Date: Thu, 06 Jul 2000 08:45:34 PDT
From: Woodrow Harrison <woodrow_h@hotmail.com>
Subject: Shamus (bi)

The following is a work of fiction.  It is not intended to be read by
anyone not legally entitled to do so nor by anyone offended by common
gendered sexual activity.  Comments and constructive criticism to:
Woodrow_h@hotmail.com.

                                 I.
                               Vicky

The lettering on the frosted glass window of the door of my office reads:

                    "Woodrow Harrison & Associates
                        Private Investigations"


After we won the cold war, working at CIA had lost a lot of its appeal for
me, so I had taken early retirement and determined to use the skills I'd
aquired as a field agent in the area of independent investigations.  I
rented a small office in a run-down neighborhood in Chicago and a spacious
loft in the same building.  The office is Spartan, containing only the
essentials for communication, a desk for me and one for Jack, my secretary,
and a filing cabinet.

The loft is equally utilitarian with one private bedroom, an efficiency
kitchen, and a shower room.  It has a balcony where I have a kitchenette
set.

The communal toilets are down the hall and shared with the neighbors on the
floor.  I'd not done much in the way of decorating beyond hanging drapes
over the windows and making a small parlor area with a couple of secondhand
couches and chairs, a coffee table and a Persian rug I'd bought when
working in the Middle East.

A state-of-the-art entertainment center was the only feature that brought
the place up to date with the 21st century.

Radio dramas and especially television invariably depict the private
detective as a two fisted, hard drinking womanizer who is always one step
ahead of the cops, showing them up for the fools they are.  That image
rarely jives with reality.  PI work involves a great deal of research, dry,
interminable reading and only occasional surveilance.  While arrests are
often made as a result of my probings, I leave that to the client to get
the police after the miscreants.  I want no part of lawsuits arising from
me roughing anyone up, thus I avoid confrontation as much as possible.
There are men for hire if any situation demanded rough stuff, but I rarely
engage any of them.

Most of my clients are corporations and businesses that suspect someone of
embezzlement or of espionage.  My fee is a modest retainer, $100.00 per
hour and direct expenses.  I give honest accounts and have built a
reputation for being effective over the years, so I rarely lack for
caseload.  Now and then an individual will engage me to confirm suspicion
of an errant spouse or to locate a missing person, but I prefer business
related work and don't advertize to the general public.  The people who do
contact me generally have heard of me through a client firm.

Fridays are usually slow days for me.  I read the Tribune, the Sun Times,
The Southtown Economist, and the Wall Street Journal in the morning, then
go downtown for a seafood lunch with my girlfriend Monica, an attorney with
a prominent loop law firm.  I then return to the office and do any filing
that has piled up.  Jack has Fridays off.

On this particular Friday, I returned from lunch and saw the blinking light
on the answering machine.  I hit the playback button and was treated to a
sultry, gravelly voice identifying herself as "Vicky", and promising to
call back later.  The voice was intriguing. I was eager to get the call
just to find out if she was as exciting as she sounded.  I was not going to
be disappointed!  I was just putting the last manilla folder back in the
file case when the telephone rang.

"Harrison Associates, this is Woody", I said in my standard greeting.

"Mr. Harrison, this is Vicky Stein", cooed the voice on the line, "I wonder
if you could see me about something that's been troubling me?"

"You have need of an investigator?"

"Yes, I need a confidential...er...consultant."

"First consultation is on me.  When can you stop by?"

"Will you be there for the next two hours?"

"I can be.  Do you know where my office is?"

"I have the address, but I'm not terribly familiar with the city proper.

Can you give me directions?  I'm coming from Winnetka."

I gave her the directions and told her it should take about an hour to get
here at this time of day, but cautioned that the ride home would be during
rush hour and would likely take twice that.

With an hour to kill, I locked the office and went up to my loft.  I picked
out a CD and placed it in the Bose.  Torch songs from the past sung by
Carly Simon filled the huge room.  I grabbed a coke from the refrigerator
and flopped on the couch.  My favorite track, "Body and Soul" had just
finished when a sudden whim made me change from casual slacks and polo
shirt to a suit with white shirt and necktie.  By time I had completed
changing, it was time to return to the office to greet my caller.

