Matt McClintock had been dead at least three hours and was beginning to go ripe, while a good dozen or so people on the city and county payroll were still milling about the main salon of McClintock's yacht, the Ponce de Leon, including twp morgue attendents with a gurney and a rubber body bag.
"If you keep 'm any longer he's gonna stiffen up and we'll hafta take him in the chair," one of them warned.
He was still sprawled in his chair next to his teakwood desk. Sweet looked at him impassively. As a traffic cop, she had certainly seen her fair share of dead bodies --or DBs, as was the police jargon-- before. Usually in worse shape than this.
But this was different. Here was a mystery. A man was murdered, and it was her job to find out who done it.
Sweet smiled. She knew she was going to like this job. A lot.
"Hey, Sweet thang!"
She turned at the sound of the familar male voice. Inspector Harry Stoner, also of Homicide. A fifty-something itinerate hippie who longish hair, a mustache and a wardrobe circa 1975. He was also her new partner.
She frowned. There was something... different about him tho. Only two days ago he had gotten the shit beat out of him by an enraged Iwana Binder. Now, not only were his bruises healed up, but he looked younger and... almost handsome.
"What the hell happened to you?" Sweet asked.
He grinned. "Like, everybody's been asking that! And all I can say is that I've... taken a new lease on life! A rebirth! i feel like a phoenix risen from the freakin' ashes..."
"You had a goddamned Jessica Cocktail, haven't you!" Sweet whispered.
"Ummm... yeah," Stoner said. "Right after I got beat up, Paige sent me to the infirmary in the Brickyard and Jessica... gave me a shot of her magical mystery juice."
"Amazing," Sweet said. She had seen the results of a Jessica Cocktail herself when Iwana Binder and Tai had visited her hospital room on Tuesday. Iwana had been beat up along with Paige's musclegrrl Kunta Kintare. Both had been given a transfusion of Jessica McClintock's blood and had healed up as quickly as Stoner. "And you feel... alright?"
"No, I feel fan-fuckin'-tastic!" Stoner said. "Keeeeerist! I feel twenty years old again! Last night I took home a titty dancer from North Beach and I fucked her like a bunny for hours! And get this... usually I start the day with a toke of Maui Wowie? Not today! I just... didn't need it. Or want it!"
"So the Jessica Cocktail is also better than Viagra and a detox cure," Sweet said. "Will miracles cease!"
"Excuse me."
Sweet and Stoner turned to see two more plainclothes cops coming up to them. One was mid-thirties with close cropped black hair, a humorless stone face and wore a well-pressed but cheap suit. His partner was older but just as low key.
"I'm Sergeant Webb," stone face said. "My partner Detective Bill Morgan. Homicide Bureau."
"We're working this case with you," Morgan said. "Lieutenant Briggs' orders."
Stoner nodded. "We haven't met in the squadroom yet. I'm Harry Stoner, this is my compadre... Gwen Sweet."
"So we've heard," Webb said. "You have quite a history with the department, Stoner. You started as an undercover operative with the SFPD in 1969 and with department funds opened up what was then called a 'head shop' in Haight Ashbury, where you sold illicit drug paraphenalia for the next 32... years?"
"Yuppers!" Stoner grinned.
"And when a department audit finally tracked you down, they only thing they could do to you is advance you in rank to Inspector and assign you to Homicide because of your... seniority?"
"Ain't that a kick in the head?" Stoner snickered.
"Listen, mister..." Webb growled.
"Ah... gentlemen!" Sweet stepped between the two. "Might be a good idea if we concentrated on the case at hand and forget about department politics. What say?"
"The lady may be right, Joe," Bill Morgan said to his partner.
"Very well." Webb looked at her. "And Detective Sweet... You have a fine record in Traffic. I hope you can prove yourself in Homicide as well. Even if this is a cut and dried case."
"Is it?" Sweet asked.
"We spoke to the eyewitness..." Morgan examined his notes. "A Mr. Hansel Grimdorffer, who worked security for McClintock. He said this Tai Anne Roper had come aboard to talk to McClintock alone regarding his daughter. He entered this room just as she finished shooting him with a silencered 9mm Beretta. She then turned the gun on him, wounding him in the leg. She fled the scene in a powerboat, which was witnessed by three members of the crew and a Ms. Gretel Grimdorffer, who is the witness' brother and also worked security for McClintock."
