~BBW, Feeing, Drama, ~~WG - This story is completely different to what I've written in the past. Its very dark and inspired by Elroy Cohen's The Lancaster Twins. It also trys to have a plot line beyond fat chicks and feeding - so there is alot of non chubby chick text here. The first two chapters start slow but the focus builds as the plot develops. I'm posting the first two chapters now and will post 3 & 4 over the weekend with the final two next week.
Hope you all enjoy it and stick with it!!
Chapter 1
Davenport, Iowa and winter was closing in. Part of the Quad Cities area in the upper mid west of America and you got extremes; hot summers and freezing cold winters. Located on the great Mississippi river, smack dab in the middle of the continental divide and Davenport sat between Americas west and north east. Located one hundred and seventy mile west of Chicago on I-80, the Quad Cities also attracted the kind of shitbird operation that Jasmine was watching. City planners tried to market the Quad Cities as the best distribution point out there.
The city planners had some success. WalMart had a major distribution point as did Kroger, Tyson Foods and Home Depot. Along the way the city had also attracted plenty of smaller enterprises. Most were legitimate but the ageing warehouse of Mid West Transit & Haulage stunk of bad boy money. Located off the 290 exit it was west of town, part of a sprawling distribution point that claimed to be The Worlds Biggest Truck Stop. Jasmine didnt know if it was true but it sure as hell worked if you wanted to get lost in a mass of big rigs, warehouse units and people of the move. It was the perfect location for anybody looking to distribute drugs out of Chicago and into the boondocks of Iowa. Less than a days drive to Iowa City, Cedar Rapids, Des Moines, Omaha and Sioux Falls. A hardly major market but there was good money to be made for a Chicago group looking to cross sell a little product.
Jasmine had learned that if you wanted to distribute out into Iowa you went through Mid West Transit & Haulage. Sat opposite the warehouse Jasmine figured shed found the spot. For the past two days shed watched a steady stream of big rigs roll into the yard. Most were, she guessed, legitimate business. They had logos from meat packing companies or farming contractors or small time manufacturers and got transferred on for the next leg of there journey. East to Chicago or out west into the wide open space of Americas heartland.
Mixed in with that was a large number of cars, pick-ups and SUVs coming and going. All had that well driven look like theyd just packed on some serious highway miles. They all pulled into the yard and stopped next to the office, a beefy white boy got out and then they drove over to a unit on the far edge of the lot. Jasmine didnt know what got loaded because they drove into the unit and closed the door. What she did know was that ten minutes later the same beefy white boy emerged in a different vehicle. This part of the distribution deal wasnt legitimate.
With a smile she watched as an ageing white Ford SUV pulled out of the unit, drove slowly across the lot and stopped at the gate. Two security guys got out of their porter cabin, opened the gates and the SUV pulled out onto the road. Jasmine turned the ignition key and followed on. Now it was time to move the plan onto phase two. Pulling her cell phone out of the glove compartment she dialled a number from memory.
Im following a white late 90s Expedition with Iowa tags ISH812. Hes loaded up on some shit and headin home. Ill follow him to 290 and you pick him up.
Gotcha.
Keep a lose tail and take what opportunity you get.
Gotcha.
Replacing the cell phone back into the glove compartment. Mike wasnt a man of many words. He was the kind of guy who just blended in. 5ft8, mid thirties, white and skinny he was the man who wasnt there. Stand Mike in a crowd and nobody picked him out. Throw in a God given skill to break into any building or vehicle and he was a perfect partner for Jasmine.
Following several car lengths back Jasmine watched the SUV pull right onto I-80 west. She stopped and waited. Moments later she saw an ageing Honda sedan follow on. Mike had the tag. Pulling over into a McDonalds lot Jasmine ordered herself an espresso from the drive thru waited ten minutes and then followed on. Experience told her to stay close to her team. Mike was a pro but when youre following a drug runners ride its best to play safe. Guys driving cocaine, meth and heroine in the trunk tend to pay more attention to their rear view mirror than your average driver.
