!ADULTS ONLY! Tag Bonewell and the Murder of Wendy Wilde!

"Well, beginner, you've only done two of us in one day. Wait'll you do all three of us in one day, then you'll get the full import of it. I want dibs on the evening, OK? I do my best fucking work after five." He laughed.

"Mmmm, I'm picturing something. What if I had you all . . . "

"At the same time? I'm game, but I'm not sure the Viking has the stomach for it, or the cop, the heart. Should we send them an e-Mail form to fill out?" He chuckled.

"No, you're right about the cop. He's not of your liberal-minded ilk. And, as flatfoot-brained as he seems to me, he'd probably lose respect for me. Better to keep him in the dark, happy and sweet."

"Fine by me, honey, mum's the word, but if you ever want to try your first threesome, I know two old boys who'll . . . "

* * * * * *

TAG WAS AT HIS DESK, the Wilde stuff just sitting there, nagging at him. Ah, well, he thought, time's a wasting. He sighed, picked up a sheet and found where he had left off.

10: GANG GROPES: Gangbangs. Consensual. There were no notes at all.

11: GLORY HOLE GALS: Glory Holes. And glory hole parties. Again, no notes.

12. CUCKOLDING: Cuckolders are men who enjoy watching helplessly while their wives or girlfriends have sex with strange men. Contact JayF12@Yahoo.com. He has films and is willing to let me observe.

What fun, thought Tag. I never get the good invites!

He picked up the handwritten page. It was written in blue ballpoint ink, in what looked to be from a woman's delicate hand. He could see what Wilde had probably known very well: The Welle wouldn't run dry for ages.

Rape scenarios, hypnosis themes, vampire love, snuff films, blackmail scenarios, black magic sex, witches, mind control, Tantric love, Chinese love baskets, drink/drug stories, coercion, gay, hermaphrodites, cross dressers, trans-genders, sluts of all stripes, enema lovers, pregnant sex, cream pies, lactating lasses, fisting, safe sex, masturbation techniques, interracial, sex toys,

Wilde had ended the long list with a comma, as if there was surely more out there to come. Tag tried to think. Nope, if there's anything else, I sure as shit can't think of it! Then he thought of one: Space alien fucking! Why not? He mused, they probably have three-headed cocks! That are two feet long! With all three heads the size of cantaloupes! Ha ha, I'd buy that book!

Then he thought of one more: Midget sex. Nah, he thought, who'd ever believe midgets have sex. Dwarfs, I can buy. Hey! Fairy tale sex! He was on a roll now, feeling stupid, but inspired. But enough was enough. He went back to work.

Tag didn't think Wilde would make a book out of each and every one of the categories. She'd probably combine some here and there, or use them over a few times, but even so, she had enough sexual fodder to keep her busy all the way right up to her death of natural causes in her old age. Some fucker, Tag thought, didn't want to wait for those natural causes to naturally kick in.

Tag rubbed his eyes. He'd had it. He stood up, tossed the handwritten page onto the pile and headed for the door. Anything else could wait for later.

"Luce, I'm bushed. If you need me for any emergency, my sleeping body can be found in suite 912. All right?" He yawned, stifling it with a tired hand.

"No prob, Tag, go get your beauty nap. But, say, isn't that the murder suite? And you know what they say about murderers, don'tcha? They always return to . . . "

"Yeah, yeah, well fuck him, or her, I don't give a rat's ass as long as they're quiet."

"Oh, I get you, boss, you want a considerate murderer!"

"Why not? Now, if you'll . . . "

"Get outta here, Taggy Waggy, I can hold down the fort and . . . "

He didn't wait to hear the rest. He was out the door . . .

* * * * * *

IN SUITE 912, Tag had no trouble finding the bed. Someone had thoughtfully left it in the very room it belonged in. He removed his suit jacket, hung it carefully over the back of a chair, and fell backwards onto the bed. His shoulder holster was still in place. With the Glock snuggled nicely inside it. He was asleep in less than a minute. But he didn't sleep peacefully.

A fucking yellow gnome with purple eyes kept taunting him. The ugly creature looked hundreds of years old, if he was a day. Its face looked vaguely familiar, but Tag couldn't place it. Then the little beast did a magic trick.

He went from raggedy old clothes to brand new duds. High-class duds. With spats and a top hat. He started dancing all around, just like Fred Astaire, only better.

Tag went after the gnome, not knowing why. It just seemed like the thing to do. But the wily shit was too quick for him. It was always just out of his reach. Then it did another magic trick. It turned a tree stump into a ten-year-old boy. A naked ten-year-old boy.

Then the gnome waved a hand in the air and another tree stump appeared. Right in front of the boy. Then the gnome spoke. His voice sounded high-pitched and very snotty.

"Wiggy Woggy, now bend right over and let me take you in this clover!"

