Watch Out for the Big Girls

by J. M. Benjamin

  Agent Civic smiled like a proud son.

  Agent McCarthy looked up at the ceiling. Thank you. He credited the tip to his Higher Power. He then drew his attention back to the agent. “So I’m assuming we have every piece of information we need on her. What about the others?”

  Agent Civic shook his head from side to side. “Dead end. We’ll need her to talk,” he stated, knowing it wouldn’t be easy.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Agent McCarthy declared with artificial optimism.

  “She’ll want full immunity.”

  “At this point she can have a senate seat in Congress. We can find a loophole later and fry her then. Let’s just get her and bring her in.”

  “This won’t be easy. No one’s rolled over on them yet.”

  “Up until now, we’ve never had anyone.”

  “True. Good point. I’m on it.”

  “I’m coming along for this one. Is she at work now?”

  “Yup! Her boss has been informed to keep here there without suspicion.”

  “Good work. Where’d they get the trucks?”

  “The plates were switched around. Not exactly a felony.”

  “Figures.”

  “Any luck with your mole?”

  “Mole?” Agent McCarthy asked with sarcasm.

  “I set myself up for that one.”

  “Nice try, kid.” Agent McCarthy smiled at Agent Civic’s wit. It had become an office discussion as to his alleged plant in the Double G organization. Everyone wanted to know whether it was true and if so they wanted to know who was it and how he had managed to pull it off. That was the furthest thing from Agent McCarthy’s mind though. He was more focused on the lead they had just received. I promise to make this one count. He peered up one more time, as he snatched his jacket from behind his desk seat and made a beeline toward his office doorway.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After finally making it home, Starr expected to fall into a deep sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Instead, she tossed and turned until she found a comfortable position and drifted off. Ever since she had left Diamond’s place and climbed into her own bed, she had been restless. Whenever she got like that, she always traveled back in time. She would be so comatose that it was as if she were watching a movie starring herself when she slept that hard. Accounts of her childhood continued to invade her thoughts. It was common for the thoughts to appear without notice. It had been a minute since she had taken a trip down memory lane, but now images of her as a child jumped around in her mind. Much of her young childhood was a blur. Many times, her dreams would turn into nightmares, causing her to wake up in a cold sweat.

  They usually started out with the same scene: her mother giving birth to her at the young age of thirteen or her mother smiling down at her and cradling her like a doll baby in a lavender and white bedroom full of stuffed animals and toys. The image would soon transform into her mother’s smile turning to a frown, while she still cradled her in the same manner. Only this time, tears streamed down her face and the lively room filled with stuffed animals and toys were replaced with an alleyway, trash bags, rats, and stray cats. For the first four years of Starr’s life, she and her mother were homeless.

  Images of her mother wrapping her up in filthy blankets and covering her with garbage bags played in Starr’s head. “This is the only way I can keep you safe and warm while Mommy’s out getting us something to eat,” Starr remembered her mother telling her. She devoured a sandwich while she listened to every word her mother expressed to her. “Never trust any man. Ever!” was stressed every day to her and embedded in Starr’s young mind. Images of the wounds, scars, and contusions her mother revealed to her that were supposedly caused by a man every time she went out in search of food to keep her and Starr alive were the evidence she offered as the reason why her daughter should stay away from men.

  The scene changed to when Starr reached age five. The image of her mother running down the alley screaming her name at the top of her lungs appeared. She could still see the pale white figure trailing behind her mother. The image switched to Starr about to come from behind the Dumpster until she heard the loud bang. She peered around the metal container and witnessed her mother laid flat on her stomach. She was wide-eyed, with a horrific look on her face, while the man who gave chase kneeled over her with what appeared to be a gun in his hand. She reflected on how she watched as he retrieved a brown leather wallet from her mother. Starr assumed it belonged to him. The image of Starr running out of the alleyway she had once known as home skipped through her mind. It immediately skipped to the moment she ran headfirst into a short, plump woman with blond hair and blue eyes and a warm and inviting smile plastered across her face.