Up ahead and Mike was settling into a steady cruise. The interstate speed limit was seventy five miles per hour and the guy at the wheel of the SUV had cruise control set dead on seventy five. Last thing he wanted was getting pulled over for speeding. That was fine with Mike. His rust bucket Honda was well past its prime and struggled to go much over seventy five anyways. Mid day and traffic was light. He passed a few big rigs heading west. The empty, pancake flat prairies rolled ahead. Sixty miles west and they hit Iowa City. Traffic busied up some as they looped round the town and Mike closed in a little. Clearing the mass of fast food and retail outlets that ran alongside the interstate the Expedition slowed and took exit 239, turned right and pulled onto I-380 north.
Mike followed on and pulled out his cell phone.
Were on three eighty north headin for Cedar Rapids.
He seen you?
No.
Good.
The line went dead and Mike followed. Another twenty miles rolled by. They passed Eastern Iowa Airport and ten miles later the city of Cedar Rapids popped up on the horizon. It was a typical mid sized, upper mid west city with sprawling suburbs around the interstate, an industrial complex to the west of town and an ageing, red brick downtown. No big time sky scrapers like Minneapolis or Chicago or St Paul. Just one decent sized, twenty storey hotel building with the Sheraton logo on top. Maybe once it had been a thriving place but in 2011 it had the look of city with its best days behind. Passed over for the big cities and existing in relative isolation somewhere out on the prairies. The kind of place most folks just fly over.
Ahead the Expedition slowed and took the downtown exit. Mike smiled and followed on; Cedar Rapids was the destination. It could have been a lot worse. Setting off from Davenport hed figured on maybe a days drive over to Omaha or up to Sioux Falls. Instead hed enjoyed a nice three hours trip along the interstate. He wasnt even hungry or had a thought about pissing in the bottle he kept for long distance surveillance. If all went to plan he could steal the SUV, get what he wanted and grab a spot of lunch. Maybe the Sheraton had a decent restaurant?
Downtown Cedar Rapids was built around a grid system and Mike easily kept pace with the SUV. The driver was careful and stopped early at all red lights. With his illicit load a fender bender or a traffic stop would be bad. They drove past the Sheraton hotel and took a right onto Oakland Road. The Expedition turned into a five storey parking garage. Mike stopped opposite and waited. Experience taught him to wait. He knew what the guy was going to do. Hed park the SUV, leave the key under the wheel arch and then walk to whatever other parking garage they used and pick up the second vehicle. Then hed drive back to Davenport. That vehicle would contain whatever money the local boys were paying for their supply.
Sure enough, five minutes later, he watched the SUV driver step out from the garage, stroll across the street and walk back along Oakland. Mike waited for him to disappear and then pulled across into the lot. He stopped at the barrier, pressed the green button for a ticket, took it, the barrier raised and he drove into the lot. Mid day and it was three quarters full. He made it to the top floor when his eyes rested on the white Expedition. He stopped, parked across the lot in the far north east corner and walked over to the Expedition.
It was cold; three hours in a heated car and he was re-adjusting. Shivering slightly he stopped by the drivers side wheel arch and reached for the key. Sure enough it was there. He pressed the key fob, opened the door and stepped up into the SUV. He carefully drove the old SUV back down through the garage, pushed his ticket into the machine, paid his two dollar parking charge and headed out into the downtown street. It was all done in less than five minutes.
Pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket he made the call.
Ive got the SUV.
Good.
Im headed for that big ass industrial shit west of town. Ill call ya when I need to pick-up.
Okay.
This was the part Mike got nervous. He was driving a drug runners vehicle across town. There was the risk from the police but more worryingly there were the local boys buying the shit. Theyd know to look for a white 1998 Expedition with Iowa tags ISH812. A chance encounter now would be very bad. Very bad indeed.
Driving along the raised highway heading away from downtown and Mike was rolling well under the speed limit. He clocked the police cruiser but paid it no attention. You could call it a mistake or maybe just a risk of his business? Whatever, the cop behind the wheel was making a call.
What? said a deep, male mid western voice.
I just clocked your Expedition headin out of town.
Bullshit replied the man we gotta a call sayin its at the Sheraton lot.
Clear as fuckin day its in front of me.
Whats the tags?
ISH120.
Fuck!
There was a long silence. The cop waited for instructions. Eventually the voice said:
Follow the fucker but do nothin
You got it.
No stupid shit, right?
Yes sir!
