Have We Met? Pt. 01

Have We Met: Part 1

I slept through the entire thing, event, hell, whatever you wanted to call it. The night before had been pure bliss. I picked up this gal at a local watering hole, went to a motel, and we fucked each other sober. You know it was a good night when that happened. I got home after midnight and crashed hard. The evening would have been perfect if it wasn't for the damn dream. In it, I began as a rat; granted, I was a huge gnarly one; anyway, I was hunting for something. That something ended up being a sickly old dog. The poor thing was on its last leg, and in typical dream fashion, logic never played a part in what happened next. My body leaped at the canine's throat, and it died quickly. No longer a rat, I was now a huge hulking wolf hybrid, primitive and hungry. Relentlessly driven by some unseen force, I headed to the zoo. I knew where I was going but not why. I easily slipped onto the grounds and sought my next target at the big cat facility. This time it was a feeble aged leopard. You guessed it, I killed the cat and took on the form of a deadly apex predator to stalk my last prey, a human being. I woke from the nightmare with my teeth firmly embedded in a night watchman's jugular. It wouldn't have been so bad if the dream hadn't haunted me for nearly a year.

I buried the dream with the memories of the night before since I wanted a second shot at the woman, but we never exchanged numbers or emails. Oh well, probably for the best. I was showering off her scent when the landlord hollered about the murder. I finished up as quickly as possible and waited outside the four-family flat until police forensics gathered evidence and the cops interviewed everyone. Though I had put on a jacket, the wind cut through it like crazy, and my wet hair didn't help.

The police tape quarantined the apartment and maintained the scene until every scrap of evidence could be collected, bagged, and sent to the lab for study. My landlord and one of my neighbors stood shivering, just like me. One of them was missing; was he the victim? Another blast of agonizing wind cut through me, and I shivered and rubbed my torso to keep from freezing. I endured because I must.

"You are Colton Windermere?" The uniformed officer asked.

"Yeah, what the hell is going on?" I replied as I tried and failed to check out the female cop's ass discretely.

"Did you just?" She asked as she got in my face.

"I just woke up, and my landlord is screaming about a dead body. I am not at my best right now," I said, and she glared at me. "It is difficult ignoring such a phenomenal backside." The glare became a sly grin.

"Where were you last night?" The officer asked.

"I hit the Black Thorn bar, picked up some female companionship, and didn't get back here until after midnight. I don't know if anyone heard me come in or not. You'd have to ask them."

She jotted it down in her notebook. Officer sweetcheeks continued asking questions, mainly whether I knew the victim and if we got along.

"Dex kept to himself though he did have a lot of visitors," I replied. "He was quiet by nature. I couldn't tell you what he did for a living."

That is when the late model Mustang police interceptor pulled up; you could tell from the front grill with the hidden emergency lights and tinted windows. I wondered if other countries had unmarked police vehicles. Maybe I'd Google it after they let me go. Was this a second detective arriving on the scene or perhaps one of the higher-ups? Why would a murder here merit the attention of a high-ranking police officer? I could barely make out movement, and it looked to me like the driver was drinking from a cup or container. The movement stopped, and a short time later, the driver's side door opened, and she stepped out. Damn, she looked hotter dressed than she did the night before. Not that she didn't look good naked and impaled on my cock. No doubt, she was the woman I had recruited from the bar.

Officer Sweetcheeks finished the initial interview, and I found a spot out of the wind to wait until they cleared the building. The uniformed cop approached the female detective and addressed her by name.

"Detective Evenwood."

"Aw fuck," I cursed softly. "This is going to be awkward."

Evenwood never mentioned she was a cop when I buried my dick in her ass. Well, she was too busy moaning and thrusting her hips against me. I wondered if she wanted the footage of last night as evidence for my alibi. Not fucking likely; that kind of shit ended careers. The chief of police would not be amused to see a bright young woman begging for my dick in her backdoor. I better keep that information to myself. Besides, it would be nice to revisit it later. Maybe I could get Evenwood's number and reacquaint ourselves. The odds for a rematch improved significantly.

"What's the situation?" Evenwood asked as she scanned the area, and our eyes locked. The lovely Asian/Black woman cursed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Who is that?" She asked, pointing to me.

