Claws of Doom

by Peebles, Chrissy

  Agent Candice Merlot sure was sexy with unblemished dark skin and fashionably straightened, black hair. She was admiring herself in her compact.

  “Perfect!” Merlot snapped the mirror shut and slipped it into her jacket pocket. She picked up a magazine from a table laden with them, and casually scrutinized its contents.

  Merlot absent-mindedly twisted a finger around a stray strand of her hair. By the looks of her she was not overly tall, but she sure made up for that with her lithe, muscular body that slipped so snugly into her dark gray suit. She made it plain to everyone she was sure hot!

  Sometimes she liked to be just Merlot, and like the wine, she was smooth, lively on the tongue and full of velvety textures that lingered well beyond the first tantalizing sip.

  As Candice, she liked to be slowly unwrapped and savored just like a bar of candy. And did she taste sweet! That was something she had picked up during her modeling days for Sports Illustrated. She adored Latin American music, loved to salsa and liked her food spicy — the hotter the better. But, most of all, Agent Merlot liked the guys and the guys sure liked her. Well almost all the guys.

  Merlot glanced at her grouchy partner, “Hey, Agent Hardass. Oops … Agent Virgil Tuckerwood. I forgive you for calling me a twinkie.”

  Agent Hardass turned away and stared at a Time mirror on the wall. His reflection said it all. Hardass!

  Merlot knew he never missed his daily workouts. Never ate anything unhealthy. Ate tons of fiber. Liked country and western music — there’s no accounting for taste — and as for the ladies, well, only Agent Tuckerwood knew what he liked. He would never kiss and tell, keeping everything bottled up, which was the reason they were waiting for the shrink.

  They sat together on the sofa, but at either end, as far apart as possible. Agent Merlot looked casual with legs crossed while Agent Fuckerwood sat straight-backed, serious-faced and looked uptight.

  Merlot glanced at her wristwatch and noted the time. She scrutinized her taciturn partner. Ten minutes had elapsed since they had entered Doctor Martinez’s cozy outer office. He had not spoken a word to her in all that time. That was just how Agent Tuckerwood liked it these days — as silent as Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western.

  The small fan on the black desk at their feet gently oscillated, thus providing a therapeutic white noise that made the silence bearable, Merlot thought. She guessed it had been intentionally left switched on by the good doctor.

  Virgil glanced at Merlot, “I know you spilled the beans, Candi, so don’t deny it.”

  Merlot looked away from Virgil’s intense glare and cast a familiar eye around the very feminine outer office. Normally she would have concluded the shrink had come all the way out — flaming, but she knew better, as did all her female colleagues. Pink was the order of the day to match the flaming red sofa. Both colors were used deliberately to elicit a response. There were three scatter cushions on the sofa, but one was now being throttled in the vice-like grip of Agent Tuckerwood’s clenched hands.

  The door of the outer office opened and in walked Doctor Raul Martinez.

  Wow! Merlot stared at the man of her dreams. Raul’s gorgeous Latin American looks made her heart flutter. His shining black hair, dark brown eyes and olive skin were perfectly encased within the confines of his dark gray suit that seemed to Merlot to be a size too small. She ogled his tight buttocks and muscular thighs as he walked past her. Oh yeah, she could mambo him all through the night.

  Virgil gave her a knowing look and shook his head with dismay.

  Merlot continued to stare agog at the breathtaking sight before her, licking her lips suggestively. Way too sexy for a shrink, she thought. She shifted on the sofa as her juices started to flow. She had nicknamed Raul “Doctor Sluice” and had been severely reprimanded by her anal boss and Agent Tuckerwood for blurting it out on occasion.

  “Agents,” Doctor Martinez said, nodding as he entered his private domain.

  Merlot looked for approval from her partner. She got nothing but an icy glare. Merlot shook her head with dismay and entered the consultation room.

  Agent Tuckerwood sighed heavily and jumped from the sofa like a coiled spring. He followed Merlot into the office and slammed the door.

