by Kurt Douglas
“Guess the missus was right,” Frank mumbled.
Zooming in, Frank could clearly see the long golden locks of the famous movie star. He was trying to hide himself, but did a terrible job. The actor was only a few miles from his mansion in Los Feliz and was wearing the same tattered news cap he always wore around set. The gray shades offered no anonymity. Only hiding the upper portion of his face, they just drew attention to his signature jawline and thick, girly lips. He smiled his sparkly model smile to the man at his side as he slipped his electronic key in the door. They both slid in. Before shutting the door, the pouty-lipped heartthrob poked his head out and looked to either side, presumably making sure no one was watching. Frank couldn’t help but notice how well the man photographed, even from a couple hundred feet away.
Frank twisted the lens from his camera and pushed it beneath his seat. Pulling a cigarette from his pack, he lit up a smoke and hopped out. He leaned against his car and dragged on his cigarette, enjoying the rush of nicotine while he waited for the two men to put themselves in a compromising situation. Finishing his Pall Mall, Frank mashed it out on his boot, lit another and started down Western toward the Coral Sands Motel.
Slinking past the front lobby, Frank pushed open the laundry room door with the deftness of a trained assassin. The loud roar of the dryers made his efforts at silence seem worthless, but still he tiptoed toward the bank of stacked washers between himself and the rest of the room. Peeking his head around the corner, he spotted the cleaning cart along with its owner. The cleaning lady kept her plump backside to Frank as she folded cheap motel towels and placed them in stacks on the shelf before her. Taking her time, she tended to the creases in each and every towel. No one was less important than the next to this middle-aged Latina woman. Which was great for Frank. The woman’s concentrated folding efforts made it easy for him to duck beneath the table behind her without being noticed. From there, Frank could see the master key hanging off the edge of her cart.
As Frank reached his arm up to grab the keys, the woman turned, shuffling her moccasin covered feet across the floor ’til they were but inches from Frank’s knees. He held his breath. He could feel his knees creaking beneath him and again was glad for the noisy dryers. After placing a pile of blankets on the table that hid Frank, she turned away and went back to the towels. Frank jabbed his hand upward and snatched the access card off the cart. He waited just a moment to make sure she had enough towels to keep her attention and he had a chance to slip out.
Back on the walkway, Frank looked at the pristine pool. No one was partaking in the cool waters, but he knew it would be full of gay men, bodies and fluids by the time the sun went down. How much trouble the pool cleaner must have with condoms in the filters. He shuddered at the thought of falling in as he headed toward the movie star’s motel room hideaway. Now Frank had no issue with gay men. A job was a job and this man was an adulterer just like any other. Down low or not, he was lying to his woman and his woman had paid Frank to find him out.
He didn’t knock. He didn’t shout, “Room service,” or any other cover. Frank simply slipped the key card into the slot, waited for the green light and threw the door wide open, catching the movie star in a loving embrace with his male friend. For a moment, they didn’t even realize he’d barged in. They continued kissing and touching each other as Frank took a few pictures. The dark, olive skin of his lover wrapped in his chiseled, ivory arms. Then, movie star saw Frank and panic ensued. Frank snapped a few more pictures as the two men scrambled to cover themselves.
“What the hell?” the movie star’s boyfriend shouted, his black, curly hair bouncing as he crawled away from Frank.
“Who are you?” the movie star shouted, throwing his hands in front of his face.
“Frank Black, PD,” Frank said as he flashed his wallet, adding, “The missus isn’t going to be pleased.”
The pretty-boy actor climbed back onto the bed with the covers wrapped around his waist. His lover sat curled up next to him, much less modestly. His portion of the blankets lay only across his crotch, covering only what was left of the bulge between his legs.
With his knees curled to his chest and his back pressed against the headboard, he pleaded, “Please. Please Mr. Black, don’t show this to anyone.”
