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The Erotic Adventures of Dick Mullen by Raphaël Ambrosius Coustea

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Chapter One: The Case of the Brand New Case 

Just like every other night of the week, Dick Mullen sat at his desk, in his office. A storm raged outside the window. Every few minutes lightning struck, and the flashes illuminated the rain drops that thrashed the window like flickers off a disco ball. 

Mullen was typing on his vintage typewriter. His desk was neat, but not too neat. Papers were spread out on the large dark wooden desk. Behind him stood a bookcase filled with odds and ends from previous cases. A small broken branch from the case of the Murder in the Orchard. A clock pendulum, from The case of The Clock Tower. A rusted key from The Murder in The Murderhouse. Mullen loved to keep trophies from his favourite cases as a reminder of how good he was at detecting and solving crimes.

Despite being indoors, he wore his dark trilby hat. He had a cigarette between his lips and a dark expression of case-solving concentration. He wore a white shirt, dark suspenders and a dark tie. He had recently taken up the hobby of growing thick facial hair, shaved and styled into a dashing set of sideburns, mutton chops and a moustache. 

Mullen stroked his chin, deep in thought. Several voices argued in his head and he typed on the typewriter as he came up with new and cunning theories on his latest case. Lightning flashed and he did not flinch.

Dick’s place of business was inside a run down multi story office building, up several flights of old graffito-ed stairs. Outside the dark office, Mullen noticed the silhouette of a man through the opaque glass that surrounded the entrance to his office. Someone had entered the reception and was looking for trouble, if the late night visit was any indication. The man was smaller than Mullen, thinner judging by the shadow he cast. The shadow wore a hat and an oversized half coat.

The shape stopped outside the door that read “Dick Mullen, PI.” It knocked three times on the glass.

“Come.” Mullen called.

The door opened to reveal a face that Mullen half recalled, but it was a face he would never be able to forget. A Seolite man, dark eyes, round glasses, high cheekbones. He was a cigarette burn on a cold autumn evening. Cool beyond cold and hotter inside than the engine of an eight cylinder Motor Carriage. Mullen had yet to crack this egg in real life but he was sure that by the end of the night, he could cook up a damn fine omelette.

Kit Kimball. Dick had read his portfolio front to back and then back to front and sideways a little bit when it fell off the arm of the couch at home. Since the death of his last three partners, Dick was hesitant to even think about taking on another, but something about Kimball revved in all the right ways. Maybe it was the photo that accompanied the resume that had caught his eye, perhaps it was the squeaky clean record and perfectly filled application form. Whatever it was, Kimball’s profile had stayed in Mullen’s lap for longer than it took to read it over. He had lingered, sent a radio-gram to the recruitment pool, and they had agreed to meet.

“Detective Mullen.” Kimball nodded. His voice was smooth with a strong Revacholian accent that put Dick on to the scent of a man who had perhaps grown up on the wrong side of the streets of Jamrock. There was more to this man that his suspiciously squeaky clean record would suggest. “Kit Kimball. I know we said tomorrow but I couldn’t wait.”

He strode through the smoky office, leaned over the desk with an offered hand. Black leather gloves. Driving gloves. 

Dick stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray. “Pleased to meet you, Kimball.” Mullen replied, taking Kimball’s hand in a firm and masculine grip. “Please, take off your coat, sit.”

Kimball nodded and removed his hat, shook it once to remove a few raindrops that had caught him off guard. His hair was sleek, buzzed short on the sides and long on top like a rainbow oil slick on the concrete gravel of Martinaise. He then did indeed remove his tan leather bomber jacket to hang on the back of the chair, hooked his hat over the side.

His cross chest double strap holster caught Mullen’s eye immediately. This man was packing heat and Dick hoped he knew how to use it.

His white undershirt had also caught some rain on the way over. Mullen admired his wiry arms, his strong collarbones and the way the damp white cotton clung to his chest and waist in the way that one man would eye up another man to compare physique. To figure out if this man can handle himself. Mullen decided that yes, he probably could take a man, maybe two at a time. Three if Mullen really used his imagination.

“So.” Mullen said as they sat across from one another. “You want to join up with me, become a private investigator, do you?”

“Yes.” Kimball said.

“And why is that?” Mullen pulled his well thumbed file from the desk side drawer. He spread it open on the desk and scanned the pages, as though he had never even bothered to read it in the first place. “RCM Juvie not exciting enough for you? Sick of babysitting, are you?”

