The Tall Open Window

I had about eighteen better uses for my hands right then.

"Your turn to turn," he smiled, pointing at the floor and twirling a finger. I'd had some hopes about tonight and the black thong I'd chosen after my shower did a pretty good job of advertising.

I was only half-way through my spin when a forefinger caught under the tiny triangle of fabric in back. I stopped turning, felt his arms come around me, pull me in for a hug. I smiled at the feeling of his breath on my shoulder, smiled more broadly at his length pressed between us.

"Very  nice!" he said. "How did you know I liked black?"

"A good guess." I wiggled my bum a little against him and he laughed.

His hands caught my hips, holding me in place. He stepped back and sank to his knees, slowly, his tongue tracing its way down my spine. The man was more than merely gifted; I felt my tummy tighten still more, felt an empty, expectant hollowness inside me.

When he was finally on his knees, he slid his tongue along my skin next to the waistband. He kissed my hip and I gasped slightly as I felt those white teeth close on the fabric without nipping my skin. He bent down and the thong was pulled slowly off my bum, down my thighs. He opened his teeth, letting it too fall to the floor.

I started to turn towards him, but his hands on my hips held me steady as his mouth moved over my bum, planting dozens of fairy kisses over the skin of one cheek, then the other.

He rose, gently took my shoulders and turned me towards him.

I found myself drifting up into those brown eyes.

Our hands decided they needed to be doing something. His found my boobs again, lifted them, squeezed softly, played melodies on my soft flesh - I could feel the blood pumping in my ears with every touch. My hands found his cock, moved down, found his twins in their soft bag, stroked lightly behind them before drifting back up to slide up and down over his shaft.

André hissed in pleasure. He bent, scooped me up and we were on the bed. He dove between my legs, his whiskers tickling and his lips setting off McFitch sirens.

I whirled under him, found his length, seized it. The boy adjusted, wound up on top of me in soixante-neuf . Again his lips found my pussy, his tongue stroking my ladylips, giving a quick twirl around my pearl each stroke.

I had a good grip on his shaft, used it to bring his crown down into my mouth, enfolded it with my lips, pulled slowly off. I did my best to bathe that long, delicious, delightful length with teasing, pleasing tongue strokes. At the same time, my hand pumped the loose skin over his rigid core.

His tongue found my opening, probed, swirled inside. I gave a deep moan, started sucking on his cock, pumped faster, twirled my tongue around his crown.

André tensed. I expected him to cum, but instead he rolled off me and I lost my grip on him. Those strong arms picked me up by the waist, rolled me over on my tummy. His knees pressed my thighs apart, his hands lifted my hips and, with a perfect aim, the boy slid into me.

Once his helmet had pushed through my lips, he slowed down his penetration. It seemed endless, in and in and endlessly into me. I let out a series of blissful cries. Then he shifted, moved his knees to rest outside my thighs. He let my hips fall and followed me down, his weight pressing me face-down into the bed.

It was a new position to me, with different sensations. Good sensations, though - happy, delightful sensations!

I felt filled, deeper than I had ever been before. The stiff rim of his swollen head ran back and forth through my welcoming darkness, stretching me to my limit. I found myself giving a husky, delighted yelp every time his hips hit my bum, pushed my tummy down harder into the sheet.

André leaned forward, grasped my hair, pulled until my head was almost facing the ceiling. He leaned in more, shifted and kissed me hungrily, his tongue brushing over my lips and teeth.

"So beautiful!" he panted. "So hot!"

He dropped my head, rested his hands on either side of my waist, redoubled his speed. I came, alarm bells and whistles and thundering boots in alleys, my cries turning to full-out screams of ecstasy. André kept thrusting and my orgasm kept growing -- hotter, higher, brighter. Then he stiffened, stopped and I could feel his length pulsing within me as he emptied his own joy into my depths.

A moment later, he rolled to one side, his hand on my hip pulling me with him, still linked together.

My orgasm took a long time to fade. André's long fingers swept over my body in gentle strokes, over and over as I faded into soft dreams lacking cops, hard-eyed filmmakers, mobsters or tomorrow. Tonight was for tonight and it was enough.

+

We parted with a kiss and a promise, thirty seconds before the mandatory checkout time the next morning.

