-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
Noosed Nude NYC
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Good. I’m letting you off for good behavior
The least she can do for all the great drawings Madiosi already made for this story!Coo! That's a first!
For us, others, on the other hand....there is not such a thing as 'good behaviour'
The bridge was constructed from a man, born in my city (Johann August Roebling).Oh, and by the way Barb, I just happen to own this bridge that I could make you a very good deal on
Was he paid in beads and....
windar
Teller of Tales
You can be serious and drink beer.View attachment 594450Has a rather serious look about him, wouldn’t you say? Not too much beer drinking.
So, Donald Trump is not the best negotiator in the history of the world then?
Tree is not Dutch and he can seriously drink beer. I see no conflict here...
Looks like there will be lots of evidence, anyway.
I'm not entirely sure that's germane to the story, but okay.That’s not all he sticks in me ...
Your colleagues know quality when they see it, clearly. And they do seem to see it clearly.
Your colleagues know quality when they see it, clearly. And they do seem to see it clearly.
Too clearly .... I'll never be able to show my face in the precinct again ....
I don't think it's your face that they were all excited about.Too clearly .... I'll never be able to show my face in the precinct again ....
I don't think it's your face that they were all excited about.
Over the line there bones
I ALWAYS APPRECIATE A PRETTY FACE.Over the line there bones
I ALWAYS APPRECIATE A PRETTY FACE.
View attachment 594465
Great! Then get your hands off my tight little ass!
windar
Teller of Tales
37.
“Alright, Moore, if you’re finished holding our colleagues at gunpoint, maybe we ought to go find Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory,” Stan told her.
Our first stop was the FutureVision house in Riverdale. Cathy had said that neither of the two cult leaders lived there, they just used it for meetings and the orgies that Cathy had described in lurid detail. Who did live there were several foreign women who were acolytes of theirs. Stan had imagined that they might be chained naked in some dungeon, but instead, a bit to his disappointment, they were sitting on an oriental rug in the large living room, barefoot, but otherwise fully clothed, engaged in some kind of meditation. Some soft, jangly New Age music was playing in the background.
Barb approached one of the women, a thin brown-skinned woman with her black hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I’m Detective Barbara Moore of the NYPD and this is my partner, Detective Stan Goldman. We’re looking to speak with Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory.”
The woman looked confused. One of the other women, also thin, but somewhat lighter complexioned, spoke up in heavily accented English. “Kevin? Linda? They no here.”
Barb turned to look at her. “When did you see them last?” The woman looked around at the others and held up three fingers. “Three days,” she said.
Stan wondered if one of them was Rosa Santos, the one who had been whipped. He was tempted to ask them if he could look at their backs, but their first priority was to find the two masterminds behind this murder spree. “Do you mind if we look around?” he asked. Either none of them understood the question or they were anxious to get back to their meditation, because no one answered.
Taking that as a yes, the detectives had a quick look through the kitchen and a couple of smaller rooms on the first floor that appeared to be used for small group sessions, then climbed the stairs. The first couple of rooms they entered each contained a few bunk beds crowded together and some cheap plastic shelves that one could find in any discount store, with clothing and toiletries stacked neatly on them. “This must be where the women meditating downstairs sleep,” Barb said. Stan nodded.
Beyond that was a bathroom, which was pretty clean given that it was shared by several people. The cult did seem to believe in orderliness and discipline. At the end of the hall was a larger bedroom with a king size bed, neatly made and a large screen TV. “This looks just like Cathy described,” Barb said.
“It certainly does,” Stan replied. “We better have Charlie Yang send a team over here. I bet they’ll come up with quite a selection of bodily fluids. The computer forensic people will want to look at the DVR. But there’s no sign of Emperor Kevin or his consort.”
Barb shook her head. “I didn’t think they’d sit here waiting for us to show up,” she said. “Let’s see if we can find where they live, though I bet they aren’t there either.”
It took some research into property tax databases back at the station, but they were able to track down residences for both Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory. Each owned a condo in very posh pre-war buildings on the Upper East Side, within a couple of blocks of each other.
“Which one you wanna try first?” Stan asked.
“Let’s start at the top,” Barb replied. They made their way through the barely moving Manhattan traffic to Kevin’s building, flashing their badges at the doorman, a late-middle-aged black man in a very impressively gold-braided jacket.
“We’re looking for Kevin Wilson,” Stan told him.
“Mr. Wilson,” the doorman replied. “That would be Number 502.”
“Would you happen to know if he’s home?”
“I don’t believe so. I saw him get into a taxi with three suitcases a few days ago. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen in the building since.”
