Pearls of Asia: A Love Story (30 page)

“Will you do something for me?” she asked.

“Of course. Whatever you wish.”

Sheyla pulled down her panties, revealing herself to him. “Please,” she pleaded in her sultry voice, “Do it to me, Mackey. Please. Just do it.”

Mac hesitated, wondering what he should do next, and how he should do it. Then he took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and extended his tongue onto her erogenous erectile. He glided it from top to bottom, bottom to top, hoping what he was doing was right. Sheyla’s short breaths said that he was. After circling the tip of her phallus, Sheyla took her hands and placed them on top his head. Then, summoning more courage than he ever thought he had, he placed his lips on the head of her sensuous staff. “Yes…,” moaned Sheyla, pushing Mac’s head down toward her hairless crotch. Sheyla wanted more, so he gave it to her, taking her all the way into his mouth. She was warmer, stiffer, and smoother than he ever imagined she would be. He slowly lifted his head up, then down, sweeping his lips along her fountain of joy. Sheyla reached for her breasts, her fingers playing with her nipples. Then she arched her back, pushing herself deeper into his throat. Her legs started to shake, and her moans became more intense. Mac could barely comprehend what he was doing, but it didn’t matter, because he liked it. He was pleasing his lover, and that thought alone was turning him on.

Sheyla was ripe, and she wanted to make the most of it. Jumping off the couch, she grabbed Mac’s hand and escorted him into her bedroom. She shoved Mac onto the bed, then ripped off both of their clothes, and ordered him to stay there, flat on his back. She reached into her nightstand and took out the bottle of lube and a condom. Mac stared at her naked silhouette, illuminated by the candlelight, and he could see her roll the condom onto herself. She then took a handful of lubrication and liberally coated herself. Squeezing more lube into her hands, she spread Mac’s legs and applied it onto his anus. Mac suspected what might happen next, and it scared him. But he was also curious, and his desire to please her far exceeded his fear of the unknown.

Sheyla got onto her knees on top of the bed and grabbed Mac’s ankles, putting one over each of her shoulders. She then took a hold of her potent erection, and circled it around his anus. It was a sensation Mac had never felt before, and it made him both wildly nervous and excited. Sheyla began to move her hips forward, gently inserting herself into him. Mac felt a sharp pain, and he let out a soft scream. Sheyla pulled back a touch, gave him a moment to relax, then slowly, carefully, and passionately, drove herself inside him.

The pain eased, and Mac realized he was sharing his body with his lover. She was inside of him, dominating him, a feeling he never imagined. Sheyla rocked back and forth, back and forth, igniting a rhythmic intercourse that had Mac lusting for more. Soon he was asking, begging, and then pleading for her to go faster, harder, and deeper. Sheyla complied, and she loved him like he had never been loved before. Then, in an explosive moment of intense passion and sensual ecstasy, both lovers climaxed at the same time. After she caught her breathe, and her body stopped shaking, Sheyla slowly removed herself, kissed Mac softly, and collapsed on top of him, exhausted.

MAC SAT ALONE ON
the floor of Sheyla’s shower; the bathroom as dark as night. Against the echo of falling water, Mac could hear the turning of a doorknob. The lightness of footsteps entered the room, followed by the click of the shower door. Sheyla stepped inside and sat down between his muscular legs, resting her naked back against his chest. Mac wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his hands caressing her breasts.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

Friday, September 19, 2008 - 11:00 am

“San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom is pressuring Chief of Police David Stone for a quick resolution of the Michelle Osher murder investigation. The Mayor’s office wants the high-profile case to be out of the headlines in time for Newsom’s re-election bid in November.”

The Los Angles Times

T
HE GUYS HANGING OUT
in the precinct locker room could smell Mac coming long before they saw him. In preparation for today’s sting operation at Hunters Point, Mac wore his legendary San Francisco 49er tailgate uniform, which consisted of dusty blue overalls, mismatched tennis shoes, and a 49er cap reeking of homemade barbeque sauce and stale beer. As he was about to exit the locker room, Mac ran into Keith Nix, a ten-year veteran at the precinct.

“Damn Mac, I’ve heard of casual Friday’s, but aren’t you going a little over the top? I know the Niners are playing the Patriots on Sunday, but you could have at least washed that nasty outfit of yours. After all, last season did end eight months ago. Save our noses and drop a few quarters at the Laundromat, for crying out loud. Otherwise, we’ll have to hose you down before we let you get near the keg. By the way, I was talking to Jackson a couple days ago, and he said he and his girlfriend saw you at that
Pearls of Asia
place last week, locking lips with one of the transvestites. What was up with that?”

Mac was all business and in no mood for small talk. Or even smaller minds. “She’s a transsexual, genius, not a transvestite. Big difference, not that you’d care. Anyway Nix, for the briefest of seconds I became part of the show. It was all in good fun and no one got hurt. Believe it or not,
Pearls of Asia
is relevant to our investigation of the Michelle Osher case.”