I slipped by my apartment for a change of clothes and headed back out. André had been precisely what this little girl had needed, but I had work to do.

The Parkway Motel was at the airport, right beside the runway fence. From the look of the rigs in the parking lot, it got a lot of business from long-distance truckers, people who could sleep through anything.

The girl behind the counter looked stoned. She seemed to have a hard time focusing on the photo I showed her. Her vision improved when I held up a ten beside it. She was about to answer when the roar of an incoming airplane seemed to compress the entire room. She waited calmly for it to pass.

"Yeah. She got here like two days ago. Hasn't been out of her room, so far as I can tell."

"Anybody come to see her?"

"She's had food sent in a couple of times, if that matters."

"Anybody else?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. Some Arab."

"Arab?"

"Yeah, a woman wearing one of those black head-to-foot no-see-'em dresses. You know, one with just the eye slit so she can see out?"

"What'd she say to you?"

"Not much. Said she owed the woman some money." She paused. "Her English was pretty good. She had a photo. This one, come to think of it." She pointed at the one I'd put on the counter in front of her.

"When was this?"

Another airliner came overhead. From the sound, it was about five feet on the other side of the ceiling. The girl waited patiently, then, "Hour, maybe hour an' a half ago."

"What do the maids say about her?"

"Maids?" she snorted. "You're looking at them, lady. Look, if they leave the Do Not Disturb sign out -- and she did -- then it's fine by me until her payment runs out."

"Which room?"

"Room 14."

I handed her the ten.

Room 14 was no different from any other from the outside. There was a large window beside the door; inside, the blinds were all the way down. A grimy Do Not Disturb sign was indeed hanging off the doorknob.

I loosened the PPK in its pocket on the backside of my purse. Standing to one side of the door, I knocked. After a moment, I knocked again, louder.

Giving up, I tried the knob. It was unlocked and the door opened easily.

The same hurricane that had hit Colleen's apartment had been through here, too. Furniture was shredded, clothes dumped on the floor, pictures taken off the walls.

"Colleen?" I called. The PPK had appeared in my hand without being invited.

I stepped gingerly over the debris towards the bathroom at the back and found Colleen.

She was half-kneeling in the toilet, slumped to one side, her eyes wide and accusing. At first, I thought she had had a nosebleed, but then saw the small hole in the bridge of her nose. Automatically, I went to check her pulse, but the chill of her arm told me I needn't bother.

I'd started to go outside when a bullet punched wood splinters from the door frame overhead, followed almost immediately by the sound of a waspish gunshot from the bushes on the other end of the parking lot. It was a fair way off, far too far for a handgun, but they'd tried anyway. As I started to duck, a small hole appeared in the window, followed by the sound of a second shot.

I seriously dislike getting shot at. I was down instinctively now, rolling behind a parked car, then another. Another shot sprayed gravel against a parked car, whined off into the distance. A shape moved on the other side of the bushes and I snapped off two shots from the PPK at it, more in hopes of discouraging them than actually hitting anything.

It must've worked, for a moment later there was the sound of a car spraying gravel. They'd be gone by the time I could get close enough to see. I just stepped back inside the room, closed the door and called the Sarah on my phone. It rang a few times; I spent the time ruefully examining some deep gravel scratches in the toes of my new boots before she answered.

"There's been another one," I said. "I think it's connected to the two at the Plaza."

"Where are you?"

"Parkway Motel, by the airport. Room 14."

"On my way. Are you safe?"

"Not sure -- somebody took a shot at me. Tell your people to knock before bursting in, OK?"

I hung up, fed two spare rounds into the.380's magazine and then tried to see if the killer had missed something. I hadn't found anything by the time the first siren pulled up outside, not even Colleen's phone. I peeked cautiously outside through the blinds. Yup, real cops. I uncocked the PPK and tucked it away before opening the door and walking out with my hands up.

The two cops in the first car had their handguns out and looked like they were considering cuffing me when a second car pulled in, lights and sirens going; one of the two in it recognized me.

"Hey, Taffy! What's up?"

The first team looked at her, relaxed enough to put the guns away where they belonged. I lowered my hands slowly.

"Hey, Janet! Really nice to see you! There's a stiff inside. I'm the one who called it in. Lieutenant Cotton is on her way."

