This story is intended for an adult audience.

			       DEAR STALKER

			       by Laurie S.

CHAPTER ONE


     The brilliant auditorium lights dimmed as songstress Trisha Dale moved
upstage.  A single spotlight lit her hot sequined evening gown.  Clutching
the microphone with both hands, her body swayed to the softly toned
introduction.  The drumbeat rhythm kicked in and Trisha launched into her
encore ballad for the evening, the monster hit song, Hawaiian Sunset.  A
hush fell upon the spellbound crowd.

     From my position at the side of the stage, I signaled my assistant to
be ready for Trisha's exit.  We would whisk her out of the Great American
Amphitheater, into her waiting stretch limousine, and be gone before any of
her fans could approach her.  Although I was tense, the concert had gone
smoothly and there were no signs of trouble.

     Voluptuous Trisha Dale caressed and extended that final high note; the
audience erupted into a thunderous ovation.  She bowed, blew kisses to the
crowd, as the curtains descended.  Then she scurried toward me in small,
quick steps.

     "Let's go!" I yelled as I put my arms around her red-sequined
shoulder, which was partly covered by her silky, long blonde hair.

     A few more quick steps clattering on the bare concrete and we were at
the exit doors.  My assistant, young Melody Watson, took up her position on
the other side of Trisha, as we escorted her to the awaiting white limo.  A
mob of Trisha's fans surrounded us.  Like sharks smelling blood, they moved
in for their feeding frenzy.  A sea of waving arms, screaming, pleading for
Trisha's attention.  And the dreaded, aggressive paparazzi.

     "Please stay back!" I commanded.  "Trisha has a plane to catch!"  As
if that would work.

     Melody and I pushed back a few of the more aggressive fans.  Melody
became entangled with one huge pro-wrestler type.  Trisha and I kept
moving.  I opened the limo door.  Beautiful Trisha hopped in as some camera
flashes popped.  I closed the limo door and off it sped.

      I rushed back to Melody as she pulled out her can of pepper spray.

     "You bitch!" yelled the wrestler as he shoved Melody and she fell hard
on her rear end.

     The wrestler never saw me coming.  I moved my pepper spray up to his
scowling face.  He stumbled about like he'd just been hit with a powerful
roundhouse right.

     "Wow! These things really are effective!"  I thought to myself.

     Quickly, I tried to help an embarrassed Melody Watson up to her feet.
I grabbed under the arms of her pinstripe Dior jacket and lifted her to a
standing position.  Melody clearly was in pain.

     "I'm hurting," she murmured.  "I heard something crack.  It might be
my tailbone."

     "Ooh, that's trouble," I sympathized.
 
     As Melody put her right arm around me, we hurried away to our car
parked in the nearby Reserved Parking VIP Section.  One click of the remote
control key fob automatically unlocked the car doors.  I helped her into
the passenger side.  She gingerly eased herself onto the bucket seat.
Agony was etched in her expression.

     Within seconds, our blue Lincoln Town Car was off like a rocket.

     "How does it feel?"

     Melody scrunched up her beautiful face and looked me in the eye.  "Not
so good," she managed.  "The quicker we get to that plane, the sooner we
get home, the more I'll like it."

     "You don't want to go to a hospital to get your injury checked out?" I
asked.

     "Nah, it hurts like hell, but I don't think they'll be able to do much
with a broken coccyx."

     "Um . . . I've had that myself.  It'll be tender for quite awhile."  I
reached behind my seat and pulled out a small container.  "There's some
Tylenol and bottled water in this kit.  It will help ease the pain.
Perhaps we could use my jacket to create a makeshift donut cushion so that
you won't put any weight on the tailbone."  I released my seatbelt, leaned
forward and struggled to divest myself of the Polo shell.  I rolled up the
jacket into a circular shape and with Melody's cooperation, slid it under
her rear end.

     I advised Trisha's limo on our cell connection that we weren't far
behind.  Trisha wasn't lacking for company.  Her manager, backup singers
and personal assistant were with her in the limo.  The musicians had their
own van whereas the roadies, as usual, were taking the tour bus and trucks
back home.  As we moved onto the freeway, a few uncomfortable minutes
passed as we sped to the airport.