"That's convenient," Sweet said.
"We already have a BOLO out on this Roper girl," Webb said. "It won't be long now."
The two detectives broke away and started talking to the CSI techies. Sweet turned to Stoner. "So what's the 411 on those two stiffs?"
"Ah... Webb and Morgan are kinda a legend in the department. Real by the book types. Real pains in the ass too. First time I hadda work with 'em."
"Great," Sweet muttered. She turned her attention back to the dead body of Matt McClintock. "Looks like... five entrance wounds to the chest and... two to the head?"
"Roger that," a CSI tech replied from behind the body. "We've recovered three spent rounds from this wall. Other rounds are still in the body."
"Shooter stood right here," Stoner said, standing about three feet in front of the desk. "And kicked off all seven rounds from here."
Sweet saw that seven brass shell casings had been recovered and marked to the right of where Stoner was standing.
"And where did this eyewitness get it?" she asked.
"Over there," the CSI tech replied, pointing to an area by the rear door of the salon. She walked to the forward door of the salon, which was just to the left of the desk. "Shooter stood here and fired on the witness, wounding him once in the leg."
Sweet looked at where the shell casings had been marked and recovered at that location. "I see four shell casings recovered here."
"So?" Stoner said.
"So where did the bullets go?" Sweet asked. "Mr. Witness got shot once..."
"Another round drilled the window to the right of him,
ma'am," the CSI tech said.
"Okay, thats two rounds accounted for," Sweet said. "What
happened to the other two?"
Silence.
"They could've gone out the open rear door," Morgan offered.
Sweet went to the rear door of the salon and pushed it open. It closed automatically on spring loaded hinges.
"So much for that idea," Sweet said, examining the rear wall, where a splintered bookcase and a chair sat. "You examine this area for bullet holes?"
"With a fine tooth comb, Ma'am," the tech replied. "Nothing."
"How many rounds left in the murder weapon?" Webb asked.
"One in the chamber,three in the clip," another tech replied.
"Beretta Model 92F has a 15 round magazine, that does go with Detective Sweet's assumption that eleven rounds were fired," Webb said.
"So what happened to those missing two rounds?" Sweet asked.
"Maybe Superman flew in and they just bounced offa him," Stoner said.
"We don't need levity at a time like this, Stoner," Webb growled.
"Waitasec..." Sweet said. "Stoner might have something there."
She got down on her belly and pulled out her Mini-mag lite, shining it under the chair and bookcase.
"We already looked for bullet holes there, ma'am," the CSI tech offered.
"Well... how about..." Sweet grunted as she pulled something out of the deep pile of the carpet under the chair. "...a bullet."
She got up, holding between thumb and forefinger a spent bullet.
"9 millimeter, copper-jacketed hollowpoint," Webb said, squinting at the round. "Just like the others."
"Notice the hollowpoint didn't expand," Sweet said. "That means it hit something that expanded its velocity on impact."
"Like Superman?" Stoner asked.
"Or somebody wearing a Kevlar vest," Sweet said. "Of course, that would mean someone else was here when McClintock got shot...besides your witness... and Tai Anne Roper."
"The witness said just McClintock and Roper were here," Morgan said.
"Oopsy," Sweet said.
Webb nodded. "Mr. Grimdorffer is being treated for his leg wound at Mt. Zion Hospital, I think we should go there and have a little talk with him when he gets out of surgury. Come on, Bill."
Webb and Morgan stalked purposely out of the main salon. Sweet went to Stoner.
"Might be a good idea if you tagged along, partner."
He nodded. "Okey-doke. Where you goin'?"
"Gonna have a little chat with Paige Torne."
"Hey, I know Paige a lot better than you!" Stoner said. "We're like this." He crossed two of his fingers.
"I know," Sweet replied. "That's why I'm gonna talk to her."
***
Ask any San Franciscan and they'll tell you that the crown jewel of The City is the City Hall located in the Civic Center complex around Van Ness and Market Streets.
