Hungry Stepdad: Jack Tower Series: Books 1 - 3

by Carrie Breeze

  “It had to be done. He’d found evidence that could lead to exposing the affair Jenny and I had the night of the crash.”

  “I see.”

  “So, let’s keep the police out of this. We’ll find Jenny using our own resources. We don’t want the cops finding Jenny and having her spill the beans about the other night.”

  “Gotcha. Well, do we completely scratch our plans for today and focus on the search?”

  “We’ll definitely cancel the trip to Boston, I’ll give the Chinese Minister of Commerce a call and see how long he’ll be in the States, maybe we can still connect later. But I’d like to keep the teleconference with Senator Howard. It’s is vital to the company.”

  Sounds like a plan. We better get dressed,” kissing him, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower.

  Shortly later.

  “John, how the health are you?” Jack said from the leather couch in his office. Jamie sat at his side, laptop open ready for notes. Senator Howard’s face had just appeared on the forty-eight inch flat screen mounted on the wood paneled wall across the room.

  “I’m doing fine, Jack, fine. Once again, I’d like to extend my deepest sympathy over the loss of Kate. She was a fine woman and we’re all going to miss her.”

  “Thank you, John, that means a lot. And thank you for the card and flowers.”

  “How are you holding out? You need anything, anything at all, just say the word.”

  “You’re a dear friend, John. Thankfully, I have my daughter, Jamie, here.”

  “Senator, pleased to meet you.”

  “The honor is mine, young lady.”

  “Jamie, has not only provided emotional support through this difficult time, but she has also come on staff at Tower Intel Tech as my personal aide.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Ha ha, she’s already reminding me we should get down to business. John I’m going to need your help on something that will pave the way toward a brand new future, a future filled with hope for, not only this great country of ours, but also for the world and for humankind itself.”

  “That sounds mighty encouraging, Jack. Please, tell me more.”

  “What I’m talking about is the advent of the transhuman age.”

  “Transhumanism, that sounds kind of scary, Jack. What exactly does this entail?”

  “Oh, it’s quite the opposite, John, think of no more disease, no more suffering, think of people with the thought capacity to shoot for the stars and actually accomplish unheard of things.”

  “Are you talking about ushering in the so-called Singularity, the mixing of humans with machines?”

  “It’s already happening, John. And we are now ready for the next step. That is why Tower Intel Tech needs your blessing as Chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Science Ethics.”

  “What is that next step, you talk about?”

  “We at Tower Intel have recently succeeded in completely reverse engineering the entire human brain. From this knowledge we have built a synthetic human brain and we are now poised to transplant this artificial brain into a living human recipient - the worlds first brain transplant.”

  “I don’t know, Jack. This could open a Pandora’s box of repercussions. I’ll have to have my staff do some checking into this before I jump on board.”

  “Fair enough, John. Election season will be rolling around this winter. I don’t think your John Hancock on this little issue could stop us from making you look good in the polls.”

  “You’re the man, Jack. I have to be in chamber now, better let you go.”

  “Good enough. I want you and Emily up here for fresh Maine lobster before the summer’s over.”

  “It’s on my calender.”

  “That didn’t sound too encouraging,” Jamie said, snuggling up to Jack after the senator had signed off.

  “We can’t hold up progress while that son-of-a-bitch waffles. We need to find a willing human subject,” smiling down at her, kissing her forehead. “Think you can find me someone who needs a new brain?”

  “I’m sure there’s no shortage of candidates out there.”

  “Let’s try our friend, Wong, the Chinese Minister of Commerce. Since we’ve canceled our meeting I should give him a call anyway,” Jamie dialed the Minister’s private line and handed Jack the phone. “Wong, good to hear your voice. What’s it been? Two years?”

  “It’s been too long, my good friend”

  “I wanted to meet up today but a family emergency came up.”

  “So sorry to hear about your wife, Jack”

  “I appreciate your kind sympathy, Wong. Look, I’d still like to meet. How long will you be in the States?”

