Author: Bulgroz the Third Title: The Adjusters #14 - The Nickel and Dime Keywords: MF, mc Posted: March 2, 2011 Edited: March 31, 2011 The Adjusters #14 The Nickel and Dime "Explain to me again why I cannot partake in this beholding of the DVD?" Daniel looked at Radhu like he had sprouted a third arm. "Are you seriously asking me why I'm not letting you see a DVD of my fiancee screwing around on me? Seriously?" "You just said you showed it to Serena..." "She's a girl!" "And that affects matters how exactly? She is practically bisexual." "It's... it's... dammit, it's just not the same, okay? Now can we just go back to figuring out what the hell I should do now?" "What was Serena's analysis of the situation?" Good question, thought Daniel. Earlier today, after watching the DVD that had been left attached to his front door, he had gone through another round of calls to everyone he knew looking for Jenn, without success. He had then called Serena and had been surprised to find her -- she had been getting a lot more difficult to get a hold of lately. He had asked her to come over, and she had agreed, without asking questions. She had shown up forty-five minutes later, finding him in a sorry state alternating between anger and despair. Her hug had been welcome and reassuring. While he told her the events of the previous day, from the time when he had left her after lunch to go find Jenn up until the discovery of the DVD a few hours earlier, Serena had listened intently like the reporter she was. She had been curious about the DVD, and despite feeling funny about it, he had loaded the player again and fired up the video. He had steeped out of the room while she watched, having had no desire to see any of it again. Serena had not made any comments afterwards. She had agreed with his assessment that it was unlikely Jenn had been drugged. She had also reiterated that she did not believe in hypnosis or stuff like that, and that it was well established anyways by those that did believe in hypnosis that one could not be made to do something one did not want to do when in a trance. She had had no explanation for what Biff had meant at the end about making Jenn "nice and obedient." And the kicker, had added Serena, almost talking to herself, was that Jenn was very much herself in that video -- she was behaving the way she had always known Jenn to behave. Serena had given some credence to the idea of blackmail -- which had been Daniel's sanity lifeline -- but then one had to recognize that Jenn was a talented actress if she had done what she had done under duress. Which did leave a final possibility, Serena had said, carefully. "There is another possibility, of course," mused Radhu, "and I apologize if the mere mention of it causes you distress, and that is that Jennifer sought out the experience in full acceptance." Daniel looked at his friend without flinching. "You mean, she may simply be having an affair with Biff." "As disturbing as the image might seem, much odder couplings have arisen in the history of the world." "Impossible. Not Jenn." "I would have tended to agree, prior to hearing the evidence you presented. But observe that people have also thought that time was an absolute reference frame. To err is human. Perhaps Jennifer is acting irrationally pending your upcoming nuptials." Serena had more or less suggested the same thing, that Jenn was having a harmless fling with Biff, a rather drastic response to the understandable anxiety prompted by their marriage plans. After all, Jenn had never been particularly gung-ho about marriage in general, Serena had reminded him. But Daniel had not bought this explanation then, and he was not buying it now. "No. That doesn't make sense. I won't believe it until Jenn tells me, face to face." "Have you managed to locate her?" "No. It's like she's disappeared off the face of the earth. Gone. No one's seen her -- or Biff, for that matter. I stopped by his frat before coming here, but nothing. Wherever they are, they're keeping quiet. I spoke to the police, and they said I had to wait another twenty-four hours before reporting her missing." Radhu looked at him, strangely silent. After a few minutes of contemplation, Daniel looked at his friend. "I'm actually surprised you're not pushing this whole hypnosis and mind control angle. I mean, Serena made it very clear she thinks the mind control angle is complete and utter bull. I'm not so sure, but fuck, what do I know? Biff sure made it sound like something like that was going on, but maybe he was just messing with me." And there was that whole thing about Jenn playing up his voyeuristic fantasies on that video, which Daniel did not mention. "Are you suggesting perchance that your dream of two days ago might not have been oneiric after all, and that you did in fact surprise your fiancee and this Biff character in flagrante delicto, and that perhaps he was aware of your presence?" Daniel shrugged. "Who the hell knows? None of it makes any sense anyways." Daniel could hear an edge of hysteria creeping in his voice, and he made an effort to remain calm. "It's all my fault -- it wasn't a dream -- he was there fucking around with her, and I just froze. Freaked out. I should have stopped them. I should have stopped him." "I must underline, for the record, that taking into account Biff's estimated muscle mass, he would have most likely pummeled you into the ground." "But still I'd have done something!" "Understood. You regret not having traded emotional pain for physical pain." "It's not that. It's just... I would have tried something. I would have been able to look at myself in the mirror now." "That is indeed precisely what I said." Daniel looked at his friend, but said nothing. "In any event, for the record," continued Radhu, "let me explicate that I do as a matter of fact believe that mind control is possible, and in fact is in use in the wild. Of course, I hasten to point out that the likelihood that Biff is employing such advanced technology is vanishingly small. According to my various