The XXX Files Season One (Episodes 1-4)

by Lexi Maxxwell

  Brad never would’ve guessed he’d actually ever use a cleaner. But shit had a way of hitting the fan. Not with Brad so much, but various people he had to associate with as part of his job. While Brad liked the way Jameson did most things, he thought having a cleaner in every city was stupid and inefficient.

  Brad had one guy he called: Brigham Wolf.

  Sometimes you cut out the middleman, and sometimes the middleman was your best friend. Wolf had a cleaner in every city, so there was no reason for Brad to call anyone else. Dead bodies were hard to dispose of, and dangerous to handle. Cleaners were discreet, and could get the job done in under an hour. In Brad’s line of work, reliance on, or at least access to, that sort of disposal squad was invaluable.

  Wolf used the best cleaners a Division agent’s budget could buy. This would be Brad’s fourth call to Wolf, and like the three before, he hoped to Heaven, Hell, or anyone listening, that it would be his last.

  Brad went back to the bedroom, picked up his phone, and hit the contact marked Ajax. Wolf answered on the first ring.

  “Agent Hammer,” he said, as though it was a complete sentence.

  “Uh, yeah,” Brad stuttered. “I need your help.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Yeah, one of these days I’ll get around to calling just to shoot the shit, but right now I need help sweeping it up.”

  “You’re in Atlanta,” Wolf said. It was a statement, not a question, though Brad had no clue how in the holy hell he knew it.

  “That’s right,” Brad said. “I need someone at the Georgian Terrace like 15 minutes ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wolf said, “but my cleaner is at another job right now. It’s a bit short notice for Atlanta.”

  “Fucking A, Wolf, does this business have any other sort of notice?”

  After a long pause, Wolf said, “Sometimes.”

  “So does this mean you can’t help me?” Brad felt a deep panic pounding inside him.

  “No, but it does mean you’ll need to deal with Raul.”

  “Raul? Is that bad?”

  “I don’t think so, but you might.”

  “What in the fuck does that mean?”

  Wolf said, “It means we don’t have time to discuss it. Raul is very good at what he does, and I’ll make sure he’s doing it 15 minutes from now. Would you like me to bill you, same as usual?”

  “Yeah, sure, just get someone here yesterday.”

  “Good day, Agent Hammer,” Wolf said, a second before the line went dead.

  XXX

  Brad was fucked. He may as well be gargling a ball gag. Cooper was gonna eat every inch of his ass, and Brad deserved to be the meal. He sprawled into one of the suite’s overstuffed chairs, picking the skin beneath his fingernail until there was nothing but a red maw of skin, waiting for Raul, and what promised to be a giant pain in his ass.

  A minute earlier than Wolf promised, there came a rapping at the door:

  Knock...knock–knock...knock….knock.

  Brad opened the door a sliver, looking Raul up and down. Like Brad, Raul’s hand was in his pocket, inches from his gun.

  “You gonna make eyes at me, or you gonna open the door?” Raul said in a thickly layered and accented lisp.

  Brad opened the door the rest of the way, and asked “Where’s your case?”

  Raul wasn’t carrying the usual silver rolling case the rest of Wolf’s boys pulled behind them. Instead, he held a small satchel, about the size of three fanny packs.

  “Ha, Raul doesn’t do things like the other gueros, cabron,” he said, patting his pack. “This is all Raul needs.”

  Raul winked, then eased by Brad and headed toward the bathroom, even though Brad hadn’t given the location of the body, saying something in Spanish Brad didn’t understand; muttering and laughing quietly to himself.

  Raul was at least 10 years, maybe 20, younger than Brad had expected. Wolf favored cleaners in their mid 40’s and older – men who had been through enough shit to know every shade of brown. Raul looked 25, if not 20, and Brad had a hard time getting his head around it. Either way, the kid looked barely old enough to know dick from dingle berries.

