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Months ago, ChloeTzang asked me to submit a story and I said that I would. I know absolutely nothing about Mickey Spillane or Mike Hammer or writing violence or what noir means or any of that. But being clueless has never stopped me before! So, here we are!
I have started writing some stories involving a woman, Akari, who kind of stumbles into solving mysteries with her girlfriend, Maureen (Why do I always have lesbians in my stories...? Hmmm...). Anyway, their stories are NOT violent or noir or anything like that, so I decided to have Maureen tell Akari a story about how real detectives should be. You know, violent and noir and all of that. Anyway, let me know if you liked my story.
As usual, I want to thank Figjamkiss for editing and proofreading my work (and offering all kinds of helpful suggestions). And AlexFourways for just being him! I can't thank them both enough!
If you'd like to begin at the very start of my erotic fiction journey, please click here: The First Blowjob
Enjoy!
Love, Frey
My Stories
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Chapter 1 - "Crazy Eddie"
"It's so exciting that we're going to be private investigators," Maureen whispered, holding Akari's naked body closer.
"It's not going to be exciting. It's just going to be taking pictures of cheating spouses --"
"That's exciting."
"And maybe helping O'Malley with some things -- probably unpaid."
"That's not so exciting."
Akari looked at Maureen. "And that's really about it."
"But it could be exciting," Maureen said, hopefully.
"But it won't."
"You're such a poop. What if we changed our names to something exciting? Like professional stage names?"
"Are we going to have sex or not?" Akari asked.
"We will. We will," Maureen reassured her impatient girlfriend. "But first, what if your name was something... exotic and wild? Something like... Myra Mayhem."
Akari smirked. "Really?"
"Yes! And you're, like, a hard-boiled and jaded P. I. in a trench coat and a hat with the brim pulled down low."
Akari sighed. "We're not going to have sex, are we?"
Maureen continued as if she didn't hear Akari. "And I'll be... Amber Luxxe, sexy former stripper that gave her glamorous exotic dance life up for the love of Myra Mayhem."
"This is ridiculous."
"No. No. No. Picture this..."
* * * * * * * * * *
Myra Mayhem sat with her feet up on her small battle-scarred oak desk staring at her assistant, Amber, hard at work doing pretty much nothing. Myra licked her lips, tasting the last remaining flavor of Amber's sweet pussy. Lunch had been the usual take-out shit. Dessert, on the other hand, had been spectacular.
Myra's last name wasn't "Mayhem," of course. Her Japanese last name was difficult for non-Asians to pronounce and didn't look nearly as good on the frosted glass door of her shabby south-side office. Her first name wasn't "Myra" either, but she didn't like to get too bogged down in details.
Or the truth.
"When was the last time we had any cash coming in?" she asked Amber.
Amber looked at her. "Do you want me to dig up the actual date?"
"No. Don't bother."
"Good. I was just going to flip through some papers and then make up a date anyway."
Myra nodded. "Um-hmm." She wasn't surprised. Amber Luxxe, a former stripper -- now a private stripper for one woman only -- wasn't a great bookkeeper. She was great in the sack. She was a great assistant. Not so good with paperwork. But she was better at it than Myra was.
Myra leaned back and stared at the ceiling, tracing the water stain patterns with her eyes for about the billionth time when blue and red lights lit up the dim room. "Ugh," Myra grunted as she got up from the creaky wooden chair.
She went over to the dusty window and peered down at the alleyway that ran between the brownstone that housed her second-floor office and Chan's Sushi. Without turning around, she mumbled, "Some excitement out there." Myra heard the floorboards as Amber walked to the window, put her arm around Myra's waist, and looked down at three police cars crammed into the narrow alley like piglets jockeying for position around their mother's teat.
"Wanna go down and see what's going on?" Amber asked.
Myra shrugged and headed for the door.
In the alley, crime scene tape was already up. "What happened?" Myra asked Garcia, a police officer and a high school friend of hers.
"Chan found a body behind his dumpster."
"Neat!" Amber exclaimed. Stripping was rarely this exciting.
"It was Crazy Eddie," Garcia continued. "The homeless guy that was always collecting cans every trash day."
"There's been a lot of homeless turning up dead lately," Myra commented.
"Fourth one in the last few weeks."
Myra looked at Garcia. "Four?"
"Yup. And this one was definitely a murder."
"Murder?" Myra confirmed. "Do you think the other ones are related?"
Garcia leaned in closer. "Between you and me? Yes, I do. They're calling in the feds."
Knowing that there probably was going to be no payday for them, Amber still spoke up. "Will you let us know if anything... interesting comes up?"
"I will if you can get Myra to flip teams," Garcia said. "Just for one night."
Decency, decorum, and any form of appropriateness between the three had been gone a long time ago. If it had ever existed at all.
"I would never leave this," Myra slapped Amber's cute little ass, "behind."
"I've told you that she can join us."
"And as I've told you since freshman year," Myra replied, "I'm flattered, but I'm not interested."
"I'm determined to wear you down, darling."
"You're determined to get a restraining order against you." Myra turned away. "Let us know if anything pops up."
"Something already has."
"Fuck you," Amber told him.
Garcia smiled. "If you can get Myra to fuck me, then you can have a spin afterwards."
"Neither of those things will ever happen, Garcia! See ya around!" Amber chuckled as she followed Myra back into their building.
Closing the door behind them, Amber asked, "Do you think there's a case for us there?"
"Who would pay us?" Myra shrugged. "And what would we get? A bag of cans worth nine bucks?"
"You could prove your worth to the police chief. We could get some real work and some real pay."
"He thinks we're bottom feeders. A couple of ticks beneath personal injury lawyers. He'll never give us any work."
"But what else do we have going on?"
"Well, even sweet-talking Gacia wouldn't get us any closer to the scene. There's nothing for us there."
"We can come back tonight," Amber suggested.
"Eh," Myra shrugged, then nodded. "It's worth a look, I guess."
"Things are always worth a look," Amber reminded Myra as she settled back into her chair and resumed her daily responsibility of waiting for someone to call them with work.
Chapter 2 - "Week-old Sushi"
"Ugh," Myra muttered standing next to the dumpster in the alley next to Chan's. "Does this always stink so much?"
"It does on Tuesdays."
"Ugh," Myra grunted again, her hand over her mouth and nose. It did nothing to alleviate the stench.
Amber tried not to breathe too much. "Do you see anything?"
"No. They cleaned everything out." Myra backed away from the dumpster. She swore that she could actually see the fetid funk of week-old sushi that was rarely very fresh to begin with, rising out of the old dumpster. "Let's go talk to Chan."
Jimmy Chan was a third-generation restaurateur who had inherited his restaurant from his father who had inherited it from his father. Unfortunately for Jimmy Chan, the neighborhood around his family's restaurant had progressively degenerated with each generation. "Myra! Amber! The prettiest ladies in town! What can I get for you?"
"Could we talk to you for a minute?" Myra asked. "What can you tell us about the dead guy?"
"Shh. Shh." Chan looked around. "I don't need customers to know that a homeless man was murdered next to my restaurant."
"You need customers," Amber pointed out.
"There are two," Chan replied, pointing to a dark booth against the far wall.
"I think it's a hooker and a john."
"But they are customers." Chan waved the girls towards a back corner of the restaurant. "We can talk in my office."
Chan's "office" was about as big as a supply closet, and with shelves of cleaning supplies, one chair, and a folding TV tray acting as a desk, it essentially was a supply closet. It was just missing the mop bucket. After he ushered them into the cramped space and closed the door, the girls saw the mop bucket.
"So, Crazy Eddie was killed next to your restaurant?" Myra asked.
"In a public alley. It had nothing to do with the restaurant," Chan insisted. "But, yes. Crazy Eddie. I saw a shoe and thought that someone had thrown stuff behind the dumpster. I had to lock it because people kept throwing their garbage in. It costs me money every time I have it emptied."
Myra nodded. She and Amber knew that he had started locking the dumpster. They used to throw trash in it.
"When I looked behind the dumpster, it was Crazy Eddie. Stabbed."
"Stabbed?" Myra asked.
"That's what the police said. I didn't check! But there was blood everywhere."
"Hmm." Myra nodded. "What else?"
Chan shook his head. "Nothing. I called the police, they came and roped everything off. By 6:00, they were done."