“Do you recall exactly when he left?” Barb asked.
He considered this for a moment. “It was probably Sunday morning, I think.” Stan glanced at Barb. ‘That would have been the morning after we busted Deb, Cindy and Cathy in the barn,’ he thought. ‘Kevin probably smelled that something had gone wrong and that we would eventually come looking for him, so he vamoosed.’
“Would you mind if we had a quick look around his apartment?” Barb asked, smiling warmly at the doorman. “We won’t disturb anything.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I’m always happy to help out New York’s finest.” He led the detectives into an elegantly wood-paneled elevator that deposited them on the fifth floor. In a building of this caliber there were only a few apartments on each floor and the doorman let them into one of them, tastefully decorated in a rather bland modern style. It was quickly clear no one was home.
“Do you know where Mr. Wilson was headed?” Barb asked.
“I’m not sure,” the doorman replied. “Likely the airport, though I can’t say which one.”
“Is he gone quite a bit?” Barb asked.
“A fair amount, especially in winter. He comes back tanned, so he goes somewhere South. But he isn’t chatty like some of the residents, so I can’t say for sure where.”
They rode the elevator back down. “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful,” Barb told him, flashing him a broad smile. “I suspect that at some point soon, we’ll come back to do a more thorough search, but for now, we need to find where he’s gone. In the meantime if you see Mr. Wilson or anyone comes asking for him, will you let us know?” She handed him her card.
“Of course, Detective Moore,” the doorman replied. “It would be a pleasure to see you again.”
“Geez, Moore,” Stan said as they left, “Was all that flirting truly necessary? He would have helped us anyway. Do you have to have every man in this City eating out of your hand?” She stuck her tongue out at him.
The doorman at Linda’s building was equally helpful and equally happy to inform them that she had left with suitcases at the same time as Kevin had. It took several calls to the cab companies, but the detectives were able to ascertain that people matching Kevin and Linda’s description had been driven to JFK Airport on Sunday morning.
“FutureVision’s web site said they had some chapters in Brazil,” Barb said as they drove back to the station.
“And I’d lay 10-1 that that’s where they are,” Stan said. “Let’s hope they travelled under their real names.” Indeed, a few phone calls to the airlines that flew routes from JFK to destinations in Brazil confirmed that Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory had departed for Rio on Sunday. “We better go talk to Sam Bittner,” he told Barb.
It seemed like ages ago that they had sat in sat in Sam Bittner’s office, accompanied by the lovely Susanna Rodriguez, though it had only been a couple of weeks. “I have to say, you guys have balls, staging a sting without backup and busting these perps like that” Sam told them. “Well, you have balls, Stan. Barb you’ve got, well, we all saw what you’ve got,” he continued, stammering and blushing.
“Watch where you’re going, Sam!” Barb warned.
“I’d listen to her if I were you,” Stan counseled. “A few of our fellow detectives were this close to having their balls blown off.”
“Barb I’m sorry, but the video is evidence and Susanna and I had to watch it. Professional duty.” Stan noticed Susanna and Barb exchanging an odd and rather significant look. He wondered if maybe that threesome was just within the realm of possibility. “But I can assure you, it won’t go beyond this room and we’ll try our best to keep from having to use it at trial.” Barb didn’t look terribly re-assured.
“But here’s the problem,” Sam continued. “Once they’ve fled the country, we have to bring in the Feds. The State Department has to request extradition, the FBI has to work with the Brazilian police to locate them and the US Attorney will want first crack at those two. Since there are foreign women trafficked for sex and possible enslavement and, I’d bet there’s all kinds of money laundering and tax evasion and maybe the RICO statute, the Feds will get in ahead of us.”
“But it’s our case!” Barb protested. “I risked my life, Stan risked his pension. These guys have been operating for years and no one did squat about them until we found them. No way some Feds in suits are going to take this case away from us.”
Sam looked sympathetic. “I hear you, Barb, believe me. But life isn’t fair. This is way above your pay grade and mine. We get to try your two girlfriends, Deb and Cindy, but the Feds get Kevin and Linda. Done deal, sorry.”
“Shit!” Barb muttered.
Stan patted Barb on the thigh, not too high, just above the knee. “It’s inevitable, but don’t worry. The press will still give us plenty of coverage. You’re a hero, Barb, busting an international sex slavery ring and no one can take that away from you.” She glared at him, but kept her mouth shut.
“Listen guys,” Stan said. “The one who really deserves credit here, for smelling something fishy when Amanda Berger looked like a straight up suicide, is Charlie Yang. Barb and I owe him a dinner at Shanghai Palace in Flushing and we want you two to join us. How’s tomorrow evening?”