Across town in a small office above Jackpots Strip Club a huge man rested back in his office chair. He tapped thick fingers on the office desk and thought. At first glance he had the look of big, dumb muscle. Weighing in at 350lbs with a mix of corn fed mid western beef and gym pumped muscles he looked like a bodyguard or club bouncer. However, Jake Jackpot Carlson was far more than that. Before turning to a life of crime hed had a successful college football career at Iowa State and then played four seasons as a linebacker for the Chicago Bears. A knee injury ended his NFL career and, after spending the money, hed headed back home to Iowa and gotten a job as a strip club bouncer.
It was there that he found his calling. Football had always frustrated Jake. There were rules and ethics and a line you couldnt cross. That was bullshit to Jackpot Jake. It was about winning and doing whatever it took. Ideally kicking the other guys ass along the way. As a bouncer he moved into the underworld of Cedar Rapids. Starting out kicking the shit out of losers with gambling debts hed begun to build up an empire. Before long hed gotten into drugs. Not as a user; Jake injected as much steroids as any 350lbs meat head youll meat at a gym but never the product. He began selling it round the downtown bars and clubs and over time hired low level dealers all around town. Now he owned drug sales in Cedar Rapids and had a dealer network into the surrounding small towns.
Who was that babes? asked the fat blonde sat across from him.
The blonde was called LaTasha. She hadnt been christened LaTasha but a whole sequence of bad life decisions had made her into LaTasha. A former beauty queen shed once had the world at her feet. But with a bad girl side that couldnt be tamed shed drifted to the wrong side of the tracks and was now as close to Jake got to a girlfriend. With a spectacular blonde hair do, oversized breast implants and pouting collagen stuffed lips she looked like a Playboy Playmate whod fallen into a silo of ice cream and eaten her way out. Over the years shed become Jakes fantasy creation.
Whats it to you?
Just asking she pouted.
Eat your fuckin M&Ms LaTasha and dont ask questions.
Whatever.
Rising from his chair Jake walked across his office, ignoring LaTasha, and out into the club. Mid day and it was empty. Just the club manager and two of his boys sat at the bar. He stepped out of the club. Blinking he adjusted from the dark interior to the bright mid day sun. It was cold but the sky was a clear electric blue. He watched the traffic roll past and figured out what to do.
Shit he grunted to himself.
Long ago hed learned not to rush a decision. His business was full of hot headed assholes who watched too many movies, TV cop series and video games. Jake saw his work more like a business with out laws. Always think out a move. After five minutes he pulled out his cell phone and clicked a number from speed dial.
Hey boss said Duke.
Where are you?
Burger King.
You got the SUV from the lot?
No, next job.
Forget that job and get your ass back to the club.
Can I finish my burger?
Yeah.
Hanging up he re-dialled the cops number.
Where the fuck are you?
Stopped off industrial road fourteen replied the cop.
Can you see him?
No, stopped behind some unit.
Stay there an Im sendin some of my guys over.
You know I cant be seen with them!
Drive off soon as you see em.
Jake hung up and walked back into the club. This was fucked up. If it was cops theyd be sat in the lot waiting for Duke to pick up the SUV and then theyd bust him. Or worse follow him back to Jakes stash. But this guy was driving away from the garage across town to the industrial zone. Was the dumb fucker stealing his shit?
Hey!! shouted Jake as he stepped into the bar getcha asses into gear weve got a job to do!!
After some searching Mike found the blocks of white powder; cocaine. They were stashed in a hidden compartment underneath the spare tire. Not the most creative hide away hed seen but then he figured it would get the driver past any traffic stop. Out in the boondocks he figured there was no FBI or big narcotics units. Just good ol boy cops trying to keep the peace and maybe make a little on the side? Whatever, he guessed this stash had a street value close on three hundred thousand dollars. A nice little earner when they got back home to Boston.
Satisfied he was about to call up Jasmine when he heard the roar of a powerful V8 engine, a skid of tires before a black quad cab Dodge Ram pick-up truck appeared. The truck had a jacked up suspension and huge tires that crunched on the asphalt. There were three figures inside. The figures all had thick necks and huge shoulders. The truck nosed slowly into the side street and then, once it was straight, the driver gunned the gas.