  Mary Reynolds adored children but couldn’t bear her own. She was enchanted by a young Starr and took her home with her. Starr remembered it was where she had gotten her nickname. It was Mary who had always referred to her as her shining Starr. Starr remembered how her fake mother, as she thought of her, her husband Harry was not fond on her bringing Starr home. Eventually he warmed up to having a child around. Starr’s life skipped to nine and a half years later. One day her fake mother went off to work and never came back. Starr had overheard Harry Reynolds saying she had gotten into a terrible highway accident after taking a detour to get a few things for Starr’s upcoming thirteenth birthday party. After a full year and a half, things began to take a drastic change for the worse. Starr flashed to the time when her fake father began drinking very heavily.

  Starr’s life jumped to when she was fifteen and her body began to rapidly develop. She noticed all of her young curves had started to fill out. Her fake father had also started to notice, she recalled.

  Starr’s life skipped as she slipped into a mental trip down memory lane to one evening when she had explored herself in the shower. The water was steaming hot, just how Starr liked it. She let it beat down on her back as she lathered up her flawless adolescent body. Every now and then, a cool draft would slip through, causing her nipples to harden. She gently stroked the body sponge across each one as she closed her eyes, and lightly pressed her top row of teeth into the middle of her bottom lip. She savored every moment of the sensation and self-inflicted arousal.

  Her senses heightened to a supreme level. Before she knew it, her finger slipped in between her legs. Her subconscious couldn’t traverse the fiery temptation. She began manually manipulating her clitoris into an orgasmic pulse, riding the rhythm into shock waves of explosive ecstasy. This was a ritual that she had also found out was part of becoming a woman. It was an accident at first. It eventually became her secret.

  She quietly began to moan as her knees weakened. She cocked her head back and let the hot water beat down across her forehead, and into her long hair as she shut her eyes tighter, bringing her closer to an orgasm. Starr remembered the particular orgasm feeling different than normal. A draft blanketed her body for a brief second and then disappeared. It seemed to be just the extra stimulation she needed. Her moans turned into rapid, short breaths, and a silent, steady moan as her body began to tremble. The release had occurred, loosening every muscle in her entire body, draining her of all energy.

  After the final deep exhalation, Starr opened her eyes. Her vision was still blurry. She reached up for her towel, gripping nothing but air. It was gone. Assuming it had dropped, she quickly pulled back the sliding shower glass, only to see Harry standing there staring at her complete nakedness. Naturally, her first reaction was to scream. She was not only startled, but embarrassed. Embarrassment turned to fear. Harry didn’t budge. Starr could tell he was still highly intoxicated and probably had staggered in to urinate when he stumbled on to her erotic peep show.

  Starr tried to shut the glass shower door, but he caught it with his right hand and slid it back open. Starr’s eyes widened in horror. The image of Harry stepping forward, forcing himself into the shower dominated Starr’s nightmare. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t get past him. He was too st
rong for her. He blanketed her body with his own, and trapped her against the shower wall. He kissed on her neck as she squirmed, trying to free herself. She began to get violent. She kicked, scratched, and screamed. Nothing worked. He was unfazed.

  Harry picked Starr up and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her to her room, and dropped her onto the bed. He tried to climb on top of her, but as he did, he landed directly on a flying knee right into his groin. A sharp pain went straight to his gut as he buckled. He rolled off of her and the bed, falling onto the carpeted floor. He began throwing up on impact.

  Starr wasted no time hopping up and out of the bed. She grabbed her robe to cover her body and tried to run past him in an attempt to make it out of the house. Harry reached out, grabbed her by the ankle, and tripped her on her face, spraining her right hand. They were both on the floor. Harry got himself together and pulled her into his chest. She tried to resist but was overpowered.

  Once Harry got her into his arms, he just held on to her until his breathing returned normal. Starr could tell that he had calmed down, but still she tried to break free every chance she got. An image of Harry crying and hugging her even tighter appeared.

