Soft Case: (Book 1 in the John Keegan Mystery Series)

by John Misak

  “You look nice,” I said, as I handed her the wine. She smiled, took a sip, and I noticed the lipstick left a smudge on the glass. I don’t know why, but at that moment, it turned me on. I think she noticed, because she smiled again, this time with a devious look on her face.

  She was going to tear me apart.

  I showed her to the couch, and turned on the television.

  “Relax for a moment. I’m almost done in the kitchen.”

  “Need any help?” Was this woman sent from heaven, or what? She actually wanted to help. Of course, being the gentleman I am, I couldn’t allow that.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ve got everything under control. I should be done torching my kitchen in about five minutes.”

  She laughed. The timing looked to be improving.

  I went back into the kitchen and finished getting everything ready. I had gotten a cold antipasto, a large Caesar salad, one order of chicken parmigiana, one veal, and some pasta. I told the guy I ordered it from to go easy on the garlic, mainly because I didn’t want anything to take away from the romance. I brought the antipasto and the salad out together, along with two plates and some forks. I even went as far as to steal two cloth napkins when the guy wasn’t looking, so the effect was complete.

  I placed the food down on the coffee table.

  “Nice spread,” she said.

  I sat down next to her, close, but not too close. She edged a little bit closer to me. “Is that Caesar?”

  “It is.”

  “That’s my favorite.”

  Of course it is.

  “Only the best,” I said, half-laughing.

  We started eating and making common small talk. She asked me how the case was going. I lied and said it was going great. She talked a little bit about how she was cleaning houses but had other aspirations. I’d be lying if I told you I remembered what it was. It wasn’t important, that’s all I can tell you.

  “That was great,” she said. “I can’t wait to see what the main course is like.”

  “It’s coming,” I said.

  “Can I have some more wine?”

  What was I thinking? I had gone to great lengths to get the wine, and I had left it in the kitchen. She should have been on her third glass. Missed opportunity. I was slipping.

  “Of course,” I said. I ran into the kitchen, literally, and fetched the wine. When I got back, she was leaning back on the couch, staring at me. The laws of the jungle applied here. The prey was waiting to be taken. I didn’t expect it to happen so fast, but I knew right then it was going to.

  I sat down next to her, and she leaned on me as I refilled her glass. I lifted the glass, handed it to her, and caught her eyes. When I was a teenager, I was horrible at picking up the signs that it was time to plant one on a girl. Later in life, I learned never to miss them. This was one of those signs.

  I put the glass back on the coffee table, and laid one on her. She gave into me immediately, pulling herself closer, and placing her hand on mine. I wrapped my free arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. Her lips were soft and warm, and her tongue rolled over mine expertly. She was turning me on in the worst way. I don’t think there was ever any doubt in her mind; I was the main course that night.

  We continued, and I moved my hand down to her ass, squeezing it. She moaned slightly, and kissed me harder. She put her hand on my face, freeing up my right hand. I moved to her breasts, which were firm, but not too much so. I focused on the right one first, then shifted to the left one, caressing them from the base to the nipple. She took her free hand and placed it halfway up my thigh.

  We were ready to go.

  She leaned forward, pushing me down on my back, and then began to suck on my neck, while her hand made its way from my thigh to my crotch. She stroked me softly through my pants. She was good, damn good. I took a full handful of her hair and pulled at it softly. She bit my lower lip. No one had ever done that to me. I loved it.

  I slid a hand up her skirt from the back. She was wearing a thong. Jesus, this was just getting better and better. Her ass was so soft, and just the right size. I squeezed it hard, and she moaned again. I was beginning to think she was enjoying this more than I was.

  Then she changed that. She slid her head down to my chest, opened a few buttons, and pretty much licked me all over. She then unbuckled by belt, opened my pants, and moved her head to the area I had been praying she would.

  I won’t get disgusting, but I’ll just say that she gave me, without a doubt, the best oral sex I ever had in my life. It didn’t last long, but it was just fine in my book.

  “You have protection?” she asked.

  “I have a gun or two. We should be okay.”

  She laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “In the bedroom.”

  “Let’s go.”

  We got up, and I carried her into the bedroom, closed the door, and the rest is history. I won’t give you details, mainly because I don’t kiss and tell. Besides, I don’t want you thinking bad thoughts about Roseanna. She is one of the sweetest creatures I have ever come across in my life.

  Let’s just say that she wiped me out.

  I woke up about nine the next morning, only to find that Roseanna had left me. What more could I ask for? We had made love for a good part of the night, and we never got to eat the food I had bought. It had probably gone bad, sitting out all night. Well, it was worth the money. All of it.

  I don’t normally sleep naked, but I have to tell you, it is a great experience. I felt more comfortable than I had felt in a long time. I didn’t want to get out of bed. The sheets still smelled of her perfume, and it turned me on. Nothing I could do about that, however.