  Raul wore a Hawaiian shirt and sandals, with 9” black spikes shooting straight up from his head. He had four earrings in his left ear, and one of those fucked up lobe stretchers in his right, plus a tiny hoop looped through his left nostril. In addition to metal garnishing his face, Raul wore a long tattoo, running from his chin, down his neck, then slithering down his open Hawaiian shirt. Brad was almost positive the tattoo was made up of alien characters, though he couldn’t be certain which type of alien without getting closer to Raul – which would have been closer than he was sure either would have liked.

  Raul would’ve looked like just another asshole on the sidewalk of Venice, Beach. But he was clearly out of place in Atlanta, especially at the Georgian Terrace.

  Brad inched closer to Raul, who was leaning from the bathroom doorway, staring into the tub. He turned toward Brad, curling his lip. “Why don’t you take a picture with your phone, cabron? You could probably get one of them fancy apps and give it a nice border. Maybe add in some naked men behind me so you have something to help you jerk your chicken when you go to sleep tonight.”

  Brad said, “Sorry for staring, just wondering what sort of an asshole walks into a hotel like The Georgian wearing a fucking mace on their head.”

  “You wonder too much, Ham-her,” Raul said. His voice had about 100 pounds more bass than his body. “No one is looking at nothing. I’m like fucking Batman. I make shit disappear. So why don’t you disappear right now, and let me do my job?”

  Raul smiled, though he may as well have told Brad to eat shit. Raul scooted closer to the tub and shut the door behind him. Brad had no clue how he was going to dispose of the body with whatever was in that bag. But as long as he hurried the fuck up, he didn’t really care.

  Whatever Raul did, he did it fast, emerging from the bathroom less than 15 minutes later, telling Brad to make sure he told Wolf that the job was finished ahead of schedule. Raul was already halfway into the hallway when Brad was growling after him to wait just one fucking minute.

  Brad charged back into the bathroom, trying to get his head around the impossible, but sure enough, there wasn’t even a fingernail.

  “What in the fuck…” he couldn’t even finish the sentence, just stared into the empty bathroom like an idiot, shaking his head.

  Raul laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I get that a lot.”

  “What in the fuck did you do?”

  “Trade secret,” Raul said, patting his satchel, which seemed a bit heftier, but not enough to account for human remains! It must’ve been some technology that even the Division didn’t have yet.

  “Alright Cabron,” Raul said. “Some days smell like death, and this one’s been stinking since the sun woke me up an hour before my usual rise and shine. I can tell it’s gonna be a busy day. So if there’s nothing else?”

  “Yeah,” Brad said. “One more thing.”

  “Sure, I’ll do whatever you like. You can work it out with Wolf. What else you need?”

  “I need you to make it look like someone robbed me. You know, make it look like I had the shit beat out of me. Tie me up and gag me.” He looked at Raul smiling, then gritted his teeth and added, “Please.”

  Raul laughed. “Something missing, eh, Cabron?” He laughed harder. “Looks like you swung your hammer in all the wrong places. Okay,” he said, “sit in the chair.”

  Brad sat. Raul said, “You know I don’t really like doing this. Bad for my knuckles.”

  “Sorry,” Brad said.

  “No problem,” Raul shrugged. “Wolf said you were the bees elbows or some shit like that. Not everyone’s cup of tequila.”

  “Funny,” he said the exact same thing about you.”

  Raul smiled. “You want it light or heavy, painful or no? Do you like the rough stuff?”

  “I need my face,” Brad said. �
��It usually gets me what I need. Don’t fuck up my dimples, or my pretty eyes. Anything else is fine. But it’s gotta be real and hold up against a room full of assholes who have all been waiting for me to fuck up.”

  Raul laughed again, reeled back and launched his fist hard in Brad’s face, twice. The first landed on his forehead, and the second on the bottom of the jaw. Brad could feel the blood purpling under his skin immediately.

  “Feel good?” Raul was laughing, and rubbing his knuckles.

  “Fuck you,” Brad said, breaking into a grin.

  Raul ordered Brad to put his hands behind his back, then tied them with bed sheets.

  “Okay,” he said. “Open wide for Chunky.”

