The Case Files of Richard Bone

[What follows is a detective story in the old-fashioned, hard-boiled tradition, but with a contemporary setting and a sexually explicit storyline.]

I gave up on The Dream a long time ago. You know what I'm talking about, the house in the suburbs, 2.3 kids, a good woman who loves me.

But still, there are days...

Thursday was one of those days.

It's not because I didn't want it. It's more that it seemed out of reach. Guys like me don't end up with that life. I learned that early on, and adjusted. But she caught me unaware, Amaya did. That was her name. Amaya.

My name is Richard Bone. For 30 years, I've been a private detective in Los Angeles, California. Before that, I spent six months working in porn, or rather my dick did. My face was rarely on camera. Before porn I was in the U.S. Navy. Uncle Sam finished raising me after my mom died and left me on my own at 17.

Amaya. It's an old Basque name. It means "night rain."

I like to think that once, a very long time ago, Amaya must have wanted to be good. She just got caught up in something a whole lot bigger than herself. I tell myself that story, but I don't really have any evidence to support it. I try to see things clearly, but sometimes the lies make it tough, especially the lies I tell myself.

Amaya was a tall girl, leggy and stacked. I run 6'6" so tall girls don't scare me. In fact they get my blood going. And it usually works both ways, because I'm big enough to make them almost feel petite. Was it love at first sight? I wouldn't go that far, but it was definitely lust. I was significantly older than her, but she was plenty old enough. I didn't feel too indecent about the thoughts running through my mind. The tight black leather bustier she was wearing helped move things along. It's one thing to have the body for a bustier; its another to know how to wear it. Amaya positively rocked hers.

"I'm looking for a girl" I said to her when she opened the door. The small sign said "Stray Cat Modeling -- ring bell" so that's what I'd done.

"Ya found one," she said, giving me the quick once-over.

"I can see that. If it was just for me, maybe I'd stop lookin'. But this is for a nice couple from San Ramon. They lost their daughter and want to get her back."

"Pity. That you're not looking for yourself, I mean. I'd think a full-grown man like you might do his own bidding, not someone else's."

That one hit me where I lived, just like she'd intended. "Nature of the job, I suppose. I'm a P.I."

"P.I. huh? Most P.I.s I've known, those letters might as well stand for Pig Ignorant" She looked me over again, for the second time inside of two minutes. "Is that you, or in your case is it Pleasure Instrument?" She raised her eyebrows, with just a hint of a smile.

I liked her already. "Funny. I was just thinking the same." I looked her up and down, like she'd done for me. "But remember the nice folks, the daughter? Pretty. Blonde. Cheerleader. Just turned 18. Maybe you've seen her." I showed Amaya the photo.

"She looks and sounds perfectly boring. I've seen a thousand girls like that. Most of them are looking for a secret thrill. What about you, Mister..."

"Bone."

"Bone. It suits you. Are you looking for a secret thrill, Mr. Bone?"

"Are you offering?"

"I only make offerings to gods. Are you a god?"

"Hmmh..." She'd thrown me off my game a little, so I decided to just overlook that one and retreat safely to base. "If you see her," I flashed the picture of the girl again, "give me a call." I handed her my card.

"If I do, what's in it for me?"

"You mean is there a reward?"

"That too." There she was with the eyebrows again.

"$20,000 for information leading to her safe return."

"I suppose some people care about money."

"You don't?"

"It's not at the top of my list."

"What is?"

"Experiences. I believe in living life to the fullest."

"$20,000 could help with that."

"For some. Tell me, Mr. Bone, would you deliver the money yourself, if I had any information, that is?"

"That could be arranged."

"Then I hope I hear something."

"I hope you do too. Good evening Mrs..." (No sense in waiting to find out.)

"Miss. Amaya Duran."

"Good evening, Miss Duran."

"Bonsoir, Mr. Bone."

I'd rung the bell on a hunch. I'd been riding the number 20 bus looking for a stop where a pretty girl mad at her boyfriend might get off. The sign for Stray Cat caught my eye, pink neon in the window of an old bungalow-style house.

Exactly what kind of modeling agency was it? As I walked away after meeting Amaya I confess I still didn't know, but the way she was dressed, the vibe, and the pink light I could see coming from the room behind her gave me some confirmation for the direction of my suspicions.

