To his dismay, his blanket denial fell on deaf ears and Michelle wasn’t about to let the matter drop as she insistently pressed on with, “You’re …not a…girl? O.K. So, if you’re not a girl, physically, then why pray tell, are you wearing these? This time she dangled the briefs so close in front of his nose that he could still smell the wonderful perfume which Stacey had mischievously sprinkled on to them.
Of course and unknown to Mark Porter, Stacey knew him better than he knew himself and had hoped that when she told him that she’d spritzed them just for him that the enticing aroma would be all that was needed for him to accept them as a gift and that he would wear them for a couple of days “just as a simple gesture” of his love for her. Stacey knew he’d accept and would never give it another thought; after all she wheedled him, “Who would ever know after all it’d be just our little secret?”
But behind the scene, both she and her mother felt that he, Mark, would do well under Stacey’s “guidance:” as in many respects, she was just like Cathy, but with a decidedly softer side when it came to the dominance of males. Stacey, already experienced, was less pronounced to discard a possible winner and preferred to dominate a boy with a simple girlish twist or two. To her, a boy in panties was of course a must and in time, as she saw fit, a few of the other daily accoutrements of femininity could and would be added; even an outing to her favorite unisex store with him in tow, was not out of the question. But the overriding craving she continually toyed with was to put him in diapers and to have him use them. She thought that not only would he look “cute” but that it also would prove to her his professed love. After all, he did tell her on more than one occasion, “Stacey, I’d do anything for you.” To which here coy reply of “Anything?” was always responded to with an emphatic, “Anything,” to which she would demurly reply, “Anything? We’ll just see about that.”
But now, standing in front of Deputy Spangler, he was having second thoughts about everything and with them came the realization that there just wasn’t another way out of the situation that he found himself in just as Michelle prodded him once more with, “Sweet cheeks,” she teased, “with the right answer you can get your… panties…back; otherwise, well, there’s no telling who’d walk in on us and there’d you be standing there, still thinking about whether or not to admit to wearing something that you can’t possibly lie your way out of. Besides, look up on to the wall…to your right…see the little camera mounted there? It records voices too. Now if you can bring yourself to call them by name and admit that they’re yours we can solve part of the reason that you’re here for: petty theft. We’ll have established ownership. So, are the panties yours or aren’t they?”
Of course, Mark Porter had no way of knowing that the front door had been electronically secured with mag-locks and that no one could barge in unannounced. Furthermore, that it was at Larry’s specific request that both the camera and listening devices had been turned off; at least for the humiliating strip search and the subsequent interrogation. What's more, that while everything the constable did was a matter of public record; there was the inherant issue of absolute control and secrecy that he was responsible for. In the field, he was both unaccustomed to leaks in maintaining confidentiality as well as controlling a possible loose cannon; and now, to him, Mark was the random factor he hadn’t counted on.
True, to others he might be a bull in a china shop, the one who had no qualms about busting heads, but he never jeopardized a probable associate: even if initially unwilling, however old or now so very young. That’s one of the things that Michelle liked about her boss; he always tried to have your back covered before you knew it was bare.
Still, Michelle couldn’t help herself; she tallied the boy up as a likely prospect: one of purely business to begin with: but then later, perhaps one with a softer side that she’d more than be willing to investigate with some jiggery-pokery. Silently she mused to herself that he’d be dancing the jig while she’d be doing the poking as Mark shyly asked, “May I, uh, may I uh, uh, have…have uh…,” of course a decidedly kinder Michelle helped him along with, “Mark, I believe the word your searching for is…my, my, my…these are yours, aren’t they?”
“Yes mam, they’re, uh, uh, mine?”
“You don’t sound too sure of that,” came her syrupy reply.
“I’m sure,” Mark shot back, “they’re mine and I, uh, uh, want ‘em, uhh, ppplease cccan I have mmy…my…my…” Michelle interjected, honey, what “you” wear under your clothes are called…panties. Now repeat after me, “May I please have my panties back. I need to wear them.” Oh, and if you stutter, you’ll just have to stand there and ask until you don’t. So what’ll it be?”