After that was said, the boy bent over the tree stump, his little naked butt up in the air. Tag tried to yell at him, but no words came out. He also tried to move, but couldn't. He watched, helplessly, as the slimy gnome mounted the boy from behind and inserted his long, thin, yellow penis into the boy's rectum. The boy seemed to be screaming something, but Tag couldn't hear him.

"Uggy Muggy, this is such glee, but before I cum I gotta pee!" With that, the nasty bastard started pissing in the boy's rectum. It flowed out around the gnomes yellow dick and glistened up the meadow's grass floor. Tag felt sick inside. And helpless.

As the gnome started ramming in and out of the poor kid's rectum, Tag, in his sleep, closed his eyes. But it was no use. He could still see. Right through his eyelids. Then the gnome seemed as if he was finished, for he stood up and came over to where Tag was standing. He danced around a bit before settling down right in front of Tag, less than three feet away.

Winking his left purple eye at Tag, he said, "Willa Nilla, a dollar, a diller, I've just toldya who's the killer!" Tag felt confused, bewildered, at sea. What had the beastly beast meant? What killer? What killer? What killer? What . . .

* * * * * *

IT WAS A NOISE that woke Tag up. And, at the same time as he opened his eyes, he knew what the nasty gnome was trying to tell him. He now knew who killed Wendy Wilde. And he even knew why. And he knew where the noise had come from. The room Wilde had used as an office. The room she had died in. And he knew who had caused that noise. The killer himself.

He slipped out of bed, the mattress creaking loudly, and sought out the Glock. He was a tad too late. There stood the killer, at the doorway, a gun in his hand and it was pointed right at him.

Tag said, "Hello, Hammy, fancy meeting you here." Tag looked at the gun in Worthy's hand. It was a .45 caliber, the kind with a big punch attached.

Worthy said, "Tag, Tag, Tag, caught you sleeping on the job. In more ways than one. Now, you just be a nice boy and toss that big old gun of yours onto the bed. By your fingertips only, please." Tag complied.

"Now," Worthy said. "Why don't you come into the room the old bat used an office and you can watch me hunt for my missing thingie. OK?"

"Sure, Ham, I like watching a man sweat while he works." Tag grinned at the man. Worthy grinned right back.

"Oh, I won't be sweating, Tag. I'm too refined for that nonsense. Come now, move it along, Tagman. And no funnies." The gun moved in a small circle, a circle aimed right at Tag's chest.

In Wilde's small office, Worthy ordered Tag to take a seat. "You just sit nicely for me while I figure out where it is. OK?" Tag nodded, but he had a question.

"Tell me, Ham, even if you find what I think you're looking for, don't you think the cops have a copy of it? Shit, I think I've read it all ready, so I'm sure they have."

Worthy immediately knew what Tag was referring to. "Oh, that little thing! Pish, Tag. That only shows I had a good motive to off the old bitch. It doesn't prove I killed her. It would be embarrassing, yes, but without the gun, which I assure you is long gone, I can stand having a red face." Worthy moved a few paces to his right and looked down at the carpet.

Then he said, as if sharing news with a confidante, "Haven't you figured out by now what it is I'm looking for, Mr. Clever House Dick?" It came to Tag.

"Well, the only thing I can see you sweating out this much is a shell casing. You find out you forgot to take them all with you?" Tag thought: How the fuck did the cops miss that? Worthy seemed to read his mind.

"Oh, yes, Tag, I truly sweated it out, I'll say. But when I wasn't arrested, I figured the cops had missed it somehow. I had to wait, of course, which, let me tell you, took ten years off my hide, but here we are."

Tag said, "Here were are, indeed."

"Now, Tag, you know about these things. The gun was a right ejector. I was standing approximately right there," he pointed to a spot on the carpet, "so, where do you think the little devil has gotten itself to?" Tag was all help.

"Well, if I were you, I'd try the top of that large, gold picture frame way over there." He pointed at a framed picture, a good ten feet from them. "Look along the top edge."

"My, my, you are a clever one, aren't you? Thanks." Without removing his eyes from Tag, Worthy made his way to the frame and reached a hand up and felt along the top. A second later he said, "Voila! Lookie here!" He held up the lost casing. He had a truly gleeful look on his face. It reminded Tag of the top hatted yellow gnome. Now he knew why the gnome looked familiar.

Tag said, "Well, goody goody for you, Hammy, and now that you've found your missing friend, can I go? I promised Lucy I'd read her a bedtime story. And, while I'm gathering my fairy tale books, why don't you just take that little trinket to Detective Hunger and tell him what a naughty boy you've been. He's a very understanding cop. Cries at weepy movies, from what I understand." Tag stood up and started moving toward the bedroom door. He was a good six feet closer to it than Worthy.

