Marion Riles, Soft Boiled Detective Stories -e

by RD Larson

Marion Riles isn't just a guy with a dame's name; he's a cracker-jack detective. Overweight, constantly dieting for his girlfriend, Marion blunders through social situations but never fails to deliver excitement and action when he solves his cases from the seamy side of town. With a big heart and an even bigger fanny, he discovers the truth the client hired him to find. Even when it hurts the client. Always honest, always crude, Marion is a guy's guy and a woman's nightmare. You can't help but love the big fool!

ISBN-1-59431-520 Mystery / Short Stories

Cover Art by RD Larson

Also available in RTF and HTML formats

The Case of the Sexy Gams

I had plenty to do. Like think about bad bets. And doodle on a pad, making those golden arches and spinning buckets. A knock at door made me jump

A dame walks through the door, mostly legs. Real gams, and, boy, are they ever. Her strappy, spike heels clicked as she danced through my crummy office door.

“Can you help me?” she said, her lips curving around every sound. Her lipstick gleamed fire engine red and her big brown eyes were surrounded by thick, furry eyelashes. Her long chestnut hair hung on her shoulders. Her halter top barely covered her melon-sized breasts, but her legs made me want to beg her for some. Those legs were a good five feet long from her slim ankles to the hem of her blue denim shorts. “My name is Sherisa LeGrand. And I need your help, Mr. Riles.”

“Okay, Ms. LeGrand. I can listen to your story but you’ve got to know I’m really up to my buttocks in a messy divorce investigation.” I pushed my fedora back on my head as I stood up. “Have a chair and tell me about it?”

“My fiancé is missing and the cops won’t look for him,” Sherisa LeGrand folded herself into the wooden office chair. Her legs were the last to fold. Thighs tanned and strong with muscle definition lingered before crossing. She crossed them in slow motion. One high heel dropped down showing me an arched instep, a pale round half moon of a skin. “The bastards won’t look for him because they say he has a history of disappearing, you know, running out on the bride-to-be. He loves me, I know he wouldn’t do that, not to me, Mr. Riles.”

“Buenos, Senorita, call me Marion, everyone else does.” I rubbed my head where I once had more hair. I read the look on her face. Her cute little mouth made a mew like a cat as if she said “Oh no, a bilingual cross-dressing transgender.” I smiled benignly. I’m accustomed bullshit like that.

I pulled my skirt down. I looked her straight in the eye. “I’m a Scot and fond of me kilts, lass.”

“Okay, well, I just need some help, Marion and you’re the man who can help me.”

“Who sent you over here?” Yes, you sweet thing I’ll help you, right onto your back, I said to myself.

“That pumped-up dyke at Guys and Gals Fitness Spa, Freddie. We had a beer after class today. Freddie runs a great gym. No joke, best equipment and best trainers. It has a classy rainbow look. Anyway, she said you helped her beat a conviction because she didn’t do it and the cops wouldn’t investigate all the evidence. You know, like OJ.” Sherisa pressed her chest forward. Her melons bumped each other in the middle. Speaking of bumping?

“Where did you last see—what’s his name? The guy, your guy?” I licked the end of my number 2 pencil, trying to discourage her as a client.

“Robert Ellsworth Stunning III. My dad owns a string of secondhand car lots and one new car dealership. Rolling in dough, my old man is, I mean. Anyway, poor Robert is always broke. I’ve supported him for the last year and a half with my allowance from my dad. I’m really a cardiac nurse. I can give artificial respiration to a dying man and raise him right up.” She laughed nervously. Jumping up, she whirled to glare at me. “I just haven’t had time to work. I’m busy with Robert’s acting career. Well, Marion?”

“Sure I’ll look into it. That’ll be $300 a day and expenses for a week to start.” I wrote down a bunch of nothing so she’d think I really wanted her case. “Where should I start looking, Sherisa?”

“He came to my place night before last; we had a little fight.” She pouted charmingly as she crossed and re-crossed her beautiful legs. Hey, they were even beautiful right where they joined her body, barely separated by a thin strip of denim shorts. “He got pissed at me and went for a run along the coast.”

“Anybody see him leave?” I pushed my glasses back.

“Well, let me think—maybe the old fellow who lives beside me — he is always peeking at me; he’s a pervert, a damn voyeur. He gets off on watching me dress and undress. Once he told me if I didn’t like being looked at, then I should get blinds,” she laughed.

“Who wouldn’t?” I mumbled. She glared at me and wrote me a check.

“You know you ought to lose weight and quit smoking; you’d live longer.” With a final wave of her cute little fanny, she strutted out the office door.

I scratched under me kilt, thinking, wishing really, that I was home, sipping a brew in my Barka lounger. It’s not a true Barka Lounger. When I’m not there, my old bloodhound sleeps there. Doesn’t bark. Wishful damn thinking on this dick’s part to park my can anytime soon.

I don’t usually wear kilts; but I have a bet going on with Bette, my girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong, I like to get dressed up in women’s’ nighties as much as the next guy, but wool skirts aren’t my fashion thang, you know?

Naw, you don’t want to know. It was a mistake to make a bet with my girlfriend; women are always right, even when they know they aren’t. What a guy doesn’t do in the name of nookie!

I went to talk to Sherisa’s neighbor, Old Man Kildee. Known that old geezer for years. He came right to the door.

“Well, Officer, what can I do you for?” He wrinkled up his skull and glared at me.

“Did you see the boyfriend of your neighbor woman night before last?” I asked politely, thinking he probably remembers me as a cop. I pointed to the identical bungalow next to his.

“You mean that slut next door? Her boyfriend? Boyfriend, hell. He’s a funny boy. Not interested in her. She has her own kind of kinky stuff, you know?”

“Well, she said she was going to marry him,” I told him. Nuts, I was getting hot in the kilts. I am going to feed them to my girlfriend when I get over this bet thing. The kilts, I mean.

“Hah. He wouldn’t marry anyone. Loves himself, that bugger does.” The old man spat right past me into the geranium dying in the pot beside the door. “He got into a fist fight with her t’other night. She hit him with a bottle of sauce. I can’t abide folks that waste good liquor. That’s when he took off running toward the beach. Crazy fool, shoulda hit her a good one, funny or not.” Cover Art by Shelley Rodgerson