Chapter 4

After Julie’s mother and I showered together in a space hardly big enough for the both of us, cleaning off the sweat and the sticky residue of sex, and particularly that which clung to my anal probe which she cleaned lovingly to the point of gaining some stiffness in it, I stepped out of the tub alone. “I’m going to have a bath,” she told me. “But need to use the toilet first.”

“I’ll dry off outside,” I offered.

“Thanks.”

Julie surprised me when I exited the bathroom.

“You fucked my mother,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” I said carefully.

“Good,” she smiled. “She needed a good fuck.”

“Let me put my clothes on,” I said.

She nodded and followed me into her mother’s room, sitting on the chaotic and soiled sheets of the bed. “Just toss it on the bed,” she told me when my eyes searched for a place for my damp towel. “She’ll need to clean the sheets anyway.”

I did as suggested and dressed.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Mother told you where Kyle is.”

“She knows?”

“Don’t give me that. I know how clever you are. And I suggested she trust you.”

“Why? We used you to grab him.”

“And you let him slip away.”

“He escaped.” I shrugged.

“Whatever. You could have tied him up. Called the cops or the Whitemans.” She must have seen something. “The Whitemans hired you. The father wanted to make sure he never talked.”

“What did Julio tell you?”

“Julio?”

“Kyle isn’t Kyle. He never told you?”

“What are you talking about?”

I sighed and sat beside her, having finished dressing, and told his tale.

She surprised me by giggling at the end. “Julie and Julio,” she said, almost tasting the words.

“You love him,” I noticed.

“We all do,” she responded.

“May and Jeanne?”

“Emily did as well. And he loved us back. I don’t think he could have made that up.”

“I don’t think so either. It’s like the best actors getting into a role by becoming that person. It has to be true for him to make it real.”

“You’re saying he acted like he loved us.”

“No. I’m saying he had to actually love you to make it work.”

“So ... you’re saying...”

“He loves you.”

“But it’s complicated.”

“I suppose it is,” I agreed. “So you talked to Julio. Did he suggest I might be here?”

“Probable. But I went to your office first.”

“And did Sandy tell you where I was?”

“No. She suggested I wait for you. I think she wanted to question me, but I left.”

I nodded. “Let’s go back there.”

“So you’ll let me tag along?”

“For now.”

She nodded with a wry grin. I figured she figured she had me. Maybe she did. I liked Julie even if she locked me in a toilet.

Seeing me grab a slip of paper on the nightstand she asked me about it. “You’re Native Hawaiian friends,” I told her.

“Mother gave you their number?”

“I have some Brahs who will call them.”

“That might be best.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to say goodbye to my mother?”

“Of course. I’m not a complete cad.”

She smiled sadly. “You’re kind of like Kyle ... Julio.”

“I think we love women similarly,” I agreed, giving her a soft kiss.

Julie waited outside the bathroom door when I entered it. I knelt beside the bath and kissed each of her mother’s nipples. “I’m going to miss these,” I said.

“I wish we’d waited until later so you could have slept with me,” she murmured. “I’d have liked to wake you with a blow job, and made breakfast for you.”

“Me too,” I smiled and kissed her tenderly.

“Especially the blow job?”

“Both. And the snuggling. You’ll find him.”

“Find who?”

“A man to love. You’re a sexy woman. And bright and interesting.”

“I’m a whore,” she muttered.

“More a slut, I think. You like it too much to be a whore. You may get something material out of it, but that’s just gravy. You’ll find a man, maybe a bit younger than you, because he’ll need the energy to keep up with your libido. Perhaps a man to sate you enough to no longer need to be a party favor at your parties. Or to love you enough to know you always return to him.”

“Or him to me.”

“If that works.”

She nodded. “It’s a nice fantasy.”

“Just be open to the possibility of making it real.”

Her eyes teared and she sniffled. “You know how lonely I am.”

I nodded. “Just remember you don’t have to be. You could make a man very lucky. You don’t even have to marry him.”

“What about Daddy?” I heard behind me. Julie had slipped into the bathroom.

“I thought you never had the illusion we’d get back together,” her mother responded.

