Real Estate Games Pt. 14

Welcome to Realtor Games.

If you are new to the story, I recommend you start from part 1. This is one of the few chapters that doesn't stand alone. If you haven't read the previous parts, this chapter will leave you scratching your head... and even if you've started from part 1, it still might bewilder you. But I strongly recommend you start from the beginning.

If you're a returning reader, welcome back.

Enjoy.

***

Realtor Games

Part 14

Condo Cops

I dropped Mark at his car and went straight home. Even though we'd only bought one house that morning, Mark said he had some "errands to attend to" that would occupy his entire afternoon. I offered to arrange an evening showing which he countered with an invite to dinner.

Something unusual was going on. Not like what we'd been doing all week didn't peg my all-time "fucked-up meter". But for the brief time I'd known the man, all he wanted to do was buy houses and screw women. We obviously weren't going to do anymore of the former that day... maybe he had plans for the latter and thought I needed time to recuperate.

I parked my car and walked the one flight of steps up to my condo carrying my briefcase and a plastic bag which held the stolen semen stained towel.

My door wasn't wide open, but it was definitely open, just an inch.

I must be losing my mind. I distinctly remember arming the alarm, closing the door and then locking it before I left this morning.

I even glanced up at the metal numbers on the door to make sure I hadn't gone up one flight of stairs too many.

Apartment 202. That's mine. I'm in the right place. So why is my door open?

I used my foot to gently push the door further open and peered inside.

Nothing. No movement and no sound.

If somebody had broken in, they were either long gone or hiding in the bedroom. I was about to go find out when I sensed, more than heard, a presence behind me. A strong hand stifled my scream as the opposite arm pulled me against the burly attacker. His grip on my mouth prevented me from turning to identify him. I was just about to bite down as hard as my jaw muscle could muster when a familiar voice whispered;

"Quiet. If someone's in there we want to surprise him."

Officer Flanagan slowly uncovered my mouth and released his death grip around my waist.

"What..."

He placed his finger against my lips and pulled me out into the hallway.

"Wait here," he whispered. "If you hear any shooting, run like hell."

I nodded in consent as he pulled his gun and entered my condo.

A few minutes later, he remerged. His gun holstered. A stern look on his face.

"It's clear. Nobody's in there and I don't see any damage."

"Thanks, I guess. But what are you doing here?"

"Saving your life."

"I thought you said the apartment was empty."

"It is, but you didn't know that a few minutes ago when I stopped you from entering a potential crime scene. What were you going to do if there was somebody in there?"

"I don't know. Chase them out. Beat them up. I'd figure something out."

He gave me an eye-rolling head shake and then moved aside, granting me entrance to my own condo. "You look around to see if they took anything while I get us something to drink."

"You never answered my question," I said while taking stock of my limited collection of electronic gear. "Why are you here?"

"Your security company called dispatch. Your front door sensor and motion detector activated."

"Why didn't they call me first? They usually do."

My TV, cable box and blue ray player undisturbed, I continued my search for missing items in the bedroom.

"They probably tried and couldn't get you. Was your phone with you all morning?"

"Possibly not. Or I might have been slightly distracted."

"Distracted? Anything you care to share?"

'Not really."

My mother's diamond ring was still in its place on my dresser. Best I could tell, nobody had gone through my clothes drawers, as if there was something in there worth stealing. Come to think of it, besides Mom's ring, there wasn't a single thing of real value in the entire condo. Not sure if that was a sad commentary on my life or evidence I hadn't succumbed to a life of materialism.

"Mind if I help myself to one of your beers?" he called from the kitchen. "I'm off duty."

"Go ahead and pour me one too."

I took a quick look inside my closet and confirmed that my meagre collection of casual and business wear was still intact. My never used wedding dress still hung in the corner... a constant reminder of what could have been.

"Are you feeling okay?" Flanagan was stretched out on my couch. A beer in one hand, my e-reader in the other, as I walked towards him.

"I'd feel better if you weren't perusing my choice of reading material."

"No, I'm serious. You're walking kind of funny. Did you fall?"

