Whatever It Takes

by Ben Boswell

  Her breath caught. She moaned open-mouthed. I felt her pussy spasm on my cock. I gasped and thrust in hard, feeling my balls tighten. I came hard.

  She released me and relaxed back into the mattress. I pumped my cock inside her a few more times, relishing the feel of her, hot and gooey.

  After another few minutes, I withdrew, though I remained prone between her legs, resting on my elbows. We kissed again. Soft gentle kisses.

  "What were you smiling at?" she asked.

  "Do I need a reason to smile during sex?"

  "No, but..."

  I laughed. God, she could also see right through me.

  "I was thinking about us. About the first time we kissed. First time we had sex."

  She laughed. "Oh God, we were awful."

  "I think we're getting better at it."

  "Yes, each and every time."

  She frowned.

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  She looked away, her eyes suddenly moist. "It just makes me sad to think about it. Sad at what we've lost."

  I knew just what she meant.

  "We're no longer each other's only," I said.

  She nodded.

  I kissed her. "We'll be okay. As long as we have each other we'll be okay," I said comfortingly.

  "I know. But we can still mourn it, mourn what is gone."

  "We may not be each other's only, but you'll always be my first, and my best."

  "I love you Daniel. You'll always be my first and my best as well."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We slept twelve hours that night, mostly intertwined, occasionally merely pressed up against each. It was like we needed to feel each other's bodies, to be reassured that we were still together.

  She woke, showered, and dressed. I went and got us some doughnuts and coffee for breakfast.

  We sat at the scratched up kitchen table.

  "Okay, what do we do now?" I asked.

  "We need to get Sal off our back," she replied. "At the very least, that means giving him back what Jessi stole, though after the other night, he might not be in a forgiving mood.

  "Fuck him," I snapped. "After what he did..."

  She put her hand on my forearm. "I know. But it's not about what's right or wrong, but just about how he's likely to react. Jessi's right. He's not a big time Mafioso, but he's also not used to people defying him, pulling a gun on him in his own house. I know he seemed willing to forgive and forget if he got back what Jessi stole, but I'm not sure that deal is even still on the table."

  "I wish he'd get busted or something. Jessi's boyfriend got picked up. Now that you're out, we could make an anonymous tip or something."

  She shook her head. "I don't know if the cops act on tips like that. Certainly, it isn't like we make a call and ten minutes later a SWAT team breaks down his door. I had a lot of time to think about this," she said.

  My mind immediately conjured up an image of Kris, flat on her back, a strange man hammering away between her legs as she stared at the wall pensively. I shook my head to clear away that thought and refocused on her words.

  "And anyway, I'm scared that we're somehow compromised on the whole drug business. He'll throw Jessi under the bus, and then we'll be involved. She was living with us after all. The whole criminal justice system acts on the principle of guilt until proven innocent in drug cases. We could end up dealing with asset forfeiture issues. Losing our jobs. Having our kids get taken away."

  I sighed. She was right. The problem was that we had more to lose than he did. And either through spite or a deliberate effort at misdirection, it was likely he'd lash out at us. He could claim he was the victim of some sort extortion at the hands of two whore sisters and their pimp, as he'd portray us. And ultimately, that didn't need to stick. Even the accusation would destroy our lives.

  "I agree," I said finally. "No one is going to be able to swoop in and fix this."

  "We need to find Jessi..."

  "Again...

  "And this time," Kris said crisply, "we can't let her get away when we do."

  "Amen to that." Just thinking of Jessi made my heart rate rise. Whatever empathy I'd felt for her vanished when she and Amber had tasered me.

  "So where do we look?" asked Kris.

  "I was hoping you'd have a suggestion. I pretty much burned through my leads already."

  Kris frowned. "Yeah, she's gonna be even more careful than before."

  "We could try to track down some of her other stripper friends."

  "It might come to that, though I think she's unlikely to get trapped the same way twice."

