Traces

by Paul Jr. Logan

  - You're beautiful, he said. And it's true.

  Ceri straightens up and sits on top of him, her hot hips squeezing his sides. His tense cock is pressed against his stomach. The girl's delicate fingers wrap around it and in a sharp, commanding motion digs into the islet of hair between her legs. He likes it, he whispers her name.

  She begins to move gently, throwing back her short black hair. His fingers grip her tanned legs tightly. For a moment Amber's face flashes before his eyes, and he realizes with horror and guilt that he has never been as happy cumming in her arms.

  Ceri continues to move, bringing him into ecstasy, and he can’t think about anything else. All-conquering power and unwavering self-confidence is born somewhere in his cock, immersed in the woman's supple flesh. Rowan's clenched fingers absorb the warmth of her hot thighs. He whispers her name again and pours into her.

  He feels infinitely happy.

  23

  I was curious to see how our old acquaintance Inspector Herrmann was doing, but not enough to meet face to face with him today.

  - I see you've had some trouble the day before, said the policeman, and he was making himself comfortable in one of our best chairs.

  I smiled wryly. If you've let your face get punched up, you'll have to accept the fact that every person you meet will express their interest in the matter in the liveliest way. Inspector Herrmann fittingly continued the baton begun by the clerk at the Seattle Hotel, then Luisa, Don Martin, both Vaughns, and many others.

  - A shining example of police perspicacity, I replied sweetly.

  - When I opened the box of olives last night, the lid blew off, and hit me in the face.

  - I see that lid had some heavy fists, Herrmann leaned back in his chair. His folded fingers reached for his mouth, and I almost thought he was going to suck them. But no, it was just a habit he had.

  - Your coffee, Inspector, Luisa held out the tray to him. He took the cup and began stirring the sugar with a spoon. I made a point of watching his hands. What if, when I turned my back, he'd shove the spoon up his sleeve?

  - Mr. Hammond, I didn't want coffee because I was going to get a good night's sleep. But the inspector might have thought the drink was poisoned, so I took my cup, too.

  - He's such a sweetheart, that inspector, Luisa whispered to me, moving on to Heidi. Herrmann, of course, heard that and blushed unexpectedly. Now he was faced with the interesting question of whether Luisa was a complete idiot, or whether she simply enjoyed baffling those around her. Personally, I had given up wondering about it a long time ago.

  - Cops really like to drink coffee when they come to see somebody, Herrmann gritted his teeth. There was something sadistic in his smile. That's because the coffee we drink at the station is terrible. -He took a few sips and continued, and you're not easy to come by.

  - Unfortunately, we don't even have a station, I said, where they serve any kind of coffee. I have to spend all day long moving around, you know.

  It was a shining example of total non-response, but he wasn't expecting anything else.

  - A body was found this morning on the outskirts of town on County Road 85, the body of an African-American man named Sam Cooper. I have to ask you a couple of questions about this murder.

  - So it was a murder, Heidi said in a deep voice.

  - Yes, and in the victim's pocket was found a clipping from a magazine about you... Did you know Sam Cooper?

  I could have lied here, but I shouldn't have. A lot of people have seen us in Seattle the people in that bar, the cabbies, the hotel had our names written down, and the airport computers showed that we'd flown back and forth in one night.

  - I met him last night, I said. When we flew to Seattle.

  The inspector put his cup aside and gave me a penetrating look. He was not fat at all, in fact, he might even have been described as lean, but he also seemed to have fat oozing from the skin on his face.

  - Is that so? he asked. And may I ask what you were doing in Seattle?

  - It was a romantic little dinner, Heidi muttered. Los Angeles is a nice city, Inspector, but if you work here long enough, it gets a little on your nerves, her lips curled gracefully. That's why sometimes it's nice to spend the night somewhere else.

  The inspector looked at her with an appraising look. There was a look on his face that said

  any normal person, starting with him, would willingly spend the evening anywhere if his companion were such a woman.

  - A long way to go for a romantic night, he said thoughtfully, and took up his coffee again.