In 30 years of PI work, I've seen my share of strange. I work out of Los Angeles, basically the last stop for America's displaced freaks and weirdos. Cultists, druggies, psychos, other misfits and losers, you name it, I've seen it and done the dance. But out of all the cases, all the crazy characters and fucked up situations, the case of the missing cheerleader Kylie Jones was the one that still haunts me. It wasn't Kylie, and yet it was. It was more about Amaya, the girl who the Kylies that aren't careful can wake up at age 35 or 40 and find they've somehow turned into.

Kylie's case led me down the path of shimmering, endless temptation, where once you pass the first couple exits, no off-ramps lead to redemption. Not for Kylie. Not for Amaya. Maybe not even for me.

Perfect hair, perfect teeth, from a photo it's easy to imagine a perfect life behind all that when you look at an 18-year-old cheerleader. You can't help but want that for them, at least a little, especially when they're young. This town is all about the fantasy, the happily ever after. Reality usually doesn't measure up, especially not in the lives I get a peek into. But there's always a piece of you that can't help hoping.

It started out normal enough, two distraught parents looking for help finding their disappeared daughter. Last seen at a bus stop outside her high school after practice. She didn't normally ride the bus. Her boyfriend had taken her to school that day. She'd been counting on him to drive her home, but they had a fight and he didn't show. She tried calling her dad, but he was busy in a meeting and didn't pick up. She got on the bus around 4:45 pm and that was the last anybody knew.

The parents called the cops. The girls on the cheer squad posted flyers. Nobody turned up any solid leads. After a week the parents came to me. Turns out the mom works for a lawyer friend of mine and she remembered I'd helped him out on a couple of tough cases. That's how they found me. It was totally legit. They didn't even know about my past connection to the sex industry or my reputation for banging half my clients.

What can I say? I've got a big dick and I enjoy using it. After my first meeting with Amaya, I couldn't shake the feeling she and I might have a very good time together.

I like a woman who's not shy, who knows what she wants, and who absolutely loves a no holds barred fuck. Over the years I've gotten pretty good at sniffing out my type when I run across them. Everything about Amaya was screaming, "jackpot."

Is that what led me back there? Or was it the fact I didn't have any better leads? You be the judge. But don't judge me too hastily, at least not until you know the rest of the story. When you do, you might even agree I've already served my sentence.

I didn't go back to Stray Cat right away. I dug around a bit first.

Stray Cat Modeling wasn't totally legit, that was no surprise. They also weren't part of the porn pipeline, where girls go looking to break into modeling and get lured into a few nudes at first, then solo shows, and finally sex on camera with some dude who claims he can make her into a porn star.

Stray Cat also wasn't one of those places where a photography "hobbyist" can rent a girl for some private pics, although if the cops came around that's what they'd claim to be. It wasn't really a "jack shack" either, where girls do private strip shows while a guy watches and jerks off. Stray Cat did have a couple of rooms they used as studio space for cam girls, but even there, they weren't exactly mainstream. Word was they specialized in the harder, kinkier, edgier stuff. Sometimes the edges are sharp and people bleed.

When I say "the word" I mean according to Tripod, an old friend from back in my porn days. He was still connected into that world. But even what he could find out was limited. Stray Cat was a place too dark for the "mainstream" S&M crowd. Bad vibes. Mysterious money. You had to know someone to get in past the surface, and it seemed like nobody knew the right people. Stray Cat seemed like possibly just about the last place you'd expect to find a pretty, blonde, fresh-faced, all-American young girl like Kylie Jones.

Or was it?

Chalk it up to my suspicious nature, or to 30 years digging around the underbelly of the city, but I've learned not to trust surfaces. So I dug. That's what I do.

The boyfriend was my next stop. What was their fight about? What might pretty Kylie have been pissed off enough to do coming off of that fight?

The boyfriend's name was Trent Campbell, an all league high school Safety and wouldn't you know it, the son of a fucking Circuit Court judge. Going to his house under a watchful eye was clearly out. I caught up with Trent in the school parking lot after practice. Had to pose as a college scout just to get close. A UCLA windbreaker, ball cap, and a clipboard was all the disguise I needed.

"Hey 22, got a minute?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Step over here a sec." I guided him a few steps away from the line of players headed towards the locker room.