"Did you notice anything suspicious last night or this morning?"
"No. I closed up and went home."
"Did you go out to the dumpster last night?"
"Before I closed up, I threw some bags into the dumpster."
Myra furrowed her eyebrows. "And you didn't notice anything then?"
Chan frowned and shook his head.
"So Crazy Eddie was killed early this morning," Amber stated.
"Or last night, and Chan just didn't see him," Myra said. "The alley's dark." Myra sighed. "You'll let us know if you think of anything, Chan?"
"Yes."
Myra looked directly at Chan. "Before the police?"
Chan pursed his lips, then told them, "Yes. Yes." He knew that business was tough all over and the people in this neighborhood had to stick together. Plus, he liked Myra and Amber.
"Thank you." Myra gave him a weak smile. Everything was tough. Chan was a good man.
Back out on the sidewalk, Amber asked, "So, now what?"
Myra glanced towards the alley. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. It's another dead end for us."
"Business will pick up," Amber said, reaching for Myra's hand.
"It better."
Amber gently squeezed Myra's fingers. "We'll be fine. We always are."
Myra wasn't so sure.
"I can always grab some shifts at Manny's."
"I don't want you to go back to that, Amber."
"I will if we need to."
Myra frowned.
"Let's go home," Amber said. Then, with a smile, added, "I can make you feel better. Come on."
With a deep sigh, Myra replied, "I guess."
"Very enthusiastic. You really know how to flatter a girl."
"Sorry," was all that Myra said, but she held Amber's hand the entire way back to their crummy fourth-floor apartment.
As Myra closed the rickety wooden door and slid the inadequate deadbolt into place, she turned to Amber. "You gave up stripping to work with me and I'm a failure."
"You're not a failure," Amber told her, taking Myra into her arms. "It's tough work. Something will fall into place."
"Yeah," Myra mumbled, resting her head on Amber's shoulder. "Somehow it always seems to... So far, at least."
"That's the spirit!" Amber exclaimed with as much gusto as she could muster. "Now bring some of that fervor into the bedroom and let's fuck!"
Myra raised her arms into the air. "Yay! Fucking my girlfriend!"
"There you go!"
The girls ran across the tiny kitchenette into the tiny bedroom. With just enough room to stand between the bed, the dresser, and the four paint-peeled walls, they faced each other.
"It'll work out," Amber said as she started to unbutton Myra's shirt.
Myra nodded and pulled Amber in for a kiss. Right at that moment, she needed to feel loved. But she also needed more.
Myra prematurely broke the kiss, shrugged her own shirt off, and pulled Amber's shirt up over her head. Myra licked the exposed skin between Amber's breasts and reached around to unhook and remove her lover's bra, exposing Amber's exquisite breasts. She placed a kiss on both of Amber's erect nipples, then unhooked her own bra and tossed it onto the growing pile on the floor.
Wrapping her arms around Amber's waist, she pulled her in for a deeper kiss. The warm skin-on-skin contact was what Myra wanted. What she needed.
To feel Amber's body against hers.
Four hard nipples pushed against each other.
Wet lips pressed together.
Tongues joined in quickly growing passion.
This was what Myra lived for.
Amber's love.
She never knew how empty her life was before Amber had entered it and in spite of Amber's continual bright presence, sometimes the darkness seeped in.
But Amber could always push it back out.
Myra's body tingled as Amber stroked her bare back. Amber always knew exactly where to touch. As they kissed, Myra reached down to caress Amber's perfect ass. An ass that had earned her a prime weekend time slot at Manny's. But that was a different life. A life that Myra didn't want Amber to ever have to return to.
Amber deserved more.
And right at that moment, Amber deserved all of Myra's attention, so she tucked her money concerns away for the night, and gave her girlfriend's ass a slap.
"Ooohh!" Amber moaned into Myra's mouth. After the second, harder slap, Amber pushed Myra away. "Did I do something to upset you?"
"Yes. When I ate your pussy for lunch, you forgot to thank me."
Amber lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry isn't going to cut it this time," Myra intoned, sadly.
Slowly, Amber raised her head and looked at Myra. Trying her best to look remorseful, Amber said, "I think you need to spank me."
Myra nodded. "I think I do."
"Bare-assed?"
"What do you want?"
Amber thought for a second, then answered, "Pants on to start, then bare-assed."
"Hand or..."
"Ummm," Amber looked around the room. "Hairbrush with pants, then bare hand on bare bottom."
Myra smiled. "Bend over, you naughty bitch!"
Amber spun around so fast that she almost knocked Myra back against the dresser. "Oops. Sorry."
"Did I say you could speak?"
Amber shook her head and laid her upper body across the bed, pushing her eager ass up and out.
Myra grabbed the brush off the dresser and took her position next to Amber's derriere. She slid her hand down the sumptuous curve, her fingers lingering at the warm juncture of Amber's thighs. Amber sighed at Myra's touch. Then Myra tantalizingly traced the seam of Amber's pants and pressed the brush handle against Amber's crotch.
"Mmmm," Amber purred, swaying her hips slightly in anticipation.
Raising the brush in the air, Myra watched Amber's ass clench in expectation of that initial delightful blow.
"Hmm-mmm," Amber purred again, this time with a slight hitch. She knew what Myra was waiting for. She relaxed herself and closed her eyes so as not to accidentally see any indication of Myra's movement and then it hit.
Crack!
Amber moaned with pleasure as her sphincter reflexively tightened and she made a quick mental note to earmark a few bucks from their next payday for a butt plug. Maybe a matched pair. Then to egg Myra on, she said, "Is that all you've --"
Crack!
Another hit echoed through the room.
"Oohhhh." Amber clenched her hands almost as tightly as she had clenched her ass. She loved the jolt of electricity connecting her asshole and pussy firing down her legs and up through her body.
Myra grabbed a fistful of Amber's dirty blonde hair and pulled Amber's head up off of the sheets. "I didn't say you could speak," she whispered into Amber's ear, her hot breath causing Amber to tremble with passion. Myra pulled Amber's hair a little harder. "If you understand me, nod."
Amber nodded as much as she could with her neck bent at such a severe angle.
With contempt, Myra threw her lover's head back onto the bed. "Cunt," she spat for good measure.
Sweat forming on her forehead, Amber relaxed herself again. This was how it felt best.
But Myra was done with the brush.
She tossed it to the bed and it landed a couple of inches in front of Amber's eyes and she focused on the long black hairs tangled between the bristles. Myra never cleaned out the brush. Amber always did. She marveled that Myra had been able to function as an adult before she had met Amber and this thought made Amber smile.
The feel of Myra's fingers slipping into the waist of her pants, made Amber smile even wider.
With a swift yank, she felt the cool air on her reddened ass cheeks as Myra tore her pants down past the petite roundness or her behind. Simultaneously, she felt the give on the front of her thrift-store khakis. Then the tiny "plink" of the plastic button hitting the cheap linoleum floor.
"Whoops," Myra said, breaking character.
"I'll sew it back on," Amber replied.
Whack!
Myra, back in character, slapped Amber's bare ass. "No talking!"
"Sorry," Amber mumbled into the bed sheets.
Whack!
"You did that on purpose, you dirty stripper whore."
With tears in her eyes, Amber smiled. She had done it on purpose.
And now, Myra was in the zone.
Amber closed her eyes, squeezing a couple more tears out, and waited. She could feel the damp cotton sheet under her face. She felt both of Myra's hands on her ass. Cool and comforting. Then she felt one of Myra's thumbs trace downwards and press against her barely-exposed pussy. Amber could feel how wet she was. Wet for Myra. Amber spread her legs as much as she could as Myra's thumb effortlessly slipped between her pussy's lips.
Her moan was cut short by a swift slap. She ground her teeth together to keep from making another sound, then she felt Myra's soft hands travel up her ass and slide through the thin sheen of sweat on her lower back.
"I'm sorry, honey," Myra cooed. Amber felt the feathered touch of Myra's lips on first one cheek and then the other. "It's okay for you to enjoy this. I felt how wet you were. It's okay. And you know that I only punish you because I love you, sweetie." Myra wriggled Amber's pants down a little more and then took one of her fingers, wet with Amber's sweat, and eased it into the juicy pussy that was on display right in front of her. As she started sliding her finger in and out, deeper with each stroke, she continued in the same tender voice. "You're my baby and I only want what's best for you."
