What She Wanted (7 page)

Diesel was patiently waiting his turn from behind. Kym
knew his ass was turned the fuck out by her performance with
his cousin. She got up from her knees and bent over, giving
Diesel all her ass.

“Do what it do, Smythe,” Kym said.

Diesel wasted no time running up in her twat. She knew his
stroke, knew where it was coming from, and knew he could
put that fire out. A bitch was shaking like a junkie, waiting for
him to build back up that flame. It was her own special thing…
fire in her belly, needing to be put out.

Bent over, Kym’s hands on the floor, Diesel fucked her like
his name was normal. She felt him swell up inside her hole, and
flexed her coochie muscles on it like it was leaving on the next
train. She tossed her ass back, pushing harder onto the floor
for leverage. Diesel had her legs around his waist, and was
smashing in and out of her pussy hard, like he had something
to prove.

“Who’s pussy is this?” he asked.

Who the fuck was he kidding?
“The nigga who in it,” Kym
responded. She was talking much shit, but they all knew it.

Kuron was back in action. She must’ve forgotten that he’d
been on lockdown for seven and some change, because he was
rock hard again. He picked her up and carried her to the couch.
On her side, he kissed and licked her from lips to lips, and
everything in between. He settled in between two thick thighs,
and teased the pussy with his swollen, seven year, drought-
hardened dick. Kym felt the flame begin again.

“Boys, y’all playin’ with it,” Kym said.

Diesel crawled in from behind, fingers invading her virgin
backdoor. His body curved around her from the back and
pushed, fighting his way inside. Tense, she stiffened and fought
the invasion. Kuron kissed away the pain. Soon, Kym was
taking both dicks, one in each hole, without a break.

The flame built and rescinded. Burst into shooting sparks
and then dimmed. In the end, she was overworked, and the
final buck knocked her ass out. When she woke up, the house
was empty, and her Glock was gone.

Fuck, one of the former convicts she was fucking, and
currently on her caseload, was in the possession of her County
issued Glock 9mm. They could be out robbing banks, and the
evidence would point right to her. She was fucked out, fucked
over, her gun was gone, and she had no written notes for either
visit. Some goddamn probation officer she was proving to be.

CHAPTER 7

“J
ohnson, what you got?” Brooks asked.

“She went straight from the office to the Cherry
Hill Mall in New Jersey. She dropped $2300 in Coach, Macy’s
and Aeropostale.” Johnson snorted. “She must have a second
job, or she’s robbing banks on the weekend. Then she paid a
visit to #20945 – K. Douglas.”

Brooks wasted no time in checking his personnel files. “She
makes $39,900 a year. She has no kids, and the only tax write-
off is her house on Alice Street. There’s no way she can drop
$2300 at the mall on her regular salary.”

“What about that Jaguar she drives? There’s no way she can
afford that kind of luxury on her regular salary either,” Johnson
said.

Brooks didn’t want to think of the down payment she made
on that Jaguar that he was still paying off; on her Black Card on
his account and in his name. He was glad that Johnson was on
the phone and not in person. He didn’t know if he could control
his expression of fear right about now.

“We saw her pull out a knot of cash at the store registers,
and we have it all on tape. With what we have, we should be
able to pull her financials and credit reports, and seriously start
digging into her past,” Johnson said.

Brooks felt the familiar pit in his stomach. He had a lot
to hide, and more to lose if even part of the truth came out.
There was too much of his shit tangled in Kym’s web. As an
afterthought, he made a mental note to pay her Black Card
bill.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you can tell us about
Devers, Brooks? You worked pretty closely with her over the
last two years. Hell, you’re still her supervisor, and I can’t think
of anybody who knows her better,” Johnson said.

“Nothing that I can think of, Johnson. I still think about the
good old days, you know,” Brooks said.

“Yeah, well don’t. I’ll call you when we get the go ahead
on Devers.”

***

Six months ago…

“Mr. Brooks’ office,” the dinosaur sang into the phone.

“Supervisor Brooks.”

“Hold one moment, please.”

Silence. Click.

“Brooks here.”

