The Desert Rose Case

 

Chapter 1

 

The first time I laid eyes on him he was whaling the hell out of some poor bastard. They were in the alley behind the Desert Rose strip club. Arnold Billings was using a piece of iron pipe about two feet long and an inch in diameter. I had ducked in the alley to take a leak. The beer served at the Desert Rose just ran right through me and the Rose has the nastiest restrooms in the country. I always use the alley because it's cleaner.

Arnie stopped thumping the black man when he realized he had an audience.

"Who are you?" he snapped.

"You must be mighty pissed off at that dude," I observed.

"I am. You a friend of his?"

"No, I don't think I know the man."

"Then go away and let me get on with it."

"Yeah, about that," I said going closer to look at the victim. "You know the cops are going to get real pissy if you kill him, don't you?"

"What, he ain't dead yet?" He looked genuinely surprised that the man was still alive.

"No, there's still some life left in him. Not much, but enough to stop it from being murder one."

"You a cop?" He took a better grip on the pipe.

"No, I'm a private investigator. Why don't you call it a night for this guy and let's go get a cold beer." Arnie gave that suggestion some thought and then threw the pipe down.

"Hey, Buddy," I said. "None of my business, but were you ever in the service?"

"Yeah, Navy. Why?" He had started out of the alley.

"No big deal, but your fingerprints are on file." He looked confused. "The pipe," I said. "Your prints?" He caught on and wiped the handle of his club clean with his shirt tail, careful to avoid the bloody end.

I took another look at the bloody black man lying in the alley. His head was a mess, but he was still breathing. I caught up with the man I would later find out was Arnie. I stuck my head in the entrance of the Desert Rose long enough to tell the bouncer that there was a man in the alley and that he needed some medical attention. The bouncer knew me, but I knew he wasn't going to tell anybody my name.

Some might call what I did obstructing justice. Maybe so, but I've discovered there is justice and then there's justice. Besides, I would find out all about Arnie and if push came to shove I could always trade him for some favors with the cops. Also, I just knew there had to be one hell of a story in there somewhere and I do love a good story.

"So tell me, Arnie," I said after the introductions. I told him I was Rick Short. "You have a good reason to rearrange that guy's head?"

"He fucked my wife," Arnie answered shortly.

"Rape?" He shook his head.

"No, she let him," he said, looking miserable. "Partly my fault. I guess, but he had to pay."

"Yeah, I guess. Did you think that maybe you were whipping-up on the wrong person?"

"Can't whip my wife's ass. Can't whip my own ass. That just left him." That logic defied argument, but there were a few holes in it.

"Who is he?" I asked. In the light of the bar I could see that Arnie was a pleasant looking guy. Maybe thirty or so with sandy colored hair that was receding. He'd be bald in a few more years.

"Mark Bigalow is the name he used. Maybe it's his real name, but I don't know."

"When did he fuck your wife? I mean how long ago?"

"First time was a couple months back. They been coming around while I was at work since then. Him and some of his friends. Hey, you're a PI. Maybe you can help me find Blackbird."

"Blackbird? What the hell is Blackbird?"

"He's the leader. He's the prick that got it started and I'm looking for his ass. Can you help me?"

"So you can bash his head in, too? I don't think so, Arnie. You seem like a nice guy, but you keep up this revenge shit and you're going to get caught. You'll end up being some big black dude's wife. Why don't you go on home and forget about it. You beat the hell out of one guy, let that be enough." He didn't comment.

I bought him another beer. We talked a while and then he thanked me and left. Later I drifted back down to the Desert Rose to see what was going on there. They had hauled Mark Bigalow off in an ambulance, apparently still alive, but the detectives were still there. I recognized a couple of them from my days on the force. No cop shouted it, but I moved along because there was nothing to see anyway.

***

"I found your card in my husband's pocket," she said. She said she was Annabelle Billings. It took me a minute to make the connection. It had been two weeks since I met Arnie Billings in the alley. "I want to hire you," she added.

"To do what?"

"I'm being stalked," she answered taking the client chair I offered her.

"Call the cops," I said. "That's what they do and they're pretty good at it. That won't cost you a dime. I'm expensive."

"I have money and I can't go to the police. It's...complicated. Can you help?"

"I don't know if I can or not. Tell me your story and we'll see."

***

Arnie and I have been married nearly four years. We met in college, dated almost a year and got married. We moved here right after the wedding because Arnie had a good job offer. Arnie is a real nice man. He's kind and considerate and I know he loves me. I don't know exactly where things went wrong. I guess it started with Arnie's photography. He's a real good photographer. It's his hobby.