  She began to feel kisses on her neck again. She was surprised, confused, afraid but, strangest of all, understanding. She shut her eyes tight as her own tears escaped, and braced herself for whatever was about to happen. The scene jumped to Starr showering for a second time. That night she made a promise that she would never allow another man to touch her in any form. When she returned to her room, she stuffed as many of her belongings as could fit into a duffle and snuck out of her home undetected.

  Her painful journey back in time was interrupted by the sound of her text message ring tone on her phone blaring in the air. She recognized the number and opened up the message. Judging by the text, she immediately noticed the texter was not the owner of the phone.

  Who is this? Starr rapidly texted back, thinking the worst.

  She sat up as the girl introduced herself via text and ran down the details of the nature of her call and how she came to have the phone. Starr thanked her for the information and told her someone would be there momentarily to retrieve the phone. She scrolled through her contacts and dialed out. Diamond answered on the first ring.

  “We have a situation,” Starr announced before relaying the story that was just told to her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The day had been going smoothly just like any other day for Careese Pearson at her Bank of America job. She had been a bank teller for six years strong now. She was still shocked and surprised by her supervisor’s offer. She wondered if she should take those extra hours her boss had just offered her. With a raise? Why not? she thought. Up until today, they weren’t even getting along. Maybe he had finally come around and noticed how good a worker she was. She kept her breaks brief. She was out of the way and completely off the radar, just like she had always been instructed to be. Maintaining a legit high-end job was a golden rule of the Double G. Every day she awoke, she made sure she protected both her job and her affiliation with the organization she had been a part of for the past five years, thanks to her recruiter, Diamond.

  Careese’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden burst into the bank. A sense of panic jolted her body at the thought of a bank robbery. That thought was immediately excused when she noticed the bold letters on the back of the intruders’ jackets. Federal agents spilled into the bank one after the other. Like all the other workers, she wondered what was going on. She didn’t have to wonder too long. She noticed the agents seemed to be headed in her direction.

  Agent McCarthy was the first to reach her. “Careese Pearson? We need you to come with us,” he announced with authority.

  Careese’s heart dropped into her plus-sized panties. She feared the worst and was right. She just wondered what they knew.

  Two agents wasted no time. “Sorry, ma’am,” the two agents sang in unison as they grabbed hold of each of her arms and gently placed them behind her back. She dropped her head low in embarrassment as she was escorted out of the bank by the agents. They were so focused on her that they had never noticed the teller who was working next to her quickly swipe up her cell phone and fade into the background.

  Since the two had become close she had learned a lot about Careese Pearson, which was why she didn’t object when her friend instructed her months ago to contact someone for her if anything was to ever happen to her. Olivia Brown knew this warranted that something she had referred to. She looked around nervously. While they conducted their arrest and search of Careese’s station, Olivia slipped into a blind spot.

  She typed in the four-digit pass code she had been given and told to remember. Once it was open, she pulled up the contact and began texting away. As all of the agents were making their way out of the bank, with her friend in cuffs, she awaited an acknowledging response. She nervously glanced from the agents back down to the phone. She used her thumb to scroll through the phone until the only programmed number stored in it that belonged to her only friend popped up.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, downtown in the old Las Vegas area, the Black Yukon Denali sped away, cutting through traffic. It pulled up to the back of this huge, tinted-glass building with assorted federal vehicles parked around it. The agent who was driving flashed his badge at the camera and waved. The gate rolled up and the Yukon drove through the dark underground tunnel. It went the entire length and came into a large lit area. There was nothing else there but an elevator. The agents got out and looked up at the overhead camera. Moments later, the metal gate opened. They escorted Careese out of the SUV and into the elevator.

  Up until that point, she hadn’t said a word and neither had the agents. They just mean mugged her and handled her roughly. She masked her nervousness with a sarcastic smirk at every agent who looked at her with blatant disgust, showing that the feeling was mutual.

  The elevator stopped on the seventh floor. She was steered down a long, carpeted walkway. There were agents everywhere trying to act casual, but cutting their eyes at her as they bounced around from office cube to office cube. Phones rang, fax machines beeped, and the stench of stale coffee was in the air. At the end of the hall was a large white door, which also had a camera facing down at them. Someone behind the scenes had to press buttons all day. Damn. They don’t even trust their own, she thought. They stepped through and into a narrow hallway with six doors on each side. She was placed in the second room on the right.