  I heard a low beeping. I then remembered that Uncle Paulie’s cell phone rang the night before in the middle of the festivities, and Roseanna had thrown it on the floor. I hadn’t heard it again. I reached down, searched the floor with my hand, and found it underneath the bed. The screen said I had a message, but I had no idea how to retrieve it. I did notice that the phone had Caller ID, and after fumbling around a bit, I found how to list the incoming calls. I dialed the last number, vaguely recognizing it as Uncle Paulie’s cell number. The line rang three times, then Uncle Paulie answered.

  “What the hell happened to you last night?” he said.

  “Long story.”

  “It had better be a good one.” He was joking, I could tell.

  “What’s up?”

  “I have that information you asked for.”

  “Hit me with it.”

  “It seems your friend Steve Eckert has an interesting background. He worked in counter-intelligence for three years with the Army. His record is sealed, so I couldn’t get any specifics, but I recognized the marks. He isn’t your average security guy.”

  Somehow, I had suspected that.

  “Anything else?”

  “Not really. You know how it goes with guys like that. You need to find out who hired him, Mullins or someone else.”

  “I would assume it was Mullins.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that. This guy knows his stuff. Whoever hired him did so with a reason. You need to find out who that was.”

  I did. I couldn’t imagine that anyone but Mullins hired Steve. Sondra didn’t seem capable of something like that. Then again, after the talk with Mullins’ mother, Sondra had changed in my eyes. She was still a piece of ass, but she was more than an innocent piece of ass.

  “I don’t know how I am going to do that.”

  “You’ll figure something out.”

  “I guess I will.”

  “So, you got laid last night?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “It’s the only reason why you wouldn’t answer my call.”

  “True.”

  “I hope it was good. You needed something like that.”

  “It was better than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Send her over here. I could use it too.”

  “She�
��s gone.”

  “A perfect woman. God bless you. Anyway, I have some work to do. Get cracking on this Eckert guy. I don’t think he’s involved, if you want to know my opinion, but he might indirectly lead you to the people responsible.”

  Uncle Paulie was right.

  “I will.”

  After that great night, I didn’t want to get out of bed. I knew I had to go back to the Hell I called life, but sleeping in seemed like such the perfect way to cap off a night of pleasure. I couldn’t do that, mainly because I needed to clear my name, but the thought of it was just too enticing.

  I managed to gather the strength to get up and get my ass into the shower. The warm water felt good, and I relaxed in there for a moment, thinking about whether or not I should call Roseanna. Protocol called for at least that, but I didn’t know what she expected. For all I knew, she might have just wanted a night of sex. That was fine with me. I did decide, however, that I had to see her again. The night before was just too good to never happen again. Of course, the next time, the element of surprise would be gone, but I could deal with that, especially if she performed the way she did again. There was no way of knowing for sure whether she would, but I had a good feeling about it.

  But, the call? I hated the “after date” call. I understood the purpose of it, but hated the fact that it was almost always a requirement. I really didn’t have much to say to Roseanna, except, “Hey, great sex last night.” I know, I am a pig. The difference is, I know I am a pig, and will openly admit it so long as there are no female prospects lying around. Not that female prospects lie around, so to speak, but you know what I mean.

  So, as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, I came to the conclusion that I would wait ‘til the end of the day to call Roseanna. This way, I could focus my energies on solving my world of problems instead of worrying about what to say to the woman I porked the night before.

  After the shower, I got dressed, if you need to know, and headed back onto the streets. I’d made sure to recharge the battery of the camera, so this time, if I came across anything important, I wouldn’t have the damn thing die on me again. Speaking of the camera, I had Agnelli by the balls on the thing, but I had no idea who to show it to. I wasn’t sure if I could trust Geiger, or anyone else for that matter. I wasn’t paranoid or anything, but I wanted to make sure I made good use of the tape. If I alerted the wrong party to what I was up to, well, then, the wrong party would know what I was up to. I didn’t need that.

  So I got into the car, a common occurrence lately, and headed toward the Island. My reason for going was none other than Steve Eckert. I really didn’t completely agree with Uncle Paulie, but I did have my suspicions about Steve. He was doing something wrong, and even if it was just boinking the elegant Mrs. Mullins, I was going to get to the proverbial bottom of it. And I had a feeling that bottom was pretty far down.

  I felt like I was commuting out to the Island with the amount of times I had gone out there. I would have been better off living at the parents’ house. All right, that was a bad thought, and one I would not like to elaborate on any further.

  Halfway there, I remembered that Steve wasn’t working that week. I’m telling you, my detective work is not being represented well here. Normally, I would remember such things. Given the situation I was dealing with; I guess I’m allowed a small bit of slack. Anyway, despite the fact that Steve wouldn’t be there, I figured I might get some information on the guy. Besides, I’d get to see Sondra again, and that’s never a bad thing.

  It took about an hour to get there, and I went through the routine of pulling up to the gates, stating my name, and gaining access to Casa de Mullins. This time, no one instantly greeted me at the door. I actually had to ring the bell, and then the burly security guard I had met the last time answered.