'You'd be walking funny too if, just an hour ago, somebody shoved a fence post up your ass' is what I wanted to say. But at that moment I spied my briefcase and the plastic bag containing Mark's semen sample sitting in the middle of the floor.

"Shit." I went back to my bedroom closet and looked at the empty shelf in the corner. The shelf that should have held the sheets and dress that may or may not contain Mark's DNA.

Flanagan came up behind me. "Hey, I'm sorry. Didn't know you were so sensitive about what you read. I mean, I've been known to read some kinky stuff myself every now and then."

"I know what they took." I pointed to the empty shelf. "That's where I stored the dress and sheets."

"The stained dress and sheets?" he asked. "The ones you wanted me to compare to an un-yet collected DNA sample from your mystery boyfriend?"

"He's more of a business associate than a boyfriend and I got a sample from him this morning. But now it's useless. Without the sheets and dress, I'll never know if he was the one."

"The one who screwed you while blindfolded and chained to a bed?"

"And the other time..."

"Oh yes," Flanagan laughed. "When the fat girl was sitting on your face. How could I forget?"

"I'm glad you think this is funny, I sure don't."

"Why not? Why are you so worried about it? Does a girl like you really care if she can't identify one or two of her many sex partners?"

"What the hell do you mean by 'a girl like you'? I haven't been with that many guys..."

Except I had. At least in Flanagan's mind. He'd only known me for a week... a week in which I at least quadrupled my previous yearly record for number of male companions. Prior to meeting Mark Seiman, I was a "one man at a time" woman. A girl who waited until the second date for a kiss and at least a month before inviting a man into my bedroom. In Flanagan's mind, I had to be the most promiscuous woman he'd ever met.

"You're right," I admitted. "Considering everything that's happened to me recently, whoever tied me to that bed or took advantage of me when I was otherwise occupied... figuring out who they were, in the grand scheme of things, is not all that important."

Flanagan led me back towards the living room. I settled onto the couch with a bit of a grimace... the aftereffects of the morning's activities. Flanagan brought me a beer and then took his half empty brew to the easy chair across from me. We sat in silence for a few minutes. He sipped his beer while pretending not to look at me. But he was. Couldn't tell if he was just enjoying the view or expected me to say something.

"It doesn't make sense," I finally said after considering all the possibilities.

"What? The electoral college or life in general?"

"Yes... to both. But I was referring to the break in. You convinced me I shouldn't worry about who stained the stolen sheets and dress. So why steal them?"

"Maybe whoever left the stains doesn't want to be identified," Flanagan suggested. "With all the #metoo crap going on, who can blame him?"

"He's afraid I'll ruin his professional reputation?"

"Or get him thrown in jail."

"Well that certainly rules out my client. I've got enough on him to put him away for the rest of his life, without the DNA proof."

"Your client... he's got a name?"

"Of course."

"But you're not going to tell me?"

"I had to sign some confidentiality papers..."

"You didn't find that unusual?"

"Everything about this client is unusual."

"So maybe whoever took your stains wants to know who this guy really is."

"They can do that? Without a comparison?"

"Sure, if he's in a data base. If the guy ever served in the military, he'll be easy to identify."

"But the stains may not be his."

"Whoever broke into your apartment doesn't know that."

"So, whoever did this might be after Mark... I mean my client."

"Exactly. And if this client, whose first name may or may not be Mark, is careful -- if he doesn't go to a local barber or leave his fingernail clippings in his hotel sink -- then the best way to obtain a DNA sample might be through you."

"Wait a sec," I said. "What does a barber or fingernail clippings have to do with DNA?"

"Those are two common ways to steal a person's DNA. I mean there's quite a few more. Recently chewed gum, a drop of blood..."

"Are you saying I didn't need..." I looked at the plastic bag that held the towel that contained the fluid I paid for so dearly.

"Janis. When I said I needed a sample for comparison, I didn't mean it had to come from his dick."

"You could have mentioned that earlier, like when we first met."

"The bag? It has the sample?"

"Yep. Soaked into a towel."

"And you're walking funny because..."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"How big of a man is he?"

"Bigger than you."

"Ouch, that hurt."

"Yes, it did."

