48 Hour Short Story Contest

Follow That Man



         Shane Hawkins drove home through snow flurries; darker clouds were threatening off to the west. The nickel-size flakes seemed to hit like they were being poured through a funnel, aiming for the windshield, straight into his eyes. Spring can't come fast enough. He thought about how good it would be to ride his motorcycle again, when all the snow was history.

         It was white-knuckle driving; he had to watch everyone else to make sure some amateur didn’t make a hasty move and slide his way. But, part of Shane’s brain dwelled on the meeting with Peachy Keane Wednesday morning. He was re-thinking his plans. Something was wrong. What was it?

         Shane was a handsome man in a rugged sort of way, deeply tanned with striking blue eyes. He still had tight skin and a rigid jaw. But, his six- foot-two frame wasn't as trim as it was in '88, and he carried a good deal of his weight around his waist. His hairline had receded to the extent that he was tired of combing it over, but he wasn't in the bald club just yet and he hadn't found the need for Grecian Formula to rejuvenate the brown.

         Thinking about Jack Keane’s wife was a job in and of itself. Following him would be the easy part. It was his wife that kept Shane moving; she gave a whole new meaning to the word “flirt.” She was attractive enough--looked a lot like Jane Fonda. He wondered if he should have insisted on having the meeting at his apartment. At least he’d be on his own turf.

         Shane knew Mrs. Keane liked him, maybe she was even hot for his body, but she was a client, and he had to keep things on a professional level at all times. Besides, what if her husband doubled back to the house for something. That would blow his cover for sure. Maybe I should just have her come by my place tonight like she suggested. He paused with that idea for just a moment. Nah, better not.

         He pulled into his driveway, locked the car ,and grabbed the mail out of the box. The soaked newspaper lay at his feet. He picked it up and unlocked the door.

         Maxey, his faithful hound dog, stood just inside. His rear-end and tail swung to and fro like a freshly-landed trout.

         “Hey, Max! What’s going on buddy? Miss me?” Shane tossed the paper and mail on the kitchen counter with his keys. He rubbed the dog behind his ears and patted him on the head. Max had to go out. Shane grabbed the leash off of the hook and tried to lead the way. Max sniffed his territory to make sure it was untouched. Shane was relieved when he saw the dog cock his leg over a snow bank.

         Back inside, he popped a frozen chicken dinner in the microwave.
How long has it been since I made myself a plain old hamburger? That was one of the things he missed about being married. Shelly had done most of the cooking; she made damned good burgers, too.

         In the eight minutes before the microwave beeped, Shane fed the dog and shuffled through the mail. A brown 8 X 10 envelope with a State of New York return address was there along with bills and junk mail. Shane's stomach lurched. There it is. He smiled as he opened it. He knew it must be . . . had to be. . . and it was, his private detective's license.

         Now, he was officially a private eye. He no longer had to hustle hot dogs at the ballpark. He would continue to follow Jack Keane, but now, he would feel okay with it. Keane's wife, Peachy suspected that her husband was having an affair and she wanted proof, so she hired Shane who told her he was a private detective.. She had no idea that Shane wasn't licensed yet.

         I can pull out all the stops now, even carry a piece. Shane went to the bedroom, opened the top drawer of his dresser and lifed the pile of boxers. He uncovered the shoulder holster and his .38. Tomorrow, I start carrying.



__________________________



         When Peachy Keane answered her door the next morning, she was wearing a sleek blue robe. Her hair was wet; the drops of water glistened like diamonds in the light from the windows. Her face was pale, the color of notebook paper. No makeup.

         “Oh, good morning, Detective Hawkins. Sorry, I just got out of the shower. Everything seems so out of place this morning." She fluffed her hair. "Excuse the look, I’m running behind. Hope you don’t mind?" Shane stood just inside the door. "Come in, come in. I've got those pictures of Jack that we talked about. I couldn't get the registration for his car. He didn't come home again last night. I'll be right with you."

         “I’m fine, said Shane. He closed the door. "Cold out there. Go ahead with whatever you're doing, Mrs. Keane. I could use a cup of coffee though, if you’ve got some made.”

         “Darn, I did, but I’ll have to make some more. I had six cups already. I can’t believe I drank darn near the whole pot. Coffee settles me, though; I find I get so nervous lately. Have a seat. Make yourself comfy. I'll just be a minute.”

         Shane slipped out of his wet boots and tossed his overcoat on the end of the couch. He kept his blazer on. Good God, she can sure talk and she's certainly not the sharpest chisel in the box.. If I drank six cups of coffee I'd feel like my skin would jump off and dance around the room. He edged over to the front window and stared out at the snow-covered lawn. "One must have a mind of winter, to behold the nothing that is not there and the nothing that is." Where had he heard that before?