“Well, no.” Kimball smoothed a hand over his dark, close cropped hair. Neat and clean and handsome. His white cotton tank vest tugged up as his arm moved. “The RCM has treated me well.”

Dick would have to delve deeper. “The pay is not good enough, though?”

“No, I can afford my bills and I am not an extravagant man.”

Trickier than he first surmised, this Kimball character was proving to be a case all of his own. He took out a packet of smokes and offered one to Kimball. He took one and placed it between his lips. Dick took his own and lit it, as did Kimball.

“So you’re not after money or excitement.” Mullen blew out a grey plume of smoke like a train on the track to a mystery. “What possessed you to apply for this position?”

“Well, honestly, why wouldn’t a man such as myself jump at the chance to work beside the incredible Dick Mullen?” 

Mullen stayed cool like a cucumber in an arctic polar bear shaped ice cream freezer. It was no surprise that tales of his famous exploits would draw men looking for a shot at the limelight. Just give him the classic Grizzled Private Investigator spiel, he thought. 

“Look, you think you’re the first cop type to come in here, looking to get into some trashy novel about murder and crime and sexy dames? It ain’t all like the stories, Kid.”

“It’s Kit.”

“What? Whatever, all I’m telling you is, this isn’t what you think it is. There’s paperwork and filing and late nights and boring down time to get through. You might be obsessed with some words on a page, but this is real life. It’s gruesome and tedious. So if you came here looking for fame and recognition, you won’t get none of that from me.”

“What if I told you it wasn’t the stories that drew me to see you. It wasn’t the words that urged me to apply for the gig.”

Kimball’s gaze was steadier than a sailor’s sealegs in a southern storm.

“Well out with it.” Dick gestured with his cigarette.

“It’s you.” He murmured. “I wanted to see you.”

Mullen suddenly realized that he was stuck like a prize winning pig in a perilous private pen, there at the office, alone at night, with a stranger. An armed stranger. Mullen’s pistol was kept in the bottom right hand drawer. He held a lit cigarette, a flimsy distraction, that could be thrown in the face of an attacker if required. A pen on the desk, a jab to the neck could also disable an assailant. 

“What do you mean?” Dick asked as these thoughts all shot through his mind in a second, like a train flashing through a tunnel at full speed.

“May I pour us a drink?” Kimball asked. He rose from his seat and stepped gracefully over to the sideboard where Dick’s whisky decanter stood beside a few clean upturned glasses.

“Uh, pour one for yourself. I’m off the stuff.” Mullen said. “I’m cleaning up my act. I probably don’t have to remind you of the case of The Pickled Dick. Nor the fiasco of the trainwreck that followed. No, I’m healthier now. Focussed on a clean life.” Mullen lit another cigarette.

“I admire that.” Kimball poured himself a short one, cigarette in hand. “I like a man who can recall his actions and be relied upon for facts and faces. Difficult through a haze of Al Gul, don’t you think, Mullen?”

Dick did not reply. Something felt off. The tension in the office hummed at some type of temperature he could not place as hot nor cold. But something puzzled Dick in this man’s subtle smirk. 

A partner that can keep you on your toes. A dancer, Dick! That might just be exactly what you need.

What Dick did need was time to cool off. This had been an enlightening first meeting. Perhaps there was something to this Kit Kimball character after all. 

“Well, it’s been great to meet you, Mr Kimball.”

“Call me Kit, if you like.”

“Uh, sure. Well, Kit, let me show you out. I’ve got something outstanding to follow up on tonight.” Mullen took up his jacket, whipped it on over his shoulders and tugged on his hat. 

“Oh, no, surely not in this weather. I hardly made it through the storm in my Kineema to come here.” Kimball frowned.

Mullen shrugged and stood beside the desk, halfway to Kit and the door. Kit also shrugged and downed the last of his whisky. He did not, however, reach for his coat.

“Come on, Kimball. Time to go.” Mullen urged. He opened the office door and held it open. Eyes fixed on this new face. 

But Kimball did not get his coat. He stepped up into Mullen’s space, and he was trapped between Kimball and the doorframe. He felt small in a way he had scarcely felt since The Case of The Gentle Midnight Giant.

“What are you doing?” Mullen demanded, ready to defend himself as always. A big cat, ready to pounce on danger and throw it out into the street. 

