by Layla Wolfe
“I guess. But men suck.”
“Just think if you didn’t have the love you have for some of your dog clients. How powerful is that?”
“Makes my heart wrench, literally,” I admitted. “But dogs are much better than men.”
“Wow. I wonder what this guy did to you. Here. I’m going to rinse once, then soap you up again. Lift your head.”
When I raised my head off the ceramic bowl, Tanner slithered his fingers around my nape. It was close to the danger zone, but it felt so sensuous my brain was able to override the danger signals. It was almost as though he tickled me lightly, playfully, and my inner pussy clenched, the sort of mini-orgasm that almost makes you gasp. Just because I’d rarely had consensual penetrative sex didn’t mean I knew nothing about orgasms. One doesn’t cancel out the other. I gripped the arms of the chair like I was on a spiraling plane. I hoped to fuck Tanner didn’t notice anything weird. I always wore muscle shirts that showed a lot of bra and side boob, but my nipples weren’t always erect.
My eyes popped open for a split second when a drip of water trickled down my forehead. I motioned to wipe it from the corner of my eye. That’s when I first noticed I was looking directly into a mirror on the other wall. And yes, my nipples stood out like red hots. And yes, Tanner’s penis had ballooned like a giant slug filling the crotch of his jeans, snaking its way down his thigh.
“Oh!” I cried, as though I’d never seen a juicy cock before. I went to photoshoots! With male models! Most of them younger than Tanner! I quickly squeezed my eyes shut and practically jammed my head back onto the hard bowl.
“Easy, easy.” Tanner’s fingers flickered against my occipital to cushion it from the ceramic edge.
I wanted to open up to Tanner, but I didn’t know how. I was inexperienced in showing interest in a man. Evan had come on to me, as most men did. I didn’t have to lift a finger. I had a feeling it would require much more to show Tanner what I wanted. He’d probably be so shocked he’d forget to grumble. How much longer could he soap up my hair before I reached over and took a handful of his cock? His reaction would be the end of me. After so much abuse I couldn’t live with rejection. I had to be a hundred percent certain Tanner wanted me, too.
As if reading my mind, Tanner asked casually, “How long was Gary molesting you before you moved out?”
I sighed deeply. “About five years, since I was thirteen. I stuck around to give him a target, to keep him from moving onto Lyric. I had nowhere else to go, anyway. Beverly would take Gary’s side. I think she sort of hated me for being her substitute, in a way. I’d kick and punch him, I’d arm myself, but ultimately, if he didn’t get his way, he would’ve just moved on to Lyric. So Beverly hated me, and constantly kicked me out, locked me out of the house. I’d sleep in random people’s cars. I had friends, like Maddy and June, but their situations were just as bad. We’d all sleep up in the canyons during the summer. Winters were hell.”
I paused because I’d already said much more than I normally did.
“You’ve seen a lot. Much beyond your understanding.” Tanner scritched me behind the ears, like a favored dog. A spray of tingles shot to my nipples, my uterus, my clit. If this is what this man could do just scratching me like a dog . . .
“It wasn’t the best way to start out in life. Eventually I’d climb back in a window to keep an eye on Lyric.”
“Eventually you left.”
“Yes. I had to. I tried calling the cops, but they just arrested me for some weed they found on my bureau. Lyric made me go. She didn’t want me wasting my life. I had a good job opportunity at Doggie Style Grooming, and with Knoxie’s art spreading out on my body, lots of chances to become a ganjapreneur, a spokesmodel for weed. Lytton has paid me to represent his shop and brand at conventions, and I’ve gotten bigger clients, like makers of vape pens and grinders.”
Tanner was just massaging the soap from my scalp when the door jingled. Oh shit, an early client. But a big dog came bounding over and licked my earlobe, probably regretting his mouth full of shampoo.
“What in the name of Minnie Pearl is going on around here?” bawled Wolf Glaser.
“Don’t get up,” said Tanner, gently pressing my shoulder down. “Let me finish rinsing.”
“I go by the Bum Steer to find you because no one told me where Sideshow Barbara lived—“
“Barbara Stanford,” I said. “No one said she was Sideshow Barbara.”
