Bob slept fitfully on the couch in his outer office, and when the sun came through the window with his name and the words “Private Investigator” lettered on it, he got up. He showered in his back room, changing the bandage on his shin as he did so. He put on a pot of coffee, and got dressed in a brown suit, blue oxford shirt, and red tie. No one would ever accuse him of being fashionable, but no one would think him scruffy, either. His bathroom doubled as his darkroom, so as he scraped his face that morning, drinking his coffee, he was surrounded on all sides by images of two men having sex.
The first thing he did when he sat as his desk was call Mrs. Helena Watting, wife of software designer Joseph Watting, he of the assfucking from the previous evening. As he waited for he to come to his office at eleven a.m., he put the file together on Joe’s actions of the past three nights, clubbing, bars, and three different gay partners, all when he was supposed to be in Gargan on a business trip. Helena hadn’t been happy in her marriage to Joe for years, and had sued for divorce. With his allegations against her that he was a faithful and true husband in the face of her rampant promiscuity, she had needed some sort of ironclad refutation of that in court. Well, Bob Randall had put that together quite well for her.
At eleven sharp, the buzzer signaled that Helena was downstairs and wished to be let in. Bob walked down to bring her in the front door of the building.
“Hello, Mr. Randall. You said you have some news for me?” She was understandably anxious and excited.
“Yes, Ma’am, I believe I have what you need for your day in court - I guess it comes as no surprise to you that Joe’s a naughty boy, after all, that’s why you hired me. Please,” He said as they entered his office, “have a seat. Coffee?”
Mrs. Watting sat down in one of the two cloth and chrome chairs on the other side of the desk from Bob, declining his offer of coffee. Bob held up the file on her husband, he said, “I should warn you, this could be quite a shock - I, well, I don’t know what you’re expecting.” Finally, after several anxious seconds, he handed her the file.
She sat, examining the thick file for quite some time. Inside, along with the detailed descriptions of her husband’s movements and activities, were several photos of Joe engaged in various forms of homosexual activity, with men she’d never seen. Here was Joe getting fucked in the ass, here he was sucking a cock, here, licking a man’s anus and jerking him off. There must have been fifty photos. As she looked at them, Bob noticed her getting flushed and angry. She squirmed in her seat, crossing and re-crossing her legs. Finally, she looked up and said, “Do you have a restroom I could use?”
Bob’s restroom was currently hung better than one of Joe’s sex partners, with pictures of her husband all over the place. Luckily, there was a ladies’ restroom just outside his door for the patrons of the nail and hair place in the same building. He directed her to that, and told her to please take her time, do whatever she needed to do. He went back down and sat at his desk, breathing a big sigh of relief, and taking a shot of bourbon. Just as he was screwing the lid back on the flask, Helena’s voice from the doorway asked, “You always drink this early in the morning?”
Caught, Bob made a lame excuse about late nights and the tension of the job. Helena came around the desk and took the flask from his hand, unscrewed the top, and slowly took a long pull of the booze. Standing silhouetted against the window, Bob could see her figure through the thin material of the dress, and decided that the only reason a man would fuck around on a woman like this is if he were gay. Helena caught him again, this time with his eyes lingering on her perfect breasts.