  “My daughter is enrolling at Harvard so we will be in Cambridge for a few more days. Maybe we can hook up tomorrow or the day after.”

  “Sounds good. I have some exciting news to share with you on the transpersonal frontier.”

  “Very auspicious, indeed. Lets have our secretaries arrange a meeting. How would you like a good home cooked Chinese dinner at the Chinese community house here?”

  “Good as done, until then, my good friend,” ending the call and handing the phone back to Jamie. ”Good, that’s one more thing off my mind.”

  “Now, father,” reaching over and petting his penis. “We need to find away to make Mr. Happy happy again. Any ideas on where to look for Jenny?”

  “I have a sneaky suspicion that if we find that friend of hers, that Bob, we’ll find her too.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Met him once, at Jenny’s eighteenth birthday party the night of the accident. A real dirtball. Has this goth thing going. He tried to talk Jenny into getting a tattoo. Believe that shit? Wanted to give her a ride home. I drew the line there. An argument over him is what caused the accident. I can’t figure out what she sees in him. My own daughter with such scum.”

  “Easy, father, let’s keep our head. We need to think clearly and calmly and reason out where to find this guy. Do you know his last name?”

  “Not a clue. He was wearing a leather jacket though, like something a biker would wear with patches all over the back. Come to think of it… there was a chopper parked outside the restaurant. Shit, good thing I refused her request, she told me Bob had a car. No way is she getting on the back of a bike.”

  “Remember what the patches looked like, what they said?”

  “Hell Yeah, how could I forget. In the center of the jacket was a large skull crossed with an anchor and a trident…. And then written in large Gothic letters above and beneath the skull were the words ‘Satan’s Seadogs.’”

  “The Satan’s Seadogs is a New England biker gang,” reading her internet search results. “Many of its members having ties to the coastal fishing and shipping industries.” Doing an image search yielded several photos of gang members. Showing them to Jack, “Recognize any of them?”

  “Yeah, that’s the punk,” pointing to a stocky scruffy faced youth wearing a red bandanna.

  “That’s our scoundrel, Mr. Bobby Bousen. Well, I think we know where to start our search, Cummings cove’s waterfront.”

  Chapter 7

  A little later.

  “Look at this sorry thing, Charles,” seeing his sadly drooping dick in the full length mirror of his walk-in closet. Charles, Jack Tower’s head butler was helping him pick out some incognito attire for their foray into the field of missing persons investigations.

  “Sir, I’ve always been a keen admirer of your uncommon girth. This is indeed a sad state of affairs. If there is anything I can do to rectify the situation I’d be more than eager to lend a hand.”

  “Thank you Charles but, no thanks. I know where your affections lie and I’m quite aware of your abilities. Don’t worry, old man, I’m sure I’ll be able to hook you up when the time comes,” patting him on the shoulder. “My problem is with Jenny. Mr. Happy won’t smile till I have her back.”

  “Understood, sir. Now about some cl
othes for this afternoon’s adventure. May I suggest your workout tank top and these faded jeans.”

  “Simple and casual, I like that, Charles. You slip into something comparable and Jamie and I’ll meet you down at the garage in fifteen. We’ll take the Barracuda.”

  “Excellent choice, sir. I’ll have it revved up and raring to go. And, sir, in case there is trouble,” handing him a Glock tucked into its ankle holster.”

  “Wouldn’t leave home without it, thank you, Charles.”

  Along the waterfront of Cummings Cove is a touristy commercial district that runs for several blocks. Known as “The Old Port,” it consists of quaint little shops, restaurants and boutiques. Go a few more blocks towards the commercial shipping docks and you hit the seedy section of Cummings Cove populated by dive bars, loan shark outlets, tattoo parlors, warehouses and low rent housing. Jack parked the Barracuda on the fringe of the Old Port and he, Jamie and Charles hoofed it two blocks to a bar called, The Goldstone, a squat low joint with a couple choppers parked out front by the door. They went in and pulled up stools at the bar, their eyes slowly adjusting to the dark atmosphere. The place was nearly empty at that early afternoon hour.

