The dark sedan sat on the opposite side of the street of the parking lot of Power Exchange.  It wasn’t unusual for people to park a distance away from the club.  No one wanted their personalized plates noticed at a place like that.  It would have been better for patrons if there had been a nice public parking garage, but there were other bars and businesses in the area, so it hadn’t done much damage to the operations of Power Exchange.

The driver of the car was as excited as if he were going to meet a playmate in the club, but was too nervous to go in.  His excitement didn’t stem from sexual thrill.  It was more that his professional development was about to take a huge up-tic and that was even better than sex.

After all, thought Scott, I can get all the twisted sex I want from the computers at work, hell it was twice as good as the internet, he could surf all the porn and videos he wanted at work.  The really twisted stuff was in the computer evidence files and Scott had a real Jones for girls in the fourteen to seventeen age range.  It didn’t bother him that those files were considered kiddy porn when they were on a citizen’s computer.  They were all just file research for Scott.

He felt himself getting distracted by thoughts of fifteen year old girls and forced himself back to focusing on the task at hand, one that ironically included a digital camera too.  He was shooting pictures of the blonde hooker heading into Power Exchange and wondering how he could get inside to get the perfect proof.  His telephoto lens grabbed four images a second of the hooker getting out of her car, her skirt sliding up — those pics would have to be enlarged to see if he got anything really good — and of her walking into the club.  Marshall would be thrilled out of his mind.  Scott knew, from secretly rummaging through his bosses computer, that Marshall had a thing for blondes.

Unfortunately for Scott, he hadn’t been employed by the office during the blonde moment that had cast such a pall over John Marshall’s office reputation.  Scott snapped away and regretted that the woman wore a hat and big sunglasses.  He would have liked to see her face.  Oh well, he thought, her thong would have to do, and if he enlarged and cropped the picture to minimize the woman’s body, well, then he could just as easily imagine it was the crotch of a sixteen year old virgin rather than an experienced fuck slut hooker.  God, he hated experienced women.  They realized how bad he was in the rack.

Scott snapped the last few moments of Donna’s egress to the club, turned off the camera to be certain the images were protected.  That task done, Scott drove desperately to his personal files on his work computer.  This was going to be a really, really good afternoon.

Read the serialized thriller novel “Dead Play” from the Beginning HERE