Disclaimer:
The following story contains explicit content and is intended for mature audiences and open-minded people only. Reader discretion is advised.
This work of fiction includes themes of sexuality, romance, and adult situations and is not meant to be taken seriously. In fact some of my works may require you to suspend belief. It may contain scenes of explicit language, graphic depictions of sexual acts, situations of cheating and polyamory, group minglings, and other content suitable only for those over the legal age of consent in their jurisdiction.
All characters depicted in this story are consenting or willing adults and are works of fiction. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, or both, is purely coincidental.
By continuing to read this story, you acknowledge that you are of legal age to access adult content in your area and that you understand the nature of the content provided and have an open mind for such things. The author assumes no responsibility for any actions taken by readers as a result of the content of this story. Further, the author accepts no responsibility if you are offended by what you have read.
If you are not comfortable with or legally allowed to access explicit adult content, please discontinue reading now, and if so... what the hell are you doing here to begin with?
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Barney's Coffee Shop was the last place you would have expected to see Tamara sitting. But she had been here almost an hour waiting for the person she was supposed to meet--the person Tamara had already met with once before and to whom she had paid a sizable amount for information.
While not in the worst section of town, she was occasionally reminded that it was not the best when she saw a woman walk by wearing almost nothing and then get picked up by some sketchy-looking man in a car.
She heard a bell and turned to see the person she had been waiting for walk in, slowly, to her table. He stopped, standing at the table for a moment before sitting.
"Could you have picked a creepier place to meet?"
Tamara shrugged, "Marty does a lot of business in town, and I did not want to pick somewhere I might be recognized by someone who knows him."
He nodded, "Yeah... Some days, I consider myself pretty scummy, but I would not even want to be seen here." Then he took a seat across from her.
She turned her attention to him, "So?"
He shook his head, "Other that being a little strange, I could not find anything on Martin. Watching the house, all I could see is that he likes to talk to himself a lot... I mean A. LOT!"
He pushed a stack of pictures to her.
She picked them up and went through them. There were ones with Martin standing at his office window, talking to no one, one of him on the ground floor, looking like he was talking to someone as he went into the first of the ground-floor bedrooms, and one of him looking like he was hugging someone, but there was no one there.
She held them up and asked him, "What is all this about?"
"You got me. I did not go in, I just took the pictures and did the background you asked for. That's all." He sat the rest of the way up.
Tamara went through the pictures again, shook her head, and looked at him. "Did you hear anything? Did you try to go inside?"
He shook his head and said, "First, you are not paying me THAT kind of money. Second, I am not a small man. If I walk into that house, the whole place is going to creak and groan under my weight. I will be about as inconspicuous as diarrhea on white pants."
She cringed at the thought, then asked, "What else can we do?"
"We?" He laughed, "Honey, there is not much more I can do. This is not like the movies, I have a license I have to maintain, and I am not breaking any laws." He stood, "Have you thought about just asking what he is doing there so late at night and why he is spending all the time in each room?"
She looked up at him, "Time in the rooms?"
"Yeah, it's on the report there." He shuffled a couple of papers and pointed to a paragraph she read. Then she looked at him again, "So he goes into these rooms and spends some time in them?"
He nodded, "Sometimes all night, comes out looking like shit, then goes to his office or to the bedroom on the third floor." With that, he backed away, "Ok. That's all I got. Unless you have another job for me, I am moving on."
She looked at him for several long moments, then shook her head and waved him off dismissively. Again, she read through the papers, looked at the photos, and thought about what he said.
"Why would he be spending time in the rooms?" she thought, then aloud said, "Well, if something needs to be done right, you gotta do it yourself, right?"
She put a twenty on the table and left the coffee shop.
Martin pushed the heavy door open, and it fell to the side with an ear-splitting slam. He had yet to be in the attic, and today, he decided to take a look and see if anything was up there. He had seen the access door at the end of the third-floor hallway but kept getting distracted.
He waited for the dust cloud to settle before climbing into the dark room. He found himself standing in a room that was every bit big enough to have been a fourth, albeit smaller, floor.
As he cast the flashlight beam around the room, he saw a section on the far side where several boxes were stacked. Most looked like old wooden milk crates, but steamer trunks, suitcases, banker boxes, and bags were behind them.
He had to be careful. While most of the area up here had wooden planks put down to act as a floor, there were several areas where he could see the floor was open, and he could easily fall through into the lower floor.
Something seemed off to him, though, and he looked back to where all the boxes were and looked around. He could see the boxes stacked against the far wall and some of the wall, but he could swear there was a door behind all that. He took another couple of steps to the side, and he was sure that he could see a jamb, but there was no way to get to it without moving all these boxes out, which would take a while, even with help.
With a new question on his mind, he turned and headed to the ladder, then down and out of the attic.
"You find anything interesting up there?" Asked Jason, one of the contractors he had hired and gotten to know over the last few weeks.
Nodding his head, Martin said, "Yeah, actually. There are a lot of boxes up there that I would like to get out, but it does not look like it will be easy. And I think there is a door hidden behind them."
Jason looked up at the door in the ceiling, then at Martin, "Really? Wow, a mystery to solve."
Martin laughed, "I suppose, but we will see. It's not a priority right now, and I would like to see how to make use of that area up there. It's big enough to make a whole new floor." As he walked away from the ladder, he looked at the worker again and said, "Seriously, don't worry about anything up there until we get this other stuff done."
Jason nodded and said, "Understood, Boss."
He returned to the first floor and ran into Tiffany as she entered through the front door with an armful of packages and letters.
"Mail call, boss." She chirped.
Tiffany was always cheerful, almost to the point of being annoying about it, but he did not have the heart to give her a hard time about it, so Martin settled for casual sarcasm.
"What? Am I in the Army now?"
She shook her head, "Certainly not the Navy as crappy as this place looks!"
One of the carpenters yelled out, "Hey!"
She laughed, "Sorry."
Martin followed her into the office and looked through some things as she set down the mail. Then he noticed the box in her arms.
"What is that?"
