Case of the Missing Twin

The  erotic  adventures  of  intrepid  detective  Miles
Diamond  kick  off  with  The  Case  of  the  Missing
Twin.  Miles is  a  genius  in  the bedroom,  although
he  is  often  at  a  loss  when  it  comes  to  solving
crimes. Unwilling to let his limitations stand in his
way, Miles constantly finds himself in a variety of
compromising  positions  with  a  cast  of  randy
studs—each  of  whom  harbors  a  secret  of  two  of
his  own.  Miles  diligently  sets  about  uncovering
everything  within  reach  as  he  tracks  down  the
elusive and delectable Daniel Travis.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted  work  is  illegal.  Criminal  copyright
infringement,  including  infringement  without
monetary  gain,  is  investigated  by  the  FBI  and  is
punishable  by  up  to  5  years  in  federal  prison and  a
fine of $250,000.

Please purchase only authorized electronic editions,
and do not participate in or encourage the electronic
piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the
author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are products of the author‟s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

The Case of the Missing Twin

ISBN: 978-1-55487-556-4

Cover art by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the
reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other
means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden
without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books

Look for us online at:

www.eXtasybooks.com

The Case of the Missing Twin

The Adventures of Miles Diamond

Derek Adams

Chapter One

t wasn‟t a good day, although you might not
have noticed, what, with the birds singing, the

blue  skies,  and  the  unseasonably  warm  breezes
blowing  in  off  the  Puget  Sound  through  the  city
streets.  It  was  the  sort  of  day  that  makes  folks
around  here  whistle,  sing  and  even  nod  in
greeting  to  bleary-eyed  characters  like  me  as  I
trudged along the sidewalk, looking like the losing
side  in  a  barroom  brawl.  Maybe,  under  different
circumstances, I would have been bounding along
cheerfully  myself,  smelling  the  salt  in  the  air  and
looking  for  robins…maybe.  As  it  was,  I  didn‟t
dare take a deep breath for fear that the change of
pressure  in  my  body  might  blow  the  top  of  my
head  off.  Just  squinting  at  the  pavement  through
tiny slits in my puffy  eyelids was bad enough—a
full-fledged stare at the brilliant morning sunshine
might very well have proved fatal.

I ducked into Lena‟s, which was blessedly dark,

and climbed onto a stool at the counter. Most of
the patrons looked rested and were gorging

Derek Adams

themselves  on  runny  eggs  and  greasy  slabs  of
bacon.  I  suppressed  a  shudder  and  tried  to focus
on  the  ashtray  directly  in  front  of  me.  I  had  to
study it for a minute before I could determine if it
had  two  butts  in  it,  or  maybe  three.  It  was  too
much  for  me  to  handle,  so  I  shut  my  eyes  and
prayed for sudden death.

“Coffee?”
I opened one eye tentatively. It was Lena, her

hennaed hair piled high. “Black,” I whispered, my
own voice sending shockwaves of agony up my
brain stem.

“Miles?” Lena shot me an appraising look over

the top of her glasses and set the coffeepot on the
counter with a sound reminiscent of the bombing
of Britain. “Honey, what happened? You look like
you got dragged the wrong way through a one-
way knothole.”

“Thanks, Lena. My latest case sort of fizzled out

on me last night.”

“From the looks of you, it must have blown up

in your face. Can I get you something to eat?”

“Just the coffee, thanks. Well, maybe a couple of

aspirin.”

“I‟ll leave the bottle.” She set a family-size

container of Bayer‟s finest in front of me and
patted my hand. I considered downing the bottle‟s
entire contents, but elected to try a wait-and-see
tactic and started with one small handful. They‟d

When I originally
wrote this, the
smoking was still
possible. I’ll just
take out the
reference, although
I do like the visual.

Not sure why this
line is indented so
far. Couldn’t back
space to fix. “Just
the coffee, thanks.
Well, maybe a
couple of aspirin.”

The Case of the Missing Twin

definitely be fighting an uphill battle, all the way.

It had seemed like such a sweet deal, too. I

hadn‟t  had  a  client  in  so  long  I  almost  hadn‟t
answered  the  phone  when  it  rang  last  Monday.
Daytime calls almost always led to harangues with
bill collectors and utility officials, dunning me for
money  that  I  didn‟t  have.  This  time,  however,  it
was a client—a real client with real cash.

Martha Siegal was an attractive woman in her

mid-forties  who  was  having  a bit  of  trouble with
her  husband.  It  seemed  he  wasn‟t  always  safely
underfoot at home when he should have been and
Martha wanted me to find out what he was up to.
She  gave  me  all  the  details—his  office  address,
hours,  friends,  clubs,  hangouts  and  habits—
leaving  me  in  some  doubt  as  to  why  she  needed
me in the first place. Then she wrote me a check, a
real  check  that  the  bank  cashed  without  blinking
an eye, and I put all my doubts aside.

Harley Siegal was about ten years younger than

his anxious wife, and born to wander. He was
quite a looker—tall, blond, athletic, with blue eyes
that could melt ice at ten paces—so it seemed my
job would be a pleasant one. All I had to do was
follow him around, keep track of his activities, and
report back to his worried wife. Piece of cake.

For two days, it all went along smooth as

clockwork. Then last night, the world fell apart
around me, literally. I‟d followed Harley into The

To dun someone is
to make an urgent
request, especially
for money. I
suppose we could
use ‘pester’ if you
think it is more
readily
understandable.

Derek Adams

Triple Door, a nightclub at Second and Union. He
took  a  table  near  the  band  and  I  sat  behind  him,
sipping a Johnnie Walker on the rocks and taking
in  the  clientele.  With  the  exception  of  Harley,  it
was a pretty undistinguished group, which helped
to focus my attention.

He sat there, all alone, for the better part of two

hours,  hitting  the  liquor  pretty  hard,  not  talking,
not looking around. When the band took a break,
he got up from his table and headed right for me.
As  he  passed,  I  got  the  impression  he  was
throwing a really heavy cruise my way. I sat there,
puzzling over the ramifications of that one, „til he
strolled back to his table. He didn‟t look my way
on his return, so I chalked it up to my imagination.

About half an hour and two drinks later, I got

up to go to the can. I hadn‟t even started to piss
before the door swung open and Harley sidled up
next to me at the trough-style urinal.

“Evening,” he said, his elbow brushing mine as

he unzipped his trousers.

I glanced over at him. He was looking my way,

but the trajectory of his gaze left little doubt as to
the  meaning  of  the  look  he‟d  given  me  earlier.  I
was  beginning  to  figure  I  had  the  answer  to  his
wife‟s  questions  regarding  what  he  was  up  to
when he wasn‟t keeping the home fires burning.

“Damn, you‟ve got a big dick,” Harley slurred.
He wasn‟t an original conversationalist, but I

The Case of the Missing Twin

thought  he  sounded  sincere.  So  sincere,  as  a
matter  of  fact,  that  my  cock  was  in  imminent
danger of showing him just how big it could get. I
wasn‟t  totally  convinced  that  pursuing  this  latest
development  to  its  logical  conclusion  could  be
justified  under  the  heading  of  fact  finding  when  I
filed a report later in the week. I was going to have
to fight hard to maintain my professional distance
on this one.

“Uh, thanks,” I muttered, trying to reel it in

before things got out of control. No such luck. His
hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around my
prick, gripping it firmly. He tugged on my handle
„til  I  was  facing  him,  pushed  me  against  the  half
wall  separating  the  urinal  from  the  sinks  and
dropped  to  his  knees  before  I  could  so  much  as
voice  a  protest.  Then  he  smacked  his  lips  noisily
and right away, I didn‟t have anything to protest
about.

Harley may not have been much for

conversation,  but  the  man  knew  how  to  suck  a
cock.  He  polished  my  knob  briefly,  tonguing  the
piss  hole  and  licking  all  around  the  ridge  of  the
crown.  Once  he  had  my  attention  totally  riveted,
he went to work on the shaft, licking its top, sides,
and bottom „til it glistened in the harsh light.

Once that phase of the inspection had been

carried out, he went for my balls, jamming them
into his mouth one at a time and sucking on them

Derek Adams

„til  my  toes  were  curling.  I  suppose  I  still  could
have  pushed  him  away  and  walked  out  of  the
place, but it‟s dangerous to upset a man who has
your nuts sucked halfway down his throat.

By now I was starting to leak like a broken pipe

from  Harley‟s  expert  attention,  my  pre-cum
dripping  down  onto  his  high  forehead  and
running  down  either  side  of  his  rather  patrician
nose.  I  glanced  down  and  noticed  that  he‟d  also
been  doing  five-finger  exercises  on  himself.  His
own  stiffer  was  no  slouch—it  jutted  out  from  the
fly of his trousers, the head a lip-smacking cherry
red.

I tried to pull him to his feet so I could take a

closer  look,  but  he  held  firm,  giving  me  clear
signals  that  this  was  his  show  and  he‟d  call  the
shots. Fine by me. I braced my elbows on the low
wall  behind  me  and  thrust  my  hips  forward,
content to let him blow me „til my head caved in.

I thought I heard someone at the door to the

bathroom,  but  when  I  looked  over  my  shoulder,
no one was visible, so I focused my full attention
back on Harley. He was bobbing up and down on
my  dick  like  a  precision  machine,  his  tongue
vibrating, his throat tight and hot. He‟d pull off „til
only the tip of his tongue was teasing at my cum
hole,  then  slam  forward,  smacking  his  forehead
into my tight gut. I‟ve got great endurance, but a
man can only take that type of pressure for so long

The Case of the Missing Twin

before the trigger trips. Harley tripped mine after
about ten delicious minutes. I grabbed him by the
ears and started humping his handsome face,
bouncing my balls off his cleft chin as I prepared
to blow. When the bathroom door flew open and I
felt a heavy hand on my shoulder it was way too
late to stop.

“That‟s it, buddy!” a gruff voice barked in my

ear.  I  jumped  back,  pulling  my  prick  out  of
Harley‟s  talented  throat.  My  first  shot  got  him
right  between  the  eyes,  splattering  all  over  his
face.  His  yelp  of  protest  turned  to  one  of  dismay
when he saw what was going on. We were busted,
plain  and  simple.  My  dick  kept  on  spouting  jism
all  over  Harley‟s  trousers  and  on  his  shoes  as  he
tried to back away from me and pretend he hadn‟t
just been giving me head. Poor guy didn‟t look too
convincing.

“Harley, you disgusting pervert!”
The voice was familiar, although I would never

have expected to hear it in  this particular setting.
Harley‟s dismayed expression transformed almost
instantly to one of abject terror. I turned and got a
glimpse  of  Mrs.  Siegal,  her  features  a  mask  of
murderous rage.