“I don’t know, Mac. The guys in the locker room are beginning to talk,” cracked Nix. “I just hope you’re not turning queer on us or anything.”

“Not to worry, Nix. Listen, I gotta run. See you Sunday.” The guys in the SFPD weren’t the most liberal cast of characters in the world, and Mac had told his fair share of gay jokes in the locker room. They just weren’t as funny to him anymore.

MAC AND MAYES HOPPED
into The Sub to pick up Fernando Mateo at the county jail. Mayes, wearing jeans and a windbreaker, sat as far away as possible from his malodorous sidekick. Mac, meanwhile, needed to update his partner on the details of last night’s conversation with Sheyla without putting himself in harm’s way from the Wrath of Mayes. He wisely decided that what happened at Sheyla’s apartment should stay at Sheyla’s apartment.

“Listen Mayes, Sheyla Samonte contacted me last night, and she told me Paul Osher is losing his shirt in this financial meltdown. From the sound of it, he’s leveraged worse than a third-world country. Osher also told her he had taken out a $10 million insurance policy on his wife with himself being the beneficiary. I checked it out this morning and she’s right. For all we know, Osher may have had his wife killed for the insurance money.”

Mayes, too, was all business, though his foul mood signaled he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. “Of course she knows about the insurance policy. Who do you think is going to benefit from a $10 million payday besides Paul Osher? In my mind this piece of news helps establish a motive for Sheyla Samonte. I understand that you don’t want your girlfriend arrested, Mac, but you seem to have lost track of what we need to do. Stone wants an arrest. Period.”

“Would you rather arrest the wrong person,” replied Mac, “or dig a little deeper and find the real killer? What about Sonia Grisham? Or Damian Puti?”

“The FBI hasn’t found the trail of Sonia Grisham, and we don’t have enough evidence to arrest Puti,” barked Mayes. “Of course I don’t want to lock up the wrong person, but if we don’t make an arrest soon, we’re in big trouble. C’mon, Mac, we both know what’s going on here.”

Mac did know, and it scared the hell out of him.

THE ODD COUPLED TWOSOME
picked up Fernando Mateo and drove The Sub to the H Street pier in Hunter’s Point, an area of drug infested streets and falling down warehouses. Except for a few noisy seagulls, the area was deserted.

Mayes outlined the sting. Fernando Mateo would wait for RC at the end of the pier, while Mac pretended to be a homeless wreck sleeping off a hangover at the pier’s entrance. Mayes would wait in The Sub and catch the action on tape. When Fernando recognized his mark, he would remove his hat and signal for Mac to start walking toward the end of the long pier, cutting off any means of escape.

At one o’clock, a tall, shadowy figure approached Fernando Mateo along the pier, wearing a full-length leather coat, dark oversized sunglasses, and a baseball cap stuffed with hair. Fernando, recognizing RC, removed his hat to wipe his brow.

Mac jumped up and galloped toward the end of the pier. Fernando Mateo handed the box of Balisong knives to RC, who then gave Fernando a cash-filled envelope. Mac closed in, flashing his badge. “Don’t move, RC! Get down on the ground! Now! You’re under arrest,” he yelled.

RC tried to toss the knives into the water, but Mac grabbed the box before they were baptized. RC hit the ground, and Mayes ran from across the street to cuff him. The next sounds uttered by RC surprised the two hard-boiled detectives.

“I can’t go to jail,” said a quiet voice that sounded more like Michael Jackson than Samuel L. Jackson. Mac removed RC’s hat and sunglasses and recognized a large scar over the left eye.

“Reyna?”

“You know who I am?” she cried.

“Hell yes,” replied Mac, the shock of the moment etched on his face. “You’re Reyna. You work at
Pearls of Asia
.”

Mac removed his ratty 49er hat. “Oh my gosh. You’re Mac Fleet,” she declared. “You’re Sheyla’s boyfriend.”

“Say what?” asked Mayes.

“Stay focused, Mayes,” snapped Mac. “Okay, Reyna, where does the ‘RC’ come from?”

“Those are my initials. My real name is Reyna Cruz. Please, Mac. Don’t arrest me. It’s not what it looks like.”

Mayes grabbed Reyna’s coat with a massive hand and lifted her like a tackling dummy. “It looks to me like you’re pimping illegal switchblades.”

“No, that isn’t it at all,” she pleaded. “I’m a counselor at a health clinic, not some kind of dealer. Have you seen how much these Balisong knives are selling for on eBay? I thought it might be a good way to raise money for “Catwalk,” my transgender beauty pageant. Please, you have to believe me.”

Mayes called into the precinct to see if there were any prior arrests of Reyna Cruz. She had been locked up six times in the past for prostitution and drug possession, but her rap sheet had been clean for the past ten years.

“Talk to me, Reyna Cruz,” demanded Mayes. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been busted. How do we know you’re telling the truth?”