  - Sometimes you can afford it, I smiled.

  - And how did your meeting with Cooper happen? Behind the narrow slits of his frolic eyes was the certainty that most of my answers could be verified. And it was true.

  - A friend recommended a nightclub, Heidi said, It's called The Tropical Butterfly, and we decided to spend our time there. Michael happened to talk to the security guard, and that’s how he got to know him.

  - Then the waitress came over, I continued, she said there was a scuffle behind the club. I decided to take a look, and behold, I gingerly touched my face, I’ve seen more than I intended to.

  - You had a fight with Cooper? The inspector asked. He wished I had, he would have liked it that way.

  - We didn't. We were on the same front line, I sighed. I'm sorry he got killed. It was probably the same guys who attacked him yesterday.

  - Who were they?

  - How do I know? They had something against him, and wanted to beat him up brutally. That's all I know.

  The inspector dipped his nose into his empty cup and muttered:

  - This whole town lives on coffee alone, was evidently a hint for Luisa, and it didn't take long for her to understand.

  - I can't help expressing my regret for the work of the police, said Heidi. I should have seen if she started drinking coffee. Tomorrow she'll be back complaining that she couldn't sleep again. Last night a man was almost beaten to death. Today he's found murdered. Of course, I don't want to say anything, Inspector in your line of work but it would be nice if the police concentrated not only on solving but on preventing crime too.

  It was a low blow, since none of us last night bothered to call the police. Besides, I doubted that an intervention by the cops would have saved the former sergeant's life. But Herrmann could guess that only.

  - I'll contact my colleagues in Seattle, he said. And we'll clear up what happened. I'd like you to stop by Homicide tomorrow to sign your statement.

  He stood up and held out his hand to me. I expected him to ask questions about Amber Davis's death, but this time Inspector Herrmann decided to leave the subject out of it. I really wanted to know if he was aware of the existence between the two cases. But I was even more interested in the question of whether there really was such a connection.

  On his way to the door, Herrmann turned around and said:

  - I saw you in the news report about the press conference about Mrs. Davis, his lips parted again, somehow reminding me of the doors of a crematorium oven. - It turned out quite well.

  As he walked out into the hallway, he almost stepped on Luisa.

  - I think he doesn't like old Davis, I remarked, cautiously setting aside the full cup.

  Heidi nodded.

  -You know, I wanted to tell him that you proposed to me, and we went to Seattle to celebrate, she said. But then I changed my mind.

  - You did?

  - Michael, no one would believe that. If you really decided to marry me, I'd drag you straight to Las Vegas.

  24

  Warren Vaughn stood with his hands resting on the mantelpiece, staring at the fire. Many years had passed since the day his father, Robert Ferdinand Vaughn, had left him in charge of the family bank, years filled with hard work, bitter struggles, and bitter defeats. Yet never before had the old banker felt so tired.

  On the white marble mantelpiece, decorated with an austere, exquisite pattern, stood four photographs. On one of them was R
owan Vaughn, his late wife, with her wide smile framed by a cloud of blond hair. He didn't have the energy or time to start a lasting bond with anyone after her death. His children, Wade and Alison. His son didn't wear glasses back then, and he didn't let his hair go like a girl. Everything is different now. But as a banker Wade is good, very good, he has a strong character, he knows business and people, he can always make the right decision. He is the one who suggested the stock transfer agreement. Yes, Warren Vaughn is leaving his bank in good hands.

  The family picture him, his wife and the children, Donald and Rowan. Rowan's mother had only recently died, this created a deep crease between the boy's eyebrows. Donald, what have you done? And here he is Warren Vaughn. Confident look, lips firmly pressed together. He wished he looked like that now.

  And above it all, a portrait of his father. It was old-fashioned, but he liked it. He thought his father was still watching him closely.

  - There's a man to see you, Mr. Vaughn, the butler's voice brought him out of his reverie. He says his name is Ethan Burns.

  The banker turned around. The fire was crackling quietly behind him.

