Trust Me

by Paul Slatter

  Chendrill nodded to the darkest corner of the room and sat down and pulled the girl down onto him to cover his face. Straddling him, the girl began to grind herself down onto his groin as she leaned forward, letting her hair fall into his face which suited him fine. Suzy there in front of him, now in her panties and bra, pushing down into the man’s lap in time to the music as she leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling as she moved. Her bare back showing in the low light of the room.

  Chendrill looked at the girl who was on his lap seeing her now properly for the first time, feeling her hands on his shoulders as she moved her groin against his dick. She was quite beautiful with her little six pack and full breasts, her hair long with little earrings that caught the light. One day, he thought, if she ever got her act together some guy was going to be a lucky man and the man would never know about the secret she had. Then he felt her lean in and whisper in his ear, “If you like blondes with big tits you should have waited for that guy to finish.”

  Then she backed off and pushed hers into Chendrill’s face, pulled out both nipples with her right hand and leaned in, lifting herself off his lap, teasing them across his lips, saying, “You like that do you?”

  Chendrill did—in fact, he couldn’t not. He felt himself getting hard and then harder as the girl dropped herself back onto his lap and grinned at what she found there. Feeling guilty for the moment for forgetting about Sebastian as the girl looked to his eyes, Chendrill smiled with her as she raised her eyebrows to him. Slowly moving his head to the side, Chendrill looked back to Suzy as she leaned in and spoke to the man she was teasing before her. The man nodded back as Suzy began to take her bra off. Then slowly Chendrill watched as Suzy spun herself around and leaned back on the man as she found his hands and pulled them to her tits.

  Chendrill sank back, hiding behind the girl’s head. He’d seen her back in the half light and now he could see her stomach as the man in the cheap suit mauled on the breasts of the lady whom Sebastian had bought a home for. Suzy grinding the man’s dick with her ass cheeks now as she let him feel her, while she felt nothing and looked at just as much around the room.

  As far as Chendrill could see, there were no visible wounds or discreetly positioned plasters covering any form of recently ended surgery large or small. The woman was full of shit and there was no bag attached for it to squeeze into. He heard the girl grinding into him say as she whispered into his ear and pushed her breasts into his now open shirt, “You want to fuck me don’t you? You want me to pull it out and slip it into me, don’t you?” He did, in fact it would be quite nice, but not here in this shitty room, but back at his place or in a fancy hotel somewhere. Where he could lay her on the bed, pull out his hard cock, and fuck her for the rest of the afternoon.

  He answered with a smile, “No.”

  The girl continued egging him on, still whispering into his ear as she rubbed herself on him, saying back to him, “Slip it in me, get it out and slide it in, I want you to, come on, no one will know, it’s dark in here, I love your chest and you’re so hard you’re making me so excited, my panties are soaked. Come on Mr. PI fuck me, fuck me Mr. PI.”

  So as not to draw attention to himself, Chendrill gently pushed the girl away from him and looked her in the eyes as she continued to grind herself into him. She smiled. This wasn’t the same girl he’d asked a few days back to let him know if the Italian arrived again, in fact she wasn’t even there. He whispered into her ear, “How did you know I was a PI?”

  And the girl leaning in whispered back, “Because the guy outside here told me you were and said the ones downstairs on the door just said I could keep the other half of the $500 if I could get you to get your dick out and then slap you in the face for doing so.”

  The cheeky fuckers, Chendrill thought, as he smiled and looked at her and then at the door and then around the room to see if he could spot the hidden camera they must have installed in case some nut job got out of hand. He couldn’t see one. What a strange place to be on the day you discover you’ve been left a fortune, he thought, as he looked back to Suzy. The guy she was sitting on having to have just come in his pants as he’d let go of her breasts and was now looking at the floor. Suzy, the lap dance pro, would have known it as soon as he did as well and was now pulling her bra back on and starting to get up. The girl on Chendrill’s lap undeterred and still trying to achieve the same and grinding hard with her hands on his shoulders. It wouldn’t be much time before Suzy knew there was a PI watching her and Chendrill wondered if his new girl for $500 worth of shitty songs also knew his name.