     "Dave, I've been thinking about this for the past month or two," said
Melody as she shifted uncomfortably on her seat.  "Since I've become
seriously involved with my boyfriend, Greg, I am not sure I want to
continue in the private investigator business anymore."  She paused,
selecting her words carefully.  "I don't feel as committed to the job as I
once did.  You know, it was fun at first, an adventure.  But now, more than
ever, I am aware that a P.I.'s job isn't like the TV shows.  It's a
demanding job and it can be dangerous at times.  More importantly, I want
to get married to Greg and I know he'd be happy to see me quit this job.
So, as of tonight, I am resigning.  If you want it in writing, I'll give
you my formal notice tomorrow."

     I looked over at Melody's sincere expression.  I wanted to ask her to
reconsider that in the heat of the moment, the injury might be making her
react rashly, but I could see that she was resolute in her decision.

     "You won't have to give me a letter.  You've been a terrific partner
. . . I accept."

     I put my arm on her shoulder and hugged her.  She responded and kissed
me softly on the lips.  Melody was an angel.  She was a beautiful,
Hollywood starlet type. More importantly, she was tough minded, athletic
and very competent.  I was going to miss her immensely.  During the past
two and a half years, we had been through many tight situations and we had
managed to emerge triumphant in most cases.  Why did she have to get
married?  Greg was one lucky son of a gun.  Now, what was I going to do?



CHAPTER TWO


     When I walked into my almost new office at nine o'clock, there was a
handful of attractive, young people in the waiting room.

     "Good morning, Wanda!"  I said happily as I looked over the stunning
figure of my sexy secretary.

     "Good morning, Dave," she breathed, stretching her low cut, navy dress
to the max as she exhaled.  Mike Hammer's Velda would pale by comparison.

     "I see we have a large number of candidates for Miss Watson's
position," I said as I glanced around the packed room.

     Wanda handed me a stack full of resumes.

     I glanced down to the curriculum vitae of a Miss Pamela Andrews and
then asked her to step into my office.

     "Please hold all my calls, Wanda," I said as I lead the young shapely
Miss Andrews through the doorway.

     Except for her above average height, Pamela Andrews reminded me of an
actress on Baywatch.  She could certainly fill a red one-piece bathing suit
or a bikini.  She was such a perfect physical specimen!  I wondered if
those were her own or possibly silicone implants.  Was her hair peroxide or
natural?  Were her gorgeous blue eyes colored contact lenses or her own?
What was I thinking?  Get down to business.  Don't let your mind wander.

     Pamela had been on the swim team as well as the cheerleading team in
high school.  She had been involved in theatrical productions at high
school and university and had some professional works as wellin a few bit
parts.  Her marks were excellent.  She had worked as a cocktail waitress,
which was a definite plus, as private investigators need to know how to
deal with people.  She had traveled extensively, since her parents were
both teachers and had taken her on lots of vacation trips.  On the
downside, she had never handled a gun and was a tech nerdshe knew zilch
about cameras and little about computers.

     "One final question," I said as I jotted down some notes on my Palm
Professional.  "Have you ever done anything dangerous?"

     "Well, I'm a member of the Mile High Club," she giggled as she shifted
in her seat and leaned forward.  "Does that count?"

      She had a body that would persuade the Pope to break the vows of
celibacy.

     I had to give her one more chance.  "Have you ever had any martial
arts or self-defense training?"

     "No, but I have taken some aerobics and weight-training classes.
Doesn't it show?"

     "You certainly are well-toned everywhere . . . Thank you, Miss
Andrews.  We'll let you know by the end of the week."

     As Pamela left, I asked Wanda to send in the next candidate.

     Dressed in a gray suit, with a striped blue tie, white shirt and
black, moccasin-style, Florsheim shoes, handsome, slim, Kelly Lee looked
like a young business school graduate.

     I couldn't tell him that it was highly unlikely I'd be hiring a guy,
but I did explain what Melody had done on her job.  She was so good at
those domestic cases where the wives wanted us to check up on their
cheating husbands.  I hoped he got the hinthe didn't have the physical
attributes for this role.  I explained that private investigators were not
like Thomas Magnum or Hercule Poirot.  But Kelly was very energetic and had
a sense of humor.  He knew and understood the art of the interview.