The City Hall itself is a masterpiece of Beaux Arts Architecture. A massive, six story granite edifice that takes up an entire city block and is capped with a massive gold rotunda that is taller than the US Capital dome in Washington.
There are many departments and offices within the building. This is where Joe DeMaggio married Marilyn Monroe in 1955, and where City Supervisor Dan White shot to death Mayor Moscone and fellow supervisor Harvey Milk in 1975.
Its also where the city courts are located. And late on this particular Wednesday afternoon, it was where Dr. Fiendly and Fannikins Wenche were descending the long granite steps of the main hall with their attorney Phillip Schuster after having their day in court.
"Good Lord, that was an expensive undertaking," Fiendly groused as they walked across the seal of the City of San Francisco that was on the floor.
"Qwitcher bitchin'," Schuster said. "I kept you two outta the hoosegow, didn't I?"
"Barely," the Wenche muttered. "You told us we'd be out by noon, and here it is almost five o'clock!"
"My guess is some cop got a baliff to switch your case around... ya can't go around ramming cop cars without expecting to pay the piper," Schuster said sagely. "Speaking of which, I'll be sending you my bill."
"Thank you, Mr. Shyster," Fiendly said.
"Thats Schuster..."
"Whatever," The Wenche said. "Now blow."
Schuster disappeared as Fiendly and Wenche continued on together.
"I hope you didn't have too hard a time of it in the women's correctional facilities?" Fiendly asked her.
"Heavens no!" she answered. "I was running the place by the time I was sprung. Even had a nice couple of cellmates who could eat cunt like a coupla pros. How about you?"
"All was well," Fiendly replied. "Except for a rather large man of colour named "Mother Trucker" who was intent upon me becoming 'his bitch'."
"Jeepers, I hope you dissuaded him in time."
"I was lucky, he slipped on a bar of soap in the showers and broke his neck," Fiendly snickered.
"Tuff luck, wot?"
"Indeed."
The two miscreants were still chortling over that when someone stepped out of the shadows and approached them.
"Hello, Doctor. Wenche," Paige Torne said.
Fiendly and Wenche stopped and looked her over. Paige was dressed fairly conservatively in a pinstriped jacket and skirt of charcoal tweed, black leather heels, hose and a white satin blouse. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. She looked like an upscale attorney going to court.
Fiendly and Wenche had likewise dressed for their day in court. Fiendly wore his customary, hand-tailored three-piece suit and tie from Saville Row, while Fannikins Wenche wore a short black pleated skirt and matching blazer, with a white cotton blouse and tie that gave her a naughty schoolgirl look, especially with her black leather boots that were zipped past the knee.
"Well, Paige! Long time no see. And aren't we all dressed to the nines!" Fiendly leered at her. "Perhaps you could join us for an early dinner at La Folie?"
"Don't crack wise with me, Fiendly," Paige replied. "You and I both know why I tracked you two bozos down."
"Com'n, Fiendly," The Wenche said. "We don't have to take any shit off this blonde skank."
"Watch it, bitch," Paige turned her blazing blue eyes onto her. "Or I'll take you over my knee and spank you right here until your ass is blazing!"
"Good Lord," Fiendly exclaimed. "Only if I can watch!"
"Hardy-har-har," The Wenche replied. "So you know we got into this jackpot while chasing Tai Anne Roper about last night. What of it?"
"So why the hell were you two after her?" Paige demanded. "You two got what you came for when you used my own security chief to shanghai Jessica right out from under my nose! And don't tell me you two didn't make a pretty penny selling her to her own mother!"
"Several pretty pennies, actually," The Wenche sniffled.
"In point of fact, we are offically retired from the skintrade," Fiendly said.
"So why were you two chasing after Tai then?" Paige shouted. "Who were you going to sell her to? Weskler?"
"Heavens no!" Fiendly seemed aghast at the very idea.
"You're missing the big picture, blondie," The Wenche said. "As I told The Fiend here just the other day, what's the good of having all the money in the world, if you don't possess that which you really want."
Paige saw the light. "And you two want Tai?"
"Exactly!" Fiendly said. "Altho I have to say I want Drew Thrasher as well... to complete the set. Like bookends don't you know!"
"You want them as personal slaves?"