  - Let him in, Felix, he didn't like the sound of his voice, so he repeated, "let him in.

  What a mess he's brought with him. The butler nodded, and then vanished through the open door. Warren Vaughn went back to the fireplace. Rowan would sign the papers tonight, and in a couple of days the detectives would skin Ruell, and all the problems would be solved.

  There were footsteps behind him, and he turned around.

  - I wanted to look you in the face, Ethan Burns said. The long, withered old man took a few steps toward him, moving his legs goutily.

  He was quite a young fellow, stout, broad shoulders, narrow forehead, not an intellectual for sure. A friend of Rowan's, maybe? Poor boy never learned how to choose his friends.

  - Is that all you came here for? The banker asked.

  - No, he would have needed a few minutes to beat the spirit out of the old man. But what difference would it make? I wanted to know how much justice costs in this country.

  The banker pressed his lips together and looked at him questioningly.

  - Give me a number, said Burns. That's all.

  Warren Vaughn walked over to the desk and pressed the bell button.

  - You have a lot of money, the visitor continued. But you have no conscience. You think you can convert everything into dollars. You buy and sell justice. You...

  - Call Harrison, Felix, Warren Vaughn said. The words slurred from his lips and soaked into the slits of the interphone. The young man is leaving.

  - You have corrupted and spoiled our great country, said Burns. I despise men like you.

  Warren Vaughn's grandfather was one of the men who built this country. The banker remembered well the pictures from the family album. God, what vulgarity this man carries.

  - Mr. Vaughn? Harrison's voice cut through Burns’ effusions as a knife. I wonder which politician this oligophrenic had learned such ringing words from.

  - Take away this man, the banker said wearily.

  Ethan Burns turned and shot Harrison with a scornful look. A nobody, he thought. Contempt is all you can do before you tuck your tail and whimper and flee to your slums.

  - I'll go, he said sharply, turning his back to the banker. But don't think you could pay for your crimes with dollars. I'll get you.

  Such a son would be a good fit for Donald. All that genetics and heredity crap. Children rarely fit their parents. If he had two sons...

  Harrison stepped smoothly around Burns and was behind him again. The boxer proudly raised his head and strode toward the exit. The Vaughn manor lobby was slightly larger than the average boxing hall, with a ring in the middle, in which the boxer usually performed. But there was no audience, and that overwhelmed Burns. Besides, Harrison was taller than him.

  Felix appeared from somewhere on the side and opened the door in front of Ethan Burns. As the boxer crossed the threshold of the Vaughn estate, he already knew exactly what he had to do. He hated them all.

  Harrison's head towered over him until he passed the gate. There the guard stopped. A car slowed down beside Burns, and a tall, fidgety-looking young man jumped out onto the gravel driveway. Harrison took a step toward him. It was the man who had killed Amber.

  - Put the car in the garage, Harry, Rowan tossed, and hurried anxiously toward the house. He saw the boxer standing nearby, but didn't notice him.

  Rowan Vaughn was unaware of Ethan Burns’ existence.

  When Vaughn Jr. entered his uncle's office, the banker was still standing by the fireplace. His foot was down on the bottom bar of the lattice.

  - There's something I have to tell you, Rowan looked much more confident now. He's stopped worrying, and that's a good thing.

  - Of course, son, the banker turned around. He liked to call him like that, he liked to feel that he had two sons. But he tried not to say it in front of Donald, so as not to hurt him.

  - I'm very grateful for everything, Uncle, Rowan said quickly and forcefully, as indecisive people do on those rare occasions when they can muster the strength of mind somewhere. I appreciate everything you're doing for me.

  - You don't have to thank me the banker smiled. You're my nephew. He wanted to say "you're like my son," but he didn't dare.

  - I mean, Rowan hesitated. I think I'm strong enough to handle being a stockholder. I know you want me to do well, but don't, Uncle. I feel like I can handle myself.

  He wanted to say something else, so he spread his hands and smiled uncertainly.

