What My Brother Left Me Ch. 02

Marisol doesn't get all bubbly; that isn't her style either; she really is a Mafia Don's daughter. No, she flows into my lap, straddling me, her warm wet cunt trapping my cock against my stomach. One hand holds her wine while the other grabs the back of my head and pulls me into a lip-lock that goes on forever.

"I miss John, I really do," she informs me, "but not nearly as much as I should and with nothing close to the passion I now embrace you with, Carlos Verde. I am going to make love to you for a long, long time...I think seven to ten years was mentioned with the option to extend indefinitely."

"Have I helped you out?" I am somewhat shocked.

"John and I exchanged words but we never talked," Marisol imparts to me. "If you do this thing - or, should I say 'help me do this thing' my family will be very grateful. I'm stunned we didn't think of it ourselves."

"Perhaps your family is a teensy bit too much revenge oriented?" I timidly offer.

"Very possibly," Marisol shrugs. "For right now, I'm going to get dressed," which I respond with a deep longing for her, "go home and get some things but I'll be right back and we can work things out all night long." By the way she says 'work things out' I know she means sex, which would delay me dealing with my brother's death but John's life is turning out to be one big mess and I need time to figure out what to do.

"What would you do if I locked the door?" I tease her before she can start dressing. She thinks it over for a few seconds.

"I have a shotgun and automatic pistol for home defense Carlos," she smirks. "In my family's experience shotguns trump most locks."

"The door will be unlocked, I promise," I laugh.

"You light up the Jacuzzi, get something ready for dinner and take one of your brother's Viagra," Marisol gives me quick instructions and a quicker kiss. "Put on a robe and nothing else; I'll be back very soon."

As Marisol starts to wiggle into her jeans, I catch her off-guard and tip her on her side. She gives an annoyed huff which turns into a happy gasp when I put a thumb into her ass and two fingers into her pussy. Smooth as silk...

"Marisol, why is your...back passage so...smooth?" I cautiously question.

"I had an enema before coming over," she laughs. "That is the best way to have anal sex."

"How did you know we would have anal sex?" I wonder. She laughs again.

"With a butt like mine; if you happened to be gay you would still fuck my ass, even if you had to close your eyes and think of Priscilla: Queen of the Desert while you did it," she answers smugly.

Seeing Marisol out isn't exactly easy and I definitely get the impression she loves me chasing her around the Man Cave as she tries to get dressed and put her shoes on. I'd be a total liar if claimed I hate bending her over the recliner, or the sofa, or the sofa in the living room, or spreading her open on the love seat and pressing her - hands trapped over her head - against five different sections of wall, or that one last make-out session at the door.

Five seconds after I get her out of the house I am still catching my breath with my back to the door when the doorbell rings. Could it be a husband with a gun already? I peek through the spyhole and swing the door open. Marisol jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around my upper thighs while kissing me all over the face.

"I'm naked," kiss, kiss, kiss, "in my doorway," I get out.

"Okay, okay," she sounds so miserable. She gives me one more gentle kiss then dismounts and tries to not look too harried as she heads back to her house. I shut the door, scurry to the Jacuzzi naked and then race for the shower. I get half way there before doubling back to unlock the door. I race through my shower and snatch one of John's robes; it is a bit big on me but in my rush down from Pennsylvania I only brought my lone winter robe which is both ratty as hell and very warm.

It takes me a minute of looking at my brother's medicine cabinet to realize that he didn't suffer hair loss and certainly not to a degree he needed a 100 tablet bottle. I'm not sure how anyone gets a prescription for that many little blue pills - or why they - oh; the black market, duh. I pop only one pill because at the last minute taking two seems unwise.

The lesson is that you take Viagra a half-pill at a time. I'm about to have a boner that lasts nine agonizing hours. All I can claim is that it is a lesson I won't soon forget...and I'm about to make Marisol very happy, sorta. See, there is a knock at the door. I beat feet there and swing it wide open; I'm very happy I have a robe on because I'm looking at the two homicide detectives handling my brother's case.

I'm hoisted on my brother's petard, or on his un-luck, depending on your point of view.

"Detectives Stevens and Felipe; please come in," I wave two of Miami/Dade's finest inside. Amanda Stevens is a woman my brother would have loved -- long blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a firm, tall and well-sculpted physique. Even with her low heels she's eye-level with my five-foot eleven form. I starting to suspect he would have appreciated her familiarity with handcuffs as well. I'm also starting to think I hardly knew the guy.

