Cursing the way he had slacked off and ignored the early warning signs, Franko left money for the meal on his table and then teleported away to the source of the psychic signals. He reappeared on a street in front of a house in a well-off neighborhood. A pickup truck parked by the curb had its bed covered with a large tarp. Franko uncovered it and gasped.
In the truck was a large, solid gold statue of a frog, melted down and hastily reshaped from the statue of the Moaning Harlot. Franko could hear Cheryl's soul screaming in torment and pain. As he stepped before the statue, Cheryl recognized him immediately. Franko, sir, help me! Please!
"Don't worry, I'll have you back to yourself as soon as I can." Franko patted the frog statue on the head. "Sleep until I return."
As his magic put Cheryl's soul to sleep, Franko looked up at the house. He went up to the door and with a finger moved a curtain away to have a peek inside. Ah, there she is.
Inside, a burly-looking workman, the man Franko assumed to be the muscle in Isabelle's plot, was sitting on his couch with his pants and underwear around his ankles. Meanwhile, Isabelle, who normally took such care to look as posh, cultured, and well-mannered as she could, was on her knees before him. Her red-painted lips were wrapped around his cock as she pumped her face up and down. She used her tongue to excite every inch of the man's rod. It was obvious that she had a lot of practice.
Franko unlocked the door with his magic and stepped inside. "Sir, I'm sorry to intrude, but I have business with Mrs. Winthrop."
The workman looked up in shock. Isabelle turned her head just enough that Franko could see the surprise in her eyes and the bulge of the cock's tip in her cheek. She stood up as quickly as she could and wiped her mouth with a tissue. "Who the hell are you?" She shouted. "What gives you the right to just walk in someone's house, uninvited?"
"I suppose the same rights that entitle you to stealing and vandalizing property," Franko replied. "Specifically, expensive property that was properly paid for as part of a burgeoning, successful business agreement, and your only justification is your own jealousy."
Isabelle went from angry to shocked. "How did you know? Who told you?" She looked at the workman, who shook his head.
"It's apparent that your husband David didn't tell you everything about me," Franko said. "You see, I'm no mere artist, though I do pride myself on my work. It is what your husband pays me so handsomely for. I'm a magician, and a powerful one at that. I created The Moaning Harlot using powers beyond your reckoning.
"D-don't be ridiculous!" Isabelle stuttered. She looked down at the workman again, as though she expected him to stand up and defend her honor, but he was paralyzed in shock. "You can't touch me! David wouldn't allow it!"
"Oh, I'm sure that David will be perfectly understanding when I explain everything to him. But first, I need to do him right and restore the Harlot to her former beauty. I noticed from examining her that there are portions missing. What did you do with the remaining gold?"
"N-nothing! Nothing at all!" Isabelle's panic gave away her lie.
"Do not test me, Mrs. Winthrop," Franko chided. He theatrically used his magic to float in the air and make his eyes glow.
Isabelle screamed in panic, and then fell to her knees. "N-no! Please don't get angry! I'll tell you! The remaining gold was fashioned into jewelry for Clarice, our daughter."
"And Clarice has this jewelry with her now, I presume?" Franko asked.
Isabelle nodded.
"Very well," Franko said.
Fri Aug 13 23:43:18 2010