Chapter 2

The threesome with Laura (né Julie), George and myself started out being like it had been in the VIP booth in the strip club, only much more comfortable in Laura’s bed. The one bedroom apartment, midway up the modern, tall condominium building, faced the Ala Wai Canal rather than the ocean, probably making it cheaper, but I always liked the view of the soft green mountains that separate the windward side of Kailua from the leeward Honolulu. Two sets of dressers and two vanities in the bedroom made clear May (known as Maura for dancing and escorting) shared the bed with her. Pictures of the brunette and the cute, deceptively innocent looking strawberry blonde, looking every bit her Irish heritage, both together and separate, further revealed their lesbian relationship.

It ended up becoming a lot more intense in the comfort of the bed. Laura brought out a strap-on with a long, narrow dildo. Once more that night double penetration was on the menu. This time I took the place of Jesse, with Laura riding me, and George taking my place fucking her anus. Her preference became clear when she tended to twist back to kiss George until the intensity became too much, and she lowered her face to my chest and basically took our fucking passively, shivering with multiple orgasms.

I did the best I could to finish things off, focusing on my gorgeous friend and her bouncing boobs, which she fondled, and her gaze presented her at both her sexiest and most loving. So many cums that night desensitized me, but I managed to let both the physical friction and the visual sexiness combine to achieve one last orgasm. It felt almost painful when it happened, like, to make a very unsexy comparison, dry heaving, there was so little sperm left to shoot.

George made her exit afterwards. Laura barely noticed. A quiet mewl of disappointment was all she could manage. Left alone with her, I did what she did. I slept.

I awoke with her looking at me. “Why didn’t you fuck Mona?” she asked (Mona being George’s escort name). “I would have liked watching.”

“Or you would have liked sitting on her face.”

She pouted. “I wouldn’t. She said she’s not into that.”

“True. Sorry. George and I have been friends since forever.”

“George?”

“Georgina.”

“Why tell me her real name?”

“It’s time for honesty, Julie.”

She stiffened. “How...did you know.”

“Relax. I’m not a cop. I’m private.”

“A PI?”

“Yes.”

For some reason she relaxed. “That’s kind of sexy. And your name?”

“I’m still Joe,” I chuckled.

“So...what are you doing with me? Is it about May?”

“It’s about a mutual friend of yours. Do you know who I mean?”

“Since we’re a couple, pretty much everyone’s a mutual friend.”

“I think you know. Kyle?”

“I don’t know anyone named Kyle,” she frowned, but I detected a slight curve of the lip. A subtle smirk.

“He’s known by different names. I know you’ve met him as Kyle. He’s in danger. I think you might know that as well. I’m here to help him, not hurt him. You know where he is.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

I sighed. “A lie isn’t much of a lie when I know the truth. Where is May?”

“She had to go home. Family emergency.”

“Where’s her home?”

“Baltimore.”

“Baltimore? That’s a long way away.”

“Like I said. Family emergency.” She grabbed my penis gently and tugged. “Let’s forget all this and get back to where we started. I like you, Joe.”

“I like you, too.”

“Why don’t you clean yourself so I can suck you.”

“You should join me.”

“I will.”

As I got up, I said, “You know I’m telling the truth. About Kyle. About him being in danger. About me being on his side.” I sighed when she shrugged and I went to the bathroom.

Moments later, I heard the sound of the bathroom door locking. “Shit,” I muttered. It actually had a deadbolt.

“I’ll have the super let you out in an hour or so,” I heard beyond the door. “He may be a bit angry at you for what I tell him, but I’m sure you can take care of yourself.”

“I’m on your side!” I shouted, and got no response.

It took me a minute to clear my head of frustration before I figured out this could be a room of refuge from a scary john. Why else the bolt? So there must be a key. I looked through drawers and the linen closet and found it shoved into a packet of tampons. “Smart,” I chuckled, knowing men have an aversion to such feminine products. Opening the door, I found my clothes, my wallet on top. She had taken the couple hundred I had left, not much considering how much I had already spent on her, but had left the credit cards and my ID cards, including my PI card. I wondered if she grabbed one of my business cards and hoped she did.