“Dick, come on.” Kimball placed a black leather gloved palm against Mullen’s chest. “You can’t think of a reason why one man might want to meet another on a dark and stormy night such as this?”

Mullen gulped. Kimball’s voice was deep and dreamy. This close, he could smell his aftershave, clean pine. And there, beneath that, the smell of motor oil and manly work. 

Before he had a chance to work through any of the slippery answers that swam in his mind, Kimball knocked Mullen’s hat from his head, stroked his fingers through his flattened hair and reached up to press his lips to Dick’s. 

As much as fireworks had exploded in his eyes when Deanna Deneuve had seduced him on the Case of The Mistaken Identity, it did not compare to this kiss. No, Kimball’s kiss was more like a shot to the skull, executioner style. 

Mullen’s heart hammered like a pile driver laying a new foundation of longing and secret desire, long since buried underground. His skin prickled and the heat that radiated from this strange man’s body had the back of Mullen’s shirt damp with perspiration. 

The kiss was passionate and it lingered. Kimball’s hands stroked across Dick’s thick chest and he gripped his tie and yanked, just to get conscious attention as the kiss ended. 

Dick licked his lips and panted into the space between them. Kimball let their noses almost touch, close and intimate and demanding authority.

“What.” Dick gasped. “How is this, uh.”

One of Kimball's hands left the tie to rest up on the door frame, above Mullen’s shoulder, to box him in. He tugged at one side of Dick’s trench coat, easily slipping it up and off Dick’s shoulder. It trapped his left arm tight, where it fell to rest at his inner elbow.

Lightning cracked outside and Dick jolted. Kimball gripped Dick’s thick right bicep in his palm and hummed.

“You’ve never been approached by a man, have you?” Kimball asked. 

“I’ve been approached by all sorts of people.” Dick breathed. “I just, well.”

Kimball tucked his nose under Dick’s jaw and nuzzled at him, while at the same time surrounding his body in a full embrace. Their bodies pushed flush up against each other against the doorframe. 

“I’ve never.” Dick gasped at a sweet kiss placed on the shell of his red flushed ear. “I’ve never been touched by a man.”

“Really.” Kimball purred like the cat who had found the proverbial untouched cream.“Well, I’d be more than happy to assist you in this regard, Dick.”

Kimball kissed him again, but this time, Dick was ready. He gave as good as he got, no longer passive, he wrapped Kimball in his own embrace, swallowing him up in his arms. The lingering taste of whisky and cigarettes gave their fiery kiss an even smokier edge.

“Okay. Get on the desk.” Kimball pulled back.

“The desk?”

He did not wait for an answer. He tugged at the coat lapels once again, pulling Mullen out of the doorway and over to where he could shove him in a straight line into the desktop. Mullen caught himself and steadied his breath. When he looked back, Kimball had shut the door and slid the deadbolt across, locking them in from the inside.

“It will be an honour to be your first man, Mr Mullen.” Kimball stalked forward. His slim waist, his broad shoulders, his strong wiry arms, he was an enigma of masculine cool.

“Wait.” Mullen held up a hand and his eyes darted around the room. “Kimball, I’m not, you know I’m not part of the underground. Wait.”

This only served to roll Kimball’s eyes like a pair of dice in the alley.

“No. I won’t wait.” And Kimball had pinned Mullen between himself and the edge of the desk. He yanked, and shirt buttons flew in all directions.

“Stop!” Mullen cried, one hand went up to cover his face, scandalized by the intensity of Kimball’s passion.

Mullen’s thick, hairy chest was out for Kimball’s eyes to eat up and he did much more than just look. He tugged at one brace, let it snap back and twang Mullen’s skin. Then, like a man starving for dinner, he tossed Dick’s tie out of the way, over his left shoulder, he pushed his face between Mullen’s pecs and nuzzled into him with a groan. Mullen shivered, no woman had ever paid attention to his bosom before. He had to admit, deep down, it felt very very good to be touched this way by another man’s big, warm hands.

“You’re gorgeous. Just as I imagined you would be.” Kimball’s hands groped at Mullen’s chest, two big meaty handfuls were squeezed and his thick chest hair was tugged. Kimball shoved both sides of his chest together and that was when his tongue came into play.

Mullen whined, but it was a manly and masculine whine, when Kimball snaked his wet hot tongue over his right nipple, then his left. Then, he started to suck and Mullen could not keep quiet.