Instinctively Mike looked left and right for a way out. There was none. Hed picked the access road running between two disused industrial units because it was closed in. Nobody could see him searching the SUV. Now it was working against him. There was only one way out and the pick-up was blocking it. Reaching into his pocket he grabbed his cell phone, opened it up and crushed the sim. No way could these guys find out who he really was.
The pick up stopped fifteen feet in front of the Expedition. Three big white guys jumped down.
Oh hell groaned Mike.
They were huge. In the cold they were wearing faded blue jeans and thick coats which made them look even bigger than they were. The front two were early twenties and muscled up like they spent half their life pumping iron. Maybe ex football linebackers? Didnt quite make the NFL and were now making money kicking ass? Wide shoulders, thick necks, biceps bulged out under the sleeves of their coats and tree trunk legs. Both were carrying baseball bats. Another step back was an equally big guy, older in his mid thirties, dressed the same and he was carrying a two headed wrench.
The three guys formed up shoulder to shoulder and headed towards Mike. Instinctively Mike took a step back and stumbled into the Expeditions front fender. The three guys stopped five feet in front of him and stood there. Side by side, their weapons in their hands, nine hundred pounds of beef, all flushed and sweating in the chill.
What the fuck you doing? shouted the older of the guys.
FBI! shouted Mike in desperation, reaching into his jacket pocket and flashing his badge. It was fake and bought from a fancy dress store back home in Boston. Maybe it would buy him some time? The two younger, dumber, guys glanced at the older guy. He smiled coldly.
Bullshit said the older guy your one stupid ass son a bitch. What the fuck you thinkin stealin my product?
Mike couldnt answer.
You still got the shit?
Mike nodded.
Then youre a lucky man.
At that exact moment Mike didnt feel lucky. He was stood alone, between two deserted industrial units staring down nine hundred pounds of seriously pissed off mid western beef. Nine hundred pounds of muscle, two baseball bats and a two headed wrench vs the one hundred eighty pounds that was Mike. He had no gun, no knife and no baseball bat. He was fucked.
How come? stammered Mike.
Cos if youd got rid of our shit wed have killed ya said the older guy now were just gonna send a message.
What message?
This.
The older guy with the wrench moved first. He dumped his weight on his right foot and started a long, looping backswing that bounced off pumped, tense muscles after forty degrees and then snapped forward again through a low horizontal arc, aiming to break Mikes left arm between his shoulder and elbow. It was a good first swing.
Mike not have been strong but he was quick. He put his weight on his left foot and dodged sideways. The wrench missed his arm but slammed into the side of his chest. Mike howled loudly and tried to control himself. Then one of the baseball bats slammed hard across his other arm. Then another hit. Then the guy with the wrench swung again and this time connected. Mike groaned and began falling forward. Another baseball bat slammed into him before he hit the floor.
With Mike on the ground the older guy with the wrench stepped forward. Jake Jackpot Carlson looked down on the thief. Both his arms were at angles they just shouldnt be, blood was pouring out of his nose and his eyes unfocused. In the decent world of TVs and movies it was time to show some chivalry and restraint. Jake didnt live in that world. The cocksucker was trying to steal his product so he needed taking down. Jake waited until hed rolled over before delivering the final kick to Mikes face. There was a degree of mercy in it. It was a hard kick; enough to smash his teeth and jaw but not enough for out and out brain damage.
Load him into the truck said Jake.
What we gonna do with him?
Dump the fucker at Memorial Hospital replied Jake.
You think hes ever gonna walk again?
Not anytime soon.
One of the guys scooped the dead weight of Mike up in a firemans lift and dumped him across the back seat of the pick-up. Jake stepped towards the Expedition. The passenger door was open and he could see his cocaine on the seat. That was a damn relief. Three hundred grand was a lot of cash to him. Now he needed to safely get the coke back to his lock up and find out who the hell was trying to steal from him.
Brett, take this back to the Sheraton garage and park up.
Sure thing, boss.
Wait there and well sort a car swap out. Then watch this fuckin thing.
For a moment Brett looked disappointed. A night freezing his ass off in a parking garage didnt exactly sit well with him. Much more fun to be in the club surrounded by girls. But hed learned never to argue with Jackpot Jake. Nobody had ever done well out of that argument.
Gotcha.
Lets haul ass! shouted Jake as he walked back to the pick-up.