  Merlot recalled the first time she’d been in Doctor Martinez’s consultation room, just two weeks ago. His office was cozier than the outer office. Pale blue was the order of the day with dark blue chenille armchairs. The walls were festooned with Doctor Martinez’s psychiatric accomplishments. On his desk was a computer and photos of his family — no wife.

  Merlot had been there to explain her partner’s condition. She informed the shrink, “Without warning, he went completely insane. Batman-fucking-shit insane! He’s distant and offensive. And not just to me, but to other agents as well.” She went on to explain, “The super-cool Agent Fucker … um … Tuckerwood has become easy to provoke. On two occasions, he warned me to shut my big fucking mouth. And on more occasions than that, Agent Tightass used very insulting comments to describe my … um … happy-go-lucky attitude. And he got abusive with a couple of citizens who pissed him off.”

  During this initial consultation, Doctor Martinez asked Merlot a lot of personal questions about her partner. Was he seeing someone? Was he regular? Was he sleeping? Have you had a sexual relationship with Virgil? The answers were negative.

  Merlot told the doctor that she suspected whatever was troubling Tuckerwood had something to do with his home town, and perhaps a certain woman residing there.

  Merlot recalled removing a folded magazine page from her jacket pocket and handing it to Doctor Martinez. The picture displayed Annie Bumgardner in all her luscious glory. The mention of the home town — Big Beaver — caused Merlot to erupt into laughter throughout the consultation. Apparently, in an interview, Annie mentioned how her heart had been broken by a certain young man who had left town unexpectedly, the upshot of which was she was prompted to up and leave Big Beaver as well to pursue a modeling career.

  Agent Merlot also recalled her partner receiving a letter from Big Beaver. Oops, more laughter. After reading it, he went berserk and had been that way ever since. She couldn’t be absolutely sure Annie was the reason for her partner’s troubles, as he was so tight-lipped on the subject.

  Merlot snapped out of her recollection as Doctor Martinez sat in his armchair opposite her. She shifted uncomfortably in her armchair as south of the border became activated at the thought of such good wood.

  “Ooh … mature, hard mahogany,” she slipped out, using her notorious woodometer scale.

  Merlot cleared her throat and smiled at the stunning Doctor Raul. She gazed into his luscious brown eyes with a look of wanton abandon. She decided to be the first to speak — no choice really.

  “I forgive you for calling me a puck bunny and a twinkie, Agent Fuckerwood,” she said in a friendly tone of voice to her partner.

  Agent Tuckerwood remained silent, his expression grimly serious. His jaw muscles were clenched so tight Merlot could hear his teeth grinding.

  She thought that if her partner wasn’t careful the Bureau would insist he took more than just counseling — a prolonged leave of absence. Merlot didn’t want that to happen. She would have to break in a new partner.

  “Don’t suppose I can buy you a coffee later?” Merlot offered.

  No reply from her anal partner.

  Merlot shrugged. What more could she do? She returned her attention to the awesome Dr. Raul. He sure was a gorgeous specimen of hardwood.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Raul casually offered and smiled just for Merlot. “Good morning, agents.” He averted his gaze from Merlot’s overtly intense sexual come-on look.

  Virgil looked on in disgust with arms crossed.

  Merlot smiled ever so briefly, licking her red lips with a tongue that begged for more. She wondered if he had any tan lines. Her fervent imagination ran riot with thoughts of the exquisite Raul lying naked on a beach while she massaged sun lotion into the glorious ski
n of his firm buns.

  Doctor Martinez gave a warning cough.

  Merlot apologized with a furtive smile and settled back into her chair, looking serious.

  “Good morning to you, Doctor Martinez,” she said with an almost breathless gasp.

  “You can call me Raul, if you wish.”

  “Raul it is then.”

  Raul focused his attention on the dour Agent Tuckerwood. “Don’t you think it’s a good morning, Agent Tuckerwood?”

  Agent Tuckerwood seemed immune to the doctor’s charm. His expression remained serious. He didn’t speak right away, rather allowing the silence to maintain his serious stance.

  “What’s so good about it? It’s just another shitty morning like any other shitty morning.” Agent Tuckerwood scowled with menace.