  I nodded. "Do you know any other places where she lived?"

  "No. I mean, just in really loose generalities. It’s not like she’s ever invited me over for Christmas dinner. I don't think I even know any of her ex-boyfriends."

  "Well, except for Damon," I replied.

  "Damon?"

  I blushed red. I hadn't shared that part of the story.

  I hesitated. "Aw, fuck it. He's a guy she's been fucking since she moved in with us. She brought him over a few times."

  "I never saw him," she began. A sad realization spread across her face. "Aw, Daniel, no..."

  "I'm sorry, Kris. I don't know why I did it. Just couldn't help myself. I heard them coming in one night and went down to spy on them."

  "Just once?"

  "Please, Kris, I'm sorry."

  She shook her head. "Believe me, Daniel, I am disappointed. But I'm not asking just to torture you. I'm trying to figure out if he was a boyfriend or just a one night stand."

  "Oh. I... well, I watched them twice, so it wasn't a one-time thing.”

  "What do we know about him?"

  "We know his name. I don't know what else. Well, that's not true. He's muscle-bound. Probably spends a lot of time at the gym, a big iron gym, a Gold's or something. Covered in tattoos, so he might even be a tattoo artist I guess. I could see him as a bouncer or a bartender. He doesn't look like he's a cubicle rat."

  "Hmmm. Well, Jess is into tattoos," Kris noted.

  "Yeah, that is a definite possible connection. Also, when I was at Satin Dolls, the bartender there made it pretty clear he'd, um, dated a bunch of the girls. He could work the bar at one of clubs where Jessi danced."

  "Or another bar," she added. "I wonder if there is a stripper hangout? You know where they go to unwind after work."

  "That would make it an after-hours club, or something."

  "Okay. That's not a bad start. We have a name, a bunch of ideas of where to look."

  I shook my head. "Honey, it was dumb luck that I caught up with Jessi. I just don't see..."

  "No, it was hard work and street smarts. And we have some extra advantages now."

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, there's two of us for one thing, and for another, unlike Jessi, there's no reason to think that Damon is hiding out. So, describe him as well as you can."

  "Um, white guy, built like a truck. I have no idea how tall he is. I mostly saw him lying down. Lots of tattoos. Lots. Full sleeves, color. None on his face that I could see, but maybe on his neck. I don't know for sure. I'd guess he was 25, maybe 30, probably not. Short, dark hair, a trimmed beard along his jaw line."

  "Good looking?"

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "Anything else?"

  Hung like a horse. Fucks like an animal. "No, nothing that will help identify him. I'm pretty sure I'd recognize him, though."

  "Okay, well, if I spot a suspect, I'll try to send you a picture."

  I shook my head. "I don't want to split up."

  "I don't see that we have a choice. We have a lot of ground to cover, and frankly, it sounds like you'll do better alone in some of those places, like strip clubs. A couple is going to cause a scene, I think."

  I shook my head again.

  She put her hand on my forearm reassuringly. "I'll be okay. I won't do anything risky. And anyway, I'll be in disguise."

  "Disguise?"

  She smiled. "Isn't t
hat what you do when you go under cover? Listen, you spend some time on the computer. Start off with Iron City, and work outward from there. Make a list of every gym, tattoo parlor, strip club, bar, and after hours club. We'll check the gyms and tattoo shops during the day, the clubs at night."

  "And you?"

  "I need to go shopping."

  _____

  She came home and threw several big shopping bags on the table.

  "I bought you some things as well," she said.

  She grabbed a couple of bags and disappeared into the bathroom. I dug through the remaining ones. For me I found a pair of expensive grey-tinted jeans, a couple of combed cotton shirts, white with subtle patterns, and a pair of loafers in rich, brown leather.

  There was also a pharmacy receipt. She’d purchase a dose of Levonorgestrel, Plan B, and also gotten some prescriptions filled for antibiotics and Valtrex. It was a reminder that her time with Sal might have permanent lifelong, medical consequences. I decided not to think about it. She was doing everything she could already.

