Soul Sucker
Redheads

John Miller’s POV

Manhattan Life Tower, New York City

Friday, August 12, 2022

“Cathy says that Mary is really excited about your date.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back opposite Terry’s desk. We met every Friday afternoon to review active cases and discuss weekend plans. “It’s just a dinner and a chance to meet her daughter. Mary told her I train in an MMA gym, and Hannah wants to learn some moves. I’m trying to be nice, but Cathy shouldn’t expect a miracle.”

“You seemed to get along well last weekend,” he said with a raise of an eyebrow.

“That part of ‘getting along’ I do just fine with. It’s the relationship part that I suck at.” I set the Jordyn Carter file on his desk. “I ran out of time, boss. I gave Finance the go-ahead to cut the check.”

“You still think she’s dirty?”

“It’s like you said yesterday. I can’t prove a thing.” Guilty as hell, free as a bird. I knew it in my gut.

“It’s over, John. I got a rather unpleasant call from Legal Services this morning. Jordyn's lawyer wasn’t happy about you showing up in Indianapolis. The company apologized and assured him the life insurance payout would be in her account by Monday. You are to have no further contact with her.”

“Fine with me. What about the other cases?”

Terry leaned forward. “What exactly can we do? The statute of limitations on fraud is six years, and these cases are older or aren’t fraud against Manhattan Life. Leave it to the IRS and the FBI, like I said last week.”

“The statute of limitations allows us two years after we discover it.”

“Only if the plaintiff ‘discovered or could have discovered’ the fraud with reasonable diligence. We’re talking about background checks and autopsy results, John. Any first-year lawyer would get the claim tossed because it would be OUR fault we didn’t do our job.”

It sucked, but he was right. Digging up old cases was a loser. Even if I found proof, I’d have to replace the widow AND the money, and both were gone without a trace. “Back to my other cases then?”

“Not yet,” he told me. “I’ve arranged for a trigger in the policy approval chain based on your suspicions. It’s for new policies of five million dollars and up on men under age sixty-five who are single or recently married.”

I thought about that for a bit. “That could be a lot of people.”

He handed me a computer printout. “You can start with these policies, all issued in the past two years. You’ll get an email alert if a policy application comes through, and you’ll be in the approval chain for the new policy.”

The printout was fourteen pages long, single-spaced, with policy numbers, owners, beneficiaries, and benefits. “Damn.”

“If there is a black widow ring out there, I want to replace it BEFORE the claim comes in. That’s your job now.”

I flipped through as my mind went through the possibilities. “If the dude is still alive, what do you expect me to do?”

“Start with simple background checks on likely beneficiaries. I’ll have a couple of our researchers assigned to work with you. Set aside family member beneficiaries and focus on sole beneficiaries who are younger wives or girlfriends. Dig into anyone suspicious, and bring them to me.”

“And then what? It’s not illegal to have a sugar daddy. We both know that life insurance policies are a common way to pass assets to a mistress or girlfriend upon death, especially if the mistress is secret.” If the mistress bought the policy, she got the payout tax-free on his death. She didn’t have to be in his will, go through probate, or wait for nasty court fights with his ex-wives or children over his estate to settle. She’d get the cash in a month with a copy of the death certificate, and she could request that without the family knowing.

“It is not illegal, but if you replace evidence of identity fraud in the application? That’s cause to cancel the policy or deny the claim. I want to get ahead of this, John. I don’t want our office under the gun the next time an ‘unknown natural cause’ autopsy comes across our desks.”

I nodded. “I’ll get on it Monday.” I looked at the clock on the wall. “We should get going. Mary expects me at six, and we need to catch the train.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs.” I shut down my computer, grabbed my clothes and overnight bag, and headed for the elevators. Terry was waiting for me, and soon we were seated on the express train home. We got off at the Pennsylvania Station in Newark, and he drove me across town to Mary’s townhouse in East Orange. “Thanks for dropping me off.”

“Call me when you need me to pick you up. Better yet, don’t call me, and have fun this weekend.”

I grabbed my bag out of the back seat. “Heather is home, and staying overnight wouldn’t be a good example to her. I’ll call you around ten.”

“You know you’re welcome to stay the whole weekend with us instead of just Saturday. Maybe they could join us?”

“Mary has to work. I’ll stay for the fight, then head home Sunday morning. I need some ring time before work starts again.”