George Felipe looks to be your classic go-getter, slightly shorter than me, with a military hairstyle and light brown complexion. He is slender and possesses a nervous energy which carries through into his conversations.

"Expecting someone?" Det. Stevens looks at me while Det. Felipe strategically looks around farther in the house.

"Yes," I nod. "I met some neighbors when I showed up today and one of them is coming back over in a few minutes."

"That was very nice of them," she eyes me both sexually and quizzically.

"Not too much; they were two women my brother was blackmailing for sex and I'm still trying to figure out if either of them had a hand in my brother's death."

That brings both detectives up short.

"What?" Det. Felipe snaps. "Why didn't you inform the department the moment you found out about this?"

"You weren't planning to take up where your brother left off, so what's your intention?" Stevens asks. Since I don't appear high, or a totally idiot, the good assumption is on my not continuing the blackmail; it's true.

"I want to -" I'm saying as Marisol comes through the door with two bottles of wine. Maybe my brother died of liver failure.

"Hello," she greets everyone cheerfully. "I'll let the wine chill." It takes me a second to adjust; she saw the drab sedan with the county government tags, probably the non-flashing lights on the dashboard and she already knew my brother died suspiciously...still, she came in.

"Marisol, this is Det. Stevens and Det. Felipe," I make introductions. "They're investigating my brother's death." Ping! "Also, the lasagna is done. Does anyone care to join me?"

"We are on duty," Det. Felipe informs me firmly, but he's not being a dick about it.

"How about I let you go over my brother's records, if you take a seat at the dining table? You are Night Shift Homicide detectives, so where else are you going to eat?" I add.

"What could we look at?" Stevens inquires. Felipe doesn't seem pleased with this turn of events.

"I've synched his home system with my laptop so you both can go through it while you eat," I say. "I'll go back to the bedroom and crack his safe -- that shouldn't take five minutes, and I should be able to give you most of that too."

"This lasagna could hardly be considered a bribe," Marisol comments as she comes from the kitchen. Apparently John's taste in microwave food doesn't rise to her standards - then I realize she's in a bikini top, not a bra, which has been made easier to detect by the simple expedient of her removing her shirt.

It is safe to say that if Bigfoot jumped through the window right now, we would all blithely buy his Girl Scout cookies and send him on his way; Marisol is eating up the attention.

"You um - you um - you ah crack safes?" Felipe mumbles to me.

"My brother wasn't a complicated guy," I slobber. I shake my head and display the 'background babe' on John's computer. "Who is this girl?"

The group scans it.

"Katherine Heigl," Marisol identifies her.

"What are her measurements?" I ask.

"34D-25-34," Felipe blurts out. Both women look his way; Stevens smirks while he's embarrassed.

"I'll be right back," I hail as I race to the bedroom. My brother is pretty constant about both his capacity to recall a woman's measurements and his lust for the hottest chick in the room. I find all kinds of crap so I have to be careful. "Gun," I call out and "weed". I bare the two items back to the dining room, held in handkerchiefs. The two cops are standing 'cautiously'.

"The bag of marijuana isn't mine, nor is the gun but I think I saw a few permits in there," I tell them. "I'll be right back."

"I'll go with you," Stevens announces.

"So will I," Marisol volunteers suspiciously.

In the safe in my brother's bedroom we find all kinds of other documents. I'm pulling them out and showing them to Stevens while Marisol hovers around.

"Let's go back to Detective Felipe," I suggest.

"Carlos, you and I could stay and make the bed?" Marisol offers.

"Marisol, that lasagna is probably dreadful, but I think that it only gets worse when you are eating it cold," I point out.

"We could order take-out instead," she smiles.

"I've been here three hours," I moan. "Before that I was packing, flying down here, or dealing with the police. I haven't slept well in forty-eight hours so I just want to eat and go to bed."

As I round the hall into the dining room; "But I took that Viagra so I don't think sleep is possible."

"You took 'A' Viagra?" Stevens queries.

"Mr. Green," Felipe sighs warning me of dreadful news to come, "you take Viagra in half-pill doses. If you take a whole pill you get a painful erection that lasts 6 to 10 hours. Didn't you read the instructions?"