She also left my cell phone tucked into my suit jacket. It still had some juice in it.

“Sandy?” I said into it.

“I’m following her,” she said. “George gave me her cell number so I can track her if I need to.”

For a brief time without George involved in sex the night before, she had found Julie’s phone and had it call hers, on silent mode of course. Luckily it hadn’t hidden its number. She also jotted down the last two numbers called. What can I say? I can be quite distracting in bed.

“Good,” I said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I thought I’d call Kenneth. And Dotty. I’d like him to see if he can track down information on May, on her family supposedly in Baltimore and if I can find a way to contact her there. I’d also like him to locate students and teachers who might have known Kyle and the sister and the dead girl at Reed, and maybe more importantly, at any school Jason attended, and have Dotty do some interviewing.”

“You think Jason has a history of abuse?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“But first, since Julie offered me her shower, I’m going to use it.”

“Make it quick.”

“I will.”

“And head to the office. I have my notes there. Sounds like we’re of equal mind, but you might find them useful.”

“Of course.”

By the time I finished showering, Sandy had sent me a text with an address. An older part of Hawaii Kai. Large houses, but nothing like the newer fancy houses nearer to the ocean, one in which I had been raised. I called back.

“She left after arguing with someone just inside the door so I couldn’t see him,” Sandy said. “An older woman came out, looking like her mother. She also scolded her before embracing her. I decided to stay. I can trace Julie.”

“Call Harold,” I suggested. A hapa hoali skip tracer we used about as much as he used us. “Have him watch the back door.”

“Good idea. You?”

“Heading to the office.”

At the office, I looked through Sandy’s notes. She pointed out Kyle had been camera shy. The only semi-clear photo they had had been from the California drivers license he had managed to create despite the phony name, with an address south of Mission in San Francisco which turned out being a hotel. The exaggerated smile he did for it had almost been a disguise.

But there had actually been other photos gleaned from surveillance video at the San Francisco airport. She had Special Agent Drew Jones, an old FBI acquaintance, and more, my mother’s longtime boyfriend, fax them to her. All had a figure wearing a Dodgers cap and dark glasses. Except when he had to remove them when passing through security. Even then, he seemed to keep his head as low as possible.

Despite these evasions it became clear he had a remarkably handsome face. Somewhat broad with high cheekbones. A brownish complexion as if always tanned. An old school Latin Lover. “Navajo,” I thought out loud. “At least partly. Or a more southern tribe with similar features. Mexican.”

Within her notes she had a drawing. My partner had been busy. She had sent a friend from the Honolulu police who had remarkable skills at rendering faces from a victim’s memory, and had used Bill Whiteman’s. “Definitely Mexican,” I murmured.

I called Kenneth, my genius hacker, at his home in Seattle. However busy he might have been consulting and creating software, he always had time for me. “I need you to look into the family of May O’Shaughnessy,” I said. “Recent resident of Hawaii, but whose family supposedly lives in Baltimore. I need a phone number to the family manse. Also Jason Whiteman of Tacoma Washington. Anything about abusiveness in high school or college. And see if you can track down his sister, Jeanne. And information on a Kyle Oates and an Emily Whiteman, born Emily...Moore. They supposedly met at Reed.”

“You should call Dotty,” he said.

“Next call.”

“Of course. So you’ll be visiting?”

“Hopefully.”

“Dotty and friends would like that.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

“So you can steal my wife?”

His marriage to his amazing full-bodied wife Sandra had been the last time I’d seen him a few months before. As we were wont to do, Sandra and I flirted with each other, but nothing more. It still must have been odd to have a woman in full marriage regalia flirting with another man. Everyone I knew at the wedding understood. They might not have known the details, that I had actually fucked her with her new husband present, also fucking her, and in a private moment before leaving Seattle the first time I met her having her give me a good-bye blow job in the front seat of her car, at her insistence, but some had their own, similar connections with the groom, though they didn’t flaunt it the way the bride and I did. Two of them didn’t flirt with me either, but Mila and her loving partner Gail kept me company in bed during my stay. It could have been Kenneth there instead of me, with me fucking his wife, but that definitely wouldn’t have been appropriate. Sandra and I had talked about that happening, but it hadn’t. Yet.