“Kimball, oh, that feels, oh.” Mullen was about to praise his wonderful tongue and gorgeous lips when the tactics changed, and his nipples were assaulted with bites, sucks and even some strange kind of chewing sensation that really made his nipples perky and sore. 

“How does that feel?” Kimball asked, he sucked hard on Mullen’s right nipple and let it go with a pop.

Mullen stayed quiet, what could he say. His instincts told him that anything that left his mouth would result in harsher treatment. His detective mind whispered to him that that was what he wanted the most.

“Okay. Off with these braces” Kimball unclasped the braces in a flash, they fell away and just as quickly, his fly was undone and his underwear was ripped down to expose him to Kimball’s eyes.

“Ah! Stop, this is too fast.” Mullen begged, divested and dishevelled. 

“I like it fast.” Kimball growled and then it fell into place.

The driving gloves, the work-tough wiry arms, the scent of motor oil. This was a boy-racer. He was the type who wanted it fast and hard. He wanted to drive hardcore and Elysium be damned if anything got in his way. If his good time resulted in a wreck, then all the more carnage to be enjoyed. All the more Disco.

By the time this insight had made its way to the surface of the ocean of Dick’s mind, Kimball had located Dick’s dick.

“Do you like this, hm?” Kimball took Dick’s dick between his thumb and forefinger and waggled it playfully. He was fully erect and the mocking touch was enough to bring up a whine of embarrassment.

Mullen’s face blazed hotter than a non-regulation Martinaise tenement furnace. This not-so-strange stranger was going to have his way with him tonight and nothing was going to stop him. Not even Dick Mullen himself. 

Dick’s cock was regular and normal sized. Nothing weird about it. Average and great. Perfect.

“Let’s see, hm. Of course you’ve had this played with before.” Kimball tugged and stroked his erection with unexpected tenderness. The dark leather of his gloves caught deliciously on the head as he gave a playful twist.“There, that’s good, yes?”

“Yes.” Mullen squeaked, manly-ly.

“And you like when this gets sucked on?”

Mullen gasped and leaned back with one hand on the desk. His other hand went to Kimball’s shoulder and just as he suspected, Kimball knelt down and took Dick’s cock between his lips.

Nevermind a shot to the skull, executioner style. This was, well this was a concrete breeze block straight to the brain stem. Complete disconnection from his head down to his balls. The hand on Kimball’s shoulder went up into his hair. Mullen tugged and Kimball sang his muffled praises like a songbird. A songbird that was sucking hard and wet on his dick. 

“Oh, Kimball, yes.” Mullen moaned high. Not like a woman. Like a man. 

Dick looked down to watch his cock slide in and out of Kimball’s hot mouth. He could feel his tongue waggle. The pleasure halted for just a moment. Kimball stuck his two leather fingers into his mouth, no doubt a hair or something got caught back there, realistically, Mullen was a hairy man, it was bound to happen. 

The sucking resumed and Mullen finally let his guard down. His head tilted back, he looked up at the ceiling, as though he were asking the stars for an answer to the question of such intense pleasure. 

Then he clamped his legs shut tight, around Kimball’s wrist. Those two slippery wet leather fingers had slid down under his balls and were rubbing insistently over his asshole.

“Hey!” Dick tugged Kimball away by his hair. “No no no, not happening, sonny.”

“Oh, come now.” Kimball cooed up at him. “A little give and take, that’s how the world works, Mr Mullen.”

“Don’t Mr Mullen me. You’re trying to stick something where the sun don’t shine. I ain’t that type of man.”

“Oh, and what type of man are you?” Kimball kept Mullen’s gaze as he took the head of his cock back between his lips and kissed it tenderly. Another slurp around his shaft. 

“Oh, damn, not that type of man. No. Get off. Get out.” Mullen shoved away from Kimball. He wrapped his coat and destroyed shirt tight around his body.

"Well, I am a good man, I would never push myself on another person. I can respect your wishes, Mullen. And I'm a feminist."

"You're a feminist?" Mullen's eyes filled with sudden admiration.  

“Yes. I believe all people are equal and deserve equally fair treatment. It’s just part of who I am.” Kimball shrugged. “So if you’re really not into that type of thing, I’ll stop.”

Dick loosened his tight grip around himself. He let his coat fall away to the floor, his shirt hung open and his tie still hung around his neck.