“Good luck.” He took off, and I turned to look at her home. It was an end-unit condo, three floors with a single garage door in front and the stairs to the second floor to the left. The ground floor was brick, with tan siding above. There was a bump-out window to the right, but sheer curtains kept me from peeking in as I knocked.

I heard footsteps running my way, socks on hardwood, and too soft to be Mary. “Mom, there’s an old guy in a suit here,” a young girl yelled a moment later.

“I’ll be right there,” Mary yelled back.

Mary opened the door and smiled at me while Heather stuck her head out from behind the door. “Old guy?”

“You’ve got grey hair like Grandpa,” Heather replied.

“I’ve got grey hair like a Sensei,” I replied as I bowed to her. She was about four and a half feet tall and weighed maybe ninety pounds, with her Mom’s red hair and freckles. “You must be Heather.” I stuck out my hand, and she shook it.

She nodded. “I’m making brownies,” she said with a grin. “Mommy said you can teach me after dinner if you want?”

I held up the bag. “That’s why I brought my stuff.”

I stood tall, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Mary. Both girls wore tan shorts and T-shirts with ankle socks. “Thank you for coming over, John.”

“Thank you for inviting me. You have a beautiful home.” I wasn’t kidding; the condo had wooden floors and comfortable-looking leather furniture. I could see the kitchen and dining room in the back, where Heather had run back.

“Let’s get you settled before the tour.” I removed my dress shoes and left them by the door. She led me upstairs to her room, her shapely bottom keeping my attention. As soon as the door closed, she was on me. We kissed while my hands ran down her side and her body pressed into mine. God, she felt good. I broke the kiss as her hand moved to grip my hard-on through my dress pants. “I’ve been dreaming about this all week,” she said as she worked my belt open.

I slipped a hand under her T-shirt, replaceing a nipple and squeezing it. “What about Hannah?”

“She’ll be fine for a few minutes while I take care of this. I can’t have you walking around with a stiffy all night.” I tossed my jacket on the bed and started to loosen my tie as she worked my pants off. It wasn’t long until my cock filled her mouth as I stood by the door.

“That feels fucking fantastic,” I whispered to her. “I won’t last long.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said as she came up for air. “Keep it quiet.”

I hadn’t had a date all week, and it wasn’t long before she brought me to climax. The last time I’d shot on her tits. “I’m going to cum.” She kept going, sucking the load out of me and swallowing it. I had to reach out and grab the dresser as the climax weakened my knees. “Wow.”

She smiled at me as she stood up and kissed me. I deepened the kiss, tasting myself on her tongue. “That didn’t taste bad at all,” she told me.

“I’d love to taste you,” I replied.

“No time for that. Get changed while I check on Heather.” She squeezed my naked ass before going into the bathroom. I laid my suit and clothes over a chair, then dressed in basketball shorts and a T-shirt while she was brushing her teeth. We’d only been gone for five minutes before we walked downstairs again. I could smell the chicken in the crockpot. “How are the brownies coming, honey?”

“I just put them in the oven,” she said proudly. “Double chocolate! Mom bought ice cream and whipped cream.”

“Do you have hot fudge?” She nodded. “I’ll have to show you how to make my favorite dessert, a hot fudge goopie.”

“Goopie?”

“Yep. You start with a warm brownie in the bowl, add a scoop of ice cream, then another brownie. You cover the whole thing with hot fudge and whipped cream. It’s the best dessert EVER.”

“Doesn’t the brownie get all soggy?”

“It works. Maybe you can try mine?”

“Okay.”

Mary was watching this with a smile on her face. She knew we had to get along if we were going to have a future, so she stayed out of the way and let us talk while we helped prepare the fajitas and rice for dinner. Heather told me about her day and what she wanted to do before school started. “I want to learn how to fight, but Mom wants me to play soccer.”

Soccer was good. I asked Heather why she wanted to learn Mixed Martial Arts. “I want to punch Tony in the face if he grabs my hair again,” she told me.

“Learning to fight isn’t about beating people up,” I told her.

“Then why learn?”

I looked over at Mary before kneeling in front of her. “People who start fights are punks and criminals, Heather. When I was a police officer, I arrested hundreds of them. Most are cowards or bullies. Is that what you want to be?” She shook her head. “I learn to fight for two reasons. Can you guess what they are?”

