Lacey Investigations: The Private Detective's Rulebook.

Rule Number One: Always Conduct Yourself in a Professional Manner.

1.

She was in there right now, making a mug out of him.
Billy Stratton cut the engine, rolling the car silently down his own driveway. He came to a stop next to his wife's sporty little convertible. He stared at it, his face contorting in utter contempt. Billy had brought her that car as a surprise for their tenth wedding anniversary. He'd had the good fortune to win a big contract at the right time, and spent it all on that car. Spent it all on her.

He opened the door, pulling his short, stocky frame out of his car.

'Fucking bitch.' he muttered under his breath, taking care to close the door again as quietly as possible. Everything he had done, he'd done for her. The long hours, the back breaking work, everything. Now she was in there, in his house. His fucking house. And she wasn't alone. Billy strode down his own path to the front door, swooping to snatch their son's cricket bat off the front lawn. He paused at the door, flipping through the muddle of keys on his keyring. 'I know you've got somebody in there with you,' Billy slid his key into the lock, tightening his grip on the bat in his other hand, 'and I'm gonna fuck him up.'

Billy eased himself through his front door into his hallway. He could hear her, breathing heavily, moaning softly. The moaning intensified as he reached the foot of the stairs, his heart pounding and breaking simultaneously.

'Ah! Oh God...' She never sounded like that with him... She was faking it, had to be... 'Oh, please... Fuck me... Fuck...' Any initial plan he had of sneaking in to catch her in the act was abandoned, Billy bounded up the stairs, two at a time, smashing his shoulder into his own bedroom door, in his own fucking house.

'I knew it!' She was still riding him when Billy had burst in, not a stitch on either of them. The air was filled with the smell of lust. Billy could taste it. He charged at the bed, his bat raised high. 'I'm gonna kill...' Then Billy saw the man as his wife rolled off him. Tall, tattooed, in his thirties, with a large build, short black hair, and about three days of stubble dusted across his jaw. A man Billy recognised instantly. '...You?!' Billy said, pausing for a moment.

The man in Billy's bed used that moment to roll out the other side, raising his hands in a vain attempt to calm Billy. 'What the fuck are you doing? This is not what I'm paying you for, Lacey.'

'Paying...? You hired somebody to spy on me?' Still wearing nothing but her own sweat, Vicky Stratton shoved her husband. 'How could you abuse my trust like that?'

'Are you serious? I bust my bollocks trying to give you a good life, and look at you, you fucking slag.'
'Slag? Just because I needed a bit of human affection? You're never here for me.'

'Oh! Is that what that was, affection?' Mike Lacey had taken it upon himself to gather up his clothes while the attention was off him. His intention was to slip out while the happy couple were conversing. It took him a few seconds to realize the room had gone quiet. Mike rose, still naked, with only the bundle of clothes held up to protect his modesty, to find both pairs of the Stratton's eyes on him.

'Wow,' Mike said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, 'this is awkward isn't it? I can see you two have a few trust issues to work out, so if I could just get paid, I'll let you get on with it.'

'Paid,' Billy snarled, 'you want to get paid?'

'Well... Uh... It'd be nice, yeah.'

'Oh, okay, sure.' Billy grabbed the bat from the bed. 'Tell me, Mr. Lacey, what's the going rate...' the bat came swinging at Mike's head. He managed to duck, but it made short work of a lamp on the bedside table. '... for fucking my wife?!' The bat swung again, barely missing him. 'How about a bonus for a job well done?'