The Taboo Portfolio

The fat man was sweating so much that one might think he was attempting to solve Los Angeles' current water shortage. His body's exudation of mammoth quantities of perspiration had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. No, the dim lit room was well ventilated, and a couple of desk fans kept the room's climate as pleasant as a picnic by a bubbling brook. It was the man's boiling blood, threatening to cook him from the inside out, that had turned him into a sudoriferous spring.

As Detective Conan Burn laid out one explicit photograph after another, the fat man's face turned a deeper shade purple causing it to clash with his pastel green bow tie. Each photo showed a young blonde in escalating compromising situations. The first few were of her and a young dark haired stud talking. Though if you looked at it with a critical eye you would notice that the familiar way in which she was touching him spoke to this not being some casual lunch date. The second batch showed the illicit lovers down at some dive motel that was so passionate about its customer service that it offered rates by the hour. They hadn't even taken the time to clothes the flimsy blinds before locking lips. In later pictures clothes became disheveled before disappearing altogether. The final set was the one that had set the fat man on a path for a coronary that would get him an intimate date with the coroner. Those photos, each showing the fat man's wife in utter bliss. The young man's tool filled one or the other of her orifices. These were hot enough to start a wildfire. A smut peddler could make a dime or two off those Conan had realized. Thusly, filed under S, there was a second set in his cabinet.

Burn didn't blame the fat man for being in his current state. If the situation were reversed and it was his pictures of is wife with another man's cock buried in her every orifice he would be apoplectic too. Burn had never made it that far with a dame to be truly able to emphasize with the fat man. His problem wasn't them straying into another man's arms instead it was his inability to keep a bottle out of his mouth.

"Listen, Lou, I know it looks bad," Burn said flatly like a doctor telling a man he had three months to live. The man and the doctor, Much like Conan and Lou, would both know the it was a terrible situation, but the matter of fact delivery often could bring about a morose acceptance of one's rapidly approaching appointment with the grim reaper.

"Looks bad? Looks bad!" Lou shouted in a way that belied whether it was a question or an exclamation. "It looks like my wife is fucking the mailman and from the skill of it has been for a very long time!"

"All I can tell you is take these down to the offices Hideman, Freed, and Willow and they'll make certain you can trade this dame in for a newer model," Conan said. The detective was hoping to stay on the fat man's positive side for the easy money that was to be made when that young filly invariably strayed.

"Yeah, your right Burn. You'd think I'd learn. If only my weakness for tall blondes were for the kind made with gin and vodka. I don't know which addiction would cost more or bring you quicker to the afterlife, but at least I wouldn't have to have you show me pictures of my shame." The fat man grumbled.

"That's why you have me. I keep your money with you and not her once you sober up." The detective said with fake effervescence.

"At your rates?" the fat man said incredulously. "Ah, hell better you than that tramp of a wife I married."

"Sure Lou, see Mindy on your way, and she can give you my final bill." The detective said in a well-meaning but business like fashion.

Before the fat man could open the door, it burst open. In stepped a drop-dead gorgeous redhead. The kind of gal that would grace a sailor's pin-up calendar. She was frantic.

"Detective you just have to help me. It's my younger brother. I got a letter from him. I think he's mixed up with a bad lot." Suddenly she stopped as it registered for the first time that she and Burn were not alone.

The fat man recovered from his stunned malaise and left closing the door behind him.

Burn rolled and lit a cigarette before turning back to his stunning prospective client. "Now miss?" he questioned.

"Jane Palmer." The knockout answered batting her eyelashes in a shy yet seductive way.

"Well, Miss Palmer. I think you need to tell me the whole story and start from the beginning if you would."