Naked Frame (3 page)

"Good."

CHAPTER 3 - Monday, 10:21 p.m.

The woman was a bit mature for this line of
work. But nobody had ever complained. Her customers always walked
away happy. She made sure of that, by giving them even more than
they asked for.

This particular john had requested lights
out. That was fine with her. She did her best work in the dark,
knowing the little imperfections of her maturity could not be
seen.

Newbies thought they could outperform the
senior members of their profession through sheer physicality.
Eventually they would learn that sex is more mental than physical.
If your brain thinks you're turned on, then Baby, you're turned
on.

She was a magician of sorts—a wizard,
practicing dark arts not easily mastered. Seasoned practitioners,
such as herself, could cast a sexual spell upon a man, gently
massaging his brain with her words, slowly but surely leading him
into mind-blowing, convulsive ecstasy.

Occasionally, a man would stop her, just as
her magic began to envelope him, having been frightened by the
power of the spell. But this rarely happened. And once the orgasm
became inevitable, he was beyond the point of no return.

The young whores didn't have a clue.

She was also smarter about
money. Hers was a solo operation. No pimp to slap her around and
take most of her earnings. A simple online ad, offering
escort services
brought
in plenty of business. Two-hundred bucks for an hour's work. And
she could handle two to three customers per night.

Her only regret about her work was its
effect on her daughter. She had successfully hidden her true
profession for years.

Mommy's a nurse, and some nurses have to
work at night. So, be good for Daddy, and I will see you in the
morning, Sweetie.

But her baby girl turned
sixteen last year and got a driver's license. And one night she
followed her mom to work. That's when she found out mommy wasn't
healing sick people. She was
screwing
sick
bastards
.

——

That night, as soon as the first john left,
there was a knock at the door. When she looked through the peephole
and saw her sweet, innocent daughter standing there, her heart
dropped. There was no denying what she had just done. An ear to the
door had provided all the gory details.

But instead of the expected disappoint or
insults, there were probing questions about money. And how to get
into the biz. There were visions of cash and shopping sprees and
new cars.

"So, you want to turn tricks like your
mother? Make a lot of money? Fine. All I ask is that you wait a
while—until you're older. Wait until you have a dud for a husband
who can't ever seem to make enough money to support his family.

"Wait until you're about to be evicted from
your home. Until the repo man comes after your car. Then you can be
a hooker like your mother. Then you can do nasty, disgusting things
with sweaty old men who can't get sex without buying it.

"But not now. You're sixteen years old. Have
a normal life while you still can, for heaven's sake. I pray to God
your life never sucks as bad as mine."

——

She inspected her motion-activated piggy
bank. It was armed and ready to go. The cash went into the bank
before any work was done. And if the john messed with miss piggy,
the little porker would squeal loud enough for the entire floor to
hear.

There was a knock at the door. It was a
young man in a uniform, holding a tray of food. "Room Service."

Poking her head out the door, she said, "I
didn't order anything."

He looked down at the receipt. "Well, it
says here...oops, sorry." He walked away.

She released the door handle, and the
automatic door closer pulled it shut. Turning and walking into the
bathroom, she didn't notice that the door did not completely
close.

A couple of minutes later, she turned off
the light and walked out of the bathroom into the darkness.

"Hello." The man's voice came from across
the room.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Who's there?"

"Who do you think?"

She stood frozen in place, wondering how the
hell he got in.

"It's me. John Doe."

His body, and the chair he was sitting in,
began to materialize as her eyes adjusted to the dark room. A
sliver of hallway light peeking in below the door provided the only
illumination.

The john stood up. He was wearing a black
trench coat and a hat. "Here's your money." He tossed some bills
onto the center of the bed.

She reached over and picked up the
money.

"Five-hundred, as agreed."

He was to be her only john for the entire
night. She had discounted her hourly rate.

Holding the five bills at an angle, she was
able to catch enough light to confirm their denomination. She
folded the bills and stuffed them into the piggy bank, expecting to
hear the usual snide comments about the bank.

"Ready to get down to business?" he
said.

"Sure. You've got my undivided attention for
the next six hours." Thirty minutes of sex with her, and he'd be
asleep for the rest of his time.

He walked around the bed to where she was
standing. "Sit on the bed, please, with your back to me."

"Don't you want to get comfortable
first?"

"Not yet."

"Okay." She got up on the bed reluctantly,
wondering what he had in mind.

He placed his hands on her shoulders.

Her nose caught the familiar
scent of latex. She thought she had made it clear that he must
use
her
condoms.
She never trusted a john's rubbers.

But, no, it wasn't a condom she was
smelling. It was latex gloves. Why was he wearing gloves? A chill
ran up her spine at the thought of how vulnerable she was. His
hands could easily go around her neck.

"You seem tense," he said. "Maybe this will
help." He began to massage her shoulders, and up her neck to the
back of her head.

Just as she had begun to relax, she heard an
aerosol can spraying. The back of her head felt cold and numb.

She pulled away. "Hey, what are you
doing?"

"Take it easy," he said. "You're going to
enjoy this."

He pulled her head back to himself and
massaged it.

There were two clicks, and she felt
something weird. She bounced to the center of the bed and turned
around. "I don't like this. You paid me to have sex with you—not to
let you get all weird, and spray stuff on my head."

He reached into his coat pocket and took out
some gadget. It was a small silver box with buttons, lights and
dials. "Tell me how this feels." He pushed a button.

"No. I'm done with you. Get out of—" She
felt a tingle between her legs. How strange, she thought.

He adjusted a dial.

The tingling intensified. "What is that
thing?"

