The Case of the Stolen Jewels

Note to reader: THERE IS NO DESCRIPTIVE SEX in this story. This short workpiece is an aside from my other story, The Missing Daughter Caper. Both are stand-alone stories. The protagonist, Briggs, is a private detective for the Robert T. Simmons Detective Agency, and this is an account of one of his cases that occurred before the events of the Missing Daughter Caper. Briggs, with only one name like Cher or Madonna, is a former FBI agent who had to go deep undercover for his part in bringing down two Mexican drug cartel leaders and several of their lieutenants.

This story is pure fiction, with certain portions taken from the author's life experience. All characters are over 18, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 All Rights Reserved. No portion of this material may be reproduced without the author's prior written permission. Everyone is over 18.

A reader accused me of plagiarism. NOT TRUE! I am the author of these stories. I abandoned my Literotica account for a few years and rejoined under this pseudonym.

I write for my edification. We aren't in an English composition class, so please excuse any grammatical errors or style misadventures. I try to improve with each submission. Enjoy, I hope.

The Stolen Jewels Case

Briggs Tracks Down a Domestic Abuser Thief

Chapter 1: Background

It was late Friday afternoon, September 14th. Los Angeles was experiencing a 100-year record high temperature that day. The thermometer reading on the UCB bank sign said 101 degrees Fahrenheit, but it felt much hotter because of the lack of sea breeze that late afternoon. The Blue Room bar, where I normally hang my hat, does have an excellent air conditioning system, despite its' shithole ambiance. The low temperature of the bar room and the cold beer cooled my overheated body.

I was working on another wayward husband case. My cover was taking a job as a general laborer for a building renovation project in the Jewelry District on South Olive Street to get the dirt on the husband. The Sun had been beating on my back since 6:00 AM as I lugged concrete masonry units for the brick masons who were expanding the vault for a diamond merchant. The wayward husband was a mason who loved to crow about his sexual conquests. For the past three days, the target told stories about the women he had bedded to the point where either he was indeed a well-hung stud or, the opposite, a lying poser and wannabe. The only way to find out for sure was to accompany him to the dance club he frequented to gather enough evidence for the client, his gorgeous wife. Any man who strays from a vision of beauty like her should be institutionalized.

My obnoxious plain lens video recording black plastic frame glasses gave me a Clark Kent look, and I used them to record my target's boasting. The target, one Heath Wills, was an ordinary-looking sort of guy. He wasn't a romance novel cover kind of guy, nor was he bad-looking. Ordinary would be the best descriptor, except for his brute strength. Humping concrete blocks all day long is like pumping iron in the gym for eight hours a day. Heath did boast about his oversized manhood and his ability to seduce women while dancing. I played the part of a loser with women and asked Heath if he could show me the ropes so that I could feast on his leftovers. He agreed to take me along on his hunt later that night.

I had taken a couple of swigs from my beer and had started to Bluetooth the video file from my glasses to my phone to upload to the cloud when I felt a body plop down on the barstool next to me. I could smell the wonderful odor of a woman's perfume. It was the kind of scent that seemed to burrow straight into your brain. A pheromone of some sort that drove men crazy with lust would be the likely case.

"Briggs?" she said, asking for my attention, "I need your help."

I turned to see who was interrupting me. It was Summer, one of the working girls I had infrequent contact with. She was on the verge of tears as she touched my shoulder. Summer had been pimped out by her boyfriend, Jim Daniels when I first met her. She was freelancing now. Summer would come into the Blue Room for a drink now and then. Jerry, the bartender and owner, bounced Summer out once for soliciting. The Blue Room may be a shithole, but Jerry owned the place, and he would not allow anyone to harass his customers. Summer promised to keep to herself if Jerry would allow her to return. So far, Summer and Jerry have kept their promises.

I turned toward Summer and gazed at her beauty. We have a history together in that I sampled her body once. I learned about Summer when I sat next to her boyfriend, here several months ago. I was just enough drunk not to care and horny enough to violate my rule of never being with a prostitute. Summer was a diamond in the rough. Her natural beauty needed little in the way of makeup, but with the right touches, she could be a super-model. Summer looked haggard and probably had not eaten a square meal for a couple of days.