  She'd also bought more clothes for herself, a couple of stretchy dresses, frilly underwear. Some workout clothes. All sorts of makeup. Jewelry. A new pair of expensive black pumps with three-inch heels.

  After what she'd been through, I wasn't about to question her about going on a shopping binge, but it left me uneasy. Kris had always been supremely practical. Yet, she'd just wasted time and money that we just didn't have on a bunch of random crap.

  She'd also been in the bathroom forever.

  "You okay in there?"

  "I just need a few more minutes."

  But it was more than a few. She'd been in there for almost an hour before I heard the shower go on, which was weird since she'd already showered today. Twenty more minutes. Then finally I heard the hair dryer.

  I looked at my watch. It was past noon. We'd blown the whole morning already.

  Kris stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. I gasped.

  "You like?" she asked.

  She'd dyed her hair a rich, golden blond. She looked so hot, her Mediterranean complexion contrasting with her new lighter hair. I'd always had a weird thing for blondes, probably because my only experience had been with a brunette.

  "Yeah. It's different. But you look great."

  "Different is what I'm looking for."

  She reached into one of the bags on the table and handed me a pair of thick rimmed, hipster glasses with clear glass lenses.

  "Here, I got there for you," she said. "I know it feels Clark Kentish, but it'll definitely change your look."

  "You're worried about being recognized?"

  She nodded. "Sal, his guys... they're going to be looking for Jessi, and us. It'd be better if we weren't recognized, don't you think?"

  "Makes sense."

  She rustled through the bag again and pulled out a pair of panties. She dropped her towel, and I noticed she'd re-shaved her pussy. So much for letting it grow out. I didn't comment, though I did store that away for further consideration. She pulled on a pair of yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination. I could make out every curve, every detail of her anatomy. Every. A sports bra and a clingy top completed the outfit. I couldn't help but notice it was the same outfit Jessi had worn when she'd talked me into accompanying her to her gig.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  "I... um... you look great, but isn't that a little provocative?"

  She put her hand on her hip.

  "Well yeah, but that's the point. I'm pretty sure I'll get more answers poking around bodybuilder gyms and tattoos parlors dressed like this than in mom jeans and a sweatshirt."

  It made sense. And yet, it made me uneasy. Kris is a hot chick. Well, she could have been. She certainly has the physical attributes: a great rack, a shapely ass, a pretty face, but I'd never known her to play up that side. Until the past week I think she always considered her sex appeal as an annoyance, something that she only deployed with me, in the privacy of our bedroom. But as I looked at my now blond wife, dressed head to toe in spandex, I realized something had changed in her.

  "Um, okay," I replied. "So, am I supposed to wear the clothes you bought me as well?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know that you need to. I think we'll see what we can turn up this afternoon, and then come back and change for our tour of bars and nightclubs this evening."

  I put on my glasses and we went out.

  I had made a couple of lists of places to check out. One of us would be on foot, the other in the car. After seeing Kris' attire, I decided it would be best if she was in the car rather than walking around.

  As I stepped out of the car, I had a weird sense of foreboding. I had invested so much in getting Kris back that letting her walk away from me was almost physically painful. I knew that I wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't want to remain tethered to her forever. But it was so soon and she was acting so... so peculiarly that it was unsettling.

  As she drove off, in her tight outfit, with her blond hair, and her shaved crotch, I couldn't help but feel that something was off. She had just been taken for the better part of three days. She'd been forced to service several men orally and then repeatedly penetrated vaginally. She needed a doctor, a therapist, some sort of professional treatment. Instead, she was off conducting an investigation.

  It all felt like some sort of crazy denial. Somehow our scheming allowed her to ignore what had happened to her. And yet, I knew it had to come to a head at some point.

