Naked Frame

by Robert Burton Robinson

  "It was smoking?"

  "Well, maybe not smoking. But it was still warm."

  Rebecca racked her brain. She remembered getting drowsy...and then going completely under. No, wait. Right before she went under, she heard Big Bill say something...and then...a gunshot. She sniffed her right hand. It smelled like gunpowder. "Dammit. Maybe I should turn myself in."

  "How are you going to explain it to the police—if you don't even know what happened?"

  "And how am I going to explain why I ran?" She frowned.

  "But you couldn't have killed him if you weren't there."

  "My fingerprints are all over the gun, Gabby. And the coffee cup."

  "The police don't have the gun or the cups. We've got them. And I grabbed your backpack too. And don't worry. I wiped off everything I touched."

  Rebecca let it all sink in for a moment. "I can't believe this."

  "I'm sorry, Becca. Maybe if I had been on time for my appointment..."

  "Why did you undress me?"

  "I thought you'd sleep better. I remembered how you always hated to sleep in your clothes. You've been out cold for four hours. But I was a gentleman. There was no inappropriate touching."

  She believed him. In high school, kids assumed Gabby was gay. He denied it. But even as his best friend, Rebecca never knew for sure. "I guess you know they're going to throw you in jail, too—for helping me."

  "I know. Aiding and abetting, tampering with a crime scene, and all that stuff. But none of that is going to matter once we catch the real killer."

  Poor Gabby, she thought. They make it look so easy on TV. "Where are my clothes?"

  "They're hung nicely and neatly in the closet over there."

  "Of course." She let the blanket fall off her shoulders and drop to the floor as she walked to the closet and began to get dressed.

  "Does it bother you at all that I'm watching you put your clothes on?" Gabby got up from the floor and started brushing off his clothes with his hands.

  "Why should it? You've watched me get dressed a hundred times."

  He hesitated. "I'm not gay, you know."

  "I know," she said too quickly.

  "The whole high school was wrong about me." He waited. But she did not chime in. "Just because I'm not super macho..."

  "The drama club thing is what started it." She took her pants off the hanger.

  "I wasn't the only boy in drama club."

  "No. But you were the only one designing costumes."

  "Yeah, but I couldn't understand why everybody didn't want that job. The beautiful fabrics against the magnificent form of the human body..."

  "Bingo. That's the kind of talk that earned you the nickname, Gabby Girl. At least you don't have to deal with that stuff anymore." Rebecca stepped into her pants and pulled them up.

  "Well..."

  "You're kidding. Where do you work?" She zipped her pants.

  "I have my own business."

  "Wow, that's great, Gabby."

  "It's a boutique."

  "Boutique?"

  "Ever heard of Gabby G'Blee?"

  She slipped into her blouse and began to button it. "It's a women's clothing store. Right?"

  "Yes. My own original designs."

  "Well, what happened to Gabby Garnersdale?"

  "I had it legally changed to G'Blee. Nobody wants to buy original designs by Gabby Garnersdale. It's a boring name. And I needed pizzazz."

  Rebecca grabbed her shoulder holster from the closet shelf and strapped it on. "But now, with that name, and the fact that you own a women's boutique, everybody in Dallas probably thinks you're gay." She checked her pistol and put it back in the holster.

  "But now I don't care. And what if I really was gay? Would you still want to be my friend?"

  "Of course I would." Rebecca picked up her backpack from the closet floor, set it on the bed, and opened it. She located her dad's revolver at the bottom of the bag and took it out to examine it. "Damn."

  "What?"

  "You're right. It's been fired. One shot." She put the revolver back into the bag. "I've got to get out of here and do some nosing around." She slipped into her shoes.

  "I'm your driver."

  "Oh, right. My car's still at my office."

  "The old Lincoln, right? It's just as well. The cops would have seen you coming from a mile away driving that battleship."

  "True. But I don't want to get you into any more trouble than you're already in."

  "Oh, believe me, Honey, I'm in just as much trouble as you are. Maybe more."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I owed him money."

  "Big Bill? You borrowed money from Big Bill Smotherburn? Are you crazy? How much?"

  "Twenty thousand."

  "Oh, Gabby."

  "And every time I made a payment, he told me it was just enough to cover the interest. Becca, I was going to be paying him for the rest of my life."

  "Gabby, what were you thinking? Borrowing money from a loan shark?"

  "I didn't know he was a loan shark. I was three months behind on my lease. They were going to evict me. I was going to lose my shop. I couldn't let that happen."

  "So, you had a motive to kill him."

  "Doesn't look good, does it?"

  "Is that why you were coming to see me?"

  "Yeah. I thought maybe you would have some way to help me get out of the mess I was in."

  "Well...I did help you get out of it, I guess. Your loan has been paid in full—assuming Big Bill kept no records. Of course, you may end up in prison. Did you sign a contract?"

  "No. He said a handshake deal was good enough for him."

  "This is too coincidental, Gabby. For him to show up at my office right before you got there. Did anybody else know about your loan?"

  "His son, Wiley, knew about it. He's the one who hooked me up with Big Bill."

  "What did you do with the money that was on my desk?"