sources, who happen to share my views about this particular topic, most techniques for achieving non-trivial mind control -- that is, beyond mere trance-induced suggestions that are at best realized subconscious manifestations -- involve mind-altering substances or severe stimulus deprivation coupled with an intense schedule of mental reprogramming and cortical stimulation. None of which could have been performed on Jennifer without you noticing, as they require time and have evident side effects. Some people have hinted at the development of new methods for mind control, including drugs without disastrous side effects, but such assertions have been offered without verification." "Bottom line, you don't think Biff could have gotten his hands on that kind of tech." "It it highly unlikely. Not impossible, of course, but highly unlikely." "But possible, yes" Radhu looked at Daniel with a look that conveyed all the patience in the world. "Honestly, if we are to contemplate unlikely but possible scenarios, I would rather we consider the doppelganger theory." "Doppelganger? As in twins?" "The term twins implies a sibling connection, but in essence, yes, you are correct. The doppelganger theory suggests that everyone has a double, someone whose physical likeness is conducive to confusion and cases of mistaken identity. So one possibility is that what you witnesses was not Biff with Jennifer, but rather Biff with a doppelganger of Jennifer." "That's crazy! I mean -- even if it were true that we all have twins, and I'm not saying it is -- what are the odds that Jenn'd have one here, in the same middle-of-nowhere town?" "I would venture the odds are as low as Biff having obtained advanced mind-control technology. Which is somewhat my point here." "Look, maybe the frat got the stuff from someone else." "The likelihood remains negligible. Unless one of the members of the fraternity is closely acquainted with a suitably high-level executive or researcher in one of the handful of companies and research centers that have been rumored to be investigating such technologies." Radhu's eyes lost their focus, which Daniel recognized as a sign that he was thinking through an idea. "It should be a simple matter to cross-reference the Delta Iota Kappa membership with the employee lists of the aforementioned companies. I could run such an analysis, if you so wished." "That'd be great, actually. Don't forget the alums too. But... where are you going to find those lists?" Radhu shrugged. "It is a simple matter of being cognizant of where to look for them. Although I expect that employees whose income is not registered with the IRS, or the tax collection agencies of a Western country, may not show up in my cross-referencing search." And Radhu's eyes lost their focus again. Daniel nodded, then hesitated before continuing. "Huh ,Rad, while you're down there investigating the frat, do you mind also taking a look at this and see if it has anything to do with, you know, any of what we talked about?" He held out his hand, from which Radhu lifted a silver charms bracelet. "Jenn showed up with one a couple of days ago, and it's gotta be related somehow. The coincidence's just too great." "Ah, one of these again. Similar to the one we found when we were investigating Marjorie's disappearance last semester. Were did you get it?" "I... huh... I borrowed it from Serena." In fact, it had been less a matter of borrowing than of ripping it off her wrist earlier that day. He had indeed asked Serena to borrow it, and she had refused, and he had pressed the issue, and she had heated up and accusing him of never listening to her and he had gotten angry in response to her anger and told her she was lying about that bracelet and she had dared him to take it from her if he thought it made her a toy of that frat and without thinking -- barely seeing anything through the rage that had suddenly erupted from his core -- he had lashed out and grabbed her wrist and ripped the bracelet off, at which point Serena had slapped him hard before kicking him in the groin even harder and then telling him as he lay on the ground holding his crotch that she knew he was hurt and confused because of what had happened to Jenn and that he was just lashing out and that was why she was not going to kill him but she nevertheless hoped that he'd choke on that bracelet. She had left that way, angrier than Daniel had ever seen her, and Daniel had been too much in pain to try and stop her. Now that he was somewhat calmer, and that his balls had stopped throbbing, he felt bad about what had happened, but he was willing to take advantage of the opportunity to look more carefully at that stupid bracelet. He would have plenty of time to apologize to Serena later. "In fact," he added, "has Serena seemed at all strange to you these past few weeks?" It was an open secret that Radhu was head-over-heels in love with the voluptuous black girl, and Daniel was hoping that such feelings would translate into keener observations. "I have not detected a noticeable change in her demeanor, no." "I mean, the way she just dropped the Delta Iota Kappa stuff after she found Marjorie, and this bracelet, and --" "Well, playing the odds again, I would venture that it is likely that the bracelet and its attendant significance as a purveyor of social possibilities was part of an exchange for Serena to stop her investigation, which she must have been leaning towards in any case because of her finding Marjorie." "Serena? Bribed? Come on..." "Everybody has their price, Daniel. Everybody has their price." "I don't buy it. Look, those bracelets came up left and right last semester -- Marjorie had one, the girls had them at the NADA thing and they were certainly acting weird --" No reaction from Radhu at the mention of that ill-fated party. "Serena showed up with one at the beginning of the term and she's been acting weird. Now Jenn has one..." "I am satisfied with the explanation of Marjorie's behavior as a result of a nervous breakdown. Serena has been acting like Serena. Jenn