“You’re sure.”
“Some of the details are probably a little off. And I’m sure each transaction proceeds according to its own rules-but that’s the jist of it. Incidentally, the dough Arturo is banking for Lance was commission on an arms deal that involved the Palestinians, Israelis, Iranians, Libyans, Russkies, Irish Republican Army, American Presidential staff, Nicaraguans, Cubans, and television evangelists.”
“Evangelists?”
“They got a lot of moolah invested in protecting their property-overseas missions in some of the world’s favorite hot spots.”
“No slants?”
“Oh, yuh. Arms involved are Chinese AK47s. Purchase financed by a Japanese-based dumfrty consortium through a bank in Singapore.”
“You know, Griffith, depending on how the international money market moves-”
“That banking commission means even more. So even the series of monetary transfers should be structured with that in mind.”
“Morngana’s department?”
“No doubt.”
“How can we find out?”
“You can continue to observe.”
“You found out all that other stuff just by sniffing around Veronica’s ass?”
“I had some leads lying around my files from when I worked for Arturo before-”
“Such things even I did not know or suspect-”
“You were naive then.”
“Not now?”
She moved in close.
“Not with me you don’t,” Griffith said “Not tonight. Not at this gig, anyway.”
“Time to return to my husband. Any ideas where I may find him?”
“Shadow knows. But my bet is that he’s got his pecker up the butt of a co-conspirator.”
“Namely Morrigana Lafayette.”
“Got to hand it to you, Constance,” he slid his tongue into her ear. “You’re a quick read. I’ll make r a private eye out of you yet.”
“First tell me what the open screen door to my greenhouse meant the day I sent you on that wild pearl chase, and what happened to the missing set of fake duplicate flick-me beads.”
“That will have to be in due time indeed.”
He tongued her ear again.
Her body shivered and rippled as his hand slid over the hard tip of her left breast. His other hand drifted into the moist cleavage of her thighs.
Due time, indeed.
Chapter VII
Pearl-lined pussylips dripped semisolid globules of jissom, themselves assuming the effect of plasmic pearl mother. Constance lay on her back in the greenhouse of her private islet at Charity House. Her blouse was checked with peat, broken orchids were crushed beneath her seat.
In the daze of postorgasmic reflection, she watched as Griffith began his retreat toward the ongoing festivities of the polo tourney that highlighted Constance’s charity bazaar weekend. If only she could hang on through the ball that was to take place this evening.
If only Griffith could make out- “Please stay, Griffith.”
He turned suddenly at the screen door, as though not in response to Constance’s entreaty. “I got it,” he said with a jerk to his head. “Whoever it was who took the fake pearlies from the safe in your study that day sneaked into the greenhouse while you were gardening.”
“And switched the pearls on me? Griffith, you know where they were hidden.”
“Before you strung them up your bum.”
“I iced them in the champagne bucket for a few minutes prior to insertion. I-”
“While you were what?”
“Filling the hummingbird feeders with their nectar.”
“And that ice bucket was right by the garden set, next to the loveseat. With your ass turned-”
“Shit.”
Constance fiddled with the black pearls creamed in her and Griffith’s come.
“These are fakes?” Constance said.
“Well, the safe was bereft of pearls when Morrigana and I went through the contents. The ringer here is-I didn’t know at the time to look for them, and under the circumstances might well have over-looked them. Morrigana on the other hand made no mention of their absence as we took inventory.”
“So you still think she took-”
“That’s what we thought at first. And Morrigana did have time to make the switch while I was searching the greensward and polo ground.”
“But we suspected she would make sure that the screen door was reclosed-she’s the tidy and observant one.”
“Unless she was in a rush-like if she was making the mark when she saw me stroll up.”
“So what if Veronica switched the strands again somehow got hold of the realies and returned the bogus brand to the safe?”
“How’d Veronica get them from Morrigana?”
“She wouldn’t have to if she pilfered them from your lingerie herself to begin with.”
“But the decoys are kept in the safe. Veronica doesn’t know how to work the locks.”
“She could have found out.”
“Or they could be accomplices. “If we don’t know which set this is,” Constance shook her pearl-filled quim, “we need to have them checked. And there’s no time before the auction tonight.”
“No jewelry experts among the guests!”
“Arturo, of course. He should show up after dinner in time for the auction. But I wouldn’t trust his judgment even if I were certain he was not lying-for whatever reason that might be.”
Constance felt her mind quake.
Her asshole ached.
Her mind was a haze.
She rolled in the greenhouse mud.
Buds of flowers covering her besmirched skin. Colorful birds cackling and fluttering.
“You think it was Morrigana?” she chewed. “Veronica? Morrigana and Veronica together?”
“Close, but no cigar.”
“Who?”
“Circumstances favorable to the solutions of crimes often arise at these types of affairs, Constance. You know that from your own books.”
“That’s fiction.”
“And body friction. Now you handle your part of this investigation with the right flair-”
“I’ll be there. Even if we have to go with the fake ones this time.”
“Yo! Tally-ho and all that. I gotta scat.”
“Guess you better get a move on. And so do I. The final chukker of the last polo match has begun, hasn’t it? Pretty soon the tourney will be over and the real games will begin.”
Griffith strode the edges of the polo field. The horses were being cleared out as extraneous to the developing celebration. All manner of highbrow lowlife hobnobbing hijinxters milled about the battle-scarred green.
Debutantes dipped their hands into their dropped bodices and dredged out handkerchiefs while they adjusted their tits. Dandies pranced in boots and riding breeches, playing their mitts over the insistent outlines of their erectile peckers.
Griffith tricked a smile over his cheeks.
Took a gander at the selection of revelers randying up already for the evening’s gala.
The trophys had been given out to the qualifying polo teams, made up from among those dandies and dudesses who had donated exceedingly vulgar amounts of greenery to enhance the charity bazaar’s scenery. Of course a few professional ringers had taken their places on the polo squads, thereby adjusting the odds.
As in all gambling enterprises, the house made out-in this event it was Charity House.
Griffith smirked as the triumphant team was doused head to toe in champagne.
Sandor Kroughleigh, fashionable painter and photographer, philosopher-psychologist of the sexual arts, and dilettante-at-arms, rode barechested in an unbuttoned vest on the shoulders of two thoroughbred damsels with long dark tresses and opened dresses. He snapped the air with a fencing saber, attacking passers-by with cuts and thrusts to the cunt, rump, and breast.
Trevor, Alistair, and Nigel, the stars of the winning polo team, groveled before a bevy of buxom maids in topless riding dress. They filled their mouths with thick nipples.
Rolled the women’s riding breeches down over their fecund rumps.
Then began the thunder of their riding crops upon filly flesh.
Trevor saddled up one society belle and stuck his croplike cock into her from the rear.