Obviously a disgruntled Mark had little to no choice and replied, “O.K. I’ll say it, but only ‘cause you’re making me,” after which he saw the p.o’d look that Michelle gave him and immediately retracted his disclaimer, “Sorry, your right. I mean I didn’t steal them I took them ‘cause they’re mine so may I please have…my…panties back?"
Michelle glanced up to her boss and Larry was blushing three sheets of red. Obviously, and for once, she’d found out what made him shy away.
No less than two minutes later a very nervous and red faced Mark Porter tentatively sat himself down opposite a scowling Larry Binder. Within fifteen minutes and without prompt, a tearful Mark Porter had not only willingly admitted entering the Blacks’ duplex but also to have lifting, at the request of both Stacey and Ms. Black, a certain key and most obviously the bottom half of a bikini; which, unfortunately for him, was the only article of clothing that he now so embarrassingly wore but also was about to spill the beans to a whole lot more.
For now, of course, he would have gladly donned the clothes he had walked in with but while Deputy Spangler had completed her assigned task, Larry, with a shake of his head, had delayed both her findings as well as the return of his now thoroughly wanded garments. He wanted Marks complete attention and wasn’t at all concerned about Marks’ modesty; nor inclined to be burdened with an interruption. Besides, unknown to Mark, Larry had picked up on Michelle’s’ professional interest in some item and was now in the midst of electronically fragging it.
In the meantime, what misgivings he had about Mark’s mother eased somewhat as his temporary charge claimed that his mother wasn’t all that bad of a mom or a woman. At least to Larry that was the kid’s “truthful” perspective. Besides the kid was inclined to excuse her baleful demeanor outright claiming that she’d been in a “blue funk” state of mind “after the accident” and that she “Just wasn’t the same mom,” he used to remember her being. To Larry, it was also apparent that Mark Porter didn’t actually have a clue as to what had actually happened to his step-father.
But unfortunately for Mark, when it came to business, Larry wasn’t the least bit sentimental nor was there a maudlin knee-jerk reaction to his now unenviable position. Besides, Larry knew that he couldn’t or shouldn’t show the boy the least amount of kindness. The cruel taskmaster, the many years of field experience, had hardened him to the fact that it was better to remain cold and dispassionate and personally uninvolved when it came to risky business. After all if anything happened, impersonality was the best armor; and it best fit where one size suited all.
In any assignment, he rationalized, there might be some regrets; but he’d shake them off; after all, he always did, since they were few and far between and that was all there normally was. In his line of work, personal involvement was the pits and it was far better to have no misgivings; and, no second guessing which would in turn lead to standing around all bleary and teary-eyed at the end worrying about someone else’s shattered life; if anything else at all. He was good, no, he excelled at tearing things apart, but putting what was broken back together again was not his forte; besides, he usually left the object of his hunt graveyard dead and if anyone else got in the way, too bad so sad. His curt reply to it all was “Yeah, it’s a tough life, now tell me something new,” was more than disheartening to Mark.
Given little choice in the matter that’s exactly what he did. His further recitations confirmed Larry’s suspicions; that it was Cathy Blacks’ scheme to goad his mother back into action at F.E.M.M. as there was, according to her, a veritable fortune to be made off of some very innovative articles and that if everything went right they’d all be in the high life. Embarrassingly, he also admitted, that regretfully, he’d taken advantage of the situation by unmercifully “teasing” his younger sister, but the way he did elicited from Larry, “That was really a crappy thing to do.” All Mark could do was to nod and mutter, “Yeah, guess so.”
Larry simply shook his head as he replied, “Guess? Hell boy, you’re lucky she hasn’t backhanded you and sent you into next week. If you were mine I’d of blistered your butt but right now I’ve a mind to haul your sorry can down to her office and let her deal with you, but I’ll tell you this, if you so much as give me a reason I’ll forget that notion and book you. You’re damn lucky that all I really want from you is information, besides, I gave you my word if that if you played it straight with me that I’d let you walk. Of course, I didn’t mention where I’d let you walk to; besides, I have a gut feeling that your mother isn’t gonna be so nice and understanding about what you’ve been up to when she sees you. You know a little talking to her might’ve gone a helluva lot further and saved you a boat load of grief. Why don’t you get your butt off my chair and get dressed, that is if Deputy Spangler is through with your gear. Deputy you have anything?"
