3 comments/ 9973 views/ 12 favorites Alexander Palmer Ch. 01 By: jjbird87 Baby liked to run. The only thing that could stop her momentum was ice cream trucks and men. She takes after her owner, except the last time I stopped for an ice cream truck, I was five and riding my tricycle. As far as men go, I've stopped way too many times to share in the introductory paragraph. Let's just say I've tried every flavor of Popsicle available. My most recent venture was with a Hawaiian boy named Kale. Kale's most prominent feature was his low hanging set of coconuts. We actually dated a few months before having sex. In the past, my relationships have been fuck now - ask on a date later. Last night was our first time together. And as it turns out - Baby wasn't the only person who liked to run. Kale disappeared sometime between one and seven AM when I woke up. I was really good at doing that woe-is-me thing as I got ready for work. Leaning against my kitchen island, I waited for Baby to return and contemplated men while I ate Cheerio's. It was a pretty intense internal dialogue I was having with myself over cold cereal. I mean, some people go their entire life with just one man - Jesus. And while the life of celibacy was not in my future, I decided to swear off men, anyway and said good morning to the Lord above. No more ass aching in the morning. I would go back to the days where masturbation was all I ever needed. I could even save money by not having to buy condoms anymore. It sounded like a good plan to me. I was in the middle of rinsing my dish - and high off of this new no-men venture I took - when Baby returned with a surprise. In the past she's returned with dead rodents, garbage, and twigs. Today she returned with a man. His name was Diggs. And he generally had the ability to scare me. He was like Rambo, if Rambo worked for the CIA. The strong, silent type who had muscles on top of muscles, but that wasn't the scary part. Diggs had the ability to figure stuff out before anyone else. He always was two steps ahead of the crowd. And I'm pretty sure he carried a gun. Baby came scampering down the front hallway and I bent to pick her up. When I straightened up, Diggs was standing there in his usual black under armor ensemble. I was used to his antics. "I thought my front door was locked." "Your Hawaiian boy must have left it unlocked when he scrammed," Diggs voice was smooth as the extra butter I put on everything. "So what am I doing wrong? You're the expert on men." He shut the door and followed me to the kitchen. "Babe," was all he said. Diggs invited himself to some coffee and sipped slowly as he watched me tie my tie, close the clasps on my briefcase, and do the final touches in the foyer mirror. He was a great listener, too. The whole time I complained about Kale and not once did he look disinterested. "I don't want to sound rude, but can you not be here when I come home from work. It kind of freaks me out." Diggs smiled and pulled me in close by the tie. His other hand was on the small of my back and I felt like absolute putty. Rue McAllister down the street once called Diggs eyes "devastating." And as I looked into them that morning I knew exactly what she meant. Secretly, I wanted to find Diggs naked on my couch when I came home, but that would never happen. So it's better he just not be here at all. "Anything for you," and I thought I saw the tiniest smile tug at the corner of his lips. "Unless you wanted to continue your discussion on men. Maybe I could give you some tips." Oh, boy. At the age of twenty-nine, I started my own private practice as a counselor in our nation's capitol business district. It's not my ideal job, but it pays the bills. My ideal job is engineering roller coasters and then riding them all day long, but that looks like it may never happen. I spent close to ten years in school, spent tens of thousands of dollars, only to realize that maybe psychology isn't the subject I'm interested in after all. I mean, it's fascinating to a degree, but to listen to people's problems day in and day out was exhausting. Today, Monday, was no gem, either. Bunny, formerly known as Regina Watson, was physically battered by her pimps who rented her out on a nightly basis. I have never been much into women, but I could always tell when an attractive one was in the vicinity. I assumed at one point - when Bunny was Regina - she had great natural looks. But in order to keep up with the stripper industry, she had implants and plastic surgery galore. Her vibrant pink