“Perhaps there is a way for us to share pleasure, hm?” Kimball approached and this time, Dick did not struggle. “Maybe we can both feel good.”

Kimball shifted and tugged at his own pants. He shoved one hand down and then leaned back to show Mullen his own erection. He seemed proud of it, and he should have been. Dick had never seen such a nice looking dick. Not that he’d seen many, but this one was certainly the nicest he could recall. 

It was dark, and it had a slight curve to it. Not all that thick but it was about the same size as his own cock. He wasn’t sure if it was the dick itself or the way it was presented that excited him the most. Kimball held it in his leather gloved hand, stroked it slowly, gazed at him for approval.

“What do you think, Mullen? Does it look good enough for the job? Would you like a trial run before you decide on keeping me for good?” Kimball held himself in one hand and let the other reach for Dick’s own erection.

When Kimball let their hips meet, the friction of their sex rubbing together brought a shudder that shook Dick’s whole frame like an Oranje earthquake. He found it difficult to keep pace, despite Kimball’s gentle rhythm.

“Shh, ssh, Dick. It’s alright.” Kimball took Dick’s tie in one hand and wrapped it around his fist. He wasn’t tugging, but he was in the driver’s seat. “Here, come closer.”

Dick took command from Kimball’s lead. He let both hands come up to rest on Kimball’s back, working his hips at a slow, measured pace.

“Nnm, that’s it. Fuck, you’re nice to look at.” Kimball groaned. 

Dick flushed, this close to Kimball, he could see the red flush at the tops of his ears, the reflection of himself in his glasses and if he looked down, two hard cocks being rubbed together by a dark leather glove.

“Oh, goddamn.” Mullen hollered at the image before him.

“That’s right. You like this.” Kimball teased. “You were just waiting up here, in your office all alone. Waiting for a man like me to come ravage you, force you out of your PI persona and give you something sweet to think of the next time you get lonely.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Dick croaked.

“I know you’re very much enjoying the feeling of my hands on you.” Then Kimball really did tug on Dick’s tie. “That you have to be in control so often that you’re gagging to let go. To let someone strong and capable take command. Someone like me.”

“Fuck, why couldn’t you have just robbed me. Shot me and robbed me and been done with it.”

Kimball laughed, but his laugh was cut short when one of Dick’s hands joined his own around their damp erections.

“Yes, Dick, that’s good.” Kimball groaned. 

Mullen could smell their joined perspiration all through the office. It was the strong scent of men, sweat and sex. It turned him on like a, well, like a thing that turns on really hard. 

“You were right, when you said the stories made me apply to be your partner, Mullen.” Kimball gasped. “I’ve never wanted to fuck a man so badly as I’ve wanted to fuck you.”

Mullen gasped. “Kimball, stop. What are you saying?”

“Your books. I read them over and over. Fantasied about being your partner, when you have to stake out all night to catch a suspect, I dreamt of being there with you, to keep you entertained. To fuck you in your MC, you seemed so lonely. I wanted you to be happy, to feel good.”

“Ah, Kimball. Keep talking.” Mullen moaned as their strokes became faster and more erratic. 

“Fantasized about saving you from the Murderhouse. Comforting you when you lost your memory in the Case of the Mistaken Identity. I want to be with you, so you’ll never be alone on a case again.”

”Fuck, Kimball, that’s so sweet.” Dick had turned bright red. Kimball had yanked his tie until they both breathed mere inches apart from each other. 

“Will you let me?” Kimball spoke against Dick’s mouth. “I want to be your partner. Take care of you. Please, Dick.”

Just as Mullen reached for his answer, his eyes slipped shut and his mouth fell open. He yanked Kimball against his own body, thrusting fast, searching for his pleasure in humid body-heat.

When his breath hiccuped and he began to fall into the glorious abyss, Kimball yanked him forward for a kiss, one more time and they both fell, moaning into their kisses, off the cliff of orgasm to be dashed on the rocks of obliterating pleasure.

Mullen came to wrapped in Kimball’s arms. Their embrace was soothing. They both let their hands stroke and pet at damp bare skin.

‘Think I got something on your glove.” Mullen murmured against Kimball’s neck. 

“Ah. Yes.” Kimball lifted the soiled leather for a closer inspection.