  "What money?"

  "There was an envelope with fifty-thousand dollars in it. Big Bill tried to bribe me with it."

  "Why was he trying to bribe you?"

  "One of my clients was about to file charges against him, and he thought he could buy his way out of it."

  "Well, I'm sorry, Becca. I don't know what happened to it, but believe me—there was no money on your desk. No envelope."

  Rebecca sighed. "We've been framed, Gabby. Big time. I can imagine what the police are going to think after they talk to Wiley. They know Big Bill's a son-of-a-bitch. And they know about my hot temper."

  "Not a good combo, huh?"

  "Let me lay it out for you. My best friend from high school owes Big Bill Smotherburn thousands of dollars. The three of us meet in my office to discuss the loan. Big Bill is being unreasonable, then verbally abusive. He waves his big fat finger in my face, and throws a few insults. He laughs at us. I lose it and shoot the bastard. We panic and run."

  "We're screwed."

  "You got that right."

  "But we'll figure this thing out together, Becca. Just like in high school when we used to map out your new basketball moves. That's how you won Most Valuable Player, three years in a row."

  "This ain't basketball, Gabby. This is life and death. Whoever framed us is not going to like it when we start snooping around."

  "I understand. But I don't care. I'm all in."

  Rebecca almost smiled.

  "But, Honey, we've got to go incognito. We can't go prancing around Dallas as Rebecca Ranghorn and Gabby G'Blee."

  "That's for sure."

  "I've got a fine little outfit that's going to be fabulous on you. It'll give you a completely different look. And I'll let your hair down. Even I won't recognize you when I'm done."

  "What about you? What are you going to wear?"

  "Well, the first question is whether I should go male or female."

  Rebecca hoped he was kidding.

  He laughed. "Not really. I've got lots of possibilities for me too. And all of them are m
ale."

  "Good."

  CHAPTER 3 - Monday, 10:21 p.m.

  The woman was a bit mature for this line of work. But nobody had ever complained. Her customers always walked away happy. She made sure of that, by giving them even more than they asked for.

  This particular john had requested lights out. That was fine with her. She did her best work in the dark, knowing the little imperfections of her maturity could not be seen.

  Newbies thought they could outperform the senior members of their profession through sheer physicality. Eventually they would learn that sex is more mental than physical. If your brain thinks you're turned on, then Baby, you're turned on.

  She was a magician of sorts—a wizard, practicing dark arts not easily mastered. Seasoned practitioners, such as herself, could cast a sexual spell upon a man, gently massaging his brain with her words, slowly but surely leading him into mind-blowing, convulsive ecstasy.

  Occasionally, a man would stop her, just as her magic began to envelope him, having been frightened by the power of the spell. But this rarely happened. And once the orgasm became inevitable, he was beyond the point of no return.

  The young whores didn't have a clue.

  She was also smarter about money. Hers was a solo operation. No pimp to slap her around and take most of her earnings. A simple online ad, offering escort services brought in plenty of business. Two-hundred bucks for an hour's work. And she could handle two to three customers per night.

  Her only regret about her work was its effect on her daughter. She had successfully hidden her true profession for years.

  Mommy's a nurse, and some nurses have to work at night. So, be good for Daddy, and I will see you in the morning, Sweetie.

  But her baby girl turned sixteen last year and got a driver's license. And one night she followed her mom to work. That's when she found out mommy wasn't healing sick people. She was screwing sick bastards.

  ——

  That night, as soon as the first john left, there was a knock at the door. When she looked through the peephole and saw her sweet, innocent daughter standing there, her heart dropped. There was no denying what she had just done. An ear to the door had provided all the gory details.

  But instead of the expected disappoint or insults, there were probing questions about money. And how to get into the biz. There were visions of cash and shopping sprees and new cars.

  "So, you want to turn tricks like your mother? Make a lot of money? Fine. All I ask is that you wait a while—until you're older. Wait until you have a dud for a husband who can't ever seem to make enough money to support his family.

  "Wait until you're about to be evicted from your home. Until the repo man comes after your car. Then you can be a hooker like your mother. Then you can do nasty, disgusting things with sweaty old men who can't get sex without buying it.

  "But not now. You're sixteen years old. Have a normal life while you still can, for heaven's sake. I pray to God your life never sucks as bad as mine."

  ——

  She inspected her motion-activated piggy bank. It was armed and ready to go. The cash went into the bank before any work was done. And if the john messed with miss piggy, the little porker would squeal loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

  There was a knock at the door. It was a young man in a uniform, holding a tray of food. "Room Service."

  Poking her head out the door, she said, "I didn't order anything."

  He looked down at the receipt. "Well, it says here...oops, sorry." He walked away.

  She released the door handle, and the automatic door closer pulled it shut. Turning and walking into the bathroom, she didn't notice that the door did not completely close.

  A couple of minutes later, she turned off the light and walked out of the bathroom into the darkness.

  "Hello." The man's voice came from across the room.

  Her heart skipped a beat. "Who's there?"

  "Who do you think?"

  She stood frozen in place, wondering how the hell he got in.

  "It's me. John Doe."

