The Case of the Long-Legged Bait – Part 3
A Dan Diamond mystery by j.
My erection disappeared as quickly as a street strutter when a cop car turns the corner.
I didn’t know what in the hell Ron McDonald was doing in Vicky’s apartment, but I knew it wasn’t good news for yours truly. If you’re investigating a guy for murdering his wife, you don’t want to be naked and tied tight to a piece of furniture when he shows up. Vicky had gotten my dick as hard as a week-old biscuit, but when McDonald walked into the room, the hard-on shrank to a nubbin.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Diamond,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve talked since back in your office in L.A., when I hired you to look for Glinda.”
We weren’t talking now, actually, because there wasn’t much I could say with a rubber ball crammed into my mouth. I stared at him for a moment, and then my eyes shifted to Vicky. She must have guessed what I was thinking.
“Hey, Danny,” she said, “I didn’t lie to you! That whole story was true, baby. I just didn’t tell you what happened after that. A girl can change her mind, you know, and Ron made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Victoria runs Roissy for me now. I knew right away she’d make a great partner — especially since a partner isn’t likely to go running to her father. Right, my dear?”
“That’s the truth of it, Dan,” she said, “and we retired old Barry the Tird, too, but not before I made the prick strip for me and tied him to that cross in my old room at Roissy. He was so scared that I’d sic my dad on him that he let me whip half the skin off his ass.”
I couldn’t tell her so, but I thought Vicky was a fool. If you’re smart, you don’t play footsie with a jerk who has bumped off his wife. Ron McDonald might be a mousy little guy, but a lot of mousy little guys turn out to be murderers. You can check it out in any big-city police department’s homicide files.
Like Vicky, McDonald must have had a pretty good idea of what I was thinking, even if I couldn’t speak. “I understand that you believe I killed Glinda,” he said. “That’s a very interesting thought.” He smiled at me, a mean little smile like a rat about to chomp down on a big fat hunk of cheese. And I was the cheese.
Then I noticed that Ron was holding a syringe in his right hand. He leaned over me, found a vein in one of my arms and slid in the needle. I didn’t like to think about what he was pumping into me, but in a few seconds, I forgot about all that.
I had this great urge to take a nap.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When I woke up, I felt as if I’d been on a three-week drunk. Well, I’ve never actually been on a three-week drunk, but I think it probably must leave you feeling a lot like the way I felt then. I sat up naked on the narrow bed where I’d been lying and slowly moved my legs over the side. I rested my elbows on my knees and cradled my head in my hands, waiting for the thick fog to go away. It didn’t want to leave. I guess it was having a good time hanging around and living it up with the throbbing ache that had taken up residence in the same part of my brain.
After I sat there for a long time, things began to clear up. I looked around. I’d never been in that room before, but I recognized it. It was straight from Vicky’s story — the room where she’d been held at “Roissy” or one just like it. The same iron bed with its hard mattress. The same bondage stuff, including the big X-shaped cross on one wall. I even had a manacle around one ankle and was chained to the bed, just as she’d been. I leaned over and peered under the bed. Yep, there was the chamber pot.
I pulled it out, and after I’d emptied my bladder into it, I felt a whole lot better. There was no toilet paper, though, and I hoped someone would show up with some before I needed to take a dump. In fact, I hoped someone would show up, period. I knew I was probably in for a hard time, but I would just as soon find out quickly what was in store. That would be better than waiting.
About an hour later, I was lying down and about to fall asleep when I heard someone unlocking the door. I sat up and put my legs over the side of the bed, but before I could stand up, Vicky opened the door and came into the room. She grinned at me. I didn’t grin back, even though she looked great in the tiny bra and bikini panties she was wearing.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” she said. “I thought you were never going to wake up!”
“If you don’t want somebody to nod out on you, you shouldn’t shoot them full of whatever that little asshole had in that syringe,” I told her.
“Hey, Danny!” she said. “You sound downright grumpy! You’re not pissed off, are you?”
“Maybe a little bit,” I said.
“Well, I’ve got some news to cheer you up,” she said. “Ron said that I could have you for some fun and games while he’s deciding what to do with you.”
