Godsend 8: The Value of a Woman (Godsend Short stories Series)

SIXTEEN MONTHS AGO, Aaron Rockerson was suffering from extreme poverty. He was homeless, helpless, and hopeless. Life had been a lot better since then.

Sunset Boulevard extends from Hollywood to Pacific Palisades but does not quite reach the big body of water off the coast  of California. Aaron’s new home was just off the bending, snaking boulevard in Brentwood. A gated estate with a long, wrap-around driveway on a slight incline. An eight-bedroom villa on 7.5 acres with perhaps one too many palm trees vying for attention.

Brian and Etceterra were in the theatre room on the first floor. The lights were on, and nothing was showing on the ten-foot screen. The comfortable, stationary swivel armchairs were leather - all twelve of them - and Aaron greeted his guests with his right fist inside his left hand. The 44 year-old white man said, “I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about Godsend Investigation. However, this case may present a unique challenge for you, or may require a bit of deviation from your norm.”

Brian said, “We’d don’t deviate. We had good success because we stick with what we know.”

“No, no. I don’t mean...”  He needed to explain things another way. Aaron was one of those early balding men. He was sharply dressed but wore no sports coat at the moment. “Look, I understand that your objective is to gather solid evidence against the person or persons responsible for my daughter’s murder. I also understand that I can do as I please with the evidence - turn it over to the police or do nothing with it.”

Brian said, “That’s absolutely correct.”

“Here’s the thing,” Aaron said. “I was informed that you guys may break a few laws if needed.”

Brian and Etceterra stared at Aaron without responding.

“I want the person responsible for killing Milana.”

Etceterra said, “You’ve paid your deposit and we’ve accepted the case, so we pretty much know that already.”

“Let me make it clearer for you. The person who killed my daughter, I want them here. In my home. I want this to be their courthouse and death row.”

Brian said, “Hmmm! That’s....that’s...”

“I’m offering a $100,000 bonus.”

Brian began shaking his head negatively.

“Make that a $350,000 bonus, if your evidence clearly identifies the killer. Leave him here with me, and your job is done.”

Brian said, “I don’t run Godsend; I’m just a private eye for the underground company. I’ll have to talk that over with the others who will be helping with the case.”

“How many will be on the case?”  Aaron said.

“Four investigators and a case load assistant, but we also have a reliable FBI contact. We have enough resources to find the killer.”

Aaron said, “All right, six people on the job. I’ll pay a hundred thousand times six if you can influence Godsend to bring my daughter’s killer to me, unharmed.”

Etceterra said, “Unharmed?  What does that mean?”

Aaron leaned forward in his seat. “I want the killer here, uninjured. It will be my pleasure to inflict all the pain I deem necessary. I don’t want to be robbed of that privilege.”

Brian thought about his cousin Echo. “And what if that isn’t possible?  Sometimes suspects don’t talk or help us out without incident. In fact, I can just about promise you somebody is gonna get fucked up, regardless of how much money you throw at Godsend. What then?”

Aaron said, “In addition to your $75,000 fee, I will pay another $50,000 to your six workers. Each of them. That’s $375,000 if the killer is brought to me injured, $675,000 if he is unharmed.”

Etceterra said, “All of this is interesting, but let’s get back on track now. We’re here to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course.”

Etceterra said, “You seem to be doing very well, so why would your daughter want to work as a prostitute for an escort service?”

Aaron said, “She died nearly two years ago. I’d be stretching it to say that the police were on the case for six months. Anyway, I was contacted by Chrysler less than a year and a half ago; I ended up selling them my patent for a computer algorithm. My twenty-eight million after taxes and lawyer fees arrived maybe eight months after Milana was murdered.”

Brian said, “She picked one hell of a service to work for. The Echelon is for clients with big money. Even the FBI don’t know much about the Echelon, so she must  have known somebody who knew somebody slightly connected to the escort service.”

“I was homeless, so I sent my daughter to live with my sister. My daughter worked for the service just to help me get back on my feet. I would have stopped her if I had known she was in that line of work.”

Brian said, “Okay. Just a couple more questions, and we’re off to work.”

CAMBRIA, CALIFORNIA, a 250-mile drive north of Los Angeles, was a beautiful place to live. The city itself rested above the Pacific Ocean on hills that were nurturing a multitude of pine trees. Aside from the downtown antique shops, cafes, and art galleries, there were also late-Victorian homes, restaurants, and bed and breakfast inns.  And up in the hills there was no shortage of elegant homes made of redwood and glass.

Marco Warner’s home had an all-glass front; Echo and Kiandra could see him as he appeared in the front room.

Kiandra looked back again, appreciating a scant view of the ocean through some pine trees.

At 3:27 p.m., Marco opened the glass door wearing long shorts, house slippers, and a small tank top. He was a 29-year-old white man with a muscular build and a face best suited for magazine covers. “How can I help you?”