         The living room held the lingering essence of Peachy’s flowery bath oils, but it also, smelled of money: The carpeting under his feet was soft as beaten egg whites, 3 inches or more deep, and as intricately woven as an Arabian fairy tale. The furniture was designer and there appeared to be a Van Gogh something or other centered above the sofa. A huge black and grey cat was curled up in a chair on the other side of the room. It didn’t move.

         “He’s a mean son of a bitch, you know,” she said as she sashayed into the room. She wore a light blue robe and carried a tray that held a carafe and two cups.

         “Who, your husband?”

         “Yes. I’m sorry, do you take cream or sugar?” She poured for both of them.

         “Just cream, thanks. What do you mean?" said Shane.

         Peachy sat next to him and lit a cigarette. When she curled her legs beneath her Shane caught a wink of bare thigh.

         Damn! Easy Shane, you’ve got to keep everything on a business basis, no matter what. She’s a client, remember."

         “Yes, I’m talking about Jack,” she said. “Hell, I saw him pick up the back end of a '69 Mustang one day, right down here on Pulaski Boulevard.” She pointed.

         “Light car,” said Shane, trying not to grin as he stirred in the cream.

         “Like to see you pick one up,” she said. “Your balls would pop like birthday balloons.” She laughed and reached under a throw pillow to pull out a brown envelope.

         “Pictures of Jack are in there.” She held it up, cocked her head the way women do-- flashed a grin and tossed the envelope into his lap. “My husband’s priorities are cocaine, whores and whiskey, I believe in that order. Decent woman do not break up marriages,” Peachy said. "Decent women do not mess with married men. Men with children and family. Men with homes. I call them whores. With Jack fooling around, I feel like a junk car. Oh, he’s smart when it comes to business, but between me and you-- he’d lose an IQ contest to a stump.”

         Shane smiled and fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. “Do you mind?” he said. "Do you have any idea who the other woman might be?"

         "“Not at all, Shane. See, I do remember your strong name. Do I know who she is? I don't have the slightest idea. She can't be very decent, though. Decent women don't mess with married men. Men with children and family. Men with homes. I call them whores. With Jack fooling around, I feel like a junk car. Oh, he’s smart when it comes to business, but between me and you-- he’d lose an IQ contest to a stump. You'll find out for me, won't you?" The people I’ve talked to before you would have trouble finding Lassie at a cat show. She took in some smoke-- let it out, and looked at him through the haze of it

         He shook his head once, as if there was a horsefly on it. Jesus! She’s asking for it. “And I could never forget a name like Peachy.” He felt stirring in his groin.

         “Well, thank you. That’s the nicest thing that’s been said to me in a long time.” She leaned forward and gave him a “let-me-thank you-properly” pat on the cheek..

         “Really? Well, I think you deserve so much better, Mrs. Keane”

         “Oooooh, are you volunteering, Mr. Cool," she said. “It makes my thighs hot.” Her hands fanned her face and flittered approval with the compliment, like sparrows at a bird feeder.

         “Listen, Mrs. Keane . . . Peachy, I already started tailing your husband. Tomorrow, if all goes well, I’ll know if your suspicions about him are right."

         Shane couldn’t avoid her eyes. She met his gaze as she put her cup down. “I can’t decide whether you’re just naturally full of shit or unnaturally horny, Slugger.”

         “Probably both,“ he said, feeling his face flush.

         Get out . . . Leave now, before it's too late. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

         She stood and moved closer, her lips just inches from his.

         I don’t have a goddamn thing on under this robe,” she murmured. “I’m not much good at playing tag, either. Sit down, I’ll be right back.”

         What the hell? I can’t stop this. I wouldn’t if I could.

         Peachy came back naked. Slender and small-breasted, she was a true blonde, with delicate kiss-me shoulder blades. Her breasts had looked much bigger when she was dressed, but they were perfect. She had put on makeup.

         God, she looks good.

         Shane smiled and let his eyes follow her as she slowly crept over and caressed his cheek.

         “Do you think I’m beautiful, Shane?”

         “I do,” he said. His throat was dry.

         “Like what you see?”

         “Yes.”

         “I realize I frighten a lot of men,” she said. “You know----beautiful, educated, rich. Guys feel threatened or something.”

         “I’m trying to be brave,” said Shane.

         “I think you’re really handsome.”

         “My buddies at the gym tell me the same thing,” he said.

         “Cute. You’re always with the smart remarks. Why are you such a hard case, Shane? I’m counting on you to put an end to my misery.”

         “Peachy, you are in good hands, I promise.”

         “Are you laughing at me?” She rubbed his chin with her fingertips.

         “No! But, it occurs to me that you’re a little mixed up."

         Peachy smirked. "Yes, maybe I am. Are you still feeling brave, Shane?”