  “What can I do ya for?” barkeep said, coming over.

  “Order for us, Charles.”

  “The lady will have Sex on the Beach, the gentleman will have a vodka martini, twist of lime, shaken not stirred and, for myself, a brandy Manhattan.”

  “Ha ha, you all come to the wrong place for that shit. You better turn right around and go back to where you come from. All we got here is Bud, bud light, Pabst and Jack.”

  “Give us three shots of Jack,” jack said, slapping a fifty down on counter.

  “Yes, sir, coming right up.”

  The barkeep pored the shots.

  “Maybe you can help me out. Looking for Bob Bousen. Owe him some money. Know where I might find him?”

  “Who’s askin’?”

  “Someone who can make your life a living hell,” grabbing his shirt. “Know where he is?”

  If he ain’t out haulin’ in lobsta, could be anywhere. Those two over at the pool table might know. Alright?”

  “Thank you, letting him go.” Jack tossed back his Jack. Charles and Jamie nursed their’s. Two bikers wearing Satin’s Seadogs jackets were playing pool across the bar. “You two stay here,” getting up and sauntering over to the bikers. He grabbed a pool cue, put his hand on the cue ball, interrupting the biker who’d been about to make a try at a tough bank shot on the nine ball into the corner pocket.

  “Let me show you how it’s done,” Jack said. The biker looked at him with murder in his eyes. Jack sunk the ball clean and hard and then, setting his cue on the table faced the biker. “I‘ve a business proposition. Interested?”

  “Who the hell you think you are?”

  “I’m the man with the money. Want to talk?”

  “Suppose my friend and I just take that money, slick?”

  “What good is money to a dead man?”

  The biker threw a punch, Jack dodged it, slamming the man’s head nose first into the green felt pool table. The other biker rushed and Jack beaned him in the chest with the eight ball. He fell to the floor gasping for breath. Jack turned back to the first, pulling the Glock from his ankle, rammed it into his temple.

  “Now, I’ll ask again. Want to talk?”

  “How much you paying?”

  “No money anymore. You tell me what I need and you get your life. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah, what ever. Put that thing away.”

  “Where can I find Bob Bousen?”

  “Is that all, hell. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Where’s he live.”

  “Try 83 Ocean Street, If he’s not there, I don’t know where.”

  “If you’re lying I’ll hunt you down and make your life hell. My friends and I are going to leave now. You and your friend continue your game of pool. I see your ugly face outside that door it’ll have a hole in it. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Jack holstered the Glock and returned to the bar. “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” throwing back the rest of Jamie’s shot.

  Eighty-three Ocean street was just a few blocks away. It was a crack house. The grimy door was open and they walked in. Garbage everywhere. Anarchist symbols painted on the walls. Didn’t see any signs of anyone being home. One of the bedrooms had a lot of stuff cluttered on the floor, clothes in the closet, junk on top of a dresser, like someone was actually living there.

  “Hey, look at this,” Jamie said. She’d found a bundle of letters in one of the dresser drawers, cell phone bills, third and final notice on a motorcycle payment, pay stubs, things like that. The name on all of them was Robert Bousen. Paydirt!

  Jack was looking through the night stand drawer; condoms, aspirin, scattered coins, open pack of gum, lighter, business card of a lobster fisherman. He closed the drawer and flung the covers off the bed. He stared in horror at what he saw. His stepdaughter’s pink panties. The same ones she was wearing yesterday when he’d fucked her in the woodshed.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he screamed at the ceiling, fists clenched in rage. That bastard is dead.

  Jamie rushed to comfort him, holding him tight. “That’s right, father, let the anger out, I’m here for you,” she whispered. “Now we have to focus on trying to find out where they went.

  “Sir, may I suggest simply giving the boy a call and asking him? Surely those cell phone bills have his phone number.”

  “Good thinking, Charles,” Jack pulling out his phone.

