Double, Double Cross

"I'm dressed up for you, you big dummy; now let's go, I'm getting hungry."

I took her by the arm as we walked to my car. I kept asking myself, how the hell did she know I was coming? I'm a detective, it's my job to solve mysteries and I wasn't going to be able to sleep until I solved that one.

I waited until we were in the car before asking. "Stacy, how the hell did you know I was coming?"

"Telepathy," she said.

"Telepathy?"

"Yeah, I felt like going out tonight so I transmitted the thought into the Cosmos. It only works for people within your spiritual orbit, so I knew you'd be the one to receive my thoughts."

Okay, I knew she just adlibbed all that psychobabble which meant she had no intention of telling me, so I'd just have to figure it out by myself. "Yeah... right," I said, which solicited a laugh from my beautiful passenger. We had ordered by the time it struck me. "Oh, of course, I mentioned it to Stan as I was leaving Plato's. He called you." She didn't say anything, just gave me a big grin.

Any time Stacy and I got together, we could pretty much count on sex as being part of the equation. We both got horny as hell by simply being in each other's company. By the time we got back to her apartment, we were tearing our clothes off.

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but somehow we were in a sixty-nine position when we hit the bed. Stacy's mouth had already engulfed my cock and I was looking up into her beautiful pussy. I reached up and pulled her butt cheeks apart to give my tongue better access. Briefly, her lips came to rest as she let out a sensuous moan when I started to reciprocate. Stacy came first, then second and third, but I was getting close. I told her but she just kept going until...

"Oh, oh God!" I felt her lips tighten around my shaft to keep anything from escaping as she milked me of every drop. I had my eyes closed and was still struggling for a normal breath when I felt Stacy get off the bed and go to the washroom. A couple minutes later she returned with a warm, moist washcloth and gently cleaned me up.

"Are you spending the night?"

"If that's an invitation, I accept," I replied.

"Good, I'll give you twenty minutes to recoup, then I want you to make love to me," she said while kissing my neck.

"You keep doing that and it won't take twenty minutes."

She smiled. "And since when do you need an invitation?"

I rolled her over onto her back and gently started sucking her nipples. It wasn't long before she started to squirm. I could feel her fingers in my hair as I slowly started to work my way south. Her eyes were closed tight but she must have sensed it when I started to maneuver into place.

"Are... are you hard already?"

I didn't verbally answer, I just tenderly slipped inside of her. Her gorgeous tits reached up as she arched her back in response.

"Oh, oh, oh, God, Blake, yes, slowly, please, with love, please."

It was around two in the morning by the time we both ran out of gas. Stacy curled up in my arms as we slipped off into dreamland. I was in that twilight zone just before sleep overtakes you when I heard her mumble, "I love you, Blake."

*****

As I expected, the bug in my office was gone by the following morning. Presumably, it was hidden away in some cozy little spot in Knutson's office. I'd wished I had time to bask in my cleverness, but if Richardson was as smart as I thought he was, my little ploy wouldn't fool him forever so I had to get a move on.

I had two names, Janet Stenson and Cathy Hyer. I did a complete rundown on both. From their driver's licenses, I saw Stenson had moved to a little classier neighborhood than before. I found their Facebook pages and studied their faces so I'd know them on sight and took note of anything else I thought might be of use.

From their social media pages, it looked like Hyer had moved on. I saw a couple of guys she seemed friendly with, but Janet Stenson didn't mention anyone with a "Y" chromosome. That and the fact that she moved to a swankier pad made me wonder if she was still seeing Richardson. It was certainly worth a short trip to see what I could come up with. A grabbed a small digital voice recorder and stuck it in my pocket. They can be handy in all kinds of situations.

I figured anyone who was mixed up with Richardson when I was trying to take him down would know who I was, so there was no reason to pose as a vacuum salesman as I rang Stenson's bell. It took her a few seconds to recognize me after opening the door. "What do you want?"

"Ms. Stenson," I greeted with a nod, "may I come in?"

Now, there were a few different ways this could go. If she knew nothing or wasn't seeing Richardson anymore, she'd probably say no and close the door. If she was still with him and knew the wife was on the prowl, one of two things were about to happen, if she wasn't too smart she'd slam the door in my face; if she was more intelligent than that, she'd invite me in and try to pump me for information that she could relay to her boyfriend.