“Pardon me if I don’t stand up and applaud,” I said, “but I’ve got some pretty good ideas about what Ronnie plans to do with me, and they’re all pretty bad.”
“Oh, don’t be stupid!” she said. “Ron would steal his own mom’s last loaf of bread if he could make a buck or two out of it, but he’s not the kind of guy who would really hurt anyone.”
I started to point out the case of the late Glinda, but then I decided not to bother. Either Vicky was kidding herself or she was putting on an act for me. Either way, nothing I said was going to change things. I didn’t get a chance anyway, because the door opened again, and this little blond babe walked in. She had eyes of blue alright, but I’m not sure she hit five-foot-two. She was very short, and a little heavier than I liked, but she had a pair of tits that would have been plenty for a chick five or six inches taller. They were high and bouncy, without much need for a bra hold them up. I could tell this because she had decided to dress informally — she was naked as a jaybird.
“Danny, meet Cookie,” Vicky said. “I invited her to play, too. She gets her butt spanked a lot around here, and I told her that this was a chance for her to do the paddling for a change.”
“Hi, Dan,” Cookie chirped. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I replied. “Or maybe not.”
Cookie looked puzzled. I guess she was so short that my sarcasm went right over her head. Or maybe she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. She looked as if she needed a little time to think about it, but Vicky was eager to get on with things.
“We’re going to take the chain off your ankle, Dan,” she said, “but I think we’d better tie your arms before we do. You want to put your hands behind your back?”
I didn’t argue. I’d been involved in B&D long enough by now that I knew there wasn’t any point in complaining and putting up a fight unless you were acting out the old maiden-in-distress scenario, and I didn’t see myself as the lead in “The Perils of Pauline.” I folded my arms behind me.
Vicky got some small leather strips from the top of a small chest of drawers standing next to the door and fastened my arms tightly, with my forearms strapped together against my back. She unlocked the manacle from my ankle then, but she replaced it with a broad leather cuff which was thickly padded with artificial fleece. A similar cuff went on my other ankle. I’d never worn cuffs with such thick padding, but I quickly found out why Vicky was using them.
She reached above the bed and drew down a pair of chains that were hanging from the ceiling. She and Cookie each grabbed one of my legs, and they tilted me backward onto the bed as they lifted my ankles and fastened the cuffs onto the chains. Vicky went over to a windlass at one side of the room and began cranking. It turned out to be attached to the chains, and I was soon hanging head down, suspended by my ankles with my legs held apart in a slight V.
I must have been a little too high for what they had in mind, because they pushed the bed out of the way and lowered me a little. My head was only a few feet off the floor now, and I was staring up into Cookie’s thick bush. The kid didn’t look like a natural blonde, but then I’ve known several real blondes whose pubic hair was dark, so I guess that contrary to popular opinion, that really isn’t a reliable clue. Actually, I was surprised that Cookie had any bush at all, because most of the B&D chicks I’ve met were shaved down there — especially the subbies.
I guess Cookie’s face was pretty much level with my crotch, because I felt a tongue run expertly around the head of my dangling dick. It was already erect, but Cookie’s licking put some real iron in it. I wondered whether that was her idea of punishment. Maybe she’d got so used to being on the receiving end that she wasn’t sure how a top ought to behave. I wasn’t complaining, though. She could keep it up all day as far as I was concerned.
She didn’t. There was a loud smack and a blaze of pain on my bottom as Vicky struck my naked butt with some kind of hard, broad paddle. Covered with leather but with wood underneath, I thought. I could tell such things now without looking. My poor old rump had been abused a lot in the last year or so, but this was the first time I’d ever been whipped while hanging upside down. I didn’t like it much. I’d spent considerable time staring at the floor while bent over a sawhorse or a spanking bench, but this was worse. My face was undoubtedly bright red from all the blood running down to my head, and Vicky was apparently intent on getting my ass to match, because she kept swatting my burning buttocks.
“Let me! Let me!” Cookie cried.