I had just opened the "Journal" to the crossword puzzle when the knock on
the door came.

I got up, strode over to the door, opened it, and all but gasped.  Vicky
was one knockout of a woman!  Shoulder length black hair framed a dark oval
face with brown eyes that flashed as she smiled at me.  The full, sensual
lips parted over gleaming white teeth.  The sensible tan suit she wore
complimented the robust figure, and the 4" heels pulled her legs into a
shape most models would die for.  I guessed her to be about 40, but
tastefully made up, and well preserved.

"Mr Harrison?  I'm Vicky Stein."  She said it with some authority, as if I
should recognise her as one of "the" Steins or something, though there are
thousands of people with that name here in the phone book.

"Please come in Ms. Stein".

"Call me Vicky"' she said as she floated to the chair beside my desk.

I cleared the paper off the top of the desk and sat down.  "What can I help
you with Vicky?"

"It's my husband", she said with a hint of exasperation in her tone, "I
believe he is having an affair."

"Have you confronted him with your suspicions?"

"Yes, and he laughs it off.  Tells me he is just busy with his job and
that's why he isn't coming home some nights."

"And you want me to verify that he's telling the truth or lying, is that
it?"

"I need some closure.  I have to know if he's seeing someone."

"Do you suspect anyone specific?"

She squirmed a little in the chair and bit her lip.  "I do, but I have to
explain something first before I tell you".

I leaned back in my chair and spread my hands in a disarming gesture.

"About 10 years ago, Mo and I had noticed a drop off in our sex life.  We
did a lot of experimenting at the counsel of a therapist, but nothing
seemed to work.  Finally he suggested that we try swinging."

"Swinging?  As from the chandeliers?"  I asked naively.

"No, swinging as with other couples."  She said it so matter-of-factly that
I was caught off guard.

"We'd go to parties and swap partners for sex.  At first it seemed to help.

Mo was very attentive and affectionate, and our lovemaking returned to its
earlier intensity.  We both enjoyed the variety, and since both of us are
"fixed", there wasn't any fear connected with it.

About a year ago, Mo started working late on Friday nights.  We couldn't go
to the party because of this, though he encouraged me to attend.  I went
once or twice, but it wasn't the same without him along.  It just felt
strange to me to be boffed by somebody's hubby while she had to play
twiddle twat."

Just hearing about this was giving me a considerable discomfort in my
trousers.  I couldn't help imagining the disappointment of the guys who'd
gotten the opportunity to lie with this magnificent specimen and then be
cut off from her.

"So I quit going.  Mo continues to work late, and he hasn't touched me in 3
months."

"Mo is short for....?"  I broke in.

"Morris.  Morris Stein."

"The attorney?"  I raised my eyebrows.  Morris Stein was well known as a
criminal lawyer with a stable of rather unsavory clients including some
mobsters and people with porno related businesses.

"Yes", she said, "that's him."

I gave a low whistle.  This could be a real hot potato. "Connected" guys
don't appreciate people delving into their private affairs, and neither do
the people they're connected with.  I began to have severe misgivings about
this.

"Before you decide whether to take the case, Mr. Harrison, I wonder if
you'd do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"I've been thinking about spending two hours in traffic getting home.  I'd
rather miss rush hour and wondered if you'd have dinner with me someplace
downtown.  My treat of course."

Wow!  Here was another hot potato!  If I were seen having dinner with a hot
looking babe like this and it got back to Monica, I'd have some heavy
explaining to do.  On the other hand, I waffled, this was a potential
client, one that could easily afford the fee.....In the end I agreed and
made a reservation at Gioco for 6:30.

It was just 5:00, so I suggested that we enjoy a cocktail in my loft til it
was time to take the 10 minute cab ride to the restaurant.  She agreed, and
a few minutes later I was splashing gin over two glasses of ice garnished
with bleu cheese stuffed queen olives.

She sat demurely on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles.  As I handed her
the drink she gave me that dazzling smile and I almost spilled it in her
lap.

"Would you mind if I smoked?"  She said producing a Virginia Slim from her
handbag.

"Not at all, in fact I'll join you."  I said, holding my lighter out with a
shaking hand. "Would you like some music?"

