Thursday, January 22, 2009
Chapter One....
Vance Manion – Murder with no Good Cause
Chapter One
The sound of the gunshot pierced through the night air and seemed to blend into the cracking of the whip as it struck my already inflamed buttocks. I tried to convince myself it was just a truck backfiring as it downshifted to make the steep grade into town, but my trained ears would not let me believe that. I had heard the pop of nearly every weapon ever fired and knew this was not a backfire. It was the sound every man in my profession dreads hearing while somehow managing to thrive on the aftermath. It’s not a pretty job, but what job really is. I earn my money only when other people have committed heinous crimes or need some sort of fitness conditioning. You see, I’m Vance Manion, private eye and personal strength coach.
I somehow convinced the big breasted beauty I was allowing to torture me, to untie me and tell me where she had hidden my clothes. She was a real prize with a figure that could stop a Japanese rush hour, and eyes so sky blue that every now and then you thought you saw birds fly across them. Sexually she was my equal, and quite possibly the only equal to me in the world. I knew I wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her, spend more time with her and perhaps fall in love with her. But what I really wished I could do is remember her name.
I rushed to dress as the blonde watched. In my haste I completely forgot about the “love potion” of honey, peanut butter, and strawberry jam, that I had encouraged her to spread over my lower body in anticipation of her licking it off. Forgot that is until I tried to slide my Levi’s 501 jeans on. (All us private eyes wear 501s).
Knowing that I didn’t have time for a shower, especially with this Goddess, I took a deep breath and forced my ooze covered butt into the jeans and buttoned them with as much speed as I could muster. I leaned over to give this sexual dynamo a peck on the cheek before leaving, when she spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours.
“Why Vance, why does it always have to be you?” she said in a voice so husky it could have pulled a dog sled. “Every time anything in this one-horse town goes wrong, I have to untie you so that you can run off and risk your life, or spend hours in the gym training some flavor of the month wrestler for his ‘Dream Match’ with the Hulk. Why does it have to be you? Why can’t it be someone else?”
The dame had a point. My recent history as a lover had more spots than an old man with liver problems. It seems I had run out on more women in the middle of sex than I cared to remember, but her questions brought it all back to me.
There was the brunette bimbo from Baltimore I bedded at the Best Western that I left to book the bank robber. I stranded the redhead at the Ramada to catch the vermin responsible for defacing the mascot in front of our middle school.
But the most painful to me was the time I lost the only true love of my life when I tossed cab fare on the night stand as I left the Marriot to track down the one legged bastard who kept leaving the phony Bigfoot tracks to alternately attract and scare the tourists who might be camping near the lake. Yeah she was right alright, I did leave a lot of women stranded, but part of what she said bothered me - the part about her having to untie me all the time. I could have sworn this was the first time I had ever seen her.
“Why you Vance?” Her cry brought me back from my memories.
I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I couldn’t lie to her either, at least not yet. I crossed the room to her and stared straight into those baby blues. She gasped as I took her hand and held it gently while reciting the only thing that would, or could, come to mind. I gave her my standard answer. “I’ll tell you why Sweetheart - because I’m Vance Manion, private eye and personal strength coach.” With that I kissed her on the forehead and headed out into the mystery the darkness outside was clinging to.
Chapter One
The sound of the gunshot pierced through the night air and seemed to blend into the cracking of the whip as it struck my already inflamed buttocks. I tried to convince myself it was just a truck backfiring as it downshifted to make the steep grade into town, but my trained ears would not let me believe that. I had heard the pop of nearly every weapon ever fired and knew this was not a backfire. It was the sound every man in my profession dreads hearing while somehow managing to thrive on the aftermath. It’s not a pretty job, but what job really is. I earn my money only when other people have committed heinous crimes or need some sort of fitness conditioning. You see, I’m Vance Manion, private eye and personal strength coach.
I somehow convinced the big breasted beauty I was allowing to torture me, to untie me and tell me where she had hidden my clothes. She was a real prize with a figure that could stop a Japanese rush hour, and eyes so sky blue that every now and then you thought you saw birds fly across them. Sexually she was my equal, and quite possibly the only equal to me in the world. I knew I wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her, spend more time with her and perhaps fall in love with her. But what I really wished I could do is remember her name.
I rushed to dress as the blonde watched. In my haste I completely forgot about the “love potion” of honey, peanut butter, and strawberry jam, that I had encouraged her to spread over my lower body in anticipation of her licking it off. Forgot that is until I tried to slide my Levi’s 501 jeans on. (All us private eyes wear 501s).
Knowing that I didn’t have time for a shower, especially with this Goddess, I took a deep breath and forced my ooze covered butt into the jeans and buttoned them with as much speed as I could muster. I leaned over to give this sexual dynamo a peck on the cheek before leaving, when she spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours.
“Why Vance, why does it always have to be you?” she said in a voice so husky it could have pulled a dog sled. “Every time anything in this one-horse town goes wrong, I have to untie you so that you can run off and risk your life, or spend hours in the gym training some flavor of the month wrestler for his ‘Dream Match’ with the Hulk. Why does it have to be you? Why can’t it be someone else?”
The dame had a point. My recent history as a lover had more spots than an old man with liver problems. It seems I had run out on more women in the middle of sex than I cared to remember, but her questions brought it all back to me.
There was the brunette bimbo from Baltimore I bedded at the Best Western that I left to book the bank robber. I stranded the redhead at the Ramada to catch the vermin responsible for defacing the mascot in front of our middle school.
But the most painful to me was the time I lost the only true love of my life when I tossed cab fare on the night stand as I left the Marriot to track down the one legged bastard who kept leaving the phony Bigfoot tracks to alternately attract and scare the tourists who might be camping near the lake. Yeah she was right alright, I did leave a lot of women stranded, but part of what she said bothered me - the part about her having to untie me all the time. I could have sworn this was the first time I had ever seen her.
“Why you Vance?” Her cry brought me back from my memories.
I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I couldn’t lie to her either, at least not yet. I crossed the room to her and stared straight into those baby blues. She gasped as I took her hand and held it gently while reciting the only thing that would, or could, come to mind. I gave her my standard answer. “I’ll tell you why Sweetheart - because I’m Vance Manion, private eye and personal strength coach.” With that I kissed her on the forehead and headed out into the mystery the darkness outside was clinging to.