lipstick screamed porn. Even so, beneath the fake exterior I could tell that there was a frightened Regina. She trembled, cried, and used up all of my tissues by the end of her one hour session. Bunny tugged at her mini jean skirt as she left my office. "Thank you, Dr. Palmer. I-I feel m-much better now," she sniffled and gave a watery smile. And as she flaunted out of my office, her breasts bounced, and the man sitting in my waiting room gawked. I thought it disgusting to an extent the way the newcomer stared at her until she disappeared on the elevator. Somehow I managed to push aside my personal feelings and outstretched a professional handshake. The man took my hand firmly in his, "Dr. Palmer, so nice to meet you," he said, rising to his feet. He was a head taller than me with strong Italian features. "I'm Detective Harrison," he answered my unasked question. That would also explain his cop-like build and stance. I was slightly taken aback. I've met with officers of the law before. Policemen, detectives, whoever, certainly have their pitfalls and have come seeking counseling services for a number of reasons, but this time it was different. By first appearances, Harrison was quite stable. Then again, I was never the best at reading people. I invited him into my office and closed the door behind us. "I hope this isn't an inconvenient time," Harrison somewhat apologized. "It's only my lunch hour. Please, sit." "Then I will be out of here in no time. I'm quite sure you're not involved anyway, but I have to exhaust all of my leads." "Involved? I'm sorry, detective, what's going on here?" I adjusted uncomfortably in my swivel office chair and searched my mind for the last illegal thing I did. Yesterday I parked illegally, but that was for like thirty seconds as I ran in to drop something off at the post office. I once had sex in public, but that was years ago. Hardly warranted to send a detective over to my place. "Involved?" I repeated. "Yes, it seems early this morning the body of a Kale Young was found beneath the Fredrick Douglass Memorial Bridge. Just as a standard protocol, we checked his cell phone and your number was the last one he called." Long before he finished his sentenced and crossed his legs, I felt my stomach drop through the floor and six feet beneath the ground. I sat there, dumbfounded, without words. Eventually Harrison said, "Dr. Palmer?" "Mm?" It was a mere noise of recognition. I was looking at his eyes, but I was barely seeing him. Kale's body? It didn't seem possible. I was hardly in love with the guy, but I felt awful for saying all of those horrible things about him this morning. I eventually found my tongue and said slowly, "I - um - I mean, we, were friends." Harrison dutifully wrote something down in his notepad. "And did you see him last night, Dr. Palmer?" "Mm - yes - for dinner. We had dinner, I mean. I'm sorry, do you know how he died?" Harrison leaned back in his chair seemingly at ease. "Stabbed to death." I felt my throat dry up and suddenly, I was very upset that Bunny used up all of my tissues. Surely I wouldn't cry in front of Harrison. "He left my house after dinner," I volunteered the information before Harrison continued to probe. It wasn't the truth, of course. Kale and I had sex like dogs on my couch, kitchen counter, and then my bed. And then he left and got stabbed to death? For some reason my mouth wouldn't stop moving and the words kept coming out, "Y-you can check with my neighbors. A-and you can come search my h-house, too." Harrison smiled. A cop smile. "I appreciate that, Dr. Palmer. But I believe you. Like I said, I'm just exhausting all of my options." He slid a business card across my desk. "In case anything comes up, will you give me a call?" I nodded and stood to shake his hand. Surely I would give him a call. But right after I call Diggs first. I shut my door after Detective Harrison, sunk into my office chair and collected my thoughts before picking up my office phone and punching the numbers. "Yo," Diggs said on the first ring. "Yo, yourself. Listen, something came up, can you do me a favor?" "Already on it." I scrunched up my face. "How do you know what it is? I haven't even said it." "Kale is dead. You want me to investigate. Why do you think I came over this morning?" "To return Baby?" I could sense him rolling his eyes. "To make sure you didn't do it." "Well, I didn't!" "Clearly." A thought occurred to me. "You think I have the capacity to murder someone?" "Babe," was all Diggs said. Because the rest