"That would be nice", she said, "do you have any jazz?"

"Any particular artist?  I've got quite a collection."

"Brubeck?"

"Good choice".  I pulled a CD out of the "B" section and the rhythms of
"Take Five" began tickling the speakers.  I turned the volume down to let
the music drift into the background.

"Nice place you have here."  She initiated small talk.

"I like the spacious feeling."

"You could have concerts or recitals in here" she said, " I bet you could
get over a hundred people in this room comfortably."

"My housewarming had more than that and no one felt cramped."

"Is that where you sleep?"  She pointed to the bedroom door.

"Yes", I replied.

"Seems like awfully cramped quarters compared to the rest of it."

"Holds a king-sized bed and a walk-in closet.  Don't need much room for
just that.  How's your drink?  Want me to freshen it for you?"  I tried to
change the subject as all this talk about bedroom was making me
uncomfortable; the thought of her hair splayed out on my pillow
involuntarily invaded my mind.

"Thanks", she said, "but I'd like some wine with dinner and I do have a
long drive later".

The CD had ended.  I looked at my watch.  "I'll call the cab now."

The telephone is in the kitchen and out of the line of sight of where she
was sitting.  I called the cab company and when I returned, noticed that
she had removed her shoes and sat with her long legs tucked up beneath her.
She had also taken the liberty to change the CD.  The low, sexy voice of
Barry White oozed from the speakers.

Great!  I thought, all we need is the candles to complete the seduction.  I
consider myself a professional, and it would be decidedly unprofessional to
fuck the client, but she was a real temptation.  Thank goodness we had to
leave for the restaurant soon.

The cab tooted from the street.  Vicky replaced her shoes, I grabbed my
jacket and we went down the stairs.

As Italian restaurants go, Gioco is one of the better ones in Chicago.  Not
a spaghetti and meatball joint run by mom and pop, but a first class haute
cuisine establishment with a sophisticated chef.  We were shown to a table
in a tastefully decorated room trimmed with expensive looking carved wood.
I ordered a bottle of Soave Bolla, opting for a whole pimento while Vicky
asked for the traditional antipasto.  We both felt the Veal Marsala looked
good and ordered that for our entree.

As the waiter left to get the wine, I leaned over the table toward her.

"You said you had a suspect in mind..."

She looked around the room furtively.  Satisfied that no one was there that
she recognized, she looked at me earnestly.

"One of our swing partner couples is a client of Mo's.  He runs a large
bookstore and theater in Old Town."

I couldn't recall any large combination like that, but she clarified it by
mentioning the name: "The Bijou".

The place was known for showing films of homosexuals and was frequently
raided by the police vice squad.  I'd never been into the place, but could
well imagine what went on in the seats while the films were showing.

"Darlene and Alan Lipshitz stopped coming to the parties right after we
did.

She belongs to the same tennis club as I, and one day after a match we were
schmoozing at the juice bar.  I mentioned that we were not going to the
parties any longer.  She said she'd noticed I was alone at the last one
she'd been to and wondered about it.  I explained about Mo's working late
all the time, and she commiserated, adding that Alan was spending more and
more time with the theater.  Something clicked in my mind.  I recalled that
Mo had always seemed more enthusiastic when he and Darlene got it on at the
parties, and here she was alone at night neglected by her husband."

"So you feel this woman is having an affair with your husband?"

"I think it's distinctly possible, but I have to know for sure."

The waiter showed up with the wine and the appetizers.  I poured us each a
glass.  We clinked and sipped.

"I'll need some addresses and a picture of your husband at least."  I said
indicating I'd decided to accept the case.  I figured this should be pretty
easy, likely wrapped up in less than a week.

She was way out in front of me.  From her bag she drew out two photos; one
of a middle-aged, rather corpulent male in a business suit, the other of a
well tanned, trim blonde in a tennis outfit and a paper with addresses and
telephone numbers.

"This is Mo taken about six months ago, I took this one of Darlene two
weeks ago."

"Nice looking woman," I said, "I can see the temptation."

Vicky gave a little moue sod I added quickly, if lamely, that she was
definitely the better looking.  She seemed satisfied with that as I made
another entry in my mental book of things one never says to a woman.

