by Robert Ward
“They won't see you. Trust me, you won't be sorry.”
She reached over and squeezed his cock, and he almost came right there.
“It's the next house,” she said, as they drove down the dark block.
“You keep hunched down back there, okay?”
“Yeah, I can't get any lower.”
“Okay,” she said. “I'm turning left now.”
In the back, hunkered down on the floor, Kevin felt the bump as they headed into the driveway. Then he heard her click the remote and the garage door started to rise. Slowly, the car moved forward, and then they were inside. Behind him the door went back down.
She got out of the car, then opened the back door and looked down at him, huddled on the floor. She laughed.
“C'mon,” she said. “Let the games begin.”
He was naked, wandering through the dark upstairs hallway. And he was sooooo stoned. She'd brought out some weed and, at first, he didn't want to smoke it. His father was an FBI agent and here he was taking drugs. Man, that was worse than anything else he had done. But she wanted him to, and he couldn't turn her down. He didn't want to look like some young punk.
So he'd smoked the stuff, held it down like she told him to, and then, man, it was like the top of his head was gone. Really. He could imagine there were these little hinges on his scalp, and they unlatched, and then they sort of disappeared, and then the top just floated off and he had exposed brain pan in there, and it was okay because he couldn't feel it anyway, and also the walls were shimmering and his eyeballs were rolling around and his cock was hard and he was crawling . . . was he really crawling, yes . . . across the floor toward the bedroom, where she was hiding, and he had to find her or she would have to punish him. He thought that was the game anyway. She would punish him in some “terrible way,” she said.
And here he was crawling along with this huge hard-on, totally naked, and laughing and saying in a sort of growling voice, “If I find you I am going to fuck you.”
Which seemed stupid but also kind of funny, and he was laughing, hearing this hollow “hahaha” sound coming out of his mouth, but disembodied from it as well.
Hahahahahahaha.
And then he was in the master bedroom (but the master wasn't there, haha), and he crawled to the bed, and looked under it, and saw only darkness, but put out his hand and felt around. Nothing.
He crawled over to the closet and opened the door and there was no one there, either, and he felt like he was going to freak out he was so excited. Then he saw a tall wardrobe on the other side of the room and he crawled over the bed, laughing some more. And he said, “I know you're in there. Come out and plaaaay.”
And then he grabbed the knob and swung open the door, expecting her to pop out into his arms.
But nothing. Nothing at all.
He was shocked. Where the hell . . . and then he saw the cedar chest in the corner of the room, but before he could really give it his full attention, she leapt out of it, scaring the living shit out of him.
She gave a wild, terrifying yell and lunged at him, pointing a handgun at his face.
“You evil fucking child,” she screamed. “Give me your cock!”
Kevin fell back, horrified, as she jumped on him and aimed the barrel of the gun at his head.
Then she broke into wild laughter and pulled the trigger. Kevin heard the click and felt his heart stop for a beat. She laughed again and began to kiss him and hug him.
“Whoaaaa,” Kevin said.
“I love you so fucking much,” she said.
And she reached down and put his still-hard cock into her and began to ride on top of him.
The weed, the fun of the game, and the fear put Kevin into a whole new place, something he couldn't even name. He was inside her, and she was tight and she was kissing and biting his neck and what if Granddad saw it, but the hell with Granddad. He was inside Vicki and he was madly, wildly in love with her, and nothing else in the world mattered one damned bit.
But after it was over and he felt they had become one, a single thing, had actually melded into one another, she did a strange thing.
She sat in front of her mirror and looked at her face, running her fingers along the wrinkles on her cheeks and the little crow's feet by her eyes.
And she began to cry.
Kevin was out of bed at once and got up behind her, patting her cheeks and kissing her head.
“What's wrong, Vicki?”
“I look soooo old. God, my mother was so beautiful. Much more beautiful than I am. But in her forties she just fell apart. Wrinkles everywhere. She tried every cream they make but none of them really worked. She was the belle of the ball, as they used to say, but poof, like a fairy tale, it was all over.”
“That won't happen to you,” Kevin said. “That will never happen to you. And even if you do get some wrinkles, I'll never leave you, Vicki. You can count on that.”
She half turned and looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Of course,” Kevin said. “I love you, Vicki, and no matter what I'll never, ever leave you.”
“Of course,” Vicki said. “You're my good, true boy. My sweetheart. I know I can always trust you.”
He kissed her and his heart almost burst with emotion.
How he hated to see her suffer. He would do anything to prevent that from happening. Anything.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack sat in the little park behind La Fonda. It was cold. Snow was in the air. But he was watching something that stunned him. Ellen Garcia, the woman he had seen with her right arm in a sling the day he had arrived in Santa Fe, was now standing in the park with a young trainer. And she was doing pull-ups.
That seemed beyond remarkable. It was almost spooky.
She seemed to have healed via the promise of Santa Fe: come here and expect a miracle.
Jack watched as she did one, two . . . three. She stopped at six. Okay, not that many, but she had looked almost completely out of it, not forty-eight hours ago.