Amber erupted with laughter.
Pulling her finger out and standing up, Myra demanded, "What are you laughing about?"
Barely able to speak, Amber choked out, "The... baby talk... What's up with that? You are one sick fuck!"
"You're the one that insists on spankings! I just want to have sex."
"This is sex," Amber replied, rolling over onto her back.
"This is depravity! It's some throwback to your stripping prostitute days."
Amber slithered out of her pants. "I was never a prostitute."
"You were a broken, beat-down, demoralized stripper. What? Do you want me to toss money at you?"
"I was a proud stripper," Amber insisted. "And besides, you don't have any money to throw at me."
"Yeah. Don't rub it in."
Amber crawled to the center of the bed. "Put that mouth of yours to good use, dyke."
Pulling her own pants off, and climbing in between Amber's legs, Myra asked, "Who are you calling a dyke?"
"Bite me!"
"I'll do a lot more than that," Myra warned, dipping her head down into Amber's scorching crotch and bit her right pussy lip.
"Damn it! That hurt!"
"Shut up and take it," Myra said around another mouthful of pussy.
Chapter 3 - "He's a Good Boy"
Four days later, Amber ran into Garcia at the coffee shop.
"Any news about Crazy Eddie?"
"Oh! Yeah!" Amber watched Garcia dump the contents of four sugar packets into his coffee. "They found DNA and it matched with an FBI agent!"
"No shit?"
"I shit you not. The detectives found a couple of hairs -- apparently there was a bit of a struggle -- and then they matched it to some FBI guy a couple of counties over." Garcia took a sip of his coffee, then tore another sugar open. "Case closed. Now, they're trying to pin the other ones on him."
Amber stared at him in disbelief. "You think the guy was some sort of serial killer?"
"Who knows?" Garcia shrugged. "There are plenty of sickos out there. From what I know, this guy has a reputation for being practically a saint. And, of course, he's denying everything." He shook his head sadly. "It's always the ones you least expect. People are strange."
"That's fucked up," Amber mused.
"Pfft. You can say that again."
"Well, hey, enjoy your cup of sugar."
"Tell Myra that I said hello."
"Uh-uh." Amber had no intention of doing that.
"Why do you insist on constantly cock blocking me, Amber?"
"Because Myra's my girlfriend. Because she's not interested. Because she doesn't like cock."
"She might like it... You never know."
"Well, she'll never know. She's mine and I'm not letting her go." Amber picked up her order at the counter. "See you around," she told Garcia as she left.
Placing the cardboard coffee tray and the bag containing two bear claws on Myra's desk, Amber said, "I saw Garcia. They found Crazy Eddie's killer."
Myra sat up and reached for her iced coffee. "Really?"
"Some FBI guy."
"Really?"
"Yup."
Settling back into her chair, Myra muttered, "It wasn't going to be our case anyway."
Amber pulled her chair over to Myra's desk. "Nope."
"So, what do we do now?" Myra looked at Amber. "Mickey stopped by looking for his rent."
"And you don't want me to pick up a few shifts?"
"No. No girlfriend of mine is going to be a stripper."
"It's on the table, is all I'm saying."
"It's off the table."
"Fine," Amber sighed. "So what do we do?"
Myra shrugged and sipped her coffee.
The answer came two days later when an elderly woman knocked on their door.
Amber opened it. "Can I help you?"
The woman looked at Amber. "I certainly hope so."
Sitting across from Myra, the woman introduced herself as Velda Sheridan.
"What can I do for you, Ms. Sheridan?" Myra asked.
She looked nervously at Myra. "Do we have some sort of... client confidentiality?"
"Sure," Myra replied, knowing full well that for enough money, there was no such thing as confidentiality.
"I need help, but only if what I tell you remains completely confidential. No one must ever find out."
"Ma'am, anything you say here will remain between the three of us," Amber assured her. Amber shared Myra's view on the relationship between confidentiality and cash.
"I can pay you. I know that it's cliche, but money is no object."
Myra and Amber looked at each other and both of their eyes said the same thing. Confidentiality had just been purchased.
Her hands wringing about the handle of her pocketbook, Ms. Sheridan continued. "There was a murder outside your office. You know about that?"
Myra nodded. "A homeless man was stabbed to death. What about it?"
"There's a man being held for that murder."
"Mm-hmm." Myra glanced down at the woman's white knuckles.
"I believe he's innocent."
Myra's eyes shot back up to Ms. Sheridan's agonized face. "Why do you say that?"
Ms. Sheridan took a deep breath. "He's my son."
Pursing her lips to hide her shock, Myra stated, "The police found DNA evidence tying him to the murder. And possibly a few other murders."
"Bobby wouldn't do that -- I call him Bobby. I know he's a good boy."
Myra asked the obvious question. "Aside from his mother believing he's a good boy, why do you think he's innocent?"
"He has an identical twin."
Myra arched her eyebrows. Things just went from interesting to very interesting. "Do the police know about his twin?"
"No." Ms. Sheridan shook her head. "No one does. I think that I'm the last person left alive that does."
She studied the woman for a moment but said nothing, opting to let the woman tell her story.
"I got pregnant in high school," she started. "To avoid a scandal -- it was a different time -- my parents sent me away to live with an aunt. I gave the two boys up for adoption and it was never spoken about in my family again." She looked down at the pocketbook clutched to her lap. "A few years later, I went back to the adoption agency and begged them for information about my boys. The woman there took pity on me and told me their last names, but wouldn't give me anything else. But that was enough. I was able to track them down. It took some money, but it was important to me to know... about them. I tried to keep track of the boys -- my boys -- and I did for a while, but eventually I lost track. Then I saw the story in the national news." She was struggling not to break down. "I saw his name and a picture in the newspaper. It's my Bobby." She nodded, almost to herself. "But he's a good boy."
Amber handed Ms. Sheridan a small stack of napkins she had grabbed from the coffee shop. Ms. Sheridan dabbed her eyes and continued. "I'm not so sure of his brother."
"What's his brother's name?" Myra asked.
"His adoptive name was Zachary Greene." Ms. Sheridan was composing herself again. "He got into a lot of trouble as a young boy and he was eventually sent to a military school. During his first year, he ran away from that. I've been unable to locate him since."
Ms. Sheridan carefully wiped a tear from one eye. "I don't know who would have committed such an act. Murder. And the thought that it could have been a child of mine..." She took a moment to collect herself. Myra and Amber waited. "I just need to be sure. And to help Bobby. It wasn't Bobby. He's a good boy."
Myra waited a minute, then asked, "Why not just go to the cops with this information? Why the secrecy? Wouldn't adoption laws still protect your identity? At the very least, you could make an anonymous tip to them."
"It's not that," Ms. Sheridan told her. "A few years out of high school, I met a man, Frank Sheridan. He's now my husband. He's been the mayor of Springtown for almost twenty years."
Myra had heard of the city, but had never been. Springtown was known for their annual blueberry pancake festival. She had always been meaning to go some year.
"As you could imagine, having a secret stepson -- even one just accused of such a heinous crime -- would be disastrous. He's a good mayor. He's a good man. He doesn't deserve to have my past destroy everything that he's built."
"Of course," Myra said. Ms. Sheridan had said that she would pay for their services -- and their confidentiality -- although in all honesty, Myra saw no way of using this information to her own financial benefit. Neither blackmail nor extortion were really their thing anyway. But now, Myra was actually feeling sorry for this woman.
Myra actually wanted to help her.
"If I went to the police, there would be too many questions, the press would get involved... I can't do that to Frank." Ms. Sheridan looked at Myra. "I want you to clear Bobby. Even if it's at the expense of my other son." She lowered her head. "What's right is right and what's wrong is wrong."
Myra nodded and looked at Amber who had been standing by her desk behind Ms. Sheridan. Amber nodded. A nod that said, "And a job is a job."
"And as I've said, I can pay you for your services," Ms. Sheridan reiterated. "Can you help me?"
Amber grinned broadly at Myra and nodded more effusively as the mention of pay.
"Yes," Myra stated, looking at Ms. Sheridan directly and confidently. "We can help."
There was such relief in Ms. Sheridan's eyes. "Oh, thank you. Thank you so much."
"We'll need as much information as you can provide."