Hauling himself up into the passenger seat of the pick-up Jake looked back. The skinny guy was still out cold. Smiling ruefully Jake shook his head and thought. Who the fuck would try and steal from him? Was somebody trying to muscle in on his turf? Biker Dan from Dubuque? That made no sense. Some dumb asses looking for a quick score? That made more sense. If that was the case the dumb ass on the back seat could be working alone? Jake checked him out again; that guy hadnt lasted ten seconds on his own. There had to be somebody else around. So he needed to be careful.
Several hours passed and Jasmine hadnt heard form Mike. Anxiously shed driven round the industrial zone and found nothing. She called his cell phone several times but it rang out. Something had gone wrong. In a risky business that was to be expected. Now she needed to work out what to do. Easy solution was to hit the road and get the hell out of Dodge. It was a big country and shed be gone before anyone even knew she was there.
Problem with that was she didnt know what happened to Mike. Dead and she was okay; dead men dont give up secrets. If he was alive he would be talking eventually. Not straight off but eventually Mike would break. It could be days but one way or the other he would spill the beans. She didnt much worry about the dealers out in Cedar Rapids; they couldnt do much out of town. But they would tell their supplier. That would lead back to the guy who distributed the drugs, then back to the gang in Chicago and that could lead back to Boston.
Jasmine needed to know what had happened.
Driving south out of town she headed for Eastern Iowa Airport. She needed to dump her car in the long stay lot and change her look. Stopping at the Westdale Mall she headed into a JC Pennys and bought a new wardrobe. Jasmine was about to become a mid level travelling sales exec. She bought three pant suits, make-up, a pair of heels and a carry on suit case. After paying for them she headed back into the fitting rooms and changed. At the airport she sat in the Starbucks waiting for a flight to arrive. Twenty minutes later the American Eagle flight from Chicago landed and passengers started filtering out through arrivals. Jasmine joined the crowd and headed over to the Hertz lot. There she rented, using a fake California drivers license and credit card, a red Toyota Camry.
Ten minutes later she was driving back towards Cedar Rapids.
Hope you all enjoy it and stick with it!!
Falling Down
By Samster
By Samster
Chapter 1
Davenport, Iowa and winter was closing in. Part of the Quad Cities area in the upper mid west of America and you got extremes; hot summers and freezing cold winters. Located on the great Mississippi river, smack dab in the middle of the continental divide and Davenport sat between Americas west and north east. Located one hundred and seventy mile west of Chicago on I-80, the Quad Cities also attracted the kind of shitbird operation that Jasmine was watching. City planners tried to market the Quad Cities as the best distribution point out there.
The city planners had some success. WalMart had a major distribution point as did Kroger, Tyson Foods and Home Depot. Along the way the city had also attracted plenty of smaller enterprises. Most were legitimate but the ageing warehouse of Mid West Transit & Haulage stunk of bad boy money. Located off the 290 exit it was west of town, part of a sprawling distribution point that claimed to be The Worlds Biggest Truck Stop. Jasmine didnt know if it was true but it sure as hell worked if you wanted to get lost in a mass of big rigs, warehouse units and people of the move. It was the perfect location for anybody looking to distribute drugs out of Chicago and into the boondocks of Iowa. Less than a days drive to Iowa City, Cedar Rapids, Des Moines, Omaha and Sioux Falls. A hardly major market but there was good money to be made for a Chicago group looking to cross sell a little product.
Jasmine had learned that if you wanted to distribute out into Iowa you went through Mid West Transit & Haulage. Sat opposite the warehouse Jasmine figured shed found the spot. For the past two days shed watched a steady stream of big rigs roll into the yard. Most were, she guessed, legitimate business. They had logos from meat packing companies or farming contractors or small time manufacturers and got transferred on for the next leg of there journey. East to Chicago or out west into the wide open space of Americas heartland.
Mixed in with that was a large number of cars, pick-ups and SUVs coming and going. All had that well driven look like theyd just packed on some serious highway miles. They all pulled into the yard and stopped next to the office, a beefy white boy got out and then they drove over to a unit on the far edge of the lot. Jasmine didnt know what got loaded because they drove into the unit and closed the door. What she did know was that ten minutes later the same beefy white boy emerged in a different vehicle. This part of the distribution deal wasnt legitimate.