“Of course I did, but I knew neither one of you wanted that. He wanted you to be comfortable, and for me to be comfortable. He didn’t know I’d be like him, strongly independent and loving the ladies.” They shared a chuckle. “But he never stopped loving you, nor have you stopped loving him. And if any man your age could be strong enough to handle your horniness, it would be him.”

“He always has kept himself in shape,” her mother agreed. “For the ladies.”

“For you, Mom. Always for you.”

“Did ... he say something?”

“He’s tired of being a player. He realized none had been you. Either silly, immature bimbos or ladies using him as much as he used them. He’s tired of the game.”

“He’s always liked strange.”

“He thought he did, but he’s always coming back to you. You two fuck like ... well like two champion fuckers coming together. Except it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“It is,” her mother sighed, a smile of admiration for her clever daughter. “But would he come live with me?”

“Are you kidding? He’s always sucked at making money. Moving from his sad little apartment...”

“Not much money in being a gigolo?”

“He’s always been too proud. Unlike us.”

The ladies shrugged, a neutral response. Shameless hussies. They did what they did to survive. The oldest profession. Either embrace it, shrug it off, or make it worse by being ashamed. They seemed to choose the middle choice, probably the daughter more than the mother, who, like I said, enjoyed sex too much to really be a whore, but found more shame in the idea, ironically, than her prostitute daughter.

“I should go,” I said.

“I’ll call your dad,” said the mother.

“Good,” Julie smiled.

Her mother and I nodded. It felt like goodbye. The sex had been great, but things had changed. Become hopeful. I hoped too that Julie’s dad would be smart enough to come live with her mother. I thought, like the two ladies in the room, he would. We smiled.

At the office I saw Sandy’s smirk. “Have fun?” she asked.

“Loads,” I said. We all laughed. I think Julie’s laugh surprised Sandy. I could see the question in my partner’s eyes, and Julie responded to it with a shrug.

I joined Sandy behind the huge old oak desk. Instead of two desks we shared the one. We didn’t mind rubbing shoulders when we worked. We did have two phones. Three lines in order to keep one open for incoming calls. Six actually, with the dedicated lines to the two computers, and another for our fax machine. Kenneth, with a carpenter, had managed to conceal the several wires and had the large black boxes housing the computers set on a shelf behind us. He would come to Hawaii soon to change our access to the internet from dial-up to satellite, with one of the computers serving as our fax machine, losing the actual machine to be replaced by a smaller (although not that much smaller) printer/scanner. He’d replace the computers with one box and one laptop, the former serving as the receptacle and the source of faxes. There’d be one less oversized CRT monitor on the desk. A year or so after that, it would be an LED monitor, making for an even less cluttered desk.

“Dotty’s setting up interviews with former students at Reed who shared classes with Julio and Emily,” Sandy informed me as I perused Kenneth’s faxes regarding Jason’s probable abuses. “And his former landlord. She’ll take care of them before heading to Tacoma.”

“She has time?” I asked.

“She has a partner,” Sandy reminded me.

I smiled. Though Eugene might have been too small a town to give a PI much work, Dotty had spread her availability to Portland, and had become licensed in Washington, with Kenneth always looking for possible jobs in Seattle. Her reputation kept growing. Word of mouth spread. Her presence in Chloe’s book about Vy’s murder didn’t hurt. She needed a partner.

Her want-ad required experience in police work and/or investigations. She posted adds at police stations and sheriff’s departments and military bases. She thought she’d end up with some old, crusty retired cop or MP. It didn’t turn out that way.

I introduced her to Sam Kamalua’s, my mentor’s friend and colleague, Eugene Police Chief Soaring Eagle, and they had become friends. Like Sam, Soaring Eagle accepted the outside eyes of private investigators, and had found Dotty to be intelligent and honest enough to trust. Their friendship also included inviting Dotty to the occasional family dinner. There she met the chief’s youngest son Thomas. Tommy to family and to only the closest of friends, which included Dotty.

Tommy’s parents both had as pure Indian blood as a West Coast tribe could have, which meant fairly diluted, but racial characteristics remained. Broad face. High cheekbones. Darkish skin. It wasn’t exactly required, like the discouraging of a goy or shiksa marrying within a conservative Jewish family, that the kids marry within their race, but both parents seemed far more pleased when their daughter, the middle child married a man of their tribe than when the oldest married a white girl. It didn’t make it any easier, and an “I told you so” could have been implied when that marriage ended acrimoniously, with the blonde, blue eyed wife cheating.