She looked into my eyes. “To protect people?”

I nodded. “That’s right. If I’m going to keep myself and those I love safe in a dangerous world, I have to be dangerous myself. I hope I never have to use it for real, but people can tell, and sometimes that is enough to stop them.”

“And the other reason?”

I pointed to my heart. “It makes me a better person. Training requires discipline and commitment. Do you like getting up in the morning?” She shook her head. “I don’t either, but if I’m going running or hitting the gym before work, that’s what I do. Whether I win or lose in the ring, I’m always trying to be a better person. That’s why you train, Heather. Not because you want to hurt people.”

“OK.” We set the table, and Mary whispered a ‘thank you’ as she handed me silverware.

Dinner was far more relaxed and enjoyable than I expected, at least until the end. “Are you and Mommy sleeping together?”

I almost choked on my iced tea, coughing a few times. I looked over at Mary, who was hiding her expression behind a napkin. I was on my own. “This is only the second time I’ve seen your Mom.”

“Jenny told me if Mom brings a man home, he’s her boyfriend.”

“She invited me here for dinner and your brownies, Heather. Would you mind if I was her boyfriend someday?”

“As long as you don’t kiss and stuff. Ew.”

I reached over to hold Mary’s hand. “Your Mom is a wonderful woman. I’m happy getting to know you both tonight.”

Mary squeezed back. “Heather, can you clear the plates and cut the brownies for us?” She nodded and stacked the plates, carrying them into the kitchen. “Sorry about that,” she whispered. “She likes you.”

“You’ve got a good kid there, Mary.”

“Thank you for what you said earlier.”

“I was the same way, thinking I’d learn to box, and that would make me a man. My trainers and coaches taught me otherwise.” We cleared the leftover food from the table, then joined Heather with the ice cream and toppings. “The problem with a real Hot Fudge Goopie is that it's so big, I can’t eat it all. How about we make one big one and share it? If you don’t like it, you can make something else.”

Both girls nodded quickly before watching as I built the Tower of Chocolate. They scooted close to me with their spoons, and I let them have the first bites. Heather made sure to get a little of everything on her spoon. “I love it!”

Mary moaned in pleasure as she took her first bite. My body responded as expected, so I leaned forward and joined in. We reduced it to melted ice cream and chocolate streaks in minutes. “That was great,” Heather told me as she wiped her mouth. “Can you teach me to fight now?”

“After we clean up from dinner,” I said to her disappointment. “Self-discipline, my young apprentice. Finish one thing before you start the other.”

I was making serious bank with Mom as she helped put things away and clean up. We moved the furniture out of the way in the living room so we’d have a place to practice. I went upstairs, put on my gi, grabbed the hand pads and extra gloves, and headed back down. I was surprised when Mary fell in next to her daughter. “Do you mind if we both learn?”

“Not at all,” I told her. We started with the stance. “Everything flows from the base,” I told them. I demonstrated how standing tall and square left you vulnerable, then showed them a proper stance with the dominant side back. The girls learned quickly, moving on to basic blocks to punches with either hand.

Mary was exhausted from punching drills when we stopped over an hour later. “When do we get to fight?”

I thought about it for a moment. “You can try,” I told the two. “Hands only. If you land a punch to my chest or stomach in two minutes, you win.”

“ME FIRST,” Heather said as she raised her hand.

Mary handed her the small MMA gloves I’d brought, and I tossed the hand pads aside. “Your Mom can time the round and be the referee. Use what I taught you about defense before you think about attacking me.”

Mary set her phone for a two-minute time. We touched gloves before Mary gave the order to fight. I had all the advantages, so I kept my arms tight and pulled my punches. I gave her some jabs, letting her twist or block with her arms and hands. She gave me a counter I barely deflected, then moved in for the kill.

I went on defense, twisting and moving to avoid her punches. I blocked a dozen or so hits before disaster struck. I straightened up and moved right, Heather dropped her body low, and her left hook got below my right elbow block.

It got below the belt, too, landing dead on my nuts.

Women have no idea what it feels like to take a nut shot. It’s a delayed pain; your mind realizes something bad just happened, but the pain doesn’t arrive for a second or two. I froze up, my hand reaching for my crotch, then fell to the ground and assumed the fetal position.

Teaching a redhead to punch may not have been the best idea of my life.