Officer Flanagan finished his beer without any further discussion about the robbery or my abnormal sex life. He invited me to lunch. I declined. All I wanted was a shower and time to think... both best accomplished without his participation.

"Probably best if I get this plastic bag out of your house," he said on his way out the door. What he really meant to say was 'I'm going to take this towel full of ass cum and put it in a hazardous waste dump before somebody else comes looking for it.'

"Thanks. For everything. Sorry about kicking you out. Maybe another time."

"Not a problem. I'm sure we'll hook up again."

***

The Sharper Knife

Mark and I went back to the Sharper Knife for dinner. I spied three out of the five city council members eating together and realized that was probably why it was becoming Mark's favorite restaurant. Instead of his original need for anonymity, he now had a deep-seated desire to be seen, especially with me. The local big wigs watched as we walked in but, not wanting a repeat of the snubbing we gave them the previous day, didn't acknowledge our presence as the hostess led us past their table to ours.

"I've got something for you," Mark said after giving the waitress our drink order.

He placed a long thin box, wrapped in silver paper with a gold bow, on the table in front of me.

"A present?" I asked.

"You've been extremely patient. It's the least I can do."

"Should I open it now or is it something that will embarrass me?" I didn't relish opening a sex toy in the fanciest restaurant in town.

"I would have thought you were beyond embarrassment by now. But don't worry, it's just a piece of jewelry."

Mark's idea of "just a piece of jewelry" was an exquisite necklace. Two silver dolphins, curled around the largest pearl I'd ever seen, hung from a delicate chain. I squealed in delight when I first saw it, causing everybody in the restaurant to turn and see what had made me so happy. Instinct temporarily gave way to decorum as I gave Mark a huge hug and then a kiss, which lasted much longer than appropriate for a public venue.

"You must be quite a fan of dolphins," he said.

"Dolphins, sharks, goldfish... whatever you want to wrap around a pearl, I'll gladly take. This had to cost a fortune."

"More than you can imagine. It was specifically designed for your lovely neck." He took the necklace from the box and released the clasp. "May I have the honor of placing it where it was destined to live?"

I turned my back to him and raised my hair. He gently lay the dolphins on my chest, his hands on my bare shoulders, his mouth just inches from my ear. "I have something else for you, but we'll do that later," he whispered and kissed the spot where the now closed clasp rested on the back of my neck.

Dinner came and went. I'm fairly sure it was tasty. The Sharper Knife rarely disappoints. But I don't remember what I had or what we talked about. My mind was way too busy trying to figure out what Mark was up to.

Why now? What happened to make him act like a romantic gentleman? Maybe "act" is the key word. The more I think about it the surer I am that it's nothing but another scam. A preplanned ploy to either impress me, send a message to the council or, most likely, both.

More importantly, what is the "something else" he has for me? Another present or is he finally going to bless me by putting his cock in my proper hole? Is that what the necklace is all about? A bribe? Or worse yet, a payment? I guess I should be flattered. The pearl alone had to cost him several thousand. But this wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Letting him play with my body so I can sell houses is one thing. Paying outright to have sex with me is completely different. If I let it continue, the next step is a hundred-dollar bill on the nightstand as he leaves my condo in the morning... okay, maybe a thousand-dollar bill. But, despite everything I've done in the past few days, I'm a realtor, not a prostitute.

By the time dessert was finished, my initial excitement about the necklace was replaced by dread.

"Would you mind if I dropped by your place later tonight," Mark asked as we walked towards our cars in the parking lot.

"Does this have anything to do with my new necklace?" I asked.

"I want to talk about our future relationship. And yes, it also has to do with the necklace."

"Our personal relationship or our future business dealings?"

"They are one in the same. I need to stop by my hotel room to fetch some props. Shall we say eight thirty?"

***

Janis's condo

His 'props' were exactly what I thought they would be and, at the same time, not at all what I expected. Just like the accompanying conversation.

Two small boxes, one slightly larger than the other, sat on my couch between Mark and me. Unlike the necklace, these were without fancy wrapping paper or pretty bows. They were plain brown cardboard containers with no exterior markings.