“—and Wild Man tells me he saw you duck into this beauty parlor.”
“Salon,” corrected Tanner.
“Man,” said Wolf. “If I’d of known you were such a great hairstylist I would’ve had you do Beetle.”
“That’s Unity’s job,” said Tanner. “I’m just here to teach her a basic tenet about our relationship with animals.”
“Oh, I’ll bet.” Wolf leered. “I taught Tracy about animals when I bought her a rhinestone-studded collar.”
“Not that sort of relationship,” Tanner said, amused. “Listen, Barbara wasn’t home. We’re just killing time ‘til we go over there again. You find out anything?”
Tanner turbaned me in a dry towel and urged me to sit up straight. He stood beside me with that body heat slamming me, my pussy soaked and itching, my boobs full as though with milk. It was really hard to concentrate on Wolf Glaser, so I scrunched my fingers into Beetle’s ruff.
“I’m here to vindicate myself!” Wolf proclaimed. “Remember that FedEx Office store Tobiah said was closed by a shooter threat? Well! There was no bloody shooter threat! How could that nerd boy get it so wrong?”
“What was it?” I asked, to hurry the story along.
“The DEA discovered that particular FedEx on Route 66 was shut down because it was sending out a shipment of that fake weed at the same time a bunch of people in Chicago died from it.”
“I heard about that weird shit,” said Tanner, rubbing my head with the towel. I languished in the luxurious treatment. When was the last time a man had towel-dried my hair? Try never. Beetle wanted in on it, so Tanner grabbed another towel and rubbed Beetle’s head.
“Come, Beetle,” said Wolf, bereft of all bravado.
“Go see Wolf,” said Tanner, and the dog finally did. I felt bad for Wolf. He wasn’t making much progress bonding with the big puppy.
Tanner said, “Who the fuck would want fake weed?”
“Teenagers, I guess,” said Wolf, perching on the edge of a grooming chair. “You can legally buy Spice in gas stations. The DEA hasn’t approved it. It’s unregulated. Sixty people in Illinois were hospitalized. Bloody noses, bleeding gums. Rat poison.”
“Who’s making this totally legal shit?” asked Tanner, picking up a comb.
I said, “Someone with a total grasp of chemistry. To make rat poison seem like cannabinoids? Seems like someone’s trying to poison a lot of people on purpose.”
We all fell silent for a few seconds as Tanner combed my hair.
Wolf said, “The chemicals are called cannabinoids since they’re similar to the ones found in weed. But they’re eighty-five times as strong as THC.”
I was utterly crushed when Tanner lowered the comb, apparently satisfied with his work. I felt as though I’d been thoroughly and cleanly fucked, beautifully fucked from all angles.
Still, I was suspicious enough to say, “Sounds like some kind of master chemist at work.”
“Evil master chemist is more like it,” said Wolf, loudly kissing Beetle’s face.
CHAPTER NINE
Tanner
“Oh, hi, Unity.” Barbara Stanford apparently knew her.
But Unity seemed surprised, putting her splayed hand to her chest. “Did we meet?”
“Oh, not directly. I just knew of you from being in Lavinia’s circle. She talked about you endlessly, your beauty, the ads you modeled for, the trade shows where you swung from—from—“
“Slings,” said Unity, giving me a hefty helping of side-eye.
God love me, I could picture this long-legged ba
nging hot woman swinging in a sling like a helpless babe. I’d been into BDSM in my time, and I knew innately she wasn’t the right partner for that, not with her history. But sinking my fingers into her soapy hair, my cock ballooning like the Goodyear blimp, straining my jeans so tightly I later saw a dark, round stain of pre-jizz there, well I knew I had to do something.
But with such a skittish doe . . . what?
Unity continued on. “Well, we were just wondering, Barbara. Tutti got a weird gmail from someone named Sideshow Barbara, and I know you go to sideshows.”
Barbara frowned, her squiggly black and white hair bobbing in her heavily lined eyes. She’d been friendly up ‘til now, her arm running up her doorjamb as she posed. Now her eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck would I email Tutti? I don’t even know his email address. He’s a scumbag as far as I’m concerned, a real cockbite. I just got back from a search party in Flag with a bunch of friends, checking places she liked to go. I was close friends with Rael Standing Cow, killed the other night after ODing on Tutti’s designer drug. No thanks.”