His lips quivered as he begged. Then he lashed out, pushing his boyfriend away from him in a sudden flash of shame. His kick pushed his lover off the bed, knocking him to the ground. For a moment, he looked for a glance of acceptance from his friend, but found none. Then he hung his head. His dark brown eyes lost that luster they possessed when Frank was snapping pictures of the two frolicking outside the room. The boy backed into the corner, trying as best he could to hide himself with his hands. While the frightened actor shunned his secret now hiding in the corner, he tried further to negotiate with Frank.
“I can pay you,” he said, pulling the cheap motel blankets closer to him. “I’ll never see him again, I swear. Just make it go away.”
Frank just shook his head. As the begging went on, the actor’s boyfriend disappeared into the bathroom. The sadness on the boy’s face was obvious. He had just realized how little he really meant to his lover.
“Everyone needs something. Everyone wants something,” the actor cried out. “What do you want?”
“Just to finish the job,” Frank replied. “Just to finish the job and be paid.”
“I can pay you,” the actor reiterated in angst. “Anything you need.”
“That’s not how this works,” Frank chastised. “Though it’s something you may know little about. The famous seem not to care. There’s an integrity to a person who can keep a contract, their word, or in your case, a vow. I don’t care what you do or who you do, but your wife and all those children you two adopted? Shit, they care volumes, and it’s my job to make sure people like that don’t invest themselves too deeply into people like you.”
Frank stepped toward the door and said, “Your wife will see these in the morning. There’s not much you can do about that. Let’s just hope she doesn’t send them to anyone else. I know the paparazzi would love to sink their teeth into these.”
The actor’s face went stark white, and with that, Frank slammed the door shut and left the man to his bronze lover and his thoughts.
Frank’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he crossed the street to his car.
“Black,” Frank said as he answered the phone and slid into the bucket seat. His voice smoothed. “Why hello, Miss Van. I take it you found our suspect.”
He put the phone on speaker and tossed it in the passenger seat.
Amy’s voice crackled through the small speaker, “Did you know the boy you fingered was in a coma?”
Frank choked a bit as he tried not to laugh.
“That’s a terrible way of putting it,” Frank said, “But yes. I did. Knocked that ass good.”
“That’s not the best way of putting it either, Mr. Black,” his phone replied, “And no. No you did not. The CAT scan and MRI shows no brain damage and the tox screens came back clean. We don’t know why Mr. Campbell is in a coma.”
“Shit,” Frank said.
Amy elaborated, “The Allen family made it seem like Chad wasn’t acting like himself. I don’t know if it means anything, but it may have something to do with his coma. If not, it’s too easy.”
“Rose said the same thing about him, and you’re right,” Frank agreed, “It’s too easy. I can meet you in a couple hours. Have to pick something up and wash this job off of me.”
“Can you meet now?”
“No. In a couple hours. I have to pick something up. It may help us figure out what’s going on with Chad. Meet me at The Stand off of Balboa. I’ll see you at six.”
“Okay, Mr. Black,” Amy said. “Six o’clock.”
Frank reached over to the passenger seat, disconnected the call and lit up another smoke.
Chapter 13
Frank’s front door was ajar. He placed his hand on the knob and entere
d with caution. Easing the door open, he noticed his place was spotless—cleaned from corner to corner. No boxes keeled over on their sides, no folders strewn about. Hell, Rose even sorted the recycling. Frank grinned as he hung his coat and poured himself a glass of scotch. As he enjoyed the oaky aroma, sniffing it deep into his nostrils, Frank’s attention was drawn to a pile of clothes near the bathroom. Walking over to the pile, he heard the running water behind the door whine to a stop. He could smell the citrus and raspberry rising up from the pile.
Frank dipped his boot into the clothes as he sipped his drink, fanning out the items. He recognized the skinny jeans, the black halter top, and that scent. His eyes narrowed.
“You broke into my place, Ms. Berry?” he called into the bathroom as he lit a cigarette.
“I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me,” Felicia confessed through the door. “And call me Felicia.”
“You broke into my place, Felicia?” Frank reiterated as he sipped his scotch. “No shower at home?”