of my afternoon was clear of appointments, I decided to close for the day and head home. I live at the furthest point in Washington D.C. If my home was fifty feet to the right, it would be in Maryland. I liked it. The neighborhood was quiet, the yards were small and square, perfect for dogs. Diggs was not there, thankfully, but Baby was. She ran frantic circles around me as I came through the front door, my arms cradling a few bags of groceries. I didn't really have any productive plans other than to let Baby do her business in the backyard and then collapse on my bed with the hope of sleeping off today's heavy news. As I was waiting at the backdoor for Baby to return, Diggs appeared like goddamn smoke at my side. I smelt his cologne first then felt his presence brush up against my arm. "Find anything interesting?" I inquired, keeping my eyes on Baby. "A Brazilian boy," Diggs answered smoothly. "And he killed Kale? Or is he tied up and nude back at your place?" "I never do bondage." "So he's just naked and back at your place?" Here's the thing. After knowing Diggs for two years now, I kind of know what he does for a living. Maybe. He runs his own CIA operative thing with his own men, his own weapons, his own offices, his own everything. But I have no idea where his Batman lair was. Where he lived was a complete enigma. "So instead of helping me out, you went and fucked a Brazilian?" To which Diggs responded without words, just handed me a manila envelope as Baby came traipsing back in. "What is this?" I asked, as if expecting Diggs to give me a full explanation. "Open it," was all he said. The contents spilled out and fell to the floor. I bent forward to pick them up and felt the presence of Diggs crotch close to my head. Blushing slightly, I scrambled to pick up the photos and paper and laid it out on the kitchen counter. The pictures were of... "Bunny..." I said slowly. "She's the killer?" Diggs shook his head and tapped a piece of paper with a bunch of names listed on it. "The name of pimps she sees habitually. One of them, maybe more, also hires men." "And one of them killed Kale?" Diggs shrugged. "It's possible." "And you know this because...?" "I'm not sure where you picked your Hawaiian boy up at, but at one point he worked with the Brazilian." I blinked a few times. "So, what now? Detective Harrison visited me today. But I'm assuming I can't pass along this information, because I'm guessing you obtained it illegally." Diggs shrugged. "Now, it's back to business," he advanced closer and loosened my tie. "I know a Brazilian and Colombian who aren't opposed to a threesome," Diggs undid the first few buttons of my dress shirt. "You mean I get to see where you live and I get to see you naked in the same day?" I joked nervously. "You can see me naked any day." He had all of my buttons undone now. "Oh, jeeze," I said. I started to lean into him. I could feel his pecs flex underneath his shirt and that just about sent chills trickling through my body. Just as I was thinking about how amazing it would be to get down and dirty with Diggs, my thoughts were right back to Kale. I took a step back. "Maybe not so soon after Kale died," I told him. Maybe there was some regret in his eyes, but there might also be respect. It was so difficult to read Diggs emotions. "But, uh, enjoy your Brazilian. Maybe once you're done, do you want to have dinner? We can talk about this case." "Planning on catching the killer?" Diggs smirked. "Maybe. Probably not. I don't know. I mean, I did have feelings for Kale, despite him running out on me. But maybe he didn't run off in the first place." "Kidnapped?" "Maybe. Probably not. I don't know." I followed Diggs to the front door and as he was on his way out, I stopped him. "So, what you said earlier. That you know a Brazilian and Colombian who are into threesomes. You're that Colombian, right?" Diggs just smiled. Alexander Palmer Ch. 02 II. I'm not sure how my night got to this point. But there I was, standing outside of 52 Sterling Street, Arlington, Virginia, having heart palpations and possibly ready to vomit if the police arrived. Or worse -- Sebastian Oberlin decided to leave work early and come home. He wasn't due home for another two hours so I had a window of opportunity to clear his name as Kale's murderer. And so, there I was, Alexander Palmer will be playing the role of Dick Tracy tonight. When I was younger, I learned how to pick a lock pretty quickly. It came in handy, well, never, but I thought it might be fun to learn, anyway. And