“You understand, Barbara,” I said. “We’re trying to get to the bottom of this too. We have to follow all leads, and you’re the only Barbara friend of hers we could find.”
She melted a shred. “I’m not really one for the computer. I don’t even have a gmail account. I have the one that comes with Comcast. Hey, come in! Take a look at my laptop, see how unsophisticated I am.”
Wolf quickly identified Barbara’s IP address, searched for gmail, and shook his head solemnly. Another dead end.
Out front, Unity said, “She could’ve created the Sideshow gmail address and sent it from that FedEx Office.”
“I found no sign of Sideshow Barbara on her computer,” Wolf said. “We’ll go down to the Route 66 FedEx and check all the computers. Tell them I’m looking for the one my dad used before he passed away, something like that. Beetle, what’m I gonna do with you? I’ve got Bellamy and Speed on the lookout for a good sidecar for him, but for now I’ll leave him at the Bum Steer.”
“I hope no one steals him,” I called out as the dog willingly went with Wolf to the bar and grill. “He’s awful damned cute.”
Wolf turned his head as he continued striding. “Steal a dog from a biker bar? Who’d be that moronic?”
This time, we were back to my favorite method of transportation—me riding bitch behind the shapely human canvas. Now her hair smelled like flowers and, well, soap, although the shampoo I’d chosen called it ginger. Shampooing Unity Mitford had been oddly the apex of eroticism. In many ways the experience was more highly-charged than being blown by Joy, even in an old telephone booth or in the front seat of my Camaro in ten mile an hour rush traffic. Unity’s particular brand of sensuality brought a whole new level to the game.
I knew when she’d opened her eyes in the salon chair that she’d caught a heaping eyeful of my big horse cock, fixing to bust loose the buttons of my jeans. I had no fucking qualms about displaying it like that. What, was I going to turn around with my ass facing the mirror just so she wouldn’t be shocked by my hard-on? It was a nice animalistic way of telling her she made me hot, without confronting her in a manner that would make her turn tail and run.
And her big, natural boobs. I found that if I fingered her scalp energetically enough, her boobs would bobble in the low-cut tank top. Lest I sound like a lowdown, selfish dick, I was mainly concerned with grooming her. I’d wanted to shampoo a lady since reading about the similarities between animal grooming and our own body modification. The scenario fit perfectly with the nervous Unity, her pierced lip curling upward, her cheek studs dimpling, her eyebrow hoop trembling. I was encouraged. I’d even fantasized about taking her in a hot tub, or even, briefly, under a waterfall. For we were both just animals at heart and should approach each other as such.
At first, Joy’s unexpected texts tore me apart. I didn’t even know if I was capable of focusing on this new job of finding Lavinia Dock. Not normally a drinking man, I drank myself into a stupor the first night, paying for it the next day. The issue was obvious. She wanted me back, and I could go back. She wanted to merge both our dog rescue farms into one huge ranch. Best, she would come to St. Louis. I wouldn’t have to return to West Memphis, the stage of all my early sorrows.
What was behind her sudden yearning? The guy Josh obviously hadn’t worked out, that she swore “this time.” How many more times would I act the fool in her drama? Once a cuckold, always a cuckold. And the worst part: I’d always suspect her… A handsome guy would come in wanting a forever dog, or a vendor who could build us a new holding pen or agility stairs, or a fucking milkman, it didn’t matter who. I’d always be suspicious. I would never be able to feel secure with her, and for that reason I kept telling her no. No. No, I won’t be your boyfriend again. No, I can’t give it another try.
I felt good and moral about my choice, of course, as we breezed toward Flagstaff in the chilling November air. Unity seemed oblivious to the cold in her tank top and still-wet hair under her lid. I should have offered her my leather jacket. What a selfish scum. No wonder Joy had preferred Josh over me. I was a selfish scum who only thought of himself—and his dogs too, presumably—and didn’t have enough room in his heart for anyone else.
