7.
“I’m off to pick up some more wine and get a few things at the supermarket. Anything you want?” Barb chirped.
“Wait, I thought you wanted to hear the rest of the story of the Gotham Goth Girl,” Stan asked.
“Of course, I do, as soon as I get back,” she replied, kissing him on the cheek. He watched her tight little ass wiggle as she slipped out the door.
***
With a bit of time to himself, Stan sat down in front of his computer in the room that they used as an office to pay bills and keep up with correspondence. His email was mostly the usual junk, offers that he couldn’t afford to pass up, though somehow he’d made it to a decent age and a modest degree of comfort by doing just that.
But amongst the spam was one entitled “My Daughter Delia, Please Help!” The sender, as Stan would have expected was Rosa Ortiz. He clicked on it.
The missive began with a heartfelt plea: “My daughter is the most precious thing in the world to me and I’m very worried about her,” and then slipped into outright flattery, “You are the most brilliant detective in all the world and I know that if anyone can find her, you can.” If Stan could have only figured out a way to show that sentence to Barb, without her seeing the whole message!
Attached were some photos of Delia. The first, a head shot with her in an academic gown, looking proud, was most likely from her high school yearbook or graduation. She was nice-looking, with olive skin and curly hair.
The second showed her on a tropical beach, standing beneath a palm tree, with the ocean in the background. She was wearing a red bikini whose top looked several sizes too small for her, emphasizing her considerable endowments. She was smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world.
The third was taken in the same spot, with Delia wearing, or almost wearing, the same bikini. In this one she had her arm around another young woman, this one with paler skin and straight hair that appeared dirty blond or light brown in the strong sunlight. The other girl was wearing a green bikini, of a similar skimpiness to Delia’s, though it did a better job of containing her smaller breasts. Stan presumed that the second girl was Delia’s college roommate, Tara, a presumption confirmed by Rosa Ortiz’ commentary.
Nothing in either picture suggested anything other than a couple of friends enjoying a beach vacation. Of course, the picture could well have been staged, the girls ordered to smile nicely for the camera on pain of some terrible punishment, but there was no convincing reason to think that.
The rest of the message consisted of emails that Delia had sent her mother periodically. They were generally cheerful.-“Having a good time here. The food is wonderful, but I’m getting plenty of exercise, so I’m not gaining weight. I hope you are well, Mami, Love, Delia”.
One from a few months ago spoke of how the opportunity to earn money and learn from a very successful businessman was too good to turn down, so she was taking a leave of absence from Pitcher College, as was Tara. Their boss had arranged everything with the school so they could complete their degree when they returned.
All in all, Stan couldn’t find much there. No mother wanted to think of her daughter selling herself to some rich man, but he’d run into cases where that was exactly what had happened. The girl was an adult and could make her own decisions and live with the consequences.
Was it possible that this was part of some huge sex trafficking/slavery operation? Sure, they’d busted one not far from where they lived, Stan almost dying in the process and Barb almost ending up the property of some Middle Eastern potentate. But those girls had been snatched off the streets and kept in cages in a filthy basement, while Delia and her friend had gone willingly and looked well taken care of.
Stan knew that if Barb caught wind of this, she’d be off to Providentia in a flash, concocting some hare-brained scheme to infiltrate the place and get the goods on them. Either there was nothing going on, and she’d waste her time, or there was and she’d end up in grave danger and Stan would have to risk his life to save her yet again.
And on top of that, Mrs. Ortiz was a poor woman who probably couldn’t even cover their expenses, let alone pay them a stipend. If he wanted to help women being controlled by men, he’d do better helping that pop star whose father was running her life.
Stan was tempted to delete the email, but he decided to keep it just in case something came up that caused him to change his mind. He looked again at the picture of Tara and Delia on the beach. He imagined that they really were slaves and he was their owner. They would labor away in the hot sun in the sugar cane fields, sweating like Barb had been mowing the lawn. The difference would be that the overseer wouldn’t spare the whip for fear of the neighbors seeing. Any backtalk, like Barb had given him, would result in them being tied naked to a post and screaming in agony as the cruel leather scored their backs, asses and breasts.
And then, at night, they would lie in his bed. There would be no list of what they would and wouldn’t do. His wish would be their command, under threat of further punishment.
Not that any of this was even remotely possible. Aside from the fact that slavery was illegal and Stan had sworn to uphold the law, his modest share of book royalties were hardly sufficient to buy a private island and slave girls to adorn it.
Besides, what would he do with Barb? His imagination had just strayed to the vision of Barb in place of one of those girls and the things that he would do to her and she would do for him, when he heard her car pulling in. He closed the email.
***
He heard Barb putting the groceries away. Soon, he saw her in the doorway of the office room, smiling at him. He smiled back at her.
“How was the supermarket?” he asked.
“Fine,” she replied. “I got some of that ice cream you like. Chocolate almond coffee fudge with cherries and blueberries.”
“All that in one container,” Stan said.
“Now I want to hear the rest of your story. The Gotham Goth Girl and her loving boyfriend.”
Stan stood. “Sure. It’s not that exciting, but I’m happy to tell what I remember of it.”
They stopped in the kitchen, where Barb poured herself some ice tea. “I’ll take a bit, too,” Stan said. She poured him a glass and they settled in the living room.