It was indeed covered in spunk. When he looked down, it seemed that Kimball had shot most of his cum up onto Mullen’s belly and that Mullen’s pleasure had burst from him dribbling all down Kimball’s glove and wrist.

“What a mess.” Kimball caught Mullen’s eye, noted his intense fascination and let his tongue caress all over the glove. He scooped up every drop of what was left, leaving the leather clean and shiny. He even chased the little drip that ran a river down his wrist.

Wow, this man really was a homo-sexual. 

But Kimball did not leave it at that. He gripped Mullen’s tie tight, yanked, and shoved his tongue into his mouth. The taste of cum and leather was unusual, not something Mullen had experienced, or wished to experience. He found, under the wonderful daze inducing tongue of kit Kimball, he did not mind the taste.

In fact, the entire idea made his heart thump like a rabbit’s back foot, ready for a second round.

“I think I’ll have a heart attack if you do one more sexy thing, Kimball.” Mullen let slip.

“You’re just as hopeless as the books say you are.” He smiled. Kimball produced a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket, still hung over the back of the chair. He wiped his gloves clean, then began to clean off Mullen’s belly with great care. Mullen found this intriguing. He could have just offered the handkerchief to him, had him clean himself but no, Kimball was still in control. 

“I didn’t mean to shock you, Mullen. I just wanted to get your attention. Give you some attention you rightly deserve.” 

“Well, you shocked me in a few ways I never expected a man could.” Mullen replied, gathering his tattered shirt around himself and pulling up his pants.

“Forgive me for this.” Kimball frowned at the shirt. “I didn’t mean to be so rough. I just wanted you.” Their eyes met. “To work with you.”

Mullen puffed out a heavy sigh. Maybe it would be unwise to work with a man that might have feelings for him. Sexual or romatic feelings. That could get messy down the line. What if they were compromised? 

“I’ll have to think about it.” Mullen waggled the feeling back into his thighs and wobbled over to this filing cabinet. He reached inside the top drawer and produced a clean white dress shirt. “I can’t just fall into these things lightly. And feelings will make this even more complicated. I’ll have to sleep on it and let you know, Kimball.”

“Feelings?” Kimball zipped up his pants and stood silent.

“What?” Mullen pulled on the shirt and fumbled the buttons. “Uh, no I mean, attraction or sexual misconduct. Whatever, I can’t decide right now. I’ve got work to do.” He tugged his tie loose, then off over his head. He dropped it on the desk and sat down with a huff.

“Alright.” Kimball answered. He picked his hat up off the back of the chair and dusted it off. “Well, you have the recruitment radio-gram. I’m always around the city.”

“Okay.” Mullen nodded. He felt almost all the way back to his cool controlled self. “I’ll let you know.”

Kimball lifted his coat and with a twirl, it was over his arms and zipped. He did not leave right away, rather he lingered. 

“May I have a cigarette, for the drive home?” His voice was light.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Mullen replied. He patted his shirt, then picked up the pack from the desk and offered one.

Kimball leaned over, drew the smoke from the pack with those gloves. He placed it between his kiss swollen lips. 

“A light, Mr Mullen?”

Dick was captivated, yet again. He lifted the lighter, flicked it to flame and held it to the tip of Kimball’s cigarette. The orange spark illuminated his sharp features and the light in his eyes danced with desire like a car set ablaze in a Revachol back alley.

“Thank you.” He let out his lungs and Mullen did not pull away when he leaned down to take his lips one last time.

The kiss lingered. Singed at the edges. Mullen sighed into it, let his body relax and brought one hand up to stroke Kimball’s cheek, his jaw. Kimball pulled back, only to let their lips still ache, their breath still mingle, their noses touch in an intimate tease that left Mullen hypnotized.

“I have to run. Don’t want to be out driving too late in the rain.” Kimball put the smoke between his lips and ran a hand through his hair before he donned his hat.

And like that, he was gone into the night. He closed the office door and his shadow left the building.

Mullen held his head in his hands. Did that really happen? Had he let some stranger come into his world and turn him inside out?

There was much to consider. A new case was afoot. The case of Kit Kimball and the Homo-sexual mindset.

In the meantime, Dick Mullen decided he might just pay a visit to the RCM Juvie devision to do some recon on this Kimball character. 

He opened up the portfolio once again and made a decision to stare at the man's photo and profile all night. For detective reasons. For private investigation reasons. For reasons that could result in the hiring of a new future partner…and maybe something more.