is still a question mark, but we are missing much data. And as far as the serving staff at the NADA party, I have not developed a theory yet, but I do agree it was peculiar." "Peculiar my ass. Something's going on. And I'm going to find out what exactly. And I think a starting point is to look at that bracelet, carefully. "I'll run a few analyses," said Radhu. "I have some friends studying forensics that will take great pleasure in taking this apart. But remember that we found nothing of interest on Marjorie's bracelet last time." "Just do your best, Rad. Meanwhile, I've got to figure out a way to find Jenn. The police was no help. They basically told me that students disappear all the time before turning up a couple of days later. They suggest I just wait for her to get off her binge and crawl back home. Unless they have some evidence of foul play, they seem unwilling to do anything at the present time. They did say something about hiring a private investigator if I was really worried." "That sounds like a surprisingly reasonable idea." "Yeah, it does." He paused. "Listen, there's something else I wanted to ask you. If you feel up to it. I don't want to put too much on your plate. But you told me a week or so ago that you figured out a way to hack into the CCTV cameras around campus?" "Correct. The ESPION project was granted funding to wirelessly connect all campus cameras as a testbed for their behavioral recognition technology, and penetrating their network was something an infant could do. Ah, I see -- you would like me to keep a lookout for Jennifer." "And for Biff. Finding either is good enough for me." "I could run the aggregated feed through a few facial recognition algorithms, in parallel. And in fact I may be able to advocate for this endeavor to be counted as term project for my Advanced Pattern Recognition class. The question will be how to best reduce the ratio of false positives to..." Daniel shook his head, listening to Radhu muttering to himself and clearly running through a few designs in his head. He would let him think some of it through before asking him if he could spend the night on his couch. He really did not want to be alone tonight. * * * Jenn still had not given any sign of life the following day. Daniel did the round of phone calls once more, but again no one had seen Jenn. Some of her friends were starting to get worried as well, and told Daniel that they'd start looking and asking around for her. That made Daniel feel a little better. At least he was not alone. Serena did not pick up her phone. He stopped by the police station and reported her missing, filling out the needed forms and answering questions. The officer he spoke to sounded bored out of his mind. He said they would be in touch. Daniel, remembering Serena ranting about how useless the police had been during Marjorie's disappearance, did not hold his breath. In the afternoon, after returning from a lecture to which he had been unable to pay any attention, he started looking up private investigators. He soon ended up with a list of detectives that were willing to work missing persons in New England, and started calling them up, methodically going down his list. Many were not answering their phones, most seemed too busy to take new cases and those that were not too busy seemed unwilling to head all the way to North Alexandria to investigate. While taking a break from his unfruitful queries, Daniel read an email from Radhu in which the Indian passed along a name that had come up when he was helping Serena look into Marjorie's disappearance the previous semester, a private investigator based in New York City that specialized in missing persons and that had gained a reputation in underground circles for being especially interested in people going missing under strange and unexplained circumstances after exhibiting atypical behavior. Radhu had included a phone number. Seeing as he was having no luck with his own list, Daniel tried the number. "Hi. You have reached the office of Sam O'Neill, licensed private investigator. I am out on a case this week, but please feel free to leave your contact information, and I will get back to you as soon as possible." "Mister O'Neill, my name is Daniel Malcolm, in North Alexandria. A friend of mine gave me your number, and said that you may be able to help me with my situation. My fiancee has gone missing." Daniel then launched into the spiel that by now he had practiced with several answering machines, describing as best as he could the situation, trying to not sound like he was struggling with a severe bout of paranoia. He left his contact information. Undaunted, Daniel returned to his list of names, and continued where he had left off, calling them up one after the other. It was not until nearly the end that he managed to find an investigator that was willing to help him out and who stated with confidence that this case would not a problem for him. They made an appointment for the next day, to discuss the case in more detail, sign some paperwork, and negotiate a fee. Daniel let himself feel a small measure of hope. * * * A week later, Grigory Pritznic, private investigator, was enjoying his sloppy joe while sitting in his favorite diner in what counted as downtown in North Alexandria. He had his field notes before him, the little of them there was. Seven days after Daniel Malcolm had hired him to find his fiancee Jennifer Hansen, Pritznic had almost nothing to show for it. He had interviewed all the friends and acquaintances that Malcolm had identified, and while eager to help, none of them had been able to provide any useful information as to Hansen's whereabouts. Ditto for one Balthazar Cusker, known under his nickname "Biff", who according to his client had seduced the Hansen girl away, and whose whereabouts were also unknown. According to Malcolm, the two were together, somewhere. Pritznic was happy to use this as a working hypothesis, but after asking around about that Cusker character, he had some difficulty figuring what Hansen