Worthy said, "Stop moving, Tag, or . . . " Tag ignore him and kept moving, slowly, but surely.

"Ham, I'll just go and get my Glock so the cleaning woman doesn't think it's an oddball's idea of a tip of some kind, OK?" He kept going. At the doorway he heard what he expected to hear.

Click . . . click . . . click. Tag turned, smiled at Worthy, and started back toward him. The poor man's mouth was agape. Tag reached behind himself and brought forth a pair of regulation handcuffs.

"I recognized your pearl handled gun, Ham, as Wilde's. I personally emptied the clip, on the day I met you, in fact. Now, old chum, you have two choices. One, you stick your arms out and let me slip these on you," he jingled the cuffs, "or two, you decide it's better if I beat the living shit out of you first. Choose a number, pal, from one to two."

Worthy's arms went out in front of him, one fist closed, the casing in it. Tag cuffed him and gently pried the closed hand open. He slapped the underside of the hand, forcing the casing into the air. They both watched as it land quietly on the carpet.

Tag said, "I figure your prints must be on it, otherwise you wouldn't have cared if they found it or not. Right?" Worthy nodded. "Careless of you, Ham, real sloppy. You must be new to the game of murder." Then Tag had another question.

"With all your millions, Ham, why didn't you just ignore Wilde? So she called you a few bad names. In public yet. So fucking what? Without real proof, and I'm sure she had no real proof, you might be embarrassed, but shit, you could have moved anywhere you wanted to, started a new life even. Why throw it all away? Why kill her?"

"You can't understand, Tag, I'm a man of high breeding and an impeccable reputation. I just can't run off to an island and live among the hairy natives. And, even if I were to simply retire, and without any trouble at all from Wilde, I would still have had to maintain my status and social standing in the publishing world. Without them, I'm nobody, a nothing, I'm a . . . "

"Oh, I do get it, Ham, I may not understand it, but I do get it. Wilde's assertions probably would have made all your froo-froo friends abandon you. And, to you, that would have been a fate worse then death. Am I right?" Worthy nodded.

"I would have had to kill myself, Tag." He had said this in a sober, matter-of-fact tone. Tag had no reason whatsoever not to believe him.

Tag reached behind Worthy and got a strong hold on the man's suit, right around the neck area. He marched him into the bedroom this way; his pushed up grip forcing Worthy to walk on tippy-toes. Then, keeping Worthy at a full arm's length from the bed, Tag reached out with his free hand and retrieved the Glock. He holstered it, giving it a love pat.

"Now, Ham, were off to see the Wizard." He released his hold on the man, led him out of Suite 912, and then straight to the elevator. As the elevator doors opened, Tag said to Worthy, "You believe in gnomes, Ham, of the yellow kind with purple eyes?"

Worthy just stared at Tag . . .

* * * * * *

AT THE GROUND FLOOR, Worthy got off first, with Tag close behind him.

Then, speak of the devil, there to greet them was none other than Detective Jack Hunger. He eyed the cuffs on Worthy, and then he looked at Tag.

Hunger pointed a thumb at Worthy. "I see Lucy finally managed to get a hold of you, and you, Tag, as I can plainly see, got a hold of our Wilde killer. Was he . . . ?"

"Lucy? What are you talking about? I haven't heard from her in hours now."

"Ha ha, well I'll be! I thought she told you how she figured out who the killer was. Old Mr. Worthy here. She called me all upset because you weren't answering the phone in 912 and . . . " Worthy piped in, "I had taken it off the hook." Hunger nodded and went on.

"She wanted to go up to 912, but I told her not to. Just in case. Told her I would do it. She said she figured it out from Wilde's papers. Well, I checked my copy and she was right. Only thing is, as I told her, we had no proof whatsoever. Still don't, I guess. So, unless you can pull a clue rabbit out of the hat, Tag, we'll have to let Mr. Worthy here go free." Worthy perked up a bit by the word free, but quickly perked back down.

Tag made a magician's flourish with his right hand. "Ta da! You'll find the metal-jacketed rabbit, Jack, ha ha, lying on the carpet in 912. With the fingerprints of my Worthy assistant here all over it. Seems the silly thing had been hiding on the top edge of a large picture frame. How your eagle-eyed people missed it is a mystery, but Mr. Worthy here was kind enough to find it for me. Thank Mr. Worthy, Detective Hunger."

"Thank you, Mr. Worthy, that was most considerate of you. But tell me, sir, how did you make the piece disappear?" The magic was still in vogue.

Worthy looked dejected. He sighed and said, "It's in the river, detective. I threw it off the ferry, somewhere in the middle of the crossing." He sighed again.

"Well, no matter. Even if we don't find it, the casing's good enough as evidence . . .

* * * * * *

"LUCY, YOU'RE A PIP!" Tag said, smiling at her. "And a regular Sherlock Holmes, Charlie Chan, and Miss Marple all rolled into one." He had just finished telling her about Worthy's arrest, including the shell-casing story.

