Fetishes
Fantasies
Fatalities
By
Patrick D. Peay
As a ten year veteran
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Gary Black was accustomed to, but not
desensitized by the amount of death he was exposed to in the field as a special
agent. There he stood on the edge of a
grassy marsh in Middleburg, Florida. The
weather was muggy, but not near the unbearable extremes one can come to
experience at the end of a summer in North Florida. Yet another corpse was sprawled out before
Gary and his partner Rhonda Banks. The
decomposition of the dead body was obviously advanced by the humidity of the
First Coast Region. Rhonda surveyed the
scene with a stern look of concentration on a face filled with such delicate
and attractive features while Gary stood in silence for a moment. He found himself drifting off into a daydream
themed with an all too familiar forbidden fantasy.
Gary worked closely and
in conjunction with Rhonda for the past six years. All the while, he tried his best to conceal
his secret admiration for her. What
started as an innocent crush turned into a lurid obsession and even he was
ashamed to admit that to himself, so he kept these desires for her pent up
inside him as best he could. Everything
about Rhonda was so alluring and attractive to Gary. She was brilliant, beautiful, and something
about her attitude and the way she carried herself was irresistible to
Gary. He wondered if she ever noticed
his longing stares. He had the
impression that Rhonda could be a subtle seductress if she wanted to be. That desire to throw caution to the wind and
conventional wisdom always festered inside Gary. Everyone knows how complicated feelings like
this could complicate work relationships.
Still, sometimes Gary wanted to hold Rhonda. He wanted to caress her. He wanted to sensually kiss her and explore
her whole body with his tongue. He
typically didn’t see Rhonda out of her stark professional attire, but Gary
imagined she would look absolutely stunning in lacey lingerie.
Rhonda was keenly
focused during the initial phases of a any investigation. Gary was in a tantric trance. Even at this early stage of investigation, Rhonda
could sense that this current case would be of the atypical variety. Rhonda’s sudden and curt remark snapped Gary
out of his mesmeric daze.
“This is a new one for
me, a dead and ball-gagged gimp in a swamp,” Rhonda said.
“Damn, Agent Banks, it
smells like day-old cabbage stewed with rancid road kill out here,” Gary
remarked.
“I
won’t even ask how you know what that smells like, Agent Black,” Rhonda
commented.
Gary
and Rhonda worked closely as partners for six years. Gary was strapping and brawny man with a
thick southern drawl. He was raised in
Moultrie, a small rural town in Georgia.
His humble upbringing on a farm was a stark contrast to the way Rhonda
was raised. She got used to that
ephemeral and transplanting lifestyle that came along with being in a military
family. She couldn’t count how many
times she was uprooted and had to pack up to move when her father was
transferred to another Naval Base. More
times than not, they were coastal cities, so Rhonda grew up loving the beach. Still, the country boy Gary and the beach
girl Rhonda, although an odd pairing, worked well as a cohesive investigational
unit. They got on each other’s nerves
sometimes and clashed on occasion, but they truly trusted and respected one
another.
The
crime scene in Middleburg was cordoned off. It was a muddy and wooded area not far from
the northern flowing St. John’s River south of Jacksonville off US Highway
17. The Clay County Sherriff’s Office,
the local authorities, alerted the FBI.
Gary and Rhonda weren’t too far away in Daytona Beach investigating a
high profile missing person’s case, so they were immediately summoned to the
crime scene. A week prior, Blake Adams, the
twenty six year old eldest son of a prominent United States Congressman named
Bill Adams from Miami, vanished without a trace. Blake had travelled to Jacksonville from his
home in Miami to attend the first road game of the Miami Dolphins’ 2014 National
Football League regular season versus the perennially lousy Jacksonville Jaguars
at Ever Bank Stadium. Blake’s father Bill
happened to also be in town at the time accompanying his wife Linda Adams, a
published and renowned self-help author that had a scheduled speaking
arrangement at a women’s empowerment conference at the Morocco Shrine Auditorium
off Jefferson Street in downtown Jacksonville.
Reportedly, Blake hade made his way to Daytona Beach south of
Jacksonville after the football game to celebrate the Dolphins’ thrilling 26 to
20 overtime victory over the Jaguars. Bill travelled in a convoy with some of
the Dolphins’ players he was acquainted with.
