CHAPTER 22
Dylan
Thomas’ pile of evidence had cut me to the quick. Had I pegged Zoe all wrong? I’d seen the feistiness in her on day one, and I liked it. But had that wild spirit actually been a criminal one? I worried that I could no longer trust my senses.
I wasn’t going to condemn her that soon, though. I’d kissed this woman, I’d slept with her. I had to prove her innocence, at least in part to prove my own.
So, with that in mind, I set out to clear Zoe’s name. There were no obvious leads, especially given the department’s total lack of all modern technology. Everything I did would have to be accomplished on foot. The only thing for it would be to start the beginning.
I decided to follow the tried and true maxim of police work, follow the money. If I could track down some of the stolen equipment, maybe I could sniff out the person who stole it. This seemed promising — after all, how many burglars want to keep fancy baking equipment? Not many, I’d venture to guess. Best bet was that they’d pawned it off, possibly via some black-market bottom dweller.
And I knew just the guy.
I debated my next step for a moment, but only a moment. I knew better than to waffle with a clock ticking.
That’s how I ended up inviting Zoe along for what could prove to be a very dangerous evening.
I sent her a message around two that afternoon.
Gonna try to track down your stolen equipment tonight. Wanna come with? May need your help identifying it.
I left out the part where I was also bursting to see her.
This time, it took her several minutes to reply, by which time I was convinced she was uninterested in helping, or maybe uninterested in me altogether. When the phone eventually dinged, I grabbed the device hastily, and read her reply.
Sure. When/where should we meet?
The message sounded tense, but I brushed this off as my own anxiety.
Ten tonight, the Black Dog Tattoo Parlor.
What?
The Black Dog was home to the only underground trading circuit in Fallow Springs. The department had known about them for some time, but we allowed them to operate under the radar, providing that they occasionally helped us with a case. It was a solid, if morally iffy, tit for tat and the parlor tended to be a font of information. I’d realized early in my career that if you can’t beat ‘em, use ‘em for all they’re worth.
Ultimately, the guys down at the Black Dog were harmless, insofar as I could tell. I had my suspicions that they might have been a facet in the drug trade, but there was so much heroin pouring into Wisconsin that stopping up one leak would just cause another to spring. From what I had seen in the shop basement, they trafficked mostly in knockoff goods, and while that was technically illegal, I didn’t much mind if some bored housewife wanted to pay for a fake Gucci bag. This, plus evading sales and income tax rules, is what kept the Dog open for business.
Of course, I didn’t tell any of that to Zoe via phone. She was made of strong stuff, but she might have flipped her gourd over any part of that information. Instead, when she asked me I replied:
I’ll explain later. Trust me.
Her response came quickly.
I do.
I added, Wear something black and sexy. I would definitely have to explain that bit later.
Happy to.
I remained at work until nine-thirty. Each cop who left the station that evening gave me a puzzled glance, obviously wondering what would compel me to play desk jockey well into the night. I merely grinned back at each in turn, happy to let them ponder the mystery. Cops loved a good mystery.
Growing restless, I cleaned up my desk and took out my trash can. That took me two whole minutes. I changed the office coffee filter, washed some mugs in the sink, reorganized some files. Anything and everything to keep my mind off the impending activities, including seeing Zoe.
I missed her. Like, viscerally missed her, and this after only a few days of knowing one another. The way she’d felt in my arms, and wrapped around my cock… no. Didn’t do to dwell on that. Not at work.
Anxious to clear my head, I launched myself to the floor, and began doing pushups. One, two, three until I reached a hundred, and fell to the ground, slick with sweat. I ripped off my T-shirt, and used the thin fabric to mop my brow and wipe down the sweat that was forming between my pecs.
Aw shit. I was topless and sweaty, and naturally, this brought Zoe to the forefront of my mind. So much for my brilliant plan.
A dirty thought struck me. I hopped up from the carpet and did a quick run around the station. Just as I’d thought, empty. Was I really going to do this?
After another check to make sure that it was really, truly empty, I jogged to the bathroom, and locked myself in a stall. I pivoted to face the toilet, and carefully undid my jeans, one button and yanking the zipper down. Reaching a hand into my underwear, I palmed my stiff cock, which had been hard for the last twenty minutes. I had to take care of it or I wouldn’t be able to concentrate tonight.
I pulled my cock from my pants and immediately began to concentrate on Zoe, her back, her neck, her tits, her ass. The wetness of her pussy, the curls in her hair. I thought of her crawling, in slow motion, across the pool table, and her waggling her ass in my direction, begging for my dick.
I began to stroke my cock, smooth up and down yanks, as I replayed last night over in my head. Zoe on all fours, hungry for me. Zoe bent over the counter while I pressed my stiffness into her. Zoe, Zoe, Zoe…
I stroked harder and harder, all the while holding visions of her in my head. Before long, I could feel myself reaching climax, and I put a hand against the stall divider to steady myself. I jerked my dick rapidly now, urging myself to come.
And in the back of my mind, I heard Zoe say, “I trust you.” That was all I needed.
I came hard. I tried to shoot my seed into the toilet, but the orgasm was beyond my control and it landed on the floor. I leaned against the stall, exhausted from the exertion, and more excited than ever to see Zoe tonight.
Hoisting myself up, I set to the task of scrubbing my cum from the floor. After that was finished, I checked my watch — perfect timing. Nine-thirty on the dot. Time to go meet up with Zoe and prove her innocence.
Wallet? Check. Jacket? Check. Gun? Check.
I was ready.