was doing with him. But his client said he had irrefutable proof that they were together, and while Malcolm had been unwilling to reveal what proof that was, Pritznic tended to believe him. There was none of the hysterics that Pritznic too often saw with his cheating spouses cases. And in fact, his client seemed to have no interest in establishing that cheating was occurring. He merely wanted to locate his fiancee. Which sounded like a simple enough proposition, but Pritznic had had no success. A fact that frustrated him to no end. He fished in his coat pocket for his cigarettes before remembering that he was not allowed to smoke in the diner. "Want a refill, hon?" Pritznic looked up at the waitress, and nodded. "Thanks Eileen -- it's delicious, as usual." The pretty middle-aged waitress grinned while pouring the strong coffee in his cup. "You always say that, hon. It's starting to sound rehearsed." Pritznic grinned back. "Still the truth. Say, what time do you get off tonight?" "I should be out of here by eleven. Why? You have something in mind?" "Maybe..." He and Eileen had an on-and-off relationship, usually flaring up when business brought him to North Alexandria. It was comfortable, neither of them looking for anything complicated. Complicated, like his case. He looked down at his notes again. His first step had been to see if Hansen had skipped town. Cusker owned a two-bit clunker car that was missing from its customary spot at the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity house, but people that were familiar with the car were adamant that it could not have been driven very far. Pritznic had asked around at every rental place, at the bus and train stations, and at the small local airport, and as near as anyone could tell no one like Hansen or Cusker had been seen. Cab companies had no records of a long out-of-town trip matching the dates Malcolm gave him. There was a remote possibility that Cusker could have driven to some nearby town and switched cars there or something, but Pritznic had contacted one of his friends who had not seen any rental or ticket purchase on Cusker's credit card. In fact, his credit cards had shown no activity for the last week. Cusker may have paid cash, but Pritznic's gut instinct told him that he was barking the wrong tree. He called in another favor from a contact at the State Police, who kept him up to date on the APB that they had put out for Hansen and for Cusker and his vehicle. So far, nothing had been reported. Pritznic's money was on the couple still being in town, or at least nearby. There was a multitude of isolated properties in the rural communities around town that Cusker could have found refuge in, and checking them all would be impossible. "She's cute, ain't she?" Eileen the waitress was pointing with her coffee pot to the picture of Jennifer Hansen peeking out from the field notes spread on the table. "Yeah, she is. I'm looking for her for a client. And she's proving to be -- as they say -- elusive." Eileen grinned widely, and laughed. "Then it's your lucky day, hon. She just picked up some take-out. There she is, heading out now." She was looking towards the entrance behind him, and Pritznic frowned and turned to look. His eyes widened. He caught her just as she was turning towards the door, and he recognized her immediately. And she stuck out like a sore thumb. With a red dress that clung to every delectable curve of her body before flaring at the hip to the middle of her thighs, tall black boots with a long stiletto heel, and long dangling earrings and luxurious wavy hair cascading down her exposed back, she was dressed more for a clubbing night than for picking up a large styrofoam box from a greasy downtown diner. Every man in the joint was staring at her as she passed. Dumbstruck, Pritznic did not react until she was outside, at which point he jumped out of his seat and ran to the door just in time to see her climb into a cab. Cursing, he ran back to his table, swept up his notes, dropped a twenty and ran back past a laughing Eileen. Pritznic reached his car while the cab was still visible, and he managed to keep it in sight as he drove out. Soon, he was cruising comfortably behind them, and could focus on bringing his racing heart under control. He was getting too old for this shit, he thought. North Alexandria did not see a lot of traffic, so he could afford to stay a fair bit behind. He called Malcolm, got voicemail, and left a message stating that he had found Jennifer and that he was tailing her. One thing was clear, he thought, watching the downtown area recede behind them, they were leaving the town -- assuming the cab driver was not taking the girl for a ride -- which lent credence to Pritznic's hypothesis that she and Biff were hiding out in the countryside. He fumbled for a cigarette. At least one's car is still a place where one can bloody smoke, he thought. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the sensation of a case that had just broken open. Pritznic settled in his seat, dragging on the cigarette. His mind wandered, relaxing now that he had found the girl. Whether she was going to see Cusker or not was immaterial. Malcolm was paying him to find her, and he had just done so. And he did not even need to pick her up or anything. Just call Malcolm who wanted to come and talk to her. So piece of cake, as long as he did not lose sight of her. Which he had no intention of doing. That she was a tall glass of water on a scorching day would definitely make the task of keeping an eye on her tolerable. The picture Malcolm had given him had not paid her justice. That girl had legs that did not quit. He caught himself imagining what she would feel like writhing underneath him, wrapping those long legs of hers around his waist, hanging on to him, moaning in his ear. Okay, he told himself, taking a deep breath, make that an ice cold beer on a scorching day. He was disappointed that he was not on cheating detail on this case, otherwise he would have had a chance to watch her in