Summer would infrequently stop by the Blue Room to have a beer and always seemed to seek me out. Even though she had a deal with Jerry, Summer left subtle hints that she was interested in more than polite conversation with me. During one of her barstool visits, Summer had too much to drink and told me her life story. Summer revealed she was a defrocked Nun from Northern California who somehow managed to get ensnarled with the lowlife shithead Jim Daniels. I felt sorry for Summer because she had no family, no employable skills, and a past that continues to haunt her. Being a former Nun tends to shut the nicer office doors when a potential employer reads her job history, and her present occupation is fraught with problems as well. Summer was stuck with nobody to help her.

"Hello, Summer," I said.

"Jim is out of jail now," Summer said. "He's bugging me to get back together again. I can't do it, Briggs. It's just too damn painful."

Jim met Summer shortly after she arrived in Los Angeles from up north a few years ago. Summer was broke and sitting at the all-night diner where Jim worked. She was trying to make soup from hot water and ketchup. Jim fell hard for Summer. He invited her to stay with him, and they soon fell in love.

After a few months of living together, Summer was a housewife, and Jim worked the graveyard shift at the diner. The diner's owner deleted the third shift, and Jim lost his job. He couldn't find another job and started drinking. With no job and their likely being evicted from their apartment, Jim somehow convinced Summer to have sex with one of his drinking buddies to pay their past-due rent. Summer wasn't happy, but the money was good. Summer made bank as she imitated the double-breasted bed-flapper. It wasn't long before Jim's addiction to alcohol overcame his senses, and Jim's violent nature came to the forefront. Jim started beating Summer. He took things too far one night and smashed a ceramic table lamp against Summer's head, causing a horrific scar on her face. Summer wears her hair to cover half of her face, hiding the hideous scar.

"What is it you want, Summer?" I asked.

"Can you talk to him, Briggs?" Summer asked. "He won't listen to me. Jim says he's changed and wants me back, but I don't trust him. I'm outdoors now, and things are not looking good for me at the moment. I can't go back to him, Briggs. It would only be a matter of time before he gets drunk and beats on me again."

I knew Summer was scarred and what had happened between her and Jim. Summer dabbed a tissue to her eyes as she told me about her ex-boyfriend. She went on to explain that on the night Jim broke the lamp on Summer's face, he had also stolen the few pieces of jewelry that Summer owned. They were sentimental pieces given to Summer by her late maternal grandmother. The pieces were monetarily insignificant but held great emotional value to Summer. I would be willing to bet that their melt value was less than a couple of hundred dollars for the lot. Jim still had them in his possession when he was arrested the night of his attack. Summer said he was holding the jewelry hostage as a lure for Summer to be with Jim again.

I was hot, tired, and not wanting to add any more drama to my life. Something inside me melted when I looked into Summer's beautiful, tear-filled eyes. Call me a sucker, but I agreed to help Summer. I asked her where I could find Jim, and she told me that he had rented a room from a guy in Manhattan Beach. Summer told me Jim's address, and I entered it into my phone.

"You said you were outdoors. Does that mean you are homeless?" I asked.

Summer nodded her head yes as she cried. Shit, I hate it when women cry for a good reason. I picked up my phone and dialed my friend Jason Holmes. He's a retired Air Force B-52 pilot who manages a series of apartment complexes around Los Angeles for a commercial real estate magnate. Jason owes me big-time for saving his bacon in a messy divorce.

Jason Holmes didn't know his ex-wife was a budding heroin addict and was able to hide her habit successfully. All Jason knew was that his ex-wife cheated on him. Jason had suspected infidelity because he had caught her in a series of lies until one day, she forgot Jason was coming home early. Jason found her in bed with her drug dealer when he walked into the apartment they shared.

Jason filed for divorce. California is a community property state so that they would have split everything 50-50. Unfortunately for Jason, his ex-wife lied to the Police and said Jason was violent toward her, and showed the Police the bruises on her arms and legs, saying he grabbed her and pressed hard with his fingers. The bruises were from needle marks and not Jason. He was arrested and charged with spousal abuse. His ex-wife had him on the ropes in the divorce, and she was about to take his kids and move away while collecting 75% of their assets and tapping into his retirement from the Air Force, while Jason spent the next five years at San Quentin State Penitentiary. Jason hired the Robert T. Simmons Detective Agency, and I was put on the case.

