Cee One Eff One (Part 1 of 2 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com,Post #246

 

ImageCourtesy of Depositphotos:                      

 

Does last week’s story of lostopportunities ring any bells. It rang a big one for me. It freaking tolled. MaybeI’ll write a story about it one day. Oh, I believe I did already. Think it wascalled “Jimmy.”

 

This week, let’s insert an air ofmystery in our two Part story. Maybe this one will stoke some memories, aswell. Here goes.

* * * *

CeeOne Eff One

When thephone rang at one a.m., I automatically glanced at the clock on my computerscreen. Friends know I usually work until two in the morning, but few of themphone me after midnight. I was at a crucial point in my latest murder mysterynovel—the third in the series—and didn’t really want an interruption, but Isuccumbed to my curiosity and picked up my cell.

“Hello,” Isaid, hoping my voice held just enough irritation but not too much. After all,it could be an emergency call. “Mars Thraxton here. Who is this?”

A voice thatseemed to come up out of some hunky guy’s testicles robbed me of my irritation.“See if you can guess.”

My piquereturned. “Not up to playing guessing games… or robo calls. Tell me who thisis, or I’m hanging up.”

“A friend.Someone who really likes your novels. Devoted reader, you might say.”

That voice.It grabbed me where it counted. “You sound interesting but not familiar.”

“You writedetective stories. You’ll figure it out.”

“No games,guy. Tell me or I’m ending this.”

“If youthink hard enough, you’ll—”

I’d nosooner punched the button to hang up on him than I regretted it. That was quitea voice. Somewhere between a growl and a purr. I hit the redial before Ioverthought my action, but got a non-responsive number like you sometimes getwith spam calls you don’t answer but try to call back.

That shouldhave been that, yet I was snared, but good. I sat before the computer with mymind reviewing everyone I knew. Couldn’t begin to figure out who my mysteriouscaller had been.

I’m notashamed to admit that I went to bed that night physically aroused by therecollection of that sexy voice. But I will swear to this day that I kept myhands off myself.

****

The nextmorning, my agent phoned me, and for a brief moment, I thought he might be mymysterious caller of the previous night. Caddo Damon’s voice was deep andinteresting in its own right, but it didn’t have the vibrato quality I’ddetected. Could he disguise it? I dunno.

“Caddo,” Isaid right in the middle of his description of a pitch to one of the big fivepublishers, “you have a deep voice. How much deeper can you make it?”

“What?What’re you talking about.”

“Humor me.Make your voice deeper.

“For cryingout loud, I’m trying to talk business here. But I guess you’re not the wackiestclient I’ve got. You experimenting for a scene in your book? Disguising voices?Well, if I was gonna do that, I’d go higher.”

“Just doit, Caddo.”

“Like Isay, I’d go higher,” he said in a voice lower in pitch than his normal speakingvoice. Interesting, but not the same. I’d never met Caddo, but I’d seen hispicture. He was a decent looking guy, and I might could have gotten up someinterest, but he was all business and married with a couple of kids… plus, hewas way off in New York somewhere. But I digress. He wasn’t my mystery caller.

Determinedto complete a difficult scene in my novel before the day was out, I turned mymind to writing. Was making decent progress too, until my computer warned me thatI had an incoming email. Sometimes I regretted setting the thing to go “bong” uponthe arrival of each new message, but for some reason, I was loath to kill thealert.

My ireprickled when I checked and saw an email from an aol.com with the odd name ofCee1Eff1. Crap. Belonged in the Spam folder most likely, but I opened it anywayand read the following:

Ifyou won’t talk to me over the phone, maybe you’ll read what I have to say.Still no clue? Think back. Way back. We were close then, although perhaps I wascloser than you were. Attached are a couple of photos. Nothing you haven’t seenbefore, but perhaps changed a little.

I openedthe first attachment and stared at a torso with chiseled abs, interesting pecswith a light sprinkling of hair between two large, brown aureoles. Rib cagetapered to trim waist with an interesting “innnie.”

The secondsnap was of a groin covered by bathing trunks. Good thighs with a downrightfascinating bulge hiding behind the material. Who was this guy?

I scrambledto open the third attachment and discovered an oblique view of a guy’s exposedbehind. Wasn’t exactly a bubble butt, but it was full and round and interestingas all get out.

I grabbedmy phone and hit redial, but the call still didn’t complete. I know some phoneshave settings that can block numbers, but I didn’t know how they worked.Dropping the cell on my desk, I swiveled to my computer.

Okay,you got my attention. But stop playing games. Who are you, and stop being coy. Youknow how to use a camera, so give me the rest.

My novelforgotten, I waited impatiently to see if there was anyone on the other end toreply to my message. A few minutes later, my desktop went “bong” again.

Thoughtthat might pull you out of your book. They’re good, by the way. I wasn’tkidding when I said I was a reader. But I’m not ready to reveal all. I have adate in a few minutes, so will be leaving. In the meantime take a look at thosephotos. There’s something in there that might kick off a memory or two.

“No, no!You can’t leave me like this!” I muttered aloud. “A clue, you said.”

I copiedthe three photos and spread them on the desk atop pages of my forgotten mysterynovel. Getting out a magnifying glass, I poured over those three images likeSherlock Holmes in his proverbial deerstalker seeking to uncover dastardlysecrets. I imagined the task was harder for me because I kept gettingdistracted by a downright sexy male torso, an intriguing groin hidden by askimpy swim garment, and a delicious butt that kept putting my libido betweenme and my primary task.

Butfinally, I did find something that ticked a memory. An inch or so above theleft nipple, a small brown mole triggered something. A mole. Why would that bemeaningful?

Because I’dseen it before. Or one like it in approximately the same place. Did that meanthis was a former lover?

I shook myhead. No. That memory—as ill-formed as it remained—wasn’t salacious. I’d seen thatmole in my younger days in Paris, Texas when we kids ran around like a wildpack. One of my buddies had a mole like that.

No, that wasn’tright. I could clearly remember the four kids I regularly palled around withback then. No, this was a hanger on. A younger kid. A pest. Always trying torun with us. He’d gone to the swimming hole with us a couple of times. That’swhere I’d seen that mole.

What washis name? Gary, Larry, Harry? None of those seemed right. I stared at that moleperched on that luscious chest like a brown bug and…

Bug! Thatwas it. I’d called the kid Bug because of that mole—when I wasn’t calling him Three-titty-Monte.What was his name? Didn’t matter. I had my way in now. I composed a message toCee1Eff1.

Okay,I got it now. Long time, no see, Bug. From what I can see, you grew up good. Wouldn’tmind a look at more… if you know what I mean.

I hit sendand tried to return to work, but it didn’t go well. All I could think of wasthat round, brown mole on that well-shaped trunk above that intriguing groin.And that didn’t even mention the fantastic naked behind.

Crap. He’dsaid he was leaving for a date. So he was out having a good time while I washome stewing. Who was he with? Guy… or gal. Somehow, that was important to me.

*.*.*.*.

Poor Mars. He’strying to create, and some guy’s jerking him around—and not in a good way. Heseems to be a decent detective. He’s picked up the trail from just a singlebrown mole. Wonder what happens next?

 

Until next week,

 

My contactinformation is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email:markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook:www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

Now mymantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.You have something to say, so say it!

See you later.

 

 

Mark

 

New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.