  Chendrill watched as the man got up and, without looking Suzy in the eye, gathered himself together. It must be a usual sight for her, Chendrill thought, with her having breasts like that and then letting guys touch them for an extra few dollars. Moments later they were gone and watching the door close, Chendrill leaned in as the girl continued to grind down up on him and said to the girl through her long brunette hair, “Times up.”

  Suzy had not been there when Chendrill came downstairs and he wondered if she was cleaning herself up after feeling the guy leak. Passing the girl on the stage without looking up, he smiled as he hit the door, and said, “Get your own dicks out,” with a grin to the doormen as he walked out into the sunshine.

  ***************

  Ditcon was at home and in the middle of a deep, deep sleep and dreaming when he heard his mother calling, “Ralphy, Ralphy, come and have your din dins, Ralphy Ralphy.” Slowly he came around as his mother’s voice became louder and louder until he eventually woke to see he was in his office with his head on the desk. Stephanie called him again, and said, “You should see this.”

  He sat up and looked over to the computer Stephanie was using and looked at the screen. It was early morning footage of a guy who was the size of Chendrill limping badly and getting on a bus inside a small terminus. Ditcon asked, “What the fuck is this shit?”

  Stephanie replied, smiling at Ditcon as she did, “I think it’s Chendrill, it’s the Tsawwassen bus depot a few minutes after the stolen US CBP patrol car was taken and crashed at the border and was dumped just up the road from here.”

  Still half asleep, Ditcon looked closer. In his dream he’d been looking forward to a nice glass of warm milk and a cookie from his mother as he came back to reality. He wondered if he’d had his mouth open while he’d been asleep and said to Stephanie, “Was I out long?”

  He had been—and with his mouth open, and he’d been snoring loudly and talking about his mother saying, “Mummy Mummy,” in fact it was almost an hour and that’s why, out of boredom, Stephanie had started looking at the footage the RCMP had sent about the border breach a few days back.

  “No,” Stephanie said, lying, and carried it on further, “sorry I didn’t even know you were asleep.”

  Ditcon stood, then sat again. His neck was sore; he rubbed it with his right hand and wondered why it ached like it did. Then he remembered. Maybe he should go clean his teeth he thought, but he’d thrown the old toothbrush he used to keep in the office out some time ago and he kept forgetting to replace it. He said, “you’ve made my neck ache.”

  To which Stephanie said straight back, “You’ve made your own neck ache.”

  He looked at the screen—she was right, it did look like Chendrill. How fucking strange is that? he thought. It must be a coincidence. After all, why would the big cocky fucker be all the way down there at that time of the morning, and, at the same time, be taking the bus? Unless it was him. Looking closer, he said, “I don’t think the guy’s wearing shoes, he’s in his socks.” It was a brilliant piece of detective work. Then he asked, “Do you have footage of the bus when it got into Vancouver?”

  Stephanie did. In fact, she’d already checked all the way back to the end of the route the bus had taken and it was where the guy limping in his socks had gotten off. That’s where she’d lost him. She clicked the screen a couple more times and there she had him again—the guy who looked like Chendrill i
n his socks getting out of the bus with his head down. Ditcon stared at the image and made a decision in his mind. It wasn’t him. No way, not a chance. So, he said, “Yep that’s him—I got the fucker, let’s bring him in and see what he has to say.”

  Then Stephanie dropped the bombshell and said, “There’s something else I just found out. That guy I told you about yesterday, the one who went off the bridge?”

  Ditcon didn’t know a thing about it even though he’d been told as he hadn’t been listening. Nodding and feeling his neck hurt for real for the first time in a while, he said, “Yep! What about him?”

  “Well it was the guy this Charles Chuck Chendrill worked for, the same guy who’s been supplying the cars.”