"You're the boyfriend of that missing girl, aren't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Thought so. That must be tough."

"I suppose."

"Hard to concentrate?"

"Sometimes...Hey you're not a reporter, are you?"

"No. I'm not a reporter."

"But you're not really a scout, either?"

"No I'm not. I'm a private investigator. Kylie's parents hired me to help find her."

"I sure hope you can. The cops don't seem to have found shit."

"To them she looks like just another runaway. What do you think?"

"She wouldn't run away. She never talked about that. She had it too good at home."

"What about the fight? You two had a fight that day. What was that all about?"

"Like I told the cops, it was nothing. I wanted her help setting one of my friends up with one of her friends, and she didn't want to do it. I was pissed, and I didn't pick her up. Trust me, if I had it to do over again...I can't stop thinking about it. Like I could be the reason something bad happened to her. It fucking sucks, man! It's eating me up!"

I believed Trent really was worried, but I could see there was something he wasn't telling me. "Trent?"

"What?"

"Trent look at me. I'm not the cops. Kylie's parents hired me, but as long as I find her, they don't care how I do it. I don't have to tell them everything. They just want their daughter back. Do you understand?"

"Yeah..."

"And I don't care either. If there's some shit she was into, or that you were into together, maybe illegal things she or you were mixed up with, nobody has to know, not your dad, not Kylie's parents, not the cops, nobody. I just want to find her, and every day that goes by the odds go down, so if there's anything else...anything..."

"Fuck."

"Trust me, son. Nothing you can say will shock me. I've been a PI in this city for 30 years."

"Fuck. There's one thing. Maybe it's not related. I hope it's not. And you can't tell anybody, OK? Especially not Kylie's parents. And you've gotta leave my name out of it. My dad would kill me, I could lose my shot at a scholarship, and I'll deny everything. You've got to promise..."

"When people ask where I get my information I always tell 'em the same thing, 'That's strictly confidential.'"

"You're sure? You can keep my name out of it?"

"100% guaranteed."

"OK. Kylie found a way to make some extra money. Starting about two months ago, two or three times a week she did cam shows. She did it from her bedroom, after school, before her folks got home. Guys would pay money to watch her strip, and then they'd pay more to watch her do stuff. You know how it goes."

"Yeah, I get it. And how did you know about this?"

"She didn't even tell me at first, until some creepy rich guy offered her a bunch of money, and she asked me to be in one with her. She offered to split the money with me."

"And did you do it?"

"Yeah, I did. I love having sex with Kylie. She's fucking gorgeous, ya know! Anyway, I didn't even have to show my face. The guy didn't even want to see my face. He didn't even want to watch us fuck. He just wanted to see my cock and watch Kylie take a facial. He gave her a thousand bucks!"

"Do you know the guy's name?"

"He said his name was Percy. I have no idea if that's his real name, though."

"And do you know the name of the service she was streaming with?"

"I'm sorry I don't. Kylie handled all that. There was a little cat logo in the corner of the screen though, I remember that."

"Was Kylie into anything more? Like was she dancing or modeling or anything like that?"

"Not as far as I know. She said she liked being a cam girl cuz it was private and safe. She told me she didn't think she could ever be a stripper in a club or anything in public like that."

"Did she broadcast using her phone? Did she use her laptop? Over her home internet?"

"It was a laptop, sometimes her phone too. I'm pretty sure she used a VPN but she handled all that stuff. I'm not really sure."

"Besides this 'Percy' did she have any other regular fans?"

"She said there were a few, but Percy was by far the biggest. He was always on with her, always asking for more, and he was by far her biggest tipper too."

Trent's teammates had given us space to talk on account of my college jacket but by then the practice field had cleared and Trent was getting antsy. "OK Trent, I'll let you go. But just one more thing. What was your fight really about?"

"Fuck. OK. Percy wanted to see me slap her across the face a couple times, and he wanted to see her taking loads from a bunch of guys, you know, bukkake, but I refused to be a part of either of those. He offered her $5,000 but I told her I wouldn't do it for a million and I didn't want to see her degraded that way. She got mad and said that was easy for me, because my family has money, but she needed the money for college."

"Thanks, Trent. If you think of anything else, please give me call, a text, or hit me up on Signal. Contact info's on the card." I fished one out of my pocket and handed it over.