He got up from his bench and walked toward her.
“Hi, Ellen, how are you?”
“I'm fine, Jack,” she said. “Jack, I want you to meet my trainer, Rich Carlson.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” the young man said.
“Same here,” Jack responded. “Just the other day you couldn't even lift your arm. How in the world . . . ?”
“Shots,” Ellen said. “D-35, developed at Blue Wolf. All new. And unlike some of the stuff you get, this doesn't wear off. Not if you exercise with it.”
“I see,” Jack said. “Do the patients use it, too?”
“Yes, some of them. But you have to do the rehab afterward. If you don't, the formula doesn't really have a chance to work.”
“What the hell is D-35?” Jack asked.
Ellen and Carlson both smiled.
“Well, if we tell you that, we'll have to kill you,” Carlson said, still smiling.
Ellen did another chin-up. And one more, which she held for a few extra seconds.
“D-35 does many things for the body, but one of the most important is that it allows superfast healing after injury.” Carlson said.
“Amazing,” Jack said, smiling, but thought “steroids.” The only substance he knew that promoted fast healing and simultaneous muscle growth was steroids. Of course, they caused heart attacks, impotence, and tumors, as well, but perhaps people at this age—their late fifties and up—didn't worry about that so much. The risk might be worth looking and feeling ten years younger.
Saying good day to both of them, Jack headed back to the hotel.
When he arrived at his room the door was already open. He took out his Glock and went inside. He looked around, the gun out in front of him.
Then he heard a cough from across the room.
Michelle Wu was sitting in a chair, looking down on the now-snowy square below.
She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a blue
and red plaid shirt.
“You going out to the Jackalope?” she asked.
“As soon as Oscar gets here,” he said.
“Good,” she parried. “Maybe he can keep an eye on you.”
“What's that mean?”
“That means, Jackie Boy, you and Kim Walker.”
“You're kidding,” Jack said. “I had lunch with her to find out about your sister.”
“I know. Of course. It was all business. Right!”
“It was. I can't believe you were watching me.”
“I wasn't,” Michelle said. “I happened to be up there, asking questions, and I saw you in the dining room. I nearly walked in on you.”
“You're nuts, Michelle,” Jack said. “I came down here, risked my career for you, and you're following me around? That's just too lame.”
“Listen to me, Jackie. My sister is missing. You don't have time to have a love life.”
“I was trying to learn things from her, Michelle. And I did.”
“Yeah,” Michelle said. “I'm sure you learned plenty. You fucker.”
She picked up an ashtray and hurled it at him. Jack ducked as it slammed into the wall behind him and crumbled into pieces.
“Cut it out. You don't have any idea what's happening.”
“Oh, yeah I do, Jackie. I know.”
She ran at him and raised her fists. Jack put his arms up to defend himself and felt a rain of blows.
Then, when she was out of breath, he grabbed both of her arms.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You bastard. You hustler,” she said.
Then Jack found himself pulling her close to him. Her lips parted and he kissed her deeply.
“You son of a bitch,” she said when they were done. “I hate you.”
She kissed him again, and somehow they moved across the room to the bed.
“I fucking hate you so much,” she said, as she unzipped his pants. He unbuttoned her shirt and a second later his mouth was on her breast.
They mashed together, furious and mad for one another. Jack had never felt anything like it before.
Though he never wanted it to end, it was almost unbearable.
He was inside of her and holding her perfect tight ass with his hands, and he felt as though he would explode.
He felt such an overwhelming fullness that he wanted to cry out in pain.
And why? For fear that it would end, though that was something he could barely acknowledge to himself.
They exploded together, both of them crying out.
Afterward they lay back on the pillows. Jack felt his entire body humming. He had heard an old friend once tell him that his ex-wife made him “nuts in love.” Jack laughed now. That was it.
He was pure “nuts in love.” It was terrifying and joyous and he doubted anything could ever compare with it again.
“God,” she said, turning to him. “I am yours, Jack. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I hear you.”
He kissed her again and his entire body shuddered in absurd happiness.
Later, as they dressed and tried to reassemble themselves, Jack held her at the door.
“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much it kills me.”
“I know,” she said. “Me, too.”
“Don't play me, though,” Jack said. “I know you, Michelle. I know you and if you play me, I don't know what I'll do.”
“I won't, Jackie,” she said. “No matter what. We're together. But we have to hurry. I'm so afraid for Jennifer.”
She kissed him deeply again, and Jack ran his fingers through her thick hair.
Then she opened the hotel room door.
“Tell me what happens at Jackalope,” she said.
She smiled seductively, twitched her perfect ass, and walked away from him into the hall.
Chapter Sixteen
Oscar Hidalgo wore a black Rodeo King cowboy hat, jeans, and an ancient pair of rattlesnake boots that he had inherited from his Mexican sheriff grandfather. With his new black moustache, he looked downright scary.
They drove out into the desert dark, the road illuminated only by fierce moonlight.
Jack was dressed in black denim, and wore black leather boots.