"Yes. Yes. Of course."
Amber almost tripped running around the desk to face Ms. Sheridan. "And we'll need to discuss our fee."
Ms. Sheridan opened her pocketbook and pulled out a stack of bills larger than either girl had ever seen in their lives. "Of course. I hope cash is okay. No... paper trail."
"Cash is just fine." Amber smiled.
A little over an hour later, Amber had walked Ms. Sheridan out to the street and hailed her a cab. As Amber was closing the office door behind her, she looked at Myra, still sitting behind her desk. "That's a fucking wild twist, huh?"
Myra looked at her. "It sure is."
Both girls looked at the pile of cash on Myra's desk. It was a wild and highly lucrative twist.
Chapter 4 - "Working the Angles"
"So..." Amber raised her eyebrows. "Now that we have a paying job, where do we go from here?"
"We need to prove the FBI agent's innocence," Myra stated. "That's what we've been hired for. And the only way that I can see to do that is to find the other twin." Ms. Sheridan had told them that the first payment was a retainer. If they could clear "Bobby," they would get another payment. A much larger payment.
"Any ideas on how we can do that?"
Myra leaned back in her chair and stared at the filthy ceiling.
Amber sat in the chair recently vacated by the deep-pocketed old lady, picked up the stack of cash to count it, and waited for Myra to come up with a plan.
After a few minutes, Myra looked at Amber. "Four grand?"
"Four grand." Amber stuck a couple of bills into her pocket. "I'm going to pick up a couple of presents for us. To celebrate."
Myra nodded distractedly.
"So, what's the plan?"
"Let's go talk to Garcia," Myra said as she stood up. "Take a few bucks and we'll visit Mickey and give him his rent. Put the rest in the safe."
Amber counted out a few more bills, then crouched next to Myra's desk, feeling underneath it for the manilla envelope taped to the bottom that they used as their "safe."
After dropping off the rent to the grateful Mickey, they found Garcia at his usual off-duty haunt, the video arcade.
"Tony, can we buy you dinner?" Myra asked him after he had lost his last life in the game that he had been playing.
He turned. "I always imagined you using my first name but wearing much less clothing," Garcia looked Myra up and down not even trying to disguise the lust in his eyes. "And you would be whispering it into my ear." When Myra's response wasn't even a smile, Garcia's own smile dropped. "Something serious?"
"Off the record, that FBI agent that was arrested is the wrong guy."
"Really?" Garcia asked with a smirk. "How do you know?"
"Over dinner."
"You two have money? Something's definitely up." Garcia picked the small handful of quarters off the top of the arcade game and stuffed them into his pocket. "Where are we eating?"
After they had gotten their takeout hot dogs and settled into a picnic table off to the side, Garcia commented, "I wasn't worth anything more than a dog and a bag of chips?"
"I thought being outside might be a little safer," Myra told him. "Less chance of being overheard."
"Serious, huh?" Garcia took a bite of his hot dog.
"A woman hired us to clear the FBI agent."
"And why does she think that he's innocent?" He said through the mouthful of half-chewed meat and bun. "They got him with DNA on the victim."
"He has an identical twin brother."
Garcia just stared at Myra and Myra tried not to look at the masticated mess that was stuffed in his open mouth.
After a moment, Garcia swallowed with an audible gulp. "He has a twin brother?"
Myra nodded.
"Same DNA?"
"I would imagine."
"Who is this lady?"
"We can't tell you," Myra said.
Garcia frowned at her.
"She put both boys up for adoption and paid us a hefty chunk right up front. For confidentiality." Then she added, "She seemed legit."
Garcia nodded. "And what harm would it do for you to check into the twin story, right? And if he does have an identical twin that he never knew about, you make an anonymous call to the police and let them look into it from there. Easy job. Easy money."
Amber leaned in towards Garcia. "We were thinking that we could tip off you."
His eyes narrowed with incomprehension. "Why tip off me?"
"If we're right," Amber explained. "You could be the one to solve the case. Save the day. Free an innocent man. You might get a promotion for it. A serial killer. An FBI agent. Secret twins. It's a soap opera come to life. The publicity will explode. You'll be a national hero."
Garcia liked the sound of all of that. "And you guys get paid from this mystery lady."
"And if you get a promotion," Amber continued, "Myra would be your go-to girl for any P. I. consultations."
"Amber, you're always working the angles." Garcia smiled and nodded. "Myra's lucky to have you."
Amber smiled as a rare blush crept up her cheeks.
"You know that I can't 'technically' get involved without some sort of probable cause. Some real proof."
"Of course," Myra agreed. "We'll track this guy down, see what info we can gather on him. When we have some concrete evidence, we tip you off and you can take it from there."
"And you're going to stay safe, right?" Garcia warned.
"Of course we're gonna stay safe," Amber assured him. "We're just going to gather information and get paid. And hopefully ride your coattails to a few more paydays."
Relieved but not entirely believing that they would be careful, Garcia sighed and looked back at Myra. "Okay. So, what do you need from me?"
"We need you to find someone named Zachary Greene."
"Okay. I can do that. Easy."
The next day, they got a call from Garcia. He had found a Zachary Greene with a couple of priors -- nothing major -- two towns over.
Sitting in Myra's shitbox three houses down from the address that Garcia had given them, Amber was munching on some gumdrops.
"All you eat is junk," Myra commented.
"They're yummy. Spice drops."
"And you still stay so thin."
"I'm blessed."
"Mmm," Myra grunted, half jealous and half distracted, keeping an eye on Zachary Greene's house.
"Hey, I'm gonna use a few bucks from this job and grab a couple of butt plugs."
Myra, who had been looking out the side window, spun around to face Amber. "Butt plugs, plural? A couple?"
"Yeah. A matching set."
"For both of us?"
"Well, I'm not shoving a plug up my ass and up my twat."
"I don't want a butt plug."
"How do you know until you try one?"
"How do you know?"
"I just figure that I'll like it. It seems like fun," Amber replied. "Try it and if you don't like it, we'll return it."
"You can't return a butt plug!"
"Then we'll just sell it."
"No one's going to buy a used butt plug!" Myra exclaimed.
Amber arched her eyebrows. "You'd be surprised."
"Ugh." Myra looked back out the window at the nondescript white house.
"I'll bet Garcia would pay a pretty penny for it."
"You're both disgusting."
"Yeah, but you get the benefit of my disgustingness," Amber said, popping a couple more spice drops into her mouth.
"Hey!" Myra suddenly whispered. "He's coming out." The two girls watched as an unassuming middle-aged man came out of the house. "He has a small suitcase."
"Fleeing the country are we, serial killer Mr. Greene?"
"I doubt he's fleeing the country with a carry-on bag."
"Do you think he has chopped up body parts in it?" Amber asked, a spark of hope in her voice.
Myra wanted to say that Amber's imagination was getting the better of her, but instead just muttered, "I don't know." They watched him put the suitcase into the trunk of the car that had been sitting in the driveway, then he got in, backed out onto the street, and started to drive away.
"Tail him!" Amber ordered.
Starting the car, Myra said, "You got all the lingo down, huh?"
"Follow that car!"
"That's a better one."
Chapter 5 - "Face-to-Face With a Serial Killer"
The girls followed Zachary Greene through the city, almost losing him twice in traffic, until he finally pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary's church on the outskirts of town.
"Do you think he's going to confession?" Amber asked.
"With a suitcase?"
"He's probably going to murder a priest or a nun -- or both! -- and those are his killing tools."
"I doubt he's going to walk into a church and murder a priest. Or a nun," Myra said as she put the car into park and turned off the engine. "Come on, let's go around the other side and see what he's doing in the back."
As the two girls carefully walked around the side of the church, they stopped at the back corner and paused. Myra peered around the brick just in time to see him entering the church through the basement door.
"Come on," Myra whispered as she carefully walked, close against the back wall of the church, towards the back door. "Do we go in?" She asked, looking at the door with no window in it. In fact, much to both girls' chagrin, there were no windows along the bottom of the entire back wall.
"Maybe pull your car back here and just wait for him to come out?" Amber suggested. "There are a few cars parked. He wouldn't notice us."
But before they could do anything, the heavy old door began to open with an ominous creak.
"Shit," Amber mumbled.
A second later, they were face-to-face with a serial killer.
