The blackmailed wife
Jay Ballard watched the provocative sway of Karen's luscious figure, his eyes devouring the soft, rounded protuberances of her buttocks, as she turned away from his desk and went through the connecting door to the outer office, to usher in a prospective client.
The sexuality that Miss Forrester exuded reminded him, acutely, that he'd have to get to know her better… and soon, if things in the bedroom department at home didn't begin getting better, in the next few days.
Karen was just finishing up her first week as his private secretary, and she seemed to like her job. He wondered, idly, if she'd like her job better… if he could offer her some attractive fringe benefits…
His reverie was interrupted by the young giant who came through his office door. The boxer was even bigger, it seemed to Jay, than when he'd witnessed the man's last bout.
It had taken place last week, at the Olympic. Jay had been there, in the fifth row, watching Arnie Pearson, fighting at a trim two hundred and thirty-five pounds, as he had out-pointed and out-fought his opponent, decking him twice, before finally putting him away, decisively, in the ninth round with a clean knock-out. Jay remembered it had been Arnie's devastating left hook that had put BoBo Wilson on the canvas for the full count.
The fight had been clean. BoBo Wilson had been the odds on favorite, but Pearson, knowing that he was fighting one of the most important fights of his career, had carried the fight, pressingly, to the older, ring-wise Wilson… and had won it, fair and square. No one questioned that he was now in a good position to demand a bout with the champion. Arnie Pearson was now the principal contender for the Heavyweight Boxing Title.
"Arnie!" Jay was out of his seat, extending a lean, sun-bronzed hand in greeting. "It's good to see you… but aren't you out of your element… coming to see me…?"
A slow, friendly smile spread across the big fighter's heavy-featured face; his deep-set, widely spaced, blue eyes were troubled. His gaze was direct, as he studied the private investigator's face. He took the seat Jay pointed to and sat up ramrod straight in it, his body tense, unrelaxed.
"Well, Mr. Ballard… I haven't been robbed of the family jewels… yet…" he joked, lamely, his face settling into grim lines.
Jay laughed, heartily, while Arnie grinned, now, shyly, pleased that he, at least, appeared to be light-hearted. The detective surveyed the blonde giant across the desk from him and knew he could like this man. There was that easy-going directness about him… and there was the demonstrated ability to remain cool and collected, under stress. He had shown that several times in some thirty professional bouts.