  Ditcon stared at the girl who had been worried sick about working with the boss, but who now had become his new best friend—kind of. At least until he or she got bored. He smiled. Then he said to her as he leaned back and rubbed his neck, “As I’ve always said over the years, you need to take coincidences as leads.”

  And, strangely, as coincidences happened, a few years ago, one wet and windy day, a man’s body had been discovered in a garden shed after falling on some garden shears, whilst the man’s wife was away in Jamaica. It had been Chendrill who had told him those same words, except Chendrill had said, “There’s only one way to look at a coincidence and that’s to take it as a bonafide lead.”

  And as always, Chendrill had been right because, after all, how often do people pop out to do a bit of gardening on a rainy day? So after looking at the CCTV footage at the airport of the wife leaving and at the family photos on the mantelpiece, it was obvious the two people were very, very similar but it wasn’t the wife getting on the plane—the woman had stayed behind and stuck the shears into the man’s chest, then taken another plane the same day using the identity of her female lover with her hair dyed.

  Ditcon carried on, pleased with himself now, his gut instinct telling him prior that it was Chendrill who’d crossed the border and gotten his neighbours all in a flap. He said, “You see, you’ve got to follow your hunches, sometimes it’s all you have to go on. That’s what I did here with this fucking has-been detective.”

  Stephanie looked at Ralph ‘The Thief” Ditcon and stayed quiet. She’d only said they should accuse this big ass Chuck Chendrill as a joke in the first place because she didn’t like the fact her boss was being disrespected by the smart ass who drove around in an expensive car.

  “Yeah that’s why I like being around you. I’m learning so much,” she said.

  They put out word through the computer system that they needed the location of Basil’s car and his whereabouts also. Within half an hour, a few diligent police officers had done just that.

  They found Basil in a café just off Howe Street downtown. The border security agent there at a table with Maio and her other friend from Japan. All three of them sitting around a table looking at photos Maio’s sister Kaio had sent her of the boyfriend that she’d had when she was in Vancouver. Basil there looking at photos of himself sitting in a bath with all these bubbles and a big Cuban cigar like a poor man’s Tony Montana. The friend giggling, like girls do, and saying in Japanese, “He looks like this man’s fat brother.”

  The two police cars sitting outside left as Ditcon’s car pulled up and parked illegally outside the café. Ditcon getting straight out, not waiting while his new girl followed behind, saying out loud to her as he opened the door, “Get me something sticky and a double caramel macchiato—and make it marbled.”

  Without an invite, he sat straight down next to Basil and watched as the two pretty Japanese girls pulled back automatically in their chairs. He said, “I think I’ve got your man for certain this time, Captain America.”

  *************

  Mazzi Hegan still wasn’t sure what to do or why as he walked about in Sebastian’s penthouse. His life had just turned itself upside down. A few weeks ago, he was happily gay, working as a photographer for Sebastian and worrying about his taxes, and now he was straight and for the moment in charge of the company until this nymphomaniac Gill Banton decided to pull up her wet panties and hop on a plane and get herself up here. On top of it all, he had to decide what items he wanted to keep at the new penthouse apartment Sebastian had just gifted him in his will.

  Why the fuck he’d done that to himself, he couldn’t understand, making a pact like that with some guy who he’d met at university. What the fuck? of all the guys he’d known when he’d liked that sort of thing, not one of them had a dick big enough that it was worth following them to the grave for. But those days were gone, before he’d had a boy’s penthouse that had been designed for sex with men. Now he had a man pad with an ocean view that was sophisticated, with Persian rugs and ornaments from around the world that were something beyond trend or style. He’d change it about a bit, get rid of some of the matching plate sets, and women would love it—but the place would still have the air of a single gay man about it, so there was still a chance it would leave them suspicious. He could leave his builder’s boots at the door and surprise them when they got inside. That would do the job and erase any doubt. Let them ride the elevator and think they were going to one of the one-bedroom man shacks on the lower levels and end up instead in paradise. Then if he was lucky, he could fuck them on one of the rugs that probably had fleas because of the dog.