I trailed Jason's ex-wife for a few days and was finally able to get evidence of Jason's ex-wife entering a known drug dealer's home in Chino Hills. I had photographic evidence of her shooting up in her car in front of the drug dealer's house before driving home to her kids. With the evidence I collected, Jason won the divorce battle. Upon seeing the damning evidence, the judge ordered Jason's police record to be completely expunged. He also received a formal written apology from the detectives who arrested Jason. They had roughed Jason up before taking him to the police station for booking. Jason got full custody of the kids without visitation until his ex-wife completed drug rehabilitation. There would be no spousal maintenance for Jason to pay, either.

After the divorce hearing, Jason's ex-wife became so despondent about losing the custody battle that she fell deeper into her heroin addiction and went underground. Jason didn't have the money to keep me on the case, and he lost track of his ex-wife. Jason's ex-wife never surfaced and is likely a dead Jane Doe in a pauper's grave.

"Jason, this is Briggs," I said into my phone. "I need a favor."

"Whatever you need, Briggs," Jason said.

"Not so fast, Jason," I said. "Wait until you hear the favor. Do you still have a connection to that apartment complex in North Hollywood? The one on Vanowen next to the airport? I need an apartment for two months. Nothing fancy. All I need is a studio apartment."

"Give me a second to check," Jason said. "Hang on while I look at my listings."

Jason came back on the line and said he had three at that location. He said I could take my pick. I told Jason to meet me at the apartment building in an hour.

I gathered Summer's things from her stash outside behind the bar. We drove to the In-N-Out hamburger restaurant on Lankershim Boulevard and ordered two cheeseburger combinations. Summer and I ate on the way to the apartment complex and waited for Jason to arrive. We only waited ten minutes before Jason greeted me.

"Briggs!" Jason exclaimed as he shook my hand and bro-hugged me.

"Jason, I'm glad you came," I said. "This is Summer. She's a client of mine who is in trouble and needs to hide from her ex. Can you put her up in one of these studio apartments for a couple of months while I deal with her ex? Jason, it has to be off the books. Can you swing it?"

"For you, Briggs, no problem," Jason said. "Let's go check out an apartment."

Jason, Summer, and I walked into the smallest studio apartment I had ever seen. It was fully furnished and even had kitchen utensils in the cabinets. Fresh linens were in the hall closet, and the room smelled fresh. The half-bathroom was clean and sanitary.

Jason asked, "Will this do, Miss Summer?"

Summer was overwhelmed and could not speak. She merely nodded her head yes. Jason handed me the keys, and I walked him to the door while Summer surveyed her apartment.

"Jason," I said. "This arrangement between us must be on the down-low. Summer is a working girl, and before you say it, NO, I am not her client either. She's down on her luck and needs help. Summer has no family to fall back on. I'll do my best to keep her on the straight and narrow, but I make no guarantees. She is smarter than the average woman and will likely not bring any Johns back here, which I will make sure she understands."

"Briggs, my friend," Jason said, "Summer will be safe here. The area is mostly industrial, but she'll need to get used to the jet noise from the airport. The crime rate here is negligible."

"Great," I said. "I hope that Summer will get her act together in the next few months and will no longer need the apartment. Thank you, Jason, for your help."

I knocked as I opened the apartment door. Summer was in the kitchen getting a drink of water. I asked Summer to sit with me on the sofa, and I explained my expectations for her stay in the apartment.

"Summer," I said, "You can stay here for two months. During that time, I expect you to stop turning tricks and look for some form of online education toward a career other than what you are doing now."

"Briggs, I don't," I cut Summer off and continued.

"I'll explain more later," I said. "Right now, we need to go grocery shopping."

Summer and I went to the grocery store and bought two months of non-perishables and fresh foods. On the way back to the apartment, I stopped at the Best Buy store and bought a burner phone for Summer and a cheap tablet computer for her Internet searches. At the apartment, after putting the groceries away, I showed Summer how to use the tablet computer and how to search the Internet. Naturally, Summer tried to thank me with sex, but I kept her at bay.

"Summer," I said, "I know you want to thank me, but this is a business transaction. I'll provide the tools, and you'll provide the education. I expect you to search diligently for some career that will keep you off the streets and employed in something you truly like to do. I have to work tonight, but I will be back tomorrow afternoon to help you. In the meantime, think about what you would like to do for a job that suits your condition. So you know, many online jobs don't require a face-to-face encounter."

