by Bob Moats
“Well, well, Detective Lincoln, how nice to see you again.” I had my hand in back of my jacket by my gun, just in case. He looked stunned and pulled his hand away from his weapon. I did likewise. I came up to the two of them. Lorelei squinted at Lincoln.
“You are a police officer or a private investigator?” she asked of Lincoln.
“I’m a police detective, ma’am. I’m investigating the murder of Noreen Weston. Do you know of this woman?” he asked politely.
Lorelei stood for a moment, then said in a calm voice, “Sorry, officer I don’t know the woman, can’t help you.”
He looked at me. “You checking this out here, too?”
“Yep, and I got the same answer. Looks like a dead end here. Are there any other places that we may meet at today?” I asked.
His lip snarled, and he said, “I hope not.” Then he said thanks to Lorelei and went out.
Lorelei watched him go and looked at me. “He’s a bad one. I know who he is. I just pretended not to know him to throw him off. He knows a few people who used Noreen’s services.”
“I’m wondering if you might be in danger. You think maybe you should lay low for a while?”
She had been standing behind the counter all this time and suddenly brought her arm up. In her hand was a sawed off shot gun. She smiled at me and said she wasn’t stupid. I had to agree.
She replaced the shot gun in its holder under the counter then looked at me and said, “You have a nice aura about you. Do you practice any kind of metaphysical arts?”
“I occasionally worship the gods of barley and hops, but that’s about it,” I replied.
She smiled and said, “Ah, a beer worshiper. I like that. I indulge in the brew myself on occasion. I don’t like my senses being messed with, but every so often I like to climb to a higher level of consciousness.” She giggled.
“I usually end up in an unconscious state. Back to Noreen, can you name a few people for me that I might want to talk to about Noreen’s demise,” I asked.
“We don’t keep records of people’s names. We just refer them to Noreen, or did refer, and give them a card.” She picked up a card from a holder on the wall and gave it to me.
“You said you recognized some people, who?”
“Well, a certain councilman from here in town was one person I remember. His initials were F.R., and that’s all I can tell you. It’s a matter of confidentiality with our clients. He’s someone you can start with.” She winked as the front door opened again and a not quite elderly woman walked in. “Hello, Mrs. Webb, how are you today?”
“Fine.” The woman said and didn’t want to look at me. She turned towards the front of the store and went to a rack of leather goods.
Lorelei smiled and said quietly, “You can never judge a book by its cover. That woman is into kink with her husband. She’s in here every other week looking for new toys.”
I just shook my head and thanked Lorelei. I gave her my card and said if she remembered anything else that might help, to call me. She looked at the card and said she would do that. I went out to my car, now finding the guy lying out in the back parking lot. He raised his head and asked again if I had a dollar for food. I went to my car, took out two candy bars I had on the front seat, and tossed them to him. I said, enjoy, got in the car and drove off as he gave me the finger.
I drove out Eight Mile Road, the northern border of Detroit, and over to Woodward Avenue, up to a small store front called “Leather and Lace.” I parked and went in to find three women all in black leather from full cover to skimpy bustiers. They had the whole Dominatrix package going for them. One came over to me and purred. “Hi, handsome, you come to play?”
“I’m looking for Mistress Terry. Is she in?” I asked.
The woman smiled and said, “I’ll go get her.” She slinked off to the back room and after a few moments, another woman appeared. I was a little surprised. It was the same woman who was on Penny’s show this last week. She came up and asked if she could help me.
I took out my I.D. and showed it to her. “I’m wondering if you know a Noreen Weston. She also goes by Noreen Black.”
“Is this about her murder?” she said quietly.
“I’m investigating for her husband, yes.”
She motioned to me to follow her. We went into the back room, and she asked me to sit on a chair by her desk. I did.
“I saw you on Penny Wickens’ show the other day. Penny and I live together,” I offered to ease the conversation.
“Oh, so you’re the P.I. she talked about. I was impressed by your exploits in Vegas.” She smiled demurely.
“I’m sure Penny exaggerated a few details.” I grinned.
“Oh, she had very nice things to say about you.” She leaned forward, put her hand on my knee, and almost exposed her breasts.
I fidgeted a bit then asked, “About Noreen, did you know her?” She moved her hand back and looked off into the darkness of the back room.
“Noreen used to work for me years ago, before she married Weston. She was a prize pupil of mine. I trained her well. Then she decided to go off on her own. I had no problem with that, there are plenty of people out there to keep all of us Doms busy,” she said.
“Did you supply her with referrals for her business?”
“Well, we weren’t sending people to her, we have our own business to worry about, but occasionally we would turn a customer on to her if they lived near her. As to whom we sent to her, I couldn’t tell you, just plain folks who liked to walk on the wild side. Do you think it was a client of hers that did it?”
“I’m exploring that avenue since her husband has an airtight alibi for the night she died. Do you find in your business that clients can get a little carried away or violent?” I asked.
