“We’re here looking for my wife,” I blurted.
“Keep outta this, Row,” Ben snapped.
The man turned his attention to me. “So, you think your wife is in there?”
“I know she is.”
“Yeah, well listen, buddy, you aren’t the first guy to have second thoughts about the cuckold husband game. Just go on home like a good little subby and wait. She’ll be there when she’s done.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I replied.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted with a heavy note of sarcasm. “You think I haven’t heard that before? Look, I’m sorry you got cold feet, but this isn’t the place to work out your marital issues, and we sure as hell don’t need a domestic disturbance.”
“Look,” Ben interjected. “I don’t know what you’re rattlin’ about, but here’s the deal. You see that Jeep over there?”
My friend twisted and pointed back toward Felicity’s vehicle.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“It belongs to this guy’s wife,” my friend continued as he turned back to the bouncer. “And, as it happens, his wife is currently wanted for questioning in a murder investigation. Since I have a reason to believe she’s in there…” He pointed toward the door. “…I intend to go in and have a look. Now, I wanted to do this nice and quiet like, but apparently, you’re wantin’ to make it into a big production.”
“You have a warrant?”
“I don’t need one.”
“Yes, you do.”
“You ever heard the terms reasonable suspicion and probable cause? No, I don’t need a fuckin’ warrant.”
“You’re a Saint Louis cop.” The man tried a fresh objection. “You’re out of your jurisdiction.”
“I’m currently assigned to Major Case. Jurisdiction ain’t an issue. Now, you gonna let us in, or do I hafta arrest you for interfering with an ongoing police investigation?”
The man stared back at Ben. He didn’t seem like he was particularly shaken, but he also didn’t appear anywhere near as cocky or confident as he had earlier. After a moment, he gave my friend a shallow nod and said, “Wait here. I’ll get the owner.”
He turned and disappeared through the door, leaving us out on the wide landing by ourselves.
“Who’s been watching TV now?” I asked.
“Hey,” he returned defensively. “Everything I said was the real deal.”
“Still sounded like a cop show.”
“Yeah, well sometimes they get lucky and get it right,” he huffed. “I thought I told you ta’ keep your mouth shut.”
“I did. For a while anyway.”
“Yeah, about two minutes.”
“I got tired of waiting.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Shouldn’t we go on ahead in?”
“You heard ‘im. He’s gettin’ the owner.”
“Yeah, so,” I said as I started toward the door.
“Yeah, so I’d like ta’ do this peaceably,” he replied as he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “Look, if she’s in there, she ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“I just want this over with, Ben,” I complained.
“Yeah, me too,” he replied as he reached up to rub his neck. After a good thirty seconds of silence, he glanced over at me and asked, “Hey, so what’s a cuckold?”
“It’s a word.”
“No shit. What’s it s’posed to mean?”
“It’s a word used to describe a man married to an unfaithful wife.”
“Then why’d that meatlump call it a game?”
“It is, to some extent. In the arena of female domination, the woman will sometimes humiliate her husband by being blatantly unfaithful to him. Often, right in front of him or by telling him about it in great detail. It’s a fetish that some submissive men are into.”
“Jeezus, I don’t even wanna know how you know that.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “The word was an answer in a crossword puzzle, and I had to look it up. I found the stuff about the fetish by following a couple of internet links out of curiosity.”
“Okay, at least I know you’re not that kinda weird then. Cuckold, huh? Sounds like a friggin’ old clock.”
“Actually, you aren’t far off. The word is derived from cuckoo because with some varieties of the bird, the female lays her eggs in other birds’ nests and leaves them to be taken care of by those birds. Thereby, she gains a reputation for unfaithfulness. Cuckoo. Cuckold.”
“Jeez… You ’n Constance oughta go on a game show together,” he told me. “Between the two of ya’, you’d clean up, and we could all retire.”
“Yeah, I doubt it,” I returned. “By the way, thanks.”
“For what?”
“For trying to keep my mind off this mess.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“No, but I know you pretty well.”
“So, is it workin’?”
“Not really.”
“Well, stop worryin’ on it anyway,” he offered. “We’re gonna work it out… I don’t know how, but somehow.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He didn’t get a chance to respond. The door swung open and a far less than petite woman strode out. At least, she appeared to be a woman. Her blonde hair was a short bob that framed an angular face that could easily have gone either direction as far as gender. Her shoulders were broad, and with the platform shoes she was wearing, she actually stood taller than Ben. Trailing along behind her was a shorter individual who was more easily identifiable as male.
“Excuse you,” she barked at us, and her husky falsetto voice did little to solve the gender mystery.
We both stepped out of the way, and she continued past us, tugging hard on a leash that was attached to a collar around the man’s neck. While she was wrapped in a leather coat, he was bare from the waist up. Since the temperature had dipped into the low forties, I could only imagine that he was freezing. But then, I suppose that was part of their game. We both automatically turned, watching them as they went down the stairs then out across the parking lot.
“Tim tells me you’re a cop,” a more distinctly female voice came from behind us.
We turned back to find a somewhat shorter individual staring at us. She was roughly my height, so she was looking upward toward Ben as most people ended up doing. Her face was wide with large eyes and pronounced lips, all surrounded by a shoulder-length flip of dark hair. She was wrapped in a full-length fur coat that hid her figure, but unlike the person preceding her, by all outward appearances she was actually a real female. Even so, she did carry herself with a typically male posture which I could only assume was intended to intimidate.
“Yeah, Detective Ben Storm, Major Case Squad,” my friend replied. “You are?”
“Vee Ostuni,” she replied coolly. “I’m the owner. You may call me Lady Vee.”
“Miz Ostuni…” Ben started.
“Lady Vee,” she corrected.
“Yeah. Okay. So listen, Miz Ostuni,” he began again, a little more forcefully.
She held out her hand in an abrupt flourish. “May I see some ID?”
Ben displayed his impatience with a loud huff but produced the wallet and badge once again, standing by as she inspected the credentials. She made a great show of holding up the ID to the light and glancing back and forth between the picture and my friend’s face. After what seemed like a solid trio of minutes, she closed the wallet and