Though not yet old enough to become rugged, Tommy had similar good looks of his father. Adding the beauty of his mother, he seemed to have inherited the best of both, giving him a handsomeness that steered towards the charismatic. Gifted with the same tall, lean but well-muscled body his father started with before thickening over the years, he had the perfect build for a football receiver, and like his father, proved to be good enough at it to get a scholarship to the University of Oregon.

There he continued to follow his father’s footsteps, taking every class required to become a police detective and even, maybe, Chief of Police. Yes, he worshipped his father. Even enough to forgive a hero’s clay feet, mostly a fearsome temper, exasperated by too much scotch, which fortunately never became violent. Something his big brother never could.

He had two problems when he graduated and entered the police academy. One was his ambition. The other was Dotty.

The instructor who would be his advisor sat him down to discuss his courses. Hearing the young Indian’s ambition, he immediately burst his bubble. Maybe used to youthful illusions created by television and movie police procedurals, or maybe (and more likely) being prejudiced, he shot down every hope Tommy had for a fast track to becoming a detective. Who cares about college grades? This is the real world. He scoffed at, and was even offended by having Tommy’s father being any kind of influence. It would be years before any advancements would be available. Years as a beat cop.

Upset, Tommy drove his old beater home. He had a couple days before classes started, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to return.

As chance would have it, or maybe destiny, or maybe the mother missing a young mouth to feed at her dinner table, Dotty had been invited to dinner. Neither she nor the older couple expected the man she had a secret crush on to join them. Weird for Dotty to have a crush. She couldn’t recall, even as a girl, ever having one. She’d always been too tough a girl, a true punk rocker, and too honest besides, letting any man she wanted to fuck know up front of her interest. But this was a different situation. Complicated. Tommy was Soaring Eagle’s kid. Chief of Police Soaring Eagle.

And she didn’t know Tommy had a crush on her. Didn’t know it actually started before he had even met her. And it was complicated for him. He’d had girlfriends in high school and college. None got too serious, and because of that, because he never took those relationships seriously enough, never espousing eternal love or whatever the girl needed, they never lasted. Even a couple relationships with Indian women, who he might have considered as mates with his parents’ approval, fizzled out. They just didn’t jibe, despite his wishes.

But with Dotty he knew it would be different. If he succumbed to his desires, and she returned them, he knew the relationship would have legs. They were friends. They liked and respected each other. And what if she refused his advances? It hadn’t happened much, or at all actually, for a woman to do that. He knew he was a stud, but also had met enough fellow athletes who had become egomaniacal assholes and considered diversity, the proverbial marks on the bedpost, to prove their manhood like it was some sort of contest. A woman was only a cunt to fuck. The more cunts the better. His attitude actually made him all the more attractive. The reputation of the assholes lost them opportunities, especially amongst the smarter girls. He never had that reputation.

But what if Dotty was a lesbian? He knew she had friends who were. Her closest friends actually. And she never seemed to have a boyfriend. He had always managed to avoid women not interested in men. He could see if they lacked desire for him. He was handsome enough to attract interest from them, but not the real desire that would spell sexual attraction. Except he could see flashes in her eyes. Flashes of desire when their eyes met. Before she looked away. And sometimes a flush. Those times often made him hard. She looked absolutely adorable.

Bottom line, she was white. If they had a relationship ... with legs ... Complicated.

The dinner became a disaster. Father and son shouted at each other. Father reminded son how many years it took him to become detective. Son reminded father of the color of his skin. Father reminded son he had to play the institutional game. Son reminded father it can be circumvented by intelligence. Father told son it didn’t work that way. Son asked father how many times he took tests to advance and failed. Wounded, father accused son of being a weak, privileged baby, giving up at the first sign of trouble. Son stomped upstairs to his bedroom, perhaps proving it.

“Let me talk to him,” said Dotty quietly.

Tommy’s mother nodded, but his father turned fearsome eyes at her. “You just want to recruit him,” he growled. “I saw your ad.”

