by Mia Ford
“Not a smash and grab,” I said.
Eddie dug a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket and held it out to me. I shook my head and said I was trying to quit. I rolled his window down a couple of inches. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the window, then gave me a sideways frown. “Not a smash and grab. Okay, what then?”
“There is a safe in the office,” I said. “A source I have on the inside tells me that Mr. Crown stores a couple of million dollars’ worth of loose diamonds there at any given time. That’s our target.”
Eddie grinned and poked me with his elbow. “Who’s your inside source? Let me guess, that fat girl you’ve been banging? What’s her name? Doris, Doreen…”
“Dottie,” I said. “And she’s not fat. She’s pleasantly plump.”
“What you call pleasantly plump I call fat, my brother,” Eddie said. “I knew there had to be a reason you were dipping your stick into that one. Not exactly your usual type. So, what’s her connection to the jewelry store?”
“She’s the one who sold me the watch,” I said, wiggling my wrist at him. “Turns out, Dottie is a very lonely, very horny lady. After a couple of hours of banging the shit out of her at the No Tell Motel, she was more than happy to answer all my questions about her place of employment.”
Eddie scratched his chin, which was covered with a scraggly beard he’d been trying to grow since high school. “What’s gonna happen when the cops question Dottie after we hit the store?”
“Won’t be a problem,” I said, shaking my head.
He gave me a sideways glance, then a smirk. “You gonna kill her?”
“I don’t kill people, Eddie,” I said, giving him a hard look that made him turn away. I was a criminal, but I wasn’t a killer. Eddie had killed people. Sometimes, people who didn’t deserve to die, like that poor schmuck at the convenience store a couple of months back. Eddie’s temper got away from him sometimes and people got hurt. Sometimes, I thought he might even like it; hurting people. But he’s my little brother. I love him. I try not to think about it too much.
“So, what’s your plan for her then?”
“I wore a disguise whenever I was with her,” I said. “Dottie knows me as a traveling salesman from Reno named Carl Douglass who wears glasses and a bad toupee. Carl is going to take Dottie on a little trip a couple of days before the job. She’ll be heavily sedated in a motel while we do the job. I have a guy who is going to babysit her for me. When I give him the all-clear, he’ll let her wake up the next day to find a note from dear old Carl telling her he’s gone back to his wife and she should take the bus home.”
“I hope you at least have the decency to give her one more good fucking before you give her a good fucking over,” Eddie said, chuckling at himself. That was another flaw Eddie had: he wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought he was, but I didn’t need Eddie to be funny. I needed him to watch my back, which he’d been doing his entire life.
SANDY
I met Brent Griffin on a chilly January day when I came into the Ford dealership to have my car serviced. My fifteen-year-old Taurus was a total piece of shit, but it was all I could afford, so I had to keep it running.
I’d gotten a coupon in the mail a few days before letting me know that Tuesday was Ladies’ Day at the dealership. I could have my oil changed, fluids topped off, tires pumped up, and filters checked for just $29. I scraped together my spare change and used the tips I’d made from cutting hair all weekend to have the work done.
I pulled up to the large bay door around the side of the dealership. I was number three in line at the service center. I sat in my car with the heater going and watched as a cute service advisor with shaggy brown hair and clipboard in hand leaned in to chat with the drivers seated inside their nice warm cars. When he got to me, he asked my name and did a double take when he glanced into my eyes. It was so cute.
“My name?” I stuttered because he was staring at me, smiling.
His eyes narrowed when he smiled. He had these adorable little dimples in his cheeks. “Yes, ma’am, I need your name,” he said, tapping the pen to the clipboard.
“Oh, um, Sandy Duval,” I said.
“Hi, Sandy,” he said, writing. “I’m Brent. What can we do for your today?”
“Hi, Brent. Um, I want that Tuesday Ladies Special thingy.” God, I must have sounded like an idiot because he grinned at me. He had such a nice smile.
He asked, “You mean the oil change service?”
“Yes, that’s it,” I said, nodding like a bobble-head. I forced my head to stop bobbing when he gazed into my eyes again.
“Can I get your phone number, Sandy?” he asked.
I gave him my cell number. I bit my lip as I watched him jot it down on the form.
Without looking up, he asked, “Would it be okay if I called you some time, Sandy?”
“You mean about my car?” I asked, confused.
“No, about dinner.” His eyes widened. They were so brown I could see myself in them. “Maybe Red Lobster or Olive Garden.”
I felt my cheeks flush. I said, “Yes, I’d like that.”
“Good,” he said with a happy nod. He stuck the pen behind his ear and reached for the door handle. “We’ll get you in and out as quickly as possible. If you’d like to wait in the lounge, there’s coffee and donuts.”
I watched him walk away. He had a cute, tight ass beneath the blue uniform pants. He glanced back over his shoulder at me and smiled again as if he knew I was checking him out.
He called me the next day and we went to Red Lobster for dinner the following Friday night. We quickly became inseparable, at least until he went somewhere that I could not go.
* * *
Brent and I met on Tuesday, January 24th.
