Miss Rika Dot had sued for divorce and reverted to her maiden name. She had excellent genes, her ancestors coming from Sweden or Austria, but she never gave any thought to geneology or history. She was tall but enough under six feet that it had been easy to find a man during her university years – a man who was taller than she was.
But height in men was no guarantee of anything, she understood that now, but it seemed to late. That was why she was riding in this eccentric limo which had been a Hum-V before it was converted. If she had ever been for a ride in a limo she could not remember anymore. Today would be her last effort before admitting total failure. She would make the effort, it was her duty, but as she rode through this neighborhood, it seemed completely pointless. She was a woman, alone, and reality had dealt her the worst possible hand.
Miss Rika Dot was beautiful, even among women of her bloodline, due to her genuine sincerity and intelligence although she has lost weight and begun to look sickly. She was good at negotiating but rarely had to do so. Unbeknownst to her movie-star qualities tended to cause most people to give her every advantage.
Finally the limo arrived. The tall ebony secretary she had previously met was waiting and she stepped down from the entryway and into the driveway. The Secretary whose nickname was Miss Twice – due to her unpronounceable African name – pulled the handle for Rika Dot and with an enthusiastic welcoming smile beckoned her to step out. By the time the two women were walking up the entryway the limo had pulled away and was gone. Rika Dot wondered why she had never seen the driver, but maybe that is how limo service was meant to be.
The black secretary commented on how appropriate Rika's silk blouse, skirt and designer boots were to the meeting. It was meant as complimentary, but, Rika defiantly wondered why she was made to adhere to a dress code as if for a high profile job interview. It was Rika who wanted to know more about hiring the agency, not the other way around.
They walked through the vaulted entryway and then through double doors to room with more reasonable ceilings. The whole place was done in white with columns and curtains. The architecture was a mix of home and of business. The house and the décor were all clearly very expensive. None of it was cheap or false or poorly done but it was also uninspired and unimpressive unless one had never seen it done before. Rika had.
The two tall slender women walked across a marble floor, the sound of their boots echoing off the walls. They arrived at an animal skin rug with plush chairs and couches arranged on top of it. Miss Rika Dot did not wonder what sort of mammal was so large to make such a large rug. She should have. But perhaps she assumed it was fake. It wasn't.
“Sir, yes Sir, your 1 O'clock, yes Sir.” Said the black secretary, enunciating every word in a sort of put on high-class accent that some women perform when they want to be treated a certain way by a man. Rika, though prepared, when the man in question stepped around a barrier and into the room. He was just a boy. A black haired, blue eyed boy with pale skin. His face was handsome and confident with rare strong features. Handsome men from his bloodline were a rarity, but there he was, strength married to composure.
“Hello Miss Dot,” he said once she had risen from the edge of the plush chair and he had taken several strides toward her. One of her hands was in his and his other hand rested, a bit too casually, upon her hip.
“They said you were young,” Was Miss Rika Dot's only reply.
“That's fine,” Said the boy with a wave of his hand. Rika bent her knees and perched on the edge of the plush chair again. The boy walked around a translucent table and took a seat on the coach. The black secretary looked on adoringly, like a proud mother.
“So, you are a detective?” Questioned Miss Rika Dot.
The boy smiled reassuringly, “That is a convenient word, this is an agency, we are at your service, I am an agent – This interview is convened to determine if we are compatible as agent and employer. But first, I will have Twice serve drinks. Twice?”
There was a drink service of Sun-brewed Ice Tea and Ice water, the boy closely observed her body language, the way her firm ass was tensed and on the edge of the cushion, her toes clenced -- Rika daydreamed as she stared at the ice cubes in the pitchers, imagined the boys cock in her own mouth it was thick and strong and lubed with precum – she shook off this unwanted imagery, it had all taken less than a second to enter her mind, and it was forgotten as soon as she dismissed it.
“Forgive me... Rothschild, but the real question is – the reason I – I am here to find out – how can you help me where the police have not?” Demanded Rika calmly and quietly but with a tremor of emotion.
“Well, Miss Dot I only take one case at a time, I employ alternate methods, and I have a drastically higher success rate,” listed off Rothschild and then he nonchalantly sipped from the straw in his sun-brewed ice-tea.
Miss Rika Dot was a bit taken aback by his candid and at-the-ready answer, but not for long.
“What methods?” Rika questioned, sounding abrupt.
“I can explain, you see, Miss Dot, I usually begin by asking myself a very fundamental question, on the case you are considering hiring me onto I would have to start with: 'where?'“
“That's – don't you think the police asked that question?” Questioned Miss Rika Dot as she extended herself and placed her temporarily unwanted iced-tea on the edge of the translucent table.
“No offense to your obvious intellect, Miss Dot, but they certainly did not, not to themselves. 'where?' is the kind of question that keeps a person awake at night, and the police have a job to be at every morning, long shifts, many cases, not to mention patrols. If you get a competent investigator, then they might start asking people attached to the case 'where?' but if no one has a ready answer then the case never gets solved.”
Miss Dot wondered if this boy was for real.
“Drink your drink, Miss Dot,” suggested the boy calmly.
Dot leaned forward and extended herself, she stared deeply into the boys blue eyes, letting her modest but suggestive cleavage open for him to gawk at. He clearly approved, just as she had suspected. She decided that the boy detective was sleazy, after all. He probably couldn't help either.