"Yeah, sure, come on in," she replied while standing aside.

I didn't see anything about a job when I looked her up. Whoever her sugar-daddy was, he had money. The apartment was a good size with some rather expensive looking furniture. "Nice place."

"Thanks," she said, abruptly. "Now, what did you want to see me about?"

I glanced over to the leather couch. "May I have a seat?"

She sighed with impatience. "I guess," she conceded.

I walked over and sat down. I noticed her phone on the coffee table. What I wouldn't give to have a look, but I couldn't think of any way to get her out of the room for that long. "Ms. Stenson... may I call you Janet?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

Ah hah, she suddenly became friendlier. She was going to pump me for info, but she was a rank amateur next to me. "Janet, Arthur Richardson is missing. His wife is terribly worried and hired me to find him."

"Can I get you a beer?" she interrupted.

That surprised me a little. I figured she needed a moment to plan her strategy, or maybe she thought a beer would loosen my tongue and she'd get more out of me that way; in any event, it would give me an opportunity. "That would be great, thanks." As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, I took the recorder out of my pocket, turned it on, and shoved it under the couch.

It was voice-activated and would only record someone talking. I hoped that she'd call Richardson as soon as I left. I had one more trick up my sleeve as well.

She was back in no time with the beer. She laid a leather coaster down on the glass coffee table in front of me and set a bottle of Michelob on it. "Now, I don't know what help I can be, Mr. McDaniels. Art was a friend but I haven't seen him in years. His wife must be frantic. Do you have any leads?"

"Not yet, I was hoping you might be able to help me. Let's be honest, Janet, you were a lot more than just a friend. With all his money, I doubt that a man like Richardson would take a chance using hotel rooms. My guess is that he has a nice little hide-a-way for extracurricular activities, someplace out of the way where no one would see him."

"So you don't suspect he was kidnapped or anything like that. You think he's hiding from his wife on purpose?"

"I'm not ruling anything out at this point. I really would like to find his love-nest though. If he's not there it could indicate foul play."

"And what happens if you find him?"

"His wife's no fool, Janet. If he's shacked up with somebody, more power to him. She just wants to make sure he's okay."

"Ah huh," she uttered, letting me know she knew I was lying. "Tell me, Mr. McDaniels, why did she hire you? I mean, there must be a hundred private eyes in Chicago."

"Janet, despite your boyfriend's expensive mouthpiece getting him off, I did get the goods on him. I'm good at my job. I think Mrs. Richardson recognizes that."

"I see," she acknowledged. "Well, I wish I could help you, but like I said, I haven't seen Art in years and we never went to any love-nest together."

I was surprised the mistress of a man like Richardson wasn't a better liar, but I knew that was my cue. I took a swig from my beer, stood up, and laid a business card on the table. "Well, if you think of anything..."

"I'll be sure to call you," she said, finishing my sentence for me. She walked me to the door, said goodbye, and shut the door. I knew her next move would be to call Richardson. The phone I saw didn't belong in a plush apartment. It was a cheap burner.

When I first arrived and parked my car down the street, I noticed the apartment building had a lower level parking garage with a large overhead door. I saw a tenant use an automatic garage door opener when he drove inside. I was betting that a classy joint like that had a marked parking space for every tenant. All I had to do was get inside. For that, I popped my trunk and reached in for my Captain America magic decoder ring. All right, it wasn't a ring and it had nothing to do with Captain America, but that's the way I thought of it.

It was actually about the same size as a pack of cigarettes. Most homes in the area had pretty good door locks, not that I couldn't pick them, but it could be time-consuming. They also had attached garages with automatic overhead door openers that work on radio frequencies. Most people seldom locked the connecting door so once inside the garage you could simply walk inside the house.

I bought my little gadget a few years prior at Angie's electronics shop. All I had to do was press a button as somebody was using their garage door opener and my little toy would recognize the frequency and duplicate it. After that, I could use it to get in and out of their garage anytime I wanted. All I had to do was wait outside Janet's building until one of the tenants came home.

