Hotwife Miami
Page 8
Scott had caught the man, but the case was far from closed, in his mind. The man who'd done it had revealed himself to be nothing but a flunky, just a hireling doing a job. The real culprit behind it all was still out there, and Scott still didn't know what the grand plan had really been.
It was that second part that really disturbed him.
“It was an experience, to be sure,” was all Scott said, shifting uncomfortably in his little wooden chair. It wasn't quite big enough for him to sit in comfortably, and he wasn't a particularly large man. He couldn't help but compare it to Mason's enormous plush throne.
“I took the liberty of looking into the man you apprehended,” Mason said, his voice as casual as if he were asking for a look at the wine menu at a restaurant. “Henry Virgil, was the fellow's name. He has been employed at my Club for the past five years – though he doesn't work there anymore, it need hardly be said.”
Scott leaned forward to take the slender dossier that Mason had withdrawn from the case at his side. An employment record, it looked like. Hardly a comprehensive report, but it seemed to contain a good deal more than would normally be expected in an employee's file.
Scott flipped through it. Something caught his eye at the bottom corner of the last page, a scrawled signature in blue ink. “Vetted by:? What's that mean?”
Mason sighed, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “Well, we can't just let anybody work at the Club. Sensitive and private business, you understand. Every employee, from the cooks to the bartenders to my own personal lieutenants, is given a thorough examination before any offer of employment is extended to them.”
“How thorough?”
“Quite,” Mason said with a dangerous glint in his eye, “...Although it seems it may not have been entirely thorough enough.”
“Apparently. Who is this, anyway? That's not your signature, is it?” Scott squinted down at the name. It was little more than a loose scrawl, only the first letters of each name could be properly distinguished. A P and a B.
“Not mine, no,” Mason said vaguely, waving a hand dismissively. “It hardly matters. Suffice to say we will be taking a close look at our hiring practices. Still. There's no harm done, really. The man has been caught, and didn't have a chance to put whatever criminal mischief he was planning into action, so it seems we've dodged a bullet, haven't we? I can't thank you enough for the service you've provided.”
Scott frowned. “I'm sorry?”
“You've done a fine job,” Mason said, and reached into his waistcoat pocket. He pulled out a check and gave it a snap between his hands. The cream-colored paper was stiff and rich-looking. He held it out to Scott. “Your well-deserved payment. I think you'll find it's… somewhat larger than what we'd initially discussed. A token of my gratitude and esteem.”
“Thank you sir,” Scott said, leaning forward and reaching out to take the check. He sat back down before he looked at it. The so-called token was significant. Significant enough to make him just a bit uncomfortable. “I'm just not quite convinced that the matter is closed...”
Mason chuckled lightly. “The man Virgil has been taken into custody by the police, and no incriminating pictures ever made their way out into the public. What more is there to do?”
“Well, sir... it's about this employer of Virgil's. The mysterious man who put him up to all of it.”
Mason just shook his head, an almost disappointed frown on his lips. “Now now, Mr. Chapel, surely you're not buying into that rubbish? An obvious ploy. This Virgil fellow was clearly working on his own. He used his position as the doorman to observe people's comings and goings, then formulated the plan to blackmail them. He followed them and took the photos. Fortunately we caught him before he could do any damage.”
“I... I'm not quite sure the evidence lines up with that, sir.”
Mason sighed, his brows furrowing intently. “Mr. Chapel, I assure you that Virgil never had any employer but myself, and that arrangement has been terminated. There's no need to pursue this further. I thank you for your service, and will keep you in mind should a situation of the sort arise again. Now, if you please, I have a great deal of work to catch up on. I'm afraid this matter has been quite a drain on my time and attention. I'm glad now to put it to rest once and for all.”
Scott knew a dismissal when he heard one, but he wasn't ready to let this go just yet. There was more here, he could smell it. Whatever sixth sense that private detectives had that put them on the trail, his was going off like crazy at the moment.
Still, it was clear he wasn't going to make any headway with Mason right now. He got up and started for the door, clutching desperately to the check. He paused at the door and he turned back. “What about James Cain?” he asked.
Mason's eyes hardened. “Hm, yes... Mr. Cain. Well, I'm afraid that his involvement with my club may be drawing to an end.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. The professor is responsible, if I understand correctly, for the names of those women being let out in the first place. It was a planner of his that Virgil used to arrange his picture-taking sessions, is that right?”
“Well... I suppose so,” Scott admitted.
“Well then,” Mason said coldly, “it may be that Mr. Cain is not the sort of man we can have in our little club.”
Scott glanced once more at the painting above Mason's head. He couldn't tell if the three black men depicted there were in a position of power or not. At first glance, it had looked like they were dominating the supplicant white woman. Now that he looked again, however, he thought he could sense of sort of overarching presence, a darkness above them that seemed to weight down upon them. Something which controlled them in the same manner they controlled the woman kneeling before them.
He shut the door and showed himself out of Mr. Mason's enormous mansion, back out into the steamy Miami night.
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Hotwife Miami 2 - Undercover Cuckold
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