A WORLD OF SHIT OR MY TIT IS IN A
WRINGER
Both the military and civilian law
enforcement agencies of Oahu were literally
hopping. The FBI, Naval Investigative Service
(NIS), Army CID, and the local police were
scouring the island. Tearing the place apart looking
for clues or answers. Kicking asses and taking
names! A NIS agent, George Charles, had been shot
in the head - murdered in cold blood - and his body
had been discovered in a ditch. He was only twenty
nine years old and had left a wife and daughter.
Contrary to popular belief and current
television. NIS agents are not now, and were not
then, beloved high-tech crime fighting heroes.
Shitty actor Mark Harmon may say that but he's full
of crap. The assholes spent most of their time
busting folks for smoking dope, pilfering
government goods, or sailors on ships in the harbor
flashing their dicks or asses to tourists on the Pearl
Harbor tour boats (which had happened four times
since I had been stationed at the boathouse). The
average sailor considered them to be sneaky,
fucking stool pigeons and to tell the truth, not too
many swabbies were crying crocodile tears over
Mr. Charles's demise. That's not say that what
happened wasn't horrible - especially for me - but
that's just the way it is.
We had driven the truck to Brewer's place
and pulled it straight into the garage. Brewer had
jumped out to close the garage door behind us and I
immediately had heard a back door slam. I looked
out the back window and saw a semi-naked man
running through the back yard while trying to throw
his clothes on. The side interior door suddenly
swung open, revealing Blanche in a pink see through
nightgown with no panties underneath. I
suspect that I am becoming a borderline pervert as I
catch myself leering at her after I had just witnessed
her husband kill someone in cold blood. Then I
experience a quick flashback of Blanche and I
fucking standing up in the broom closet at the
boathouse. I remember that she had smelled like
cigarettes, dime store perfume, and cheap wine.
"What the hell is going on? I thought you
were spending the night at the boathouse?"
Brewer stepped in front of her. "No, honey. I
caught a ride home with these guys but we have to
clean the truck up. Malcolm had too much to drink
and puked in the cab. I'll be in a minute."
She shot nasty glare at me - I had had a hard
time getting it up for her even thought I hadn't been
laid in months prior to our encounter - and stepped
back into the house. "Well, hurry the hell up and
don't wake the kids."
While Blanche was bitching out Brewer, I
had taken the opportunity to retrieve my stash from
the back of the truck. I shoved it back into my
pocket and pulled Malcolm out of the front seat and
laid him out on a huge pile of government canvas
that I'm sure had been stolen and was on the garage
floor. The drunk son of a bitch had remain passed
out through the whole ordeal. He didn't move a
muscle as we cleaned the interior of the cab from
top to bottom with four rolls of paper towels and
two bottles of disinfectant. It smelled clean as a
whistle. That fucking thing hadn't been that clean
since the Nixon era.. Brewer stuffed the used paper
towels in a paper grocery bag.
We wrestled Malcolm into the truck cab.
That didn't take much since the anorexic little
bastard - he lived off of bologna sandwiches and
coffee - barely weighed a hundred pounds.
Brewer lit up a cigarette. "Drive out the front of housing.
Watch your speed. If Malcolm doesn't ask questions
there's no reason to let him know. If the cops pull
you over just tell them that you were dropping me
off because we worked late." He stepped closer to
me and stuck his little pistol in my gut. "Nothing
fucking else! Not only are you involved up to your
neck in what happened tonight, but I remember
what you told me about that guy that's looking for
your ass back home. The dude you smacked in the
noggin with a baseball bat. Things could rough for
you if you turn pussy and decide to spill your guts."
I can't believe I had bragged to Brewer
about drilling la Favor with a baseball bat. It had
been after a long night of snorting cocaine,
munching on mushrooms, and drinking shots of
rotgut tequila. I had totally forgotten about it up
until then. That had been such a blackout night of
partying I'm surprise that I hadn't told him that I had
also fucked his wife in a broom closet. My ass was
in deep hot water - Brewer couldn't eat a fucking turkey sandwich without telling everyone he saw about it -.
The ride home had been non-eventful.
Malcolm didn't know a thing, I had to fireman carry
him to his bunk when we got back to the boathouse,
and business went on as usual. NIS agents paid their
visit to the boathouse exactly four days after the
murder. They didn't hang around long. Everybody's
stories seemed to check out and the agent's interest
appeared to already be waning. Brewer had already
spoken to the cops after they had interviewed
almost every adult member of the Navy housing
complex where he lived and where just outside of
the agent's body had been found. He claimed that he
had spent the entire night at the boathouse after the
pig slaughter and Malcolm and my statements
backed this up. Malcolm could have passed a lie
detector test, unless they asked him about humping
boathouse dogs or pigs - he thought he had never
left the boathouse that night.