"Fucktoys, sex slaves... whatever," The Wenche shrugged. "They'll spend the rest of their lives with us in confinement, wearing exciting costumes of leather, rubber and lotsa, lotsa rope."
"Now that doesn't sound really so bad does it?" Fiendly asked. "After all, there are worse things that can happen to a girl."
"Speaking of that," The Wenche said. "I understand you have sweet Tai Anne over at your place making nasty little bondage vids. Care to sell your little moneymaker to us? We'll make it worth your while..."
"Say... five hundred thousand dollars, cash?" Fiendly sneered.
A moment later, both Fiendly and Wenche were picking themselves off the marble floor of City Hall. Fiendly had been kicked in the balls, while The Wenche had been slapped so hard across the face that Paige's handprint stood out in angry red relief on her cheek. The crowds of workers going home for the day didn't seem to notice.
"Dammit!" Fiendly wheezed. "A simple 'no' would
have sufficed!"
"You mean you two haven't seen the news?" Paige asked.
"Sorry, The other fellows in the men's lockup wanted to watch Jerry Springer and Judge Judy," Fiendly replied. "What happened?"
"Your former employer, Matthew McClintock is dead," Paige said. "It happened on his yacht parked out by Angel Island."
"Goodness, you'd have thought a man as rich as him would know how to swim," The Wenche remarked.
Paige almost smacked her again. "He was murdered, idiot! Shot to death. And a bodyguard named Hansel something, says that the shooter was Tai Anne Roper!"
"What!" Fiendly exclaimed.
"Impossible," The Wenche said. "The little twit doesn't have it in her."
"She's not a twit," Paige growled. "But you're right. I don't think she did it either. But now she's disappeared and the cops have an 'all points' out on her for murder. Also, my best musclegrrl, Kunta Kintare drove her out to the Marina, and she's missing along with my SUV."
"Mmmm... maybe the twit offed her and took your ride after she capped McClintock," The Wenche said.
An instant later she was picking herself off the floor again. "Dammit, that hurt, Paige!"
"The next time you won't be getting up," Paige warned.
"So who do you think framed her?" Fiendly asked. "Weskler?"
"Jeb thinks it was Will Tanner-Hyde, working for Weskler," Paige said. "You've worked for both of them, what do you think?"
"I agree," Fiendly said. "Altho we were brought into the employ of McClintock through Samarkand. It was only later that I discovered he --and Tanner-Hyde-- were really working for Weskler."
"When Samarkand demanded Fiendly give up Tai and Drew after we rescued them from those Arab mercs, he refused," The Wenche said. "That's when Tanner-Hyde sicced those same Arabs onto us."
"That hardly makes you two humanitarians of the year," paige observed. "The only reason you didn't give up Tai and Drew to Samarkand was that you wanted to keep 'em for yourselves!"
"Well of course!" Fiendly said.
"We are slavers after all," The Wenche said.
"So where does that leave us with the present situation?" Fiendly asked.
"Nowhere," Paige said. "The only reason I chatted you two up was I thought you were in cahoots with Weskler. But now I know you're just a couple of kidnapping deviants!"
Why, thank you!" The Wenche said.
"Look, maybe we can be of assistance in this matter," Fiendly insisted. "If Weskler framed Tai for McClintock's murder, he has only one of two fates in store for her. Death..."
"Or slavery," The Wenche finished. "And frankly, I think we all know that sweet Tai Anne is way to delish a morsel to just drop into the bay."
"You're saying that Weskler is a slaver?" Paige asked.
"It's a sideline for him," Fiendly said. "We've worked for him before through Samarkand. He likes 'specialty pieces'."
"Like sweet Tai Anne," The Wenche grinned.
"And Jessica McClintock?"
Fiendly shook his head. "The accquistion of Jessica was all about Weskler's great obsession... The fountain of youth, and the ability to remain forever young."
"Just like Matt McClintock," Paige shook her head. "Damn!"
"He's also has a pipe dream about creating a race of superwomen," The Wenche said. "That's why he sponsors all those female bodybuilding events."
"He dreams of a time when all women are born genetically stronger than men," Fiendly explained. "So they can be the soldiers, police, firefighters and labourers of the world."