“He made me do it.”
Harley pointed a trembling finger my way,

obviously trying to make me the fall guy. I
scowled at him, mentally berating him for his lack

Derek Adams

of character.

“Shut up,” his wife screamed at him. “I‟ll deal

with you later.”

I didn‟t doubt that for a minute, from the way

she sounded.

“And as for you…” She spun around to me, her

face  a  very  unbecoming  shade  of  scarlet.  “I‟m
going  to  get  your  license  revoked.  I‟ll  have  you
run  out  of  town.  I‟ll…”  She  spluttered  to  a  stop,
but I had the general idea.

“Thanks,” I said, giving Harley a little nod. I

tucked my cock back into my pants and started to
leave.

“Stop him, Arlo!”
I got the sudden feeling that Martha wasn‟t

finished  playing  the  injured  spouse  quite  yet.
Arlo,  the  guy  with  the  gruff  voice,  was  big.  He
stopped me with no trouble at all.

“Check his pockets. He‟s got my money and I

want it back.”

Arlo frisked me and lifted my wallet. I‟d only

spent a fraction of the thousand and I winced as I
saw  it  slipping  back  into  Mrs.  Siegal‟s  well-
manicured  grasp.  Arlo  tossed  my  wallet  into  the
urinal  with  a  nasty  laugh.  I  retrieved  it,  wiped  it
on Harley‟s sleeve—he was rapidly slipping in my
estimation anyway—and turned to leave.

“You‟re a hundred short, Diamond,” she

snapped venomously. “I want my money and I

The Case of the Missing Twin

want it quick, or I‟ll have the police on your ass.”

“I don‟t have any other money,” I protested

weakly.

“Then you‟d better go out and peddle your

wares on the street until you get it. You owe me a
hundred bucks and I want it tomorrow,
Diamond.”

“But…” I began, my heart sinking into my

shoes.

“Throw him out, Arlo,” the Mrs. snapped,

effectively ending our exchange of views
regarding my current financial situation.

“I‟m leaving,” I protested, quickening my pace.
“Throw him out!” she reiterated, leaving Arlo

with no choice, but to obey.

He grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and

the seat of my pants, carried me through the club,
and showed me how to get down a long flight of
stairs  without  using  my  feet.  I  landed  at  the
bottom  like  a  sack  of  bricks,  dazed  and  out  of
breath. I might have sat there for a few minutes to
collect myself, but Arlo was thundering down the
stairs,  so  I  staggered  to  my  feet  and  beat  a  hasty
retreat out into the night.

“Hey, Diamond!”
I jumped and spun around, ready to pick up

my pace if Arlo was still in pursuit. I relaxed when
I recognized Perry, an old buddy of mine who was
the chef at an area restaurant.

Derek Adams

“What the hell happened to you?”
He was eyeing my jacket—one of the sleeves

had  parted  company  with  the  shoulder  seam.  “I
tripped,”  I  muttered  sullenly,  not  quite  prepared
to be conversational.

“Tough luck, guy,” Perry commiserated, falling

into step beside me. “I‟ve got a fifth of the finest
back at my place. Wanna talk about it?”

Perry had known me long enough to figure I

wasn‟t being totally candid with him.

“Your fly‟s open,” he added, looking discreetly

away while I remedied the situation.

Perry‟s liquor supply had been much more

extensive than he‟d indicated, contributing greatly
to  my  current  suffering.  I  probably  should  never
have  started  knocking  back  the  shots  of  amaretto
along  with  the  scotch,  but  it  was  a  little  late  to
regret  that  now.  I  groaned  softly  and  my  head
sank a little lower between my shoulders.

“Miles? Miles!”
My eyes snapped open and Lena was with me

again, pot in hand.

“You ready for a refill, honey?”
I slugged down the dregs and held out my cup.

She shook her head and pursed her lips as she
reached out to steady my hand.

“Miles,” she clucked, “you should go home and

go to bed. I don‟t think coffee‟s going to help.”

The Case of the Missing Twin

“Thanks, Lena.” I attempted a grin, although to

judge  from  her  concerned  expression,  the  effort
wasn‟t much of a success so I gave it up. When I
pulled out my wallet to pay the bill the events of
the  previous  night  came  roaring  back  in  blazing
detail. “Can I put it on my tab?” I winced.

“That bad, huh? Forget it, honey. You just go

home and get some sleep.”

“Thanks. See you around, Lena.”
I left the restaurant, cursing the sunlight. I

didn‟t  feel  appreciably better,  but  at  least  I  could
open  my  eyes without  fear  of  instant  blindness.  I
turned  my  steps  to  Western  and  Columbia,  an
area  near  the  viaduct  that  had,  so  far,  escaped
urban  renewal.  My  building  was  a  Victorian-era
catastrophe that was in danger of losing a century-
long battle with gravity.

Once inside, I shuffled down the hall, dodging

sleeping  bums  and  piles  of  uncollected  trash.  I‟d
just stepped over Three-Bag Annie and her friend
Archie,  so  I  knew  I  was  getting  warm.  I  scanned
the  doors  all  along  the  corridor.  Tucked  between
the bathroom with its out of order sign and a broom
closet,  the  words  Miles  Diamond,  Private  Detective
flashed at me, not quite obscured by the grime on
the  frosted  glass.  One  advantage  to  having  your
own  name  painted  on  a  door  in  three-inch-high
letters  is  that  you  can  usually  find  your  way  to
work.

Derek Adams

I stepped inside, flopped down in my desk

chair,  folded  my  arms  and  laid  my  head  down
wearily,  still  waiting  for  the  damned  caffeine  to
kick  in.  Things  weren‟t  looking  good  at  all.  I‟d
really  been  counting  on  Mrs.  Siegal‟s  retainer  to
fend off my creditors. Now, I was back to square
one.  Actually,  it  was  worse  than  that.  I  had  no
doubt that she would make good on her threat to
go  to  the  police  if  I  didn‟t  come  up  with  the
hundred.  Hell,  it  might  as  well  have  been  a
million.  My  total  assets  were  here,  contained
within these four walls.

I raised my head and looked around me. The

office  was  painted  a  shade  of  green  that  I  had
never  seen  duplicated  in  nature.  It  could  make
you  feel  bilious,  nauseous,  or  claustrophobic,
depending on your frame of mind. Aside from the
battered  oak  desk  and  the  chair  I  was  sitting  in,
the  only  other  piece  of  furniture  in  the  small
cubicle  was  an  ancient leather  sofa  that  had once
been  brown,  but  had  faded  to  the  color  of  dust.
Throw  in  a  framed  photograph  of  J.  Edgar
Hoover,  contributed  to  the  decor  by  some  long
forgotten  occupant,  and  you  have  a  pretty  good
overall view of the universe as it existed for me on
March 20th. It wasn‟t a pretty picture.

Things hadn‟t always been this gloomy. I

actually grew up in a relatively normal, middle-
class environment with the same expectations

The Case of the Missing Twin

most  of  the  other  kids  in  the  neighborhood  had.
My  problem  was  focus—I  didn‟t  seem  to  have
one.  Nothing  claimed  my  interest  for  long  except
sex.

When I flunked out of the University of

Washington  during  my  junior  year,  my  folks
threw up their hands and told me I was out on my
own. At the time, my father confided in me that he
had  always  expected  one  of  his  children  to  be  a
total  failure—the  fact  that  I  was  an  only  child
made his assessment weigh heavily on my mind.

Since that time, I‟d worked at a number of jobs,

each one worse than the one preceding it. Of late,
I‟ve  taken  to  calling  myself  a  detective,  but  I‟ve
been  having  a  little  trouble  convincing  the  world
that I‟m serious about it. To be honest, most of my
experience has come from watching  old film noir
flicks  from  the  Forties.  I‟ve  taken  a  couple  of
classes  at  Pinkerton‟s  and  even  sent  in  for  one  of
those  correspondence  courses  I  found  advertised
on a book of matches. I bogged down on that after
the third installment, but I plan to finish it up any
day  now.  Bottom  line,  barring  a  miracle,  it  was
beginning  to  look  like  I‟d  be  back  with  the  want
ads come May 1st.

I figured that by then the electric company, the

phone company and the landlord would all have
caught up with me. That shouldn‟t be too hard to
do, since I‟d been sleeping on the broken-down

Derek Adams

couch  in  my  office  for  the  past  three  months,
having given up my apartment as an unnecessary
expense.  If  I  hadn‟t  managed  to  spend  several
nights  a  week  with  one  obliging  young  man  or
another,  that  damned  couch  would  have  broken
my back by now.

Luckily, I have a reputation around town as

something of a virtuoso performer in the sack, so I
generally  have  my  pick  of  the  eligible  bachelors
who  are  out  prowling  on  any  given  night.  Hey,
I‟m not bragging—well, not too much. At the ripe
old age of thirty, I‟m lucky enough to have a tight
body that still resists the effects of all the junk food
I cram into it. If you like your men tall and dark,
easy on the eye, built but not bulky, covered with
silky black fur in all the right places, then I‟m your
guy.

The miracle I‟d been hoping for arrived at a few

minutes after eleven. I saw a shadowy figure walk
past the door two or three times, hesitate, then rap
on the glass with bare knuckles.

“It‟s open,” I called out, hoping I didn‟t look as

hung over as I felt.

“Miles Diamond?”
“That‟s me.” I glanced at the sign on my door

for confirmation. “What can I do for you?”

“I need your help.”
I immediately thought of about six kinds of

help I wanted to give him, any one of which

The Case of the Missing Twin

would have kept him busy „til sundown. The guy
was  a  real  looker—a  strong-featured,  Nordic
blond with eyes the color of cornflowers. From the
way  he  was  filling  out  his  pants  and  the  t-shirt
under  his  leather  jacket,  it  looked  like  his  tailor
was  experiencing  a  serious  fabric  shortage.  His
calves  bulged,  his  thighs  bulged,  his  chest—well,
you  get  the  picture.  I  got  it  too  and  my  blood
pressure started to rise noticeably.

“At your service, Mr.…” I paused for him to fill

in the blank, smiling reassuringly.

“Travis. David Travis.”
“Well, Mr. Travis, what kind of help are you in

the market for?”

“I want you to find someone for me. It‟s very

important that you be thorough and very discreet.
Money is no object.”

That took my attention away from the fat bulge

in his crotch. “Who are we looking for?”

“My twin brother, Daniel Travis.”
“That should be a pleasure.” I grinned at him,

but  he  didn‟t  grin  back.  “Just  stick  to  the  salient
details,”  I  drawled,  scrambling  around in  the  top
drawer of my desk, looking for paper.