I knew the interviewing agent's stenographer
on a casual basis prior to their visit to the
boathouse. A ravishing, tanned, long legged beauty
from Florida named Reggie (short for Regina)
Morales who wore her blonde hair in a sexy shag
cut and who had the finest ass I had ever seen in
uniform. She was married to a hot-headed, insanely
jealous, and somewhat dangerous dental technician
of Mexican persuasion named Joe. Joe Morales was
a high degree black belt and claimed to be the light-heavyweight
kickboxing champion of Texas and
who was known for beating the piss out of people
who were stupid enough to as much as glance in his
wife's direction.
Reggie sometimes had drinks with
Rose, the boathouse prostitute, and had confided in
Rose that she had only married Joe to piss off her
rich daddy, owner of a flourishing speed boat
business in Cocoa Beach, and that she sometimes
got off on Joe's psychotic jealousy. We had spoken
several times in passing - when she had picked up
Rose after work or bumping into each other at the
base post office - that kind of shit. But the
combination of her job and her husband made for a
nervy combination. Understandably, I about shit my
pants when I swore that I saw Reggie wink at me
from her side of the room after the interview was
over.
HOT SEX WITH UNDERCOVER AGENTS
Paranoia racked my entire being! Prison was
in my near future. There was just no two ways
about it. It had been months since the incident and
the police appeared to have no leads at all, in fact
the whole thing appeared to have blow over, but I
just knew that the proverbial shit was going to hit
the fan sooner or later. I could feel it in my bones.
The booze and the drugs that I was consuming on a
daily basis wasn't helping my psyche and rampant
paranoia either. And then there was Brewer of
course.
The dumb son of a bitch, to my utter horror,
went through some badass Clint Eastwood
metamorphosis. He'd have a beer or two after work,
bring up the murder even though by then no one
gave a hot turd about that old news, and then make
stupid shit statements to Rose and Janine, in
pathetic attempts to get in their pants, like "dead
men tell no tales" or "that asshole had it coming."
One long work day, when nerves were shot and
ragged, he even spouted off to the resident racist
Brooks, how he had "capped one nigger already in
Houston for trying to cheat my ass in cards" and
wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Brooks promptly
called Brewer a "honky fucking cracker," grabbed
Brewer by the throat, and the two exchanged blows
before they both tumbled into the bay. Chief Mason
pulled both them out of the water and up on to the
pier by their hair and slammed their heads together
like Moe would with Larry and Curly. Or Shemp,
whichever you prefer.
The handwriting was on the wall. There was
no escaping it. No need to fight it. I decided to start
getting ready for the joint. I quit drinking and
smoking weed. Got up early in the morning
everyday to run five miles and then lifted weights
for two hours after work four times a week. I gave
up junk food and ate mainly chicken washed down
with protein shakes. Everybody thought I had lost
my mind - no one could figure out just what in the
hell had gotten into me - and they were right. I was
toeing the edge of a nervous breakdown. Falling
into the abyss. But I was damned if I was going to
let some guy fuck me in the ass in Leavenworth
prison when the time came.
Then one day I was walking out of the chow
hall when I bumped into.....
"Holy shit! I thought that was you. Do you
look different!" I turned around and there she was!
Reggie! Beautiful blonde Reggie! NIS stenographer
and wife of an insane kickboxing champion.
"What's up with that? You been working out?"
Puffing up my chest. "A little bit. Trying to
get in shape. Hitting the weights."
"Well, let me tell you. It's paying off." She
actually pushed her hand against my chest. I almost
shot my wad in my pants. "Wow! Hard as a rock."
My chest not my crank.
"Would you like to have a drink sometime?"
Fuck! I must have lost my mind. It just slipped out
without a thought. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! This hot
babe was not only married to a martial arts maniac,
she was the secretary and stenographer for NIS. She
could be a narc herself. I knew this, yet my sick,
twisted mind couldn't get past those beautiful tits
and legs of hers.
She didn't bat an eye. "I can't tonight but Joe
is on duty tomorrow. How about we meet down in
Waikiki tomorrow night."
Unbelievable. Yes! This was sheer suicide
but I didn't give a fuck.
"The Blue Kangaroo at about seven good for
you?"
That was just fine with her.
***
This is my disclaimer: I would never have
fucked Reggie if I had KNOWN that she was a
undercover NIS agent (secretary/stenographer, yes -
NIS agent/narc, no). Well, I might of - she was so
goddamn foxy and so far out of my league - but I
would have at least given it a moments thought. I
like to think that she wanted to bed me down for
purely personal reasons and not that she was some
femme fatale just using her lean, tanned, track star
body to pump me (literally) for information.
My new found sobriety pledge had ended
the next night.
Drinks and hand holding at The Blue
Kangaroo had led to a marathon make out session
that started on Waikiki beach and ended up in her
car that was parked down a dark side street. Then
came clandestine lunches and afternoons we would
sneak away from work to drink wine and smoke
thin joints of Thai stick and cuddle on a blanket in
secluded parks. Finally our affair was consummated
on a night when the kickboxer was on duty and we
humped wildly in their round waterbed covered
with a comforter with rabbit fur lining. The woman
had a body like an Olympic athlete - equipped with
cupcake sized breasts and muff shaven into a short
landing strip. She drove me crazy. If she asked me
to kill her husband and run away with her, I would
have done it in a second.