action and snap a few pictures, for those long cold winter nights -- the current heat spell notwithstanding. The cab was slowing down ahead, and Pritznic followed suit. The cab turned right onto a small secondary road, and Pritznic, who knew the area well, made a guess at where they were headed. They were a bit out of town, headed for the Interstate, and there were quite a few cheap motels around. One, in particular, was popular for its rather lax attitude towards by-the-hour room rentals and its acceptably clean rooms. The fact that it was isolated and half-sheltered by the surrounding woods did not hurt either. Hell, Pritznic himself had taken advantage of the place a few times. He smiled at the good memories, and the smile only grew when he noted that the cab was indeed entering the driveway of the Nickel and Dime Motel. Terrible name, thought Pritznic, not for the first time. He stopped his car by the curb before the entrance, mostly hidden by the trees that lined the property. He pulled out a camera with a telephoto lens from the back of his car, and aimed it at the cab which was stopped in the parking of the motel. He snatched a few good pictures of Jenn as she got out, admiring once more her long legs stretched out in front of her, skirt ridden up on her thighs, long hair draped down her face. He took a few more pictures of Jenn standing alone in the motel driveway, after the cab had gone, looking around, searching for something. Then, to Pritznic considerable astonishment, she dropped her purse, reached back to unzip her dress, and shrugged it off her body with a delicious wiggle. Even in the arguably poor lighting of the parking lot, illuminated by the neon name of the motel -- "as low as $30/night, vacancies" -- and by a single lamppost incongruously planted right in the middle of the parking lot on the far end of the long row of rooms, Pritznic could attest to Jenn's incredible body. Through the telephoto lens, taking pictures that would not all make their way to his client, he admired her long legs sheathed in tall black boots, leading up to a small black G-string, and then up a flat stomach to a pair of perfectly formed breasts, a bit small for Pritznic tastes but he would not have thrown her out of bed for all that, up to a face showed no expression. She did not try to cover herself up, did not try to hide her exposed chest, instead standing straight, arms to the side, one leg in front of another, posing as though she was on a fashion runway. After a few minutes, the door to one of the motel rooms opened -- room 109, Pritznic noted -- and a large man appeared in the frame. Swinging his camera around, Pritznic snapped a few shots, easily recognizing Biff. The latter made a motion to Jenn, who snatched up her purse and walked to the door, slowly, leaving her dress behind, a red heap in the middle of the drive. Pritznic had the camera pointed at her the whole time, snapping pictures as he watched her head to the door, breasts bouncing enticingly the whole way, ass flexing as she put one high-heeled foot in front of the other, and Pritznic could not help notice, despite his avowed preference for ample bosoms, that Jenn's ass cheeks were just fine in her small G-string that did nothing to hide them. For good measure, he turned his camera to Biff, zooming in slightly to make sure there would be no problems identifying him, and very nearly dropped the camera in surprise when he saw that Biff, still standing in the doorway, was staring straight at him. There were no mistakes: Biff knew Pritznic was there. And if the smile that broke on Biff's face was anything to judge things by, he did not seem fazed by that one bit. The big guy in fact seemed proud. Once Jenn had entered the room and Biff had closed the door, Pritznic grabbed his cell phone and called Malcolm again, and hitting voicemail again. He left another message, saying that he had found Jennifer and Biff at the Nickel and Dime Motel just out of town, and that he would stay there until they left. He also stated that Biff knew he was there, so Malcolm might want to hurry up so as not to miss them. And then Pritznic sat in his car, waiting. He debated whether to call the police. It was the right thing to do. After all, they were on the lookout for the girl as well, and they could come in and secure her before Malcolm showed up. But Pritznic hesitated. He could not get the image of Jennifer Hansen naked but for boots and a G-string out of his head. And the thought that she was in that motel room, with that guy, probably fucking his brains out, just wreaked havoc inside his head. And then he made the decision. He was a private investigator after all, so he would investigate. And if in the course of his investigation he happened to take a few more picture of videos, then, that was only good investigative practice, wasn't it? He could always call the police later. Pritznic stepped out of the car, taking with him his pocket camcorder, and headed up the entryway towards the motel. He stopped by Jenn's discarded red dress lying like a bloodstain in the middle of the lot. He picked it up. It felt insubstantial in his hand, the material was so thin. His mind played with imagining how it would feel to run his hands over the body of the girl, tight and hard, through the almost silky material. Lucky fucker, Pritzic muttered under his breath, thinking of Cusker in room 109. Dress in his left hand, he noted that the curtains of the window next to the door to 109 were drawn. He headed for a dark passage further down the current block of rooms that lead to the back of the motel. Remembering the standard room layout from past visits, Pritznic knew that every room had a large window in the back that offered an unfettered view of the back woods. He made his way through, and, trying to find room 109 from the back, absently noted that several rooms were occupied, and that not all occupants were particularly careful with their privacy. He spotted at least one prostitute slowly riding her john, partly because of the look on