  - Good night, Uncle, he said, and quickly left the office.

  Warren Vaughn stared after him for a few seconds. Then his face grew tense, his lips pressed together vigorously. He turned and looked at his father's portrait.

  25

  When you look at Los Angeles at night, little spots of glowing skyscraper’s windows mix with the stars that are scattered across the sky, and the moon seems like a big neon advertisement. The bright yellow light on a dark purple background is the colors of the sky and of our city.

  It took Don Martin's people about an hour to set up a hidden camera in Alison Vaughn's apartment. Don and I argued a little about it-he said a microphone would be enough, but I insisted on the camera. After all, I was paying for it.

  So now I was sitting in front of a small monitor, admiring the gaudy interiors of Alison's apartment and glancing at my watch. I had a strong feeling I'd seen the picture on the right wall somewhere before, but maybe it was the result of fatigue.

  - We should get a bigger van, I said grouchily, trying to get comfortable. Or buy a small satellite and keep an eye on the suspects from home.

  - A big car would attract attention, Heidi put a piece of marmalade in her mouth and carefully licked her fingers. You really don't want to? I grimaced and stared at the monitor again.

  - We could ask Don Martin to send his men here, my partner continued. You could stop complaining and I could save my silhouette.

  - Your buddy Don blew his assignment twice in 24 hours, I answered. This case is too important for me to risk. Trust these morons, and they'll watch a baseball game with the TV on.

  - Don Martin isn't that bad, and you know it, said Heidi, and her long, graceful fingers dipped back into the paper bag. - And as for being cramped, it has its advantages.

  She sat down deeper in the seat and put her feet on my lap.

  - Michael Hammond, she said with an air of authority. I'm going to seduce you now.

  I grimaced again. Maybe I'm a nerd, but I can't stand not taking things seriously. I wanted to say something about it, but after thinking about it I decided I'd better not, because I'd have to apologize later. So I looked at my watch again and frowned. I suppose I could have brought a book with me, but, first of all, I'm not much of a reading person, and, secondly, it would be too easy.

  - If Ruell is trying to trick us, I said, he's going to regret it. We won't even have to sic ex-combatants or
cops on him. I'll put him in the meat grinder myself.

  - How frightening we are, Heidi replied. Of course he'll try to trick us. He's no novice at this sort of thing, and he won't give up quickly. But at the moment, Ruell will do anything we ask of him, wanting to lull us into a false sense of security and buy us off on the little things. Oh, my noose is down.

  If you think she acted like a fool, you're right.

  Heidi leaned forward, groping the stocking on her right leg, and naturally spilled marmalade on my tailored suit. I glared at her, but I was unlucky, too, for her eyes were directed the other way.

  - Michael, we're coming up, Don Martin's voice came over the speaker. Mr. Ruell is a block away now.

  I gingerly brushed the sugar crumbs off my pants and looked out the narrow window of the van. After a few seconds, I got the chance to enjoy the view of Craig Ruell's left profile. Next to him in the front seat was some woman, but I couldn't see her.

  - Do you think he can crack her quickly? Heidi finished picking the marmalade off my suit and leaned back in her seat again.

  - You said yourself that he'll do whatever we tell him to, I answered, wiping my fingers with my handkerchief. And we don't need much a confession from Alison that we can shove under her dear daddy's nose if we have to. It'll be enough to get her off Rowan's back for good. I hope so.

  - Do you think he has any feelings for her? Heidi asked.

  Ruell skillfully parked the car, got out of it, went around and opened the door in front of Alison.

  - No, I answered firmly. If a man opens a car door in front of a woman, either he's her chauffeur or he's going to use her.

  Heidi was sitting far away from the window, unable to see our new friend's adventures. For a moment, I was afraid she was going to climb into my lap, wanting to watch, but luckily it didn't occur to her.

  - Does she, does she love him? the new marmalade was ground up by her sharp teeth. Sometimes I wonder how she can combine such annoying non-seriousness with a philosophical desire to get to the heart of things. But I don't usually waste time on it.