"He lives here. According to his statement, he slept through everything," Sweetcheeks replied. "He claims he had sex before he got home."

"Do we have a time of death?" Evenwood asked, ignoring me altogether.

"Initial estimate puts the murder between eleven and midnight," Sweetcheeks said.

My rock-hard alibi for the murder is one of the detectives. It didn't get much better than that, I thought. The other detective waved Evenwood over to the edge of the police tape. As Evenwood walked over to her partner, I took in her beauty. The way her tits bounced and her ass moved, I wanted her more than ever. Despite the bitter wind, my body reacted to the memory of our time together. I tried to hide my hand, adjusting my growing erection.

"This one is fucking brutal," the male detective announced. "Speaking of, how was your night off?"

"It was nice," Evenwood replied. "I got rid of some much-needed stress."

Yeah, she did, I thought, three orgasms worth of tension. I sank two loads worth of anxiety into her, one in the front and finished in her rear. The wind didn't bother me much as I remembered our fierce encounter.

"Glad to hear it. This job can eat you alive if you let it," the older detective said.

What had happened that a seasoned homicide detective could describe the scene as fucking brutal? Had the victim been butchered? It was the only thing I could think of that fit the description. Was Dex the victim? I looked around and spotted Dasha and Rupert. Rupert, our landlord, lived on the first floor, while Dasha had the apartment across from me on the second floor. Dasha worked as an exotic dancer at one of the local strip clubs at night and went to college during the day. Her stage name was Nanna-Sin, after a Sumerian goddess. Dasha also benefited from having a Middle Eastern lineage and reminded me of the adult actress Mia Khalifa. They could have been body twins, except I thought Dasha was more attractive. I had visited her at work a few times when she needed a lift home and didn't want to take a bus late at night. It didn't hurt that she was a massive fan of road head with a matching oral fixation.

Dex rented the apartment below me and was not on the front lawn with the rest of us. He must be dead or on the run. The questions began to form in my head despite the rude awakening. Could the police identify the corpse? The male detective had used the descriptor fucking brutal, which painted a particular image in my mind like tons of blood, fleshy bits, and a savage attack. Had Dex murdered someone over a drug deal gone wrong or the other way around? I had mixed feelings about it. I didn't know much about Dex since he wasn't social, and his visitors at odd hours had long ago become fucking annoying.

I wasn't the only one that suspected he was dealing drugs. Rupert called him out on it more than once. Their argument wasn't what you'd call civil. Dex declared that nothing illegal occurred in his apartment. However, he did have a lot of guests at all hours of the night and day. The few times the cops got called, they came up empty. So, whatever he was doing may not have involved narcotics. Something painted a target on his back, and he or a client had paid with their life. It was all conjecture until the police released details about the case.

The detectives moved inside, and I waited patiently until the officer with the nice butt offered to drive me to the station to file an official statement. I climbed into the back of her squad car and settled in for the short haul to the station.

"Mr. Callahan wasn't well-liked?" Sweetcheeks asked. "Your neighbors spoke less encouraging about him. Would you like to amend your initial statement?"

"So, Dex was murdered last night?"

"I can confirm that he was the victim of a homicide. Do you want to tell me your genuine feelings?"

"I didn't want to speak ill of the dead," I began. "Dex wasn't what you'd call a social animal and came off as shady as fuck. There were many people in and out of his apartment all the time. I can't be sure, but find out who supplied his drugs if you are looking for a suspect. Something was going on down there. What it was, I can only guess."

"Stand-up kind of guy, huh?" She asked sarcastically. "Speaking of death wish, you checked out my ass at a crime scene. You claimed to be with someone last night. So, you still need to stare at someone's butt?"

"Is that an official question, officer?"

"Call it a need to know for now," she laughed.

"Officially, last night, I found a nice religious girl, took her to a motel, and we went at it in a biblical sense."

"Ha, you crack me up," she giggled. "I guess we run her down for your alibi, and you'll be off our list."

"She did not give me her name or number. We were too busy with other things," I said. It was the truth, but things might get interesting when the detective gets involved. "If it will help to apologize, I will."

"Pfft," she made a rude noise. "The uniform hugs my butt, and I don't mind. Pity you didn't get a name. It might make finding her easier."

