Rod Long: In Sexual Pursuit

Nancy Taggart, the pretty blonde-haired wife of the Miami Register's star reporter, ran the dusting rag over the top of her husband's desk.

She liked to keep his study clean and straight for him because she knew that he appreciated it, and enjoyed working in an atmosphere of cleanliness and order. He had often told her how much more organized and clear his own thoughts were and therefore his articles, if his surrounding were the same.

She stopped her dusting momentarily as she noticed a half-typed page still standing in the typewriter. Leaning over his desk chair, her huge titties resting softly on the back of the chair, she read what was written on the paper.

There have been many articles written lately about street gangs, many big words, many impractical solutions, but what has actually been done about them, why are they still operating; why have all those so-called solutions failed?

If the concerned citizen would trouble to find out what had actually been done by our so-called "public servants" he would come up wanting.

While it is true that police surveillance was doubled during a period of public interest, it was not continued once the interest had dropped off and now surveillance is negligible. The gangs are back together, in full force, a dangerous force in our streets. But most of all, the most feared gang in Miami, perhaps the most cunning and ruthless of all of the street gangs, the Morros is stronger than ever before.

The Morros gang may not mean very much to those of you in your comfortable suburban homes, but to the people of the barrio it is a name to be feared. The Morros are connected with many unsolved crimes – rape, murder, theft, none provable because of the great power they hold over the people living in their neighborhoods. There is even a gruesome story of a so-called "Trophy Room", a cache of mementos from all of the crimes the gang has been involved with since its birth in the forties.

As to what kind of trophies this room contains, I will not even speculate except to say that if their crimes are any indication of their trophies, then the room must be a grisly sight indeed.

The article continued a few more paragraphs, but Nancy did not want to read any more. With a shiver at the thought that there could be such horrible people in the world, she went back to her work.

She so hated the thought that her husband was working on such a horrible subject. It could be dangerous fooling around with these local street gangs. They might be small-time hoods, but she had seen a television program on them once, and they were far more organized and ruthless than she had been led to believe. But it didn't really matter what she thought, she sighed, Rick had been assigned to do a series of follow-up articles on the street gangs and he would do it no matter what. That was where he was right now, in fact, digging up some more information on the workings and the leaders of these gangs.

Well, she thought determinedly, at least tonight he won't be thinking about those stupid street gangs. She was going to make sure of that!

First a wonderful dinner, with all the things he liked best, steak, baked potatoes, wine, and a special dessert. Then she was going to put on her sexiest housedress, some soft music on the radio and…

"… And seduce him," she said determinedly, her blue eyes resolute as she finished the dusting and headed out the door of the study to the living room. "No matter what he wants to do, I am going to get him to want to fuck me. He will have to fuck me crazy, too!"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. "Who can that be?" she wondered as she walked into the living room toward the front door of her house, pausing at the hall mirror to brush some unruly strands of blonde hair out of her eyes.

Opening the door, she was surprised to find herself face to face with a dark-haired Spanish-looking girl clad in a pair of white shorts, a tight, glittering T-shirt and narrow thong sandals. Her dark hair was jet black, and her face was made up thickly as the Spanish women in Miami were apt to do, with a slash of dark red lipstick on her sensuously full lips.

"Yes?" Nancy asked, puzzled.

"Is this where Rick Taggart lives?" the girl asked.

"Yes, yes it is."

"The Rick Taggart who's doing an article on the street gangs?"

"That's right."

The girl's face seemed to light up for a moment, as though she were relieved. "Can I talk to him? It's real important."

"I'm sorry," Nancy replied. "He isn't home from work yet." She looked searchingly at the girl, whose questions seemed charged with a strange tension. At the news of Rick's absence, she grew agitated, as though this were something she hadn't expected.

"Oh gosh, I've gotta talk to him. It's about, well -" she looked uneasily down the street, as though frightened that someone might overhear. "It's about his articles. He wants to see me about some info on the gangs. But if he's not here…"

"Wait!" Nancy called after her as she started down the front walk.

Something in the brunette's troubled appearance struck a responsive chord in the young reporter's wife. She was so pathetic somehow, with her thick cosmetics and outrageously tight clothing. "Why don't you come in and have a cup of coffee? Maybe you can wait for Rick to get back, or perhaps I can help you."

"Well, if you're sure it's no trouble…"

"Not at all," Nancy smiled warmly at the girl, and held the door open for the stranger to walk by her.

"I'm Nancy Taggart, Rick's wife," she said, holding out her hand.

"Pleased to meet you. My name's Maria."

"Maria? Is that all?" Nancy smiled.

"I'd rather not say the rest," the girl replied, sitting down on the sofa in the living room. "I do not want any of the gang to know I am here."

"Oh." Nancy sat down opposite her in a comfortable armchair.

"Yeah. Y'see. I know some things about the things Mr. Taggart wants to write about. I have grown up with the gangs and I know how they work. I am even sometimes a woman for the gangs, you know? But I wanted to tell Mr. Taggart some things about what they do, how they work and stuff like that."

Maria's voice trailed off, and she nervously fingered the straps of her large plastic purse as she talked. "Y'see, Mr. Taggart's maybe the only one who is interested in doing anything about any of this right now."

Suddenly the sophisticated-looking brunette dissolved into tears, and she buried her face in her hands.

"Oh, you poor thing," Nancy murmured, her heart immediately swelling with sympathy. "I know my husband will want to hear what you have to tell him. You just rest here for a few minutes while I make us some coffee, all right? And then maybe you can tell me about it."

"That'd be fine," Maria sobbed.

As soon as Nancy was out of the room, however, the deceptive brunette hastily dried her eyes and began looking around. She'd accomplished half of her mission, getting inside the house and getting Taggart's old lady out of the room. Now for the rest.

On the other side of the room she could see an open door leading to the study. This must be where he worked, she decided, because his wife would have no need for such a place. Moving quickly and quietly across to the door, Maria rummaged through her purse for a brown paper bag.

Inside it were about a hundred little plastic bags that Bernardo had given to her. Going over to the desk, she began distributing them everywhere, in the drawers, under books and papers, in the cubby holes at the back of the desk where Rick kept pencils and unpaid bills.

Her mission accomplished, she glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Nancy was still occupied with the coffee, then slipped out the door again, closing it softly behind her.

A few moments later, Rick's unsuspecting young wife came back into the living room, carrying a large tray with two cups of fresh coffee, sugar and cream. "Here we are -" she began, then stopped, startled, thinking that perhaps the girl had gone into the bathroom. But the door was open and the lights in the bathroom were off.