Rod Strong
Dealing in adultery
CHAPTER ONE
No wisecracks, no smart-aleck remarks. One of my ancestors was a German, many many eons ago. His last name was Fokker. He was the only German in the history of my family, but it was he who had the son, who had the son, who had the son, and so on, so that although I'm a hybrid of English, French, Spanish, and Latin American descent, for the last three generations I'm one hundred percent North American, from the good old U.S.A. with just enough German in me to be called Fokker.
It was mother who loved the name Ira, and so stuck me with it, while father wanted to name me after William the Conqueror, so I became Ira William Fokker, or I. Will Fokker. I lived with the name through the first thirty years of my life with a bit of embarrassment, and then decided to live up to it. I don't know how or why, but women find me attractive, despite my ugly face, or perhaps because of it.
My nose was bashed in at an early age, and is twisted in six different places. My brown hair is straight, cut short, and though not sparse certainly doesn't cover my head in tremendous quantities.
With my face I belonged in the Marines, and tried to join. They rejected me. So did the Army and Navy. Flat feet. You'd think the police would've been overjoyed to accept me, but they turned me away as well. So I went into the area of private investigation, and became more than a little wealthy that way. I have only one virtue. I complete whatever assignment I accept. How I complete, whatever unorthodox methods I use, and bow long I take to complete an assignment is my own business.
I handle the sleaziest jobs, and charge according to what I think is the client's ability to pay. I've been hired to catch women being unfaithful to their husbands, and when they aren't, I step into their lives and make 'em unfaithful. Yeah, I'm that good when it comes to throwing a fuck. When women hire me to catch their husbands the same way and the husbands are supposedly faithful, I set 'em up with a broad or two and take the necessary photos.
And when the client is a good-looking dame, she pays with more than money, most of the time. Oh there are those virtuous twats who insist I keep my hands off 'em, and I'm never one to commit forcible rape, but the average, ordinary broad is usually more than willing to play, what with the way her spouse has been ignoring her.
Take Judy Roberts. All of five feet two inches tall, weighing in at about a hundred and ten. Judy had a nice face, almost pretty. Her hair was brown, short, and curled on top of her head. She had nice eyes, big, brown, and limpid, and she was always smiling, even the day she came to see me. Her measurements were a mere thirty-three, twenty-two, thirty-four, but her skin was smooth and sleek, and her flesh seemed to have a clean shimmer to it, enough to make any man want her.
She came to see me in the office I have in the Stone Building, on the Sunrise Highway in Elton, Long Island. Elton is one of those tiny, incorporated villages no one ever really hears about, which pleases the inhabitants no end. It has its fair share of mixed races and religions, but each family living in Elton can afford to own its own home, even with a hefty mortgage. I'd be lying if I said there was no discrimination in Elton, but what there is remains discreetly hidden.
It was a hot August day, and I was idling the time away playing solitaire on the shiny desk I'd bought a few months earlier. Fortunately the Stone Building is adequately wired, so I put in two air conditioners, one in the outer office and one in my own little cubby. I have no secretary at present, so the air conditioner in the outer office is for the comfort of clients who may be forced to wait while I consult with other would-be clients.