"I noticed you didn't say hard," I joked.

The cop laughed and winked at me via the rearview mirror. Two cops in two days, my luck was turning around. We arrived at the station, and I wrote out my statement and signed it. Officer Sweetcheeks initialed it and handed me her business card and cell number. Her work shift ended at six, and she'd be getting off by seven if I had anything to say about it. Of course, there might be a delay since I was technically a suspect in a homicide. I could wait for this to blow over to nail Officer Jennifer MacLeod.

"Wait here while I file your report, and if we need anything else, someone will inform you," Jennifer said.

I kicked back and relaxed. The chairs weren't what you'd call comfortable. But I had nothing to worry about since I was balls deep in sweet detective pussy while someone ended Dex. Jennifer returned and informed me that one of the detectives would call me when I could return home. If I had friends or family, I might want to stay with them for a few days. I dialed my mom. She still lived in town.

"Colton?"

"Hey, mom, I need a favor. Can I crash on your couch for a few days? I can't use my apartment right now."

"Let me guess, another jealous husband," mom joked. "Kidding. Come on over. You still have a key, don't you?"

"I got it. I will be over as soon as the police give me the okay."

"Police! Goddamnit, Colton, what did you do this time?"

"Nothing, someone murdered one of my neighbors."

"Holy shit, that was just on the news. Alright, I will make up one of the spare bedrooms. Stay as long as you like."

"Thanks, mom, you're the best."

Officer Jenny stuck her head in and told me I was free to go. I called a cab to take me to mom's house. Until the forensic guys did their thing, the apartment was off-limits. I paid the driver and found mom waiting for me. She hugged the shit out of me, pressed my face to her cleavage, and cried. I told her to relax since I wasn't the victim. We went inside, and mom fixed coffee. While she cleaned out the brewer's filter, I examined her backside.

"Damn, woman, have you lost weight?" I asked, and she blushed.

"Twenty pounds," she gleefully responded. "I know my ass is still huge."

"Just the way I like it," I added, and she glared at me. "Come on, are you still mad I took your virginity?"

"I am your mother," she fired back with little conviction.

"Stepmom, it isn't like we are related or anything. Jeez, you wailed like a banshee the first time we hooked up. I am sorry if I hurt your butt."

"No, you're not. You strutted around here like you owned the place. You pounded my poor ass like the devil himself. I had to sit on icepacks to recover."

"Aw, you loved every minute of it," I corrected her. "I have the video of you begging for more of my cock."

"Good times," she laughed. "I miss having you around here, not just for the mind-blowing sex, though that is a bonus. When you get my age, guys pass you by."

"Oh my god, woman, you aren't even forty yet. Jeez, Louise, you're what, thirty-eight?"

My late dad married Wanda in my first year of high school. He called her his wicked Wanda, and man, was he right. Wanda put much younger women to shame with her dick-sucking skills and adventurous nature. When he died last year, Wanda and I grew too close. We spent a week mourning my dead father and learning what made the other tick. We shared kinks and passions and played them out without guilt or inhibition. If I died tomorrow, that would still be the best time of my life.

"How is your legalese coming along?"

"Eh, why?"

"I have a few things for you later," Wanda said. "Which room do you want, the one next to mine?"

"Nah, I'll take the guest room next to your study. Do you still hate the mirror?"

"Yes, that damn thing gives me the creeps. I don't know how the hell you stand the damned thing."

"It has been in the family for generations."

"Yeah, right. Oh, I almost forgot something. I will be right back cop a squat."

Wanda got herself a new couch, and it looked comfy. I sat and grabbed the remote for the seventy-two-inch plasma display. Let's see if Booker has posted a video on Platform, Twitch, or Youtube. I spoke into the remote and sorted by date. Something heavy settled into the cushion next to me. I paused the video to see a large cardboard box marked 'legal papers.' It didn't have a lid, and an eyeglass case was on top of all the folders.

"Some light reading for you. It covers your father's and Numenor's lawsuits, specifically Nick Shaw."

"Isn't there a lawyer handling this?"

"Yes, but your dad always had to know what was happening. The gist is this; your father filed a patent application that covered a new and improved technology involving AI and crystal hard drives. Nick lost his shit because he was weeks away from filing his patent, or so he claimed."