     "So what makes you think you could be a private investigator?" I
asked.

     "I believe I have some useful skills.  First, I know some private
investigations require photographic work.  I have studied graphic arts.  I
am an accomplished photographer.  Second, I'm quick on my feet.  I can be
very persuasive.  I used to sell 'genuine' Hawaiian artifacts to tourists
in Waikiki when I was a kid.  And third, I can handle myself in a fight.  I
earned a black belt in karate while I was a teenager.  But, my most
important attribute is that I know people.  I believe I have an intuition
that allows me to judge if a person is lying or is telling the truth.  Up
here," said Kelly, as he pointed to his head, "I have an accurate crap
detector that has kept me out of trouble on many occasions.  And whenever I
read a detective whodunit or see a murder mystery film, I can usually solve
the case before anyone else."

     "Sometimes private investigators have to go undercover or we have to
disguise ourselves so that we can look a little less conspicuous and blend
in.  Have you ever had acting experience?"

     "Why, as a matter of fact, I have.  In high school, I had a lead role
in a musical, plus I joined an amateur theater group during my university
years.  So, while I haven't had to turn down an offer from Stephen
Spielberg yet, I think I could manage a disguise or two.  In fact, I think
I'd really enjoy living the fantasy."

     "What's the most dangerous thing you've ever done?"

     "I could tell you, but if I did, I'd have to kill you."

     "Okay, the second most dangerous thing you've ever done."

     "Well, I went spear fishing one day off Oahu's North Shore.  After
spearing a large Mahi Mahi, I found myself in the company of a few sharks
that had been attracted by the blood.  So, I let them have my catch.  Then,
I slowly swam away.  I hate it when the hunter becomes the hunted, but I
guess I shouldn't have been spear fishing in the first place."

     "Well, you handled yourself well."

     "Thank you.  I didn't have much choice."

     "Now, are there any questions you would like to ask of me?"

     "Yes.  You mentioned earlier, your previous assistant was helpful in
domestic cases where wives would come to your agency very concerned that
their husbands might have been unfaithful.  What did those cases require
you and your assistant to do?"

     "My assistant Melody was a very attractive young lady.  I'd follow the
suspect, find out his usual routines, and then Melody would go to work.
Melody often times would act as the bait to lure the cheating husbands.
She'd let the husband know she was interested in him, and if he would take
the bait, we would reel him in on a videotape camera.  Melody was drop dead
gorgeous when she wanted to play the femme fatale role.  No cheating
husband could resist her charms, that is, unless he was faithful.  During
the past two and a half years, all of the husbands we had investigated were
as adulterers.  It kind of makes you wonder about the moral character of
American society."

     "I see."

     We shook hands.

     "I'll let you know by the end of the week."

     By four o'clock that afternoon, I had seen nineteen applicantsfifteen
ladies and four guys.  The state of California did not allow employers to
discriminate, so I had to have a few token guys apply, although for the
purposes of this small private investigator agency, a woman was preferred.
Also, all the races were covered and the ages ranged from eighteen to
sixty.

     Although I operate the agency, there are only three people involved in
this private investigation service: Melody, Wanda and me.  Or, that is,
until very recently, Melody was my lovely assistant.

     All of the interviewees suffered by comparison to Melody.  Very few
were as sexy, and none of the female applicants possessed her poise.  Some
had athletic talent, some were good at photography, martial art skill,
people skills, acting ability, which was important in domestic cases,
proficiency with a gun, and so on.  But, so far nobody had the total
package.  Of the four gentlemen that had been interviewed, two seemed to
have the appropriate skills.  Clearly, Wanda had selected well from the
resumes of over 50 male applicants, but I doubted any of them could have
filled a mini-skirt the way Melody could.

     So far, I had narrowed the search to just three young ladies.  None of
the finalists had any experience, but that was not a problem since I could
not afford to hire experienced private investigators.  The candidates all
had different strengths and weaknesses.  Perhaps because Pamela was the
first I had interviewed, she had made the strongest impression on me.
After nineteen interviews, it was hard to remember who was who.  But, if I
called back the top three candidates for second interviews later in the
week, after seeing some ten more candidates tomorrow, perhaps I could find
Melody's replacement.