Blake was last seen leaving an upscale gentlemen’s club called Emperors’
off the strip in Daytona Beach with an unidentified woman.
Back
in Middleburg, Special Agent Banks and Special Agent Black surveyed the area
with local cops and crime scene technicians.
They examined the dead body which was dressed up in a full-body leather
BDSM gimp suit, complete with mask and ball-gag strapped in his mouth. There wasn’t an apparent cause of death that
they could see. The ankles were bound
with chains, and the wrists were handcuffed behind his back. There was a not lot of blood, and it wasn’t
immediately evident whether or not part of an attack occurred on the scene, or
elsewhere, or if the man was assaulted violently, and dumped severely injured
to expire alone in the swamp.
“Can
somebody please remove that ball-gag from his mouth and take off that mask?”
Rhonda asked.
One
of the CSI’s obliged Rhonda’s request, then Gary said, “Holy honeycombs! That’s our guy. That’s definitely Blake Adams.”
This
is was no longer a missing person’s case for Rhonda and Gary. It was a homicide, and a weird one at
that. The uniqueness of this murder was
evident.
“Who
discovered the body?” Gary asked.
One
of the police officers answered, “A man was walking his dog on a nearby trail
when his dog got loose from the leash and ran into the woods. The man gave chase then stumbled across
this. He phoned us right away.”
“Where
is this man now?” Rhonda asked.
“Right
over there,” the cop pointed.
“Officer,
we are gonna need you to escort that man to the station to get a detailed
statement from him,” Gary said. “Have
your people finish securing the scene and take as many pictures as possible. Collect and document as much trace evidence
as you can. Then, carefully bag up the
body, and take it to the coroner, so they can conduct a detailed medical
examination and autopsy.”
“Officer
Williams,” Rhonda read the name above his badge. “We appreciate the assistance and cooperation
of the Clay County Sheriffs’ Office.
Now, my partner and I must go to Jacksonville to give the victim’s
parents the bad news. Try to keep the
press suppressed, and don’t give any official statements to the media until
tomorrow. We may have to handle that.”
Alerting
the next of kin: this was always a difficult and uncomfortable
undertaking. Bill and Linda Adams were
still checked in at the Hyatt Hotel on Market Street near the St. Johns River
in downtown Jacksonville. Needless to
say, they were absolutely distraught and grief stricken when Special Agent
Black and Special Agent Banks delivered the about their son’s peculiar and
violent death in person. Gary and Rhonda
expressed their sympathies and assured the Adams family that the Federal Bureau
of Investigations would find whoever was responsible for such horrible
atrocities and use all the resources at their disposal to bring the perpetrator
of such an awful and inexplicable crime to justice. After delivering the devastatingly horrible
bad news, Gary and Rhonda stood on the Riverwalk outside the Hyatt. Gary could see the anguish in Rhonda’s face.
He wanted to comfort and console her.
“Ronnie,
we are going to catch this guy,” Gary assured her. “We always do.”
“I
know, Gary,” Rhonda replied.
Then,
Gary made a suggestion, “Let me tell you what I like to do once I get to the
meat and potatoes of a big murder case like this one here.”
Rhonda
asked him, “What’s that, Gary?”
He
explained, “You already know my routine.
It’s kind of a superstition.
After I find a body and have to alert the next of kin, I like to go to a
Burger King drive thru to get a spicy chicken sandwich with tomatoes and a nice
milk shake to wash it down. Tomatoes are
brain food ya know. I vacationed in
Jacksonville with my brother once. I’m
going to take you to that Burger King at the St. John’s Town Center on the
south side of town to have some lunch and milkshake with me, my treat. After that we can go to Massage Soleil at the
Town Center. According to Blake Adam’s
itinerary he got a massage there Sunday morning. We need to question the staff and review
their surveillance footage.”
Rhonda
just nodded. She had learned long ago
not to reject Gary’s insistences. He was
very persistent and persuasive person, and sometimes he knew what was best for
Rhonda. That’s why they worked so well
together. Besides his primal physical
attraction to Rhonda, Gary cared deeply about her physical and mental well
being. He vowed to always have her back
and protect her in the field. He hated
to see her stressed out by all the rigors they encountered with their ever
growing caseloads, and Gary always did his best to do things with Rhonda to help
her decompress.