“By this time, Billy Bob had demanded a lawyer,” Stan began. “He was broke, so he got a Public Defender, a young guy not much older than he was. They were sitting in the conference room. The Assistant DA assigned to the case joined us. The questioning went something like this:”
Benny: So, she told you she was going back to England?
Billy Bob: Yes.
Stan: That’s interesting because the British Airways ticket she bought in the UK had an open return. She was supposed to call and book her return flight 48 hours ahead. The airline has no record of any call and no reservation for her.
Billy Bob, looking like a deer in the headlights: I don’t know. Maybe she lied to me and she just went somewhere else here in the States. She said she wanted to check out California, but I had to work to pay rent, so I couldn’t go.
Stan: You think she lied to you and just took off? Did you guys have a lover’s quarrel?
Billy Bob: No.
Benny: Her suitcase and clothes were still in your apartment.
“Wait a minute, Stan,” Barb interjected, shaking her head. “He didn’t dump her suitcase and clothes?”
“Billy Bob wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Also, he was emotionally distraught. Maybe he needed to keep her stuff to remember how much he loved her. You studied psychology, you tell me.”
“Nothing in my studies prepared me the people you run into as a cop. Like fake Romans who hate women and crucify them. Maybe I missed that lecture, but I doubt it.”
Stan: We found something else in your apartment.
Stan bends down and picks up a gym bag and places it on the table. With a bit of a dramatic flair he pulls on surgical gloves and unzips the bag. He slowly pulls out each object one at a time-a riding crop, a rope cat o’nine tails, a few ball gags of different sizes, a pair of handcuffs and various lengths of nylon rope.
Billy Bob blushes ten different shades of red.
The Public Defender: I assume you had a warrant to search his apartment?
Benny produces the warrant. The PD examines it and nods.
Benny: The ME found marks on the victim’s back, rear and breasts. Bruises and a few minor cuts mostly healed. We haven’t asked them whether they’re consistent with these being used on her-he picked up the cat and the crop-but I’m betting they are.
A whispered conversation between Billy Bob and his lawyer.
PD: The defendant stipulates that he and the deceased indulged in fully consensual BDSM play.
Stan: Did that include putting the rope around her neck?
More whispered conversation between Billy Bob and the PD.
PD: The defendant and the deceased indulged in one incident of consensual rope play which caused no lasting damage.
Stan: Look, Billy Bob, you strike me as a decent young man. We have your emails with Sheena. She wanted you to do that stuff to her. To hurt her. Mostly it was her idea. You loved her and wanted to please her. It got her hot, which got you hot.
Barb was looking at Stan with a look that had often led to some fun and games.
Benny: Then one night, she said, ”Do that again with the rope, Billy. It made me crazy.” You wanted to make her happy. You both got naked. You used the handcuffs to attach her hands over her head. Then you got on top of her and put the rope around her neck. You were hard now, because she was just so hot. You went inside her. Then you pulled on the rope, just a little. “Harder, Billy”. You pulled harder. She moaned. ”Harder,” she gasped. You did what she said, all the while fucking her like crazy.
Billy’s mouth was gaping wide in shock and horror.
Stan: It just felt so good that you couldn’t stop. When you were done, you looked down. Sheena wasn’t moving. You tried to revive her, but it was too late. You panicked. You were scared and horrified because you’d just killed your girlfriend. So you wrapped her in some blankets. You went and got your car and pulled it right in front of the building. The stereo in 2A was booming so no one in the building heard you drag her up the few stairs to the door. You looked both ways up the street. It was late and no one was around.
Benny: You quickly threw her in the back seat. You got in and drove around, looking for a good spot to dump the body where no one would see you. You don’t know the Bronx at all, but it’s getting late and that alleyway looked as good as anywhere. You opened the door, threw her out and drove off.
Stan: That’s what happened Billy, isn’t it? You didn’t mean to, maybe, but you killed your girlfriend.
Billy Bob bursts into tears. Sobbing, he cries, “I love you Sheena, I’m so sorry!”
The PD motions to the Assistant DA. They stand.
PD: Not a word while I’m gone, Billy. You hear me?
Billy nods. The ADA and the PD leave the room to confer.
“That’s a gripping tale, Stan,” Barb says. She wriggles a bit on the sofa.
“I can tell you’re enjoying it,” Stan says.
“So what happened next?”
“The lawyers took a while, maybe half an hour, maybe an hour. They came back. Billy Bob will plead to Negligent Homicide. The DA will recommend a sentence of 5-10 years. We typed up a confession. The lawyers read it over and nodded. Billy Bob signed it. They took him away to Rikers.”
“What happened to him.? How long did he serve? Where is he now-did he stay here or go back to Arkansas when he got out?”
Stan looked at her and shook his head. “How the fuck should I know, Barb? You think I care what happens to these losers? I busted them, did my best to make a case and after that it wasn’t my problem.”
“Well, that was good story, I guess. I’m still trying to decide how much was true.”
“Are you suggesting I would make this up, Barb? I’m going to add that to the list of things I have to punish you for.”
“Even you have to admit it sounds like a tall tale, Stan.”
Bottom
“Well, you could look it up. The papers covered it at the time.”
“Oh, I will, Stan. In the meantime, though, since you’re determined to punish me, we might as well get it over with, I guess.” She stood and walked towards the door that led to the stairs down to the basement. Stan got up and followed her.