     Wanda had already left the office by the time I had organized my
interview notes.  It had been a tiring day, so I headed over to a favorite
hangout of mine near work.  Ah So served the freshest sushi in L.A., and it
was modestly priced.  But, what else would you expect in bustling Japan
Town.

     After a short wait, the young kimono clad hostess lead me over to the
bar where some single patrons were seated.  As the restaurant started to
get its suppertime crowd around five o'clock, I was hopeful of getting a
good choice of the salmon or crab or tuna fish sushi.  Moments later, an
attractively dressed Asian lady was escorted to the seat beside me.  My
lucky day!  She wore a body hugging, gold, cheong-sam inspired, silk dress.
The dress was knee length with a short slit along the side, showing very
sexy, long legs on high heel sandal strap shoes.  Her shoulder length thick
black hair framed an exquisitely smooth, light complexion.  Her almond
shaped eyes shifted up to glance at me for a moment.  I was in love!
Especially after interviewing fifteen attractive young ladies today, I was
ready to rumble.  She smiled as she reached for the menu.

     "Hi!" I said in my best Tom Hanks ah shucks kind of style.  "I wonder
if you could help me with these menu items."

     "I don't know if I can, but sure, I'm willing to try," she almost sang
in a clear contralto as she responded with a friendly grin.

     I could sense the warmth of her hot body and perhaps the scent of
Passion .

     "Well, when I come here, I look around at what the other people have
ordered.  The sushi is great here.  I've always found that Japanese
restaurants pride themselves on the artistic presentation of each dish as
well as the fresh taste of each item.  But, I don't read or understand
Japanese so the menu isn't very helpful to me.  I mean what is oyaku
domburi anyway?  So, I generally order what I've had before or what seems
intriguing on other people's plates.  Sometimes I'll ask the hostesses for
a recommendation."

     With a sheepish expression on her fabulous face, the young lady leaned
over and whispered into my ear, "I'm not Japanese, I'm Chinese.  Don't they
have English menus?"

     "I assumed you were Japanese.  But, your clothing shows a Chinese
influence.  I should have guessed."

     "Well, you're not Sherlock Holmes," she giggled.

     "Actually, in a way I am.  My name is Dave Fletcher.  I'm a private
investigator, so I should be able to pick up on these little hints."

     "I am Jade Chan," she replied as we shook hands.

     I had to control myself from breaking out in laughter.  Here, I had
met two Chinese people today.  One named Lee, another named Chan.
Stereotypical Chinese names.  Charlie Chan was the famous Chinese detective
of movie famealthough always played by a Caucasian actor.  Lee, as in Bruce
Lee, was an action superstar.

     "Why are you chuckling?" she asked a little nervously, thinking
perhaps that I found something funny about her name.

     "Well, I was just thinking about the name Chan.  A number of years
ago, there was a detective movie called Chan is Missing.  Being a private
investigator, I've seen a lot of private eye moviesincluding the entire
Charlie Chan series."  I hoped that would get the conversation flowing.
"Although I don't remember Charlie Chan, Warner Oland, having a daughter or
wife named Jade.  And I know you're not number one son.  Actor Keye Luke
played that part."

     "Oh, do you think that all Asians are like the characters you find in
stereotypical Hollywood movies or Jackie Chan action films?"

     "No, not really.  I'm open to new relationships.  I've dated Asian
girls before."

     "What if I told you I met you before, and you hardly paid any
attention to me?" she complained.  And then she pouted, displaying her
disappointment with a breast-heaving sigh.  She snuggled closer to me and
then, in a very forward gesture, she caressed my thigh with a delicate
touch of her hand.  "Maybe this will jog your memory."

     Sometimes guys think with their penis, but her face and touch did not
ring a bell.  "Oh, I'm sure I would have remembered you if I'd met you
before," I responded as I moved my hand around her slender waist.

     Jade squirmed up against me with her sensual, silk covered leg and
ample breasts and whispered, "We shall see how open you are to new
relationships."