         “Yeah. I am, as a matter of fact.” He stood and reached for her but she turned, performed a small pirouette and pranced away towards the cascading staircase. He stared at her heart-shaped ass.

         Smiling, over her shoulder like Veronica Lake, she beckoned with a finger, before she disappeared upstairs.

         Shane felt the throbbing in his pants--tightening against his boxers. He squeezed himself and looked down.

         Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!


__________________


         Peachy was intense, she fought him, wrestling his shirt off.

         They tumbled across the king-sized bed, she fumbling with his belt, he, holding her face between his hands, kissing her neck, her nose, her lips. His hands explored her warm skin, her stomach, then, moved back up to her breasts. She moaned, trying to keep her lips on his as she pulled his pants off. Then, the boxers.

         A hiss escaped her lips when he touched her.

         “Oooooooh, yes,” she urged him on.

         He was ready; the anticipation of failure gone now, there was no stop sign.

         I’m alright, this is gonna work.

         He rubbed himself along the length of her leg and he let his strong hands glide down her sides as he trailed soft, wet kisses down her body. Gently nuzzling her breasts, he suckled one nipple, then the other, and worked down past her tummy.

         “Oooooooh, yes . . ." Her moans grew louder while her hips tilted up and down with need.

         Then, he was above her, staring into her blue eyes.

         "Jesus, God!" he groaned aloud. Their orgasms were simultaneous--a finish choreographed by lust.

         When at last they broke apart, Peachy rolled onto her back and sighed. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, her face flushed red, her breathing uneven and loud like his. Shane turned his head to look at her.

         "Wow!" she said.

         “Fantastic,” said Shane. She reached up and pulled him down into a long kiss. Her tongue told him she wanted more than sex.

         When they were spent Peachy put her face on the extra pillow, while Shane lay face up, sweat evaporating from his chest. She turned over so her back was to him. He turned in to her, reached under her arm, cupped one of her breasts, and pulled her back into him.

         This closeness . . . the scent of her hair, reminded him of better days when he was with with Shelly. Why couldn't this be her in my arms. Divorce is so final.

         “Damn,” he said after awhile. “That was good.” There was a brief moment of silence. “I was a little worried.”

         Her turned her head to face him. “About what?”

         “It’s just . . . I don't know--I feel guilty making love to a client. Besides, it’s been awhile.”

         She propped herself up on one elbow. “Really? Well, you didn’t forget much, Slugger.” She smiled and rubbed her hand over his chest, tweaking one of his nipples.

         Later, when she was lying face down on the bed, Shane traced the outline of a tiny cherub tattoo on the small of her back. He thought about how comfortable he was with this woman. He knew almost nothing about her. Like the tattoo, there seemed to be a surprise jumping out from every angle.

         Suddenly, she was on her feet, snatching the sheet away. She giggled like a schoolgirl, then, ran, and left him naked as she ran to the bathroom.

         “Hey!” Shane yelled. He quickly crawled to the end of the bed and yanked the bedspread up.

         Sitting up, he lit a cigarette and looked around. The bedroom was as plush as the rest of the house. Expensive-looking drapes covered the windows, and two Tigerwood dressers stood like wooden voyeurs against the walls. Shane looked for pictures. There were none. No kids, no wedding pictures. Nothing.

         She flopped onto the bed, lit a cigarette, and watched him while he straightened his tie. She crawled across the bed, and the robe separated like an intentional fleshy encore for his benefit.

         “Kiss me,” she said. She tilted her head back and Shane held her shoulders as he leaned over and kissed her. It was a Casablanca kiss, and Peachy was still trembling when he let go of her.

         “I’ll go down with you,” she sighed. Small tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

         “Jesus, no! Please don’t do that,” he whispered.

         “Do what?” She turned and led the way downstairs.

         At the door, he slipped on his shoes and put on his coat while she parted the curtains and looked outside.

         “It's snowing again, Detective Hawkins." She turned away from the window and faced him. "Be careful out there, okay," she said, sounding like a wife.

         "Wasn't supposed to snow at all,” said Shane. " You take care, okay? I’ll be in touch.”

         “Shane. I’ve decided I have to come clean with you. She clutched the sleeve of his coat; her eyes were still wet. “You don’t realize how difficult it is to have so much to offer and nobody to give it to. I need somebody to love me.”

         Shane sighed and squeezed the hand that clutched his coat. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you right now, Peachy, but trust me, I know where you’re coming from. I’ve been there and back.”

         “Wait . . . You’re not afraid of Jack, are you?”

         “No, I’m not worried about Jack. Shane smiled. I'm thinking “hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate." Honey, if your husband was here right this minute, I’d kick his ass and love every minute of it. I can handle him."

         “I’m so glad because Jack isn’t cheating on me, Shane. I’m cheating on him. He won’t be home until after six. Wouldn’t you like to go back upstairs with me?”


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