Rod Strong - Dealing in adultery

Instead of going to my office, I went home. I'd left the videotape equipment at the apartment and I wanted to look at everything again.

Setting the monitor on my side table near my reclining chair, I poured me a half tumbler of rum and coke, going heavy on the coke. Then I started the machine going and watched the action I'd already seen the previous day. It had been more fun watching it yesterday, with Debbie, but now I was able to concentrate on what was happening instead of getting all worked up.

Both participants had enjoyed themselves immensely, but it was Cy Roberts who was doing most of the work. If anyone was going to die of overwork it would be Roberts and not Joan Randall. But the only one to benefit from Roberts' death would be Judy Roberts, and then only if Cy Roberts left a large amount of insurance. Otherwise it was she who had the money, not he. But if Judy wanted Cy to fuck himself to death, she would never hired me to get divorce evidence. Once divorced, he'd probably change the beneficiary of any insurance policy he might have. Besides, Judy Roberts had enough money of her own. She didn't need anything Cy might leave her.

I phoned Judy Roberts. She was still home. The police had just left, and though she was still a bit shaken by the day's events, she told me she had stuck to the story I had given her. I was in no way connected to what had happened at her home.

I asked her if she knew anything about a will of her husband. She told me he'd only recently made one out dividing his estate equally between herself and his former wife, Raquel.

"What about his insurance?" I asked.

"He only has one policy, for a quarter of a million dollars," she admitted, "but he took it out while still married to his former wife. Part of the divorce settlement was for her to pay the premiums on the policy and keep it going, so if anything happened to Cy before she remarried, she'd collect the insurance in place of the alimony he was paying her."

I thanked her for the info and hung up. Cy Roberts was not the most popular guy in the world. Two wives, one of whom had already divorced him, and the other about to do likewise.

Point: Cy Roberts had a $250,000 insurance policy with Raquel Roberts as his sole beneficiary.

Point: In order for Raquel to collect, Cy had to die before she remarried. And I was willing to bet she was still single.

Point: Cy had married a wealthy young lady. Had she died before he passed on, all her money would be his in addition to his insurance policy.

Point: Cy Roberts had a will equally dividing everything between his two wives. But if Wife #2 predeceased him, everything, insurance money, plus his entire estate (also consisting of the money left by a dead Judy) would go to Wife #1, Raquel Roberts.

Conclusion: Although Judy Roberts had been the intended victim of Ignatz Randall, Cy Roberts and not Joan Randall would be the one to eventually kick off, making Raquel Roberts a very wealthy woman. In order for Raquel Roberts to acquire her wealth, she'd have to have someone convince Cy Roberts to join the murder club, making him think he was the eventual assassin instead of the intended victim. There were no women in the club so Raquel Roberts couldn't have introduced Cy Roberts to the club herself. A man had to do it. And that man wasn't one to settle for the mere fifty G's the club would receive from either Roberts or, in reality, Raquel Roberts. Whoever introduced Cy Roberts to the murder club would go for all the marbles by eventually marrying Raquel Roberts, but only after Cy Roberts had been rubbed out, or to be more precise fucked out.

My chintzy-sounding doorbell rang. Looking through the one way mirror embedded in the door, I was surprised to see two good-looking chicks standing outside. Both were dressed immaculately, in brief mini-dresses.

I opened the door and saw the two chicks were alone. On closer inspection I noticed neither one was overly beautiful, but both had nice bodies. I invited them in, shutting the door behind them and explaining this was where I lived and not where I worked.

"We know that," the taller of the two stated as they both sat on my sofa. "We're not here to hire you. As a matter of fact we came here at the request of someone who wishes to remain unknown. He apologizes for the rough way two of his men spoke with you last night and says he holds no hard feelings for the way you handled them."

"I'm glad," I nodded, feeling a bit wary.

"He wants to know if there is anything Ruth and I can do to make you consider not taking a case for a Mrs. Roberts."

Normally I'd have tossed both broads out on their keesters, but my employment by Judy Roberts was over, so I could promise all sorts of things now, if only to get the goodies about to be offered. I mean, where my clients are concerned I'm very careful, but otherwise I'm totally unscrupulous. Besides, these chicks, sexy as they were, weren't hookers. This meant they weren't being merely used by someone for money, but were probably well aware of the name of their employer. But just because they weren't prostitutes didn't mean they weren't about to offer me the same thing a whore offers. And by now my batteries were almost completely recharged.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Cassandra Lamb," she replied. "My friends call me Lambie-Pie."

Lambie-Pie was all of five feet three inches tall. She had a set of cannon shells demanding one stare at them, and stare I did. Her waist was thin, and she had a fiat belly, with almost no hips. Her thighs were thin and her legs were very skinny, but oh those knockers.

"And you?" I said to the other girl.

"I'm Ruth Bennet," she told me.

"No nicknames?"

"Not unless you consider Ruthie a nickname."

Ruth was shorter than Lambie-Pie by two inches. She had light, short, upswept blond hair, as opposed to Lambie's long, dark blond tresses. Where Lambie had a large nose and even larger teeth (all even and white), Ruth had a tiny nose, and small teeth. Lambie had a strong chin, and Ruth's receded. Ruth's figure was more in proportion than Lambie's. Ruth had ordinary-sized boobs, held firmly in place by a tight bra, while Lambie's monstrous jugs jiggled as she walked. Ruth's waist was a little fuller than Lambie's, but she had heftier, nicer thighs and legs.

Someone wanted me away from them, and wanted it bad. That someone was unaware I was finished with Judy Roberts, and had first tried convincing me to drop the case using a stick (the two men who had visited me last night). Now they were trying a couple of carrots. Either way, I was being treated like a jackass. I didn't like it. So I decided I'd pump these broads in more ways than one.

"What are you girls drinking?" I asked.

"You're accepting the offer?" Lambie-Pie asked.

"I guarantee not to go to work for Mrs. Roberts for as long as you wish," I answered. "Now, how about those drinks?"

"Why waste good liquor," Ruth said, standing up. "Let's do what we came here to do."

Both girls disrobed, tossing their clothing carelessly about the room. I tucked my gun away where they wouldn't find it, then stripped down, too.

Lambie-Pie had the big fits, all right. They stood straight out, sagging solely from their weight and size, though her tit muscles were still strong and pulled as best they could. But it was Ruth's body that caught my eye. Her smaller, firmer, rounder fruit-like breasts were a delight to the eye, so plump and ripe. Her nipples were large for her breasts, with equally large pink areolae looking like splashes of syrup against two white hills. She had a round, soft belly with a winking navel, and light blond tendrils of hair rose from her smooth, flat pussylips. Drops of colorless juice were already inching their way down her thighs.

Lambie's mountainous paps swayed as she walked, and she knew the way they moved from side to side had a hypnotic effect on anyone staring. Her belly was flat and her navel was much larger than Ruth's, as if someone had already reamed it out with a cock.