I looked at the first two. "I'm on your side, honest!" I assured them. I had to say it twice as another big Boeing flew over, its shadow blocking the sun for a second.

Janet and her partner stepped inside, emerging a few seconds later looking puzzled and just a little pale.

"What in hell, Taffy?" she asked.

"Not entirely sure, but I'm pretty certain it's linked to the two in the Plaza on Monday night. I got here just in the nick of too late - whoever did this took a shot at me from over there." I pointed.

Janet nodded to the other, younger officer, who nodded in his turn and headed off to check it out.

Another siren pulled off the freeway and an unmarked car slid into the parking lot with a magnetic flashing blue light on the roof and Sarah behind the wheel. Behind her came the forensics wagon.

I saw the stoner in the office stick her head outside, pull it back in almost immediately.

I had a pretty good idea she wasn't going to enjoy the next hour.

+

After about three hours of questions and statement-writing, Sarah turned me loose. On a hunch, I headed back to Colleen's apartment. Pushing a bunch of buttons again opened the inner door and I started moving my forefinger over apartment numbers on the wall of mail boxes.

For once, Luck was a Lady; a padded envelope was stuffed into Colleen's box. I tucked it into my purse and headed back to my beater to open it. I wasn't surprised to see that it was a hard drive, one able to hold a full terabyte of data.

Well, looking at it wouldn't make it smile. I tossed it onto the seat and headed back to my apartment.

Sitting in front of my computer, I stared at the thing, wondered what it could contain to have made Colleen's life so cheap.

I got up, poured myself a cooler, sat back down, tried to open the hard drive.

After a while, I called Daphne Cooke to make an appointment to see her tomorrow.

"How about tonight?" she responded. "I'm at home, in the Canmore. I was just about to get into a bath, so how about 8:00 o'clock?"

I agreed and hung up. I looked at my watch - I had some time to kill.

A taxi took me to the Canmore and the driver slowed to pull in under the marquis.

"Keep driving," I told him.

"Hey, lady, I thought you wanted the Canmore?"

"I did, but drop me off over there."

I got out a block past the place, handed the hack a twenty and walked back to a little Japanese joint opposite. After checking that I could still see the Canmore's main entrance across the street, I took a back-corner booth seat. The server came; I ordered some sushi and a glass of Riesling to pass the time. While I was there, I checked some things out online, sent a couple of texts. The wine was a bit of a disappointment, but the sushi was actually pretty good.

At quarter to eight, I left the restaurant and walked across the street.

The Canmore is one of those ancient castles built back when they knew what quality meant. Originally a luxury hotel, it was now half-hotel, half-condo, half-apartment building.

Yeah, I know, that's three halves. For the Canmore, it's not quite enough. | gather the waiting list is long enough for your grandchildren to inherit your place in line.

It's 12 stories of polished limestone with a classic green copper roof. From outside, the building stands out due to the widely-spaced rows of very tall windows reflecting the 14-foot ceilings inside. It was a nice evening and many of them were open.

Security inside matched the rent. The woman behind the counter was armed, professional and took her job seriously. She checked my ID against a screen presumably showing expected visitors, typed something on her keyboard.

"Ms. Cooke is in 1204," she said, not smiling. "The elevator's to your right."

I thanked her, took the elevator up to the 12th floor, found 1204 and waited quietly in the hall outside. I had another 10 minutes or so before she would be expecting me.

I was surprised when the door flew open in front of me. Cooke was there, wearing a casual blue satin pantsuit.

"Security called five minutes ago," she said. "What are you doing here in the hall?"

"My appointment wasn't until 8," I said. "You might have still been in the tub."

She smiled. "Nice of you but I'm done. Come on in."

She closed the door behind us and led me into a living room about three times the size of my whole apartment. Yes, she probably had been in the bath, for there were a couple of wet spots between her shoulder blades.

Apparently disdaining air-conditioning, she too had elected to leave all the windows open and there was a pleasant breeze. From outside, there were very gentle street sounds, almost comforting to a city kid like me.

"May I offer you a drink?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Whatever you're going to have, thanks." I stayed standing, watched her pour some sort of white wine into glasses before handing me one.

"Well, I must say this is exciting!" she said, smiling. She plopped herself down on a lush chesterfield already laden with throw pillows. "Sit down, sit down!"