“Man, you make a great cowboy,” Jack said. “We oughta take a picture of you and me like this and send it to the Great Supervisor, Watt.”
Oscar almost laughed.
“No, man. We don't want to irritate him any more than he is already. If he wasn't so busy with the Homeland Security guys he'd be keeping tabs on you. If he finds out we're going rogue down here he'll be all over your ass.”
“What are those Homeland Security guys up to?”
“They want to see all our records. They want to run every investigation. The only agency they treat worse than us is the D.E.A. They got the power right now and they are kicking ass and taking names, bro.”
“Good,” Jack said. “That'll keep the boss busy for a while. Which is just what we need.”
“You really think Jennifer Wu is out here?”
“That's what I've been able to learn so far and it fits. Jennifer has probably been kidnapped by these Jester assholes. She could be drugged and forced to ‘work’ out here or they might have sent her to one of their other places.”
“That makes more sense, doesn't it?” Oscar said. “I mean they take her off the streets and put her out here, someone is going to recognize her.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, as he hit a jackrabbit head-on. The thing made a sickening slushy sound and blood and a little fur came flying up onto the windshield. “That does make more sense. But according to Lucky Avila they could be keeping her out here until they make their shipment to Mexico.”
“And you trust this Avila dude?”
“Not hardly,” Jack said. “He's a weird kind of New Age redneck.Like Merle Haggard meets Deepak Chopra.”
“That is weird,” Oscar said.
“Yeah, he seemed eager to lead me out here.”
“And you searched his whole place?”
“Yeah, I did. Maybe he has some kind of secret room, but I couldn't find it.”
“But if he did kidnap Jennifer to punish Michelle he'd make some kind of demand, a ransom or something?” Oscar wondered out loud.
“I know. And so far he hasn't asked for a thing. And yet . . . I feel like he's involved somehow. I know Michelle thinks he is.”
“Well, we'll check this place out and see what we can learn. Maybe it'll be simple after all, compadre. We bring her back tonight and we're heroes.”
“That would be nice,” Jack said. “I could use an easy win right now. Man, I'm supposed to be on my free time, hanging out with my son.”
“How is that rascal?” Oscar asked, smiling.
“He's fine,” Jack said. “Staying with my dad.”
“Good,” Oscar said. “I like your old man. Even if he is a dog sometimes.”
Jack laughed and gunned the car down the moonlit road.
Jack had expected the place to be a dump, but it turned out that the Jackalope Ranch was a big stone house at the foot of a mountain. There was a wide front porch with comfortable-looking rocking chairs. Some of the girls for hire sat out there now, one of them dressed in supershort cut-off Levi's and a tank top that barely covered her breasts. Another wore a lacy party dress and a sports bra, and a third wore spandex so tight Jack wondered if she could ever peel out of it.
They parked in the nearby lot, and as they walked back to the gate Jack saw three big Mexican guys wielding shotguns. As he and Oscar approached up the stone pathway to the porch, one of the girls welcomed them to the Jackalope in Spanish.
That was the cue for the other girls to surround them, giggling and playfully touching them. The spandex girl took Jack by the hand and pulled him through the screen door. The girl in the party dress nabbed Oscar.
“You are muy guapo, senor,” she said, with a fake, bashful smile.
Inside there
was a big living room with a long bar. Behind the bar was a sexy woman busy making margaritas for two couples who were laughing and eating chips and salsa.
On the walls were some of the same pictures that Jack had seen downtown at the local galleries. Blue dogs, wise roosters, and more O'Keeffe rip-off blue flowers.
The chairs were comfortable and filled with more girls and some tired-looking Mexican ranch hands.
As Jack and the young girl headed toward the bar, they were cut off by a wide man in a Brooks Brothers suit and a rep tie. Though he had longish hair and a big moustache, he looked like a broker at Smith Barney.
“Buenas noches,” he said. “I am Pancho Flores. The owner of the Jackalope.”
“Jack Morrison.” At the first sight of Flores, the girl had dropped his hand and suddenly become busy talking to another girl who was getting some appetizers at the bar.
“I have not seen you and your friend here before,” Flores said.
“That's because it's our first time,” Jack said. “But you have a very good reputation.”
He looked across the room and saw Oscar and his girl drinking margaritas.
“That's good to hear,” Flores said. “You are from where?”
“Los Angeles,” Jack said.
“Ahhh, the city of Lost Angels. Now, what drink can I buy you?”
“I'll have tequila on the rocks.”
“Excellent,” Flores said. “I see you have a nice girl already. But if you like something a little more special, we can always accommodate that, too.”
“Really?” Jack asked.
“Yes. Whatever your taste in escorts, we have them all. Though some of the more rarefied women are available only if you are a club member.”
“I see,” Jack said. “And what are the benefits of membership?”
“Your wildest fantasy—any fantasy—comes true.”
“Sounds interesting,” Jack said.
“Yes, time catches up with the most beautiful of women, senor,” Pablo said. “And to be honest, with men, too. But some day, maybe soon, we will beat time down.”
