A simple life. All I wanted was a simple life. But look what I got. A bucketful of problems, and a pricetag on my head. And all that for a woman. A dirty, cheap, sleazy bag of bones that I would kill with my own hands if I could find her whereabouts. She had sucked a good many cocks before mine, but that I didn’t know then. Suzy was her name, at least the one she used when I met her. Well, I did not actually meet her, she came to me in a bar. A Friday night. You know the kind. Thank-God-end-of-the-week like. I was sipping a margharita with a straw when she she sat next to me, and asked what I was drinking. I thought she was making fun. Turned out she wasn’t. I wondered where she was coming from, and asked her to join me. She was a looker, and she knew it. I was a bit surprised, being not so good-looking myself that she would choose to have a drink with a guy like me, then more than one. My line of work was not the kind to lead me to pick up girls in public places, unless they were corpses or straying prostitutes unable to walk straight between two fixes. Hookers, not lookers. But that Suzy had a pair of legs that I followed to her apartment for a nightcap. Not that I usually do that, but then I was not exactly thinking straight. And she was funny. So what the heck, I had a gun in my holster, for protection I thought to myself with a grin. You always need protection. Especially with beautiful chicks. They say that’s where danger lurks. My kind of turf anyhow. We had more than a drink at her place, a tiny one-bedroom apartment with a view on a parking lot. The living-room was messy with clothes all over the place, even on the walls, quite a girl’s place. Yet the bar was something else, with several of my favorite brands. Suzy was a connoisseur, or had a friend who was. The conversation was trite, but she made me laugh, and pretended to enjoy my lame jokes about her place. A nightmare for a crime scene investigator. Fingerprints everywhere, very soon all over me. Nice. Her long fingernails drew marks on my skin, and we kissed. Her mouth tasted of bourbon and liquorice. As we started to undress and move to the bedroom, fondling, and stumbling on stray objects and pieces of furniture, our mouths never stopped kissing. Just like in a movie. She pushed me onto the bed and went down on me as quick as a Florida hurricane. She was almost naked, and her skinny body looked very pale, not like those girls who tan all year round, and buy a ticket for skin cancer. The liquor was getting to my head, and after the second time, I started to feel a little sleepy. I tried to pull myself together, and get ready for another round. My clothes were on the floor, my holster tangled up in the bundle, but she’d found my cuffs, and produced them in the air with a dirty grin. I must admit it turned me on and I let her cuff one hand to the bedpost. She drove me to exhaustion as you can imagine, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, my crotch was as painful as my head, my left arm sore from the wrist down. I was still handcuffed to the bed. I lay ther naked, my clothes had gone. So had Suzy. Probably not a surprise to you, but I had not anticipated that. I did not think I had that much to lose. My lost gun was a problem. What if someone used it? What if I did not find it quick? How could I justify this shituation? First I had to get myself out of that bed. I kicked the bedpost so hard that it broke and splintered into my foot. Underneath a heap of clothes, I managed to find a telephone that worked. I was not totally naked. I called Harry. He was off duty. He did not seem surprised to hear me. True, I call him every time I need a service. I was going to need one, big time. Truth of the matter, Harry had tried to call me on my cell, unsuccessfully. A Latino gang leader had been killed with a police gun. Trouble was the serial number corresponded to mine. To crown it all, we had booked in the dead guy twice Harry and I. If CSI confirmed the gun was genuinely mine, I would be in such deep shit that it would take more than a lot of explaining from me, let alone the IS investigation that may may well mean the end of my career. The Latino guy had been shot three times in an alley, and the smoking gun had been left next to the corpse. His buddies had not seen anything, but they had thought cop action. And now, Harry told me the gang wanted a cop dead, and that cop was me! I asked Harry to come and pick me up with clothes I could wear. I skipped the details, but just told him I was in a jam. As I put the phone down, I felt a strange pain in my neck. I put my hand to it, and felt like some sort of a hole. No blood. I pulled the shades up, and the daylight blinded me. That was just the beginning of it all.
jan 11 For Laure