“Count me in, Stan,” Sam replied.
“I love Chinese food,” Susanna added. Somehow, Stan thought it sounded very sexy when she said it.
“Good,” Stan said. “I’ll call Charlie. He says they need 24 hours warning to make the feast of a lifetime.”
“Sounds good, guys,” Sam replied. “And Barb, see if you can stay out of trouble until then.”
“Alright, Moore, if you’re finished holding our colleagues at gunpoint, maybe we ought to go find Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory,” Stan told her.
Our first stop was the FutureVision house in Riverdale. Cathy had said that neither of the two cult leaders lived there, they just used it for meetings and the orgies that Cathy had described in lurid detail. Who did live there were several foreign women who were acolytes of theirs. Stan had imagined that they might be chained naked in some dungeon, but instead, a bit to his disappointment, they were sitting on an oriental rug in the large living room, barefoot, but otherwise fully clothed, engaged in some kind of meditation. Some soft, jangly New Age music was playing in the background.
Barb approached one of the women, a thin brown-skinned woman with her black hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I’m Detective Barbara Moore of the NYPD and this is my partner, Detective Stan Goldman. We’re looking to speak with Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory.”
The woman looked confused. One of the other women, also thin, but somewhat lighter complexioned, spoke up in heavily accented English. “Kevin? Linda? They no here.”
Barb turned to look at her. “When did you see them last?” The woman looked around at the others and held up three fingers. “Three days,” she said.
Stan wondered if one of them was Rosa Santos, the one who had been whipped. He was tempted to ask them if he could look at their backs, but their first priority was to find the two masterminds behind this murder spree. “Do you mind if we look around?” he asked. Either none of them understood the question or they were anxious to get back to their meditation, because no one answered.
Taking that as a yes, the detectives had a quick look through the kitchen and a couple of smaller rooms on the first floor that appeared to be used for small group sessions, then climbed the stairs. The first couple of rooms they entered each contained a few bunk beds crowded together and some cheap plastic shelves that one could find in any discount store, with clothing and toiletries stacked neatly on them. “This must be where the women meditating downstairs sleep,” Barb said. Stan nodded.
Beyond that was a bathroom, which was pretty clean given that it was shared by several people. The cult did seem to believe in orderliness and discipline. At the end of the hall was a larger bedroom with a king size bed, neatly made and a large screen TV. “This looks just like Cathy described,” Barb said.
“It certainly does,” Stan replied. “We better have Charlie Yang send a team over here. I bet they’ll come up with quite a selection of bodily fluids. The computer forensic people will want to look at the DVR. But there’s no sign of Emperor Kevin or his consort.”
Barb shook her head. “I didn’t think they’d sit here waiting for us to show up,” she said. “Let’s see if we can find where they live, though I bet they aren’t there either.”
It took some research into property tax databases back at the station, but they were able to track down residences for both Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory. Each owned a condo in very posh pre-war buildings on the Upper East Side, within a couple of blocks of each other.
“Which one you wanna try first?” Stan asked.
“Let’s start at the top,” Barb replied. They made their way through the barely moving Manhattan traffic to Kevin’s building, flashing their badges at the doorman, a late-middle-aged black man in a very impressively gold-braided jacket.
“We’re looking for Kevin Wilson,” Stan told him.
“Mr. Wilson,” the doorman replied. “That would be Number 502.”
“Would you happen to know if he’s home?”
“I don’t believe so. I saw him get into a taxi with three suitcases a few days ago. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen in the building since.”
“Do you recall exactly when he left?” Barb asked.
He considered this for a moment. “It was probably Sunday morning, I think.” Stan glanced at Barb. ‘That would have been the morning after we busted Deb, Cindy and Cathy in the barn,’ he thought. ‘Kevin probably smelled that something had gone wrong and that we would eventually come looking for him, so he vamoosed.’
“Would you mind if we had a quick look around his apartment?” Barb asked, smiling warmly at the doorman. “We won’t disturb anything.”
“Of course,” he replied. “I’m always happy to help out New York’s finest.” He led the detectives into an elegantly wood-paneled elevator that deposited them on the fifth floor. In a building of this caliber there were only a few apartments on each floor and the doorman let them into one of them, tastefully decorated in a rather bland modern style. It was quickly clear no one was home.
“Do you know where Mr. Wilson was headed?” Barb asked.
“I’m not sure,” the doorman replied. “Likely the airport, though I can’t say which one.”