  “I see,” the good doctor said, with eyebrows raised. “Well now, what do you want us to talk about, Agent Tuckerwood, or can I call you Virgil?”

  Virgil fixed the doctor with a steely look, “Whatever. Can I go now?” He started to get up.

  “No you cannot, Virgil.” Raul pointed to Virgil’s chair to remain seated.

  “Quack,” Virgil whispered under his breath as he sat back down.

  Merlot’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets, thinking now you’ve done it, Agent Tightass.

  Raul had good hearing, apparently. “I heard that.”

  Virgil shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care.

  Raul persisted with the good doctor routine. “Come, come, Virgil, something is bugging you. You want to know what I think is the root cause of your sudden behavior?”

  Virgil didn’t reply. He looked around the room seemingly uninterested.

  Merlot gave her partner a concerned look.

  “I think your hometown of Big Beaver has a lot to do with what’s troubling you, and perhaps you still hold a torch for an old girlfriend there. Am I right about the letter you received a few weeks ago?” Dr Martinez waited for a reply with an expectant look.

  Merlot bit her hand to stop the giggles as Big Beaver filled her mind with images of trim. Those thoughts soon exploded with passion as she imagined Raul’s luscious lips pleasuring her.

  Virgil narrowed his eyes and directed his attention full on his partner, “Bimbo! Trust you to put two and two together, and come up with nothing.”

  “Dick wad!”

  “Okay girls, that’s quite enough.” Raul started to write something out on a notepad.

  Virgil stood and was about to leave.

  Raul lifted a finger to halt Virgil. “I haven’t finished.” He ripped off a sheet from the notepad and handed it to Virgil. “Your prescription, and adhere to it or you will be placed on suspension.”

  Virgil snatched the piece of paper from Raul’s hand without reading it and left the office.

  Merlot waited in her armchair for Raul to declare his undying love for her. Her juices were in full flow.

  The gorgeous doctor gave Merlot an inquisitive look, “Is there anything more, Agent Merlot?” He smiled.

  Oh yes, there was more, but Merlot knew now was not the time.

  Duane finished his coffee with a trembling hand and disconnected the transmission as Virgil’s thoughts became a mishmash of gibberish. Crap! There’s that train wreck, Duane mused. So that’s what he’d done. So, his letter had done the trick and had screwed Virgil up and then some, but what he had written was still a mystery. He concluded it had to do with Lou.

  Chapter 9

  Duane’s Head Job

  WHILE TRYING TO make sense of his connection with Virgil and Merlot at Annie’s Diner, it suddenly dawned on Duane in a rare moment of clarity what he had forgotten to do in town that day. That’s it — he had to go to the salon for some colorant — blonde colorant. He finished his coffee as quickly as possible before he forgot — a side effect of the sixth sense. He rushed up to the counter and paid for his breakfast leaving a healthy tip.

  Annie waved Duane goodbye as he exited the diner.

  He sauntered off down the main street to his left as if he had all the time in the world, passing Bert’s Sporting Goods, Gerry’s Hardware Store, The Busy Beaverite office and Sally’s Sew What Shop.

  Duane came to a stop outside Collette’s Head Job. For some unknown reason, he looked back the way he came at the sheriff’s department next to Annie’s Diner.

  He noticed Lou’s patrol car was missing from its allocated spot, not that he expected her to be back yet from Little Beaver where she’d be conducting an investigation. He scratched his earlobe in thought. Nothing came to mind. She wasn’t thinking of him or he’d get an image. He shrugged his shoulders.

  Duane peered through the window of the salon. He could make out Collette, the glamorous yummy mummy, and her spiky, purple-haired young female assistant tending to two early thirty-something women undergoing various stages of hair treatment.

  The women being tended to were very familiar to Duane and he knew each one of them enjoyed a good gossip. He shrugged his shoulders and thought — so what if it’ll give them something to gossip about. So he entered Collette’s establishment.

  Collette was a friend of Duane’s — a really close friend of his, although not as regularly close a friend as Annie or Heidi. But close enough for Duane to call on Collette from time to time for some extra-extra booty call.