  “Mrs. Mullins isn’t here today Detective,” he said. He was a nice guy, with a friendly disposition. He also seemed a little light on the brain, so I figured I’d grab some information from him. “That’s okay, I didn’t come to speak to her.”

  “Oh. What do you need?”

  “Well, I need some information from Steve.”

  “He’s not here either.”

  “I know. He is off for the week. I just need his phone number so I can speak with him.”

  He made a face, something like one a kid would make if a stranger asked him a question. He seemed to mull my inquiry over a bit. He was having a hard time with it.

  “I’m not sure if I have it here. Let me check.”

  He opened the door all the way to let me in, then left me in the foyer while he entered a door to the right. I wanted to go in with him, but he didn’t give me that opportunity. I sat there twiddling my thumbs for about ten minutes, wondering what the Hell this moron was doing.

  He came out of the door, holding a piece of paper in his hand. He looked me over for a second, and he looked like the cat that ate the canary. I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing me the paper. “I’m, uh, sorry it took so long.”

  Was he now? He had done something, and I started to figure out what it was. He had called Steve to ask if it was okay to give out the number, which meant that Steve would know I was looking for him. It really wasn’t a big deal, and I wondered why the security guard thought it was.

  “No problem. I was just enjoying the Picasso anyway.”

  He looked around. “I didn’t know there was any music playing.”

  “Oh, there was. Great stuff.”

  He looked even more puzzled. “Okay, happy you enjoyed it.”

  “I did.”

  He started leading me toward the door.

  “Before I go, would you mind clearing some things up for me?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, do you and Steve ever work at the same time?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I never see the two of you together.”

  “There’s three of us actually, and then Steve. We all work different shifts. Steve is our boss, and he comes in at different times.”

  “Does Steve ever work at night?”

  “Well, I’m the day guy, but as far as I know, he does. I think he usually splits the week in half. Days and nights.”

  “You know why he is off this week?”

  “Personal business, far as I know.”

  “Scheduled vacation?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When is he due back?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Okay. Do me a favor. When Mrs. Mullins gets back, can you give her my cell number? There are a few things I want to ask her.” I wrote my number on the back of a business card. Why did I do this? First and foremost, it was because I wanted to see if she would call. On top of that, I wanted to stir things up a bit. I had learned early that the best thing to do in a bad situation is stir things up.

  “She’ll be back in an hour or so. I’ll be sure to give this to her.”

  “Great. Well, thanks for your time. You’ve been a big help.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, like he really couldn’t give a shit. I couldn’t expect him to. He was probably fed up with all the crap he had to go through since his boss died. He was probably wishing for me to get the Hell out of there. He was, however, being nice about it, compared to his boss, who in my book rated as a first- class asshole. Then again, many people were represented in that category, and some of them might have even been decent people.

  I walked away, got back into the Caddy, and realized I was heading nowhere. Despite the information I had gotten on tape from Agnelli and Chapman, I wasn’t even an inch closer to solving the Mullins case. Sure, I was pretty close to clearing myself, but that wasn’t the most important thing to me right then. It should have been, mind you, but it wasn’t. At that moment, I didn’t care whether or not I would report back top duty as a detective. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to be a cop anymore, despite how much I enjoyed it. I was fed up with them, all of them, an
d the mere fact that someone in Agnelli’s position would do what he did to me only made me feel even more so. It was all political bullshit. People are garbage, and they will illustrate this truth whenever you give them the opportunity. All you bleeding hearts out there, the ones who think all people, at their core, are good, need a real lesson in life. The whole idea that most bad people just went wrong somewhere is just wrong. The average person on the street would consider selling out their own mother for the right sum of money. I’ve seen it firsthand more times than I would like to admit. For some, that amount might be a million, for others, it might be as little as a thousand, and most people fall in between. My mother, if you need to know, is currently going for five hundred thousand.

  The only thing that prevented me from walking into Agnelli’s office and telling him to stuff his job up his ass was the fact that I had no backup plan. It wasn’t because of fond memories, a deep enjoyment of my job, or a feeling of duty that prevented me. It was just the fact that I had nothing else lined up. If someone would have offered me half my salary to wipe their ass three times a day, I would have followed through on my urge to let Agnelli have it.

  So, there I was, sitting in the Caddy, smoking a cigarette, and again wondering what I was going to do next. I had a suspect, Chapman, and I had a possible informant in Eckert. I had an accomplice, Agnelli, but I had no real motive, I had no hard evidence, and I had no leads to getting either. I’ve seen all the cop movies where the hero talks about going with their gut. Detective work, though often involving shot-in-the-dark luck, requires more mental work than those movies depict. For instance, the only thing my gut was good for was notifying me when it was time to eat, and the occasional strange rumble. Other than that, it was good for nothing. Sure, I talk about gut feelings, but they rarely got me anywhere. Besides, most of those feelings came from extensive thought, not some involvement with my stomach.