Dotty, one of the strongest women I know, shot back. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good idea.”

“What!”

“Just listen. Okay? Can you listen?”

“He’s always wanted to be a cop.”

“He’s always wanted to be you.”

“That won’t happen unless he takes the steps,” the chief quieted. “Passing the Academy. Being a cop.”

“Being treated like shit for being Indian. It’s probably already started with that asshole advisor. And if he starts at the bottom with you at the top? Do you think that’s going to help him? Do you want him to go somewhere else? He could start at a smaller town and advance quicker, but how challenging would that be? Another bigger city? Do you think he’d advance faster? Maybe being Indian and super smart, it would be a quota thing. But of course everyone would forget how smart he is, and resent him being Indian all over again.

“Face it, Chief, he’s too smart to be a cop. I can just imagine him mumbling something when Detective Dickhead jumps to some stupid conclusion, which you know he always does, not knowing the guy’s actually competent enough to change his mind when the case proves otherwise. That would thrill Dickhead no end, and put Tommy even more on the shit list.”

The Chief’s booming laughter surprises her. “Too smart to be a cop,” he chuckled.

“You just caught that part?”

“You know I was a cop?”

“It’s kind of the basis of all this. And I know you were smarter than most. I mean you made Chief.”

“I wasn’t. I’m a slow learner. Dyslexia didn’t help. He was right about failing the exams. I made Chief because I was a good cop, a good detective and a good administrator. I learned what I needed to learn to impress. I studied what needed to be done. Studied hard because I needed to.”

“That doesn’t make you smart? Sounds pretty smart to me.”

“Smart enough,” he chuckled. “But you’re right. Tommy’s too smart for his own good. It makes patience harder. And humility.”

“So you’ll let me talk to him? I mean, about the job? We’re friends, so...”

“What about the pension?” asked the Chief’s wife. “And benefits.”

“I’ve never been a boss, so I’ll have to look into that. Medical and all that. I have my own, but I’m sure it’s different for an employee.”

“Wouldn’t he be your partner?” the mother asked.

“Eventually. He needs experience and training.”

“An internship.”

“You mean unpaid? I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not? He can stay here. My husband can put him back on the family plan.”

“But if I give him a percentage?” The two ladies shrugged. “I’ll look into it.”

“And the pension?”

Dotty chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Unless he’s extravagant, he’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“I have two friends. My mentor, whom you know of course. And I’m not sure if you know Kenneth.”

“Only by reputation,” the Chief chuckled.

“Joe gained a fortune in inheritance from a ... well, let’s just say I’m glad I never met the man.”

“That bad?” the Chief asked.

“A pedophile and murderer. He destroyed a lot of lives. He had a special fondness for Joe. Fortunately it never became sexual, probably because Joe’s father was a good friend. Unfortunately it wasn’t true for Joe’s best friends growing up. One killed himself. The other became, and still is, a high priced escort. She’s actually a really cool lady.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said the mother.

“Me too,” the Chief smirked.

“You better,” said his wife.

“Anyway, even though he probably doesn’t need it, and his percentages on Chloe Burton’s true crime books have added to his wealth...”

“She wrote about that monster that killed that punk rock girl,” the Chief explained.

“I know dear,” his wife replied patiently.

“He’s managed to find a way to make Private Investigation profitable.”

“How?” the Chief asked

“Expensive stolen goods. The insurance company pays well, since he saves them a ton of money. Clients with deep pockets looking for loved ones. And protection for Hollywood.”

“Protection?”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

“I understand Hawaii. But here?” the Chief asked.

“I cover the Northwest, not just Eugene. And that’s where Kenneth comes in.”

“He finds clients.”

“Yep. But the Hollywood gigs are all Joe.”

“Do you...” the wife stuttered. “What about the less wealthy?”

Dotty grinned, “That’s the best part. With the few whales bringing in windfalls, I can afford to charge most clients what they can afford.”

“Nice.”

“Yep. Can I go talk to your son.”

“Offer him the job,” the Chief sighed. “We’ll back you up.”

“Great!”