“Well, Mr. Diamond, Dan and I flew back to

San Francisco from Paris two weeks ago to be with
our grandfather on his eightieth birthday.
Unfortunately, Dan and Grandfather had a serious
argument over money. So serious that

Derek Adams

Grandfather had to be rushed to the intensive care
unit at St. Francis Hospital. He has a bad heart.”

David turned the full force of his eyes on me

and I started to sweat.

“The next day, Dan flew up here to take

delivery  of  a  new  sailboat  he‟d  had  built.  There
was an accident—the diesel line for the generator
leaked and there was an explosion. The boat sank
and  my  brother‟s  body  was  burned  beyond
recognition.  Officially,  the  case  has  been  closed.”
He  paused  for  a  moment,  looking  over  my
shoulder at the grimy green wall.

“And unofficially?” My patience was wearing

thin as I contemplated just how much money
would be no object.

“Unofficially, I don‟t think Dan is dead. I‟ve got

no proof, but I have a gut feeling that he‟s alive
somewhere and I‟ve got to find him.”

“Didn‟t the autopsy establish beyond a doubt

that your brother was the man they found with
the wreckage?”

“Not only was the body badly burned, Mr.

Diamond,  but  when  it  washed  ashore…”  The
young  man  shuddered,  then  continued  in  a  tight
voice. “The head was missing.”

“So, we‟ve got no fingerprints and no dental

records to check. And, understandably, you don‟t
want to believe he‟s really dead.”

“Yes, Mr. Diamond. I‟d give it up, but I keep

The Case of the Missing Twin

having  the  feeling  that  he‟s  trying  to  signal  me.
Dan and I were always very close. It‟s like there‟s
some kind of psychic bond between us. It‟s not all
that uncommon among sets of twins. Since I have
nothing but that to go on, I‟m  trying to keep this
quiet.  That‟s  why  I  came  up  here,  rather  than
consulting someone in San Francisco.”

All of a sudden, a bell rang—a golden bell.

Travis  and  San  Francisco.  That  would  be  Travis
Air,  Travis  Timber,  Travis  Real  Estate
Development,  and  Senator  Travis.  I  could  smell
money  in  the  air.  If  I‟d  taken  a  deep  breath,  I
probably would have smelled a rat as well, but it
was a rich rat so I took a couple of shallow breaths
instead and plunged on.

“Why did you come to me?” I asked, my

curiosity on that topic getting the better of me.

“I told you, I need discretion. I asked around

and no one had ever heard of you, so here I am.”

“I see.” I couldn‟t fault his honesty so far. I set

about building his confidence.  “Do you have any
idea  of  what  might  have  happened  to  him?”  I
looked him over again—a pleasant task, no matter
how often I repeated it.

“If I thought I could find him myself, I

wouldn‟t be here,” he retorted, giving me a
condescending glance.

“I‟m just trying to get some background, Mr.

Travis.” I‟d read far enough in the damned lessons

Derek Adams

to know that.

“Sorry.” He softened his tone. “It‟s just that I‟ve

been so worried about Dan I don‟t know what to
do.” A big tear was glistening in the corner of one
of  his  gorgeous  blue  eyes.  I  rose  up  out  of  my
chair, ready to offer a comforting shoulder for him
to  lay  his  magnificent  head  on.  “You‟re  my  last
hope, Mr. Diamond.”

You‟re in real trouble, buddy, I thought, but

didn‟t  say.  I  just  stood  there,  about  a  foot  from
him, looking strong and competent. Or maybe that
was  horny  and  ready  to  screw—I  always  did  get
my  looks  mixed  up.  “Is  there  anything  at  all  you
can give me to go on, David? I can‟t work in a total
vacuum.”  I  rested  my  hand  tentatively  on  his
broad shoulder.

He smiled bravely and tossed his head to coax a

stray  lock  of  his  blond  mane  back  off  his  broad
forehead.  It  didn‟t  do  much  for  his  hair,  but  the
effect  on  me  was  immediate.  “I‟ve  been  trying  to
shake this feeling because I don‟t want to get my
hopes up too much. Then, just the other day, I was
going  through  some  of  his  things,  and  I  came
across  this  card.  I  hadn‟t  noticed  it  before.”  He
handed  me  a  plain  pasteboard  business  card  that
read Nelson Chin Imports, Seattle. Very vague.

“Ring any bells?” I asked, handing it back to

him. Our fingertips brushed, triggering a tingling
sensation right at the base of my cock. Looking

The Case of the Missing Twin

back, I now know that any idiot with even half a
mind would have realized that Travis‟s story had
more holes in it than a kitchen strainer.
Unfortunately, my little brain was totally occupied
with other, more pressing concerns—like whether
his lips felt as lush and sensuous as they appeared
to be. Like I said, maybe I was in the wrong line of
work.

“None, Mr. Diamond. I want to confront Chin,

but I don‟t want him to know that I‟m behind the
questioning.  I‟ve  discovered  that  he‟s  a  pretty
shady  character,  and  I  desperately  want  to  avoid
anything that might cast a bad light on my brother
if  he  really  is  dead.  Our  grandfather  is  our  only
living relative, Mr. Diamond. He‟s quite old and in
poor  health.  I‟m  afraid  any  hint  of  scandal
concerning Dan would kill him. I‟ve been thinking
that I should just let the whole issue drop, but as I
told  you,  I  can‟t  believe  he‟s  really  dead.  Chin  is
the only link I haven‟t examined. If you‟d just talk
to  him,  then  perhaps  I  could  put  the  whole issue
behind me. Have you ever had any dealings with
him?”

“I‟ve heard of him,” I answered confidently. I

hadn‟t,  of  course,  but  client  confidence  is  a  very
important  thing  to  nurture,  especially  before
you‟ve discussed fees.

“You‟ll talk to him then?”
David looked so fetchingly anxious—how

Derek Adams

could I refuse? “Sure, I‟ll talk to him. I have ways
to get in to see almost anyone in town.” Another
exaggeration, I fear. But those eyes!

“I have to return to San Francisco today. I don‟t

want  anyone  to  know  I‟ve  been  here,  for  my
grandfather‟s  sake.  If  you  learn  anything  at  all,  I
want you to follow it—wherever it leads.”

“Leave it all to me, David.” I smiled confidently

at him.

“There‟s just one more thing. My brother and I

both have two birthmarks which would make it
quite easy to make a definite identification, should
you discover anything.”

“Hey, you‟re twins, right? How could I miss a

face like yours?”

“I‟m just trying to think of anything at all that

might be of assistance to you, Mr. Diamond.”

“Miles,” I offered. “Believe me, David, I‟ll be

happy to look at anything you want to show me.”

He shucked off his coat and pulled his shirt up

over his succulent pecs. On the left side, just above
a  big  pinkish-brown  nipple,  was  a  small
strawberry birthmark, shaped vaguely like a heart.
No  other  distinguishing  scars  set  his  body  apart
from  any  of  the  other  examples  of  physical
perfection  I‟d  ogled  over  the  years,  but  the  view
was a pleasant one. My eyes wandered down over
his flat belly—I could think of several moves that
would tense it up like a washboard.

Let’s leave him
standing.

Let’s go with
‘pinkish’

The Case of the Missing Twin

“And the other one?” I asked, forcing my eyes

back to his face.

He turned around slowly and pushed his pants

down  to  his  knees.  A  tiny  pink  handprint,  no
bigger  than  a  quarter,  stared  up  at  me  from  his
right cheek, quivering slightly when he shifted his
weight. Without even thinking, I reached out and
caressed his sleek ass. He looked over his shoulder
and winked at me, at the same time thrusting his
butt  back  in  what  seemed  an  open  invitation.  I
petted him again and he practically purred. It was
all the encouragement I needed. I dropped to my
knees to have another look at the telltale mark.

My aim must not have been as good as I‟d

thought, because, next thing I knew, I was staring
at his quivering rosebud of an asshole. Fine golden
hairs  ringed  it,  lying  flat  and  damp  against  his
cheeks.  I  flicked  my  tongue  along  his  crack,
pausing to tease the tight pucker on my way down
to his big fuzzy balls. He pushed back against my
face with a smack and I gave in to the impulse to
play hide and seek with my tongue. He bent over,
spread his cheeks, and opened wide.

“Oh, man, that‟s so good. Don‟t stop. Don‟t

ever stop.”

I obeyed readily, we still hadn‟t gotten around

to talking money after all, and I wanted to get him
in the right frame of mind. I jammed my tongue in
right up to the root, reached between his legs,

Go with the
commas

Derek Adams

grabbed his hard prick and used it to hold his butt
against  my  face.  With  my  free  hand,  I  fumbled
with  my  belt  and  zipper  and  released  my  cock
from the confines of my pants. It popped up like a
flagpole, already starting to drool.

I rimmed his tight butt voraciously, nipping

gently at his sweet little ass lips from time to time.
Judging by the way  that he was writhing around
after a few minutes of this treatment, I figured he
was about ready for a change of pace. I gave him a
couple  of  farewell  licks,  stood  up,  grabbed  his
golden  mane,  bent  him  over  at  the  waist  and
pointed my cock toward the gates of paradise.

I watched in amazement as he rammed himself

back to my short-and-curlies in one brusque move.
No need for warm-ups here. I grabbed him by the
waist and went at it top speed—pulling out „til his
ass ring was just grabbing me by the crown, then
slamming back in „til my balls bounced against
his.

David braced his arms on the back of the couch,

legs spread wide. I was pounding him so hard that
his  head  bounced  against  the  wall  every  time  I
drove it home, but he was still begging for more.
Finally,  my  balls  snapped  up  in  a  knot  and  I
squirted  cum  up  into  him  „til  it  drooled  out
around the base of my prick and splattered on the
bare floor of my office.

Ever the gentleman, I reached between his legs

The Case of the Missing Twin

to help him out as soon as I caught my breath. His
dick flexed against my palm, filling my hand with
hot juice before I‟d done a dozen strokes. When he
came  his  ass  ring  clamped  down  on  me  like  a
vise—If  it‟d  had  teeth,  I  would‟ve  been  in  big
trouble.

He pulled off me, sprawled back on the couch

and  grabbed  his  ankles,  lifting  his  legs  and
spreading  them  wide.  “This  time  around,  I  want
to watch you fuck me. I want to see your big prick
slipping in and out of me.” He leered at me, sweat
beading  on  his  upper  lip.  I  leered  right  back,
dropped to my knees and took aim once again.

