Girl With The Mickey Mouse Tattoo

He was wheezing by the time he reached the fourth floor. It was an old building, too old for an elevator. And in this part of the city, no one was worried about building codes or disabled access.

At 53 years old, he thought he was in better shape. He should be able to walk up three flights of stairs without breathing hard. More exercise he told himself.

He walked slowly down the hall reading name plates until he found the right office. This one read:

Sam C. Dimond Investigator

He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Enter!"

He confidently strode into the office. He surveyed the space: floor to ceiling bookcases along one wall, several fire-proof four-drawer cabinets with combination locks, two shabby guest chairs, a closed door to the right, an old wood desk stacked with papers and three computer monitors, and a girl sitting behind the desk reading a folder.

"Good afternoon, miss," he began, "I'd like to see your boss, Mr. Dimond."

"Sit down," she directed while she kept looking at the open folder. "I'm Samantha Dimond."

He sized her up. Probably late twenties, thirty tops. Very short black hair, bright yellow tank top, and a Mickey Mouse tattoo poking up from the tank top between her very ample breasts. Made him wonder where Mickey's hands were.

"Mr. "Smith" either sit down or leave. I'm very busy."

He sat down. She looked up with a piercing gaze.

"I usually don't take men as clients," she explained. "I haven't decided to take you on. So explain your situation, and please be brief."

"I think my wife is cheatin' on me," he started.

"You "think" she is cheating?"

"Well, miss, after thirty-one years of marriage, a man just knows certain things. And things just aren't right between us. She's cheatin' on me all right."

She looked down at her folder and let the silence hang in the air.

"Let's cut the bullshit, shall we?" she said curtly.

He winced at a young lady using a cuss word.

"You are Joseph Randolph Williams. Your friends and enemies call you "J.R." You own a large, wealthy ranch about eighty miles from the city. You have hired four different investigators in the past six months. They found no evidence of your wife's infidelities.

"So, Mr. Williams, just exactly why did you call and make an appointment to see me?"

"I asked around. Everyone said you were the best. I want the best. I have money, I can pay"

"But, Mr. Williams, do I want you as a client? And I don't need your money. Right now I am as busy as I care to be."

He squirmed and shifted while thinking what to say. He was used to being the one in charge, and he didn't like someone else calling the shots.

"Before we go any further, I need, ya know, complete confidentiality."

"Mr. Williams, "Confidentiality" is my middle name," she said with a tiny smile.

"Well, miss, Loretta-Ann, that's my wife, we are a respectable, Christian couple. We've been married for thirty-one years, and we have three grown children. We have sexual relations once a week, regular-like, on Saturday night. It's been that way for thirty-one years. I make sure Loretta-Ann gets her ten minutes of lovin' before we go to sleep every Saturday night. I'm that way, ya know. I make sure my wife gets what she needs.

"Then six, seven months ago, things started changin'. She wanted to do different things, disgusting things!"

"What "things", Mr. Williams? Give me an example."

"Well, she wanted to suck on my, ya know, my uh, uh, ..."

"Your cock, Mr. Williams? She wanted to suck on your cock?"

He nodded. It pained him to hear young people talk like that.

"And she wanted to be on top! Can you believe that? No woman was ever been on top of a Williams man! It's unnatural, you know, for a woman to be on top of a man. I think it's in the Bible.

"Then she said that ten minutes wasn't enough! Well, it's been enough for thirty-one years! I'm a conservative, Christian man, and I believe in tradition."

"Did you ask your wife why she wanted these changes?"

"You bet I did! She told me she was readin' some books and talkin' with her friends. I don't believe it, miss, I don't believe it. She's seein' someone else, I know it! Someone who is showin' her these disgusting acts, puttin' ideas into her head!"

"And you want me to investigate this matter for you?"

He nodded his head in agreement.

"What will you do with the information, once I uncover it? Do you want a divorce? Kick her out?"

"No! No, miss, I'd forgive her. I'm a Christian man, ya know?"

He paused.

"She's my life," he began softy. "I don't know what I would do without her. She's always been by my side, ya know? That's where she belongs. This infidelity is tearin' me apart. Can you help?"

She came around the front of the desk and leaned against it. Her short denim skirt and cowboy boots caught his attention.

"Mr. Williams, I believe I can help you in this matter. This may take time, but you need to be patient."

He looked up at her with relief in his eyes.

"Thank you, miss. Thank you."

"Now, if you will follow me into my other office, I'd like to show you some of the equipment that I will be using in my investigations," she said moving towards the other office door.

He walked behind her into the second office.

****************

Forty-five minutes later, she was escorting him to the outer office door.

"That was a good first investigative effort, Mr. Williams. I think with three or four more investigative meetings, we can get to the bottom of this mystery. Please call my office tomorrow for your next appointment."

"Yes, miss," he said with a big smile on his face. "I really appreciate all your help!"

She closed the door behind him, and he walked down the hall, still smiling.

Mickey's hands and feet were sure in an unusual location, he mused. He now knew why that mouse was smiling. And a woman on top, that wasn't so bad. He really enjoyed it, he discovered. He couldn't wait for Saturday night!

She returned to her desk, picked up the phone and dialed.

"Yes, Loretta-Ann, please. It's Sam Dimond. Yes, I'll wait.

"Hello, dear. Yes, he came. Several times, in fact," she chuckled.

"Well, we are well on our way, Loretta-Ann. Three or four more investigative session should wrap up this case.

"I'll be sending you my invoice for today. I appreciate you as a client, dear. Thank you!"

"Referrals? You have two friends who need help with their husbands? Certainly, have them call me. But understand, I do screen my clients.

"Always a pleasure to talk with you, dear. Goodbye."

She glanced at the clock. Another client in five minutes.

An investigator's work is never done.