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.