Summer threw herself at me and hugged me as if her life depended on it. In a way, it did. I knew that if Summer were to continue to prowl the streets at night, it would not be very long before she would end up seriously injured or dead. I left Summer in her apartment.

*****

Heath Wills and I met at one of the nightclubs on the eastern side of the LA basin. The Quiet Cannon was a nicer, upscale venue in Montebello. Heath was dressed in slacks, penny loafer shoes, an Oxford button-front dress shirt, and a matching necktie. I was similarly dressed as we entered the club around 11:30 PM. Scanning the room, I noticed a bevy of mid-30s women scattered around it. Some were sitting in groups, while others were with their girlfriend acquaintances. I thought about returning here on another night when I wasn't working.

"Briggs, my boy," Heath said, "this is a target-rich environment."

"How do you do it, Heath?" I asked.

"It's rather simple," Heath explained. "I just look for two or more women, walk toward them, and ask the least good-looking one to dance. It makes the hot women jealous and all the more likely to sneak out to the parking lot for a quickie. All I need to do is focus on the ugly one for a few dances, and the hot one will come to me like a moth to the flame. Watch and learn."

Heath found a group of three women sitting at a table. As he had said, one of the women was overweight but still pretty. The other two were closer to a ten. Nonetheless, Heath asked the chubby woman to dance. She was rotund but had a nice rack displaying ample cleavage. Heath took her by the hand and danced a couple of fast dances, and when the live band played a slow song, Heath kept the woman on the dance floor. I watched as Heath held the woman in his arms and stroked her back. He never put his hands where they ought not to be, but he certainly ground his pelvis into her.

When the third slow song ended, Heath walked the woman back to her table. I could see that she was flushed with excitement from having been cuddled on the dance floor. The woman fanned her face with her hand as she sipped her cocktail drink. Heath stood and chatted with the women for a while as they sat. I watched as one of the nicer gals whispered with the chubby woman and giggled. It appeared Heath was about to leave when the babe of the group stood, grabbed Heath's hand, and pulled him to the dance floor.

Heath smiled at me as the hot woman twerked and ground her backside into Heath's pelvis. When the first slow song started, Heath pulled the woman tight against his body, unlike what he had done with the chubby woman. It only took him two slow songs before Heath gave me a thumbs-up signal as he headed toward the side patio where the smokers were standing. I watched as Heath offered his dance partner a cigarette, which she took and let Heath light it for her. They both smoked two cigarettes and chatted. Heath was daringly close to the hot woman as he spoke into her ear. I saw Heath reach around the woman and pull her into a hug. It only took a second delay before Heath kissed her lips. They swapped spit for several minutes while pawing one another before I watched Heath walk off the patio into the night toward the parking lot with the hot woman. I followed them and kept my distance.

In the parking lot, Heath and the hot woman resumed kissing while standing next to Heath's Audi. Heath's hands pawed at the woman's breasts. He turned the woman away from him, pushed the woman back against the car, and lifted her skirt to reveal she was sans underwear. Heath opened the back door to the Audi and pushed the woman inside. She was on her knees in the backseat with her ass sticking out the car door. Heath had his pants around his ankles in a flash and proceeded to have unadulterated sex in the parking lot. My video glasses recorded the entire encounter. I had the evidence I needed for the scumbag's wife, my client.

I texted Heath that I had found a target of opportunity and would see him at work on Monday. He wrote back with a thumbs-up emoji. Later that night, at my apartment, I uploaded the video to the cloud and finished my report for the client.

*****

The next morning, Saturday, I used my laptop computer to do a cursory background check on Jim Daniels. I read about his trial and conviction. Daniels spent six months in the city jail and was released for good behavior. His Parole Officer kept close tabs on Daniels through weekly online video calls. Daniels got a job as a laborer for a pipeline company and was often away on remote jobs. He was currently in Winslow, Arizona, working on repairing a cross-country natural gas pipeline. Daniels was slightly better than a day laborer and had limited responsibility on the job. He mostly ran a shovel and wheelbarrow. I emailed Daniels' PO and asked to meet with her. I explained my connection to Daniels, and I asked the PO to meet with me on Monday afternoon.