We hadn't been married very long when he talked me in to posing for him. You know, wearing lingerie and swim suits. That sort of thing. That progressed to topless and then into full nudes. He told me that nobody would ever see them, so I did as he asked. I mean I have a nice figure and all, so why not? Besides it was fun and it always turned us on.

At first Arnie used film and last year he bought a real expensive digital camera. Truthfully, I felt better with the digital stuff because there weren't any real photos or negatives around. You know what I mean?

Arnie had me pose for him doing things...masturbating and that sort of stuff. Arnie sometimes would use a timer and we made some action shots. You know, me and him...together. I've read where a lot of married couples do that.

I had no idea that Arnie was sharing the pictures with people on line. When I found out I was really upset. I didn't say a word to him for a week, but I finally got over being mad at him.

I asked him who had seen my photos and he told me there was only five or six people in his chat-room. I didn't even know what a chat-room was. Arnie showed me how to use the computer and I got on line. Mostly to see what the attraction was.

What I saw blew my mind. I couldn't believe what I was seeing there. Couples of all sizes, shapes and age had posted pictures of them doing...well, everything. I had a lot of spare time because Arnie didn't want me working. I spent a lot of it on the computer.

One day I was surfing and ran across a site that was advertised as the place for lovers. It had a lot of video clips, pictures, and stories. Some of the so-called true stories made my hair stand on end. Also I'll admit they were hot and got me excited. A couple of time I nearly attacked Arnie when he came home from work. Not that he minded it.

***

"Go on Mrs. Billings," I said after she fell quiet for a while. "I'm still listening."

"I don't know where to go from here," she said tears coursing down her face. "This is the part where I messed up big time." I waited for her to calm down.

***

Arnie showed me where he had my pictures stored on the computer. They all were there. Fully clothed, swimsuits, topless, and full nudes. The really dirty ones were there also, but in a separate file.

One afternoon I was playing around on the computer and got into a chat-room. I chatted with a lot of people, but one seemed really interesting. His screen name was Blackbird. I teased Blackbird a lot over the next few days. I guess I sounded like a real slut, but I was only fooling around with him. At least at the beginning. After about a week we got out of the chat-room and used e-mail to communicate. After that we would use the instant message thing. I knew he was a black man. He told me that right at the beginning. I'm not a racist, so that didn't make any difference to me.

I wasn't sneaking around, mind you. I told Arnie everything Blackbird and I talked about. He was fine with it. I told him that Blackbird had ask for a picture of me and Arnie told me to send him one. I picked out one with me wearing a bikini. It was sexy, but not risqué.

Blackbird must have liked it because he asked me for some more. I sent a couple more similar to the first one. I soon ran out of that kind of photos and I sent him one where I was topless but had my hands over my breasts. I worried what Arnie would think, but he was fine with it. He just laughed when he read Blackbird's response.

"You got him all excited, Ann. What does he look like?" I told Arnie I didn't know and I immediately asked Blackbird to send me a photo.

He did and I was surprised at how he looked. Big and mean looking. He had scars all over his face. Later he sent me one that showed him bare-chested. He had a bunch of scars on his chest, also. I asked him about the scars and he told me they were the product of a misspent youth.

Over the next couple of weeks I sent him a couple topless photos because Arnie wanted me to. I'm proud of my breasts and since Blackbird didn't know anything about me, I thought why not?

Blackbird sent me a picture of him naked. I nearly passed out from shock. He was holding the biggest penis I had ever seen. At least twice as big as Arnie. I showed it to Arnie and he got a kick out of it. He told me that Blackbird had enhanced the photo. When I asked Blackbird about it he said there had been no retouching and that it was all him.

I thought it was time to cool it with Blackbird, so for a few days I stayed off the internet. Unfortunately I didn't stop thinking about the photo of his big penis. When I got back on the computer there were a dozen messages from him. He sounded so sad, I felt bad about ignoring him. To make it up to him I sent him a full nude. It didn't show much because I was laying down on the rug. At least that was what I intended to do.

Somehow I hit the wrong button and I sent him the whole file of the real hot photos. The ones that didn't leave anything to the imagination. Me with dildos, fruits, and vegetables. The ones of me and Arnie doing the nasty. I didn't realize what I had done until later that night.

"Ann, get in here!" Arnie yelled at me. "What the fuck is going on?" He was pointing at the computer screen and a photo of me, legs spread wide and playing with myself. I recognized the picture even thought my face was blocked. I was flabbergasted.

"What the fuck did you do?" Arnie demanded, yelling at the top of his lungs. I told him I hadn't sent that photo out. I really thought I hadn't.