  Raul reached into his satchel and pulled out a ball gag, then went behind Brad to strap it to his head and shove it into his mouth.

  “What the fuck?” Brad started to squirm in his chair. “NO!”

  “No choice, cabron. This is all I have.”

  “That’s the only bag you bring to dispose of a body, and you have a fucking ball gag inside? What else do you have in that bag of tricks?”

  Raul laughed. “Only the essentials, my friend. Only the essentials. Now open up.”

  Brad did, hating himself, and Raul.

  Raul finished up, gave Brad a two fingered salute, then stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

  XXX

  Brad sucked the rubber ball, waiting for Grayson and thinking of the million and one times she’d bailed him out during their several years together.

  It was sad. He was the man, and yet she was the one who was always saving the day. Like he was fucking Lois Lane. She was smarter, and a helluva lot more organized. It was a damned good thing he was scrappy. At least he had that, even if it annoyed her half the time. It usually helped them get where they were going faster.

  It wasn’t as if he never saved her. He had pulled her to safety, away from the arms of aliens, delusional citizens who thought they were aliens, ghosts, blue blobs of floating plasma, electrical discharges which may or may not have been intelligent, a trio of sex robots that were far from leaving prototype, and exactly one jilted lover with a hatchet.

  His list was long, but hers was longer, and there was no way it would include saving him from Cooper, since there was no way Cooper could save him from his superiors. Not after last time, or the time before that.

  This had to work or ... He. Was. Fucked.

  Sweat beaded across Brad’s forehead. He couldn’t lose his job. Without Division, his life was dick. And he would need access to the databases if he was going to figure out what in the hell was happening inside him from this so-called infection, and with Willow Monroe.

  Brad’s thoughts were severed by the patter of fast-walking steps outside his hotel room. They fell silent, then Grayson’s knuckles hit the door.

  “You in there Hammer?”

  “MMMMMMMMM!!!!!!”

  A cavalry of one crashed through the door.

  Grayson came in, gun drawn. “Oh shit, Hammer, what now?”

  Grayson laughed, while Brad tried to look as pathetic as possible.

  He mumbled, “Untie me.”

  She must’ve understood him, because she moved toward him. Then, at the last moment, she stepped back, and pulled out her iPhone. Personal, not department issue.

  “Hold on, I can’t disturb a crime scene before getting evidence.”

  He closed his eyes as she began snapping photos. He heard the familiar camera clicking sound about 10 damned times as she took photos from every angle.

  Fuck. He would never hear the end of this.

  He raised his right eyebrow, giving Grayson his best hangdog, while she untied his ball gag, still laughing.

  XXX

  Later that day...

  Division HQ, Colorado

  “Are you the world’s biggest fucking idiot, Hammer? What in the hell were you thinking?” Cooper shouted, reminding Brad of Peter Parker’s boss in Spiderman, J. Jonah Jameson.

  Cooper leaned on his desk, trying to intimidate with all five feet and nine inches of his bulldog body, staring daggers into Brad and Grayson who sat in chairs opposite him as he read them the riot act. He growled, then threw a sheaf of papers across his desk. Grayson’s arm shot from her side, catching them all, and then sat them neatly back on Cooper’s desk. Brad was thankful for her lightning fast reflexes which had saved his life more times than he could count, but he was more thankful for the other hand, laying on his arm for the last several minutes, gently squeezing encouragement.

  Cooper paced to the window, stared toward the parking lot for a full minute, chin in hand, then he turned to Hammer. “I’ve had it. I don’t think you realize the huge heaps of shit pie you force me to eat every time you pull your crap, Hammer. You’re on administrative leave, effective immediately.”

  “But,” Brad said.

  “Shut your hole, Hammer!” Cooper said. “I don’t want to hear a word, or I’ll make it unpaid leave, retro-fucking-active to your last check!”

  Brad and Grayson stood, pushed their chairs from Cooper’s desk, and waited for an eternity for Cooper to speak. He never did. After a minute, Brad followed Grayson out of Cooper’s office, closed the door behind him, then leaned against the wall in the hallway outside.