We always did silly little anniversaries every month; the anniversary of our first date, the anniversary of our first kiss, the anniversary of the first time we made love in the little apartment he shared with his best friend, Wesley. The anniversary of the night he asked me to marry him.
Sunday, July 24th was the six-month anniversary of the day we met. I came up with the brilliant idea of recreating our first date. We went back to Red Lobster for dinner. I had grilled scampi and Brent had popcorn shrimp. I drank a margarita and Brent drank two glasses of sweet tea. The bill was the same and Brent left the exact same tip. The only difference between then and now was that I was desperately, hopelessly in love. I had met the man of my dreams. We were to be married on Saturday, October 15th in the little Baptist Church where Brent’s dad was an elder. Our families were thrilled. I already had my dress.
We were in Brent’s truck, a two-year-old Ford F-150 that he loved just a little less than he loved me. He was so proud of that truck. His dad had it now, though he never drove it. It just sat in the driveway, where Brent parked when he came home to visit. The bullet holes were still in the windshield and the back glass. His dad had duct-taped a piece of cardboard over the busted-out passenger side window. I think that he thought that having the truck repaired would somehow mean that he had accepted his only son’s death. Brent’s dad and I were a lot alike. Neither of us would ever let that happen.
It was just after eight o’clock when we left Red Lobster. It was the middle of summer and even though the sun was just going down, the air was still sticky and hot. We had the windows up and the AC blasting. We were going back to our little apartment to consummate our anniversary.
Sex with Brent was always quick and simple (there’s that word again). Even though he was twenty-six and good looking, he’d only been with one other girl before me, so his skills in the bedroom were somewhat awkward and a little bland. I’d had sex with four guys, one of them a lot older than me, and had done pretty much everything you could imagine, but I never suggested we do anything more than a little fingering foreplay and the quick missionary position to Brent. He was the sensitive type; deeply religious and wholesome. Telling him I wanted him to eat my pussy or that I wanted him to shove his cock into my mou
th probably would have scared him to death. Brent was such a good guy, I could live with bland sex if it meant we would be together forever. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. If Brent couldn’t satisfy me, I could satisfy myself.
I was fiddling with the radio when I felt the truck slow. I looked up to see that we were pulling into a convenience store parking lot.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“We’re out of milk,” he said with a wink. “I know how you have to have your Frosted Flakes in the morning.”
“Am I really that big of a creature of habit?” I asked.
“You are,” he said, putting the truck into gear. He left the engine running so I’d have air while he ran into the store.
“Need anything else?” he asked.
“Just you,” I said with a smile. “Hurry.”
I watched him get out of the truck and go inside the store. From the corner of my eye, I saw a black car pull in and park a couple of spaces over. I didn’t pay the car much mind.
I heard two doors slam but didn’t look up because my phone was buzzing. It was my sister sending a text: Mom wants to know if you and Brent want to come to Sunday dinner. My mom didn’t know how to text, so we often communicated through my sister. I settled back in the seat and started texting my reply.
A loud bang coming from inside the convenience store jarred me. The phone slipped from my hands and tumbled to the floor. I dug my fingers into the dash and leaned in to stare through the windshield.
I could see two men inside the store. One was in front of the counter, holding a gun, the other was behind the counter with his hand digging into the cash drawer. The man who I’d seen standing behind the counter a minute ago was gone. I assumed he was on the floor, wounded or maybe dead.
“Oh my god, Brent,” I heard myself say. I started to reach for the door handle. Brent appeared at the end of the aisle next to the beer coolers. He was holding a gallon of milk in his left hand and a convenience store red rose in his right. When he saw the two men at the counter, he held up his hands and said something.
He glanced my way.
Our eyes met for just a second.
The man with the gun aimed it at the jug of milk in Brent’s right hand and pulled the trigger. The plastic jug exploded and milk went everywhere. The two men looked at each other and laughed. Brent’s hand was bloody, injured. He clutched it to his chest and backed into the beer cooler. He shook his head and held out the hand clutching the rose.
The man aimed the gun at Brent’s head and pulled the trigger.
The glass cooler behind Brent splattered with blood.
Brent crumbled to the floor.
The two men laughed.
I screamed Brent’s name.
The men came out the door.
They were dressed in all black.
One was tall and thin.
The other one, the one with the gun, was thick and muscular.
They had ski masks over their heads, with cut-outs for their eyes, noses, and mouths.
The one who had shot Brent looked into my eyes.
He pointed the gun at the windshield and pulled the trigger.
I heard the shot and the windshield pop at the same instant. I heard the bullet whiz through the cab as it passed within a few inches of my left ear and exited out the window behind my head.
I screamed and jerked my head down.
I scrunched down and covered my head with my hands.
I was crying uncontrollably.
My cellphone buzzed in the floor.
My fingers reached for it.
I heard a tap on the side window.
I glanced up to see the man who had shot at me pressing his nose against the window. He stuck out his tongue and licked the glass. He grinned at me. He had a silver front tooth.
The other guy was already in the black car, behind the wheel, yelling at the one who was grinning at me through the window.
He pressed his lips to the window and gave me one more smile, then pulled back the hand holding the gun and smashed the butt of the gun into the window, showering me with shards of glass. I screamed again and covered my head.