I didn’t mind if Cookie replaced Vicky — she probably wouldn’t hit nearly as hard. But when she took over the paddling, the dick-licking came to a stop. That was not a good deal. There’s nothing like a little stimulation of your organ to take your mind off the burn on your butt. Well, no, that’s not really true. You’re not going to forget about the spanking when your dick is being licked or fondled, but it all becomes wrapped up in the sexual experience. As anyone who’s played this game can tell you, it’s hard to tell the pain from the pleasure until you get your rocks off. Then you find out how much you were hurting all along.
The truly bad thing about the switch of spankers, though, was that Vicky went looking for a new tool when she handed over the paddle. What she found was a cane. If you’ve been paying attention, you know that I hate canes. Oh, man, do I ever hate canes! I get turned on by a nice brisk spanking, but as far as I’m concerned, a caning is on a par with a root canal performed by a sadistic dentist who doesn’t believe in anesthesia. The cutting slashes of those willowy little rods are sheer hell, and the welts they leave on my tender ass hurt for days.
My backside was being paddled by Cookie, so Victoria began using the cane on the front of my thighs, with an occasional searing stroke on my belly. I dimly grasped that Cookie was swatting my butt harder than I expected, but I wasn’t paying much attention to her paddling because all I was thinking about was the next blow from Vicky’s nasty little stick. I wasn’t gagged, and God knows what incoherent babble I was yelling at Vicky. As you know, I like to play the tough guy and crack wise, but I suspect that I was mostly cursing and begging this time. Whatever I was saying, it just seemed to spur Vicky on. I don’t think she’d really been hitting me that hard, but she picked up the pace when I started shouting.
Cookie stepped back to watch the fun, leaving my rear end available, and Vicky moved around behind me and began laying strokes from the back of my thighs down across my butt to my back. She concentrated on my bottom, which was kind of a dim blessing, because I can take a whipping there a lot better than on the back of my legs. It was still no picnic, and my complaints got louder until Vicky stopped for a minute, pulled off her panties and stuffed them into my mouth.
“My goodness!” she said. “I can’t believe you’re making such a fuss over a little caning! I’ve seen Cookie get whipped a lot worse than this, and she barely made a sound.”
“His booty is a lot skinnier than mine, though,” Cookie said thoughtfully. “That probably makes it hurt more.”
“No, I think he’s just a big baby,” Vicky said, laying a fiery stroke across my butt to prove her point.
Still, she continued the caning for only a few more strokes before switching to a different paddle — one with a short, narrow strip of leather on the end of a long skinny shaft. She swatted me on the bottom a half dozen times, moved around to the front and smacked my belly once or twice. Then she began whipping my penis.
Despite the caning, my dick was still hard, hanging down across my lower belly so that its underside was exposed to the strokes from the flapper-ended paddle. Vicky laid four or five strokes straight down on my penis, and then she began slapping it from side to side. I was afraid that she was going to hit a little high and strike my bulging balls. The sac was tight because of the erection, but it still hung down a bit over the shaft of my penis because of my upside-down position. I guess Vicky had whipped her share of dicks before, though, because she didn’t miss. The more she slapped it with the paddle, the harder my prick got. The harder it got, the less it bent from side to side and the more it hurt when she hit it. The more it hurt, the harder it seem to get. It was one goddam vicious circle.
The door opened, and Vicky stopped her whipping and turned to see who was there. I was hanging facing the door, and I got a glimpse of a tall, Oriental-looking babe with shoulder-length black hair and underwear to match. Then she got too close for me to peer up and see her face, but I had a nice view of the black silk stockings that stretched up her long, long legs to the garter-belt straps reaching down her thighs. I didn’t have time to check her fingernails, but they must have been cut long and sharp, because that’s how it felt when she ran one down the tiny ridge of flesh between my balls and on down to the tip of my throbbing penis.
“So this is Dan,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Danny.”
My Mom always taught me to answer politely when meeting someone, but all I could do was mumble into the panties stuffed into my mouth. Anyway, I was fresh out of clever things to say. I wondered what Vicky had been telling her.
“Anybody else coming?” Vicky asked.
“I think most of the girls are sleeping,” the Oriental chick said, “but we may get one more.”