By the time David Travis left my office, I‟d had

a thorough workout. He was still raring to go on
to round three, but I‟ve always been a believer in
moderation, so I gently pushed him out the door,
grabbing  his  ass  in  fond  farewell.  Even  without
the  four  grand  in  crisp,  new  one-hundred  dollar
bills that he‟d put on my desk as he left, I‟d have
been willing to look long and hard for anything he
wanted,  just  so  I  could  bring  it  back  and  maybe
spread those golden thighs again.

“Well, well. If it isn‟t Miles Diamond, not-so-

private dick, hard at work again.”

I looked up. Rudy Vale, the guy who had the

office directly across from me, was leaning against
the doorframe, taking a quick inventory of my

Derek Adams

new client‟s visible assets as he disappeared down
the hall. I smiled cheerfully and flipped him off.
He followed me into my office and shut the door.

“Mind if I use your phone, Diamond? The

phone  company  took  mine,  cord  and  all,  and  left
me  a  nasty  ransom  note.  Oh,  well,  business  is  so
bad I don‟t think I‟ll miss it all that much.”

Rudy billed himself as a consultant, but I‟d

never  caught  him  in  the  act  so  I  didn‟t  have  any
idea what type of advice he was passing out. His
current  plight  led  me  to  believe  it  was  nothing
anyone was willing to pay for.

“You‟re still in service, aren‟t you?”
“Yeah,” I replied smugly. “For your

information, business has just picked up. I may
even have the place redecorated.”

“You don‟t mean to say he paid you for what I

couldn‟t help overhearing for the last three-
quarters of an hour?”

“That was a bonus. He just happens to be my

new client.”

“Great. A quarter here, a quarter there—keep it

up and you just might be able to afford a
newspaper to start job hunting.”

“Eat your heart out, Rudy.” I picked the cash

up off my desk and fanned it out like a winning
poker hand.

“Jesus, Diamond! You really do have a client!

So, what gives?”

The Case of the Missing Twin

I remained silent, relishing his curiosity.
“Look, Miles, I know there‟s nothing you can

do with your private parts that‟s worth that kind
of bread, so why don‟t you just spill it?”

“This is strictly professional, buddy. I am

embarking on a very important case. Missing
person, absolute discretion required.”

“I‟d love to know what line you used on the

poor  sucker  to  get  him  to  part  with  that  wad.  So
what happened? Did his aging mother wander off
and  get  lost  in  the  produce  department  at
Safeway?”

“Petty jealousy really cheapens you, Vale. This

is a sticky situation and he‟s turned to me for
help.”

“Well, you‟re obviously familiar with sticky

situations.” He eyed the globs of cum on the back
of the sofa and shook his head. “I‟ll make my call
and let you get back to work.”

“What‟s up?”
“I have to cancel a date tonight. The bank

confiscated my checkbook. The world is closing in
on me.”

“Here,” I pushed a crisp hundred-dollar bill

across to him. “As card-carrying members of the
underclass, we‟ve got to stick together.”

“I know I should square my jaw and refuse

nobly, but…” He pocketed the cash and stood in
the doorway with his arms folded. “So who is this

Derek Adams

mysterious client, Miles?”

“His name is David Travis. He‟s on the lookout

for his dead brother.”

“Given a detailed map of the cemetery, I think

even you might be able to find him.”

“Very funny, Vale. He doesn‟t believe his

brother  is  really  dead.  Twins  often  know  things
like  that.”  I  glared  at  him  balefully.  I  was  in  no
mood to have  my myriad limitations pointed out
to  me.  Rudy  had  been  privy  to  several  of  my
business problems since we‟d met and I think his
confidence  in  my  abilities  had  been  unfavorably
influenced. Maybe I talked too much.

“The Travis twins? You‟re kidding!”
“Does this look like a joke?” I waved the cash at

him again. “If it is, I‟m ready to laugh.”

“Those people have all the money in the world.

Why would he come looking for you? You have to
admit your record is a little spotty, to say the
least.”

“He wanted total discretion.”
“He got total obscurity, Miles. Face it, buddy,

something isn‟t quite right here.”

“The cash is real, isn‟t it?” I was clinging to this

line of reasoning, because I couldn‟t answer any of
his other questions.

“It appears to be.” Rudy looked at the bills

carefully. “They‟re real, or a damned good copy. I
still think this is a setup.”

The Case of the Missing Twin

“Pessimist.” I looked him over appraisingly. He

looked  as  good  as  always.  Rudy  was  a  tall
redhead  with  a  body  out  of  a  wet  dream,  and
when  we first  met,  I‟d  had  a  hard-on  for  him  for
weeks.  Then  we‟d  gotten  to  be  friends  and  the
moment had never seemed right to make a pass at
him.  I  still  wondered  if  his  butt  was  smooth  and
freckled  like  his  handsome  face,  or  dense  in
coppery  hair  like  his  arms  and  chest.  Maybe
someday I‟d find out.

Pushing these unproductive thoughts aside, I

rummaged  around  in  the  bottom  drawer  of  my
rickety  old  desk,  digging  for  the  yellow  pages.
There  were  no  Nelson  Chins  in  the  import
business as far as I could make out, but there were
two listed in the white pages. The first call netted
me a quick course in the finer points of  speaking
Chinese;  the  second  was  a  disconnect.  So  far,  so
bad.

“Stumped already, Miles?” Rudy was grinning

at me wickedly.

“I have four thousand dollars in my hand,

Rudy. Never underestimate me.”

“Three thousand nine hundred,” he corrected

me. “Word has it you had a thousand in your
pocket last night.”

I looked up at him sharply. “How the hell did

you hear about that?”

“Perry Martin‟s sister lives in the same

Derek Adams

apartment building I do, remember? We ride the
bus together.”

“That‟s the last time I tell anyone anything,” I

groused. All of my disasters seemed to play to
large audiences. It wasn‟t fair.

The phone rang shrilly, startling the hell out of

me.

“Diamond,” I barked into the receiver, putting

a hard edge on the old delivery. Knocks „em over
almost every time.

After a brief pause, a muffled voice with a trace

of an accent I couldn‟t place hissed at me over the
wires. “Stay away from Travis and you may live
long enough to start collecting unemployment, my
friend.”

“What?” I spluttered, somewhat taken aback by

this turn of events. My caller didn‟t care to
elaborate and hung up noisily.

“Creditors?” Rudy was studying my face

closely. I shook my head. “I didn‟t think so.
What‟s up?”

“Just a friendly warning to keep my nose out of

this case.”

“Good news travels fast. Maybe you should

pay attention.”

“I can‟t. I need this money. You need this

money. I can‟t just throw in the towel before I even
get started. No, Rudy,” I intoned, stabbing at the
air for emphasis, “Miles Diamond is hot on the

The Case of the Missing Twin

trail.”

“Oh brother.” Rudy shook his head and walked

out of the office.

I didn‟t know whether I wanted to kick his butt

or fuck it—maybe a little of both.

Derek Adams

Chapter Two

have to admit the phone call unnerved me
somewhat. It was obvious that persons

unknown  were  on Travis‟s  trail  and  they  weren‟t
happy about his decision to call in reinforcements.
Once  away  from  the distractions  provided  by  his
face and body, I must admit that even I was hard
pressed to accept his story at face value. No matter
what I‟d said to Rudy, I couldn‟t buy the intuition
bit  or  give  much  credit  to  his  claims  of  a  psychic
bond  with  his  brother.  That  meant  he  must  have
had something else to go on—but what? Maybe I
should  have  grilled  him  a  little  more  intensively
before I drilled him.

I recalled reading something in the Seattle

Times  not  long  ago  about  an  explosion  in  one  of
the  boat  yards  on  Lake  Union,  but  I  hadn‟t  paid
much  attention  at  the  time.  I  opened  the  upper
right  drawer  in  my  desk  and  riffled  through  the
pile of business cards, matchbooks, and slivers of
paper that constituted my address book. I‟d spent

The Case of the Missing Twin

the evening not long ago with a guy who worked
at the public library. With any luck, he might still
remember our tryst in a fond enough light to do a
bit of footwork for me.

“Rob Marley, please.” I tapped Chin‟s card

against the edge of the desk while the connection
was being made. I still couldn‟t figure why Travis
had come to me, of all people.  Surely, there were
detective firms in San Francisco who could assure
discretion—or  competence  for  that  matter.  My
faith in my abilities had been pretty badly shaken
of  late.  So  much  so  that  I  had  to  agree  with
Rudy—I was beyond discretion. Nevertheless, the
hefty retainer fee currently gracing the scarred top
of my desk was most gratifying. Now all I had to
do was earn it.

“This is Rob Marley. How may I help you?”
“Rob. Miles Diamond.” Silence. “We met a

couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, yes.” His enthusiasm was at a very low

ebb. Perhaps it hadn‟t been one of my better
evenings. “I‟m still waiting for you to send me the
twenty.”

“Hey, Rob, that‟s one of the reasons I called. I‟m

putting it in the mail right now and I couldn‟t find
your home address.” I was beginning to think that
maybe I should have walked to the library and
done my own research. “I was also wondering if
you could check your newspaper archives for me.

Derek Adams

I‟m working on a case.”

“Johnnie Walker or Jack Daniels?”
“Very funny, Rob. Actually, I‟m trying to get

some background information on that explosion at
the shipyards on Lake Union. I think it took place
a couple of weeks ago.”

“You‟re really sending the cash?”
“With interest. Can you help me out?” He

clicked  me  on  hold  without  a  yes  or  a  no,  so  I
settled  back  to  wait.  Shit,  I‟d  forgotten  all  about
his  damned  money—which  was  just  another
reason I had to make a go of this case. My money
troubles  were  starting  to  tarnish  my  romantic
image.

“Miles? I got a couple of short notices here. The

first is from March 4th, the day after the explosion.
The victim was one Daniel Travis, age twenty-six.
It was a major explosion. It came close to setting
the whole end of the lake on fire.”

“They were sure it was Travis?”
“Identification had to be made circumstantially.

The  body  was  charred  beyond  recognition.  Even
the  head  was  missing.  They  did,  however,  find  a
watch  and  ring  on  the  corpse,  both  of  which
belonged to Travis. The second clip just says that a
representative  of  the  Travis  family  came  to  claim
the remains.”

“That‟s it?” I had been hoping for something a

little more substantial.

The Case of the Missing Twin

“That‟s it, man. Now, when are you mailing

that cash?”

“Today, Rob. Absolutely without fail.” He

rattled off his address and hung up without
saying goodbye, thank you, or kiss my butt. Men!