That could have been hours, but my luck was holding. Ten minutes after leaving her apartment, a Beemer pulled up. I pressed the button and saw the red indicator light up, showing me it worked. I waited a few minutes before going inside then closed the door behind me. I was right about the parking spaces; it took me only a minute to find Janet's.

"Jesus," I said out loud, "a Mercedes Cabriolet convertible, she must be something else in the sack." Now all I had to do was find a place under the car with enough metal to hold a magnetic tracking device while going over bumps. On a whim, I tried the door, and to my shock, it opened... stupid woman. I reached under the seat and attached the device to the inside of the frame. Once again, it was a waiting game.

My tracking receiver would notify me as soon as Janet's car would move, so, as not to appear suspicious, I'd drive around the block a few times before finding another parking spot to wait again.

Night had fallen hours earlier and I was beginning to think I was going to wind up sleeping in my car when I heard my receiver start to beep. I pulled out to follow and saw her taillights as she was pulling away. I shadowed her to a grocery store only a few blocks from her building. I pulled out my binoculars and watched as she entered the well-lit building. I saw her grab one of the large shopping carts, which I assumed, meant she'd be in there a while. It was my opportunity to get my recorder back.

I hurried back to the apartment building, used my magic decoder ring to enter through the garage, and took the elevator to the second floor. Home locks can be tough to pick, but the locks developers buy for apartment buildings are child's play. I took a lock rake and torsion spring out of my pocket and was inside her apartment in less than twenty seconds. I wasted no time retrieving my recorder and was back in my car in no time.

There were several recordings registered, but most of them were only a few seconds long. I figured she must talk to herself when she's alone. The first recording, however, was a little over eight minutes. I knew it would only be one side of the conversation but I was hoping for a miracle and pretty much got it.

"Hi, it's me... Yeah, well it is important. You'll never guess who was just here asking questions... Blake McDaniels... Yep. He said your wife hired him to find you because she was worried about you... Yeah, I know... I don't know. He didn't seem like that kind of guy, but it's possible, I guess.

"When?... Okay. What should I get?... Well, I don't know. Can you even cook on a boat, I have no idea... Okay, I'll go tonight. I don't want to leave right now in case he's still out there... Of course, I'll make sure he doesn't follow me. I'll leave like at three in the morning. There'll only be a few cars on the road so I'll be able to tell if someone's following me.

"What about the apartment, my car, all my things?... Okay, I'll see you bright and early, Friday... I love you, honey."

I didn't need Sherlock Holmes-like powers of deduction to figure out they were running. I glanced at my watch. It was eleven o'clock Wednesday evening; I had twenty-eight hours to get everything set up, but there was nothing more I could do at that time so I went home for some shuteye. The next morning, I called Mrs. Richardson.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Richardson, it's Blake McDaniels. Would you be able to drop those divorce papers off in my office sometime today? If not, I can swing by and pick them up."

"You found him... already?" she almost shrieked.

I never gave assurances to clients until I had everything sewn uptight. "Not exactly," I told her, "but I have a very good lead. If it pans out, I'll be eye to eye with your soon-to-be-ex tomorrow morning."

"Nobody gives him those papers but me," she stated.

"Uh, no, that's not a good idea. In the first place, I'm going to be leaving about two-thirty in the morning. In the second place, I have no idea what your husband's reaction is going to be. He could very possibly have a gun, I don't know, but I don't want to have to worry about you AND me."

"I don't care. That's why I hired you. Just make sure you bring your gun with you. I doubt he'd get violent though. He'll be pissed, but I don't think he'd really try anything. In any event, I'm going to be there. I'm going to hand him those papers while looking him straight in the eye!"

She sounded like a woman on a mission, and she wasn't going to be persuaded otherwise. "Okay," I said with a sigh, "but you'll have to be in my office at two-thirty tonight. You can't be late."

"I won't be late, Mr. McDaniels. I'll be there."

I still had a couple more phone calls to make, but after that, I didn't really have anything else to do. I called Stacy to see if she was available for lunch. I met her at De Mars, a nice little restaurant a couple blocks from where she worked. She was a little quieter than normal when I sat down.

"Hi, gorgeous, how's my girl?"

"Eh," she said with a sideways nod.

"What's the matter, babe, having a bad day?"

"I'll tell you after we order," she replied.