We ate the appetizers and the waiter was there with the main course as soon
as we finished.

I'd kept refilling the glasses as we drank and only now noticed the bottle
was half empty. Better take it easy I thought.  She had a lengthy drive
ahead of her.

We finished dinner and both declined dessert.  She paid the tab and excused
herself to go to the powder room.  I took the opportunity to do the same.
I stepped up to the urinal and unzipped.  The door opened and a short,
thickset man stepped up to the urinal beside me.  I got a feeling all of a
sudden that this fellow was sizing me up as we both stood there pissing.
He might have just been checking me out for size comparison or maybe he was
gay and was making those subtle overtures they do, but maybe he was more
than that.  Gut instincts has saved me from messy situations in the past; I
knew immediately I wanted nothing to do with this one.  I zipped up and got
out of there pronto, the stranger right behind me.

Vicky was waiting for me outside the restaurant.  A cab stood at the curb.

We got in. I began to give the driver my address when that feeling
returned.

"Just go up to Grand Avenue and turn West" I said.

As the driver pulled away from the curb, I turned and looked out the back
window to see the man from the washroom get into a black sedan with one of
it's headlights burned out.  The sedan followed us.  My instinct was right!
This was no professional.  That burned out headlight was a dead giveaway.
I decided to play a little game with him.

"Go up to Chicago Avenue and go West to the police station" I reinstructed
the driver.

Sure enough, the car turned after we did.  In front of the police station a
couple of cops were lounging around smoking cigareetes.  I had the cabbie
stop and got out.  I explained to the officers that I felt we were being
followed by a car with one headlight, pointing out that it should be an
easy bust for them and would allow us to go about our business unmolested.

To my delight, the car in question was approaching.  One of the cops
stepped into the street and waved the driver over.  I thanked his partner
and got back into the cab.

"Grand and Ogden" I gave the driver my address.

"What was that all about?"  Vicky asked.

"Don't know, but we were definitely being followed.  They'll take a little
time writing him a citation and I never saw the guy before so I doubt he
knows where I live."

"Why would someone be following you?"

"No reason I can think of, maybe he was following you."

She fell silent at that and did not speak until the cab pulled up to the
door of my building.

I paid the driver and looked over at the red Lexus parked at the curb.

I hesitated a moment but then asked the mannerly question.

"Would you like a cup of coffee before you start off for home?"

"Yes", she replied.  "Let's get out of the street.  What you said about me
being the one who was followed has made me a little nervous."

We climbed the stairs to my loft.  While I made coffee in the kitchen, she
asked to use the telephone.  She called her home explaining that she didn't
want Mo to be worried, but got no answer.  With a sigh she hung up the
receiver.

"If he's over there plowing that bitch I'm going to sue her for every dime
she has."

It was a little after 8:00, not an unreasonable time for a man to work late
and grab some dinner.

"Why don't you try his office?"

"He says he doesn't pick up the phone when he's there."

I nodded and brought the cups to the coffee table.  She followed, and
kicking off her shoes, sat down on the sofa.

"I take it there isn't any Mrs. Harrison?"  She opened conversation on a
personal note.

"In my line of work it's better to be single.  The hours vary wildly.  Not
a good family environment."

She smiled at me coquettishly.  Where the hell is this going I asked
myself.

This gorgeous woman who hadn't had a man in her in three months was coming
on to me.  Now that she's a committed client she's definitely off-limits, I
tried to convince myself but despite myself I felt a growing erection.

"What do you do for.....release?"

I could have said it was none of her business and chilled the atmosphere,
but decided to be upfront with her and told her about Monica.

"But she doesn't live with you?"

"No, we date occasionally.  Her schedule is almost as hectic as mine."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.  It's been making Vicky a dull
girl for awhile too."

Dull?  I'd like to feel those long legs wrapped around my back.  Hardly a
dull proposition.

"Well at least you have the option of the swingers' parties."

"I told you I didn't feel comfortable going alone.  It's not fair to the
other women and most of the guys are grunts anyway."

I could imagine they were.  I couldn't recall seeing any bronzed Adonis
movie star types when in Winnetka, though that's not to say there couldn't
be any.