"A whole pill," Marisol purrs, "6 to 10 hours," she starts salivating then she shimmies out of her pants to reveal her bikini thong bottoms. Felipe is trying terribly hard not to stare, but he's clearly uncomfortable.

"So Marisol, what does your husband do?" Stevens gets all police-lady like.

"It is Marisol Rivera, Detective Stevens, and he puts people in crates filled with snakes -- no wait, that's my Father and Brothers; my Husband is partners in the largest alcohol distributorships in Southern Florida," Marisol challenges Stevens. "So could one of them have killed John Green; my answer is 'yes' but I knew of no such plot. Besides, my husband has been in Argentina for over a week and won't be back until Sunday night."

"What is your husband's reaction going to be when he finds out you are here tonight...wearing that?" Stevens persists.

"By Sunday Night it won't matter what he thinks," Marisol grins vindictively.

"What does that mean?" Stevens counters.

"It means I'm not going to tell you," Marisol snips.

"Are you really associated with the Coronado crime family?" Felipe interjects.

"No...I mean my Father is Estefan Coronado, but I have never been a 'member' of the family," she instructs him.

"Lady, what do you think your Father would have done when he found out you were sleeping with John Greene?" Felipe stood. "And why in the hell are you sticking it to his brother?"

"No," I jump up too, "I'm sticking it to her but only after I let her know that John was dead and the blackmail scheme was over -- end of story." Everyone looks at me. "Listen, in the past three hours all I've learned is that my brother may very well have been overcome with sexual exhaustion, lost control of his car while fleeing Miami and welcomed Death as a release."

"I've had more sex since I walked into this house than I've had in a year," I confess. "Seriously, I get jumped answering the door and then it is seven orgasm to my two before I catch a break -- and no, I don't think she or her husband have the stones or the knowledge to mess with John's car plus they don't seem to know where the blackmail material is hidden."

"Marisol here was kind enough to talk to me at least before the sex started," I continue rambling, "but with her, sex was even better and I didn't think that was possible."

"That story is not remotely believable," Felipe glares at me.

"If you think I'm lying, take me to a hospital and sedate me," I tell him, "because part of me agrees with you -- I've lost my mind and I'm really huddled in a corner making incoherent mutterings."

"That's okay Carlos," Marisol pouts, "I'll help you." She comes over, yanks my chair half way around and then straddles my lap. As her legs lower her torso down slowly, she pulls her bikini thong aside with one hand while opening my robe with the other. Flawlessly, she slides my pole into her warm, moist folds and rides me all the way down before kissing me so forcefully that my head nearly rolls over my back.

She wiggles her pussy around my cock.

"How does that feel?" she showers me with compassion.

"Are we," and by that I believe Det. Stevens means her and Det. Felipe, "keeping you from something important?"

"Erotically charged but dampened by a muscle cramp," I put words to my confusing sensations. "No, Det. Stevens, this is not what I intended when I invited you two in."

"No, you are good," Marisol abruptly hops up and fixes her thong. "You are not crazy."

"George, eyes on target," cautions his partner. "You are married with children."

"Do you have a husband and children, Det. Stevens?" Marisol asks.

"No and no," Stevens sounds annoyed.

"Do you want children?" Marisol persists.

"Not that this is any of your business but 'no'; I don't have a man and I don't want any kids," Stevens growls.

"Well, I want children and if the two of you would bolt, maybe I'll get my wish," Marisol curls her lips viciously as she tries to stare down Stevens.

"You are not bi-sexual are you Det. Stevens?" sort of blasts through my consciousness and slips out my mouth in a totally unfounded and inappropriate utterance.

"Listen you!" Felipe shoots up and snaps at me. This is his partner after all.

"Did I actually say that...?" I groan. "Hell, did even think that? What is wrong with me?" I put my elbows on the table and my head in my hands.

"Cool down George," Stevens advises her partner. "He's been through a lot and he's been ruled out as a suspect. He is cooperating -- somewhat."

"How did Carlos get ruled out so quickly?" Marisol is intrigued. Stevens is clearly uncertain about how much to reveal.

"You are sure he was murdered?" I mutter. News about my brother is kick-starting my brain.

"Yes," Stevens avoids Marisol by answering me. "Your brother was poisoned."

"Twice," Felipe adds. "Low doses of Arsenic indicate a long term -- maybe six month dosing soon to be fatal; plus a fluoride-based synthetic that was in lethal quantities. It would have killed him in a few hours -- had he lived long enough."