When two hours of relentless concentration and

about  half  a  pack  of  cigarettes  had  failed  to
provide a flash of inspiration that would solve the
case,  I  decided  to  hike  over  to  the  International
District  and  do  a  little  on-site  sleuthing.  I  started
to  take  the  cash  with  me,  but  decided  that  this
office  in  this  building  would  be  the  last  place  on
earth  anybody  would  look  for  it.  I  left  it  tucked
into  the  top  drawer  of  the  desk,  hidden  under  a
mountain of unpaid bills.

The afternoon had blossomed into one of those

false  summer  days  that  real  Seattle  natives  prize
so  highly.  Honest  to  God,  it  has  to  be  one  of  the
few  places  in  the  world  where  people  keep  their
shorts  and  sandals  on  tap,  even  in  the  dead  of
winter.  Everywhere  I  looked,  people  were
swarming to the sunny areas, soaking up the rays
like they were drugs. Bicycle messengers in shorts,
construction  workers  with  their  shirts  stuffed  in
their  back  pockets,  businessmen  with  their  coats
off,  their  necks  and  chests  bared  to  the  light—It
was  enough  to  get  me  agitated  in  the  space  of  a
few short blocks. One young hunk sprawled on a
park  bench  almost  made  me  forget  all  about  my

Derek Adams

mission.

I wanted to talk to my old buddy, Ralph Wong.

I knew he‟d be likely to have a good sense of what
was going on in the Asian community, especially
if those goings-on were illicit. Ralph was a dealer
of pharmaceuticals, although he operated without
the benefit of a pharmacy or a license. I‟d known
him  in  high  school  when  he‟d  been  the  ideal
student—letting  me  copy  his  homework  in
exchange  for  an  occasional  joint.  Now  he  was  a
dealer  while  I  was  grooming  myself  to  be  an
upholder of law and order. Ralph knew everyone
and he‟d talk, for a price.

Ralph was in his office when I looked in—China

Gate Cafe, last booth on the right. He was studying
the  cracks  in  the  lid  of  a  white  porcelain  teapot
when  I  first  caught  his  eye.  He  gave  me  a  terse
nod as I scooted in opposite him.

“Miles, my man. What‟ll it be? Uppers,

downers, all-arounders, sexual enhancements—
you name it.”

“Thanks, Ralph. Today I‟m in the market for

information.  Do  you  know  this  guy?”  I  threw
Chin‟s card down on the Formica tabletop. Ralph
pushed  the  card  back  to  me  with  the  filter  of  his
cigarette, as though he was afraid to touch it.

“You don‟t want to see this dude, man. He‟s

very bad medicine.”

“Oh, but I do, Ralph. I‟m working on a case.”

Line indented in
error.

The Case of the Missing Twin

“If he‟s involved in a case you‟re working on,

take my advice. Move to Miami and change your
name.”

“Thanks for the encouragement. Now, do you

know where he is or not?” I sweetened the pot
with a C note that I dropped casually between us.
“I really need to talk to this guy, Ralph.”

“We‟re talking hard drugs, prostitution,

extortion, white slavery…”

“White slavery? Come on Ralph, this isn‟t a

Charlie Chan movie.”

“Take my word, man,” he shot back, sounding

offended. “I know it sounds farfetched, but my
information is accurate and up to date.”

“The address, Ralph?”
“Fong Lin Benevolent Society. When they‟re

getting ready to stuff your balls down your throat,
just forget you ever knew me, okay?”

“See you around, Ralph.” I got up and walked

out of the place. The two dudes seated at a small
table by the front door left immediately afterward,
a fact I probably should have paid more attention
to  at  the  time,  but  didn‟t.  I  found  the  Fong  Lin
easily enough. It was in a dilapidated building in
the heart of the district. A gaudy dragon was still
holding the sign in his mouth, but he was looking
pretty  dispirited,  ready  to  drop  it  on  some  poor
sucker‟s  head  at  the  slightest  provocation.  I
pushed  the  door  open  into  the  dingy  entry.

Derek Adams

Whatever  his  business  was,  Mr.  Chin  wasn‟t
spending any money on advertising. The stairwell
looked  like  it  hadn‟t  been  cleaned  since  the  tired
dragon outside was young.

When I got to the third floor, there were no

more  stairs.  There  was,  however,  a  single  door
dead  ahead,  no  bell  or  knocker  in  evidence.  I
talked to it with my fist and stood back, waiting. I
didn‟t  have  to  wait  long.  The  door  swung  open
and  I  was  confronted  by  a  bruiser  twice  my  size
who  didn‟t  look  like  he  took  kindly  to  being
interrupted  in  the  middle  of  whatever  the  hell
he‟d been doing when I knocked.

“Nelson Chin, please,” I asked politely.
“Who wants him?”
“Miles Diamond. I‟m here regarding a matter of

mutual  interest.  It‟s  very  important.”  I  kept  my
remarks  to  the  point.  No  use  confusing  the
messenger.

“Wait here,” he growled, slamming the door in

my face, effectively limiting my options. Footsteps
on  the  stairs  gave  me  something  to  think  about
while  I  cooled  my  heels  in  the  hall.  I  turned  and
smiled  wanly  as  two  familiar  faces  loomed  into
view. My friends from the China Gate apparently
couldn‟t stand to have me out of their sight.

Neither of them was inclined to be

conversational, so I spent a few seconds
memorizing their ugly mugs for future reference

The Case of the Missing Twin

before  turning  my  attention  back  to  the  peeling
paint on the door. The first bruiser reappeared in
the  doorway  and  nodded.  I  started  to  step  inside
when  I  heard  the  goons  closing  in  on  me.  They
twisted my arms behind my back and yanked up
so  hard  that  my  feet  left  the  floor.  Hell,  if  they
were  that  worried  about  the  carpets,  I  would‟ve
wiped my feet. The feeling of well-being that had
been  buoying  my  spirits  since  this  morning
rapidly gave way to some serious concerns about
my immediate future—if, in fact, I had one.

My bearers dropped me unceremoniously in

the  center  of  a  large  room  and  stepped  back  to
block the door through which we had just entered.
This solid wall of flesh put an end to any fleeting
ideas of escape I might have entertained. I checked
to see that my arms were still functioning and took
a  look  around.  Whatever  money  Nelson  Chin
hadn‟t  spent  downstairs,  he‟d  more  than
compensated for in his private quarters. The room
was paneled in dark, expensive looking wood. The
place  was  deep  in  Asian  art—the  good  kind.  I‟m
no  expert,  but  it  looked  strictly  museum  quality.
Who knows, maybe that‟s where it came from. The
bruiser  who‟d  initially  greeted  me  opened  a
second door and stood aside, motioning me in. It
slammed  shut  behind  me  with  the  finality  of
prison gates in an old Cagney film.

Nelson Chin‟s inner office was like the entry,

Derek Adams

only more so. The thick carpet on the floor shone
like silk in the afternoon sun. The walls were lined
in  book  and  display  cases,  all  arranged  to
perfection.  The  huge  desk  in  the  center  of  the
carpet  was  hand-carved  rosewood,  bound  in
brass.  Whatever  this  dude‟s  line  of  business,  he
was obviously a success.

“Mr. Diamond?”
I spun around in the direction of the voice. “Mr.

Chin?” I replied as soon as I could find my tongue
and get it working. Nelson Chin wasn‟t at all the
slimy,  drug-ravaged  thug  I‟d  been  expecting.  He
was  about  six-two,  late  twenties,  face  all  strong
planes  and  angles,  accentuated  by  his  close
cropped, black hair, and a body that set my libido
to  fluttering.  He  was  wearing  a  pair  of  black
running  shorts  that  were  making  love  to  his  ass
while gently cradling his cock and balls.

“Pardon the way I look,” he began, fixing me

with his black eyes, “but you caught me in the
middle of a workout.”

“I can talk while you continue,” I offered, not at

all  averse  to  seeing  his  lithe  body  in  action.  He
motioned  for  me  to  follow.  We  entered  a  fully
equipped  gym  and  he  lay  back  on  the  weight
bench, legs spread wide.

“How may I help you?” he asked, lifting the

barbell down and starting to press.

“I‟m looking for a man named Daniel Travis.”

The Case of the Missing Twin

“Sorry, I never heard of him.” He was pumping

the  barbell  like  it  was  made  of  balsa  wood.  I
checked  the  weights  and  did  some  quick  mental
math.  I  estimated  he  was  pushing  about  two-
hundred-twenty-five.  I  was  impressed.  Watching
Chin‟s  body  work  against  the  weights  was  very
gratifying to my aesthetic sense. His pecs bulged,
his  lats  fanned  out,  his  biceps  swelled  up  to  the
size  of  grapefruits—only  I‟ve  never  seen
grapefruits with veins. A fine sheen of sweat was
beginning to plaster the silky hairs in his armpits
flat.  As  he  continued  his  reps,  the  only  signs  of
strain  were  the  corded  tendons  in  his  neck  and  a
small  vein  pulsing  just  below  his  navel.  I  forced
my eyes back to his face and did my best to keep
my mind on business.

“Then why did you agree to see me?” Chin

looked at me curiously but didn‟t answer. There
was heat in his eyes, but not a hint of warmth. He
was a man to be wary of. “Your business card was
found among his personal papers.”

“Many people have my card.” He looked up at

me, still smiling, still betraying no effort. “Who
sent you here?”

“A little bird told me that you might be

involved.” I narrowed my eyes in what I hoped
was a knowing scowl.

“Mr. Diamond,” he grunted, still pumping the

weights, “if you‟re involved with talking animals,

Derek Adams

perhaps  you  should  be  off  looking  for  Dr.
Doolittle.  Why  didn‟t  your little bird  come  to  me
directly?”

“The bird didn‟t seem to think you‟d be a nice

man to talk to.”

“„I‟m very nice, under the right circumstances,

Mr. Diamond.” He hooked the barbell back onto
the stand and stood up, no more than a foot from
me. “You‟re a very handsome man, Mr. Diamond.
Is your body as good as I hope it might be?”

“That depends on your expectations, Mr.

Chin,”  I  retorted,  unable,  unwilling,  and
unequipped  to  resist  his  challenge.  His  hands
slipped  inside  my  jacket  and  up  to  my  chest.  He
started  massaging  my  pecs,  searching  for  my
nipples with his thumbs. I returned the favor and
his tits popped out to meet my pinching fingers. I
tugged the rapidly stiffening nubs of flesh and his
crotch ground into mine.

“I anticipate at least a little body hair.” His

hands  went  back  to  my  waist  and  he  pulled  the
tails of my shirt out of my pants. “Very good, Mr.
Diamond.  Very  exciting.”  His  fingers  were
splayed on my belly, stroking the line of hair that
split it down the middle. I stepped back and shed
my  clothes  while  Chin  watched.  He  reached  out
and  stroked  my  broad  chest  approvingly.  His
fingers trailed on down over my belly and tangled
in  my  curly bush.  I felt  his  thumb  and  forefinger

The Case of the Missing Twin

taking some quick measurements around the base
of my cock. His fingers didn‟t meet on the other
side and his smile broadened.