  His body, and the chair he was sitting in, began to materialize as her eyes adjusted to the dark room. A sliver of hallway light peeking in below the door provided the only illumination.

  The john stood up. He was wearing a black trench coat and a hat. "Here's your money." He tossed some bills onto the center of the bed.

  She reached over and picked up the money.

  "Five-hundred, as agreed."

  He was to be her only john for the entire night. She had discounted her hourly rate.

  Holding the five bills at an angle, she was able to catch enough light to confirm their denomination. She folded the bills and stuffed them into the piggy bank, expecting to hear the usual snide comments about the bank.

  "Ready to get down to business?" he said.

  "Sure. You've got my undivided attention for the next six hours." Thirty minutes of sex with her, and he'd be asleep for the rest of his time.

  He walked around the bed to where she was standing. "Sit on the bed, please, with your back to me."

  "Don't you want to get comfortable first?"

  "Not yet."

  "Okay." She got up on the bed reluctantly, wondering what he had in mind.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  Her nose caught the familiar scent of latex. She thought she had made it clear that he must use her condoms. She never trusted a john's rubbers.

  But, no, it wasn't a condom she was smelling. It was latex gloves. Why was he wearing gloves? A chill ran up her spine at the thought of how vulnerable she was. His hands could easily go around her neck.

  "You seem tense," he said. "Maybe this will help." He began to massage her shoulders, and up her neck to the back of her head.

  Just as she had begun to relax, she heard an aerosol can spraying. The back of her head felt cold and numb.

  She pulled away. "Hey, what are you doing?"

  "Take it easy," he said. "You're going to enjoy this."

  He pulled her head back to himself and massaged it.

  There were two clicks, and she felt something weird. She bounced to the center of the bed and turned around. "I don't like this. You paid me to have sex with you—not to let you get all weird, and spray stuff on my head."

  He reached into his coat pocket and took out some gadget. It was a small silver box with buttons, lights and dials. "Tell me how this feels." He pushed a button.

  "No. I'm done with you. Get out of—" She felt a tingle between her legs. How strange, she thought.

  He adjusted a dial.

  The tingling intensified. "What is that thing?"

  He turned it up another notch. "Feel good?"

  Stretching out on her back, she said, "Don't stop." She couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth. It was as though she was under one of her own sexual spells.

  He turned it up higher.

  She had not felt anything like this in years. No john had ever turned her on. Nobody ever gave her any sexual pleasure.

  Tossing and turning, she moaned in ecstasy.

  Gradually, he lowered the setting on his remote.

  She lay sprawled across the bed, spent.

  "Let's go again," he said, turning up the dial.

  "Who are you? And where can I buy one of those things?" Her voice sounded more sultry than she could ever fake.

  "How's this?" He increased the intensity more rapidly than before.

  "Damn." She grabbed her breasts and held on tight for another wild ride.

  He spun the dial to the maximum setting.

  "No, that's too much. Stop!" It was like twelve orgasms coming all at once. Her body began to quiver. Convulse. "Please, stop!" She grabbed her chest. An elephant foot crushed her ribcage down against her heart. Her body bounced around on the bed like a ragdoll in an earthquake.

  "Stop," she gasped. "I can't breathe!"

  CHAPTER 4 - Monday, 10:47 p.m.

  Rebecca and Gabby jumped into
his Honda Civic and he drove out of the motel parking lot. "So, I can understand why somebody would want to kill Big Bill. But why frame us for it?"

  "The bigger question is how they framed us. They must have bugged my office. Otherwise, they wouldn't have known the precise time to kill Big Bill and get out of there before you arrived."

  "Maybe they got lucky. Maybe they had no idea I was coming, and just happen to leave before I got there."

  "Are you sure they left? Did you check my closet?"

  "No. I didn't even think about it. I was too freaked out by the whole thing. My first thought was to get you out of there before the cops showed up."

  "Because you figured I shot him."

  "No. I mean—I wasn't sure. I just knew you were in big trouble."

  "You were in trouble too, since you owed him thousands of dollars."

  "That was my second thought."

  "I believe the killer knew everything. He heard me talking to you on the phone this morning. That gave him all day to convince Big Bill to pay me a visit."

  "I don't know, Becca. I realize this is your line of work. But that sounds pretty far-fetched."

  "Okay. Why were you late for our meeting?"

  "I told you when I called. I had a flat tire."

  "What kind of flat? Did you have a nail in your tire or what?"

  "No. It was leaking on the side."

  "As though somebody stabbed it with a knife?"

  "Oh...yeah. I see what you mean," said Gabby. "It was to hold me up. To make me late."

  "And to give the killer enough time to wait for the drug to work, and then shoot Big Bill with my gun—with it still in my hand."

  "Oh, my God."

  "He must have followed him into my reception area, and waited for just the right moment."

  "Big Bill drank the drug too. Although, his cup was still half full. And he had three times your body mass."

  "So, he might have just been drowsy," said Rebecca.

  "Which would have made him slow to react when the killer came in and pointed my gun at him."

  "Or," said Gabby, "if he knew the killer, Big Bill might not have suspected he was going to shoot him."