"I are, ain't I?" She beamed at him. "Well, it was elementary, my dear Mr. Boneher-in-the-ear. Once I read about Wilde's plans to change publishers and put a mention about Worthy in her next book on pedophiles, as a pedophile, I saw he had a strong motive to do her in. I tried to get to you first, but you weren't answering the phone in 912. Then, when I spoke to Jack, he said there wasn't any proof. But I guess you had it figured out way before me . . . "

"Actually, I didn't. You beat me to the punch, Luce. I was totally in the dark until I met the gnome." He let that hang there, in the air.

"What gnome?"

"The yellow gnome."

"What yellow gnome?" Tag's fun hook was out, just looking for a fish.

"The yellow gnome with purple eyes, the one fooling around with the kid."

"What kid?" He had her good now; she was an inch away from the fun hook.

"The kid the yellow gnome made from a tree stump." Tag was enjoying himself.

"Tree stump?" Lucy looked slightly perplexed, but Tag knew the hook was set.

"Yeah, the tree stump. Then he made another tree stump and made the kid bend over it. Then the yellow gnome did it."

"Did what? Tell you that Worthy was the killer?"

"Nah, the yellow gnome was too tricky and devious, not to mention way too clever, to be that direct. He liked to play mind games with me. So he first sploshed in the kid's Hershey shoot."

"He did what in what?"

"Pissed in his ass. Got it all over the grass, too, the slob. Then he did his next nasty little trick, the rotten bastard pervert yellow gnome."

"What he do next?" She was all ears now. Her eyes were agog.

"He corn-holed the poor kid."

"What does that mean?" She honestly didn't know.

"He fucked the kid in the ass!"

"Oh! He did?"

"Yeah, with his long, thin, yellow gnome penis."

"Did the yellow gnome cum?" What a question. So Lucy like.

"I assume so. But I couldn't speak, so I couldn't ask him. Besides, even if I could speak, I doubt it would have done any good."

"Why not?"

"The yellow gnome spoke only in rhyme. With a Willa Nilla this and a Wiggy Woggy that and an Uggy Muggy thrown in for good measure." Again, he let it just hang.

"Huh? That kind of rhyme? That makes no sense at all, Tag."

"I know, that's why it was so hard to understand him. Of course, when he said, 'Willa Nilla, here's your killer,' or something like that, I woke right up.

"You woke up?" Dear, sweet Lucy. But it looked as if the fish was getting loose.

"Yeah, I do that every time I go to sleep. So far at least."

"And where did the yellow gnome go after you woke up? And what happened to the poor kid?" Sweet Lucy, still on the line.

"I don't know. They might have gotten married. The yellow gnome did look like one of those let's-settle-down-and-raise-babies type of gnomes." It was too much.

"Sounds like Jack!"

"Could be. Does he have a long, thin, yellow penis?" Tag laughed.

"Well, it's long, but it ain't thin, and about the color, I don't really know. The lights were out when we did it!" She giggled. "Next time, I'll surprise him with a flashlight! OK?"

"Ha ha ha! Oh, shit, Luce, I've got tears in my eyes! Flashlight! Ha ha ha!" He knew the fish had gotten free, but it didn't matter any more.

After Tag settled down a bit, Lucy said, "Tag, I know Wendy Wilde had it in real bad for Mr. Worthy, but why? You think they were lovers and he hurt her somehow?"

"Could be, but I don't see that. Worthy tolerated her because she was his cash cow, but his obsession with class and status wouldn't have allowed him to be linked to her romantically. Not with her sexual background. More likely, she either caught him cheating her on royalties or she just plain hated pedophiles. Maybe both. We'll never really know now, will we?" Lucy shook her head, agreeing with him.

"Taggie," Lucy said, sounding very I-want-something-from-you. "You wanna help a poor girl out?" She batted those eyes of hers again.

"Whatcha need, kiddo?"

"Well, right after you left for your beauty rest with your yellow gnome friend, Jack popped in and we had a quickie. Hush! And, since I have a late date with my Viking guy, and you just know I'm gonna fuck him, too, how would you like to be my middle man?" She smiled at him, looking very much the flirty coquette.

"You saying you wanna hit your first trifecta today?"

"Exactly! Shit, Tag, just thinking about it now is turning my pussy into boiling water. I even left Jack's cum in me, just for the extra excitement of knowing it's there. Wanna add yours to my . . . uh . . . Souffl� � la Fern?" She batted her eyes at him once more.

"Sure, Chef Lucy, and my famous pungency should add a zest to your recipe."

"Well, if you're good, Taggy Waggy, I'll let you taste some right from the oven . . . "

The End.
"From my mind, to your mind!"

"So many women, so little time!"