Ch. 3 General Stonewood
Lily was off my lap, and I was all tucked away with my trousers zipped up by the time Owen stopped the car in front of the Stonewood house. The house looked like a cross between the temple at Angkor Wat and the Great Wall of China. As we approached a door the Mongol hordes couldn't have breached in a month with a steam shovel, it slid soundlessly open. I followed Lily inside.
She turned to me, "You come."
"If I'm not mistaken, you did too, more than once," I answered. But she was all business again, the inscrutable oriental.
The hall we travelled was shorter than a football field, but not by much. The walls were hung with portraits in styles dating back three hundred years or more, all men in military dress, all with flaming red hair and penetrating blue eyes. Interspersed among them were works of erotic art from Asia and India.
We exited that tunnel of love through a set of French doors into a glass atrium. The heat and the smell brought me flashes of a long-ago trip to Phuket. Plants pressed fleshily against the glass all around, stretching high above to cast shadows across the open floor. In the center stood a massage table, with two straight chairs and a small side table nearby. A big (both tall and broad) old man lay prone on the table, quite naked, his head toward us, white hair short over his pale mottled scalp. He lifted his head to watch me approach, narrowing his blue eyes. Crossing that floor felt like passing over an open field under the sights of a machine gun.
His voice was deep, and snapped; every phrase sounded like an order. "Thank you, Lily. Sit, Mr. Mallet. Lily, send Rose in, and have her bring Mr. Mallet a Singapore Sling."
"I can do fo you, General," she answered.
"Send Rose."
Her eyes dropped, and she shuffled from the room.
"Now, suh," He noticed I still stood. "Damn man, I know you're independent and even insubordinate. I want to hire you, and I don't know how to ask for favors, but please think of this as me asking. Sit. And when the drink comes, drink it for me. All my pleasures are being taken from me as I age. I want to watch a man enjoy a drink, that's all."
I couldn't help liking the old man. I sat. "What can I do for you, General?"
"I need you to find someone."
"General, you own a consulting company with a whole division specializing in finding people who don't want to be found."
"Yes, well. It's the head of that division who's missing, and the last place they can track him to is this estate."
"You're talking about Randy Mercury."
"Yes, suh. Randy's gone missing.
Randy Mercury was a legend among special forces, mercenaries, and law enforcement world-wide. His exploits dated back to the early days of US involvement in Afghanistan, and ranged around the world. He'd killed terrorists from far away using high-tech weaponry, and up close, using, in one case (if the legend was true), a pencil. And now he was missing.
The door slid open and a young woman entered carrying a highball glass. She was the image of Lily, if Lily were twenty years younger and had red hair and blue eyes. Rose.
She placed the glass on the table beside me, next to a manila folder with a check clipped to it, then moved to the old man and began massaging him. It was a very professional job.
I lifted the glass and offered it toward the old man in toast. He watched me thirstily.
"I drank those by the gallon at Saigon Saigon," he said dreamily. The massage was having an effect, but the blue sniper eyes never wavered. "Will you do it, Mr. Mallet?"
All the zeros on the check made my decision easier. "I will. I'll need to speak with everyone in the household."
"Suh?"
"He was last seen here. I'll read the file over, but this work is about talking to people, and this house is the place to start." I finished the drink -- far too sweet for my taste -- and set the glass down.
"Lily will take care of it," he sighed, and fully relaxed into the massage.
Rose indicated that he should turn over. As he did, his semi-tumescent cock flopped like a white snake against his pale thigh. She captured it in her hand and bent to take it in her mouth. Still professional: the world's oldest profession. His eyes were closed, but she never took hers off me as she took his full length down her delicate throat: bright, unblinking blue eyes.
Ch. 4 Mrs. Milford
I left the room to her low gurgle and his sighs of pleasure. The French doors again opened soundlessly.
Lily stood outside, her mouth a thin line. "You take case."
"Yes. What's this say?" I flipped the file folder in my hand.
"Landy disappealed two weeks ago. He at mansion that night. Stayed late. Dlove off past midnight. Not seen again. File includes dossier on tellolists who might want him dead, none known to be in US though. Also, he spent a lot of time at Lucky Lewis's club, with a dealer named Gina."
"Rucky Rewis's?"
"No, Lucky Lewis -- you know." She glared at me.
"Yes, and I know you went to Hill's Academy and Stanford, were a competitive surfer, black belt in karate, a model, and speak English without an accent, so you can drop it anytime, especially since you've got the 'l's and 'r's backwards."
We locked eyes. "Also, every other time I was ever in a Hummer, it was with a squad of sweat-stinking Army Rangers. I'd take another ride with you any time."
"In your dreams," she said. But then she smiled.
"Who was in the house the night Mercury disappeared?" I asked.
"The General, Mrs. Milford, Mr. Milford, Angel Stonewood, Rose, and me."
"What about the sissy-boy chauffeur, Owen?"
"He has a room in the garage. He was there."
"I'll need to talk to them all."
"Rose can't talk for another twenty minutes. Mouth full." The smile was gone. "Angel's out somewhere. You can talk to Mrs. Milford. Mr. Milford too, if she lets him speak."
"Like that, eh?"
"Like that," she agreed.
We went to find the Milfords.
Another set of French doors opened from the hall to a terrace. Sunlight and shade dappled the deck, due to climbing roses on a pergola. There was a lap pool and a woman swimming. Her bare back and buttocks moved steadily through the water. Still not noon, and another woman without panties on. I thought the odds were good Rose wasn't wearing any either. This was getting to be a pretty good day, though not a record in the nude-bottom woman department yet.
Near a lounge chair by the side of the pool stood a chubby middle-aged man, also nude, holding a towel and with a male chastity cage locked on a penis you'd need a magnifying glass to find if not for the cage.
Not just pantyless women, but more naked men than a Y locker room.
The swimming woman came to the near end of the pool and came out up a set of steps, like Venus from the ocean. Her auburn hair shone darkly in the sun, lying across her pale shoulders. Her breasts, D cups, stood firm testament to her exercise routine, the nipples jutting from the chilled mounds like bullets. Her belly muscles tensed and released as she rose from the water. More auburn hair at her crotch
shone like a red neon sign at an hourly-rate motel.
She posed at the top of the steps, water droplets gleaming on her skin like diamonds on a marble statue, and the chubby man stepped forward to towel her dry. He began by delicately patting at her face, then worked his way down, out each arm in turn. He dried the front of her body, cupped the towel at her fiery groin until she gave him a look, knelt to work his way down her feet. He rose and went behind her, and serviced her back the same way. When he finished, the damp towel was pooled behind her feet, and he pressed his face into the cleft of her ass.