My hands were free so I slipped them into the

back  of  his  shorts.  His  ass was  smooth  as  marble
and  about  as  hard.  One  of  my  unruly  fingers
sought out his ass crack and found it, tracing the
deep cleft between the tight globes.

“How could I say no to a man of such

towering…intellect?”  he  murmured,  his  fist
closing down tight on my rapidly growing prick. I
ignored  the  jibe.  I  didn‟t  want  to  date  the  guy,  I
just  wanted  to  get  some  information  out  of  him
and fuck him. Right now, I was ready to settle for
the latter. When I made contact with his asshole, it
felt like the damned thing was kissing my fingers.
Mr. Chin was hungry.

I figured my time was valuable and my cock

was  hard,  so  I  skipped  the  niceties  and  forced
Chin down to his knees. He went for my balls first,
sucking  one,  then  both  deep  into  his  hot  mouth.
His tongue skittered over the tingling orbs, laving
them  with  spit.  He  ducked  his  head  slightly  and
pulled  down  on  them,  stretching  their  cords  „til I
felt a dull ache in the pit of my gut. I groaned with
pleasure.

After licking and sucking my balls „til I was

reduced to pounding my fists on his beautifully
muscled shoulders, he abandoned the fuzzy orbs

Derek Adams

and began licking his way up the shaft of my cock.
It  bounced  and  started  drooling  sticky  honey,
which Chin caught on his tongue and spread over
the big knob on the end. Then he lunged forward
and  started  swallowing,  never  letting  up  „til  his
nose  was  buried  in  my  bush.  I  stroked  his  neck,
amazed by what all those straining muscles in his
throat were doing to me.

After a couple of minutes, I tried to pull him

back  to  his  feet,  but  he  tightened  his  hold  on  my
hairy butt and kept on sucking. I was looking for
something to occupy my hands, so I reached down
and  started  playing  with  his  tits.  That  triggered
something  fundamental,  I  guess,  because  his
tongue and throat started doing things to my prick
that  I‟d  never  even  imagined.  I  just  concentrated
on  the  tit  work—that  and  on  keeping  my  balls
from snapping up into my armpits.

I finally gave up on trying to hold back and

gave him what he wanted, squirting a heavy load
of  my  finest  right  down  his  throat.  At  this  point,
he  was  groaning  louder  than  I  was,  thrashing
around below me, the muscles in his back tensing
under his ivory skin. He milked  the last drops out
roughly  with  his  fist,  then  stood  up  abruptly,  his
eyes flashing as he glared at me insolently.

“Fuck me!” he barked. It was an order that I

was more than willing to obey. I slipped my hands
back into the waistband of his shorts and ripped

The Case of the Missing Twin

them off him. His fat prick slapped up against his
belly, the bulbous head flared out tight.

“Make me want to,” I snapped, my voice low,

controlled.  Chin  licked  his  lips  and  spun  around,
bracing his arms against the weight rack above the
bench.  I  took  a  step  back  and  eyed  his  gorgeous
ass. It was hard as a rock, deep dimples winking at
me from both cheeks.

“Beat my ass, Diamond, make it sting.” He

looked back over his shoulder at me. Sweat was
dripping off his face and his lips were pulled back
from his teeth in a feral smile.

My forefinger homed in on him, made contact

and  slipped  easily  into  the  heat.  I  swatted  him
soundly  and  his  ass  ring  squeezed  tight  around
my invading digit.

I continued spanking Nelson Chin „til his ass

glowed  a  bright  red  and  he  was  writhing  with
anticipation.  A  quick  check  of  his  equipment  left
no doubt that  he enjoyed the discipline. His balls
were pulled up so tight they were just a bulge on
either  side  of  his  throbbing  cock  shaft.  Since  my
nuts were in about the same state, I decided not to
waste any more valuable time. I popped my finger
free and pointed my hard-on at my target.

Chin shivered when I breached his chute and

began driving inch after inch of my prick deep
into his guts. I grabbed him by the shoulders and
slammed forward roughly, knocking him against

Derek Adams

the rack, making the weights rattle and shake. As
soon as I was in all the way, he started bucking
and squirming, bringing his whole body into focus
around my cock.

After the first couple of minutes, I couldn‟t tell

for sure just who was fucking whom, but I didn‟t
much care. I humped and pumped, bringing him
up onto his toes with every thrust. I also took the
opportunity to explore his body—twisting his tits,
squeezing his massive arms, slapping his muscle-
ridged gut—in short, doing everything in my
power to keep the suspect in a receptive mood.

When I finally got around to fisting his dick, he

went  wild.  Every  muscle  in  his  body  flexed,
snapping his little sphincter down nice and tight. I
was close anyway and the smell of his cum as he
started  blasting  it  out  all  over  the  bench  sent  me
right  off  the  top  of  the  charts.  I  locked  my  arms
around his chest and reared back, lifting Chin off
his feet. I didn‟t loosen my grasp „til his chute was
full  and  my  nuts  were  starting  to  hang  down
between my thighs again.

“You‟re a champ, Mr. Chin.” I sighed as my

cock slipped out of him. I stroked him from knees
to shoulders one final time and let him go.

“So are you, Mr. Diamond. I‟d like to keep you

around  longer  for  my  amusement  and
gratification.  Unfortunately,  I  can‟t  let  good  sex
overrule the demands of my business.”

The Case of the Missing Twin

“I‟ve got business to attend to as well, Mr.

Chin,”  I  replied,  looking  around  for  my  clothes.
Oddly enough, they were not in evidence. “Before
I go, I‟ll ask you one more time—what happened
to  Daniel  Travis?  My  client  seems  to  think  you
might  have  some  inside  information  that  you
haven‟t offered to share with him.”

“You‟re a very handsome man, Mr. Diamond.

You  are  also  a  sexual  athlete  of  Olympian
prowess.  Unfortunately,  you‟re  not  very  smart.
You  should  never  have  come  here,  although  in
that  case  I  would  have  been  deprived  of  a  very
pleasurable  diversion.”  He  ran  a  finger  from  the
base of my cock, tracing a line up my torso to my
neck. He put his finger on my lips and gave me a
funny  little  smile.  “What  a  terrible  waste.”
Something about his tone was very discouraging.

As I started to reply, I heard a soft, swishing

sound behind me. Before I could even turn to look,
a bomb went off in my head. The lights went off,
the  stars  came  out,  and  I  sort  of  faded  away  as
well.  I  had  a  last  fuzzy  vision  of  Chin‟s  perfect
body as I fell against it on my way to the floor.

Derek Adams

Chapter Three

was running through the streets of the
International District. It was night and there

were fireworks going off all around me. Chin and
his goons were in hot pursuit. I ducked down an
alley but it was a dead end. When I spun around,
Chin  was  standing  in  front  of  me,  naked  and
holding  a  barbell.  He  gave  me  an  evil  leer  and
tossed  it  at  me  like  it  was  light  as  a  feather.  It
cracked  into  my  skull  and  I  was  flying,
constellations  exploding  in  front  of  my  eyes  as  I
cartwheeled through space. I kept reaching out to
grab  something  to  arrest  my  fall,  but  my  fingers
kept  closing  on  empty  air.  Then  a  freight  train
came  up  from  beneath  me,  whistle  screaming.  It
roared  up  the  back  of  my  neck  and  through  my
skull,  exploding  in  a  thousand  shards  of  bright
light.

My eyes fluttered as I finally came to, but I

wasn‟t convinced it was such a hot idea. All I
knew for certain was that my little hangover that

In this instance,
cartwheeled is one
word. ‘A handspring
to one side,
performed with
arms and legs
extended.’ For
example, after the
royal wedding the
other day, there
was footage of a
churchman turning
cartwheels in
Westminster Abbey.
To observe this, just
google ‘westminster
abbey cartwheel’.
There are videos of
the event. This is a
reference to Miles’
feeling he is
spinning as he

The Case of the Missing Twin

morning  couldn‟t  hold  a  candle  to  what  Chin‟s
goons  had  done  to  me.  It  was  no  wonder  David
Travis hadn‟t wanted to confront this guy directly.
It  occurred  to  me  that  his  intuition  seemed  to  be
very  good  so  far.  Maybe  even  a  little  too  good.  I
tried  to  shake  that  thought—according  to  the
books, it‟s best to remain loyal to your client, even
if he‟s managed to help you get your ass in a sling.

I tried a couple of tentative moves, hoping that

my head was still attached to the rest of my body.
My  head  moved,  but  that  was  about  it.  I  finally
built  up  the  courage  to  open  my  eyes,  thinking
that  might  offer  an  explanation  of  my  plight.  It
explained  a  lot,  but  it  didn‟t  make  me  feel  much
better.

Nelson Chin had generously let me take

possession  of  his  weight  bench,  but  I  was  in  no
position to do any presses. My wrists were bound
together, pulled up over my head and fastened to
the  end  of  the  bench.  My  legs  were  spread wide,
and  my  ankles  were  tied  to  the  hooks  above  my
head  that  were  designed  to  hold  the  barbell.  I
could  practically  have  sucked  myself  off  if  I‟d
dared to raise my head, which I didn‟t quite have
the  nerve  to  do.  Besides,  my  cock  was  just
dangling there above me, all shriveled up, looking
like it might never rise again.

When I did finally sneak a peek between the V

of my legs, I saw one of Chin‟s helpers watching

Unnecessary tab at
beginning of
paragraph.

Derek Adams

my ass like it was a TV screen. I thought of asking
him  what  was  playing,  but  thought  better  of  it.  I
was  hardly  in  a  position  to  antagonize  the  help
with any attempts at witty repartee. Lying here in
silence  while  the  bones  in  my  skull  re-knit
themselves seemed by far the best bet.

My attention was suddenly distracted by Chin‟s

voice. I peeked over at his office door. He was on
the telephone, pacing back and forth behind his
desk as he spoke. Even from this angle, I could see
a wild gleam flashing in his dark eyes. His nostrils
were flaring and he was stabbing nervously at the
air in front of him.

“…very important has come up regarding the

most recent  shipment I made to you. Yeah, that‟s
the  one.  You  still  got  it?  What?”  He  stopped  in
mid-stride, his body tensing like a coiled spring. “I
know  I  said  that,  but  things  have  changed  over
here.”  He  began  searching  frantically  among  the
papers  on  the  top  of  the  desk.  “Listen  you  fool,
there‟s  no  trouble  with  it,  but  recent  events  lead
me to believe there could be an even bigger profit
involved here than we had originally anticipated.”

