealth through dirty deals, reneging on deals to create more favorable terms for himself, bribing local officials and buying others, and cheating people out of their homes and businesses by means such as using eminent domain to throw poor people out of their meager homes so that he could develop strip malls, office parks, or expensive apartments for the affluent.

Word on the street was that Mitt Willard had ways of dealing with anyone who crossed him. Politicians that opposed his ventures were bought off under the table. Those that refused those bribes found their vehicle tires slashed, their dogs and cats killed, and in the cases of more effective or more stubborn opposition, their wives and daughters would be raped and their sons beaten, possibly to death.

Mitt Willard had run for Mayor of Spring Valley, as a Republican, expecting an easy win over a black man running under the Democrat ticket. To his shock, voters who could cast their votes secretly and without fear of his reprisals did so; they voted their consciouses, and Willard was soundly defeated. Stung and bitter, he ran for State Senator and won by a surprisingly large margin. Some said he didn't heed John F. Kennedy's humorous remark about not buying a single vote more than necessary, and paying for a landslide.

"How are you related to Mr. Willard?" I asked, having noted the woman's last name.

Laura Thornwell said "I married a man named Calvin Knox Thornwell. His sister Lenore married Mitt Willard, making Willard and myself in-laws through both marriages."

"Your husband, Mr. Thornwell... did you divorce him?"

"No, he died." Mrs. Thornwell said.

I said "Do you think Mitt Willard is behind your fiancé's disappearance? Or has Mr. Griese faced threats or trouble from other persons? I get the feeling you do suspect foul play. Why? And from whom?"

The beautiful woman's eyes bored into me, trying to bend me to her will and control me as she said "That is what I need for you to find out, Mr. Ferrament. I... have to know what happened to him. And if something bad has happened, perhaps you can find out who was responsible. I would be grateful, and I will show you that gratitude and make it worth your while. Let that suffice; it really shouldn't have to go beyond that."

This dame was being cagey, evasive, and I sensed that all was not right with her story. She was only going to tell me what she wanted to, and I had to hope it was enough to keep me from getting another slug in my body, and not from a bourbon bottle.

I said "What is the name of the business Mr. Griese works for?"

"As I said, he's works for himself, as an independent contractor." she replied.

I rose to my feet as I said "I am very sorry, but I am not going to be able to help you. And in the course of this interview, I am neglecting important business elsewhere, so if you will excuse me..."

She did not. She gaped at me for one full second, then regained control of her faculties. "You won't even look into it? I'll pay you the going rate for five days in advance. Or are you afraid of Mitt Willard, too?"

"That is not the problem, Mrs. Thornwell." I said tersely. "The problem is that it will be a difficult enough case with a mystery at one end, but an impossible one with mysteries at both ends. You're going to have to be a lot more forthcoming and honest with me if you want me to help you."

I halfway expected her to get up and walk out of the office with a sway of her saucy hips, letting me know what I was giving up. But after a moment of staring me down, her mind cold and calculating behind her eyes, she finally said "What do you need to know?"

"Who does your fiancé work for?"

"Huxtable Distributors, LLC." Mrs. Thornwell said. I sat back down as she continued. "They specialize in transportation and distribution of things that are heavily regulated by the Government. Liquor, medical supplies, pharmaceuticals, chemicals, even nuclear materials. We... er, they have it down to a science, a smooth operation, having built relationships with the regulatory agencies involved, and they've been very successful and very profitable."

"So you are part of that business." I said, showing her I had noted her slip, and I didn't mean the hem of the garment she was flashing me under her skirt. "Is Mitt Willard part of it, too?"

"Yes." she admitted. "Here's the full story. Knox and Lenore inherited the business from their father. Huxtable was Knox's mother's maiden name. When I married Knox, I worked with the business, starting in Accounting, then learning about the rest of it. But I wasn't an integral part of it like Knox and Lenore were. I was on the Board of their LLC structure, though Knox and Lenore owned all the shares, split 50-50.

Laura: Not long after marrying Lenore, Mitt Willard began trying to bully his way into the business, despite having other ventures already going. He wanted to be named to the Board, like I was, and Lenore agreed. He wanted a role in the business, and Lenore asked me to work with Mitt, which I was loath to do, and told my husband so."