On cue, the door opened again, and another girl came in. She stopped just inside the door, and I got a good look at her. I thought I must be hallucinating.
“Hello, Dan,” Glinda said.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
First reaction: I was shocked as hell. Maybe I was dreaming. No, my ass burned too much for that.
Second reaction: I was happier than hell. Glinda was alive and kicking. That body floating around in Vermillion Bay belonged to some other poor dame.
Third reaction: I was totally pissed off. If Glinda wasn’t dead, what was I doing in Louisiana? More important, what was I doing hung up by my heels while a bunch of nasty broads whacked me on the butt and ran sharp fingernails down my dick? What kind of chump had I been?
I wanted some explanations from Glinda, but I didn’t think I was about to get them right away. In the first place, I couldn’t ask many questions with Vicky’s panties in my mouth. In the second place, I didn’t think the girls were quite through with me yet.
“I think we’d better let him down,” Cookie said. “His face is getting really, really red.”
“His eyes do look like they’re about to pop out,” Vicky replied. “I want him down anyway. I’ve got a little treat for Danny that would be hard to give him while he’s hanging like that.”
She went over and began to crank me down. In a few seconds, I was lying on the floor with the four girls standing around me, looking down and smiling like a bunch of hungry tigers presented with several backloads of ladies from Niger. They helped me to my feet and immediately forced me back down again onto the narrow iron bed, with my feet toward the head of the bed. Vicky tied a rope around my bound arms and looped it around the round rail at the bottom of the bed, pulling it tight before she tied it there, so that my head and shoulders were drawn close to that end. Then they pulled my legs up over my face, spread them widely and tied them in place with ropes stretching down to the corners of the bottom rail.
When they were finished, I was bent almost double, my feet stretching back past my head and my ass pulled into the air so that my anus was winking at the ceiling and my stiff dick and my balls were dangling over my face. With my legs stretched so tightly and spread so far apart and my asshole prominently on display, I’d never felt so open and exposed. Cookie giggled.
“I’ve been like that lots of times,” she said, “but I never knew how funny it looks.”
“It’s the dick,” the Oriental babe said. “Until you see it flopping around up there like that, you never realize how ridiculous it is.”
“Dicks are okay,” said Glinda. “You wouldn’t like it, Koyo, if they weren’t around.”
“Maybe so,” the other girl said. “But a cock does look really silly when you see it like that.”
“You’re just used to seeing them really close up,” Cookie said, giggling again.
Vicky reached over and grabbed the object they’d been discussing with one hand. In her other hand, she had a small ring of plastic with a thin electric cord dangling from it. She forced the ring onto my penis, positioning it just below the head. When she had it in place, she reached down and picked up another plastic gadget off the floor by the bed. It was a butt plug, a lot smaller than some I’d seen but equipped with an electric cord like that on the cock ring. She pushed it down into my anus as far as it would go. I had a distinct feeling that I was about to get juiced.
They say that when you’re threatened with death, your whole life flashes before your eyes. I wasn’t exactly in any real danger, but I did get a flashback — a vivid memory of the most mind-blowing orgasm I could remember. That had happened nine or ten years before, and it had involved one of my ex-wives (the one with great tits and a mean disposition) along with a penis ring a lot like the one that Vicky had just slipped onto my dick.
Some of the little games that I played with that particular wife were a nice change of pace from the usual in-and-out. She liked to have me straddle her while she lay on her back, placing my dick between those beautiful, bouncy jugs. She’d squeeze her boobs together around my penis while I fucked them, and when I shot my wad, she would rub the cum over her breasts and play with her own nipples while I went down on her. It seemed like she was pissed off most of the time, but the tit-fucking episodes always put a smile on her face — and on mine, too.
On the particular afternoon I was flashing back to, we were in sort of a 69 thing, except that my tongue was running around the ring of her anus and she was wiggling a finger in my ass while she licked my balls. The third player was the vibrating cock ring she had placed on my penis. She’d been switching it on and off to get me to the edge and then hold me there, shutting the thing off when I was about to cum. But she left it going full-tilt boogie when she stuck that finger in me and starting working on my balls with her tongue. I think everything went black for a minute when I finally erupted.
