"Please, please help me find my baby."
"Mrs. Jones, it sounds like she just left, end of story."
"Something's happened, I just know it!"
"Then this sounds like something the police should be handling."
"They did, for about two minutes! She was about to graduate from college. She had so much to live for! Please, please help me, I'm begging you."
"Look, I'll tell you what. Leave me what you have. I'm a little slow right now. Give me a couple of days. If it doesn't look like anything other than she just left, I can't help you."
"Thank you! Thank you!" Mrs. Jones handed her the envelope she had in her hand and left.
She handed the envelope to Dana Rockhard, private eye. She was a 31-year-old, tan, tall, buxom blonde. She lived in a fifth wheel RV on the plot of beach her grandfather had left to her, where he had lived for years. He had been a private eye back in his day and Dana, being his only grandchild, was the apple of his eye. He taught her everything he knew about investigating. He left her everything in his will, meaning she could lay on her beach all day if she wanted to. But her grandfather had taught her well and she was good at it. She enjoyed helping people, even though they could be a pain in the ass most of the time.
She sat down in the patio chair underneath the awning of her RV and opened the envelope. After looking over it's contents for 30 minutes or so she called her contact at the precinct, Detective Mark Alan, to see if he had any inside scoop on this runaway case. He said they didn't have much but he'd bring over what they had. Mark looked for any reason to visit Dana. He kind of had a thing for her but hadn't acted on it.
He pulled up to her trailer in his unmarked car and walked down the sand, where she was sunning in a lounge chair with her eyes closed. She was wearing the tiniest of bikinis, glistening with the sun reflecting off of her suntan lotion. Mark could feel a chubby building in his khakis.
He cleared his throat and she opened her blue eyes to look at him. "Hey, Dana. Looks like you're working hard."
"Oh, hey, Alan." She always referred to him by his last name. She ignored the sarcasm. "Let's go up to the house and sit down so I can see what you've got." She always referred to RV as a house. He always thought that was odd. But, then again, Dana was a unique individual.
There wasn't much in the way of information on the Roxy Jones missing person case. But Mark had done a little more digging and found out that Roxy's boyfriend, Johnny Righetti, had been questioned in a missing person's case last year. He had taken the information to his sergeant who wrote it off as a sad coincidence and was told not to waste any time on it. This Johnny Righetti had a clean record and there wasn't any reason to doubt his tough luck story, officially. Mark and Dana had their doubts. They both decided to check this Johnny Righetti out a little further. But, since Mark's sergeant had specifically ordered him not to "waste" any time on this case, they decided it would be best for Dana to handle the bulk of it while keeping Mark fully apprised of what she was up to.
Once they went over the details of the case, and after they had exchanged small talk, Mark began to leave. But Dana had a scratch she needed to itch. She didn't have the time or the patience for a "relationship." But she did like to have a big, stiff cock every once and awhile. She had always wondered what kind of heat Mark was packin'.
"Detective Alan, before you leave I have a question for you."
He thought he was in trouble. She hadn't called him "Detective Alan" in years when they were alone, only in professional situations. It reminded him of the times when his mother would call him using his middle and last name. It never ended well.
"Oh? What's that?" he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.
She had a mischievous look on her face. "Every time you leave here you have a bulge in your pants. Why is that?"
His thought was "Busted! Shit!" What came out of his mouth was, "What?! No, uh, no I don't. Nope. No, no, uhhhhh, no I don't." His face was turning red.
"Are you sure? 'Cause it looks like you have a chubby right now."
"What?! No! Uhhhhh, no, that's not, uhhhhhh, no, that's not what you think. No, that's just, uhhhh..." He folded his hands over his groin, trying to act nonchalant.
"Do you not think I'm attractive?" she asked, enjoying every minute of making him uncomfortable.
"Well, ummmmm, yes, I s'pose, yeah. I guess I've never really thought about it." If he was Pinocchio his nose would've been the size of his cock by now.
"Really? Are you gay?"
"No! I most certainly am not!" He thought about that response for a second. "Not that there's anything wrong with that." Political correctness is everything these days.
"Do you like my tits?" she asked as she ran her hands over her tan breasts, still glistening with suntan lotion.
"Do I like your ti...?! Ummmm, well, gee, I guess I've never really noticed, I've never really, uhhhhh, looked at you, you know, like that." Except for when he jerked off every night thinking about her.
"Detective Alan, one of the finest detectives I know, never noticed my tits. Yeah, okay." She paused. "Detective, you're a good cop but a terrible liar."
"Nuh uh!" He thought about that. "Wait, it's not that I'm a, ummmm, bad liar. I'm just not, you know, a liar."
"Okay, okay," she said. She really was enjoying this. "Well, notice them now. Do you like them or not?" She reached behind and untied the string of her bikini top.