The bathroom door swung open. Felicia stood in the doorway, the white cotton towel hugging her curves.
She breathed, “You need to relax, Tiger.”
Frank set down his glass and leaned his elbow against the dresser.
Lifting the cigarette to his lips, he said, “Sugar, you’re barking up the tree but I don’t think you’ve got the bite.”
Felicia indeed had bite. She let the towel drop to her ankles. Frank watched as it hit the floor in a pile and she kicked it to the side. Her skin was impeccable, flawless from head to toe. She spread her legs. She pressed her ankles against both sides of the doorjamb and showed Frank she was smooth—everywhere. She stretched her arms up, pushing her palms flat against the wood and bit her lip. She stood in a naked X and flipped her hair to one side. Her breasts hung free. Her nipples were hard. Her tan lines highlighted her milky white slopes.
“I never met a man I couldn’t have,” Felicia declared with a wink.
Desire filled the air around Frank. Lust hung heavy, clinging to his skin, standing his hairs on end and sinking into his every fiber. Inhaling deeply, Frank’s eyes moved to her nipples standing like little pink pencil erasers. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt as he exhaled. Felicia stepped through the cloud of smoke, shaking her finger at Frank.
“Ah ah ah,” she said with a grin. “Let me.”
Reaching her long, red fingernails to Frank’s chest, she popped open another button and exposed the black Kevlar beneath. Realizing he was wearing a bulletproof vest, she smiled and bit her lip again, this time with force.
“Mmmm,” she cooed, looking up at him. “Sexy.”
The sweetness of her wet skin and sopping hair filled his nostrils. Their eyes locked as she rose to her toes and kissed him. Opening his mouth, Frank accepted her tongue, meeting it with an eager swirl. Her lips sank into his as she pressed her body against him. She felt the cold plastic clasps of his vest pressing into her tight skin and the warmth of his strong arms around her. She kissed down his neck. Frank savored her scent, inhaling the vague hint of raspberry still dancing on her flesh. Taking one last drag, he dropped his cigarette in his glass on the dresser.
She returned her fingers to his chest, popping each button one by one until she tossed away Frank’s shirt. She ran her hands across the Kevlar, down and around his waist. She unclipped his vest and slid it over his head. Pressing her bare chest against his, she squeezed him against her and dug her nails into his shoulder blades. Tugging downward, she ran her fingernails along Frank’s back, etching her mark with every inch. Reaching his waist, she pulled the handcuffs from his belt.
Felicia stood back. Her flesh naked and bare. Her legs spread just enough to show Frank everything. The cuffs dangled from her slender fingers, rocking back and forth as she grinned, wide.
She tossed the cuffs to Frank and turned her back to him. Keeping her legs straight and long, she bent herself forward. Her damp hair hung in her face as she stared into the short shag carpet, stretching her arms across her back and offering her wrists to Frank. She was one of those few that looked better out of her jeans than in them; better than Frank could have imagined.
He clicked the cold steel of the handcuffs against her wrists.
Click
“Tighter,” she moaned.
Franked pressed tighter.
C-C-click
The thin metal rings dug into her skin. Felicia moaned.
The cuffs tight on her wrists, she teased Frank for a moment. She traced her fingernails over the small of her back, writhing her hands, bound in place, tracing the curves of her ass. She moaned softly, then whipped around and dropped to her knees. Using her teeth, she pulled Frank’s belt free. It didn’t take her talented lips long to send Frank’s slacks to a pile on the floor. Arching her back and spreading her knees, she leaned on her palms and offered her mouth to him.
Frank stepped forward. Fireworks.
With her mouth full, she mumbled, “Slap me.” She pulled her mouth from him and begged, “Slap me like you fucking mean it, Frank.”
Frank liked it rough. When it came to sex, rough wasn't all bad. He liked it.
He opened his fingers and placed his palm flat on her face, feeling himself against her cheek. With a flip of the wrist, his palm pulled away and sprang forward with a pop. A red spot formed, marring the flawless beauty.
