“Some people believe Islam and being a prudish asshole goes hand and hand.”
He scoffs sharply, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “Those people are ignorant assholes, and so are the Muslims who believe sex is anything other than a natural, healthy practice. Did you know sex is chock full of health benefits for your body? For both men and women.”
Great. I get to hear fun facts from the love doctor.
“Such as?”
“Studies show it improves women’s bladder control, it lowers your blood pressure, boosts libido, and it’s also a form of cardio. It also lowers your risk of heart attack and eases stress improving sleep.”
I glance at him with a raised eyebrow. “Where’d you hear all of this shit again?”
“My wife is a sex therapist. She wrote a book called Sexercise.”
I just had to fucking ask.
I glance over at him with a smirk. “She must be a master in the sack?”
“She is.” He lowers his head laughing. “Hey, she is doing a book signing next Friday. If you’re interested in meeting her, bring your FWB. My wife could probably give you two some advice on keeping the sexual energy strong.”
“Well, I have no problem meeting your wife, but I don’t need coaching on how to ride a cock, Jason.”
He laughs nervously. “Many people think that, but she can give you some tips to make you and your friend’s sexual energy skyrocket.”
I glance over at him. “Look, man. I admire you for trying to get your wife some clients, but I am perfectly satisfied with our sexual energy as you call it. Listen, I’ll make you a deal if you promise to stop trying to get me to become a client for your wife, I’ll come to her book signing and purchase one of her books, and have her sign it.”
He smiles. “Deal. But just an FYI, the whole friends with benefits thing doesn’t last.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, two things happen: 1 the couple actually start falling for each other. 2 they split up because of the people in the arrangement wants something more than just a bed partner. According to my wife’s book on relationships anyway.”
“That’s bullshit. Greg understands the arrangement.”
“I hope so. Because if not, you two are going fall hard for each other, or one of you will end up with a broken heart.”
I scoff. “Look, keep the self-help shit to yourself and focus on this case.”
Dumb ass rookie.
I steer clear of self-help books, especially the ones that claim to enhance your sex life. I’ve always satisfied my partners, and my partners seem to be satisfied, too, that’s all I need. I don’t need some new-age bullshit telling me how to fuck or how relationships work.
***
Macready lives in a modest old wooden home that looks like it’s been here since the 90s. Reggae music thumps from inside the house.
Little asshole has no respect for people trying to sleep.
I draw my piece and climb out of the car. “Follow my lead.”
He steps out of the car and stares at me wide-eyed. “Wait! Why do you need a gun? We’re only questioning him, right?”
“Just get out your gun. These guys are known to rabbit. He’s less likely to bolt if he thinks we’ll cut him down in a storm of bullets.” He grudgingly draws his blue steel Smith & Wesson 45. Fear swirls in his eyes.
“You never had to pull your gun before, have you?”
“No, I haven’t, and I would like to keep it that way.”
“And I’d like to be a billionaire, but it’s not gonna happen. Look, sooner or later, some asshole is going to make you pull your weapon, and on that day, you gotta decide who ends up in a grave.”
***
We creep to the front entrance. I peak through the window, and there’s a little hipster punk toking on a bong. He’s vegged out on the sofa with his stash scattered on the table.
Blinds raised, music blaring. I should arrest him for being a fucking idiot.
“Head around back in case the little shit runs for the back door,” I whisper.
I give him a few seconds to get to the back door. My foot slams into the cheap wooden door. It flies open and smashes against the wall. “Hola, cómo estás, Reggie?” I say, aiming my gun at him.
He drops his bong and runs for the front door. I snatch him by the throat and slam his ass to the floor. “Man, you must’ve really missed prison. Normally when cops bust through the front door, people run for the back door. You’re a special kind of stupid, aren’t you?” I jam my knee against his spine and snap the cuffs around his wrist. “You, Nazi cunt! You gotta warrant for kicking in my fucking door?” My partner storms in the room, covering me with his 45. He marches to the stereo and switches it off.
Thank god. I hate Reggae music.
I throw him on to the couch and point to the bricks of weed on his table. “I saw your merchandise through the window, Reginald. Probable cause. If I were you, I’d be a little nicer to me. Otherwise, I may just decide to be a Nazi cunt.” I light up a smoke. “So how ya been, Reggie?” Smoke exhales from my nostrils.
“Suck my dick, bitch! That’s how I’m doing. I was sitting here minding my fucking business, not hurting anybody when you goose-stepping assholes kicked in my door.”
Little shit has a hearing problem.
“He’s friendly, eh Jason,” I smirk at him and blow a cloud of smoke in his face. “So much for me not being a fascist cunt. You’re on parole, right? Man, imagine if I was to call this