her face -- a mixture of boredom and coldness -- partly because she was pretty and he was not, partly because she was dressed like a whore and he looked the part of a businessman on a company trip, but mostly because of that sixth sense that cops and private investigators seemed to develop. Another couple, two windows down, he pegged as an affair. They were both good looking, too good looking for the dive if they were looking for a simple fun night out, and their sexual activity seemed more intense. Pritznic looked at the couple for a few minutes, the girl on her hands and knees on the cheap motel bed, clutching a pillow against her chest, eyes closed, blonde hair swinging as she rocked to and fro from the pile-driving thrust of her mate, who was towering over her, hands in a tight grip on her hips, driving her back with violence. His eyes were not closed, but steadfast on her ass and back, clearing enjoying the show. Room 109, if his count was correct, was the fifth window over. But the curtains were drawn tightly, and even light was not filtering out, if there was any light inside in any case. Fuck, thought Pritznic, what now? There was a rumor, totally unconfirmed, that the Nickel And Dime Motel had a rather elaborate system of cameras installed, allegedly to ensure that no illegal shenanigans -- drugs, mostly -- were taking place, as there had been a few problems of that order a few years earlier. No one had ever been able to pin anything down, though, and the police was keeping mum, uncharacteristically. Stories were that the police chief had had a hand in keeping things quiet. Again, rumors, totally unconfirmed. Time to confirm at least one of them, Pritznic decided. Making his way to the front of the building, he headed to what was humorously called the reception. It was small, dark, and anything but welcoming. It was a stereotype of every reception in every seedy motel in every film noir that ever was. So much so that Pritznic did not put it past the owners to have designed the place knowingly. He pushed the entry door with its "Welcome" sign slightly askew. A bell rung. Nothing had changed since the last time he was here: three chairs along the right wall facing a low coffee table strewn with old magazines -- Maxim's, car mags, the works -- a short low counter on the left, behind which sat the lone concierge, attention captivated by an old movie on the screen in front of him. Pritznic smiled when he noted that the screen was a state-of-the-art high-definition computer monitor. Yes, he thought, definitely staged. He approached the counter. "Hey there." No acknowledgment. "Hope I'm not catching you at a bad time?" The concierge, a man of nondescript age, with longish hair, unshaved, dressed casually in jeans and a tee shirt, did not let his stare stray from the screen while he answered. "Room's thirty dollars a night. Continental breakfast's here from seven to nine. Checkout's at eleven. We also have hourly rates, but cash only. And no breakfast." "I'm not here for a room." It took a long time for the man to turn his head towards Pritznic. He looked at him square in the eye, something that took Pritznic by surprise. "You a cop?" "No. Close enough. I'm a PI." Pritznic flashed his identification. "I'm investigating one of your patrons. I was hoping you could help me." The man raised an eyebrow, and turned his attention back to the screen, where a young Jack Nicholson was trading quips with a beautiful Faye Dunaway. Of course, mused Pritznic. What would ol' Jake do? He sighed loudly, and sagged onto the counter. "Look, let me level with you. My client's girl's cheating on him, and I've been busting my nuts trying to catch the little bitch at it. But she and her new beau have been very careful. I've finally tracked them here tonight, and I'd like to just get my evidence and be done with it so I can go back to catching real crooks, know what I mean? Now, the thing is, of course, that they got their curtains pulled in their room, you know, so I can't just catch them in the act. And this is where I come to ask for your help." No motion from the man behind the counter, except for his regular blinking, looking at the screen. Nicholson was telling Dunaway about his time as a beat cop. Pritznic continued, doing his best to appear contrite, though all he really wanted to do is grab the man and shake him up real good. "Look. I've heard that you guys keep a record of what's going on in the rooms, cameras, the works. For security reasons. Hey, that's cool with me. Whatever keeps us safe, you know? I could use some of those myself sometimes. What I'm asking, and that's between you and I, is for a snapshot of the feed from room 109, where they're at. You'd really be doing me a big one, and, it goes without saying, I can make it worth your while." The man, at that, slowly turned his head back towards Pritznic. His movie facade fading for a second, he guffawed quietly. "Save your breath," he said, after recovering his phlegmatic persona. "I'm not saying that there are cameras, or that there aren't any. But it doesn't matter, because if there were, then I wouldn't give you anything anyways. Let's just say that the owners are real sticklers for privacy. There isn't a thing you could possibly offer me that would make me go against their wishes. Just not worth it. Now go away, let the little slut get her rocks off, invent a little story for the cuck, or join in the fun for all I care. Just go." He turned back to the screen, engrossed once again with Nicholson now tailing Dunaway. Pritznic stood there for a couple of beats, before recognizing that he would get nothing out of this. "Thanks anyways, pal." Back in his car, Pritznic lit a cigarette, and assessed his next move. He had tried to catch the couple at it, and had failed. In the grand scheme of things, it was probably for the best. His arousal had diminished enough by then for him to realize that the trouble he could have gotten into would not have been worth it. Now, there was nothing to be done but wait for Malcolm to show