  Collette had been his first and that first time had been a nerve-racking occasion. But, unlike the Boom-Boom Sisters, Collette wasn’t single. She was already married and had a couple of young children, but her husband, Pete, and she had what was known as a mutual understanding.

  Pete was a roadie for a female heavy metal band — The Crap Suzettes. It was reliably rumored around town he had a second wife somewhere. It was also rumored Pete had a third wife somewhere else and possibly married to the entire band. It was also rumored Pete was a bit of a womanizer. But they were only rumors.

  Duane was immediately struck by the heavy odor of perfume and hair sprays sucking the air out of his lungs. He coughed.

  All attention focused on him.

  “Um, hello, ladies,” Duane said cheerfully.

  Sweet smiles and puckering of lips, accompanied by a naughty wink here and there from all present greeted him. As Duane was a likable character most women took to him in one way or another. They either lusted after him, or they simply liked him as a friend, or wanted to mother him. All in all, Duane had a strong effect on women, but as yet, he couldn’t understand why. And he had no inclination to find out, either.

  Duane focused his stinging eyes on Collette. “I’ve come for the box of you-know-what.”

  Collette rolled her eyes, covertly looked at her client before nodding her head and pointing with scissors towards the storeroom door.

  “Be just a minute,” she told her customer. “What box … oh, right … that box … out back in the storeroom.” She sauntered off from the salon.

  Duane smiled a little sheepishly at the clients as his foggy brain cleared enough to remind him just how stupid he really was. Everyone must by now be wondering what the box was and had surely concluded it was her box. What a dumbass. He nodded his head and walked casually with his hands in his jean pockets and followed Collette from the salon.

  Duane could well imagine what the assistant and the two gossipy women were going to say as soon as he and Collette disappeared from sight. And as if on cue, chatter commenced. He heard every embarrassing word.

  “What kind of box does he need?”

  “The only box Duane gets is south of the border.”

  “What … you mean Collette’s box?”

  “Why not Collette and Duane?”

  “I hear he’s doing the Boom-Boom Sisters?”

  “I bet they eat him up for breakfast.”

  “I think he’s so cute with those gorgeous blue eyes.”

  “Me too, a pity I like my men a bit older and clean-shaven. Maybe in a few years he can do me.”

  “I just want to mother him.”

&nb
sp; “I’d like to bonk his brains out.”

  Duane had heard enough. He stopped eaves-dropping their conversation and concentrated his attention on Collette.

  The storeroom shelves were stacked with various hair products and hair styling devices. Collette pushed Duane against the shelves. She pounced on him like a sex-starved sex kitten. Several boxes of hair colorant fell to the floor.

  “Give it to me real hard, my Bigfoot boy.” But the moment the words were out of her mouth, she wrinkled her nose in disgust and backed away. “What’s that smell?” She coughed. “You stink so bad.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Collette shook her head. “I’m not that desperate. You need a bath and I might add a haircut. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to put on some clean fresh-smelling Bigfoot duds. The smell of your stinky duds clings to you and your clothes long after you’ve taken them off.”

  Okay his duds were partly to blame. But Duane wasn’t going to fess up it was partly due to the Bigfoot company he was keeping. They couldn’t help being stinky, they couldn’t help suffering with body odor.

  Collette tidied her hair and smoothed down her blouse in a highly suggestive manner. She bent down at the waist, revealing a tiny thong and picked up several boxes of hair colorant scattered all over the place. Restacking them she frowned.

  Duane stopped her with a hand on her arm. “That’s the color I’ve been looking for.” He snatched up a box and read the instructions. “Perfect!” He grinned. “I’ll need twenty boxes in all.”

  “What the hell d’you want all that hair colorant for?” She crossed her arms and frowned. “You sure as hell don’t need it.”

  Duane looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes and grinned. He touched the tip of his nose and winked. “No questions, we agreed.” He gave another grin.

  She gave Duane a keen look and wagged a finger at him. “You’re up to something really weird. I just know it.” She grinned. “You’ve got a wicked prank on the go, haven’t you?”