  _____

  It didn't take me long to realize how flawed our plan was. Unlike my search for Jessi, we had no real reason to think Damon would be at any of the places we'd identified. It was purely a case of judging a book by its cover. He looked like the kind of guy who might frequent a power lifting gym, or work as a tattoo artist or a bouncer, but really all I knew was what he looked like and the fact that he'd fucked Jessi at least twice. It was thin gruel.

  Worse, as flawed as the plan was, it was even more difficult to execute. Searching Jessi's old lodgings, I'd use the lame excuse of looking for my cousin, a cover that fooled basically no one. It was only when I hit the strip clubs that I had a reasonable story—a thirty-something dude looking for a particular stripper is at least plausible.

  I was at a complete loss as to what I might ask at the various gyms and tattoo parlors I visited.

  Do you know a guy named Damon?

  Why do you want to know?

  I had no answer for that. Nothing beyond, just because.

  The situation was even worse for Kris, who'd never even seen the guy and was just relying on my description of him. Every few minutes she'd send me a picture she'd taken surreptitiously of some dude who she thought fit my description. With each one, I would text back a brief explanation of why that wasn't the right guy. It was a tedious process, but over time, it helped hone his appearance enough in her mind that she began sending me fewer and better prospects. But even with that, no sign of Damon.

  I had ultimately decided my best approach was simply to pretend to be a potential customer. That worked fairly well for the gyms, where it got me a full tours, albeit coupled with hard-sell pitches for why I should sign up now and pay a year in advance. But even still, I was very conscious of how little I was seeing, how much luck it would take to spot Damon, and recognize him, while on a quick facilities tour.

  The tattoo parlors were an even harder nut to crack. Lacking any tattoos myself, it was a little hard to explain why I was seeking out these small, back-alley shops. My very presence seemed to inspire suspicion.

  By the time I'd gotten to my third shop, I'd developed a bit of a rap. I had slipped off my wedding ring, and my story was that I was recently divorced, and finally free to get a tat, and I was looking for ideas. That gave me a chance to look through their art books, scope out the staff, the customers, a bit.

  _____

  It was a small place—they all were—but slightly better maintained than the others. It was the first place where I felt like
the odds of contracting hepatitis was less than fifty-fifty.

  There was a young tattoo artist, himself with ink covering almost every inch of skin, working on a pale, lank-haired teen. They both looked up at me with contemptuous sneers.

  "What do you want?" The artist grunted between zaps of his tattoo gun.

  Happily a slightly older man, looking like a 70s-era George Carlin, came out from behind the counter and said, "Don't mind him. He's good with the gun, but he doesn't know shit about customer service."

  "Hey, there," I said.

  I went into my spiel about divorce and wanting to get a tattoo. He handed me their art book and started talking me through options.

  "Yeah, I've always wanted one, but the wife.... And to tell you the truth, I've never really know what I'd want to get, ya know?"

  He laughed. "It's probably a good idea to think about it, though it's bad for business. Some days it seems like most of our work is fixing people's regrets."

  I thumbed through the book, but stopped suddenly when I saw a salamander, an exact copy of the one on Jessi's leg.

  "That's cool," I said, pointing.

  He looked at me appraisingly. "I'm not sure that's you."

  "I know, but I knew a girl once. Had that tat on her leg."

  "Star?" he asked. "Stripper?"

  I nodded.

  "You her boyfriend or something?"

  "Naw, she just showed me a good time one night."

  He laughed. "That was my work. Gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday. She paid for it on the installment plan, two months of sucking and fucking. God damn, there is nothing like an eighteen year old twat."

  I gave what I hoped sounded like a knowing chuckle.

  "She still come around?"

  "I wish. I'm guessing she's learned a trick or two over the years."

  I shook his hand and left, telling him I was still on the fence. He didn't seem surprised.

  I had gotten another interesting insight into Jessi, but was no closer to finding either her or Damon.

  _____

  It was getting dark when I crossed off the last place on my list. I called Kris. She had just finished up as well. She picked me up and we drove back to the motel.