The
Massage Soleil spa was a great place to decompress and relieve stress. Benjamin Hudson could have definitely used
their services after nerve-racking day he was having. He spent most of the morning arguing with Crystal
who was the mother of his two year old daughter Destiny. Things didn’t work out for Ben and Crystal as
a couple and they had been separated for many months, but shared custody of
their daughter. Ben went to Crystal’s
house to pick up his daughter, but Crystal informed him that their daughter was
spending time with her grandmother for a few days. Ben was upset and this led to a pretty heated
argument. Ben eventually stormed out of Crystal’s
place before things escalated, but he was so distracted that he backed right
into a passing and unsuspecting motorist as he reversed out of Crystal’s
driveway.
“Shit,”
Ben cursed and punched his steering wheel.
Behind
the wheel of the car Ben backed into sat Cynthia Stone. She was struck by Ben, literally and
physically. As Ben stepped out of his
car to assess the damage and check to see if she was okay, Cynthia marveled at
his toned physique and dashing good looks.
Handsome younger men like Ben always peaked her interest. The minor collision was the least of
Cynthia’s concerns. After one look at
Ben, the wheels in her head began to spin.
At her age of 45, the prospect of seducing a handsome and stylish
younger man always aroused Cynthia. Her guess that Ben must be in his mid
twenties was correct. He had celebrated
his 25th birthday only two weeks prior. Cynthia had immediately made up her mind and
was intent on seducing Benjamin no matter what it took. Unaware of this fact, Ben approached
Cynthia’s driver side window and gave it a light rap with his knuckles.
“I’m
so sorry ma’am. I totally spaced out and
wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?”
Ben asked after Cynthia rolled down her window.
“Oh,
it’s just a minor fender bender. I’m all
right, thank you,” Cynthia said as she stepped out of her car.
“You
shouldn’t thank me. This is completely
my fault. I feel horrible,” Ben said.
“Seriously,
it’s okay. There’s not much damage as
far as I can tell,” Cynthia said.
“Still,
right about now is when we should exchange insurance information or
something. Maybe we should call the cops
to make an accident report.” Ben explained.
“Lord knows I can’t really afford a hike in my premium, but I was in the
wrong here. I wanna do right by this
whole unfortunate situation. Hell, the
old me would have just bolted on you honestly, but I’m not like that anymore.”
“Well,
I certainly appreciate your honesty.
Such upstanding character in young men is so rare these days,” Cynthia
said.
“So,
my insurance card is in my glove box.
I’m just gonna grab it real quick,” Ben stated.
“No. Please, don’t bother,” Cynthia insisted. “There’s no need to get insurance companies
or the police involved.”
“Well
I don’t know any other way to resolve this.
I mean, you’re gonna need some bodywork at least, and those type of
repairs aren’t cheap. I’ve got decent
collision coverage,” Ben said.
“Oh,
I’m not too worried about that. I can
send it to an old friend of mine who will fix it right up, no problem. And he’ll give me a good deal.”Cynthia
responded.
“But
it won’t be free, will it?” Ben asked.
“I still feel obliged to make sure you get reimbursed for the
costs. And where are my manners? I’ve just crashed into your nice Lexus. You are being so cool about this, and I
haven’t even introduced myself. My name
is Ben, by the way.”
“Oh,
short for Benjamin. I like that name,”
Cynthia admitted to Ben. “Benjamin was
my second ex-husband’s name. My name is
Cynthia Stone.”
“It’s
nice to meet you, Miss Stone,” Ben shook her hand gently.
“The
pleasure is all mine, Benjamin,” Cynthia blushed, “and please call me Cynthia.”
“Okay,
Cynthia. You seem intent on giving me a
pass for smashing your ride, but I wanna take some responsibility in this matter,”
Ben said. “I’d fix it myself, but I’m
just a lowly plumber by trade. There
aren’t any pipes or drains in cars I can fix.”
“Ah,
a plumber how interesting,” Cynthia said.
“Not
as interesting as you think,” Ben said.
“I learned the trade from my father and then took the family business
over once he fell ill a year ago.
Cancer, but he’s doing better now.
The plumbing business though, isn’t as lucrative as I hoped it would be.”