"I get it," Paige nodded. "Leaving the men time to sit on their asses all day."
"Yup," The Wenche said. "We do all the heavy lifting... and the dying... while still being in submission to man."
"Doesn't sound bad to me," Fiendly chuckled. The Wenche elbowed him in the ribs.
"Okay, so you do know alot about Weskler, and maybe you can
even get close enough to him to find out what happened to Tai," Paige
allowed. "How do I know you two just won't grab her and keep her as a
fucktoy?"
"You have my word of honour as a gentleman," Fiendly intoned.
"Oh, gaaaaawd," The Wenche giggled.
Paige rolled her eyes. "I guess I don't have much of a choice." She handed her business card to him. "That's my personal, scrambled cellphone number. Keep in touch."
"Will do," Fiendly said. He took The Wenche's arm. "And good luck to you as well!" He smiled at The Wenche. "Come dear, let's away!"
Paige Torne watched them leave, unsure whether she had just had a bit of luck, or had just made a big fucking mistake.
***
Paige walked out the main doors of City Hall, out onto the sidewalk facing Van Ness. Kira McElroy was waiting down the block for her in her Subaru Outback.
"Hello, Paige!"
She turned and smiled when she saw Shakira approaching her.
"Hey, darlen'!" Paige said. "What brings you downtown?"
"You," Shakira said. She was still dressed in her leather jacket, jeans and tee shirt.
"Then I guess you've heard about Tai," Paige said.
"Indeed, and you will be coming with me now, and doing what I say!" Shakira replied. Paige turned as a Chevy Caprice Yellow Cab squealed to a halt next to her. "Get in the taxi, slave!"
"I will do no such thing!" Paige said to her indignantly.
"Afghanistan, banana-stand!" Shakira replied.
Paige blinked and stared at her for a long moment as she felt her willpower and very self start to slip away.
Shakira grinned. The hypnotic trance she had placed Paige under while she had been employed by her as a cook in The Brickyard a few days ago was still working. But for how long was anybody's guess.
"Come with me, slave!" Shakira demanded.
"Yessss... my Goddess," Paige murmured, allowing herself to be led into the back of the taxicab, which squealed away, heading north on Van Ness into the Tenderloin.
The cabbie was an East Indian, who respectfully asked The Avatar of Kali in Hindi where she wanted to go.
Shakira answered in Hindi as well. She looked at Paige who was shaking her head, slowly coming out of the enforced trance.
Shakira reached into her purse and pulled out several lengths of the same rough hemp cord that she had used earlier on Yoshiko Roper. Only this time she used it the old fashioned way. No need to show off if one didn't have to.
First she drew Paige's arms behind her back and crossed her wrists. Shakira bound her wrists together tightly and cinched off the tie. Then she raised Paige's knee length skirt and pulled Paige's knees together to bind them with the cord. By smoothing the skirt back down the rope didn't show.
"Why are you... tying me up?" Paige whispered.
"Hush," Shakira reached again into her purse to remove a huge, black wad of Indian rubber. Paige gulped and hmmphed as Shakira straddled her hips and forced every bit of it into her mouth. Somehow she couldn't spit it out either, it just settled into her mouth for good.
Paige saw they had left the Tenderloin and were in the Japantown District now. The taxi came to a stop behind an office building where there were some dumpsters. Shakira pulled Paige out and moved her along by pulling at her elbow.
Paige was out of the trance but still helpless to resist, the rope at her wrists was tight and inescapable, while the rope at her knees gave her just enough room for short, mincing steps in her heels.
Since it was just after five, the offices were empty. Not that anybody would have noticed the pretty, well-dressed blonde mincing along with her young friend.
Shakira hurried her to an elevator, which they rode to one of the building's upper floors.
They got out and Paige was hustled down an empty corridor and into a non-descript office fronted with double oak doors and Japanese style frosted glass panels made to look like ricepaper walls.
Inside the inner office, two women were waiting for her.
"Good afternoon, Paige-kun!" Dr. Yoshiko Katsuhara Roper said pleasantly. She was dressed in a skirt and heels over an omenious white lab coat. "So good to see you again! Have a seat on my couch, please! Shakira-chan, would you please ungag her?"