So I knew what to expect when Vicky pushed the switches in the plastic controllers for that butt plug and cock ring, and I wasn’t disappointed. The vibrating devices had me on the brink almost instantly. I was sure I was about to cum big-time when Vicky began whipping the upturned backs of my thighs with that damn cane. She wasn’t taking it easy this time, and the pain jerked me back from the edge of orgasm.
Someone’s hand grabbed the tight package of my balls and squeezed, and someone else (I think it was Glinda) seized the protruding end of the butt plug and began moving it up and down in my anus. I was making inarticulate sounds of pain and pleasure into that panty gag and jerking around as much as I could in that doubled-up, tightly tied position. It must have been a sight, because when my head went to one side, I saw Cookie staring at me open-mouthed. She must have felt the need to join in somehow, because she reached out, took one of my nipples in her fingers and pinched it.
That little pinch did the trick. An intense burst of pleasure shot up the length of my dick and came spurting out in wads of cum that splattered on my upturned face. The cum was hot on my forehead and cheeks. It almost seemed to burn. It may not have been as great an orgasm as the one I’d had with my ex-wife, but it was damn close.
I didn’t enjoy it as much as I might have because Vicky kept spanking me. The backs of my thighs were on fire before she moved around and went to work on my butt. I don’t know how long she’d have kept it up, but suddenly there was a noise somewhere in the mansion that sounded like a fire alarm. The girls looked at one another with startled expressions, and then they all ran out of the room, leaving me there with the butt plug still buzzing in my butt and cock ring vibrating on my dick.
My erection had shrunk considerably, but the ring didn’t fall off. I lay there staring up at the last thread of cum dangling from the head of my penis and feeling the earlier splatters drying on my face. The ringing alarm stopped for a minute, started again and was quickly shut off for good. I could hear other noises — doors slamming, people yelling — and then those sounds died away, too. I lay there for what seemed like a long time, and my legs were beginning to hurt from being stretched forward over my head. The vibrators were still going, though, and I watched my erection growing again above my face. The familiar sensation grew, and I knew I was going to get off another time. I turned my head when the spurts of cum began to fall, but they caught me on the cheek.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. The cum had barely landed when somebody kicked the door open, slamming it back against the wall. A man in a uniform stood crouched in the doorway, a gun in his hand as he peered into the room.
“Jesus Christ!” he said loudly. “Come look at this sick son of a bitch!”
Another man joined him in the doorway. He was in uniform, too. They were obviously cops, with Smokey the Bear hats and tall black boots, but I figured them for county mounties rather than state troopers. There was no way the state boys would let one of their troopers get away with the king-size beer gut that was hanging over the belt of one of these guys. They came over to the bed and looked down at me. My erection had gone away now, but the damn cock ring wouldn’t drop off over the head of my dick. It kept vibrating, and so did the one in my anus.
“You better go get Sally,” one of the cops said. “We’re going to need photos of this for evidence.”
“This ought to make her fucking day,” the other said, and he was laughing when he left the room.
In a few minutes, the police photographer came in. I guess the cop hadn’t told her what kind of evidence she’d be shooting, because she did a double take when she saw me tied to the bed with the butt plug shining in my ass. It didn’t seem to bother her much, though. I guess she saw all kinds of strange sights in her line of work, and I suppose a naked pervert wasn’t as bad as a murder victim who’d been chopped up and left to ripen for a week or so.
She took a bunch of photos, taking her time about it. Maybe she wanted some extras to show to her buddies. She was a cute little thing, and no one had bothered to shut off those vibrators, and after a few minutes, my damn dick started to get hard again. She began taking close-ups. The cop who had been standing there watching shook his head.
“Man, this guy really is a sicko!” he said. “He likes gettin’ his picture took!”
I was beginning to be afraid that I was going to cum a third time, but Sally finally finished photographing me and went away. The second cop came back, and the two of them pulled the panties out of my mouth and began to untie me. I tried to explain what was going on, but they weren’t buying it.
“Just shut the fuck up, asshole,” one of them said. “They’ll take your statement down at the station.”