“Nonetheless,
it’s good that you have a trade, and take it from me, running a small business
is all about hills and valleys. Things
will get better for you soon I’m sure,” Cynthia said.
“I
hope so,” Ben said. “You say you run a
small business too?” What is it that you
do?”
“Well,
I own a couple of small novelty shops.
One is in Daytona and the other is in Savannah. I’m thinking about expanding again and
opening a third location in Jacksonville.
I’m actually on my way to check out a commercial lease property that’s
near a place where I like to get a massage when I’m in Jacksonville,” Cynthia
told Ben.
“See
Cynthia, now I feel worse,” Ben said.
“You were on your way to handle some important business until I backed
into you.”
“I
told you already it’s no big deal, Benjamin.
I’m fine. My car will be fine,
but if you want to repay me some way for the damage, I may have an idea,”
Cynthia said.
“What
might that be?” Ben questioned.
“You
say you’re a plumber, and I just happen to be having a problem with the some
pipe leakage in the master bathroom at my home in Daytona,” Cynthia explained.
“Ah,
I think I see what you are getting at,” Ben understood. “I can come down to Daytona and make those
repairs for you, and we can call it even.
That sounds like a good idea to me, Cynthia. I can live with that if you can.”
“Most
definitely. Here, Benjamin, take one of
my cards,” Cynthia handed it to Ben. “At
the moment, I must run along so I’m not late for my meeting with that
landlord. Give me a call in a couple of
hours, and we can hash out the details.”
“Cool,”
Ben took Cynthia’s card as he returned to her Lexus and drove off with a
flirtatious wave in parting.
Ben
smiled politely and waved back at Cynthia.
Then he looked down and read her card:
DTRT Novelties
2323 Jordan Dr. Daytona
Beach FL, 32116
(386) 555-0107
Cynthia Stone, Owner
Jerry
Curry was a real people watcher, in the most classical sense. He was a textbook voyeur, and as a manager at
the Massage Soleil Spa, Jerry couldn’t resist the temptation of installing a
few well placed hidden cameras through-out the establishment to feed that urge
in him and the arousal he got from watching people who didn’t know they were
being watched. He hid a several cameras
in the women’s locker room of course. He
had a couple of them in two out their twelve massage rooms. One camera was hidden near their indoor hot
tub. Another single camera was even in
the men’s locker room. Jerry was a
pretty sick and twisted individual and quite perverted for a 41 year old virgin who still
lived at home with his mother. Even he
himself was uncertain how he could be diagnosed as a sex addict by a doctor of
psychology even though he had never engaged in actual sexual intercourse. Still, footage from all his hidden cameras in
the Massage Soleil Spa at the Town Center in Jacksonville, Florida gave Jerry
an endless supply of digital videos he downloaded in countless files on his laptop
in order for him to masturbate while watching them alone in his mother’s
basement every single night. Neither anyone
Jerry worked with nor any of the few people he hung out with socially had any
idea about his obsession with video voyeurism.
If
being manager and a massage parlor was a video voyeur’s dream, then Jerry’s
worst nightmare just walked right through the door and into Massage Soleil Spa
that warm August afternoon. Special
Agent Gary Black and Special Agent Rhonda Banks arrived to investigate the
murder of Blake Adams, the son of a Congressman from Miami who was reported to
frequent that spa and had done so hours before his disappearance and subsequent
murder. The FBI agents were intent on
unraveling this mystery by retracing Blake’s steps when he arrived in
Jacksonville early on a Sunday morning to watch the Jaguars play his hometown
Miami Dolphins. According to his itinerary
Massage Soleil Spa at the St. John’s Town Center was one of his first stops
after he landed at Craig Airport in his private jet.
Jerry
immediately imagined how Gary and Rhonda would look naked when they walked
in. He did that with every individual who
entered the spa. A sly, sleezy, skeevy
smirk ran across Jerry’s face, but that giddy feeling and secret naughtiness
was replace by shart inducing panic when Gary and Rhonda showed him their FBI
badges. The resounding flatulence kind
of caught Gary off guard. Gary choked
back a chuckle, but Rhonda was able to keep her composure as a consummate
professional.
“I’m
Special Agent Banks and this is Special Agent Black. We are with the FBI. Are you the manager on duty here?” Rhonda
asked Jerry.
