Chapter 29

"Good morning, Dot," I said into a cell phone. After checking on her, I thought it wise to call and relieve her anxiety. She'd correctly assumed that I was the victim in the shootout at the Italian restaurant yesterday.

I heard all the air whoosh from her lungs. "Are you all right?"

"Fair to middlin'. Your thug plays rough."

"He's not my thug."

I laughed, which made me wince.

"You're hurting, aren't you?"
"Bullets do that. Where are you?" I'd called her cell phone when she didn't answer a call to her home.

"L.A. I flew in last night. Do you know how many hospitals there are in the L.A. area?"

"Call off the hounds. I didn't go to a hospital. Did anyone arrest Ganarelli?"

"No. He wasn't the shooter. He was questioned and released."

"I figured. What about the shooter?"

"Questioned and released. He claimed self-defense, and half the gang in the restaurant backed up his story. The D.A. wouldn't prosecute. D.A.'s nowadays only take on slam dunks or celebrity cases."

I chuckled and winced.

"If you didn't go to a hospital, where did you get help?"

Should I tell her about psychic healing? I asked myself.

No, Nicole said.

I wasn't asking you.

Who were you asking?

Myself.

Oh.

"It will take a while for the shattered bone to mend, but otherwise, I'm doing fine. Would you like to feel my pain?" I bundled it and sent it along my telepathic pathway. When she gasped, I jerked it back and put it in an imaginary box in an air vent in my room. "That's what I was feeling before I gave it to you. When the pain starts to nag, I bundle it up and cast it away."

Show off, Nicole said.

"What about infection?" Dot asked.

"That's being monitored. Would you like the goods on Ganarelli?"

"You mean... ?"

"I didn't have much time, but I grabbed his memories on the fly. He's a pig. No, that gives pigs a bum rap. Do you have a pen and notebook?"

"Notebook?"

"Yeah, this is going to take a while, and you'll need more than a piece of paper." I started with an organizational structure for organized crime in California and other parts of the country, and went on from there, talking for two hours, occasionally answering a question.

"That's it. May I dump the fucker's memories now?"

"Dump... ?"

"Yeah, I sure don't want them cluttering my mind."

"You just gave me all this from memory?"

"Yes, his memory."

"Jesus!"

"Do you have enough to take him down?"

"Him and a dozen others, maybe more."

"Oh, one more thing. He's a telepath."

"What?"

"He's a telepath. That's what started the ruckus in the restaurant. He felt my telepathic scan."

"Oh."

"Interrogating him could be a problem," I said.

"Fuck!"

"My sentiments exactly."

Against Nicole and Sandy's wishes, I put my left arm in a sling, and attended Soren Thorsen's one-man show with Nicole, Grace and Pierre. Antonio and Regina had traveled to America to support their husband, and they were happy to see us, especially when we purchased another piece of Soren's sculptures. The gallery owner was happy to have the sculpture crated and shipped to our Belize hotel.

I was pleasantly surprised to see Regina out in a social event. The plural marriage the threesome had fashioned seemed to have shattered her reclusive bent. She played mute, writing questions and answers, but was happily involved.

After checking out Soren's work, I found myself next to Regina. With a chuckle, I leaned to her ear and asked, "How's the fucking schedule working out?"

She laughed, and I remembered how much I'd enjoyed the sound of her laughter when we'd first met.

No more fucking schedule, thank God, and Nicole was right. Antonio and Soren at the same time is delicious, she wrote.

"Are you still monogamous, so to speak?"

Yes.

"Shucks."

She laughed again and wrote, Has Sandy found her man of the world?

"Nope. She hasn't given up her quest, though. Does Antonio still consider retrognition a curse?"

No. What happened to your arm?

I explained.

You were the person shot in that restaurant? Amazing! I watched a report on the incident on television last night.

"Yeah, well, mums the word."

Of course.

"Is sexual fidelity still the cornerstone of your marriage? Or has someone strayed?"

Love is the cornerstone. Antonio... Let me just say the three of us now understand what you and your wives were trying to tell us. Jealousy is a terrible emotion.

"I'm confused. You said you were still committed to sexual fidelity."