up. Pritznic called him again, but again ended up on voicemail. Pritznic had come through with his side of the bargain. If Malcolm was not there to pitch in, then he was the worst off. Pritznic pulled out a battered paperback horror novel, and settled down in the driver's seat. It was one hundred twenty pages and two hours later before anything interesting happened. Pritznic kept an eye out on the motel while reading, and one for Malcolm. There was very little activity at the motel that night. The paperback was decent, and the story had just entered its last straight with the heroine struggling mightily against impossible and quite supernatural odds, when the door to 109 finally opened. Pritznic instantly went on alert, swapping the paperback for the camera. Jenn stepped out of the room. Her discarded dress was lying in a heap on the passenger seat of the Pritznic's car, and she was wrapped up in a bed sheet as if it were a toga. She stepped out of the room, one hand holding the bed sheet over her shoulder, striding off unhurriedly towards the office, white sheet trailing behind her like a bridal train, her high-heeled boots imparting a sensuous sway to her stride. Without knocking, she entered the reception. Pritznic wondered whether he should go into the reception himself, and confront the girl, but his gut told him to keep still in the car, and he waited to see where things were going. No rushing into things was one of his mottos. Fifteen minutes passed, slowly, with no hint of movement from either the reception, or from room 109. Pritznic, paperback novel discarded on the passenger seat next to his camera and his camcorder, was getting restless. His patience was rewarded when the reception door opened and Jenn came out, still wrapped in her white sheet, a goddess drifting out of the door. She paused once again, deliberately, before looking at Pritznic and, smiling, slowly strode toward his car. Pritznic, almost hypnotized, extended a hand towards his camera, but seemed to lose his will to grip it. He stared at the lovely vision making her way towards him, slowly, heels clicking on the asphalt of the parking lot, sheet around her like an aura. The same sheet split in the front, letting an impossibly long and tanned leg peek through on every step. Twenty feet from the car, without breaking stride, Jenn discarded the sheet with a flourish, revealing her glorious body, almost naked but for a near nonexistent G-string that hid her bush but little else, and of course her boots. Pritznic's eyes roved up her long legs to the curves of her hips up her toned belly only to fix on her breasts, swaying slightly in the swing imparted by her walk. He could see her nipples standing hard in the brisk night air. Jenn slid up to the driver's side of the car, and knocked on the window. Pritznic noted absentmindedly that her nails were painted bright red. He hesitated a second before opening the window. Jenn leaned over, and Pritznic was mesmerized by the sight of her breasts hanging there no more than two feet from him. "Hello, Mister Private Investigator." "Huh... hi." "Biff feels bad that you had to spend the whole evening here, all alone, probably bored out of your mind." She nodded towards the paperback. "Any good?" "It's okay, I guess. Look, miss..." "Jenn." "Excuse me?" "My name's Jenn. And believe me, I'm no miss." She smiled, a smile that spoke of dirty things. "Jenn, I don't know what you..." "I know why you're here, Mister Private Investigator. And I'm sorry we kept the blinds drawn. But maybe I can make it up to you." She pulled a DVD from seemingly nowhere. "The clerk out there was sweet enough to give me a copy of a suitable portion of the recording they made of the room. Here, it's yours. I trust you will find it... suitably entertaining. I do get quite loud and graphic at times, I hope you won't mind." Pritznic, hesitantly reached out for the disk in its protective sleeve, and examined it. It was a DVD all right, and the discoloration on its burned face suggested there was a couple of hours of material on it. "How... how did you...?" Jenn smiled another of her suggestive smiles. "How did I get the clerk to give this to me? I was nice and friendly. That's what my mother taught me: you're nice and friendly to people, and they're nice and friendly back. Although I have to say, I had to be extra nice with that particular fellow. He was most reluctant at first. But he got around to my way of thinking, eventually." Pritznic could just imagine what Jenn had done to get the prickly clerk at the desk, who seemed well practiced at fending off nosy customers, to give up his big secret. Did she spread her long legs for him, let him fuck her, there, perhaps on the front desk counter, or did she join him beyond that counter and gave him head until he came all over her face? She did have those perfect blow job lips. As if she had read his mind, Jenn smiled, and reached up to her cheek. She picked up a drop of clear liquid with a long finger. "Oops... I missed a spot earlier. I'm such a messy eater, you wouldn't believe." She sucked the finger into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing out, her eyes never leaving Pritznic's. He broke eye contact first, dropping his eyes down to her chest and her round breasts with their hard nipples. He must have been staring for a long time, because Jenn giggled and straightened up from her position at the window. "You like my titties, Mister Private Investigator?" She grabbed her breasts and pressed them together and up. "That clerk there also liked them -- couldn't get his hands off of them, in fact. And he slobbered all over them, too. It was nasty. But at least it made them nice and wet for when he put his cock there and fucked them. But I don't wanna bore you with what that clerk did to me. Biff told me to get you the DVD and give you something else for your trouble, you know, being out here the whole night, alone, while Biff was banging my ass." She took two steps away from the car. "Please open the door, Mister Private