Blue Butterfly is the first in a series featuring Detective John Bowers.
Tracking a call girl's killer through Portland's sleazy sex trade, John uncovers a police bureau prostitution ring and bags a political primetime player with an appetite for S&M. While the cops, ME and prosecutors touch all the bases in a job they sometimes love to hate, the Bureau's dirty little secrets begin to unravel...
Publisher: AuthorHouse (June 26, 2006)
When she got out of the car, the street light flickered once and then died. The gravel parking strip was as dark as the bottom of a prune juice can. She’d have liked to see where she was going without falling on her ass at least. The creepy shadows made her a little nervous as she walked toward the puddle of light circling the marina gate.
Fumbling with her key, she slipped on the splintered planks and caught her heel. “Fuck!” Her teeth were chattering in the cold. All she needed now was a rain squall to make this evening a real bummer.
As she continued down the ramp, fluted ripples shivered in the Willamette Slough slapping softly against the pier. A barrel steeped in Diesel fuel lolled against a slimy rope and blocked her path. Rotten pilings poked like splintered bones through the marl in an eerie tableau. What a dumpy place for a date.
Why did he call so late? she muttered as she dodged a bait box. Her privates still throbbed from yesterday. After her big night with the Sportswriters Convention, she could afford to take a day off. But she’d blown all her money on Wild Turkey, hornets and a roofer named Miguel with only three front teeth. One more trick to turn tonight and then no johns, no business, no fucking men around at all. As soon as she finished here, she was going to head home, fill the Jacuzzi and soak herself to death while sucking a bottle of Chablis bone dry.
A frigid gust sent ripples of goose bumps up her bare legs. She loosened her jacket just enough to expose the black corset underneath. Too bad more clients didn’t get a turn on from woolly longjohns she was thinking as she pressed her knees together before tapping on the door.
“Hi. Open your jacket. Let me see what you have on.” His voice was husky, as thick and creamy as chowder. His eyes locked on like radar, and she knew from the glassy stare he had already snorted a line of coke. Selfish bastard.
She sighed with practiced resignation and jerked the zipper down to bare her generous bosom which swelled like yeasty dough over the corset stays. “Okay? Hey, lemme in. I’m freezin’ my ass off out here.”
“Yeah. Come on in. You look good.”
The door swung wide. She tripped over the threshold and climbed down into the cabin. She hated boats – damn things rocked and rolled and made her sick to her stomach. Smelled bad too. Goddam pain in the ass is what this trick was. She didn’t like coming here. But the money was good – very good. Just thinking about the payoff for this date took the edge off the chill.
Marcy knew the routine well enough. This john had a standing order for the same trick. Never any changes, no new moves. Everything had to go smooth as snot or he couldn’t get it up. She ran her fingers through his hair. Right now at this moment, men were the most susceptible morons on Earth she was musing with a bored expression he couldn’t see. It was like all the blood from their brains drained into their cocks and left them with the mental ability of a garden slug.
She stole a glance at her watch and then knelt on the cabin sole and raised her hands over her head. She was ready. A length of yellow nylon cord was looped around her wrists. The end of the cord was then run through an eye bolt fastened to an overhead grommet, the slack taken up, and the line pulled taut until her arms stretched high above her. Strung up like a side of beef, her toes barely touched the boat’s sole beneath her. She knew the next part well enough by now too. He rolled up a tee shirt and pulled it tight across her mouth. As her pulse sped up, she forced herself to concentrate on what she was going to do once she turned this trick. She and her roommate LaVonna were headed to Seattle for a little fun. They just might blow their whole stash on some China White and party all night long with those two mechanics from the Boeing plant who always had prime Mexican weed and an SUV with an air mattress in the back.
Marcy clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut before the first whip slap hit home.