Dotty hopped up the stairs, hearing chuckles behind her. She knew Tommy’s room. They had talked in it often. Really good conversations. Tapping at the door got no response. Shrugging, she opened it and stopped. The delicious man, featured in many masturbatory fantasies, sat in on the floor in front of his bed gazing at a familiar record cover. The back of it. Where, at the center, Dotty, wearing shredded and sexy punk clothes, had been frozen mid stroke on her drums. And Tommy was doing his own stroking. Of a long, thick dark cock. His ears, covered with shell headphones, hadn’t heard her knock. Dotty recognized the muffled music. Her band, To Molt, at their noisy best.

He must have felt the draft of the door opening, because he all too quickly hid his cock behind the album. “Don’t let me stop you,” Dotty giggled. She felt the heat of her blush.

“What?” he asked before he removed the headphones.

She shut the door behind her, wishing it locked. He probably did too. “Want some help with that? Although it looks like I’ve already been helping.”

“Dotty!”

“Ssh.”

She knelt beside him, brushing aside the album. Grabbing his cock, as wonderful as she’d briefly glimpsed, she brought it to her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

“Later,” she giggled, a brief pause of her sucking before she returned to it. She guided his hand blindly to her blouse and steered it under it, to her naked breasts. She preferred them free of bras. He found his way into her jeans without her help, at least her guidance, because she unbuttoned and unzipped them for him.

Not long after, he came in her mouth. Not long enough for him to get her there, but it thrilled her.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“What for?”

“I didn’t warn you.”

“I figured it out what with the throbbing and the thrusting.”

“I suppose,” he chuckled.

“It could have been your dad or mom.”

“They knock.”

“I knocked.”

“They knock loudly.”

“Oh. You okay?”

“Better,” he answered, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her. Tasting his cum.

When it broke, she smiled. “Apology accepted. Maybe we should...” she moved, but he held her back. “They might not knock with me in here.”

“They always knock.”

“But how much time before they barge in.”

“True. But...”

“Yes?” They button up their pants.

“Could you stay where you are ... where you were?” They had shifted a little.

“I guess I could hop off in time,” she grinned, straddling his lap.

The kisses became more and more intense, broken by gazes into eyes. She could feel him harden. “God I want to fuck you,” she murmured.

“Me too,” he moaned.

“Since when?”

“Since the first time I saw you. Before actually. I recognized you.”

“You’re a fan?”

Kissing between every sentence, he stopped to tell her, “To Molt inspired me to play. I mean, I admit part of it was looking at that picture.”

“I’m pretty hot there,” she agreed.

“But I love the music.”

“What do you play?”

“Bass.”

“Cool. Not drums?”

“I could never be as good as you. Our drummer definitely never was. I always...”

“What?” she grinned.

“A kind of fantasy. I could play bass with you. I couldn’t play drums with you.”

“Fantasies do come true.” She got up.

“What?”

“You still have your bass?”

“I do.”

“Grab it. We have our excuse to fuck.”

He laughed. “You’re amazing.”

“You are too. Hurry up. I’m horny.” She rushed out of the room.

Downstairs, she pouted, her fists against her hips. “You never told me Tommy played bass.”

The older couple laughed. “I think Tommy would have been the one to tell you,” his mother pointed out.

“He just did,” Dotty grinned. “We’re going to go jam.”

“What do you play?”

“Drums. You didn’t know?”

Both of them shook their head. Suddenly Dotty looked serious, realizing they would be saddened.

“I played with Vy.”

They were.

“Sorry for your loss,” said the Chief.

“Thanks. I still miss her. She was amazing.”

They nodded.

“I guess your son’s a fan.”

He bustled down the stairs with a large guitar case. “See you Mom, Dad. Don’t wait up.”

The couple shook their heads watching the youngsters rush out the door. Dotty managed to yell, “Thanks for dinner,” before exiting behind her crush.

In her car, he settled into the passenger seat. “Let me make a call, and then we need to talk,” she said, pulling out her cell phone. “Hey Sam, feel like jamming tonight? Cool. About an hour at the rec center? Cool.” Putting away the phone, she laughed at his expression while beginning the drive. “Sam’s a girl. Samantha. Jealous already?”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Are you into girls?”

“Nope. Not even a little.”

“Good to know.”

“I get that a lot. Associations. You know Vy wasn’t gay either.”