We'd met there for lunch on a bunch of occasions so it didn't take long for us to order. Our waitress wrote everything down on her pad and walked away with the menus. She came back in just a moment with our coffees and told us our orders would be up shortly.

"Okay, doll face, what's got you so glum?"

She picked up her coffee cup with both hands and stared at it for a few seconds. I was getting the impression that whatever the problem was, it was important.

"The other night you made a comment. You said if I wasn't already your ex-wife you'd propose."

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever really thought about it, proposing I mean?"

Her question took me aback. As the song says, 'We got married in a fever.' In those days, I was either on a case or had my dick inside Stacy's pussy. We had been introduced by a friend. That same night we destroy a set of motel sheets and damn near broke the bed. Four months later we were saying, "I do," in a Vegas wedding chapel with a guy dressed as Elvis announcing us man and wife. We made it for almost a year before we both realized my profession and marriage wasn't a good mix.

"Stacy, we tried that, remember? I'm still a PI. I still keep crazy hours. Hell, tonight I'm leaving at two-thirty in the morning to track down a missing person. I don't even know where I'm going or how long before I'm back."

"I... well, it's just that we're older now, Blake, more experienced. When we got married the first time, I wasn't prepared. I mean... I knew what you did for a living, but I didn't know what it entailed; now I do. Blake, I've gone out with quite a few guys since our divorce, but I never found anyone to even begin to take your place. I... I just can't seem to get you out of my system."

I was dumbfounded. I had no idea what to say. Still in both hands, she raised her cup and took a sip.

"Well, what do you think? This is where you're supposed to tell me you still love me," she said, tentatively.

"The truth is, Stacy, I do still love you. It's because I love you that I think it's a bad idea. Do you really think you wouldn't worry when I'm out on a case? You don't think you'd torture yourself constantly wondering where I am and if I'm okay?"

She looked up at me. "I have a friend at work. Her husband is a firefighter. They've been married for twenty years. She told me how she copes. If she can do it, I can do it, Blake."

Just then our food arrived. The thought of being married to Stacy again wasn't distasteful but I honestly had my doubts. "I've got to give it some thought, Stace. Give me some time."

She looked down again with a sad smile as if she knew my answer would be no. "No pressure, Blake, I just thought it was worth mentioning."

It kind of put a damper on the rest of our lunch. I gave her a peck on the lips as we said goodbye and told her I really would think about what she said. It seemed to perk her up a little.

I went back to my office and ran down my list of things to do one more time. I had one more confirming phone call to make, but I wouldn't do that until late that night.

I decided to go home and see if I could grab a little shut-eye. It would be my only chance for a while. Unfortunately, Stacy's luncheon proposal kept playing in my head like a song you can't stop thinking about. Around eight o'clock, I finally gave up. I was getting hungry, anyway. I started a pot of coffee and popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. I turned the TV to the menu and saw the oldies station was showing several back-to-back episodes of Mike Hammer.

It was one in the morning by the time Mike ran out of cases to solve, so I jumped in the car and headed for the office. I had one more call to make.

"Everything set?... Great. I'll see you at the party... Thanks."

I made one more check to make sure I had everything I needed, then sat back and waited for my client. She showed up ten minutes early with a legal-sized manila envelope in her hand. After I gave her a short rundown on what we would be doing, she asked if I had my gun on me. I assured her I never leave home without it.

At two-thirty we were sitting outside Janet's apartment building. I reached in the back, got my homemade bracket, and secured it in place on the center console, then opened my laptop and snapped it into the bracket.

"What are you doing?"

"This is how we're going to track her. I have a program that works in conjunction with the transmitter I planted in her car. We'll let her get a couple miles ahead before we start following her. She'll never know we're behind her."

"Jesus, I'm impressed. It's like I'm riding with James Bond," Mrs. Richardson said with a small chuckle.

"Not quite," I replied. "Bond's tracking device had a limited range. This works off satellites. Our unsuspecting prey could drive to Montana and we'd never lose her.

"Right on time," I said as the large garage door opened. We watched as the silver Cabriolet pulled out. I checked the screen on my laptop and saw the tracking device already had her pinpointed on Michigan Avenue, heading north. "As Sherlock would say, Mrs. Richardson, the game's afoot."