“As a matter of fact I do…an arcade token…and boss…it was loaded. Looks like our counterparts have been listening in to “sweet cheeks” here and have gotten an earful…well at least they were up until a couple of minutes ago when you both walked in the door. It won’t be hot anymore, I just fried it.” Her less than jovial smile at Mark Porter left him chilled as she continued. “Honey, I’d bet that everything you said or did is now common knowledge to some really nasty players. So, care to tell us where you got it?”
Marks reply was unexpected, “Uhh, well, some lady at where my mom works said it was for good luck and that I should always keep it with me…you know…just on me. Did I do something wrong?”
“No Mark,” was Binders immediate reply. “You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need for you to remember who this lady was, can you do that for me?” Several moments of silence ensued whereupon the question was more or less voiced again. “Mark? Did you hear me?”
Larry allowed a squirming, now flushed and extremely uncomfortable Mark Porter several moments to reply, but knew he wasn’t going to like the reply. He’d seen it before. The boy had information and was going to sit on it and that was something that he wasn’t going to let stand for long, so he pressed the point once more with, “Mark, I’m waiting, patiently, did you hear what I asked you?”
Before he replied Mark broke out in a sweat. “Yyyes sir, I heard you, bbut I uh, I can’t…I mean I uh, I uh…can’t. That’s all. I just can’t.”
Larry’s quick staccato retort of, “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong answer!” bounced off the walls. “Try that one again!” he bellowed, “and this time if you know what’s good for you your memory’ll improve pronto!”
“But I’ll give you something else to chew on Mark it’s not just about the key you lifted. We both know that it goes to something big, something that some real bad asses’ll kill for. Yea, that’s what I said! Now, you have a pretty good damn idea of what the hell this is all about. But just for the record, I’ll clue you in…whether you know it or not…you’ve been made the patsy and like it or not you’re about to be a player in a game; and whether you know what you’re in for or not you’re stuck with it.
“Now you’re a smart boy put the pieces together. Someone else wants in the game because that arcade token that you’ve been trucking is more than just a good luck piece. If anything to you it’s going to be nothing but bad luck and trouble and I don’t envy you; no, not one bit. Look, I told you that I’d be straight up with you so here it is; that token the deputy’s fried is probably from the players over at S.O.W.I.E. In short that’s an acronym for Syndicated Organization for World Intelligence and Espionage a group of for hire merchants who’d sell their own mother up the river if the price were right or who wouldn’t be the least bit shy of dropping the hammer on some poor s.o.b. like they did on your step-father. You didn’t know that did you but that’s the way it is. Live with it."
That astounding bit of information was all new news to Mark and it was the last thing he was expecting to hear; first off because the man he always thought was his father turns out that he wasn’t and secondly that he might’ve been murdered. At that moment he just realized why he always acted more like a close friend than a dad. Not that he was mistreated by him, no just the opposite, he was always cracking jokes with him about things in general, but it always didn’t set well that he thought that David was just a wussie; after all, he didn’t consider himself a dumb-shit and he could at times put two and two together and the sum total now was pretty obvious: he didn’t really know who his dad was. Maybe that’s why his mother always treated him the way she did.
Larry didn’t let Mark’s stunned expression sink in and plowed on with, “Now Mark, it seems like that they’ve got a mole or two at F.E.M.M. and that’s partially the reason why I’m here. I’m going to find ‘em and when I do, it won’t be pretty. The second part of the reason is simple whatever the hell it is that your mother and him were working on, along with Cathy Black, has obviously attracted quite a bit of attention. I want to know what you know and I want to know now, so…what’ll it be?”
Before Mark could reply Michelle Spangler was at his side. True, she considered herself a bitch when necessary, but unlike her boss, she was quite adept at fixing things that could unravel: that was one of the reasons Larry preferred to have her around. She watched his back on some things better than anyone else; and he knew it and began to glue it all back together with, “Larry, for the record, you might want to know that up until now, that the whole town has thought that David Porter was Marks paternal father, the only reference to the contrary is found in our respective profiles of each: the DNA work on the blood samples of both his mother and David Porter shows that they are incompatible with Marks.
� Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Topic: R & D at F.E.M.M. (Read 68861 times)
