NaturesBounty(8)

Women are trouble in high heels.

Benny had been absolutely right on that one, and as Nate made the trek up the Pacific Coast Highway, he sternly shook off thoughts of just how much trouble he’d conjured between him and his quarry during his last masturbation fantasy. While he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, part of that fantasy had involved the handcuffs tucked in his pocket.

“Fuck, you need to get laid,” he muttered.

This was exactly why he’d developed a strict policy about the hows and whens of his sex life. Rule One, no sex while actively on the job. Rule Two, enjoy a wild ride to celebrate every successful capture. This allowed him to blow off enough sexual steam to bring him back around to Rule One for the next job. It was a policy that had settled into an important part of his routine. In his heyday, this meant he got around to Rule Two as much as twice a week, or at worst, every couple of months. Then his luck had plummeted, three big bounties in a row had slipped through his fingers, and the price for the last capture had been a curious neighbor’s life. That hadn’t counted as a reason to celebrate. No Rule Two for him for longer than he wanted to think about.

Tribal-type drumming was audible in the near distance, somewhere out by the ocean that he caught glimpses of between the tall, closely set apartment buildings. The scent of marijuana hit him too, but it failed to distract him from the depressing math he was doing. It should be the furthest thing from his mind as he approached the building, but the calculations took place anyway. Eight months, two weeks and three days. That had been his last celebratory fuck. It hadn’t been all that great, either. He’d bumped into an ex who was up for a quick recap of their sexual highlights, but neither he nor Debbie had really been into it. It had been an easy and convenient hookup, but not memorable.

Why was he thinking about sex again? Okay, so he was a guy, and his brain was automatically hardwired to shoot off random tit and pussy images at least every sixty-two-point-two seconds. The fact that he was dwelling on the subject, however, was another matter. Now was hardly the time for distractions.

A group of beachgoers walked past, and a giggling blonde thumped his balloons on the way. “Happy birthday, whoever,” she said merrily.

He was two buildings down from the Seashell Apartments now. He stopped and verified the address plastered on the side. “Focus,” he muttered to himself while he reset his gears and stared at the pink building. “Rule One.” It was game time.

Lydia was allegedly staying in unit 314, and he ran through the same quick mental check he always performed before approaching the suspected location of a skip. This time, however, the checkmarks lined up in a different set of columns.

Gun, no. Handcuffs, check. Backup, no. Badge and authorization papers, check. Balloons and thong underwear, check, and annoying as hell to boot. Not to mention the latter was completely unnecessary, but since the rest of his alleged “costume” wasn’t very stripper-like, he figured the requisite cock pouch with dental floss up his crack would make it more legit. After all, what if she wanted to check before letting him in?

Okay, so it had been a stupid impulse, but Nate was nothing if not a master of details when it came to his disguises. He might have stopped short at a full-body shave, but he didn’t know of many bond agents who would walk along Venice Beach with a suit, a satin thong and a handful of pink balloons. That was dedication.

He ducked inside the building where he was greeted by a strong whiff of damp, musty carpet while he checked out the surroundings. No doubt the humidity made it tough to keep things smelling dry and fresh at the beachfront. The bottom floor of the Seashell Apartments consisted of a row of mailboxes, a fire exit staircase, a back door leading out to the boardwalk and beach beyond, and a small elevator. The walls were pink, though more muted than the coral shade on the exterior.

Before heading upstairs, he wandered out the back door and glanced up the side of the building.

“Fire escapes,” he said, ticking it off on his mental checklist of potential exit points if the perp decided to run. He’d just have to make sure she didn’t get the chance.

After his architectural curiosity was satisfied, he went back inside and punched the elevator button. He waited an eternity for a loudly whirring piece of ancient history to reach the ground floor. The dingy elevator car creaked when he got in, and it was barely large enough for Nate and his balloons. He actually hesitated before getting in. No telling how many more trips the relic had left in it.

“Oh well, who wants to live forever?” he muttered as he got in and pressed the third-floor button.

The car groaned upward as if in physical pain, but he somehow made it upstairs in one piece. The third floor smelled better than the lobby, and it was strangely quieter up above the noise out on the boardwalk. The source of the tribal music was closer here, but it was muffled by the walls of the apartments on either side of him. Apartment 314 was on the right, meaning his jumper had the benefit of an ocean view. Benny hadn’t been far off about Lydia sitting on a beach sipping mai tais.