  Agent McCarthy yanked her by her elbow and sat her at the wood grain table. “Have a seat,” he ordered.

  She looked the opposite way of him with full attitude, but did as she was told. Agent McCarthy walked around her. He leaned in over her shoulder from behind her, resting the palm of his left hand on the table, and he whispered into her ear, “We’re going to put you and the rest of them away for life.” He then rose back up and exited the room.

  Careese jumped from the slamming sound the metal door made. She was left in the cold room by herself. But not really alone, she knew. There was a two-way mirror on both full-length walls, one in front of her and one in back. There was a built-in audio recorder that sat in the center of the table where many confessions and helpful information had been exchanged at the expense of the lives of others.

  She looked around to study the rest of the room. There was a camera above the door, pointing down at her. The carpeted floor was gray and there were no windows.

  All track of time was lost. When left alone and under pressure, minutes felt like hours. But Careese did her best to maintain her composure, despite her current predicament. She knew it was in her best interest to keep cool. She had been groomed and prepped for situations such as the one she was in. She was well aware that Agent McCarthy was trying to intimidate her. But she knew there was nothing he could do or say worse than what would happen to her if she did open her mouth about anything.

  “I’d like to call my attorney,” she exercised her r
ights. She wanted Agent McCarthy to know she wasn’t a pushover. She knew he was listening and watching.

  To no surprise to her, the room’s door flew open and Agent McCarthy reemerged. He walked around to where she had a full view of him. He now stood directly in front of her, with only the table between them. He placed both fists on the wooden tabletop and leaned in until they were face to face. “You sure about that?” A shit-eating grin appeared across his face.

  He was so close she could smell his lunch and cheap aftershave. The foul stench tickled her nose. She couldn’t believe he sported the old-school fragrance she had recognized. She didn’t think men wore Brute 22 anymore.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes as she answered.

  Agent McCarthy raised his fists from the table. “Okay, suit yourself.” He sighed. “Ms. Careese Lavern Pearson, you are under arrest for conspiracy to operate under the management of organized crime. You have the right to remain silent.” Agent McCarthy informed her of the offenses she was being charged with then began reading her Miranda rights.

  He smiled on the inside as he observed Careese Pearson’s demeanor change from stoic to shocked.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Her heels were heard echoing as they tapped the hard marble floor when she cleared through the revolving doors. All attention was drawn to her as she dominantly strutted by a circle of stars: the Federal Bureau logo. She confidently approached the front desk and set her Armani Exchange briefcase on top of the high wood grain horseshoe-shaped countertop. She looked down at the middle-age officer who was sitting low in the front of a brass desk, lamp shining down on the logbook. A younger officer was standing at full attention in front of the metal detector checking her out, admiring her beauty. He noticed how her deep, dark skin glowed, despite no sunlight or any form of bright lighting being in the building.

  Standing at an even six feet, naturally, she was tall for a woman, but the heels embellished her height even more. Her jet-black long, thick hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail revealing the natural slant of her eyes. The click-clack sound made by her six-inch heels resembled that of a prize-winning thoroughbred’s trot. Her thin platinum Cartier French frames sat at the end of the bridge of her nose just below her high cheekbones. Occasionally she would push them back up with her manicured pointer finger to prevent them from slipping off of her face as she strutted through the precinct building. Her diamond earrings sparkled along with her thin platinum chain with a single diamond pendant. Her breasts protruded at the top of her blouse, allowing the pendant to lie just above her cleavage. It rose up with each step she took. Her silk blouse was white, covered by a dark gray blazer that matched the bottom half of her two-piece skirt suit. Anyone who trailed behind her would have perfect access to the perfect heart-shaped, plump ass that filled up her skirt. She had hips for days and her long, vibrant legs were massive. Her ass poked out and the under cuff revealed the slight imprint of her Elle Macpherson boy shorts.