“The people who come here to get their butts smacked all have a little bit wrong with them. Do you think being strapped down or chained up and subjected to humiliation is something normal, Mr. Richards?”
“Call me Jim, please. No, I don’t personally think it’s normal at all, but I believe this entire world is filled with people who have little secrets and odd behaviors that would shock their friends and families if they knew.”
“Tell me, Jim, do you have any little secrets or odd behaviors that would shock me?” she asked coyly.
“Well, every third Sunday I dress up as Madonna, complete with pointy breasts, and do a dance to the moon.” I grinned.
“Don’t tease, I was serious,” she said.
“Well, all seriousness aside, I’m not at liberty to discuss my peculiar habits. Penny is the only person I confide to in that regard.” I grinned.
She smiled and said, “Lucky woman.”
*
Chapter Twenty
Mistress Terry didn’t have much more to offer, so I thanked her and went back to my car. I sat looking at the other addresses and then my watch. It was almost 4:30, and I was wearing down. Since I started my P.I. business, I had been missing taking the naps that old people like me take in the afternoon. I was getting too much exercise running around playing detective to worry about naps. I slept well at night, better now that I was wearing myself down during the day. I drove up Woodward to Fourteen Mile Road and all the way out to Harper Avenue. I cut around to Jefferson and up to our house.
I pulled into the drive, wondering what to expect tonight, and as I got to the door, Marilyn Monroe answered. I was a bit stunned as she breathed out, “Come on in, big boy,” and did a little Marilyn squeal.
I was mystified. I knew it was Penny, but she did her make-up so well, it looked like Marilyn. She took my hand and pulled me into the living room. She had on the same tight dress that Marilyn wore in “Some Like it Hot,” that gold number when she sang and danced. She was stunning in it.
“Did you kidnap my Penny and replace her?” I laughed.
She stayed in character as Marilyn and said, “Well, big boy, I am replacing your gal for the night. Are you pleased?”
I had to
be careful answering that loaded question. “Well, I really am faithful to my Penny. But if she approves, you can stay for a while.” I waited to see what reaction I would get. She squealed again, rubbed her hip against my private area, and giggled. She shimmied over to the TiVo in the tight dress she had on, came back, pushed me to the couch, and cuddled up next to me. This was so weird, but enjoyable. She flipped the remote on the TiVo, and we watched her show with all the female impersonators. In one segment, they made up Penny in the Marilyn make-up and dressed her. She was really good at the impersonation, as I could see sitting next to me. The show ended, and she blew in my ear. I looked at her and asked what was on her mind.
“Well, before I take all this make-up off I thought you might like to go down memory lane with me.” She stood and took my hand, and we went off to the bedroom.
About two hours later, I staggered out to the kitchen and got two beers out of the fridge then came back to the bedroom. Penny was still in character, but her make-up was suffering a bit. I handed her a beer, and we cuddled.
“You know what?” I asked. She said, what? I said, “I love you.”
She smiled and pulled me tighter to her with her arms around me. “I love you, too. As me, not Marilyn. Although if Marilyn knew you, she would love you, too.”
I was getting real comfortable when the phone rang. I grumbled over to it and answered.
“Jim, it’s Trapper. I just wanted to fill you in on the progress of our buddy Ralph. He was transferred to Pontiac this afternoon and is up on first-degree murder charges for the Dominatrix and a couple more for each of his two wives. Lawson threatened him with the rubber hose, and he sang like a bird. He was denied bail and the trail starts a week from Monday. Elma is going to have to be there as a material witness. Can you or Buck get her out there safely?”
“I’m sure one or the other of us can. I’ll call her later to let her know. Just tell me what time and place, and we’ll see Ralphy boy go down in flames.”
Trapper gave me the details and said that Elma might have to sit around most of the day till they could get to her. I figured Buck would be good for it. I needed to work on my own case and wanted to be free. I said I’d call Buck and get him set up on it.
Trapper asked how my case was coming. I told him about my day and running into Lincoln at the head shop. He said it was good I was there. The woman might have been a victim of a fake robbery gone wrong. I said I believed Lincoln would have shot her to be sure she never talked about Noreen’s clients. I said I thought we convinced him she knew nothing about Noreen’s activities so she would be safe. Then I asked Trapper if he knew a council member in Warren with the initials F.R. He said it sounded like Frank Ropiello. I told him that was a person referred to Noreen by the Purple Pit. He whistled and said that would be a blow to his career if that got out, but how did it fit in with Lincoln? I said that was what I was going to find out tomorrow. He said, good luck, then said he had to get back to real police work and hung up. I wasn’t bothered that he didn’t say good-bye now that I knew why.
I came back to Marilyn, and she had a DVD on the bedroom TV, “Some Like It Hot” with her alter ego. I laughed, and we sat back and watched.
“Are you going to do this again?” I asked.
“Only if you can look like Brad Pitt.” She giggled.
“Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted.”