“I didn’t.”

“She was kind of asexual except when she was on stage. And except for Joe.”

“Joe ... Solomon?”

“They were soulmates.”

“No wonder he worked so hard on her case.”

“He would have anyway, but yeah.”

She paused. “Like I said, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About what happened to you. At the Academy.”

He stiffened. “Did Dad put you up to this?”

“Do you think anyone puts me up to anything? I thought you knew me better.”

“Sorry. Then what?”

“I know you’ve always been dead set on following your father’s footsteps. I know he’s your hero. He’s a great man. But what do you really want?”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t sound like you want to be a beat cop.”

“But...”

“Be honest.”

“I knew it would be a necessary step.”

“You’d grin and bear it, but not for years and years.”

“Yeah.”

“To get where? Your father’s an administrator. A glorified boss. The face of the Eugene police force. You could do that. You could be a boss in some business. Go back to school. Get an MBA. Join a small company. Or a large corporation, but it would take a lot longer to reach the top. You’re smart enough to achieve it.”

“I’m proud of what Dad achieved. But it was cooler when he was a detective.”

“Did he tell you about his cases?”

“Yeah.”

“You know dads tend to keep that stuff in, especially the hardcore stuff.”

“Yeah. He never talked to Mom about it. She didn’t really want to know. But I kind of insisted.”

“You did hunh?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I annoyed him into it. Then I think he found it cathartic.”

“Did he ask you what you thought?”

“It started with me asking a million questions. But yeah, he did actually ask for my opinions eventually.”

“And did he listen?”

“He did.”

“And did you make a difference?”

“Yeah. He’d get this look. This kind of smile.”

“Pride?”

“Maybe. A couple times he said, ‘Good job son.’”

“Because of your answers?”

“Or maybe my questions. But it wouldn’t be right then. It would kind of be out of the blue.”

“Because you helped solve those cases?”

“I think so. One time he added, ‘We got the sucker.’”

“Instead of fucker,” Dotty chuckled. “How did that feel?”

“Amazing.”

“So what do you want to be?”

“I want to be a detective. I want to get those fuckers.”

“And what do I do?”

“You’re a PI.”

“Which is?”

“Private Investigator.”

“Which is the same as?”

“A private detective.”

“Tommy, I need a partner.”

“You mean me?”

“Yes.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Say yes.”

“Fuck yes. Someday I want to say I do.”

“Maybe someday.”

“God you’re hot.”

“You are too. Come on.”

“What?”

“We’re here. Grab your bass.”

They parked beside a building at the corner of a small park. The place looked dark and deserted. He followed her around the side. She unlocked a metal door. Switching on lights, they took a small set of stairs down to a moderately sized room. Egg cartons lined the walls. A set of drums occupied a corner. “Yours?” he pointed enthusiastically.

“My expendable set. I keep my good set in storage. It’s been a while since I brought it out. Kids like to pound the shit out of that one.”

A storage room intruded on the space. After flicking a light switch beside the door up, Dotty unlocked it. “Roll that out,” she said, pointing at a large old amp. He did, and she rolled another one behind him. They placed them in front of the drums. Cords hung neatly on posts. Thick black wires to connect instruments to amps. Extension cords to plug things in. A couple mic stands followed. Mics sat on a shelf. Dotty chose a couple. “Just set everything on the floor for now,” she said. She pulled him inside the storage room and shut and locked the door. Pulling a folded mat out from a corner, she unfolded it. Once done, she pulled him down to it, straddled his lap returning to the position they had left things at in his bedroom. She would have kissed him standing up, but he was at least a head taller to her petite height.

It didn’t take long for them to exceed the excitement they had reached before. Kisses paused for tops to be removed, and further paused, with hands caressing, seeing the results. Hard bodies. Dotty’s firm little breasts.

The lower clothing got stripped somehow without the pause, although when Dotty managed to remove her clothes entirely, she had had to nudge him onto his back. And he never quite got to remove his. She lowered his enough to let his long, dark, thick cock spring out, bouncing then twitching, pointing a little towards his head rather than straight at the ceiling. Grabbing it, admiring it, she brought it to her dripping cunt and lowered herself onto it.