  “How are you?” Grayson asked.

  “Horny enough to fuck a donkey and pissed enough to leave it for dead.”

  “Jesus Christ, Hammer! What in the hell is your problem?”

  Brad smiled, glad his dimples were still working. “You asked.”

  “Well, that sounds like a lethal combination. So what are you going to do?”

  “Find something to fuck, then sleep for a week. I figure the shit won’t take longer than that. Division is small and I’m damned good at my job. And you’re better with me. They know it. I’ll learn my lesson like a good boy, and probably punch in Monday. How about you?”

  “Get on with the job I guess. Find the briefcase, and your computer. Get a new partner.”

  “Shit, Grayson. They’re not gonna make you get a new partner. I’m telling you, this is temporary.”

  “You’re off on this one, Hammer. Not only do I have a new partner, he’s been assigned and is coming down the hallway now.”

  Grayson gestured toward the closing elevator doors and the agent hurrying down the hallway, who was running his hands through his flopping hair along the way.

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Brad said under his breath.

  “Hey Hammer,” Reggie Noonan held his hand out for Brad as though he didn’t hate his guts.

  “Hey Noonan,” Brad said, ignoring the extended hand, and walking away.

  “Asshole,” Noonan said under his breath.

  Brad ignored the twat, and kept walking. It was the only thing he could do to prevent his administrative leave from turning into an outright dismissal.

  XXX

  Brad carried a small cardboard box packed with his coffee mug, photos, and miscellaneous office trinkets from his small office to the Toyota 4Runner he kept parked in the underground garage. He was going to leave with just his Yankees cap, but Cooper suggested he take anything he hoped to see again. Brad played along, letting Cooper feel like he had made his point, and that Brad was repentant for his sinful ways. The quicker they got past the song and dance, the quicker, Brad figured, he could get back to work.

  He tossed the box full of office crap on the passenger seat, closed the door, then banged his hands on the steering wheel.

  “Fuck!!” he screamed.

  He couldn’t believe how, and where, the blood was boiling inside him. He should have been pissed, angry, maybe even afraid. But it was as though his body and mind had time for nothing else. All he wanted to do was fuck.

  He was so wound up, he didn’t know whether to drive straight through the red lights, hit home and his black book, or go straight toward the first bar he could fine, and the bathroom five minutes later. His cock was throbbing so har
d it took everything inside him not to whip it out and cover his steering wheel in cum at the first red light. And if he hadn’t been idling beside a UPS driver with a clear view into Brad’s vehicle, he might have.

  He decided to drive straight home to regroup, but he only made it seven of the 15 minutes before swinging a left instead of a right, and headed toward Fairfax and the army of hookers who made it their home.

  It took him another 20 minutes of driving before he hit Fairfax, then another two minutes after that to fill the first girl’s mouth with cum. She must’ve smelled the blood inside him, because she wanted to keep going, crawling into the back like a cat in heat, purring. “Fuck me like I know you can, and it’s on the house.”

  She lifted her skirt, then bent over so he could see her bare bottom and bald, soaking wet pussy. Bred wrapped his hand beneath her, splaying the fingers of his left hand onto her stomach, then taking his right and easing a leg over his shoulder before shoving his face between her legs, and lapping at her lower lips like he was trying to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop.

  The hooker’s slit was over-swollen and soaking wet, and she moaned like she was being murdered as Brad tongue-fucked her into a frenzy. He made small circles around her engorged button, steadily moving her moan to a scream, then clamped his mouth on her clit, ramming three fingers inside her aching cunt.

  “Oh my FUCKING CHRIST,” she screamed, her body shaking with what looked like a seizure, and thrashing against the back of the 4Runner. “Put your cock in me, puh-lease Mister, I promise you don’t have to pay. Please,” she repeated. “Not having you in there is starting to hurt.”

  She was practically crying. Brad said, “Suck my dick first.”

  She turned around and took him in her mouth, sucking hard and swallowing all of his cock, devouring him as her painted lips slid up and down the sides of his shaft.