"Oh!" The surprised man they had been following gasped. "You startled me! Are you here for the meeting?"
Utterly stunned, Myra just froze. Amber, equally shocked, said the first thing that popped into her head, oblivious to the obvious ramifications. "Of course we are!"
"Then come on in, ladies," he held the door wider. "I just have to grab a suitcase out of my car. I have some souvenirs that I brought." He ushered them into the basement of the church and the door creaked closed as he went out to his car.
"Souvenirs from his victims," Amber muttered.
Myra looked lost in thought.
"So, this is how it ends, huh?" Amber whispered. "Murdered in the basement of a Catholic church."
"He's not the guy," Myra said.
Standing in the small foyer, Amber looked at Myra. "What do you mean?"
"He doesn't look like the FBI agent. Ms. Sheridan said they were identical twins."
"Maybe she was wrong? That guy seemed creepy..."
"But did he?" Myra asked. "Or are we just projecting what we think he is onto him?"
"In our line of work, everyone's guilty until proven innocent."
Myra nodded in agreement just as the door opened again.
"Come on in. I'll introduce you around," the man said to Myra and Amber. "Oh, goodness!" He blurted. "Where are my manners! I'm Zach." He held his hand out and shook each of their hands. To the girls, he now looked a lot less like a serial killer. A little shorter than average height, he had a stocky build bordering on paunchy, balding -- but most of all, his smile radiated honest warmth.
"My name's Heather and this is Jan," Amber told him.
"Well, let's go meet the gang," Zach said. "I'm sure that Sister Cheryl brought cookies. You've never tasted sweets as good as she bakes."
Seeing no way out, Myra and Amber followed Zach into the basement meeting hall. The huge rectangular room was tiled on the floor, brick walled, and had a low drop ceiling. Ten or twelve conference room tables were set up, but folding chairs were only around the front two tables. Half a dozen people were milling about chatting happily.
"Everyone," Zach started, "I want you to meet Heather and Jan." He introduced them and each person smiled, gave a wave, said "hello," and generally seemed happy that these strangers had crashed their meeting.
Sister Cheryl had indeed brought cookies. Sugar cookies with the word "Zach" written on each one in brightly colored icing.
Myra and Amber looked at each other and then, simultaneously, they both looked up at the long banner taped to one wall. It said, in large hand-written block letters, "Welcome Home, Zach!"
"Zachary just got home two days ago from an eight-week missionary trip to Uganda," Sister Cheryl explained.
Realizing that Myra was right and this wasn't the guy, Amber mumbled, "Oh, fuck."
"I'm sorry. What's that?" Sister Cheryl asked, turning around with a couple of cookies on two paper plates for the new arrivals.
"I said, 'Oh, fun.'"
"Well, I'm not sure just how fun it was, living in the rainforest with no electricity or running water and building irrigation systems for a third-world farming community," Sister Cheryl commented, handing one plate to each of the girls. "But he's really been so wonderful volunteering so many times like he has."
Amber smiled her most winning smile. "I meant 'fun' in the... true Christian sense of the word. You know, spreading God's love."
"It was hard work, but I was more than happy to do it," Zach said. "And I did have fun. There were some amazing craftspeople," he continued, laying the suitcase on a table, and unzipping it. "I told them about all of you and they made beautiful tribal face masks based on different traits for each one of you."
Holding out an intricately carved and painted mask, Zach announced, "Sister Cheryl, this one's for you. Because you give so freely of yourself to everyone. They named you 'The Giver.'"
After ceremoniously handing out all of the masks, Myra and Amber were treated to a two-hour meeting regarding the next missionary trip. It was an additional forty-five minutes of chitchat, more cookies, and watery fruit punch before they were finally able to make their escape.
Sitting back in Myra's car, the two girls looked at each other.
"I'm pretty sure that guy's not a serial killer," Amber uttered.
"He's a freakin' saint," Myra replied, starting up the car.
Amber sighed and looked out the side window as they pulled away from the church. "Well, we're back to nothing."
A few minutes later, Myra asked, "Chan's for dinner?"
"Yeah. Sure."
A couple of minutes after that, Amber added, as if their conversation had continued through the silence, "Sister Cheryl's a hell of a baker, huh?"
Myra nodded in agreement.
Chapter 6 - "Oh, Myra!"
Myra and Amber had no sooner sat down, when Chan hustled up to them. "That man by the fountain..." he said in a hushed tone, jerking his thumb quickly in the direction of the far wall where a grotesquely large water feature sat, its cracked and deteriorating stonework hadn't seen water in decades. "That man was asking Jasmine about Crazy Eddie."
"Ah, shit," Amber said. She was hungry and she knew exactly what this meant.
Just then, Jasmine came up to them. "What can I get for you girls?" She lightly touched Chan's hand. She knew Myra and Amber and she had no reason to disguise the fact that she and Chan had been in a "relationship." Chan had been fucking her on the side since, literally, the day of her eighteenth birthday, seven months previous.
Myra stood back up. "Nothing, Jasmine. Sorry."
"I'll make a bag for you," Chan said to them, then yelled something in Chinese to Jasmine, even though she was standing right next to him. Jasmine nodded and scurried off to the kitchen.
Myra and Amber had been sitting in the car for less than five minutes, when Jasmine came out with a brown paper bag. She handed it to Amber through the window. "Jimmy said you can pay him tomorrow."
Amber nodded, opening the bag and filling the car with the aroma of deep fried chicken fingers, egg rolls, and crab rangoon. No sushi though. That was probably just as well. Ironically, Chan's Sushi restaurant wasn't very well-known for its sushi.
Amber looked up to watch Jasmine walk back inside. "She is a hot piece of ass," Amber mused. "Chan's a lucky man."
"Lucky he married a woman rich enough to keep his restaurant afloat and dimwitted enough to not realize that he's screwing around with every waitress in the joint."
"Mmm." Amber nodded with a mouthful of greasy chicken finger. "Or she just doesn't care."
Myra nodded in agreement. "I don't think poor Jasmine knows that she only has, at best, a few years with her sugar daddy." The day before Jasmine's eighteenth birthday, Chan had fired his last mistress, Mei. She was twenty-six. Myra held her hand out to Amber and Amber gave her a napkin and an egg roll. Myra had just finished scarfing the egg roll down when the man that Chan had pointed out came out of the restaurant.
The girls watched him get into a car four vehicles behind where they were parked. Myra started her car up and as the man drove past them, she pulled into the street behind him. They followed him about five blocks and as he pulled into Cherry Lane, they continued right past, went a few houses down, turned around in someone's driveway, and parked on the side of the street facing Cherry Lane.
"It's a dead end street, so if he comes out, then he probably knew we were following him," Myra explained. "If he doesn't come out, in a few minutes, we'll drive down the street looking for his car."
Ten minutes later, they drove slowly, but not too slowly down Cherry Lane.
"There it is," Myra said. "16 Cherry Lane." There was one light on in one window on the first floor. "We'll have Garcia get us the info on him tomorrow morning."
"Yup," Amber said, wiping her hands and her mouth with a paper napkin. She stifled a small burp.
Myra looked at her girlfriend in the dim light of the car. "Let's go home for a shower and a nice long fuck. You deserve it."
"We deserve it," Amber corrected her.
Myra smiled as she drove home. As talented and skilled as Myra was, she knew that the business would have folded a long time ago without Amber. Amber may not be great with the bookkeeping, but she was always there with exactly what Myra needed, and that, in itself, made Amber an invaluable part of the team. And although Myra may not always say it, she was thankful for Amber -- on so many levels -- every single day.
Naked and in the shower together, the two girls kissed and rubbed their bodies together. Their arms wrapped around each other, breasts and lips pressed against each other, they basked in their shared love and lust.
It took longer than usual, but eventually they had washed each other, dried each other off, and made their way to the bed.
"Oh, Myra," Amber moaned as she felt Myra's fingers enter her. Amber reached down and slid two of her own fingers into Myra. Legs wrapped around legs, arms holding each other close, tongues interlaced, fingers gently caressing each other, the two girls were an intertwined tangle of passionate flesh.
Slowly, Myra's mouth crept across Amber's cheek, her lips lingering for a moment at Amber's earlobe, then slowly made its way down the length of Amber's sleek neck. Amber took a deep breath and moaned as she felt the juxtaposition of Myra's hot tongue and the cool trail that it left behind on her tingling skin.