"Ouch, that had to hurt."

"Yeah, so Kat, Nick's sister, stepped in and began negotiating for your father's patent. But until the lawsuits are settled or dismissed, talks are stalled. I kept this from you until you turned twenty-one. Now you are officially an adult. This steaming pile of legality is all yours now. Enjoy."

"What's with the eyeglass case?"

"Open it and find out."

I picked up the box and opened it. Inside was a man's bracelet. Its black matte finish and woven Celtic knot design were quite handsome. There wasn't an apparent clasp, so I wondered how it stayed on, and next to it was a man's signet ring with a stunning dark blue diamond. I tried on the ring, and it fit perfectly. The bracelet was another matter as I fumbled with it.

"Like this," Wanda said, picked it up, and slapped it against my left wrist.

It reminded me of how cops used to put handcuffs on bad guys back in the day. The bracelet wrapped around once and stayed put. Was it magnetic?

"Your dad left that for you before, you know. He said it was the latest in military-grade tech. You can call it a tactical bracelet for all I care. It will let the house know you are friendly and monitor your vitals if something unfortunate happens. Don't take it off."

"Why go to those kinds of measures?"

"One, I lost your dad way too soon. Two, this house has been in your family for three generations. Three, it is your house now. Welcome home." Wanda said and handed me a mug of coffee. I sipped the coffee to give me time to process everything.

"New coffee?" I asked.

"Yes, one of the old ladies I spend time with at the nursing home recommended it."

"I think it is nice that you do that," I said.

Booker faced off against a titanic tree creature in the middle of New York. While he kept it busy other heroes assembled to lend him a hand. Why did the city look like Poison Ivy had taken over? Weird.

"Ooh, Ghost Fire," Wanda exclaimed. "I know him. He is such a sweetie and so gentle."

"Wait, you've met Booker?"

"Met him, oh sweetie, he fucked me rotten and then some," Wanda said, nearly swooning, and then proceeded to describe their time together.

"He seems to be the kind of guy that doesn't put on airs."

"Exactly, what you see is what you get, every inch of it."

"It is good to see you smile like that. At least one young man finds you irresistible."

"Don't you want to watch the commentary?" Wanda asked.

"Commentary? What are you talking about?"

"See that yellow icon in the bottom corner that indicates another layer to the video. That number means three people are reviewing the footage. Just mouse over the icon, and viola."

"Booker held his own against an A-ranked titan for nearly a minute by himself," one of the men said.

"A-ranked or not, he did a lot of damage," the solitary woman added. "Watch that health bar drop."

"Damn, he is fast, his reaction time is off the charts, and he doesn't possess any speedster buffs or perks." The other man said. "His dagger hits nearly as hard as Thor's Mjolnir and is twice as quick due to its aerodynamic design."

"When did they add this feature to streaming videos?" I asked.

"Ooh, six months ago, Numenor came up with the idea, and their entertainment company did the heavy lifting. If you watch the original footage, the player gets all the revenue minus what the provider takes. In Booker's case, since he is exclusively a Numenor star, Kat and Nick get that generous slice. When you activate the commentary, those people get a portion depending on how well the original makes; the more views, the more money. Add a sponsor or two, and they can get a nice check in the mail. Of course, Booker donates ten percent of his earnings to charity."

"Twenty million views on average, and ten percent of that is generous."

"He has helped a lot of people in need."

I reached for the first manilla folder and began reading. Dad had improved upon Nick's AI profile and personality parameters. It made the artificial characters more in-depth and able to cope with a broader range of encounters and increased problem-solving skills. The second lawsuit dealt with a fundamental enhancement of Nick's crystal motherboards. Well, dad's version was a small cube of programable matter that performed all of the functions that Nick had delegated to a more traditional setup. The three-dimensional nature of the cubes allowed the computers to process a substantial amount of information faster and more efficiently. As the AI encountered more and more processes, the programable matter changed to make those connections even quicker. The technology mimicked the human brain creating a neural network.

"Pure genius," I said as Wanda snuggled close. "It seems dad abandoned the cube shape, believing that the tech didn't need to rely on a specific form since the programable matter could adapt to myriad shapes and sizes. Brilliant. I wish I were half as bright as my dad."