  But for the moment he just felt like crying as he walked about the place that still smelled of his friend. Sebastian had driven him mad on almost a constant basis but he’d been a good boss. They’d had their spats and tiffs and how many times had Mazzi quit and told the world he wanted to go to Milan, he didn’t know—but he could now, he thought, as the idea of selling and leaving crossed his mind again.

  Then his phone rang—it was Gill Banton. She said, “Oh Mazzi, I’m so sorry about Sebastian. I’ve just been talking to Samuel, we’re working out a deal. Who’s this Chendrill guy who’s got all the shares in Slave, the man probably thinks a forty-mil is the size of his dick?”

  Wow, thought Mazzi, just like that the woman—like any good agent—was heading in straight for the kill. Knowing only too well that Gill Banton would be in bed with some model as she spoke and something inside Mazzi was wishing it was him.

  “What are you doing at the moment, Gill?”

  “I’ve been so upset all day, Mazzi, I just had to have a lay-down,” she said.

  I bet, Mazzi thought, as he looked out at the view of the bay that Sebastian loved and wondered if he’d ever get Gill Banton up here to his new penthouse so she could see it also while he was fucking her doggy style from behind. He said, “Same Gill, I’m at Sebastian’s place now. He’s given it to me. It’s fantastic, it must be the nicest penthouse in the city,” which it was, “I can’t believe the view.”

  "I’d love to see it when I come up, Mazzi,” Gill Banton said, lying—since the man was gay there was no reason to be alone in his new penthouse with him, even if it did have a view. But then she had an idea and said, “Maybe we could have that Dan guy over there with the two of us so as we could discuss his contract?” If the boy swung both ways it could be an interesting evening, she thought.

  Mazzi sat down on the sofa that was now his and thought about how many times Sebastian would have sat there also, listening to music as he played with his dog. There was no way he was letting Dan near this woman alone—not after the last time. He’d get her up here, thinking Dan was coming, then the guy wouldn’t show and she’d be here on her own. He could get a few glasses of expensive wine in her from Sebastian’s collection and then start flirting. He’d need to do that, play it cool. Not just get his dick out with a chubby on and put it on the table like he had with guys in the past. He had a classy home now and he needed to act that way.

  “Yeah sounds like a plan, Gill.”

  Then without a word, she was gone. Mazzi stared at the phone wondering if she was going to call back and after a while realised she wasn’t. It was her way. He sat there looking t
hrough the window at the view and the seagulls as they passed by, cruising for food. Gill Banton he thought, Gill fucking Banton. Not long ago, he’d been repulsed by her because she had better hair and nails. Now though all he wanted to do was have his way with her—her and Marshaa of course. He opened his phone and typed in Gill Banton and straight away a bunch of photos came up. One with a hot Peruvian model who looked familiar, then another Dutch guy who she’d just fucked. Then another guy from Barcelona who she definitely hadn’t—because Mazzi once upon a time had, and there was no way the guy liked fish.

  Then he had the greatest idea. As he had more shares than her, he’d make sure that when she was up, he’d only hire gay guys to model, like Phillipe Tu La Monde so she’d have nowhere else to go but to him. But no, he thought, telling himself off, he needed to start growing up if he was going to get somewhere with his life. He needed to be professional. But deep down he knew he was on to something.

  ************

  Chendrill looked at the old lady dressed in black sitting on the chair outside before he entered the doors to the funeral parlor. Standing in the reception for a moment, he looked around at the somber room until the man, who looked as though the years of using formaldehyde had taken its toll, came in from the back.

  Sebastian’s final journey was about to commence. His now bloated and broken body was wrapped in a shroud at the rear of the facility awaiting cremation. But there was to be no wake or lavish celebration of life, no big bash full of weeping fair-weather friends that one would expect from a man who had spent his life promoting others into the limelight with parties and elaborate openings necessary for the elevation of status from mere mortal to prince or princess.