I am, as is Soren. Antonio isn't. He wants a child, an heir.

"Ah." The desire to reproduce in action, I thought.

What's wrong with that? Sandy asked.

Nothing, and I wasn't talking with you.

Perhaps, but I was listening. After we develop the Greek island hotel, plan on consulting a geneticist with me, buddy boy.

All right.

Were you talking silently with one of your wives just now? Regina wrote.

"Yes, Sandy. She's in Belize. She sends her love." I went on to tell her all about our island hotel. "We'll be flying to Belize tomorrow for the grand opening."

Send us information on the hotel. It sounds like a perfect hideaway for the three of us to vacation for a few days.

"I will. We'll be in Greece in a few weeks. Perhaps we can get together then." When she asked why we'd be in Greece, I told her about our plans to build a hotel on a Greek island. "Which gives me an idea. We're looking for an architect for that hotel. Perhaps you or Antonio or Soren could recommend one."

Perhaps. Keep in touch and we'll let you know.

Large, lavish events like our grand opening weren't my cup of tea, and with my injured shoulder, I had an excuse to avoid much of the glad-handing and socializing. I spent some time in the hotel's kitchen watching the executive chef and Pierre in action. The two of them got along famously, which gave me an idea that would help Pierre become all he could be and made a mental note to discuss my idea with my wives later.

I also made an effort to check out every employee, and found one we needed to let go. A guest left out money and valuables that had tempted her, and she'd snitched them. I took the manager with me to the maid's quarters, showed him where she'd stashed the money and jewelry, and he fired her on the spot.

Unlike me, Grace thrived at the event. She had a memory for names and details that astonished me. In L.A., she'd asked Nicole for a Palm Pilot, and she kept notes in the PDA and transferred the notes to a notebook computer, another purchase in L.A. She looked sharp, too. The new clothes and hairstyle gave her a classy look. She beamed when I told her my thoughts.

"This is the best job I've ever had. I love you guys," she said.

I laughed and said, "Hold the hug until my shoulder gets better." We'd told Grace and Pierre that I'd slipped and fallen, bruising my shoulder badly.

But no one shined like my wives. They were in all their glory. I was so proud of them I thought I'd burst, but as the evening progressed I noticed the stress of the event was getting to them. When the evening finally staggered to a close, I took them to our suite of rooms where I had two masseuses waiting for them. I watched the ladies knead and prod my wives and, while I was at it, asked questions. I wanted to relax my lovelies if a masseuse wasn't available. I would've tried some of their techniques, but a one handed massage just didn't cut it.

The massages turned Nicole and Sandy into wet noodles, and I poured them in bed. We didn't make love. I was hurting, and they were wiped out. While they slept, I wandered into my protoplasm and hurried the healing process by mentally mending the shattered bones of my scapula. I woke up feeling much better, thank goodness. Refreshed from a good night sleep, Nicole and Sandy wanted some loving, and I was well enough to oblige.

I ate breakfast in the kitchen. Pierre was there and made me eggs benedict to order. I smiled as the flavors wandered over my taste buds. Enrico, our executive chef, watched my obvious pleasure and asked Pierre about the recipe, and the two of them started a discussion about herbs and spices and walked away, giving me the privacy to enjoy my breakfast.

After eating, I grabbed my watercolor paraphernalia and searched for a scene that interested me, finding just what I wanted with a small waterfall splashing into a pond surrounded with lush greenery. We'd created the scene when we landscaped the hotel, but it looked natural.

I dashed off a quick painting and the results pleased me, which didn't happen very often. I managed to capture the sunlight sparkling on the water. I'd come to realize light was important in any painting.

"That's very good," a woman said.

I hadn't noticed her, and I didn't know how long she'd been watching me paint, which surprised me. I was usually very aware of anyone around me, unless I'm in a crowd.

"Thank you," I said. She was a beautiful, young woman, dark skinned, and I guessed she had some Mayan blood in her veins, not much, but a little. I probed her surface thoughts and connected with her empathically. She was feeling lonely - another surprise. As beautiful as she was, I couldn't imagine her being alone. Men had to flock around her.