Chin snapped his fingers and the dude eyeing

my  ass  stood  up  and  scurried  across  to  him.
“Smoke!” Chin barked. The man plucked a pack of
cigarettes  off  the  desk,  earning  a  grudging  nod
from his employer. “Yeah, lots more. Let‟s just say
it  could  multiply  your  profit  ratio  by  about  a

The Case of the Missing Twin

thousand percent if we can regain possession and
perhaps even return the goods to the proper party.
You do know how to get back in touch with the
man who took delivery, don‟t you?”

He got the cigarette lit, then went back to

poking the air with this new weapon. “Don‟t give
me that, De Groot. I know you better than that. I
think you‟ll be able to convince the buyer that it‟s
in his best interest to accept an equal trade. I‟ll be
calling back in twelve hours and I sincerely hope
you have the answer I want to hear.”

He inhaled deeply, then spewed out a silvery

pall  of  smoke  around  his  handsome  head.  The
gesture reminded me of the dragon hanging above
the  entry.  Who  knows,  maybe  they  were  related.
“You  do  that.  Twelve  hours  starting  now,
remember?  Yeah.  Very  urgent.  I‟ve  already  had
some  incompetent  dick  in  here  nosing  around.
Poor  schmuck  doesn‟t  know  his  asshole  from  a
hole  in  the  floor,  but  I  still  can‟t  risk  having  him
poking  around.  Don‟t  worry,  he‟ll  be  out  of  the
picture soon enough.”

I wasn‟t too thrilled by his allusion to

incompetent  dicks,  but  I‟m  afraid  I  had  to  agree
with  him.  A  competent  dick  would  have  ended
our  scene  with  Chin  tied  to  the  bench  and  the
aforementioned  competent  dick  rescuing  the
missing twin and collecting his just rewards. I was
convinced that Chin was talking about Dan Travis,

Derek Adams

in spite of the businessman‟s jargon he was using.
For a stab in the dark, David had done pretty well.
Unfortunately, the whole setup had gone radically
wrong on my end. According to the books, I was
supposed to be about two steps ahead of the bad
guys. The truth was, I couldn‟t take any steps at all
right now. I was going to have to work on that
aspect of things—seriously and quickly.

And then there was that remark about having

me  out  of  the  picture.  That  turned  my  thoughts
selfishly back to my own predicament. It wasn‟t a
good  one.  I  eyed  the  knots  on  the  ropes  around
my ankles—good hemp, professionally tied. I was
trussed  up  like  a  calf  at  branding  time,  but  I
probably  wasn‟t  going  to  get  off  with  only  a
scorched  ass.  It‟d  be  a  hell  of  a  shame  if  I  didn‟t
live  long  enough  to  collect  the  balance  of  my  fee
from David Travis. It was time to think.

“What?” Chin was still on the phone. “Listen,

asshole, you aren‟t thinking about trying to cut me
out, are you?” The wild look was back in his eyes
and the cloud of smoke around him was getting
denser by the second.

“You just find the goods and turn them over to

me or I‟ll come to Amsterdam and be all over your
fat ass like a bad dream. Is that clear?” It must not
have been because the veins in Chin‟s temples
started to bulge.

“It‟d be a real pity to miss out on your next

The Case of the Missing Twin

birthday just because you got greedy, wouldn‟t it?
Yeah,  I  thought  so.”  This  Chin  was  a  hell  of  a
persuasive  guy,  a  fact  to  which  I  could  readily
attest on several levels.

“So you find him and turn him over to me. Go

and get him back, for Christ‟s sake! I don‟t fucking
care if you have to go to the North Pole. Just do it,
De Groot! If you try to cross me, I‟ll be very
unhappy.”

He slammed the receiver down hard. I filed

away the bits and pieces I‟d been overhearing for
future  reference—on  the  off  chance  that  I  wasn‟t
going to be pushing up daisies in the next twenty-
four hours or so, that is. Chin stalked into the gym
area and I closed my eyes. I couldn‟t think of any
pleasant  topics  of  conversation  to  help  pass  the
time,  so  I  played  dead,  thinking  maybe  he‟d  just
toss me out into the street and call it even.

“Jackson!” Chin snapped.
“Yes, sir!” The chair hit the wall as my guard

jumped to his feet for the second time in the past
five minutes.

“Oh, sit down,” Chin said, his tone almost

jocular. “That asshole De Groot is trying to pull a
fast one on us, Jackson.” Chin sat down on the
edge of the weight bench, leaning back against me
like I was a piece of the furniture.

“Oh yeah.” Jackson‟s tone of voice shifted

subtly from menial to that of confidant. “So, how

Derek Adams

do you figure?”

“The fat greaseball told me he wasn‟t sure

where  our  package  got  off  to.  He‟s  too  fucking
cautious  not  to  know  exactly  where  it  is.  In  his
business,  he  deals  with  a  very  small,  very  select
clientele. I figure he  stumbled onto our package‟s
value  and  now  he‟s  got  the  same  idea  I‟ve  got,
only  he  isn‟t  planning  to  share  the  good  fortune
with me.”

Chin shifted his weight, putting a new strain on

the ropes at my wrists and ankles. I was beginning
to  wish  he‟d  start  pacing  again.  “I  had  to  get  the
evidence  out  of  the  country  for  a  while,  but  I
should  never  have  trusted  De  Groot.  He‟s  telling
me  bullshit  about  how  there‟s  been  a  transaction
and he can‟t be sure of the final destination.”

Chin slammed his fists down against the end of

the  bench,  jarring  my  head  painfully.  I  groaned
involuntarily, but kept my eyes shut tight. I could
feel him shifting as he turned around to look at me
over  his  shoulder.  I  hoped  I  was  doing  a
convincing job of playing dead.

“De Groot has smelled the money in this deal

and we‟ve got to move fast or the bastard‟ll leave
us out in the cold.” Chin stood up.

I felt his hand on me, toying with the long silky

hairs growing on the inside of my thigh.

“We know Travis suspects something. This

rather remarkable specimen would never have

Change ‘tumbled’ to
‘stumbled’

The Case of the Missing Twin

stumbled onto us without a guide and a street
map.”

“What are we going to do with him anyway?”

Jackson‟s tone of voice sounded oddly concerned.

“Just keep an eye on him for right now. He‟s so

beautiful.” Chin sighed and ran his hand over my
ass. “What a pity.” I couldn‟t suppress a sigh after
that comment. Things definitely didn‟t look good.

“Should I hit him again?” Jackson asked.
I heard footsteps approaching the head of the

bench and tensed up, ready for the worst.

“No!” Chin shouted vehemently. “No, don‟t.

Not now. Just keep an eye on him. I have to run a
few urgent errands. Personal errands. Keep him
here until you hear from me.”

“I‟ll sure do that, Mr. Chin. You can depend on

me.”

I was neck-deep in shit now! Maybe I could

make friends with Jackson and convince him to let
me  go.  Then  again,  maybe  I  could  just  call  the
Mounties  or  the  Cavalry  and  have  them  drop  by
for a quick rescue.

The door slammed as Chin left. Next thing I

knew,  a  calloused  hand  was  caressing  my  ass,
barely ruffling over the silky brown fuzz covering
my  cheeks.  The  sensation  was  a  pleasant  one,
sending a shiver along my spine. I looked up and
saw Jackson standing above me, face flushed, eyes
hot with desire.

Derek Adams

Jackson wasn‟t much to look at. His face

testified  to  the  fact  that  he‟d  let  down  his  guard
once  too  often  in  the  boxing  ring.  His  nose  was
flattened  and  he  had  multiple  scars  above  his
eyebrows.  He  had  great  arms  though.  His  biceps
were  swollen  and  knotted  with  muscle  and  his
thick forearms were cabled with prominent veins.
The cheap cotton shirt he wore was stretched tight
across  his  chest  and  shoulders.  It  was  a  hell  of  a
time  to  be  evaluating  the  dude  as  a  potential  sex
object,  but  then  again,  one  thing  might  lead  to
another and I was currently on a one-way street to
nowhere.

“Damn, you‟ve sure got a pretty ass,” he said

finally.

I smiled at him encouragingly and did my best

to flex the muscles in my butt. “Thanks. You‟re not
so  bad  yourself.”  He  looked  pleasantly  surprised
by  that  and  his  hand  slipped  to  center  stage.  His
palm  pressed  against  my  crack,  his  fingertips
caressing  my  ball-sac.  “If  you‟d  untie  me,  maybe
we could have ourselves some fun while the boss
is out of the way.” I looked up at him hopefully.

“Oh, no you don‟t. I‟m not stupid enough to fall

for something like that.”

Oh, well. It had, at least, been worth a try. I

smiled again and, next thing I knew, Jackson was
climbing out of his clothes. He wasn‟t planning to
untie me, but I had the feeling he wasn‟t going to

The Case of the Missing Twin

go back to his chair, either.

The body lived up to the promise of his arms.

He  was  a  solid  wall  of  muscle  from  head  to  toe.
His torso was hairless except for a patch of brown
fuzz growing between his bulging pees. It trailed
in a thin line down his hard belly, then flared out
in a dense thatch between his legs. He kicked his
clothes aside and straddled the bench behind me.
His chest pushed against my butt and his homely
face  appeared  between  my  legs.  He  didn‟t  waste
any time asking permission—he just wrapped his
arms around my midsection and buried his face in
my ass crack.

Jackson may have been a lousy boxer, but he

sure  as  hell  knew  how  to  make  a  guy  feel  good.
Within  seconds,  my  prick  was  wide  awake  and
poking  me  in  the  chin.  His  tongue  dug  into  my
bunghole, twisting and poking at the tender flesh.
He  kept  his  hands  busy  as  well,  exploring  the
contours  of  my  torso  with  his  callused  fingers.  I
was  in  a  hell  of  a  fix,  but  he  was  succeeding  in
getting me seriously turned on. His breath was hot
as  he  licked  my balls, dribbling gobs  of  spit  onto
my crack.

Once I was primed to his satisfaction, he stood

up behind me, his stiff prick waving in the air like
a big, veiny club. From my perspective, the head
looked about as big as a small apple and was
almost as red. He pointed it at the target, winked

Derek Adams

at  me  and  launched  his  assault.  My  asshole
stretched  wider  and  wider,  but  I  couldn‟t  quite
dial  it  up  to  the  enormous  setting  that  was
obviously  required  for  this  job.  I  whimpered  my
discomfort as he kept on pushing.