wouldn't you know it -- twenty plus years later that know-how of mine was coming in handy once and for all. I was also fortunate that Oberlin lived in an old house. Old house generally meant an old lock and, therefore, easier to open. The moment I stepped into his dark, warm house I paused and listened for an alarm. If it was one of those damned silent ones that sent a message to the police, then this was going to be one quick visit. Five, ten, fifteen minutes later and no one arrived. So I snooped, crept, and only jumped out of fright once when his black cat brushed by my legs in the dark. Other than his feline friend, it was clear Oberlin lived alone. No wife or girlfriend would tolerate his mess and the porno magazines lying out in the open, dog-eared. I picked up a copy of Slut Puppies in his upstairs bathroom and flipped through it. Straight porn did little for me. I mean, it did something, because a male was involved, but it still did little. Oberlin had marked the pages with female couples and that, for sure, I didn't understand. But I didn't feel like I was missing out, either. I put the magazine down and decided Oberlin may be a pervert of sorts, but he wouldn't kill somebody. Turning to go, I took one step forward and collided into a solid mass. It felt like a brick or stone wall, but that wall, it spoke to me. "Doing some light reading?" "Jesus-H-Christ, Diggs," I breathed. And tried to regain my nerves. If I had a full bladder, I probably would have wet my jeans. "How long were you standing there?" "Long enough," he replied. Diggs was a man of very few words. He's my six foot Colombian shadow that scared me most of the times and aroused me the other times he wasn't scaring me. But I've never seen him naked or even shirtless. For the past two years, we've had this amazing ability to keep things professional. And I guess that's a good thing, considering the last guy I slept with wound up dead. Murdered. "Were you following me?" I asked, going back downstairs. "Great minds think alike." "Meaning?" "Meaning, we both wanted to check on Oberlin tonight." "Well, I'm done. The verdict is in. He's not the killer." "Why didn't you call me?" "You were supposed to call me," I reminded him. "For dinner, remember? I never heard from you. I figured you and that Brazilian were busy so I logged onto the MPPD database, looked up the first name on the list you gave me and here I am." "You have access to the MPPD database?" "My cousin, Arnie, works for them. Said he owes me a few favors, so I called on him tonight." Perhaps Diggs had more to say, but before he could say it a third car arrived and we both froze on the spot. Oberlin's car? I tiptoed to the living room window and peered out. It wasn't Oberlin getting out of the car. It was worse. "Detective Harrison," I breathed. "What's he doing here?" He stood amidst the falling snow for a few seconds with his hands on his hips, looking up at the house. Had he noticed my car? It was parked across the street. Diggs's car was not in sight. I presumed he flew over Superman style. "Out the back," Diggs said in my ears. And we made our move for the kitchen in the rear of the house. The winter wind blasted us as emerged out of the back door and into the fenced-in backyard. The chain-link fence was taller than my head. That didn't slow Diggs. He went up and over gracefully like he had a lot of practice at some boot camp. I climbed to the top and fell over the other side with a thud and a groan. Into the snow I went, wet and cold and suddenly very aware that Diggs was standing over me. "So do you always top? Because I always bottom," I cracked the wry joke amidst my pain. Diggs stretched out his hand to help me up. "Maybe you'll find out one day," was all he said. Oh, boy. *** Diggs had parked his Range Rover on the street behind Oberlin's house. I took a mental note from the master of craftiness and sunk into his passenger seat, allowing the vents to blast full heat on me. And because Diggs owed me dinner, we drove through McDonald's before circling back to get my car. I was the only one who ordered food. The last time Diggs had fast food was probably, well, never. And while I do love staying fit and working out and eating organic, sometimes you need a cheeseburger after breaking and entering into a stranger's home. "If you need to take your wet clothes off, you can," Diggs offered. I gave him a stern look that went unnoticed. "Thanks, but I'm not that wet. Maybe if you went first." And at a red light, he began to unbutton