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It was another cheating case, and although those were pretty much the cases that paid my bills, I had to admit they were getting annoying. It was hard to stay happy, optimistic, and in love when you were constantly faced with the reality of the dirty, lying, nastiness of mankind.
Plus, if I never saw another old guy’s schlong, it would be too soon.
I parked in an alley, shot off a text to Carmen letting her know where and when to meet, then shot a thank you off to Shannon, who said she could watch the twins for me tonight. Finally, I sent Cade a brief message, letting him know where I’d be that night. I didn’t want to chance any more fights, even though the make-up sex was ridiculous, so I was doing my best to remain as transparent as possible.
Once I had all of my correspondence out of the way, I opened my file to remind myself who I was looking at.
Mrs. Beaverton suspected her husband, Mr. Beaverton, was cheating on her with a younger woman. She really didn’t care that he was dipping his wick in someone else’s wax, since she said she’d rather eat broken glass than sleep with him herself, but she wanted the proof just in case he tried to leave her. It was included in their prenup that if he cheats, she gets paid.
I walked through the alley until I reached the back of the house, then let myself in with the code that the Mrs. had provided.
I paused inside the house, keeping my breath even so I could hear any possible noises that would alert me if someone were coming. I heard something off in the distance, something like a woman’s laugh, then the pounding of feet above me, followed by the loud squeak of springs.
Surmising that they were in the bedroom, and had just moved their festivities to the bed, I moved through the house to the stairs, then took the steps slowly up.
When there was a distinctive creak beneath my feet, I paused, heart pounding, and kept my eyes up on the landing.
Please don’t let them have heard me…
When they didn’t come, I let out a shot of breath, then toed my shoes off and picked them up, shoving them deep into the recesses of my large over-the-shoulder bag. Once they were in, I grabbed my camera and secured it around my neck, then continued my ascent.
Once I reached the landing, I followed the sounds to a room down the hall with the door partially open, and peered inside.
I could see bodies moving on the bed, but couldn’t get a shot that would include both of their faces.
I needed to move farther in to the room.
I waited until I saw a few articles of clothing flung from the bed, and the covers come up to cover the newly naked bodies.
Thank God.
Pushing the door slowly, I crouched and sort of crab walked inside, just in case one of them happened to glance toward the doorway. I caught sight of a large dresser pushed up against the corner, with what looked like a good hidey-hole for me to slip in to, and crab walked my way to it.
Once I was somewhat secure, I raised my camera and waited for them to bob and weave so that I could get a good look. The man’s face bobbed into my viewfinder, and I waited patiently for the woman to get in frame as well.
I did my best to block out the groans and sounds of sweaty skin slapping against each other, but it was really hard when the woman started shouting shit out.
“Oh, yeah, give it to me hard…”
“C’mon, baby, bite me…”
I kept my camera steady and focused. Waiting … waiting … Waiting…
Oh, hell no, I thought, lowering my camera to get a better look. Yup, it is … Freakin’ Slutty Shirley Finkle was getting it on with Mr. Beaverton right in front of me.
I couldn’t believe she was over here breaking up another marriage. Is there something wrong with single guys? Was it the challenge? Or was she just an enemy of women?
I raised my camera again with new determination. This bitch was going down, and I was going to get the evidence my client needed to make sure no one was getting her money.
I got a couple shots off, but I wasn’t certain their faces were both clearly visible, so I wanted more.
“I burn for you, baby…”
That’s what Slutty Shirtley Finkle said.
What I said, out loud, was, “It’s probably the gonorrhea.”
Oh shit!