We parked a few lots away from the FedEx, knowing they’d have cameras. Wolf Glaser had taught us how to get into the DOS operating system and search for any login by a Sideshow or a Barbara. Wolf knew how to get much farther into the system, so it was more likely he’d find something, but at least we were looking as if we were helping.
I acted casual, like I was just logging into match.com and calling myself “Biggus Dickus.” The guy behind the counter was obviously keeping an eye on us because we worked on black screens, and Wolf had not yet given the clerk the story of the dead father we allegedly searched for.
“I have to thank you,” Unity whispered, working at the next computer, “for that incredible shampooing experience. I see what you mean about grooming. People should do it all the time. Like, massage each other with scented oil.”
My cock twitched. “Oh, is that the next step you’d like to take?” I said it teasingly, so she couldn’t accuse me of wanting too much from her.
She shrugged her bare shoulders. “Why not? You said it’s all about learning to trust, especially for someone as damaged as me. Can I trust you? Hmm. We’ll see.”
I said, “Another step to trust is for you to touch me. It can’t be all one-sided. Are you afraid of men? You can be honest with me.”
“Oh hell to the yeah, I’m terrified of men. I be pissing myself like spare waterfalls when I notice they have interest in me.”
I laughed. I guess she wasn’t interested in me. But it reminded me of my waterfall idea, that swimming hole I’d heard tell of. It would be the perfect place for her to touch me.
No. I had to keep my hands to myself. It had to come from her.
“Well, don’t worry,” I muttered. “The ball’s in your court.”
“Yes, but you’re the expert. Knowing who, where to touch, and when.”
“It doesn’t need to be that scripted, Unity. It only works if it’s in your heart.”
“But it is,” I thought I heard her whisper.
Just in time for Wolf Glaser to whoop. “Got ‘em!” he said vindictively, punching the air, causing Unity and I to abandon our chairs and jump on over to his screen. “Aha! What a nerd! Corey—I mean Dad was such a nerd he actually logged into Facebook the second after he sent the email to Tutti!”
“So this is the guy, for sure?” I asked.
Wolf lifted his chin in the direction of the printer. “Go see for yourself.”
Sure as shit, Wolf had printed out an exact replica of the offending email Tutti had given to us as evidence. “And his name’s Corey,” I said.
Unity gasped. “Lavinia’s last text! Remember, she said she had to drive Corey—“
“Corey to the U of Arizona the night he wanted to go hiking.” I finish
ed Unity’s sentence for her. I rattled the back of Wolf’s rolling chair. “Let me see this Facebook page.”
Corey was your typical stoner guy, or perhaps fentanyl guy would be more accurate at this point. His blond buzz haircut was often covered by a knitted cap, and there was actually a photo of him wearing a yellow rubber apron, as though to protect him from chemicals he might be mixing. I could see he smoked cigarettes a lot, enjoyed Judas Priest, and his favorite saying was, “Hello, you blundering fool and your rite of underworld dreams. Follower or leader, your value equals dirt. I give illusions of cleansing flesh. No animal shall be spared.”
“Eyew,” said Unity. “He kills animals? And brags about it?”
“Maybe,” I said. “He could just want to make it seem like he does. Could be metaphorical. Notice anything else?”
“Yeah. He’s the guy who was staring at us when we were leaving Lytton’s house the other day.”
“Right. Tutti’s right-hand man, Corey Shabazz.” I read his last name off the Facebook page. For a guy who probably should be flying under the radar, he sure did post a lot of photos of himself and his mates making the sign of the horns while hovering over massive stacks of beer cans and the detritus of lines of white powder, el diablito. Funny, there were no girls in his selfies. But I kept flipping through until Unity said, “Stop.”
“That’s her,” breathed Wolf, rolling so close to me on his chair our thighs touched.
She was a gorgeous Apache woman, bowing to tradition by plaiting her hair and keeping it all back in one thick ponytail. She beamed at the camera with excitement, though I don’t know about what. A shock of lavender hair in the corner of the frame told us she was with her fiancé Tutti Morgan.
“Horse races,” said Unity.
“What?”
“See the scoreboard?”
If it was a scoreboard in the photo’s background, it was very tiny. Unity convinced us by saying with authority, “See? Win, place, show. And probables. They’re at the horse races.”