Laura: "Then Mitt wanted a share of the business, and offered to buy a minority stake. Knox and Lenore both refused that, and Knox was especially adamant that Mitt keep his beak out of the business. But Mitt weaseled his way in further anyway, by offering to be a sales agent for our services, using his other business connections. Lenore and Knox began arguing about it, the first time they'd ever had arguments since their childhoods."

Mrs. Thornwell: "A year ago, Knox and I found some discrepancies in our books. There were places where four pallets of whiskey were ordered, and four paid for... but five pallets went out the door. And there were anomalies in the cash flow, and then in the taxes. Sometimes there was a surplus of money on a vendor account, and then the surplus vanished and it was normal again before we could investigate it."

Laura continued: "Knox was sure that Mitt Willard was behind the discrepancies, that Mitt was using our company to launder money, and that he was stealing from us. We showed Lenore the discrepancies, and being an intelligent woman, she also realized what was going on."

Mrs. Thornwell: "She did not argue when Knox had Mitt's name removed from the Board, and shut Mitt completely out of the business. And then she left Mitt and moved in with us when Mitt threatened her, then beat her up. Knox went over to Mitt's house, and a fight ensued. If Mitt had not had security, he might not have survived it."

"Is there a Police report of that?" I asked.

"Lenore filed a complaint, but nothing was done." Laura said. "And the report disappeared."

"Did Mitt harbor ill will towards you after that?" I asked.

Mrs. Thornwell made a noise, then said "God, yes. And that's the next part of this story. Two weeks after that altercation, Knox and Lenore were killed in a gas explosion in our home. They were eating dinner in the breakfast room that was part of the kitchen. The official report was that the gas range had developed a leak, and exploded when the hot water heater fired up. But that was a crock of sh--- er, a crock. Our stove was electric, not gas."

"And you weren't there?" I asked.

"No, I had forgotten something in the office when I left, and had to turn around and get it." Laura replied. "When I got home, the house was completely on fire, and the Fire Department was beginning to put it out... or pretending to; they weren't moving very quickly, at all."

"And when was this?" I asked.

"Six months ago, last October." she replied.

"Who inherited the business?" I asked.

"Mitt Willard and I own it now, 50-50." Laura said. "And it has been one long, relentless series of legal battles. He tried to take operational control, but because I was listed as an Officer and a Board member and he wasn't, I was able to stop him cold. But it took an expensive Court case to get results."

"Additionally, " she continued, "he's offered to buy me out, and at more than the fair value of the shares. I've refused, and I offered to buy him out, though I don't have nearly the financial resources to do so that he has. Knox and I were never rich, and the one business was all we had."

She continued: "Fortunately, the company team rallied around me and against Mitt, so he tried to sabotage our good relations with the various State and Federal agencies. He's tried to get our customers to boycott us. As a State Senator, he had the State Tax Authority do a forensic audit on us, which cost us a ton in lawyer's fees."

I said "So how does Mr. Griese fit into this? And how did you come into your relationship with him?"

Laura said "He was... well he still is one of the company's best managers of the distributing operations. I really leaned on him after Knox and Lenore were killed, and he rejected Mitt's attempts to hire him away from us... and in a very aggressive, rude way that let Mitt know just how much David despised him."

"We spent a lot of time together at work." Laura said. "Then we started ordering takeout and eating together, which led to going out to dinner, and on from there."

I said "If something happened to your fiancé, if he could not return to work for any reason, how badly would that harm your company?"

"It would be devastating on a personal level, of course." she said. "As to the business, it would hurt, but we could... and would... keep going."

"All right, I'll take your case." I said. "For four hundred dollars a day, plus expenses. Five days paid up front."

"Your usual rate is two hundred a day." Laura said, her eyes smoldering as she looked at me through her eyebrows.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"You were recommended to me, Mr. Ferrament." Laura Thornwell said. "I won't say by who, but I was told your rate, and that you get results. I was also told you aren't afraid of Mitt Willard. Was that wrong?"

I said "Oh, we've crossed paths before, and I'm still here to tell the tale. However... the rate is based on the case." I stood up and said "And the rate doubled for you when the name 'Mitt Willard' crossed your lips."