I'm not exactly a hunk myself, so it was a bit puzzling that she was here
in my loft and steering the talk in an obvious direction.  I finished my
coffee and looked at her half-empty cup.

"Want some more?"

"No thanks.  Why don't you put on the stereo and sit here next to me?"

It was more a command than an invitation.  I turned on the Bose and Barry
White's voice again filled the room.  Nervously, I sat next to her, careful
to keep a distance between us.

She placed her hand on my knee.  I jumped involuntarily.

"My goodness, Woody, relax.  I'm not going to bite you."

With that she leaned over and kissed me full on the mouth.  I wanted to0
resist, but those full sensual lips were too insistent.  Her tongue jabbed
into my mouth and I went fully hard in my pants as it touched mine.  We
began necking.  She brought my hand to her breast and then drummed her
fingers up my thigh up to my hardness.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," I said lamely as she began unzipping
my trousers.

She pulled the trousers to my ankles and stuck her hand down the waistband
of my boxers.  The long fingers wrapped around my dick and began carressing
it gently.  We kissed again, this time a long breathless one that left us
both gasping.

I couldn't believe this was happening.  This beautiful, sex-starved woman
was seducing me in my own loft!  I almost lost it when she knelt down in
front of me, and pulling my shorts to my ankles, took it into her mouth.
She knew what she was doing.  The tongue teased the cockhead, covering it
with her saliva.

I felt that familiar tightening in the pit of my stomach and pushed her
head away.  She smiled up at me cherubicly.

"There's a better place for this."  My voice was husky.

She got up and I waddled into the bedroom ahead of her.  I sat on the side
of the bed and removed my shoes and stockings then the rest of my clothes
while she stripped in front of me, leaving that expensive wardrobe lying in
a heap beside the bed.  Her ponderous breasts hung in my face as she
slipped down her panties.  They were full and capped with prominent nipples
that begged attention.  I nibbled at them for a moment.  She stood up fully
naked before me and I gulped in admiration.  Few women look as good with
their clothes off than with them on, but Vicky was the exception.  A slight
tummy topped an amazing bush of hair on her mons that trailed off down her
inner thigh halfway to the knee.  I wanted to taste what lay below that
thicket, and she did not disappoint me.

She pushed me onto my back, lithely jumped up on the bed, straddled me in a
69 position and treated me to a faceful of heaven as her skilled tongue
resumed its exploration of my throbbing pole.  Long, sharp fingernails
teased my scrotum and that delicious spot between it and my anus.  My
tongue found her clitoris and alternated between it and that magic spot 2"
into her vagina.

She orgasmed quickly, her thighs squeezing my head as her body shook with
the impact of it.

I pushed her up off me and had her get on all fours.  Standing by the side
of the bed I pushed my straining cock into her as deeply as I could.

"Oh!"  She screamed, "Yes! Shove that big cock in there!  Fuck me!  Slap my
ass."

I caressed her globes, giving them an occasional slap as I burrowed into
her. 0 She was hot and wriggling, pressing back against me in a frenzy of
lust.

After her second orgasm, I pulled out of her and tasted her again.  She
smelled strongly of both of us.  She gave a combined laugh and moan.  My
face was wet from her as I resumed plowing into her with my eager tool.
Five minutes passed, then my body tensed.  I gripped her asscheeks tightly
letting my load into her.  The pulse as the semen ran up to the head and
streamed into her was so intense I thought I would pass out.  Her vaginal
muscles contracted on me, jealous of every drop of my emission.

As my cock shrank out of her she crawled forward on the bed and collapsed.

I lay down beside her and took her in my arms.  We kissed, not as
passionatly as before but peacefully basking in the afterglow of our
lovemaking.  We rolled on our backs and enjoyed a cigarette together,
sharing the warmth of each other's body.  She looked at her watch.

"Oh my!  It's after nine!  I've got to go."

I knew she had to, but I sure didn't want to hear it.  Lying naked on the
bed I watched her dress.  Once finished, she stepped over to the bed, gave
me a light brush with her lips, fished a card out of her purse and handed
it to me.

"It's my cell phone number," she said, "call me if you need any more help
or have any information for me."

With that she quickly left the room and down to the street.  I watched as
the Lexus pulled away.  There was no sign that anyone was following her.