I gave up. They didn’t want to listen, and I suppose I couldn’t blame them. I’d been caught with my pants down. It wasn’t my fault this time, but I had to admit to myself that if there had ever been a raid on one of the B&D joints that I frequented back in the City of Angels, I might have been caught in a similar situation and would have been guilty as hell.
They shut off the vibrators before they untied me, but they wouldn’t touch them. When my hands were free, they had me remove the plug and ring and drop them into a couple of clear-plastic evidence bags. They stood me up by the bed, cuffed my hands behind me and led me out through the big house. A lot of other cops and techs were milling around. I got a lot of curious stares, but no one offered me anything to wear.
Outside, the little parking area in front of the mansion was filled with police cars with their gumballs flashing. They took me over to one of them, spread a newspaper on the back seat and put me in to wait until they were finished inside. I had to sit there naked for more than an hour, my hands cuffed behind me. The cuffs hurt my wrists, my ass and legs were still burning from the spanking Vicky had given me, and I was getting cold as the sun went down. I’d had a lot of fun trips to the Pelican State, but this wasn’t one of them.
When the two cops finally got back, they drove me a mile or two into a small town and pulled up in a parking lot behind a sprawling one-story building that housed the police station. I thought they’d at least put a blanket around me, but they took me into the station naked, and you could tell from their shit-eating grins that they were getting a kick out of showing me off in front of the two or three women cops and clerks who were on duty. I don’t know whether they were doing it to shock the women or whether they were trying to embarrass me, but they were obviously enjoying themselves.
“Think we ought to put him in the main tank?” one of them asked the other.
“Hell, yes,” he replied. “It’ll teach this pervert a lesson if he gets cornholed by some of those good old boys.”
They led me to the jail wing and put me into a large holding cell, uncuffing my wrists but still not offering me anything to wear. There were three men already in the large cell, sitting together and shooting the shit on a couple of the hanging bunks. They stopped talking and watched silently as I was put inside. I went over to a bunk on the far side of the cell and sat down. The cops left.
The three other prisoners stared at me for a while. They didn’t say anything, and I didn’t try to start a conversation. I didn’t think they’d be too receptive to some pleasantries about the weather. Eventually, one of them stood up and came over to me. He was a good-sized guy, with his shirt sleeves rolled way up to show tattooed muscles, but he wasn’t much bigger than I was. It’s probably easier to be intimidating, though, when you’re wearing clothes and the other guy isn’t.
“You think you can come in here with your dick hanging out, boy?” he asked me.
I didn’t bother answering. I figured the question was rhetorical, because he obviously knew that I wasn’t there by choice.
“I’m talking to you, boy,” he said. “I want some kind of an answer.”
He reached out one hand and shoved my shoulder. Before he could pull back his arm, I grabbed him by the wrist, jerked down and twisted him around as I rose to my feet. Then I slammed him hard into the bars of the cell, face first. He let out a strangled yell of pain and fear. I smashed him into the bars again and let go. He fell to the floor on his hands and knees with blood streaming out of his broken nose. I sat back down.
A guard came walking quickly into the cell area. He looked at the guy kneeling on the floor, trying to get the cobwebs out of his head and dabbing feebly at the blood with one hand, and he just shook his head and left. When he came back, he had a wet towel for the guy on the floor and a set of jail clothes that he tossed to me. I got dressed and lay down to wait and see what would happen next. The guy with the broken nose crawled back to his side of the cell. No one else said a word.
Eventually, the guard came to get me and took me to an interrogation room where a couple of detectives took my statement. I don’t think they were buying my story, which did sound pretty far-fetched, but I suggested that they contact my friend at the Times-Picayune or that cop in New Iberia.
“What’s the name of the officer in New Iberia?” one of them asked.
“I really don’t remember,” I said, “but I know the name was Cajun.”
“So that really tells us a lot,” the other one said. “Half the people in Iberia Parish are coon-ass.”
“But I don’t imagine that all that many of them are police detectives,” I pointed out.
They said they’d check out my story, but they didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it, and I went back to the cell thinking that I might be in for a long wait. But it was only an hour or so before the guard came to get me again. He took me to the office of one of the detectives who’d interrogated me.