Myra's mouth lingered at the sweet hollow formed by Amber's collarbone. With her ear pressed against Amber's neck, she could hear the faint mewling deep in Amber's throat. As the tip of her tongue traced the line of Amber's shoulder, Myra smiled both at the sound of Amber's excitement and the sweet taste of Amber's skin.
And it only got sweeter.
As Myra's tongue continued its travels, it found its way to the swell of Amber's right breast. Smooth and warm. Firm but pliant. Myra's mouth hastily found what it was seeking, her lips greedily engulfing the stiff nipple. Both girls sighed. Their fingers unconsciously fell into a simultaneous rhythm sliding in and out of each other.
"Oh, Myra," Amber moaned as she felt the orgasm that had been lurking inside her, tumbling towards Myra's fingers. "Ohhh..."
Amber wordlessly moaned again as Myra's mouth sucked her nipple into it and Myra's tongue began to flick the tip in perfect time with her fingers rubbing up against Amber's G-spot.
"Ohhh, fuuuck, Myra. Ohhhhh..."
Myra's pussy felt Amber's limp fingers slip out, but all Myra could feel was the slick inside of Amber and the tiny turgid bumps of Amber's tender nipple on her tongue. Myra loved the sweet metallic taste of Amber's skin and sucked as much of it as she could get into her desperate mouth, eliciting another moan from her girlfriend.
"Myra," was all Amber could breathe as an orgasm washed over her and she melted into her lover.
Letting go of Amber's red-hot nipple, Myra gingerly showered it and the surrounding flesh with soft kisses.
Amber giggled slightly, enjoying the sensation of her waning orgasm. She wrapped her arms around Myra's head, holding her firmly against her chest. "That was amazing, darling."
"Hmmm," Myra purred, snuggling against Amber.
"But it's always amazing. You're always amazing." Then, wryly, Amber added, "Oh, and thank you."
Myra smiled against Amber's warm skin.
After a few minutes, Amber said, "I'll be right back." She extricated herself from the tangle of limbs and climbed out of bed. Myra had a good idea where she was going. A minute later, Amber returned with a towel and their rather large "massage wand."
Myra smiled.
Now the fun would begin!
Myra sat up in bed and watched as Amber plugged the massager into the extension cord on the floor by the dresser, laid the towel out on the bed, climbed back onto the bed, and sat cross legged in the center of the towel. Myra scrambled up onto Amber's lap and wrapped her legs around Amber's waist. With a moment or two of wriggling, they settled into position -- Myra's legs around Amber's waist and Amber's longer legs supporting Myra's buttocks. Their pussies mere inches apart.
Amber smiled and flicked the massager on. It was always set on the highest vibration setting. Like Pavlov's dog, Myra's pussy began to salivate. As she slung her arms around Amber's neck, she mused, "Does anyone actually use these things as a massager?"
"Yeah. To massage their cunts," Amber answered as she slid the massage head between them.
"Ummm," Myra moaned, leaning forward to kiss Amber. Velvet lips caressed each other while the machine hummed between them, further fanning the flames of their passion.
As they kissed and fondled each others' bodies, Amber used one hand to slowly stroke the massage wand up and down against their wet slits, spreading their pussies apart with their slick juices.
"Hey," Amber said, "I wonder if this is how Garcia beats off thinking about you."
"Gross!" Myra frowned.
"No. Watch." Amber leaned back, the vibrating wand held upright between them by their four equally vibrating pussy lips. Amber wrapped her fingers around the wand's handle and started to slowly stroke the "personal massager" up and down, simulating a man masturbating. "Oh, Myra," Amber groaned in a vague simulation of Garcia's lower-pitched voice. "Oh, give it to me, Myra."
Myra giggled. "You're such a goof."
"No. This is probably exactly how he does it every single night before bed," Amber protested. "Oh, Myra!" She started getting into a faster rhythm with the surely oversized phallic representation of Garcia's dick that she had held in her grasp. "Oh, Myra, you're so damn tight!"
Giggling again, Myra closed her eyes and moaned, feeling the round humming head sliding against her wetness. "Hmmmm."
"Oh, Myra!" Amber continued, but her voice had become her own again. "Oh, Myra," she said, softer, as the strokes between them slowed.
With her legs, Myra pulled Amber closer, pressing both of their aching pussies firmer against the pulsing massage head.
"Oh, Myra." It was almost a whisper as Amber continued to leisurely pump the handheld wand up and down.
Now, it was a whisper.
"Ohhh, Myraaa..."
Taking a deep breath, Myra's head swam.
Amber fell back against the pillows as she came, pushing the massager fully against her lover's quivering lips.
"Ohhhh, Amber..." Myra whispered back as she surrendered to her own orgasm.
Chapter 7 - "We're Gonna Get Paid"
The next morning, the girls found Garcia getting his sugar and caffeine fix.
"Chan told us that a guy was in last night asking about Crazy Eddie," Myra said. "We followed him after he left and got an address. 16 Cherry Lane."
Garcia smiled. "And if I get his name for you...?"
"No," was Myra's curt reply.
"I give you a lot of credit for not giving up," Amber said. "A lesser man would have given up years ago."
"I'll wear her down," Garcia told her.
Amber shrugged. "I doubt it. But kudos for continually trying."
"I can't let her go."
"You're gonna have to, stud," Amber said, reaching for Myra's hand.
"I'm not looking for a girlfriend -- or to break you guys up," Garcia explained. "Just a little taste."
At this point, Myra spoke up. "I'm sorry, Garcia. It's no."
Garcia took a sip of his coffee. "Today."
"His optimism is simply unflappable," Amber mused in awe as she gave Myra a quick peck on the cheek. "I almost want to jump onto his side and help him talk you into it."
"Hmm," Myra frowned, knowing that that was never going to happen.
"Give me about an hour," Garcia told them as he headed for the door.
"Well," Amber said, grabbing their coffees and pastries from the counter, "Let's head back to the office."
"Yeah," Myra agreed. "And we'll see if Chan's in yet. Just to keep him in the loop."
Amber nodded, "Yeah. Good thinking. In case anything else comes up."
Chan wasn't in, but they hadn't really expected him to be in that early, so the girls just sat around their dingy office waiting for the phone to ring.
But it didn't ring.
Instead, about forty-five minutes after leaving the coffee shop, the door burst open.
"You're not going to believe this!" Garcia blurted out as both girls jumped to their feet. "The guy you tailed last night?"
"Yeah?" Myra prompted.
"Zachary Russell," Garcia dropped the name like it was a bomb.
Both girls just stared at him and frowned. "So?" Myra asked.
"But his birth name was Taylor Baby Two."
"Again, so?"
"Velda Sheridan's name when she put her babies up for adoption was Velda Taylor. And when he was adopted..." Garcia paused, enjoying the anticipation. Until Amber punched his arm. "Ow!" He glared at Amber and then continued. "His adoptive name was Zachary Greene."
Myra's eyes were wide. "Do you think he's the twin?"
"That's gotta be our guy," Amber commented.
"Of course, I can't just go and arrest him because a private investigator connected a few dots with no tangible proof whatsoever," Garcia pointed out. "And with Sheridan unwilling to provide any information..."
"Leave it to us," Amber told him, grabbing Myra's arm. "I have an idea," she said to Myra.
Myra rolled her eyes at Garcia. Amber's ideas were usually way too overblown and extravagant. Not to mention potentially dangerous. But that was Amber. And one of the many things that Myra loved about her.
"Okay. I have to get back, but I wanted to deliver this info myself," Garcia told them.
After he had left, Myra and Amber looked at each other. Amber smiled with a devious twinkle in her eyes. "We go to the guy's house and tell him that we're selling shit -- magazines or something -- and then get some intel on him. Really interrogate him." Amber shook Myra's shoulders. "This is our guy. We're gonna get paid!"
Chapter 8 - "The Serial Killer"
"Stop it! Stop it! Leave my boobs alone!" Myra yelled as Amber desperately fondled Myra's tits in the way-too-small bra that Amber had insisted Myra wear.
"We have to have them popping out at the guy if we expect him to invite us in."
"Let me do it!" Myra shouted. "You keep pinching them!"
"It's 'cause you're so sexy, babe."
