William Davis - Blackmailed

"What do you want?" Arnie growled.

"We just wanted to let you know… we got everything on film!" the man with the gun told him. "… And, your sweet little wife'll be very interested in seeing all the pretty pictures…"

"What is this… a shakedown?"

"Of course… your wife won't see them… if you play ball."

"What do you mean…?"

"You know what the hell I mean!" the other grunted. "You turned us down, once… but you're not getting the second chance!"

Instantly, Arnie knew what they wanted. They were going to try blackmailing him into taking a dive… when he got into the ring with the Champion.

"You can go to hell!" he bellowed. "I'll never fight a fixed bout!"

"That's what you think!" The man with the gun came close to the bed. "Crawl off that broad!" he ordered.

Arnie obeyed, his now flaccid penis pulling, moistly, from Carla's still warmly trembling vaginal opening. As he stood to his feet, the goon holding the gun, brought the weapon down hard, in a slashing arc to the side of his head. Instinctively, the big boxer rolled with the blow, deflecting most of its force, but even so, he was knocked down. Knowing that his bare fists were no match for an armed man, he decided to stay down for the count.

"Next time we see you… you'd better have a better answer!" the unknown gunman spat down at him. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared the two men were gone.

While he was down on the floor, Arnie knew he'd been set-up for this. Carla! She'd been too anxious to get him to that party… in too much of a hurry to get him into a bed with her! Christ! Why'd he been so stupid?

Looking up, he saw that she was kneeling down beside him, concern on her face.

"Well…?" he grated up at her, questioningly, "How much do you get out of this?"

He sat up, and she tried to put her arms around him. "I-I don't know… what you mean… darling?"

Arnie brushed her away from him. "You know what the hell I'm talking about! You set me up… for your gun-toting friends!"

"N-No! Arnie… no! That's not true!"

Quickly, he stood to his feet, gathered up his clothing and began dressing. "That's a damned lie… and you know it!" he stormed. "Come on… tell me what you get out of it!"

Carla crumpled onto the bed, sobbing, "NNothing! I don't… even know… who those men were!"

"I wish I could believe that!" he ground out at her. He was dressed, now, except for his jacket and tie. He reached into his pocket, took out his wallet and removed a crisp fifty dollar bill. Throwing the money down on the bed, beside her, he turned to leave, flinging back over his shoulder, "There's fifty for your trouble!"

p(line).***

"… And, that's the story, up to now?" Jay queried.

"Yeah… that's it!"

"Why'd you wait until now… to come to me?"

"I thought I could handle it!"

"What happened… to make you change your mind?"

"Well… Joan… my wife, changed her mind… and came on out here, to Los Angeles," Arnie explained.

"So…?"

"They're looking for her in Nebraska… where we live… and it's just a matter of a day or two… and they'll make contact with her… here!"

"I take it, then… you love your wife… and you don't want to lose her?"

"Hell no… I don't!" the big man grunted. "We may have our differences… but I don't want to lose her!"

"Okay, then," Ballard summarized, "As I see it… I've got to find Carla Reynolds… and find out what her connection is to this little blackmailing job… and I suppose I'd better check out Warren Ramsey…"

"Why him… he's some kind of industrialist?" Arnie questioned.

"I just like to check out all the possibilities… anyway, I don't think your friends, with the nasty dispositions, would be thinking up the ideas. It's somebody with brains! I want to nail the big shot! That's the only way to stop the whole caper!" Jay told him.

"Then… you're saying you'll take the job?"

"Yes… I'm working for you… as of right now." Ballard said.

The prizefighter was gone, and Jay mulled over all that the boxer had told him. He decided that his first job would be to locate Carla Reynolds. Tomorrow… I'll check through Dunn and Bradstreet… see what I can scare up on Ramsey…

Pressing the intercom button, he said to his secretary, "Karen… call my wife… and tell her that I'm working on a case… I won't be home, until late… probably."

"Yes, Sir… Mr. Ballard… right away!" Her voice came, tinnily, through the tiny speaker.

"… And, Karen…?"

"Yes, Sir…?"

"Knock off that Mister stuff… and the yes, Sir, no, Sir bit! You're supposed to be my private secretary!"

With an unexplainable, cold resentment welling up into her conscious mind, Betty Ballard, carefully, replaced the telephone in its cradle, breaking the connection.

It was all she could do to remain politely civil to Jay's new secretary, who had just called to tell her that her husband wouldn't be home… until late, again!

Betty hadn't met the new girl, Friday, yet, but intuitively she knew that she must be young… and pretty. Unbidden, a nagging suspicion rocketed around inside her brain. Could Jay be taking her… out to dinner… and… She shied away from completing the thought; it was too threatening… to her… to her marriage!

Sighing disconsolately, she looked at the two prime steaks she was marinating and had planned to serve for dinner that evening. There was nothing to do but put them back in the refrigerator to cook for the next day. Since she'd be eating alone, again, something simple was in order, so back into the fridge went the steaks.

… Of course, she had known, when she married Jay Ballard, that his work, as a private investigator, would keep him away from home… some of the time, but lately, it seemed that most – if not all – of his evenings had been spent away from home. He'd told her it had been necessary… that the case he was working on, involving a night-club singer's murder kept him going to various clubs, shadowing the suspect, gathering information on him… and finally getting evidence and a motive that led to his arrest. There had been a big splash in the newspapers and on T.V. about the case, but there had been no mention of Jay's work on it. Betty wondered about that.

Jay had explained it to her. "Actually… I don't want that kind of publicity. I'd rather let the police take the credit… so I can work… in the background!"

"It seems unfair…"

"Maybe… but it's like being an undercover agent… you don't want too many people to know who you are…" he went on. "Anyway… I get my fee… and that keeps the world going around for us!"

"… But you're away so much… at night…" It was a plaintive plea.

"Hell… that's part of the job! You knew that… when we got married!" he barked.

She hadn't wanted to start an argument over it, again, so she backed away from it. Anyway, the skirmishes had been going on… ever since they'd gotten married, two years ago.

Jay was older than she was… quite a lot older, really. He was thirty-six, a few day before their wedding… and she had been about six weeks short of twenty; however, nothing would change her mind about marrying him. She had been sure that their difference in ages would never be a real problem.

Well… she had been mistaken. Jay had been a bachelor for too long to be domesticated easily. His habits, his working schedule and his attitudes were too deeply ingrained, and Betty, in her naivete had thought she could change him.

It was sheer foolishness, she had found out… especially when she had had to face the reality that Jay could – and probably did – on occasion, hop into bed with some other woman. She remembered her disbelief… that first time, when she had become suspicious of him. Her husband had denied it… but there was the evidence: lipstick… the dark hairs on his jacket… but even more damning, when she found them the next day in his car… was the diaphanous bra… and the sheer, nylon panties! He lied to her. She was sure of it… when he had told her, blandly, that it only seemed to look damaging. It had all been a part of his work!