Investigator." As in a dream, Pritznic slowly opened the car door, before his conscious mind could really grasp what he was doing. But he was not thinking. He was merely reacting, eyes glued on Jenn's lovely body, fully exposed but for a thin strip of material between her legs. Pritznic swung his legs out of the car, but remained seated. "Pull your pants down, Mister Private Investigator." She pointed, and while Pritznic scrambled to unbuckle his belt and unzip and pull down his trousers, Jenn grabbed the discarded bed sheet and bundled it to make a soft pile at Pritznic's feet on which she knelt gracefully. She sat back on her heels, waiting patiently for Pritznic to finish. When he did, she smiled, and without moving her hands from her lap bent at the waist and with a wide open mouth caught his cock, hard and projecting straight out towards her. Her mouth closed softly on the tip, and she sucked hard once, twice. Pritznic gasped, and grabbed the door frame for support and to give his hands something to squeeze. "Funny," she said, after letting his cock pop out of her mouth and straightening up, "the clerk reached pretty much the same way when I took him in my mouth." She looked into Pritznic's eyes. She then bent back down to take him in her mouth again and this time did not back up. Pritznic was getting the blow job of his life. Jenn seemed to be pouring her all into it, enthusiastically pumping his cock with one hand while bobbing her head up and down, lips sealed tight, tongue swirling, gagging every now and then when Pritznic's cock would hit the back of her throat. Pritznic was mesmerized by the swing of her breasts, bouncing in rhythm with Jenn's sucking motions. Once in a while he would reach down to cup one of them, feeling their firmness, their fullness. Jenn would moan whenever he did that, encouraging him by thrusting her chest forward against him, never breaking her sucking stride. Good things never last, and Pritznic was feeling himself get closer and closer to spewing with every stroke of Jenn's hand and every bob of her head. Her hair was flailing about, rich brown waves half hiding her face. Her eyes were closed, she was concentrating on her task. Pritznic's hips were starting to jerk wildly, and Jenn felt the telltale signs of an imminent ejaculation. Giving two last hard sucks on the cock in her mouth, sending the cock head deeper in her throat than she had before, she released it, and raised her head. She looked at Pritznic, wide eyes unblinking. "I want you to glaze my tits, Mister Private Investigator." She aimed the cock at her chest, rubbing the cock head against the slightly damp skin there, then more forcefully rubbing the whole cock against a breast, then the other. Jacking him off forcefully, drooling on his cock at regular intervals, putting the hard member between her breasts and squeezing them together to provide a smooth flesh tunnel, Jenn did not have to wait long before Pritznic let out a long guttural moan, jerked his hips forward in counterpoint to Jenn's fist, and spewed in long liquid jets that hit and dribbled down Jenn's chest, dripping all the way to her thighs. Jenn simply squeezed and rubbed his cock, softly, mewing encouraging words under her breath. Pritznic collapsed into his seat, completely spent. Jenn stood up. She lifted a finger to her chest, brought it up to stare at it a second before gently sucking off the semen she had collected. "Mmmm.... thank you, Mister Private Investigator, that was perfect." She looked at him, amusement showing in her eyes. "I trust this made your evening less frustrating than it might otherwise have been?" She turned around. Pritznic, still drained, followed the sway of her ass when it came into view. It was just perfect. "Well then, bye now," said Jenn, heading back towards room 109. She paused before she had gone very far, and came back to the car. "Silly me, I had almost forgotten. I have a few more things for you." She pulled ring off the finger of her left hand, and handed it to Pritznic. "Here," she said, "this is for Daniel. Tell him that I do not want to see him ever again. We're through." "And this," she continued, "is for you, Mister Private Investigator." She slowly pulled down her G-string down her long legs, lifted one foot to step out of them, and bent her other leg up so she could pick up the flimsy garment without bending down. She then stood, fully naked but for her boots, in the middle of the parking lot of the Nickel and Dime. Pritznic held his breath, his eyes drawn to the immaculately shaved pussy proudly on display between Jenn's parted legs. Jenn made no motion to hide herself from his gaze. Slowly, she ran the discarded string through her pussy lips, and Pritznic saw that the material was getting soaked. She then casually tossed him the underwear. It landed on his lap with a wet plop, next to his now flaccid cock. "Think of me when you jerk off." She then grabbed the bed sheet from the ground, wrapped herself in it once more, and left silently, heels clacking on the pavement. A car screeched to a stop right before her, and she got in next to Biff. They quickly drove away. Pritznic was numb. He had lost them. He slowly got dressed, and debated what to do. He decided to wait, in case Malcolm showed up, and tried to come up with a reasonable excuse for having lost the pair. He experienced a momentary twinge of guilt as he took the sodden G-string and hid it in the glove box, along with the DVD. A few minutes later, a taxi cab stopped right behind his car, and Malcolm emerged to come and talk to him. And as Pritznic explained what had happened up to the time he arrived at the motel, and tried to come up with a story that did not involve Jennifer Hansen giving him head before disappearing with her lover but still had her giving him her ring to give Malcolm, he paid no attention to the nondescript black car that had arrived at the motel a minute after Malcolm's cab and was quietly idling at one end of the parking lot, a raven-haired woman sitting in the driver's seat.