Rose had taken me aside one day at work and whispered "This isn't good. Trust me, I like Reggie, but this is not going to end
up good for you. You've had your fling. Just let it
go." But I didn't listen. Rose was a hooker for
Christ's sake! Who the hell was she to tell me how
to run my life? I didn't give a shit. I was too far
gone. This was insanity at it's worse. I loved every
minute of it. It was sick, suicidal behavior. Yet,
unbelievably fun.
An act of God had Reggie's husband fly
back on a Thursday to the mainland. He was going
to compete in some military martial arts tournament
in Virginia and wouldn't be back until late the
following week.
I spent the entire weekend at their
house. Buck naked from almost the minute I walked
in the door. Reggie had stockpiled the refrigerator
with food, beer, and champagne so there was no
reason to leave and she didn't want the neighbors to
see me wandering around. In the narcotics
department she had a ounce bag full of a weed
called Mango - a locally legendary strain of
marijuana that was supposedly crossbred with a
mango tree, leaving the smoke with a delightful
taste and a kick in the ass to boot - and who's
creator it was rumored had been murdered by
jealous island mobsters who wanted a bit of the
action.
To round out the weekend there were several
grams of Peruvian flake and just a dash of MDA - a
weird but fun hallucinogenic that supposedly the U.
S. Army had developed for mind control purposes.
The fact that I never questioned how two lower
enlisted people could afford these delicacies and
delightful treats much less get their hands on them
shows just how blinded I had become by the sheer
force of Reggie's lovemaking and brainwashing
skills.
Snorting, drinking, hot-tubbing, fucking like
two kids on a prom date, more drinking, more
snorting, endless fucking, the weekend was a blur.
It was our sexy pillow talk that helped get
Brewer busted.
On that late Sunday night wrapped in each
other's arms - spent, burned out from the booze, the
sex, and the drugs - under that goddamn rabbit fur
lined comforter. Reggie's head was nestled on my
shoulder and she was lazily tracing her finger in
circles on my stomach.
"Is it true that Ricky Brewer is dealing drugs
out in Navy housing?"
Don't ask me why that question out of the
blue didn't set off all the bells, whistles, and alarms
in my head. You know why it didn't. I had just
spent the wildest Caligula-like orgy weekend with
the absolutely hottest woman I would ever know in
my life. All systems were down. You can't blame
me for that. Plus it seemed like Reggie was always
asking questions about shit like that. Duh!
"Why would you ask that?" I murmured
sleepily.
"I saw a file at work on of the agent's desk
when he was out on a case." She rolled over and
picked up the round mirror off the night stand that
had four or five lines of flake on it along with a
rolled up dollar bill. I watched her snort up a line in
each nostril, her rock hard breasts didn't even move.
She handed the mirror to me and I hoovered up the
remaining lines. Putting the mirror back on the
night stand she leaned over and practically tickled
my tonsils with her tongue
.
She broke off the kiss. "I'm worried about
you. I don't want to see you get in any trouble. I
think Brewer is bad news."
We went at it again even though by then my
poor cock was practically crying out for rest. The
woman was insatiable.
Afterwards, I looked into those lying blue
eyes of hers. "Don't worry. I'm not involved in
anything with Brewer. Sure I've partied with him a
shitload but I have nothing to do with him selling
drugs. I would never do that. That shit is just crazy.
He's going to get busted big time for that crap
eventually."
"I think the agent's thought at first that he
could have been involved in Agent Charles's
murder but his alibi checked out."
I willed my body not to tense up. This was
not the kind of post-coital chit chat that I normally
enjoyed.
"Brewer? Fuck, he's not a murder! Yea,
he's been selling coke and horse out of his house
but he's sure as shit not a murderer."
She snuggled back against my shoulder.
"You just stay away from him. OK?"
"Sure. No problem." Even with all the blow
in her system, she dropped quickly off to sleep.
I didn"t sleep a wink that night. Something
all of a sudden felt horribly wrong. I now realized
that Reggie had always been slyly pumping me for
information the whole time we had been together.
Not just idle chitchat. I just had been too goddamn
stupid to know it. Casually asking about the drugs
being sold in the barracks or on the base and who
was involved, stereos and other electronic gear that
was constantly walking away from barracks rooms
and offices, missing guns from the MAA's office,
something about a blackmail scheme going on. And
I had always been more than willing to talk - even if
I didn't know shit about what she was saying.
Trying to pump myself up. Make me seem more
important to her. Thinking that she was honoring
me by sharing inside information that she was
hearing at the office. Mr. Fucking Bigshot! Just like
I had done again only ten minutes ago. She had
been getting me to bump my gums with hot sex and
good drugs. Using that beautiful trimmed little
beaver. I was a fucking snitch and didn't even know
it!
Until now.
Talk about a way to ruin a excellent
weekend.
To be continued....