Jerry’s
innards clinched tightly as a he tried to squeeze and not unleash another nerve
wracking gas release. He nodded
nervously and confessed, “Yes.”
“We’re
here investigating a missing person’s case.
That missing person has been murdered, so I guess we’re technically here
investigating a murder, and this place was one of the last places our victim
was last seen. Can we have access to
your company’s security surveillance footage from those cameras up there?” Gary
asked as he pointed at some other the cameras that hung from the ceiling.
“Oh,
thank God,” Jerry said because he was relieved they only where there for the
company’s security footage and not footage from the secret wireless cameras he
had all over the place that feed footage right to his private laptop. “I mean, oh God that’s horrible, and
yes. Yes. It won’t be a problem at for you to review
our security footage if it will help out with your investigation in any way.
Just follow me back to the office and I’ll be able to give you access to
whatever footage you need.”
Jerry
led Rhonda and Gary to the office. He logged
onto the computer and showed the FBI agents how to search through past dates of
footage and how to scroll through the videos.
They thanked him kindly and then requested some privacy while they
looked for what they needed. It wasn’t a
nervous fart that Jerry released this time, but instead it was a sigh of relief
as he left them to their business knowing he had really dodged a bullet this
time. That was a close one. That sly smirk ran across Jerry’s face
again. The FBI agents wanted privacy,
but they didn’t know he had yet another hidden camera planted in the office
near the computer. This time that sly
smirk grew to a beaming and toothy grin when Jerry noticed one of his most
loyal customer entering Massage Soleil Spa.
Not only was Cynthia Stone a loyal customer, but she and Jerry had been acquainted
on a very personal level for many, many years.
They met ten years ago at a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting near Deltona,
Florida. That’s around the time Cynthia
first opened her original DTRT adult novelties store in Daytona Beach and right
around the time Jerry first got into massage therapy as he started to try and
cope with his perverse obsessions.
“There’s
girl,” Jerry smiled.
“Oh,
Jerome, it’s always so great to see you,” Cynthia said as she walked behind the
counter to greet him with a warm embrace.
“How
have you been, Cynthia?”
“Besides
a minor fender bender this morrow, all has been well with me. Thanks for asking Jerome? Tell me all about how you have been doing
lately.”
“An
accident you say. Are you okay?”
“Oh,
don’t worry. I am fine. I’m fine Jerome. I promise.
No major damage to my car nor any injuries I can feel.”
“Good. Everything had been great with me. I’m more
worried about you though. Even in a
minor accident there can be lingering soft tissue damage. Coming to get a massage is definitely a good
idea. You know what? Today’s massage is on me. Would you like to see your normal masseuse? I’m sure Tim is around here somewhere and I
don’t think he has any appointments booked this afternoon.”
“That
sounds like a splendid and spectacular idea.
I’ll go to the locker room to change.
Is my favorite massage room available and vacant now, Jerome?”
“Absolutely,
and if it isn’t, it will be for you, Cynthia.
And I’ll go make sure Tim knows you are here so he can get ready for
you.”
“Excellent. That sound’s perfect.”
Cynthia
smile and clapped her ands lightly to express her glee as she retreated to the
locker room to get ready for her massage.
Jerry went to the break room where he knew he would find Tim watching television,
Sportscenter on ESPN to be exact. That’s
what Tim would do during downtime between his massages. Timothy was that sports obsessed jock when he
was in high school. He played varsity
football and was able a amass descent enough stats after starting for three
years to earn full scholarship from Jacksonville University to play
football. That’s when a young black male
like him became quite a party boy frequenting various frat parties. He eventually earned his degree in physical
therapy, but wasn’t extraordinary enough in his collegiate football career to
seriously consider pursing playing football professionally after school was
done. He had actually accepted that fact
after his sophomore year. Still, he was
grateful for the opportunity to earn his degree. Nowadays, Tim was just a typical twenty four year
old massage therapist. He was still
young. He was still happy. Tim was a bit of a misogynistic womanizer who
enjoyed kinks and role play in the bed room, but that’s neither here nor there. He was pleased to know his favorite client
had arrived for a massage. Cynthia
always left Tim the best tips because he was so thorough.