"Okay. Okay. How's this?" Myra asked, pushing her chest out for added emphasis.
"Oh!" Amber drooled, staring at Myra's pale flesh squeezing out the top of the lace-trimmed bra the color of which perfectly matched the shiny satin black of Myra's hair. "That's hot!"
"And I have a white button-down shirt that I can leave the top few buttons open," Myra said. "Maybe tie it tight just under my breasts?"
"Oh, yeah... That would look great... I have a pleated skirt you can wear..." Amber mumbled, distracted by the woman standing in front of her.
After Myra was all dolled up, it was Amber's turn. That was easy. She still had her stripper costumes -- Myra had insisted she keep them. Just for some fun role-playing. Amber chose a sequined tube dress that showed off all of her sleek curves and truly highlighted her toned and lithe legs.
"And what if he's not into women?" Myra asked for about the tenth time.
Amber answered for about the tenth time. "Oh, he's into women. And even if he isn't, he will be when he sees us! You got the tits and the face, I got the legs and the perfect ass," Amber gave her derriere a sharp slap. "As a pair, we're unstoppable. Besides, we can just sweet-talk our way in if we have to."
As it turned out, they almost had to force their way in.
Ringing the doorbell of 16 Cherry Lane, the girls waited for a couple of minutes. There was no answer. Then they rang the bell again. Just after the third time pressing the button, the door opened a crack and an annoyed man's face peered out from the gloom.
"Can I help you?"
"Hi," Amber greeted him cheerily. "We're selling magazine subscriptions to raise money for the local animal shelter. Can we come in and talk to you about how you can help?"
"No. I'm not interested." The door began to shut.
"But, sir," Amber continued, "the poor animals need food and shelter. They have nowhere else to go." Amber pleaded, taking on a feigned voice of deep concern. "They have no homes."
Myra saw a disturbing glimmer of interest in the man's shining eyes as he asked, "Homeless?"
"Without your help, they would just be roaming the streets."
Myra was happy to let Amber take the lead with this. She had the gift of gab. Besides, Myra wanted to watch the man behind the door and that was easier if he was focused on Amber. Myra saw the gap between the door and the door frame gradually widen.
Then Myra spoke up in a soft and tender voice, she said, "Yes, sir. These animals would be homeless." She put just the faintest extra emphasis on the last word.
The man, Zachary Russell -- Zachary Greene -- Taylor Baby Two -- stepped back a little and opened the door a bit wider. "Well, that touches my heart," he told them. "Everyone needs a home."
For a split second, Myra saw something even more vile hidden deep within the man's concern, but before she could do or say anything, Amber pushed her through the half-opened door and the two girls almost fell into the home of the man that Myra was now quite sure was the serial killer they had been looking for.
The real serial killer.
"Oh! Sorry!" Amber giggled like a little girl, touching the man's shoulder lightly and Myra saw his eyes flinch as she did. "We're just trying to save the poor little puppies and kitties."
The man's eyes darted over to a desk against one wall with a gooseneck lamp shining on some paperwork. "Yes. Homeless..." He hurried to the desk, closed a hardbound book, clicked the lamp off, then turned back to the girls. "Could I just make a donation?"
"Absolutely!" Amber cried as she walked towards the man now known as Zachary Russell.
He met her halfway across the room, diverting her towards a small couch and two matching chairs. "Please," he held a hand out towards the seats. "Make yourselves comfortable. I have my checkbook in the kitchen."
As he walked towards the far doorway, Myra glanced at the table. It looked like a photo album and some craft supplies -- scissors, tape, etcetera. On a chair next to the desk was a small stack of newspapers and magazines. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet given what Myra knew, the small crafting area gave her a chill.
What she didn't notice -- what neither girl had noticed -- was that just before he left the room, Zachary Russell had seen Myra peering over at the desk.
Myra waited a moment, thought about investigating the desk and its contents, but then decided that doing so would be too risky.
Right now, at least.
Even if she had gone and rifled through any and all of Zachary Russell's belongings, it wouldn't have changed anything anyway.
Instead, with her heart racing, she sat on the couch opposite Amber who had sat in one of the chairs with her long legs crossed and on sexy display for their host.
"Can I get you anything?" Zachary called from the kitchen. "Iced tea?"
"No. We're fine," Amber answered. "Thank you."
Myra looked at Amber to get her attention, and when she did, Myra started mouthing I think, but Zachary breezed back into the room, cutting her off. "Silly me. I left the checkbook by the door," he told the girls as he rushed past Myra.
Feeling that the situation had somehow shifted out of her control, Myra looked at the door, but there was nothing there. No table. No shelf. No backpack on the floor.
Myra stood up just as Zachary brushed past Amber.
All in one lightning-fast move, Zachary grabbed a fistful of the surprised girl's hair, pulled her head back, and held a long knife against Amber's throat.
"Sit back down," he told Myra. His voice was eerily calm. "I know why you're here."
Neither girl spoke. The only sound was Amber's ragged breathing.
"Here's what's going to happen," Zachary told them. "You're both going to slowly stand up and we're all going to walk into the kitchen. Nice and slow. I don't want anyone to get hurt." He paused, and then in a deeper, almost lustful voice that sent shivers up Myra's neck, he added, "Yet."
In the kitchen, Zachary instructed Myra to sit down in one of the wooden chairs.
With the knife still frighteningly close to Amber's jugular, he told Amber to use the rope on the table and tie Myra's hands to the chair's sturdy arms. "Nice and tight," he instructed, clearly enjoying the process.
Amber was repulsed when he pressed against her and she could feel his erection against the back of her thigh. But she doubted that sex was on his mind.
Once both of Myra's hands were tied down, he told Amber to sit in one of the other chairs.
He stood in front of her, holding the knife just inches from her face. "I'm going to tie you up, now. And trust me, I'll kill your pretty little friend before you can even stand up, so don't you dare move." He looked into Amber's terrified eyes. "Do you understand me?"
"Mm-hmm." Amber nodded slightly, afraid to say or do anything else.
"Let her go," Myra offered in desperation. "She doesn't know anything."
"Oh, it's much too late for any of that," Zachary replied, smiling. "You both know much too much."
"The police know that you're the killer."
"No. I'm sorry, but, no. They don't."
"They have DNA evidence."
"Then why haven't they come calling like you both did?"
"They arrested your identical twin brother."
Zachary looked at Myra. "I don't have a twin brother. I was adopted."
"You do have a twin brother," Myra insisted, trying to buy time. But not entirely sure what she was buying time for.
"No. I don't. You're just trying to get me riled up. But you won't." Zachary answered, turning away from Myra and kneeling in front of Amber, effectively ending the conversation. He held the knife in his mouth, clenched between his teeth, the fluorescent light of the kitchen made the honed edge gleam as he quickly tied Amber's wrists to the chair. He then tied her legs together and then did the same to Myra's legs.
"You came to the wrong house, today," he smirked, standing back up and facing the two girls with the knife back in his right hand. "But I'll admit that you almost had me with the homeless animals." Zachary frowned as if the words had a bitter taste to them.
In desperation, Myra said, "The police are already on their way... Zachary Greene."
"Ah! You did your homework." Zachary chuckled. "But no one's coming. If they knew about me, they would have been here already. And they would never let two random women just barge into a suspect's house alone. And if they were just using you as bait, again, they would be here already."
Myra looked at Amber, but Amber was just sitting in the chair with her head down. Myra looked back at their captor. "So you are the homeless killer?"
"I'm helping people that need help. Homelessness has become such a scourge on our once-great city," he answered. "Our once-great society."
"So, killing people is helping the problem?"
Zachary smiled down at Myra like a parent might smile at a dim-witted child. "I'm not saying what I'm doing is right, but at least I'm doing something."
"Killing homeless people?"
"Maybe people will think twice before becoming homeless."
Myra shook her head. "I'm not sure homelessness is something that people choose."
"Well, of course not," Zachary scoffed. "But everyone has choices and the choices that they make have consequences."
"Mental health issues are not a choice. Getting laid off isn't a choice."
"Shut the fuck up!" Zachary suddenly exploded. "People have choices."
Myra looked at the sudden rage on the man's face and was sorry that she had tried to engage him. She should have just sat quietly like Amber had done.