I heard him laugh; a deep, throaty, phlegmy-cigarette laugh that I still hear in my dreams.
I waited until I heard them sped away, then I pushed open the truck door and ran inside the store.
The man I’d seen behind the counter was slumped back against the cigarette display with a bullet hole at the center of his chest.
Brent was on the floor in front of the beer coolers, lying on his back, eyes open and glazed, a hole the size of a nickel at the center of his forehead.
He was still holding the red rose in his hand.
A large pool of dark red blood formed beneath his head.
I dropped to the floor and cradled his head to my chest, even though in my heart I knew he was dead.
I wailed and rocked him back and forth like a sleeping baby.
I was still doing it when the police came.
I was covered in blood.
Alone.
Devastated.
And mad as hell.
RICK
I slapped Dottie’s plump ass so hard it left my handprint on her dimpled skin. She squealed and told me to slap her again, harder this time. I did as I was told. The sound of my palm hitting her flesh and her resultant squeal echoed off the thin walls.
She was on the motel bed on all fours. I was behind her, digging my fingers into her fleshy hips and ramming my cock so hard into her hairy box that her big titties flounced beneath her. I slapped her again, so hard it hurt my hand. She buried her face in a pillow and squealed, then begged me to do it again.
Dottie loved having her ass slapped when I was fucking her from behind, and her nipples pinched until they turned purple when I was fucking her from the front. It was fun at first, the doling out of pleasure and pain. Now, the cute was wearing thin. Fucking her was becoming a chore. I had hung in there, though. I’d only have to fuck her a couple more times, then we’d hit Crown and I’d never have to see her again.
“Fuck me harder… Carl... harder…” she moaned, pushing her plump ass against me. “Harder… ram that big cock into me… harder…”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed her hips. I dug my fingers in hard and pulled her backward into me as I thrust my cock into her. She took all ten inches of me like a trouper and begged for more.
Eddie was right about one thing: Dottie was not my type, though I didn’t mind fucking her, at least at first. A little variety never hurt anyone.
Personally, I liked my women tall and thin, with big tits and a shaved cunt, although a little hair down there didn’t bother me so long as it didn’t get in my teeth or in my way.
I loved to eat pussy, but I hated pussy hair. That was another thing about Dottie. She had a fucking bush that looked like a goddamn beaver down there.
The first time I ate her out I was like Moses parting the Red Sea, only I was parting dark pubic hair trying to find her cunt. I gotta admit, it was worth the hunt. For a forty-something chunky girl, Dottie had a picture-perfect pussy and knew how to use it. It was pink and tight and smelled like strawberry douche. I’ve fucked worse cunts, though never by choice. Sex was just another of the tools of my trade. I didn’t do guys, but women, so long as they were clean and willing, I’d fuck them all if it helped get a job done.
Dottie was getting close to cumming. I could tell because she always started moaning a minute before, like a siren ramping up to blast out a warning.
“Fuck me… Carl… fuck me… I’m cumming… cum in me… Carl…”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a thankful sigh that it was almost over. I clenched my muscles and got on my toes to will the orgasm from deep in my balls. I started slamming into her like a jackhammer. The sound of my hips hitting her fat ass mixed with the squeal of her siren moan.
She buried her face in the pillow and pushed back against me. I gripped her hips and thrust my cock all the wa
y in and held it there as I came, filling her with my hot milky cum as she gushed her tangy juices over me. The air in the tiny motel room became hot and dense with the scent of our sex.
Dottie moaned one last time and let herself go limp. I pulled my cock out her and wiped it on her ass. She giggled when I swirled the head around her asshole. Dottie loved getting it in the ass. Oh well, maybe next time.
She rolled onto her back and put her hands on her big tits to give them a satisfied squeeze. They were like big white melons with dark areolas the size of softballs and plump nipples the size of thimbles. She kneaded her fingers into the flesh and sighed. She spread her legs. Her thick bush trailed down the sides of her cunt toward her asshole. The hair was soaked and matted with cum. The sight made me wince. Not sexy. Not to me.
I went into the bathroom to take a piss and clean her off my cock. I glanced in the mirror, startling myself because I forgot that I was wearing the bad toupee. The clear glasses I wore as Carl were on the sink. I put them on and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. I wore the bad toupee and glasses not as a disguise, but to convince Dottie that I was Carl from Reno, a salesman who wore a bad toupee and glasses. The best disguise is the one that doesn’t look like a disguise.
“Can you bring me a towel, lover?” Dottie called. I washed my hands and dried them on a clean towel, then walked into the room and handed the towel to Dottie. She took the towel and mopped her cooch for a moment, then put the towel between her legs and clamped her thighs around it.
I took a cigarette out of the pack on the nightstand and lit it for her. Handing her the cigarette, I casually asked, “So, busy day at the store?”
“Oh, not too bad,” she said, holding the cigarette in the crux of two fingers and bringing it to her lips. She took a long puff and sighed happily as she blew smoke at the ceiling. “Fridays are always slow because that’s the day Mr. Crown gets the loose diamonds ready for shipment to other stores.”