"Then he was stabbed, got in his car and fled the scene of his attack, but then he was shot in the car, most likely while he was driving, though that wasn't what actually killed him," Stevens notes. "He would have bled to death without hospitalization from either wound."

"So he was poisoned -- twice, stabbed, shot then passed out and crashed?" I shake away my cobwebs.

"He didn't crash; his car was sabotaged," Felipe informs me. "His brakes had a mechanical failure and if he hadn't been run off the road, he would have eventually crashed. As it was, the pursuing car pushed him off the highway. Your brother tried to swim away under water -- we discovered multiple 9mm and .45 casings at the bridge, so we assume he was being shot at by multiple parties. Technically, your brother got caught up in some submerged branches and drowned in the canal."

I cannot imagine what my expression looks like because I've never had people look at me with such levels of concern and nervous caution before.

"For the love of God," I shudder. "What the hell did he do? Who did he piss off? Why are you telling me this...isn't this classified or something?"

"Our working theory that brought us to your door was that your brother was a covert importer for one drug gang, who were fighting another, and he betrayed one or both parties," George says.

"Thanks to your efforts Charles, we now are working with a whole new theory that he was a serial blackmailer. We need to develop a list of possible suspects," Stevens continues.

All that hate and John was killed by Mother Nature...what a bitch," I shudder.

"Wait...is Carlos in danger?" Marisol seems suspicious. "That's why you two are really here, isn't it? You want to see who comes by to kill my Carlos."

Wait...I am owned by somebody? I've never even put a ring on a girl's finger. I tried once and she responded by saying 'we should see other people'. I have to do something.

"Marisol, you need to get dressed and go home," I stand. "If it isn't safe here, I can't have you putting your life in danger."

"Oh," she muses, "you are right." That was surprisingly easy. "I need to go and get my guns; I'll be right back." Maybe not so easy; I open my mouth to say something and she stabs a lone finger my way. I try to say something again and the finger jabs menacingly.

No one speaks until she dresses and heads for the door.

"That must have been some sex," Stevens whispers.

"We can't let her brings gun over here," George warns Stevens. I really need to get my head on straight.

"Hold on...I need both of yours assessment on the likelihood that Marisol or any of her relations were involved," I grind out. They look at each other.

"Don't lie to us," Felipe shakes me lightly; "do you have any idea where the blackmail material is?" I am thinking over every tidbit of advice John gave me.

"It wouldn't be in his home, or in a bank," I piece together. "Dad advised us to never put all our eggs in one basket -- more to the point, never put all our resources in one bank. John was also a strong believer of never leaving evidence of a crime lying around -- never shoplift and flaunt what you stole," I clarify.

"What does that mean?" Stevens quizzes me.

"I'm not sure but if the key to this is monetary, he would keep it at, or close to, something he felt represents an economic success," I work out; "something to do with work."

"What do you know about your brother's business?" Stevens asks. "I've been down this round two dozen times already. Now it is two-dozen and one."

"Nothing really; he sent me some pics of three golf courses he'd been a financial partner in, the Platinum Yacht Club project and about half a dozen planned communities and -- um - eight or nine houses in Miami proper and South Beach," I recite yet again.

"Were you aware that your brother mortgaged your house in Pennsylvania?" Felipe prods me.

"No way!" I deny it. "He would have told me." I think clearly for a second, not as a baby brother but as a financial guy. We shared it and, while I'd never signed anything, he could have signed...I graduated from college...I signed some stuff...fuck. When did this happen?"

"Nineteen months ago," George tells me.

"We closed out some of my college accounts," I inform them, "and settled some of the old property -- John said it was stuff from Dad's Will that had come our way after the trouble we had with his old company; Green Financial."

Marisol, a monster handbag over her shoulder and a hunting rifle sleeve over her other shoulder, quickly re-enters my place. My heart and head tumble into conflict once more. Am I the luckiest guy alive, or has Marisol had a hand in murdering my brother and is she getting ready to remove me as a lose end.

"Hey Beautiful," I greet her. She strides up to me and I can tell that Stevens is fighting a terrible mental battle to restrain herself from tackling Marisol and pinning the sultry Cuban to the ground. My dick hurts -- a lot -- as my mind takes in a female fight scenario born from the legacy of Quentin Tarantino and every other catfight with guns scene ever put on the silver screen -- except Marisol's boob's must bounce in 3D...