Felicia moaned and mumbled, “Again.”
Frank pulled his hand back once more and slapped her hard. His palm stinging against her face. Felicia pistoned her head back and forth, moaning and sighing, enjoying the taste, the metal against her wrists and the fading sting across her face.
Frank grabbed her by her hair, pulling her off of him. Standing her on her feet, he pushed her over the couch. She let her face fall into the cushions. Frank kicked off his boots and his pants. He pushed her feet apart with his own and took himself in hand. With a fluid plunge forward, he entered her, filling her up, pushing and pulling out of her. Frank pulled back on the handcuffs with every thrust and Felicia met each tug of the wrist with a rise of her ass, meeting Frank with equal force.
Frank let loose his grip on the cuffs and grabbed her hips. Pulling out, he guided her around the couch and flipped her on her back. Her arms twisted beneath her. The cold steel of the restraints pressed into her. Moving over Felicia, he cupped her breasts, kneading them between his firm fingers. He leaned over her, his chiseled, hairy chest engulfing her view. Felicia licked her ruby red lips. Frank bit down on her shoulder.
“Choke me,” she begged, arching her head back and giving him access to her supple neck.
“It’s the only way,” she moaned.
Frank pushed his body into hers as he wrapped his hands around her throat. As he squeezed she let out a sigh and her body shook. Her thighs squeezed tight against his as she rocked back and forth, grinding on him. She quivered and squirmed, writhed and moaned. Frank could feel her muscles tightening around him. It was more than he could stand. Nearing climax, Frank pulled out. But, before he could, Felicia’s legs clamped tight around him, her heels dug into his ass forcing him back inside her.
Finishing, Frank’s body spasmed before collapsing in a heap on top of Felicia. His warm breath hit her in heavy blasts as their chests rose up and down in time. Felicia panted like a tired dog. Frank sighed in satisfaction. Frank felt Felicia’s heels relax and he eased himself from her. Felicia scooted back into the corner of the couch, sitting on her cuffed hands with her legs spread and her knees up.
Wiggling her fingers from between her thighs, she breathed, “Mind letting me out, big boy?”
Frank smiled. Bending to the floor, he fished the keys from his pocket and reached under her legs, making sure to touch as much as he could on the way. Then he took a Pall Mall from his pack and leaned back into the cushion, crossing his leg and making no effort to hide himself. He shook the pack at her.
“Want one?” Frank offered.
“No thanks, Hon.”
Fel
icia stood up and sauntered to her towel on the floor. Picking it up, she dabbed at her hair, blotting it dry.
“Do you treat all the girls this good?” she asked with a smile, dipping her grin toward the carpet and wrapping the towel atop her head like a turban. “Bet you fucked Rose good a few times. Didn’t you, Big Boy?”
Frank ignored the comment. Moving to her purse near the door, she took out a small bottle of red nail polish and plopped back down on the couch.
“You don’t mind, do you, Tiger?” she asked, shaking the bottle in her hand.
“Go for it,” Frank said as he let out a cloud of smoke.
Felicia extended one leg out in front of her, resting her slender heel on the coffee table. She unscrewed the cap and pulled out the polish-drenched brush. Touching its tip to her big toe, she gently pushed away from herself, repeating the motion over and over ’til each nail was covered.
There was something about watching a girl paint her toes. Frank watched her as he smoked his cigarette. It was comforting. It was everything about the action. The accentuated arch of her foot. The lines of her legs as she flexed. The long, steady motion of the brush as its bristles spread apart against her nails. Then the brush stopped and Frank broke his gaze.
Felicia was staring at him, brush in hand. She had caught him gawking. Though, it really didn’t matter to Frank. After all, he was just inside her. He shrugged and smoked his cigarette.
“What’s your story, Frank?” Felicia chirped, breaking the silence.
Frank shrugged again.
“What do you mean, Doll?” he asked. “Specify. I’m not a book.”