Echo stepped closer to him and said, “We're private investigators.”  He held up his credentials. “I’m Louis Raymond; she’s Trenea Hill. We’d like to have a word with your girlfriend, Charelle Yates.”

 “Let me make sure I understand you. You guys come to my place looking for my girlfriend when she doesn’t even live here?  Obviously you’ve done enough investigating to know that we’re  dating; shouldn’t you know that she doesn’t live in Cambria?”

Not only did Echo and Kiandra know that, they also knew that Charelle hadn’t been home in at least two full days now. “Is she here or not?  If so, can we just ask her a couple of questions?  We won’t take up more than five minutes of her time.”

Marco said, “No, she’s not here. Now get off my property and don’t ever -”

Echo punched him right between the eyes with a right and swiftly followed up with a left elbow, which only grazed the top of Marco’s head.

Kiandra saw Marco as he was falling to the floor, so she pulled out her handgun and rushed in behind Echo.

When Marco hit the floor, Echo was on top of him; he began striking the man in the face repeatedly. The blows were so forceful and violent, the fourth one actually knocked Marco out.

Kiandra pushed Echo off the unresponsive man and said, “Stop. We might need him to talk if she ain’t here.”

Echo did not respond, and in the moment of pause they both heard something that sounded like shower running upstairs. He got up from the floor, tried to shake the sting out of his right hand, and said, “Watch this muthafucka. He looks like he can fight; I just didn’t give him a chance.”

Kiandra sat on a white leather sofa as Echo eased off toward the spiral staircase. She looked at Marco’s bruised, bloody face and smiled. The plush gray carpet would probably need replacing. She turned her attention to an oil painting on a wall and wondered how much Marco had paid for the ugly thing.

Echo calmly opened the bathroom door from the master bedroom on the second floor. Through the frosted shower doors he could hear someone humming. He barely made out the image of a white woman.

Charelle said, “Honey, come get in the shower with me.”

Echo remained silent as he closed the door. He began taking off all of his clothes.

CHARELLE HAD A THICK LATHER of shampoo in her hair while she stood under the shower head rinsing it all out. Her eyes were closed as she used her fingers to comb the suds out of her hair.

Echo slid the shower door open and stepped inside the large shower area. The bathroom was so large that it had a bathtub to the left of the shower. He made sure she could hear the shower door close. She kept humming some song, so Echo eased up behind her, ass-naked, and made the head of his erect dick kiss her ass.

Charelle’s ass was plump, like one that belonged to most women in rap videos, and her waistline was small. She said, “I think you might have to get me a towel. One little soap bubble just went in my eye.”  She laughed. But nothing was going to be funny in a few seconds.

Echo slapped her ass cheek with his dick and saw her wet, pretty ass jiggle. He grabbed her small waist with both hands then thought about something. Is this rape? She hadn’t told him no, but she hadn’t told him yes, either. Charelle wasn’t even a suspect, so he really didn’t want to hurt her in any way.  She was an innocent woman who had once worked for the Echelon Escort Service.

Charelle parted her legs and tooted her ass up against Echo’s dick. She said, “I guess I’ll have to wait two more minutes before I can get this soap out of my eye.”

Echo was decided now. The woman had gapped her legs and had backed up to him, an invitation to fuck by any man’s judgment. He kept one hand on her waist then used his left hand to guide his erection inside her pussy. Just the head for now. He delivered three short strokes and thought about pushing all ten inches up in the woman.

Charelle said, “Ooh, that feels....perfect.”  But now she felt as if all the suds were out of her hair.

Echo kept looking down at her large ass, which seemed to vibrate with each short stroke. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered in an airy voice, “Keep your eyes closed, no matter what. Okay?”

“Yes,” she said. And then she felt, who she thought was her boyfriend going deeper and deeper. The fit was amazing to her. She smiled and assumed Marco was wearing some sort of male-connection dildo. “Oooh, Marco!”  But the damn thing felt so real to her.

Echo was all the way in now. His strokes were deep, and with both hands on her waist again, he kept slamming his lower mid-section against her soft, wet ass. The constant skin-slapping and the spraying water sounded erotic to both of them. He was trying to quickly reach his climax, because the fun would be over if she ever--

Charelle opened her left eyelid to see if the shampoo would still burn.. When she saw black hands and feet, she screamed unbearably loud as she lunged forward. She banged against the shower wall and fell to the tiled floor. She quickly turned around, shrinking  away from the black stranger.

Echo stood before her, dick swaying a little, and said, “You were screaming like you got yours; work with me another minute so I can get mine.”

Charelle yelled out for her boyfriend.

“Marco’s sleeping right now. You hurtin' my ears with all that yelling.”  He looked down at his dick. It was losing altitude. “I’m investigating the Echelon. You used to be a call girl for them, so I know you’ve seen one of these before. Can I get one more minute up in youbefore we talk about the Echelon?”

“No!  Of course not. You just raped me.”