"I'm through talking. No one's coming to save you. But you both fucked up my day." Zachary started to walk out of the kitchen, but suddenly spun around, ran the four steps to where Myra was tied to the chair, bent down and shouted, "You made a bad decision coming into my house!"
He stood back up and looked at both girls. "And you're going to suffer the consequences. Everyone makes their own choices. Now, you left me with only one. I'll be right back."
Myra watched Zachary Greene -- serial killer -- angry serial killer -- rush out of the room that had become their prison.
Chapter 9 - "An Old Magician's Trick"
"You know," Zachary called out from the living room, "I had a nice quiet day planned."
Myra heard him rustling around in the room. Then she heard a door slam shut.
"And now I have to deal with you two," Zachary said as he walked back into the kitchen and threw some folded up tarps onto the floor next to Amber. Amber flinched, but still didn't look up. When he turned around, Myra noticed that his knife was now tucked into the back of his belt.
If only she could somehow get that knife from him.
"Fuck this," he mumbled as he opened a door on the far wall, flicked the wall switch next to it illuminating a rickety wooden staircase, and began to descend the steps, still mumbling to himself.
Myra looked at Amber.
Amber's head was up and she was looking directly at Myra.
'Shhh,' she mouthed as she carefully slipped her hands out of the tied rope that had bound her wrists to the arms of the wooden chair. Amber looked down at her feet tied together and thought better of trying to untie them. She may not have time. She stood up, shuffled in a semicircle, and picked up the chair.
Myra watched in amazement as Amber, using slow but assured hops, made her way to the open door, clutching the chair awkwardly to her chest. Myra gasped to herself as Amber almost lost her balance and fell, but Amber quickly readjusted her weight distribution and somehow remained upright.
Finally, Amber leaned her back against the far wall next to the door, placing the chair silently down in front of her. She looked at Myra just as they heard Zachary's hollow footsteps begin to climb the staircase.
With a soundless shuffle, she turned to face the open door and raised the chair high above her head.
"You know, I --" That was all Zachary said before the old wooden chair came crashing down upon his head. He dropped forward, hitting the yellowed linoleum floor like a sack of potatoes, the two jugs of bleach that he had been carrying thudded solidly down next to him.
All Amber could hear was the pounding of her heart as she looked down at the motionless man. She dragged the chair -- one leg had broken off with the impact -- off of his upper back as a small pool of blood began to form under his face pressed against the floor.
"Oh, fuck," Amber muttered. "I think I killed him."
And just then Zachary groaned, rolled his head to one side, and spat out a couple of broken teeth.
Amber screeched, raised the chair again, and brought it down on the back of Zachary's shoulders. She tried to step back, forgetting her legs were still tied together, and landed on her ass with a grunt. She frantically scrambled away from the man.
A safe distance away from him, she turned to look at her handiwork. "Fuck," she mumbled again. She looked at the utterly astounded Myra. "Fuck," Amber repeated a third time, then, with trembling hands, she fumbled the rope from around her ankles.
Not trusting herself to stand yet, she crawled over to the prone and lifeless man, quickly but carefully pulled the knife from his belt, and scampered away from him again.
Then Amber made her way over to Myra.
"How... How did you..." Myra stuttered as Amber began to saw at the rope restraints around Myra's wrists.
"An old magician's trick," Amber said, regaining her breath and her composure. "He was so... involved with everything -- talking to you -- that when he tied my wrists, I flexed them upwards a little and he never noticed. That gave me just enough wiggle room to slip out."
"You're amazing," Myra stated.
"Yup! And you kept him busy enough chatting that he didn't notice."
"You saved our lives."
"Someone had to," Amber said, her sarcasm returning.
"Ungh," Zachary slurred incoherently from the floor behind them.
Myra grabbed the knife from Amber, held it in front of her at the man, and yelled, "Don't move or I'll fuckin' kill you!" But Zachary Greene wasn't going to be moving for quite some time.
"Tie him up," Myra told Amber. Amber pulled his arms together against his lower back and tied them tightly with the rope that had been holding her legs bound just a couple of minutes before. Then she grabbed another length of rope and tied his feet together.
Myra handed the knife back to Amber and grabbed the phone off the kitchen wall.
Within fifteen minutes, Garcia was standing in the kitchen looking at the still-unconscious man on the floor. "Shit! Did you kill him?"
"No... I don't think so. Either way, he's not going to feel too well when he wakes up," Amber replied. "If he wakes up."
"Garcia, while we were waiting for you, I took a peek at a little scrapbooking project that our friend here had been working on. It's newspaper articles about the homeless murders. With the DNA evidence, probably this knife," she pointed to the knife that Amber was still holding, "the scrapbook, and what he said to us, I'm sure there's plenty of evidence to convict him."
Garcia nodded.
"So, listen to me," Myra continued. "You saw our car here, came to the door, heard us yelling for help, came in and knocked him out with a chair."
"No one's going to believe that," Garcia said.
"I don't give a shit who believes what. We're going to deny everything. You get the credit and probably a promotion and we get paid."
Garcia just shook his head.
"They'll believe whatever you tell them," Amber reassured him. "The chief is going to be kissing your balls that the homeless killer has been caught. When the story of this psycho gets out, the chief's gonna be in all the papers, on talk shows -- you know how he eats all of that up."
"I guess," Garcia sighed. "You girls are amazing, you know that? Fucked in the head, but amazing."
"Hey," Amber punched his upper arm lightly. "Just remember to send us work."
"That's a promise."
"And leave my girlfriend the fuck alone."
Garcia shook his head looking at Myra's tits practically bursting out of the tiny bra. "That I can't promise."
"Hey, perv, call this in," Myra interrupted. "I'm pretty sure Mr. Serial Killer needs some medical attention. Amber and I are going to get our 'frightened little girls' story straight."
"It's never a dull moment with either of you, two, is it?"
Both Myra and Amber shook their heads. "Nope."
Chapter 10 - "Monkey See, Monkey Do"
"Okay. That was a pretty fun story," Akari admitted as Maureen finished her tale. "A little violent, though."
"Oh, please! Have you read any of those pulp mysteries from the 50s and 60s? It's all sex and violence."
"I liked how you made yourself very sexy in the story."
"Sometimes a girl wants to feel sexy. Even a lanky awkward girl."
"You're sexy to me... Amber."
Maureen chuckled. "I thought that was a sexier name than Maureen."
"I like Maureen. I don't know why, but it suits you." Akari cuddled closer. "And speaking of sex..."
"Hm-hm," Maureen smiled as she felt Akari's hand gently stroke her hard nipple. "That feels good." Maureen reached out and touched one of Akari's erect nipples.
"Monkey see, monkey do?" Akari asked.
"Monkey see, monkey do," Maureen affirmed.
Akari carefully reached down between Maureen's slender legs and wove her fingers through the wiry hair. Maureen slid a long finger over the sparse fuzz between Akari's thighs and hesitated just at the soft start of Akari's pussy slit.
Maureen couldn't start until Akari did it first.
This was the game they played.
As Akari's finger reached lower, Maureen allowed her own fingertip to trace down Akari's moist labia.
Maureen felt Akari's finger curl slightly inward, just enough to gather some lubrication, and then up to her sensitive clit. Maureen's finger did the same to Akari's pussy.
As they both fingered each other in tandem, and perfectly in time, every tiny stroke matching every tiny stroke, their mouths met.
Aching and wanting.
Their shared love whispered between them in the halting breaths between kisses.
The crazed story that Maureen had imagined -- sexy, violent, and dark -- had, by contrast, helped to shine more light on the passion and warmth that the two girls enjoyed together. And the not-so-subtle hints about how much Myra/Akari needed Amber/Maureen had gotten Akari thinking about their relationship while Maureen had told her story.
Akari was finally ready to admit what she had always known. What Maureen had tried to tell her by forcing herself to move in with Akari into Mr. B's guest house. What Maureen had pushed Akari to confront.
True love.
As much as Akari didn't want to believe it, it was there.
Akari smiled. "Let's get married."
Shocked for a moment, Maureen paused, looking deep into Akari's eyes.
But only to make sure of what she already knew.
What they both knew.
Maureen smiled. "Let's get married."
Monkey see, monkey do.
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Thank you so much for reading!! I hope that you enjoyed this story and that you will check out all of the other "Hammered: An Ode to Mickey Spillane 2025" stories HERE.
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Love, Frey
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