He turned it up another notch. "Feel
good?"

Stretching out on her back, she said, "Don't
stop." She couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth.
It was as though she was under one of her own sexual spells.

He turned it up higher.

She had not felt anything like this in
years. No john had ever turned her on. Nobody ever gave her any
sexual pleasure.

Tossing and turning, she moaned in
ecstasy.

Gradually, he lowered the setting on his
remote.

She lay sprawled across the bed, spent.

"Let's go again," he said, turning up the
dial.

"Who are you? And where can I buy one of
those things?" Her voice sounded more sultry than she could ever
fake.

"How's this?" He increased the intensity
more rapidly than before.

"Damn." She grabbed her breasts and held on
tight for another wild ride.

He spun the dial to the maximum setting.

"No, that's too much. Stop!" It was like
twelve orgasms coming all at once. Her body began to quiver.
Convulse. "Please, stop!" She grabbed her chest. An elephant foot
crushed her ribcage down against her heart. Her body bounced around
on the bed like a ragdoll in an earthquake.

"Stop," she gasped. "I can't breathe!"

CHAPTER 4 - Monday, 10:47 p.m.

Rebecca and Gabby jumped
into his Honda Civic and he drove out of the motel parking lot.
"So, I can understand why somebody would want to kill Big Bill. But
why frame
us
for
it?"

"The bigger question
is
how
they framed
us. They must have bugged my office. Otherwise, they wouldn't have
known the precise time to kill Big Bill and get out of there before
you arrived."

"Maybe they got lucky. Maybe they had no
idea I was coming, and just happen to leave before I got
there."

"Are you sure they left? Did you check my
closet?"

"No. I didn't even think about it. I was too
freaked out by the whole thing. My first thought was to get you out
of there before the cops showed up."

"Because you figured I shot him."

"No. I mean—I wasn't sure. I just knew you
were in big trouble."

"You were in trouble too, since you owed him
thousands of dollars."

"That was my
second
thought."

"I believe the killer knew everything. He
heard me talking to you on the phone this morning. That gave him
all day to convince Big Bill to pay me a visit."

"I don't know, Becca. I realize this is your
line of work. But that sounds pretty far-fetched."

"Okay. Why were you late for our
meeting?"

"I told you when I called. I had a flat
tire."

"What kind of flat? Did you have a nail in
your tire or what?"

"No. It was leaking on the side."

"As though somebody stabbed it with a
knife?"

"Oh...yeah. I see what you mean," said
Gabby. "It was to hold me up. To make me late."

"And to give the killer enough time to wait
for the drug to work, and then shoot Big Bill with my gun—with it
still in my hand."

"Oh, my God."

"He must have followed him into my reception
area, and waited for just the right moment."

"Big Bill drank the drug too. Although, his
cup was still half full. And he had three times your body
mass."

"So, he might have just been drowsy," said
Rebecca.

"Which would have made him slow to react
when the killer came in and pointed my gun at him."

"Or," said Gabby, "if he knew the killer,
Big Bill might not have suspected he was going to shoot him."

"Then you walk in, see the dead body and
call the police. You and I both had motives to kill him."

"But I didn't call the police. The killer
miscalculated that part."

"Yeah. But eventually we're going to be
right where he wants us: in jail. Unless we can catch him before
the police catch us."

Neither of them spoke for several
minutes.

Rebecca said, "It could have
been his wife, Kimberly. She's a trophy wife. He was 60. She's 29.
But apparently even
that's
not young enough. He's out there screwing
teenagers
."

"I wonder if there was a prenup?"

"If not, I'd put her at the top of my list.
Next, would come any business partners who stood to gain."

"Could have been one of those teenage
girls."

"Maybe. But they had sex with him willingly.
After two of his waitresses were discovered by a Hollywood agent,
the word got out: get a job at Big Bill's Café Nue, and first thing
you know—you'll be a star. Some girls will do anything to be
famous."

"Some do it just for the money. Those
waitresses make a fortune in tips. Ever been there?"

"No."

"It's three blocks from my shop."

"Good. After you do our makeovers, let's go
down there and nose around."

Gabby stopped for a traffic signal. "Well,
there it is. My baby. What do you think?"

It was smaller than Rebecca
had imagined. The bold neon letters were spread diagonally across
the entire width of the storefront:
Gabby
G'Blee Boutique
. "Very nice,
Gabby."

"It's bigger than it looks.
I keep the high-priced stuff on the second floor, which is
adults only
—since the
accident."

"Somebody got hurt?"

"No. But one of my dresses did. I don't
allow food or drinks in my shop. But some girl pulled a bottle of
grape soda out of her backpack."

"And spilled it on one of your dresses?"

"The very thought of it makes me cringe. It
was completely destroyed. Unsalvageable."

"Well, I guess when something like that
happens, you just write it off your taxes."

"Oh, Honey, they won't let me write it off.
The IRS doesn't understand the value of my creations."

"What was the value?"

"The sales price was ten-thousand
dollars."

"Whoa. You can get that much for a frigging
dress?"

"Not a dress. A Gabby G'Blee Original."

"Then you must be loaded."

"I've only sold two at that price. Most of
my designs go for under a thousand. But lately, business has really
been picking up. I think I'm finally becoming known."

"Well,
I've
heard of Gabby G'Blee. So I
guess you're right. I just didn't know it was you."

Gabby drove around to the alley. They got
out of the car, and she followed him into the back of the building.
He flipped on the lights and locked the door behind them.

"Can you see these lights from the front of
the store?"

"Worried about the police getting
suspicious? That won't be a problem. I'm always here at night.
They're used to it. And they know my car."