"Please find her, Mr..." he looked at the card, "Bone."

"I'll do my best, kid."

Trent didn't seem too bad, for a self-centered, spoiled little rich puke. Kylie sure could have done worse. Maybe she already had. It was thin info, but the story, especially the little cat watermark Trent said he saw on the video, played straight into my initial hunch, and sent me straight back to Amaya.

You can choose the lonely road in life, and that's what I'd done. But it's a long trip, and you're bound to break down along the way. What happens then? It turns out everyone needs a little help sometimes.

"Back so soon?" Amaya greeted me at the door again.

"I felt something calling me back."

"Then I guess you better come in." She was still dressed, if you could call it that, in the one piece with the bustier, only this time, as she stepped aside I got a great look at the fishnets that traveled all the way up to meet it. She gave off a slightly gothic vibe, but also smooth and classy. A woman with a little edge to her never frightened me. I've had a very good time with a few like that. Amaya was pushing all my buttons, and she was pressing down hard.

The small reception area had two black leather loveseats, and what looked like grey walls, although it was hard to tell the colors exactly with all the neon pink light.

"I did a little research. You're a man with a past, Mr. Bone."

"We've all got one." I was guessing she'd found my film credits.

"But not all as intriguing as yours. To what do I owe this visit, business or pleasure?"

"I'm still looking for the girl, but I don't mind mixing a little pleasure with my business, whenever I get the chance."

"How fortunate, because pleasure is my business--although I think you might have guessed that."

"And how is business, lately?"

"Business is always good. Business is very...good." She looked me up and down slowly again.

"Maybe you and I could do business together some time."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I think I might have the same thing in my mind that you have in yours."

"Are you a mindreader, Mr. Bone?"

"Let's just say your body is speaking my language."

"Good. Then we won't need a translator."

"Baby we might not need to talk at all!" That got a laugh out of her, a break in her too cool exterior.

"OK Mr. Bone. I'm not usually on the menu, so to speak, but for $500 you can have an hour of my time."

"I'm not gonna say I've never paid, and I'm sure you're worth every penny, but that's not what I'm looking for."

"You're still looking for that silly little teenage cheerleader?"

"I am. I thought maybe I could ask some of the other folks you've got here, since you don't seem to remember her."

"Perhaps you'd consider a trade? You give me something I want, and I'll see what I can do for you?"

"What did you have in mind?" I was liking the direction this was headed.

"I'm not sure why, but I like you. May I be forward?"

"Please."

"I want just a little taste, a sample if you will."

"A taste? Of what?"

"Of you, of your essence."

"My essence?"

"Yes. I sense a power in you, Mr. Bone. You intrigue me."

"So what exactly are we talking about here?"

"What's the first thing that pops into your mind?"

"Hmmmm."

"I think you will enjoy providing me with what I want. In fact I'm sure you will." She ran her hands over me very slowly and seductively. Her hands, her lips and her eyes, that body, the eerie calm in her voice, all were working on me to achieve the desired effect. My dick was hard.

Typically, unlike a lot of guys, I can still think pretty clearly when my dick gets hard. This was not one of those times. Amaya was not like the rest of those girls.

She noticed my condition, and her hand dropped to trace the outline through my pants. I wasn't putting up much of a fight. I wasn't seeing much of a reason to. If she wanted me, for whatever kinky reason, then why not? And hey, it might even help. I figured if I showed a little good faith and trust it might help lead to finding the girl and solving the case.

Amaya backed away, and then beckoned, with her finger, for me to follow her. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I went willingly.

The short walk down the narrow hallway gave me the opportunity to check out her ass. It did not disappoint. I had to resist the temptation to touch. I prefer to treat a lady with at least a little bit of class---unless she shows me she doesn't deserve it. Even then, sometimes the habit is hard to break.

I followed Amaya into a small room, where she immediately closed the door behind us. We were still bathed in that pink light. It was everywhere. When she turned back to face me, my eyes were immediately drawn to her lips. They were full and luscious and headed my way fast.

Traffic stopped when they met me. I think time did too. I've been kissed a few times but that first one from Amaya was definitely top five. She let out a contented little purr while we were locked together. My expectations were more than exceeded, and they'd already been high. Even more blood rushed into my dick.