We laughed at his suggestion, despite the sort of undercurrent of truth behind it. I would never steal her. But I might fuck her.

“She would be a steal,” I finally answered. “But her heart has been already stolen and kept secured, and by a horndog at that.”

I could almost hear his shrug.

My phone call to Dotty, a lovely blonde former drummer and current disciple and colleague, had an expected and insistent question. “So you’ll be visiting?” she asked.

“Hopefully,” I answered. “I may need to be other places.”

“What other places?”

“Baltimore and maybe Mexico.”

“If you’re on the mainland, you stop here,” she growled. “A certain someone who for some reason thinks you’re her hero would be hurt if she knew you didn’t.”

“So don’t tell Mila.” When she sighed, I added, “Think of it as a surprise if I come, and not a disappointment if I don’t.”

“Try. Please. I miss you too.”

“I’ll stop by,” I promised.

“Good.”

Another call came in while we talked, luckily late enough in our conversation not to be a problem. “I need to take this,” I said.

“Of course. See you soon.” She hung up before I could respond, and the other call came through.

“We got him,” said Sandy.

“Harold?” I asked.

“Yeah. When I approached the front door, Kyle or whoever tried slipping out the back.”

“He is notoriously slippery.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

“See you then.” I hung up.

When the three arrived, Kyle proved as handsome as I thought he would be. More actually. And much smaller. Maybe a foot smaller than me, making him 5’6”. I handed Harold cash and he thanked me and left. Kyle didn’t look happy.

“Julie fucked up,” I said.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Will that be a problem?”

He looked at me stunned. “What do you mean? I would never...”

“We know,” said Sandy. “Sit.”

It surprised me she didn’t need to uncuff him. Sandy must have noticed. “He insisted it wouldn’t be necessary.”

“And you trusted him?”

Sandy shrugged. “The way he reacted to the possibility made me reluctant.”

When Kyle sat on the futon, now a couch, we scooted two rolling office chairs in front of him.

“Not fond of restraint,” I asked him.

“No.”

“And jail?”

He actually shuddered.

“A poor choice of professions if you can’t take the consequences,” I remarked. “Claustrophobic?”

“I think it’s more than that,” Sandy speculated. “I think he can’t stand being held against his will. Like a feral animal, who’d rather gnaw off his limb rather than be struck in a trap.”

“You think he runs that much on instinct?” I asked her. “He seems rather clever.”

“I think his cleverness is instinct.”

“Like the proverbial Coyote. Does your tribe subscribe to those tails?”

“My tribe?”

“Navajo or some southern offshoot. Mexican, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer, but I saw the truth in the barest of flashes in his dark brown eyes. “Not very talkative.”

“He was in the car,” Sandy smirked.

“Let me guess. He wanted to know all about you. Did he mention how pretty you are?”

“Of course.”

“And he deflected your questions.”

“Didn’t question him. Wanted to wait until we got here.”

“And his accent?”

“You’re better with that. But if I had to guess, Southern California.”

“Any trace of Mexican Spanish?”

“Like I said, you’d be better detecting it. But I think he knows to hide it.”

I nodded. “Probably raised amongst Gringos. Ran away when young. Great with the ladies, especially prostitutes who are innately suspicious and inured to the charms of men. A whorehouse?”

Another subtle flash in his eyes.

“We could all use some breakfast,” Sandy suggested. “I’ll go to the diner.” We had one of those retro diner chains nearby. A real diner just didn’t fit into tourist land. And the hotel restaurants were notoriously expensive. “You drink coffee?” she asked him. He nodded. “We have cream and sugar here, so you don’t need to be any clearer,” she chuckled. When she left, he looked forlorn.

“Hoping to charm her?” I asked him.