“I assure you I can solve this case,” the boy went on, “but we have to follow procedures to make sure that happens.”
“The money? The 'million dollar fee.'” Rika Dot said with notable sarcasm as she sipped from her drink.
“There is an alternate arrangement and that is what would work best here, but you would have to sign a contract first, you would have to commit,” suddenly the boy was all businesslike. Rika Dot had heard about this arrangement from the elegant but slutty black secretary who had made the same arrangement some years past.
“You really think I am going to work for you? What? As a secretary? Do you even require – I mean really...” Scoffed Miss Rika Dot, it all sounded impossible.
“Only if you want me to find your missing children and deliver them to you safe and sound,” he held his hand up to silence her, “I can put a clause in your contract, that if I fail to deliver them, alive and not much the worse for wear, withing two weeks then the contract shall be nullified.”
Miss Rika Dot crossed her long legs the other way in a very controlled and ladylike motion. This boy and his agency, it all seemed impossible.
Miss Rika Dot was escorted to a house in the neighborhood, which was made open for Rothschild to use anytime he pleased. Miss Dot was to think things over and return that afternoon. Rothschild said he would not begin his investigation until the had a written and signed contract between them. If she thought for a moment that she could get her children back then Miss Rika Dot would sign anything.
The boy detective thought about how healthy the woman's hair looked and smelled, her excellent knees and bone structure, and what he wanted to do with her.
It was a quiet here in this gated community. Not really enough life to be a place where real people really lived. There were some people driving golf carts but they seemed committed to their routines. Rika was given this house to rest in, it was like a very spacious, very modern cabin. Very clean and modern, but not very alive.
Her cell phone unexpectedly went off. She jumped, startled, because she had been staring into space without realizing it. It was a man who used to work for her fathers lawyer. He was one of the people who has suggested she track down Rothschild in the first place. There had been many. Her late fathers lawyer's staff-person wanted to know if she had met Rothschild in person and if he was interested in her case. She said he was very young, even more than she had imagined and why shouldn't he be interested? The man said that Rothschild actually refused cases and wanted to know if the detective seemed likely to accept or refuse. Rika Dot was obstinate and the man got no answer. The man let out that if the detective took the case, he could also solve it, that was the pattern.
Rika Dot asked the man what he thought of the boy detective's age. The man confessed that he had never met Rothschild in person but he understood the detective to be young. She asked if there weren't any other detectives at the agency. The man swore and said that he hoped not, Rothschild was the agency. The conversation drug on until finally wishes and goodbyes were said.
Rika had washed her face when she was given this house to rest in. She washed her face again now. Nerves. She paced and massaged her temples. The slinky but elegant black secretary eventually reappeared in order to escort her back to the agency.
The woman took out a tiny plastic machine that made cigarettes and rolled some organic tobacco and cannabis into a perfect cylinder.
“You are going to need this,” said the woman and Dot realized that she was from Africa-somewhere and that she had learned British English before coming to America. Dot considered this woman to be an untrustworthy hussy at this point, but her children were gone, here friends and family had given up, so...
They passed the joint back and forth a few times in silence. Dot had never enjoyed smoking, the few times she had tried it. This smoke, though, was sublime.
“He really can succeed. you know -- He can save them. I've been around the longest, I know. He saved my mother, that's how – why I joined the agency,” she narrated to the room in general. As she took a pull of smoke it was very elegant and she must have had an upper-class upbringing.
“'Joined the agency', that's one way to put it,” said Dot as she walked over to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“If you are implying that I fuck my boss, well – “ said Miss Twice and Dot could tell she was smiling from the sound of her voice.
“hmmm,” said Dot disapprovingly.
“My mother's case was years old, my sister and I were separated from her when we fled from T'swana. She was reported dead by the time we arrived in the States,” said Twice, standing up and carrying the smoke to the kitchen. Dot opened a glass bottle of water and opened a cupboard looking for a vessel to pour the cold drink into.
“You mentioned this before, and I'm sure I don't doubt you – I'm glad, glad for your family – but aren't you taking gratitude a little too far?” asked Dot rhetorically as she poured some artesian water into a short fat glass.
“Well, after two years with him I became obsessed with personal freedom and I took a six month vacation -”
“-I don't need to hear about your vacation,” said Dot cutting off the woman, rudely yes but it felt justified.
“I came back to him, that's all,” said Twice, not acting very defensive at all.
“He wants...” whispered Dot.
“Yes?” encouraged the ebony Miss Twice with a wicked smile.
“He wants with me what he has with you. He expects me to become a sex slave, just like that?” demanded Miss Rika Dot, her hands shaking.
“Oh, you're just his type,” said Miss Twice as she took a step towards Dot and threw the last of the joint down the sink drain.
“I won't – oh, nevermind,” determined Dot.
“You act like you never met a man who wanted to fuck you before,” Said Twice quite calmly, as if this situation was not anything to get upset about.
“I'm not for sale, I'm not some... whore,” said Miss Rika Dot, whispering the last word.
“Oh, but I am?” wondered Twice as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “Listen, Miss Dot, you won't be doing anything you don't want to do. And if you are not satisfied with how he handles your case, you won't have any obligations at all. Did you really come all this way for nothing?”
“He wants me, he wants to own me,” retorted Miss Dot.
“Plenty of women would take that as a compliment, especially where Rothschild is concerned,” countered Twice as she smoothed a wrinkle in her silk blouse.
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