“Is he gone quite a bit?” Barb asked.
“A fair amount, especially in winter. He comes back tanned, so he goes somewhere South. But he isn’t chatty like some of the residents, so I can’t say for sure where.”
They rode the elevator back down. “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful,” Barb told him, flashing him a broad smile. “I suspect that at some point soon, we’ll come back to do a more thorough search, but for now, we need to find where he’s gone. In the meantime if you see Mr. Wilson or anyone comes asking for him, will you let us know?” She handed him her card.
“Of course, Detective Moore,” the doorman replied. “It would be a pleasure to see you again.”
“Geez, Moore,” Stan said as they left, “Was all that flirting truly necessary? He would have helped us anyway. Do you have to have every man in this City eating out of your hand?” She stuck her tongue out at him.
The doorman at Linda’s building was equally helpful and equally happy to inform them that she had left with suitcases at the same time as Kevin had. It took several calls to the cab companies, but the detectives were able to ascertain that people matching Kevin and Linda’s description had been driven to JFK Airport on Sunday morning.
“FutureVision’s web site said they had some chapters in Brazil,” Barb said as they drove back to the station.
“And I’d lay 10-1 that that’s where they are,” Stan said. “Let’s hope they travelled under their real names.” Indeed, a few phone calls to the airlines that flew routes from JFK to destinations in Brazil confirmed that Kevin Wilson and Linda Gregory had departed for Rio on Sunday. “We better go talk to Sam Bittner,” he told Barb.
***
It seemed like ages ago that they had sat in sat in Sam Bittner’s office, accompanied by the lovely Susanna Rodriguez, though it had only been a couple of weeks. “I have to say, you guys have balls, staging a sting without backup and busting these perps like that” Sam told them. “Well, you have balls, Stan. Barb you’ve got, well, we all saw what you’ve got,” he continued, stammering and blushing.
“Watch where you’re going, Sam!” Barb warned.
“I’d listen to her if I were you,” Stan counseled. “A few of our fellow detectives were this close to having their balls blown off.”
“Barb I’m sorry, but the video is evidence and Susanna and I had to watch it. Professional duty.” Stan noticed Susanna and Barb exchanging an odd and rather significant look. He wondered if maybe that threesome was just within the realm of possibility. “But I can assure you, it won’t go beyond this room and we’ll try our best to keep from having to use it at trial.” Barb didn’t look terribly re-assured.
“But here’s the problem,” Sam continued. “Once they’ve fled the country, we have to bring in the Feds. The State Department has to request extradition, the FBI has to work with the Brazilian police to locate them and the US Attorney will want first crack at those two. Since there are foreign women trafficked for sex and possible enslavement and, I’d bet there’s all kinds of money laundering and tax evasion and maybe the RICO statute, the Feds will get in ahead of us.”
“But it’s our case!” Barb protested. “I risked my life, Stan risked his pension. These guys have been operating for years and no one did squat about them until we found them. No way some Feds in suits are going to take this case away from us.”
Sam looked sympathetic. “I hear you, Barb, believe me. But life isn’t fair. This is way above your pay grade and mine. We get to try your two girlfriends, Deb and Cindy, but the Feds get Kevin and Linda. Done deal, sorry.”
“Shit!” Barb muttered.
Stan patted Barb on the thigh, not too high, just above the knee. “It’s inevitable, but don’t worry. The press will still give us plenty of coverage. You’re a hero, Barb, busting an international sex slavery ring and no one can take that away from you.” She glared at him, but kept her mouth shut.
“Listen guys,” Stan said. “The one who really deserves credit here, for smelling something fishy when Amanda Berger looked like a straight up suicide, is Charlie Yang. Barb and I owe him a dinner at Shanghai Palace in Flushing and we want you two to join us. How’s tomorrow evening?”
“Count me in, Stan,” Sam replied.
“I love Chinese food,” Susanna added. Somehow, Stan thought it sounded very sexy when she said it.
“Good,” Stan said. “I’ll call Charlie. He says they need 24 hours warning to make the feast of a lifetime.”
“Sounds good, guys,” Sam replied. “And Barb, see if you can stay out of trouble until then.”
Fat chance of that!
Great story everyone. Sorry I was a little behind, read 4 chapters tonight. Now I'm thinking of Barb's little behind!
Guys have this thing about things that come in pairs and start with the letter “B”!
Don’t worry ... Stan confiscated my bullets.
Translation: It will be playing on YouTube and on a big screen over Times Square by tonight.
See above ...
I have been training him ... but it’s been slow cause it’s difficult to teach an old dog new tricks...