     "I'm ready, willing and able, Jade.  I'd like to get to know you up
close and personal and then maybe you'll believe I'm a nineties kind of
guysensitive and in touch with the feelings of women," I said in a sincere,
cuddly voice, although inwardly I was embarrassed at all the cliches I had
just used.  I kissed her on the cheek to see how she would react.  She
moved her head up and back, offering her throat and her bountiful bosoms as
targets for my affection.  I obliged with a gentle kiss as my hands
explored her tantalizing body.

     "You know, maybe we should move to a more private location," murmured
Jade as we realized how outrageous this display looked in a Japanese
restaurant.

     "Your place or mine?"  I offered eagerly.

     "Well, there's one thing I must tell you before we go.  Remember I
said we might have met before.  Well, you said you would have remembered if
we had."  She paused and looked me straight in the eyes as she grasped my
hands warmly.  "I met you earlier today at a job interview.  My real name
is Kelly Lee."

     My jaw dropped.  The beautiful lady was no lady.  I had just nibbled
on the neck of a gorgeous impersonator.

     "Surprise!" Kelly/Jade said gleefully.  "Now, do you think I could
tempt a cheating husband?" she purred, as she gave me a playful peck on the
cheek.



CHAPTER THREE


     The next morning, while in my office, I telephoned Trisha Dale's
residence and asked to speak with her.  After a short delay, her assistant,
April Cleaver, was able to get her to call me back.  When we finally
chatted, Trisha thanked us for our assistance at her last concert.  We
exchanged pleasantries about how everyone in our circle of friends was
doing.  When Trisha asked about Melody's injury, I had to tell her that
Melody was recovering, but she had resigned due to her impending marriage.
Melody would no longer be available for security assignments.  However, I
promised that I would find a capable replacement.  Then, we talked about
how we were keeping busy.  Although Melody was working on some new songs
for her next CD at the moment, she advised me that she would need my
services at the end of the month when she went up to Las Vegas for a week
of concerts at the MGM Grand.  That sounded great to me!  I said I'd be
happy to oblige.

     As I hung up the phone, I was tempted to give Melody a call to see if
she was interested in coming back to work.  She was still being paid until
she could make a full recovery from her injury, but I thought better of it.
At the end of the month, she'd be off on a honeymoon in the Bahamas.
Forget it!

     At eleven o'clock, Wanda buzzed on the intercom.  "Your appointment is
here," she said in that distorted intercom garble.

     I opened my office door to invite my visitor in.  A punk wearing
spiked purple hair, sunglasses, chains, a black T-shirt, leather vest,
black jeans and cobbled boots clip-clopped into my office, sat down and
propped his boots on top of my desk.  There appeared to be a small silver
ring embedded in his left eyebrow.

     "What's happening, Fletcher my man!" he bellowed with enthusiasm.

     "Who the hell are you supposed to be today?" I wondered out loud.
"Are you some multiple personality schizoid who just escaped from a mental
hospital?  Or are you Kelly Lee? Or Jade Chan?"

     "I'm your new private investigator!" bragged Kelly confidently.

     Looking at the punk before me and thinking back to his two other
vastly different personas, I pondered the possibility that some Zelig type
personality confusion was happening here. "I must be crazy . . . but I've
got to admit, your chameleon-like qualities could come in handy in this
profession.  It looks like I'm hiring three personalities for the price of
one."

     The punk jumped up.  "Well, you could also pay me the wages of three
people.  I'd go for that, boss."

     "Not likely, although I'd be willing to spring for additional wardrobe
expenses . . . By the way, have you ever seen Paul Hogan in that Subaru
commercial?  The one where a daring young lady fights off her kidnappers,
and escapes from her pursuers by doing some amazing stunt driving.  Then,
she pulls off her Mission Impossible style latex mask and reveals Paul
Hogan's grizzled old face?  It's amazing what a little Hollywood makeup can
do!  But, I cannot get over how you fooled me so convincingly yesterday."

     I tried to reconcile this punk's face with Jade'sthey simply didn't
match up.

     "I really had you going, boss," snickered Kelly as he struck an
exaggerated pseudo-seductive pose.
  
