Real Estate Games Pt. 12

... right next to officer Flanagan's police cruiser.

The tall cop had my door open before I could unbuckle my seat belt.

"Are you following me Miss Moorehead?" he asked.

"Of course not. I'm here for dinner."

He thought about my answer for a second or two. "I guess that makes sense. Because if you knew I was here, you certainly wouldn't have made that noisy, illegal U-turn."

"Sorry about that. Can I buy you dinner and call it even?" I offered.

"You know what happened the last time you offered me a bribe."

"I do. Should I get out so you can paddle me right here in the parking lot? Or would you rather do it someplace more private?"

"It was a minor offense. I think a simple tongue lashing will suffice."

"I look forward to it, but if you're free, I'd still like to buy you dinner."

"Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Moorehead?"

"Consider it a professional consultation."

Despite its name -- or maybe because of it -- the Pig Sty was a popular place to eat. A dozen or so people sat on benches outside the entrance waiting for a table to open up. But when Officer Flanagan and I approached the hostess, she immediately escorted us to a table that assuredly would have gone to whoever was next in line if I had been there alone.

"Is she sweet on you or does the badge and uniform always get you to the front of the line?" I asked after the hostess left.

"I never met her in my life so it must be the cop suit."

"Sounds a lot like a bribe to me."

"I wouldn't call it a bribe, more like a bit of mutual back scratching. Restaurants like the security of having cops eat with them and we don't have time to wait in lines, so we go to places that give us priority seating. Cops only get a half hour to eat. If it bothers you, we can give the table to somebody else and go wait our turn."

"No. I'm just wondering if I'm the only citizen you chastise for offering favors."

Our conversation was interrupted by a middle-aged waitress who also seemed to give Officer Flanagan priority over her other tables. By the time we ordered drinks and food, the subject of police privilege was forgotten, and we moved on to the real reason I wanted to meet with him.

"Remember the first time we met?" I asked.

"Seventy-eight in a forty-five mile per hour zone. Leg cuffed to the brake pedal. Soiled bedsheets in the trunk."

"Exactly. Do you recall our conversation?"

"Not word for word, but you weren't exactly sure... you didn't know who..."

"I didn't know whose sperm was on the sheets," I said

"If I remember correctly, it was something about being tied up and blindfolded."

"Well, it happened again."

"Somebody else put a hood over your head, chained you to a bed and had their way with you?"

"Not quite the same scenario, but I was in another situation in which I'm not exactly sure whose male member ended up in my female parts."

"Can I assume this second event also involves soiled bedsheets?"

"It's a dress this time, but a similar stain."

"Does this have anything to do with a wolf?"

"No. Human beings... male humans, both times."

"And in both cases, you're not sure which man left the stains?"

"Exactly."

"But you would like to know and want my help."

"Yes. I would be extremely appreciative."

"I thought we already had this conversation. If you bring me a DNA sample of your prime suspect, I'll get the lab guys to see if it matches what's on your dress and sheets."

"That's the problem. He won't give me a sample?"

"Did you ask him?"

"Not in so many words. I certainly didn't ask him to give me a semen sample so I could use it for DNA analysis, but I have been trying my best to seduce him."

"I can't believe there is a man on this planet you can't seduce. That includes the entire gay population, comatose hospital patients and Benedictine monks."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, but no matter what I try, he's either keeping it in his pants or putting it in some other woman."

"But you do have access to him?"

"Yes. I've been with him every day for a week."

"He hasn't made an effort to bed you?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

"So, bring me a DNA sample and we'll have it cross checked against the dress and sheets."

"Aren't you listening? Do I have to spell it out for you? He won't fuck me. He's screwing every other woman in town, but me. At least I don't think he has... unless he was the one who tied me to the bed or took advantage of me when the fat lady was sitting on my face."

"You had sex with a fat lady sitting on your face?"

"It was a point of negotiation."

"Wow. I never knew real estate got so kinky?"

"It isn't, except with this particular client."

"Who may or may not have had intercourse with you -- on two separate occasions -- from both of which you have semen samples."

"And since he won't screw me when I can see him, I don't have a sample for comparison."

Flanagan wrinkled up his nose and was about to say something when the waitress brought our food. Not wanting to discuss my abnormal sex life in front of the woman and worrying about who might be listening in from an adjacent table, I decided to drop the subject. He took the hint and whatever was on his mind remained unsaid.

The business part of the evening complete, we finished our meal talking about more mundane subjects. Like the totally inept city council and the slime ball company that was closing the auto plant.

Flanagan walked me to my car when we were through.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked before opening my door.

"Know what?"

"Who the stains belong to. Who screwed you when you weren't looking. Suppose it isn't the guy you hope it is? Would that necessarily be a bad thing? I obviously don't know the man, but if he's lifting every skirt in town except yours..."

"You're wondering why I'm with him?"

His answer was a brotherly peck on the forehead and an embrace... except most big brothers don't squeeze their little sister's ass cheeks when they hug.

***

A gentle reminder. Realtor Games is a work of fiction. The last I checked, suspending a woman from the ceiling and abusing her body in return for a better price on her house is neither legal, moral, nor a proper way to social distance. Please don't try this at home.

I'd love to hear your opinions of what you've read so far. Just as actors live for applause, writers thrive on feedback... either positive or negative. You can either leave a public comment or send me private feedback. Either way, tell me what you like and don't like about Realtor Games. My goal is to make my stories so compelling you can't wait for the next installment.

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