  “Wait,” Jaimie said, covering his phone with her slender hand. “He’ll never tell you, but if I call, just maybe I can con him. Wasn’t one of those letters regarding a past due motorcycle payment. I’ll call him, tell him I’m from a bill collection agency, tell him to come in today or we repossess his bike,” pulling out her cell and, then putting it back. “Charles may I use yours, he won’t recognize your name,” handing it over, She dialed and Bob picked up on the third ring.

  “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “Mr. Bousen, Mr. Robert Bousen?”

  “What ya want? You got one minute.”

  “Sir, my name is Clair Walton, I’m calling from the Last Chance collection agency…. Hello, Mr. Bousen, Mr. Bousen?…. He hung up.”

  “Shit.”

  “Hold on, he’s on the water.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It was windy. I could hear waves lapping against the side of his boat and I distinctly heard a fog horn in the distance.”

  “Good show, Miss Jamie.”

  “That’s not all, there’s one other thing I heard… a boat horn playing the opening notes to Beethoven’s third symphony.”

  “The bastard has stolen the “Eroica.” He’s fucking my daughter on my own god damned Yacht. That bastard is going to suffer.”

  “Lord have mercy on his soul,” Charles said as they rushed out.

  Chapter 8

  “Who was that, Bobby?” Jenny asked, stepping out onto the deck of the Eroica. She was totally naked. The cool wind gave her goose flesh and she wrapped her arms around her breasts. They were drifting about a mile off shore, Cummings Cove’s Old Port visible in the distance. Light rain started to fall.

  “No one important, babe,” taking the last drag off a cigarette and tossing the butt overboard. “Just some bill collector. C’mon let’s go back down and have some fun,” taking her hand he led her back down below. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped it open, chugged it, tossed the empty bottle into a corner of the cabin where clinked against several others and then released a long and loud sustained belch.

  Jenny giggled.

  “C’mere you sexy thing,” stepping out of his baggy shorts. Bobby’s cock was nothing near the size of her stepfather’s. Bobby had a pencil dick, thin and of modest length. They wrapped their arms around each other and Frenched long and passionately, falling back onto the bed. She could n
ot forgive her stepfather for sleeping with her sister and it was that anger that pushed her into going all the way with Bobby. After running off last night she had fled to his pad. He gave her her first beer. They had sex. After which, She’d showed him she’d taken the key to the Eroica which had been docked nearby at the Cummings Cove Yacht Club. They set sail just before dawn and have since been lazily drifting about the bay.

  Jenny broke the embrace and kissed her way down Bobby’s hairless chest. He was stout but not buff. She kissed his flabby pecs, teasing his nipples, biting them, making him scream before moving her mouth down his baby beer belly. Impatiently, he pushed her head down to his groin. She kissed all around his cock, grabbed it and massaged it to life while licking his walnut-sized balls, sucking each one separately into her mouth and playfully, gently squeezing each with her teeth. She fantasized about what it would be like to bite down on one all the way and when she did bite too hard, he yelped like a puppy.

  “Baby, where’d you learn to play so rough, take it easy on the jewels.”

  She moved onto his cock. It had a pointed head and slid into her mouth with ease. It was smooth and slender like a snake. She nipped at it, seeing if she could get him to scream again.

  “Ouch! What’s got into you today, baby?” flipping her around on her back he spread her legs and sunk his dick into her hairy pussy, pumping furiously, banging the bed against the cabin bulkhead. Making her scream. He pumped like a madman until she came, squirting all over the sheets. And then he pulled out without cumming. Jenny lay exhausted, drenched in sweat. Bobby got up, got another beer, lit a cigarette and sat down beside her.

  Jenny sat up behind him. “Can I have a hit off that?” He handed her the cigarette. She took a drag and handed it back, exhaling a column of blue smoke at the low cabin ceiling. She put her arms around his gut and kissed the back of his neck. “I’m glad we’re together here, Bobby.”

  “I want you to join my motorcycle gang, Satan’s Seadogs. What do you think about that?”

  “I’ll do whatever you want. I just want to be with you and be as far away from my family as possible.”