“Well, the Iberia Parish sheriff’s office backs up your story,” the detective told me. “And we’re got a statement from a Mrs. Glinda McDonald saying that both of you were being held at that establishment against your wishes.”
“You took Glinda’s word for it, huh?” I asked him.
“Mrs. McDonald was the one who tipped us off to that operation in the first place,” he said. “She got hold of a cell phone somehow and called a friend of hers back in Los Angeles and the friend called us.”
“So where’s Glinda now?” I said.
“We had an officer drive her down to New Iberia so she could talk with that detective about the body that was found with her wallet,” he said, “but I don’t think they’ll be holding her. It appears that the wallet had been stolen, and Mrs. McDonald had an iron-clad alibi in the death. She hadn’t been out of that joint we raided since she’d been in the state.”
They decided to cut me loose the next day, and one of the two cops who’d arrested me drove me back to New Orleans. He thought the whole thing was pretty funny, and I suppose anyone who happened onto someone in my situation would feel the same way. He was laughing when he dropped me off in the French Quarter and drove away. My car was still outside Vicky’s apartment, and the rental agency had been contacted by the police, so there was someone waiting at the car with a spare set of keys. He looked a little worried by my prison clothes, and so did the clerk at the La Quinta on the Interstate in Metairie. But I always carry a spare credit card in my luggage, and when that went through okay, she gave me a room.
I took a hot shower, checked out the welts on my butt and took a long nap. When I finally woke up, I telephoned New Iberia, found out that Glinda was already on her way back to New Orleans and got the name of the motel where she’d be staying from that Cajun cop. He reminded me that he’d warned me not to get involved in the case, and I admitted that he’d probably been right.
Glinda’s motel was only a couple of miles down the I-10, and I got dressed and drove down there. It felt good to be back in my own clothing after two or three days spent naked or in fashionable jail wear. The desk clerk said Glinda had already checked in, and I walked across the courtyard to her room. When she answered the door, she looked happy to see me. I felt the same way. We’d been through a lot together, from the nudist camp in the Sierras to the magic show in Vegas to hot and humid Lousiana.
“We’ve got to quit meeting this way,” she said with a grin.
“I believe the last time we met, you were running a vibrator in and out of my butt,” I said.
“Did you like it?” she asked.
“It was okay,” I said, “but I had my mind on other things. I was thinking about a lot of questions I wanted to ask you. Like how you got to that dump and why some chick wound up in the Gulf with your ID.”
“Her name was Mary Ann Martin,” Glinda said, “and my wonderful husband talked her into working at Roissy for a while. When she split, she took my wallet with her. The cash didn’t do her much good, though. She put it all up her nose, I guess, and made a lot of friends she shouldn’t have made. Apparently, they were partying on some guy’s boat when she OD’d, and her friends panicked and dumped her body over the side. By the time that raid went down, that smart Cajun cop had already found out that the body was Mary Martin, not me, but he wanted me to tie up the loose ends for him.
“I was at Roissy because when Ron got out on bail back in California, he and one of his buddies came over to my apartment and filled me up with some of the same stuff he shot into you. When my brain got back to normal, I was at Roissy, and that’s where I stayed until you got there.” She paused and smiled. “It wasn’t bad, though. It was kind of fun, actually. And it was especially fun with you, Dan. You should have seen yourself all doubled over like that with your prick bobbing around!”
I ignored that comment. “So where’s Ronnie now?” I asked.
“God only knows,” she said. “He and Vicky got out of there together, and they could be in South America by now. She’s welcome to the little jerk. I don’t care if I ever see him again, but the cops are real eager to look him up. As if he didn’t have enough charges already, now they want him for kidnapping because of what he did to you and me.
“The only good thing about this,” she continued, “is how you came down here to find out what had happened to me. Just like my very own White Knight riding to the rescue.”
“Some White Knight,” I said. “All I did was manage to wind up tied to a bed with a butt plug vibrating in my ass.”
“Poor Danny,” she said. “How can I make it up to you?”
“Well, we can think of something,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to have another one of those vibrators around, would you?”
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