“Am I hurting you, buddy?” He sounded

genuinely concerned.

I looked him in the eyes and nodded in the

affirmative.  His  eyes  were  brown,  fringed  with
long  dark  lashes.  They  were  the  one  undamaged
feature in his face.

“This setup stinks, man,” I groaned. “If you‟d

just untie my legs, I know this would all be much
easier—and a hell of a lot more fun for both of us.
My hands will still be tied, so I won‟t be going
anywhere.”

He considered this, then reached forward and

started  with  the  knots  in  the  ropes  around  my
ankles.  The  motion  brought  his  big  balls  within
reach.  I  ran  the  tip  of  my  tongue  over  the  tiny
ridge  running  up  the  center  of  the  sac.  He  froze,
his hands suspended in mid-air. When he looked
down  at  me,  I  gave  him  a  grin  and  licked  again.
His  expression  relaxed  and  he  went  back  to  his
knots.

When he got them undone, I hooked my knees

over his shoulders. “Let me down easy.” I sighed.
“I feel like a pretzel.” He lowered me slowly,
massaging the small of my back and my cramping

The Case of the Missing Twin

hips. Christ, it felt good to straighten out! My butt
nestled against his belly. I felt the head of his prick
poking  eagerly  at  my  twitching  ass  hole.  As  he
continued  his  massage,  a  warm,  tingling  feeling
radiated  through  me,  and  my  cock  slowly
stretched up beyond my navel again.

I slipped my legs down off his shoulders and

wrapped them around his waist. Now I was ready
for  him.  He  pressed  into  me  and  my  tight  little
pucker opened up like a flower in the sunshine. It
had  been  a  long  time  since  I‟d  been  the  fuckee
instead  of  the  fucker,  and  I  had  to  admit  I  was
liking  it  already.  I  savored  every  fat,  throbbing
inch of his meat as he plugged it in deep.

Jackson‟s hands hovered tantalizingly above

the  tingling  flesh  of  my  torso.  The  hairs  on  my
body  were  like  little  nerve  fibers,  sending  all  the
sensory impressions from his hands directly to my
groin.  When  he  massaged  my  aching  biceps,
sending the blood back along to my poor hands, I
smiled up at him gratefully.

“You‟re one hot dude,” he whispered.
“Untie my hands,” I pleaded. “I want to touch

you.”

“I can‟t do that, man. Sorry.” He seemed to

mean it.

If I had any hope at all for survival, it looked

like I‟d have to pin it on my new fuck buddy. I still
had to work out some of the finer details of my

Derek Adams

escape,  but  for  now,  it  was  essential  to  keep  the
guy  happy.  I  dropped  the  subject  of  involuntary
bondage  and  set  out  to  dazzle  him  with  my
technique.  Jackson  grabbed  the  barbell  rack  for
leverage  and  drove  it  home,  plugging  my  butt
with about ten inches of very thick dick. I breathed
a  relieved  sigh  when  his  balls  bounced  off  my
tailbone.

“Hey, Jackson.” He looked down at me, his

eyes glazed with lust. “Kiss me, man. I like to get
kissed while I‟m getting fucked.” He was clumsy
at first, like he‟d never done it before. He learned
fast though, and soon our  tongues were parrying
and thrusting against each other. Through it all, he
continued  with  the  old  in-and-out,  his  fat  low-
hangers  slapping  rhythmically  against  my
tailbone. Every time he raked the hard ridge of his
cock  crown  across  my  prostate,  my  ass  ring
spasmed and my dick swelled like it was going to
erupt.

It finally did, a thick drop of my man-cream

oozing out, filling my cumhole like a liquid pearl.
I  started  to  howl  like  a  dog  baying  at  the  moon,
the spunk spouting out of me like water out of a
fountain. The first shot caught me on the forehead
and  trickled  into  my  hair. The  next  one  arced  up
and  splattered  across  my  chest.  Then  I  really
tightened down and popped a shot over my head,
which splashed onto my forearms. Jackson‟s eyes

The Case of the Missing Twin

rolled back in his head and he started jabbing into
me  at  about  ninety  miles  per  hour.  His  cock
swelled to even more monumental thickness as he
emptied  his  balls  then  collapsed  on  top  of  me,
panting and laughing.

“You were incredible, man,” he gasped. “You

sure as hell are full of juice. What a turn-on.”

“You‟re not so bad yourself.” I smiled up at

him. “I haven‟t been on the bottom for a long time.
I‟d  forgotten  what  I  was  missing.  Thanks.”  He
stood  up  reluctantly,  scooped  a  glob  of  cum  off
my  belly  and  popped  it  into  his  mouth.  Then  he
dropped  to  his  knees  and  proceeded  to  lick  me
clean,  his  rough  tongue  grooming  my  fur  into
tight curls. When he‟d lapped up the last drops, he
padded  off  to  Chin‟s  office,  returning  with  a
washcloth  and  a  big  towel.  He  cleaned  me  up,
then  proceeded  to  reach  for  the  ropes  that  had
bound  my  feet.  He  was  interrupted  when  the
telephone rang shrilly in Chin‟s office.

He ran to pick it up.
I strained to listen but he wasn‟t saying much.

He  hung  up  and walked back  over  to  the  weight
bench,  a  stricken  look  on  his  face.  “I‟m  gonna
untie  you  so  you  can  get  dressed,  then  I‟ve gotta
take you someplace.”

“What‟s up?” Apprehension suddenly ruined

the nice afterglow I‟d been enjoying. Jackson
refused to look me in the eyes. My heart sank. It

Unnecessary tab
indent

Derek Adams

looked like my luck had run up against a stone
wall.

After slipping back into his clothes, Jackson

untied me. My hands were numb at first, then the
pinpricks  started  shooting  through  my  fingers.  I
flexed my arms tentatively. They still worked, sort
of. I dressed clumsily, stepped into my loafers and
waited.  “Where  are  you  taking  me,  Jackson?”  I
asked  finally,  breaking  the  oppressive  silence
between us.

“Turn around,” he mumbled.
As I obeyed him, I heard a familiar swishing

sound.  “Please,”  I  had  started  to  say  when  the
cosh  got  me  on  the  back  of  the  head,  putting  a
sudden end to my curiosity.

I started coming around again, in spite of all my

efforts  not  to.  I  was  surprised  my  fucking  skull
hadn‟t caved in over the course of the day. I didn‟t
know  where  Jackson  had  taken  me,  but  I  knew
that it was dark and cold and wet and I didn‟t like
it one bit. I groaned when I realized that my hands
were  once  again  over  my  head.  Only  this  time
they  seemed  to  be  supporting  the  weight  of  my
entire  body.  My  eyes  focused  on  a  pair  of  heavy
shoes, right at eye level. It seemed like a hell of a
place for a pair of shoes.

Then I caught on and groaned, but not from

headache. I was suspended from a hook that had

The Case of the Missing Twin

been  bolted  into  the  scabrous  old  brick  wall.  My
body  hung  down  in  a  narrow,  straight-sided  pit,
my  nose  about  six  inches  below  the  level  of  the
floor.  “We‟re  in  the  old  Seattle  underground,
aren‟t we?”

He nodded.
“You‟re really going to kill me, aren‟t you

Jackson?”

“I‟m sorry man. I‟ve got my orders and if I

don‟t follow them, I‟ll be worse off than you.”

“I find that just a little bit hard to believe under

the  circumstances.”  I  tried for  a  tough guy  smile,
but  it  never  quite  got  off  the  drawing  board.
“Could you at least give me a clue to the setup?” I
strained my neck to look up at him. The fact that
he  looked  as  miserable  as  I  felt  was  cold  comfort
for me.

“It was Chin‟s idea. The tides are high tonight.”

It  was  a  simple,  concise  explanation,  but  a  quick
review  of  city  history  brought  it  all  home  in  a
sickening flash. Back in the I890s, Seattle had been
plagued by flooding because the city was in a tidal
basin. Locals had even gone so far as to raise the
toilets up on platforms to improve drainage. This
hadn‟t  been  entirely  successful,  giving  rise  to  the
term wetbacks to describe unsuspecting souls who
forgot to consult the tide tables before doing their
business.  They  had  eventually  raised  the  city
streets  and  the  storefronts  were  shifted  to  the

Derek Adams

second  floors  of  these  old  buildings.  Some  of  the
original  sub-basements  in  Pioneer  Square  still
flooded at high tide. I was had!

“Jackson, come on, man. I thought you liked

me.  You  don‟t  want  me  dead,  do  you?”  A
scuttling sound caught my ear. I turned and got a
glimpse of a sewer rat the size of a healthy house
cat.  It  scurried  off  clumsily,  probably  to  alert  the
family  that  lunch  was  going  to  be  ready  soon.
“Come on, man. Think what you‟re doing.”

“Shut up, you hear me? I can‟t listen to you.”
He turned and started walking away, the light

of  his  flashlight  receding  as  well,  leaving  me  in
total  darkness.  Suddenly  I  felt  cold  water  rising
around my ankles.

“Jackson! Get back here. Please.” My cries

echoed hollowly in the empty cellar. “Don‟t leave
me here to die. Goddamn you, Jackson.” The light
disappeared into the distance as the water lapped
ever higher on my legs. Funny thing about  being
in  a  place  that‟s  pitch  black—your  eyes  never
adjust. I kept trying anyway, hoping to conjure up
a stray tour of the underground or even a group of
boy  scouts  intent  on  earning  a  merit  badge  in
emergency  rescue. Nothing. In  the  meantime,  the
water was up to my chest and rising fast.

As the cold, briny water lapped over my lips, I

found myself wishing, for the first time in my life,
that I‟d followed my dad into the accounting

The Case of the Missing Twin

business. Relative to my current situation, a
spreadsheet seemed like the most interesting thing
in the world.

The water rippled up into my nose and I made

one final effort to lift myself out of danger. There
were  no  toeholds  for  my  scrabbling  feet,  and  the
pit was too narrow for me to kick my legs up over
the edge. I tried flexing my biceps. No go on that
front. My arms were numb and I was a dead man.
This was totally wrong. I was too young to die like
this. I had cases to solve, money to spend, men to
chase.  I  spat  brine  then  took  a  deep  breath  just
before  the  water  rose  up  over  the  bridge  of  my
nose and stayed there.

To Be Continued…

* * *

About the Author

Derek Adams is the award-winning author of the
novel  'Jake  Westerby:  Deep  Undercover.'  He  has
also  written  more  than  a  hundred  short  stories
which  he  insists  are  ongoing  chapters  in  his
autobiography. When not chronicling his amorous
adventures,  Adams  writes  about  gay  history  and
travel. He currently lives in Seattle.