“Umm, yes, my son, he pays all his money to Officer
Devers. He take all his money to her. He can no help me pay
my bills. She always come here and stay too long. She take all
his money,” a woman stated in broken English.

“Ma’am, can I ask for your name, please?”

“Maria Saldano. My son name es Mario Oroyo. He come
home from jail four months ago. I can no have him stay here
if she come to take all his money away. She stay too long and
take all his money,” she said.

“Can I have a telephone number to reach you, if and when I
find out about the fees your son is paying?” Brooks asked.

“267-999-0902.”

He tried not to get excited about the possibility of stopping
Kym Devers in her deceitful and scandalous tracks. It was
bad enough that she had incriminating tapes on him. She also
had screwed over his son, and beat him out of over $20,000,
including $1500 for a bogus abortion. Poor Ricky, Jr. was still
crushed over the death of his first born.

Brooks’ next call was to Johnson. “Johnson, we might
have a situation on our hands. Kym Devers is being accused
of tampering with the supervision fees of one of her clients.
Actually, his mother called, angry and inquiring about the
amount of fees being charged. She also said that when Devers
comes over she stays too long. I’m not sure what is going on,
but I think it’s worth looking into.”

It was the beginning of the six-month investigation into
Kym Devers. The Special Investigative Office had listened
in on her telephone calls from the office, and followed her
in unmarked County vehicles. While they were not the FBI,
and didn’t have the funds or technology to bug her home and
private calls, they maintained an ever-growing file on their
rogue probation officer.

The lead investigator was hoping to go to the District
Attorney with the evidence, and get a warrant for Devers’
financial records, a home phone tap, and search of her Alice
Street home.

Brooks tried not to make it look like he cared one way or
another, but his heart was pounding, and his stomach had the
familiar pit in it at the mere thought of Kym Devers, and what
she could do to his future.

CHAPTER 8

A
gent Johnson thumbed through the file on Devers.
They were
this
close to catching her. Even closer to
prosecution, if the gods of law and justice were on their side.
They knew about the extortion. They knew she was having
some kind of inappropriate sexual contact with many of the
men on her caseload. Then she pulled her County weapon on
their man, Serrano, and violated him back to prison. Now her
gun was missing, and she had filed a police report on a home
invasion that never happened.

It was almost a damn shame that it had come to this with
Devers. She was a damn good P.O. when she wanted to be.
Devers had a good rapport with her probationers and their
families.
Maybe too much of a rapport
, Johnson thought. He
had even considered her somewhat of a confidant in the past.

Johnson knew that Brooks was smitten with Devers; there
was obviously more there than supervisor and subordinate.
Johnson wasn’t sure of how much had gone down with them,
but there was much more than Rick Brooks was telling.

Johnson wondered if it might be worth it to look into Rick
Brooks’ situation as well. He wasn’t looking well these days…
stress, bad diet, and bad women. Brooks had mentioned to him
that Rick, Jr. might be expecting a baby. That sounded like a
stressful diet of bad women.

***

Johnson read the reports as they started coming in on
Devers.
I know the bitch is not this stupid
. Deposits made into
five different accounts of three different banks, and one credit
union. Over $75,000 deposited throughout 2008 alone. With
a salary of $39,900, there was no way Kym Devers could
account for the large sums of money in her accounts.

They’d pulled the phone bills for her home, private and
County cell phones for the last six months. Devers had been a
busy woman. Phone calls to and from the men on her caseload
at varying times throughout the day and night. Recorded
visits to their homes in her 2007 Jaguar and the 2009 Charger.
Recordings of her leaving their homes at two and three in the
morning dressed provocatively; as if her varied usual state of
dress wasn’t bad enough. She’d always pushed the envelope
with her work attire, but never enough to trigger the radar. In
these pictures, she looked more like a madam or a stripper
creeping from a late-night fuck.

She really was a stupid bitch
, Johnson thought. There was
no way she could explain the maid costume or the cat-o-nine
tails she was gripping in one picture as she left the house of
#074268 - D. Smythe. Johnson looked closer at the dates
stamped on the recordings and pictures. Most of the visits to
Serrano and Smythe were from five months ago. Once Serrano
was violated, the visits were mostly between Smythe and
Douglas.