Later, after we had a late dinner, I told Penny about my day, the exciting visits to the Dom stores and how I ran into Mistress Terry. I told Penny that Terry tried to get frisky with me, but I held her off. Penny just snorted air and chuckled.
I called Buck and told him about Elma needing to be in court, and I said I’d pay for his time if he could play bodyguard again. He said that would be fine with him, but he didn’t want me paying for his time, Elma gave him more than enough money for watching her. I said that worked for me, and I gave him the details. After that, I called Elma and told her what was happening then asked her if she got hold of Benson’s lawyers about the divorce. She told me what they had planned. I said it sounded good and wished her well.
Penny and I both were a bit wiped out so, since Penny had washed away Marilyn, we decided to forgo our usual nightly exercises. We cuddled and went to sleep.
Morning came fast, and I staggered out of bed and to the bathroom. Penny had already gotten herself up and ready to go for the day. I wished I had her energy in the mornings. She kissed me and went off to work, saying she had a child psychologist on today. I thought that was something I had no fear to come home for. Children were not in our plans. Both of us were too old, and Penny was unable to have children. I got my body ready and dressed and checked the phone book for Warren City Hall. I added it to my Palm and headed out.
I drove over listening to the radio, being annoyed by all the commercials. I got to hear half of Bob Seger singing “Hollywood Nights” and cursing program directors as I pulled into city hall parking. I went into the building and asked the girl at the counter where Frank Ropiello’s office was. She asked if I had an appointment, and I said no. She got on the phone and called, then asked what it was in regard to. I said it was about Noreen Black. The girl wouldn’t know about Noreen Black as the papers all had her listed as Noreen Weston, but Frank Ropiello would know the name. She asked me to wait. After a minute a man appeared at a door off the side and waved to me to follow him. We went down a long corridor and into a plush office. He closed the door and motioned me to sit.
He sat looking at me. “So how much is this going to cost me now?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I asked.
He just stared. “Aren’t you here to collect your blackmail money?”
I took out my I.D. and showed him. “I was hired by Dave Weston to find out who killed his wife, not to collect anything from you.” He was quiet, and I continued, “You know her as Noreen Black as I understand. Is that correct?”
He was quiet again, then, “I had nothing to do with her death and I don’t know who is continuing to blackmail me. I have been paying some thug for the last two weeks, and I thought you were here to collect. I thought when Noreen was killed, God rest her soul, it would be over. I’m still being harassed by someone demanding money. First, it was Noreen doing the blackmail, now someone else has taken over.”
I was really curious now. “Do you know a Ben Lincoln?”
He looked a bit shocked and said, “Yes, I know the son of a bitch. He was harassing me about Noreen’s murder. Asking questions about who else was involved with her business. I’d like to know how everyone finds out I’m a client,” he growled.
Lincoln beat me again. I needed to move faster. “I can’t tell you how he knows. I’m not in his confidence. Do you think he may have been involved in her death?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. He was very anxious to know if I knew where Noreen kept her list of names of her clients. I said I had no idea, and he threatened to expose me if I didn’t find out. How the hell can I know where she kept her information? I only went there a couple of times.”
“Well, someone knows who her clients are. He or she is blackmailing them.” I didn’t see any reason to bother this man further, so I apologized and said he should talk to the police or he’d be drained dry. “But during my investigation, I’ll see if I can find anyone blackmailing you.” I thanked him, gave him my card and left.
*
Chapter Twenty-one
As I was walking out of city hall, I was shocked to see Lincoln coming up the sidewalk, not seeing me. I stopped and he saw me and stopped. We stared a bit, then I said, “Sorry, Frank Ropiello doesn’t really know who any of Noreen’s clients were. I beat him within an inch of his life, but he couldn’t tell. Just wanted to save you the time and trouble. Later, somewhere else.” I walked away, smiling. I could hear him swearing under his breath. I didn’t look back.
I was really beginning to have the feeling Lincoln didn’t murder Noreen. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it didn’t jell. He
really was just stupid, but then again, Ralph was stupid and a murderer. I drove out of the parking lot and saw Lincoln getting into his car. At least I saved Frank the agony of putting up with Lincoln. I drove out to the next address on my list, one in Royal Oak, and finally found the “Dom Shoppe.”
The interior of this place was a little more film noire and dark. It had an evil feeling to it, and the women were all made up with pale skin make-up, looking more like vampires than Doms. With all the big deal over the “Twilight” vampire movies and books, I could see they were cashing in on the fatted calf. One of the undead women came up to me and hissed, “May I help you?”
I flashed my I.D. and badge rather quickly, hoping she would think I was a cop, and said I wanted to see Elvira. I didn’t like the use of the name of my favorite “Mistress of the Dark,” but I was sure this one wasn’t even close to the original. I was wrong. After the first vamp went to get her, she came out in an oh so tight black dress that revealed ample bosom down to her navel. Her hair was jet black, straight and down to her voluptuous ass. She slithered up to me and asked if she could do me.