I found a chair opposite her. The wide coffee table between us was bare but for a display book the size of my own pillow. Unsurprisingly, the cover seemed to be composed of film covers from Hot Flashes videos. I put the untasted wine down beside it.

"Well?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "What's up? Did you find her?"

"I found it," I stressed. "Colleen's dead."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "D...dead?"

"Mmm-hmm. She was shot, too. But the killer missed this."

I reached into my purse, pulled out the hard drive and laid it on the table in front of me.

"Dead," she whispered. "Colleen..."

Her eyes moved to the hard drive. "Did you look at...?"

"No," I said. "There's a password. I'm pretty sure the thing's yours, of course. It's got a Hot Flashes sticker and it was well-hidden."

"Where, might I ask?"

With that, I knew.

"She mailed it to herself," I said.

"Ah."

"So I'll be refunding you part of your deposit. E-transfer OK?"

She nodded.

"There's only one thing I haven't managed to figure out," I said.

"What's that?"

I tried to look bored, ran a finger in back of my purse to make sure that access to the PPK was clear.

"Well, for starters," I asked, "were you blackmailing the johns as well as the girls?"

"What?"

"I lied, Daphne."

I smiled thinly as her face went pale.

+

There'd been three folders on the drive when I'd opened it, plus one separate video.

The 'Money' folder seemed pretty normal for any business, even a movie studio -- invoices, payments, salaries, blah. There were a lot of numbered accounts, both in and out. One of the big ones -- again, numbered, not named -- seemed to have their purse wide open each month. All in all, a surprising sum was been flowing through Hot Flashes. I shrugged - the D.A. could bring in forensic accountants if needed.

The 'Men' folder had been more interesting, if not entirely surprising. There were a lot of names frequently seen on news pages, financial pages, political pages, sports pages. It was a Who's Who of the city's polished and cherished elite. I'd opened a couple of folders and blinked -- dates, girls' names, personal preferences, kinks. Oh, and surprisingly high prices.

And photos. Photos obviously taken with a hidden camera. Lots of photos to provide lots of leverage on the High and Mighty if it was ever needed.

The 'Girls' folder had contained files on many of Hot Flashes' actresses. I opened Michelle's. About 10 seconds later, I realized I was grinding my teeth.

Francine had told me Michelle was strictly lez, that her wife had been OK with her working at Hot Flashes only because it was strictly sex with other women. The stolen data on Colleen's hard drive held the lever to Michelle's soul.

+

The room looked like a typical mid-range hotel bedroom - king-sized bed, bland framed prints on the wall. Somebody had attempted to class it up with a bunch of flowers on the side-table. They'd failed.

The door burst open and six guys entered, all grinning. The first one had Michelle over his shoulder. Michelle had her arms around the head of number two and seemed intent at sucking his tongue out. Her bare legs waved from over the shoulder of the boy carrying her. Laughing openly now, he reached up and slapped her bum, hard.

There was one stereotypically big black dude, one maybe Chicano or part-native, the rest were white. It didn't matter much; I knew what color their souls were. I didn't recognize any of them, but I knew their type - sleezeballs, the lot of them, the reason girls are nervous walking home alone after dark. Two of them had crude prison gang tats.

Oh, Michelle, honey, what did you get yourself into?

The last guy was kicking the door shut behind him as the little form was unceremoniously dumped on the bed. I could see her laughing as she bounced.

"Wheee!" she cried.

She got up on her knees, then, a bit shakily, to her feet. Standing in the middle of the bed, surrounded by a circle of undressing men, she started a slow striptease. Given that she was only wearing a short skirt, t-shirt and thong, it didn't take long.

I stopped the video, rolled it back, tried to focus on Michelle's face.

Her smile seemed odd. Not fake, but not quite real, not quite in this same plane of existence. While she didn't look drunk, there was an unnatural giddiness to her expression - not quite normal, but you had to be looking for the difference.

I ran through it a couple of more times, let it continue. I don't know the protocol of such events, thank God. Maybe it was scripted. I hoped so.

The big guy was on his back, a stiff and very thick cock waving in the air above him. Mercifully for Michelle, somebody tossed him a bottle of lube. Catching it, he poured it on his cockhead with no attempt at artistry before dropping the bottle and reaching out to catch her by one leg and, lifting her bodily like a doll, pulling her anus down over him.