Paige almost retched as the unpleasant tasting rubber mass was pulled out of her mouth. She managed a breath. "What is the goddamn meaning of this, Yoshiko? I thought we were friends!"
"Well, as you know, Paige-kun, I am Tai Anne's mother," Yoshiko said. "But you have yet to be introduced to Tai Anne's other mother... Glenna Jane Roper."
Glenna Jane stepped forward, her tied-dyed kaftan flowing. "Okay, enough chit-chat. We wanna know how the hell you got our only daughter hooked up to a murder charge, and we wanna know now..."
"I had nothing to do with Tai's current predicament," Paige replied, pulling at her roped hands. "In fact, I was trying to find out what really happened when Shakira zapped me. Now fucking untie me!"
"I think you're lying," Glenna Jane said flatly. "And you're gonna stay tied!"
"Now, now!" Yoshiko soothed. "We shall find out the truth soon enough." She turned to Paige. "Come along, Paige-kun, a friend of yours has been waiting for you!"
Paige pulled at her bound hands again while Shakira helped her to her feet. Still hobbled by the cord at her knees, Paige was slowly led into the adjoining room.
Besides Yoshiko's living quarters, there were a few gadgets and gizmos that helped her in her psychiatric practice.
One such item was a large steel circle from which was suspended the taut form of a slender young woman wearing a skintight, blue latex body suit. She was webbed to the circle at many points, her hands and feet encased in blue flippers ending in rubber straps that had just enough give to allow her some movement.
The woman's face was hidden by a rubber mask and a pair of VR goggles. There were also sensors and probes attached all over the suit. Paige noticed the suctioning devices over her breasts, and the humming rubber dildo between her thighs.
"This is a Virtual Reality skinsuit," Yoshiko explained. "I find it's use superior to the sensory deprivation tanks, in that here I can model the subject's virtual world on whatever their innermost fetishes and desires are."
Yoshiko stroked the rubbered face of the webbed woman. "This girl for instance is seeing an erotic world of latex and shiny rubber... where buxom rubber nymphs capture her endlessly, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of her."
"She talked after only an hour," Glenna Jane said. "Your name came up..."
Paige gasped again as Yoshiko pulled the mask and goggles off the woman to reveal the face of Taffy Chu.
"I took her captive this afternoon from her place of business," Shakira explained. "She put up quite a struggle!"
"Taff?" Pauge stepped forward, almost into Taffy's face. Her face was flushed, her hair was soaking, her eyes were dilated, black orbs and she drooled uncontrollably over her skinsuit.
"She'll land in an hour or so," Yoshiko said. "Janie, help me get her out of this thing."
They unstrapped her from the steel circle and lowered her to a recliner while Paige continued to fidget with her tied hands.
"What now?" she asked.
"Well," Glenna Jane said. "When little Miss Taffy talked, she told us that Tai had agreed to meet McClintock on his yacht, and that a woman who works for you named Kunta Kintare drove her there in your SUV."
"Yes, that's all true!" Paige said. "But I didn't know about it at the time and now Kunta and my ride have disappeared too! Believe me, I had nothing to do with Tai being accused of murder!"
"So you say," Yoshiko said as she and Glenna Jane skimmed the skinsuit off the comatose Taffy. "And after your session is over, then we'll believe you."
Glenna Jane came to Paige holding the wringing wet skinsuit while Yoshiko fitted Taffy into a strait jacket. "Don't worry, it stretches. Shakira, please prepare the patient."
"Hey!" Paige struggled as Shakira twirled her around and pulled her to her knees, forcing her shoulders to the floor. Her bound hands fluttered about uselessly behind her, whie her roped knees caused her big round butt to stick out a mile.
Even with Shakira's knee at the back of her neck, Paige was still able to turn and watch as Glenna Jane peeled up her tight skirt and then peeled down her panties and hose.
Paige managed a deep breath and winced as she saw Yoshiko was now tapping the air out of a long, glass syringe with a very long needle attached.
"Just a little something to help you on your journey," Yoshiko said. "This might sting a bit..."
"Owwwwwwwieeee!" Paige blinked up some tears as she felt the needle slide into the meat of her well-padded left hinder.
She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
***