his pants. And undid his zipper. And... "Whoa," I said blushing and turned away. "I was only joking." At the next red light he re-did his zipper and button and smiled ever so slyly. When we were a block away from Oberlin's home, Diggs parked the car and killed the lights. Harrison was still there and Diggs explained that I should wait until he leaves before hopping in my car. Or maybe he just wanted to spend time with me. The thought occurred to me as I was on my last few french fries. I got chills all over again. "This isn't like a date or anything? Is it?" Diggs slid me a look. "Babe." "I mean -- I realize it's completely fucking weird, but I've had weirder dates." "Do you want this to be a date?" he asked, looking ahead. I blinked a few times, unsure how to answer. "I don't know. I mean. Do you even date? Even Batman dates occasionally," I added, to which Diggs only slid me a look again. "Unless you and the Brazilian are, you know, a couple." "His name is Marcelo," Diggs said in his usual cool, calm voice. "Ah, so you and he are...sorry. Didn't realize." Diggs turned his head fully this time to look at me. "He's my new recruit." "You said he was into threesomes." "It was a guess," Diggs shrugged. And lo and behold there was one of Diggs's fantasies. Despite working with Diggs on and off for the past couple of years, I knew surprisingly little about him. Diggs may not even be his real name. And this whole homosexual thing could be a front for all I know. He could have been a Colombian drug lord, trying to evade the feds. But Baby, my Alaskan Husky, liked him and she generally was good at sniffing out the bad guys, a lot better than I was, at least. So in the limited conversations that we have, I try to pick up more keys and clues to what type of guy Diggs is and, as of now, I knew he was interested in a threesome. So why didn't I just reach over and kiss him now? Well, for starters I had cheeseburger breath and another thing, Diggs wasn't even in the car anymore. Suddenly aware that I was alone, I perked up in my seat, craning my neck every which way looking for him. How the goddamn hell was he so quiet? After sixty seconds of searching, I finally saw him in the reflection of the rearview mirror. There was an identical Range Rover parked behind us. Diggs was leaning against the driver's side, talking. "A subordinate of yours?" I asked as Diggs slid into the car minutes later. "Steele. He was looking into Jonathan Roberts." I didn't need the list in front of me to know Roberts was the second pimp. "And he had to come all the way out here to tell you? There is such a thing as a cell phone." "Roberts lives four blocks away." I thought about that for a second. "Coincidence?" "Maybe." "Do you think Oberlin and Roberts know each other from the business?" "It's possible." "Did he get anything on Roberts?" "No." We waited another fifteen minutes, in silence, I might add. Not a hostile silence or anything, just the typical silence that accompanies Diggs's presence. Humble, yet intimidating. Detective Harrison left shortly after nine at night. And as he passed under the street lamp, I was struck by his sharp Italian looks. He was quite handsome. Not to mention his butt really filled out his jeans. I wondered what his story was: single, taken, married, married with children. He definitely seemed to be the fathering type. "I guess it's time to go," I said, as the tail lights of Harrison's Honda became two red pinpoints in the distance. "Thanks for the burger. You really know how to treat a guy." "You have no idea," Diggs said smoothly. And that aroused me. *** Because I am too lazy to shovel my driveway, I was forced to park on the curb tonight. My first appointment tomorrow wasn't until late. I made a mental note to wake up, go for a jog, then finish off my exercise routine with a good-ol' shoveling. Baby liked to play in the snow, so I felt certain that she would enjoy the time shoveling more than I would. I could hear her barking as I climbed the front porch stairs. And I could feel the day starting to weigh heavily on me. As a last mental reminder, I turned at the front door and beeped my car lock. Only, the moment I hit the "lock" button, that's not what my car did. Like a Bruce Willis movie or something, there was a gigantic KA-BOOM that knocked me off my feet. A rush of intense, oven-like heat spread through the night air. Dazed, confused, and surprisingly uninjured, I sat up on the spot and stared at what was once my Toyota, but was now a harrowing ball of flame.