     "Sit down for a minute," I said as I tried to get things back on
track.  Shifting forward in my armchair, I put on a serious front.  "If we
are going to work together, I will need your complete cooperation.  There
are just two rules you need to remember.  Then, you and I will get along,"
I said, pausing to see if I was making the necessary impression.  "Rule
Number One is, the boss is always right.  Rule Number Two is, if you have
doubts about what your boss is doing, go back to Rule Number One.
Understand?"

     "Okay, boss.  No problem.  I bow to your experience and wisdom."

     "And I don't ever want you to mention the Ah So Restaurant and my
close encounter of the wrong kind with femme fatale Jade Chan again.  Do I
make myself clear?"

     "Yes sir."

     "All right," I said with some relief.  "Now, I want to tell you all
about the Trisha Dale assignment."

     "Trisha Dale?  I didn't know you worked for such a famous singer.  I
am a big fan of hers.  She's amazing!  You know, her Hawaiian Sunset is
huge back home."

     "Don't get star struck here.  I knew her long before she became a big
star.  Now, she is an important client.  We've got to protect her at all
costs.  Maybe if we do well, we'll get more work from other show business
celebrities.  Not that actors or singers are more important than other
people, it's just that the wealthy clients can afford to pay us more."

     "Yes, more money, mo' money, mo' money . . . In the words of Gordon
Gecko, 'Greed is good.'"

     "If you appreciate the value of a dollar, then you'll be happy to know
that, at the end of the month, we're off to the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.
There are a lot of high rollers there.  Trisha will be up there for a week
and we'll be there to protect her.  Not a bad first assignment.  I'm sure
you'll be pleased.  Any questions?"

     "Sounds great.  I'm already looking forward to it.  Just one question,
how can I prepare myself for this?"

     "Good question.  We'll start by contacting the management of her next
venue, the MGM Grand.  Then, we'll discuss her needs and concerns with her.
We'll likely travel up to Vegas and check out the security arrangements
with the MGM Grand Security Staff.  We'll have to introduce you to her at
some point, probably up in Vegas.  Have you ever been to Vegas before?"

     "I certainly have been to the city of Lost Wages.  It's decadent!
It's amazing!  I love it!"

     "Good.  But, this afternoon, we're going to take you to a shooting
range.  Before we go, you'd better change out of that outfit.  Although I
don't necessarily equate gun owners with rednecks, perhaps it would be nice
to see how well you can blend in there.  Also, tomorrow, we're going to go
a little dojo I know. We'll do a little self-defense training.  I want to
see if you really are a black belt in karate."

     "Great!  I look forward to kicking your little white butt."

     "We'll see."  This kid sure was cocky.  But the confident macho
swagger of punk Kelly Lee did not match the delectable visage of Jade Chan.
I wondered what other surprises lay in store for me.



CHAPTER FOUR


     The executive jet ride to Las Vegas from Los Angeles was merely a
short hop.  As I stepped down the portable stairway to the tarmac, I was
hit by a blast of the Vegas dry heat.  I turned back to see how Trisha Dale
was managing the steps, along with the rest of her entourage.

     Standing beside a white, stretch limousine, was a tall, athletic
looking, dark haired man dressed in a light blue sport shirt and dark
pants.  A young, thin, Asian man, wearing a chauffeur's uniform, was beside
him.

     "Hi, I'm Kent McDonald, MGM Grand Security," he said in an
authoritative voice as he extended his hand.  "I believe we talked on the
phone a few days ago."

     "Hi there, I'm Dave Fletcher," I replied, as I shook his hand.  "It's
nice to finally match a face to the voice."

     Moments later, I introduced Trisha Dale to Kent McDonald.

     The MGM Grand takes special care of its precious entertainers.  The
limo was well stocked with refreshments and appetizers.  McCarron
International isn't very far from the action.  When I saw the casinos along
Las Vegas Boulevard, or The Strip, as it is known, I couldn't help but feel
a sense of excitement and anticipation.  Although I had been there many
times before, this thankfully was one town that allowed you to mix business
with pleasure.

     The MGM Grand is a gargantuan colossus, distinguished by huge lions
guarding the front entrance of the glitter palace.  Deep behind the street