"Before you open your gifts, we need to have a little discussion." His tone held a bit of an edge. His eyes were not completely locked on mine. For the first time since we met, he seemed slightly unsure of himself.

"Is there something in those boxes I'm not going to like?" I asked.

"Hard to tell," he said. "But the 'what' isn't nearly as important as the 'why'."

He leaned towards me, taking my hands in his.

Is he going to propose?

"It's time we took you to the next level."

Finally. He's going to bed me properly.

"You're good Miss Moorehead. Maybe the best I've ever been with."

How the hell does he know? We've only done it once or twice. If that.

"But this next step... to get where we really need to be... there could be an element of risk."

Is he talking bondage? Maybe some of that kinky asphyxiation sex?

"If you do exactly what I say, follow my instructions to the letter, we'll both get what we want --"

Which is a night of carnal delight.

"-- and Merryville will be a better place."

Huh?

"Not right away, mind you. But in a few years, everybody will thank you for what you're about to do."

"They're going to thank me for screwing you until your dick falls off?" I asked.

He laughed. Like I was kidding.

"Boobs, brains, and a sense of humor," he said as he hugged me. "I knew I picked the right realtor. Let's talk about tomorrow's meeting with the mayor and his cohorts."

No, he wasn't trying to propose marriage. Nor was he inviting me to join his sadomasochistic society of sexual perverts. He was recruiting me to help him run a scam on the Merryville city council... which I would have gladly done without the fancy necklace.

"Your mission tomorrow is to convince the city's elected leadership that the town is not going to hell in a handbasket."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Tell them that an international conglomerate of high-tech companies plans to buy the failing auto plant and build self-driving cars."

"Is it true," I asked him. "Is somebody really going to take over the plant?"

"We're working on it," he said. "But for tomorrow's meeting... for what you tell the city council... it's a done deal. You'll tell them that nobody in town knows about it because the conglomerate wants to get the property at a fire sale price."

"Where do you fit in? Are you part of the conglomerate?"

"No. And it's important the council knows it. As far as they're concerned, I'm a renegade. An unscrupulous scoundrel who's trying to make a fast million off some ill-gotten information."

"It shouldn't be hard to convince them of that," I said. "So, what's in the boxes?"

"Remember when I said your necklace was extremely expensive?"

I nodded.

"That's because it's more than a necklace, it's also a microphone. When combined with the contents of the boxes sitting next to you, it's a highly advanced clandestine communications device. A device I will use to monitor your discussions with the city council and, if necessary, send you instructions."

"Let me guess," I said, getting into the game. "The smaller box is a set of earrings that double as headsets and the larger is a watch with a camera."

"I suggest you open them and see for yourself."

Unfortunately, there weren't any earrings in the smaller box. At first, I thought it was a baby's pacifier, except the bulbous tip was several times too big and made of something besides soft rubber. Instead of a ring at the bottom, an inch or two of electrical wire protruded from the circular plate that, if it was a pacifier, would keep the child from swallowing it. Although I was fairly sure it wasn't designed for oral use.

The slightly larger box, the one I thought might contain a secret agent's watch, was obviously not meant for the wrist. The elegantly curved device was about four inches long with one end decidedly thicker than the other. The thick part was an inch or so in diameter with a perfectly rounded head. The thinner end came almost to a point with not one, but two extruding wires.

"It appears that my earrings and watch are actually a butt plug and dildo," I said.

"Look at them as a battery pack, antenna and stealth receiving unit, packaged in two low profile housings."

"I don't care what you call them, one goes up my ass and the other in my pussy. Couldn't I just carry my cell phone into the meeting and leave it on?"

"There's a good chance they'll make you leave your phone with a guard or secretary. Politicians don't like recordings of their behind-doors meetings. And even if they don't confiscate your phone, you and I will need some sort of two-way communications."

"You're going to send Morse code up my ass?"

"Actually, that's for the battery pack. The vibrations will be felt in your vagina. But let's talk about Morse code. Do you know it?"

"Sort of. My Dad taught it to me when I was a kid. I haven't used it for years, but I probably remember most of it, as long as you go slow."

"With a little luck, I won't have to tell you anything. As long as you tell our agreed upon story, I'll keep off the buzzer."