"Are you a professional artist?"

"No, a student of art would be more accurate." Her thoughts told me she wanted to know my name, so I introduced myself.

"My name is Lin Sluder," she said. "I'm here with my father. He's the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Tourism, NEMO and Information for Belize." She'd made the announcement with pride, which pleased me. A daughter should be proud of her father. I enjoyed the sounds of her voice. They were soft but clear, very feminine without being girlish.

"I believe I met him last night," I said. "He sounds like a very important man."

She nodded and suddenly placed me. "You're one of the owners of this hotel."

"Yes. Did you enjoy the grand opening festivities?"

He's married, she thought, suddenly dejected. I chuckled inwardly, happy that I'd attracted such a beautiful woman but, at the same time, upset because I felt her let down. Then she shocked me. I don't care that he's married. I want him. A fling, a quick fuck without complications. That's what I want.

Nicole, Sandy, a beautiful woman is hitting on me, I announced.

Sandy snickered. Have fun. It's about time you had some sex for the fun of it without Nicole or me in attendance.

Fine by me, but be careful not to injure your shoulder, Nicole said.

May I use our suite?

Sure, they both replied.

"Yes," Lin said to answer my question about the grand opening. "Your wife is very beautiful."

"Yes, both of them."

"Both?"

"Yes. Nicole and Sandy. I'm thirsty. Would you join me for a cold drink?"

"You have two wives?"

"Yes. I love them both. They love each other, and me, so we formed a plural marriage, not legally, of course, but in our hearts we're married." I'd gathered my art paraphernalia while I talked, so I took her elbow and we walked away together. Her mind was going a mile a minute.

The fact that I was not just married but doubly married didn't diminish her desire for me, just the opposite, so I probed her memories to determine why my plural marriage excited her sexually, but my probe uncovered no reasons. If Lin and I tumbled onto the bed in my suite, I'd be her first fling, as she'd put it.

After I poured iced tea into two glasses and gave one to her, we settled on sofas in the sitting room facing each other. She crossed her legs, and her long skirt split at her knees, giving me a wonderful view of her shapely legs.

My probe had given me one clue to her sexuality. She'd masturbated from a young age, years before adolescence. Over time, she'd learned to hide her habit and, surprisingly, experienced no guilt from her daily sessions with self-pleasure. Her self-induced orgasms were also stronger than those she experienced during sex with another person. Her thoughts had informed me that whether she was able to seduce me, or not, that she'd return to her room and give herself an orgasm. If her seduction attempt were successful, she'd use my semen as a lubricant for that session.

Then it dawned on me that her loneliness probably came from her lonely habit. She'd never masturbated with anyone present. Could I induce her to masturbate for me?

I sipped tea and swallowed, smacking my lips. "You're very beautiful, but then you're very aware of your beauty. Still, I sense that you're lonely. Why is that?"

Her eyes widened. "That's very insightful."

"I also sense that you enjoy the pleasures of sex, whether with a partner or alone." I frowned. "Alone more than with a partner."

She gasped. "What are you? A mind reader?"

I laughed. "Hardly, but I've been accused of being empathic from time to time. I take it my assumption hit home?"

She blushed and nodded. She was comfortable with her masturbatory habit, but uncomfortable with my awareness of it. I needed to make her feel more at ease.

"I masturbate; every sexually healthy individual masturbates. I see no reason for you to feel embarrassed, especially with me. My wives masturbate. Sometimes, I enjoy watching them, and they like my eyes on them as they give themselves pleasure. They tell me that my presence takes the loneliness out of an otherwise very pleasurable experience."

That's true, Nicole said.

For sure, buddy boy, Sandy added.

I enjoyed the sexual sensations gathering in Lin's body, the tingles, the heaviness. She'd correctly analyzed my statement when she assumed that I wanted her to masturbate for me, but she was in error regarding my reason. She'd presumed watching her masturbate was my way of remaining faithful to my wives. I needed to dispel that notion, so I rose to my feet and stood in front of her, close but not touching her. Then I moved to my knees and ran my hands up her legs from her ankles to her knees and beyond over her outer thighs, pushing her skirt up her legs in the process.