With a smile she watched as an ageing white Ford SUV pulled out of the unit, drove slowly across the lot and stopped at the gate. Two security guys got out of their porter cabin, opened the gates and the SUV pulled out onto the road. Jasmine turned the ignition key and followed on. Now it was time to move the plan onto phase two. Pulling her cell phone out of the glove compartment she dialled a number from memory.
Im following a white late 90s Expedition with Iowa tags ISH812. Hes loaded up on some shit and headin home. Ill follow him to 290 and you pick him up.
Gotcha.
Keep a lose tail and take what opportunity you get.
Gotcha.
Replacing the cell phone back into the glove compartment. Mike wasnt a man of many words. He was the kind of guy who just blended in. 5ft8, mid thirties, white and skinny he was the man who wasnt there. Stand Mike in a crowd and nobody picked him out. Throw in a God given skill to break into any building or vehicle and he was a perfect partner for Jasmine.
Following several car lengths back Jasmine watched the SUV pull right onto I-80 west. She stopped and waited. Moments later she saw an ageing Honda sedan follow on. Mike had the tag. Pulling over into a McDonalds lot Jasmine ordered herself an espresso from the drive thru waited ten minutes and then followed on. Experience told her to stay close to her team. Mike was a pro but when youre following a drug runners ride its best to play safe. Guys driving cocaine, meth and heroine in the trunk tend to pay more attention to their rear view mirror than your average driver.
Up ahead and Mike was settling into a steady cruise. The interstate speed limit was seventy five miles per hour and the guy at the wheel of the SUV had cruise control set dead on seventy five. Last thing he wanted was getting pulled over for speeding. That was fine with Mike. His rust bucket Honda was well past its prime and struggled to go much over seventy five anyways. Mid day and traffic was light. He passed a few big rigs heading west. The empty, pancake flat prairies rolled ahead. Sixty miles west and they hit Iowa City. Traffic busied up some as they looped round the town and Mike closed in a little. Clearing the mass of fast food and retail outlets that ran alongside the interstate the Expedition slowed and took exit 239, turned right and pulled onto I-380 north.
Mike followed on and pulled out his cell phone.
Were on three eighty north headin for Cedar Rapids.
He seen you?
No.
Good.
The line went dead and Mike followed. Another twenty miles rolled by. They passed Eastern Iowa Airport and ten miles later the city of Cedar Rapids popped up on the horizon. It was a typical mid sized, upper mid west city with sprawling suburbs around the interstate, an industrial complex to the west of town and an ageing, red brick downtown. No big time sky scrapers like Minneapolis or Chicago or St Paul. Just one decent sized, twenty storey hotel building with the Sheraton logo on top. Maybe once it had been a thriving place but in 2011 it had the look of city with its best days behind. Passed over for the big cities and existing in relative isolation somewhere out on the prairies. The kind of place most folks just fly over.
Ahead the Expedition slowed and took the downtown exit. Mike smiled and followed on; Cedar Rapids was the destination. It could have been a lot worse. Setting off from Davenport hed figured on maybe a days drive over to Omaha or up to Sioux Falls. Instead hed enjoyed a nice three hours trip along the interstate. He wasnt even hungry or had a thought about pissing in the bottle he kept for long distance surveillance. If all went to plan he could steal the SUV, get what he wanted and grab a spot of lunch. Maybe the Sheraton had a decent restaurant?
Downtown Cedar Rapids was built around a grid system and Mike easily kept pace with the SUV. The driver was careful and stopped early at all red lights. With his illicit load a fender bender or a traffic stop would be bad. They drove past the Sheraton hotel and took a right onto Oakland Road. The Expedition turned into a five storey parking garage. Mike stopped opposite and waited. Experience taught him to wait. He knew what the guy was going to do. Hed park the SUV, leave the key under the wheel arch and then walk to whatever other parking garage they used and pick up the second vehicle. Then hed drive back to Davenport. That vehicle would contain whatever money the local boys were paying for their supply.
Sure enough, five minutes later, he watched the SUV driver step out from the garage, stroll across the street and walk back along Oakland. Mike waited for him to disappear and then pulled across into the lot. He stopped at the barrier, pressed the green button for a ticket, took it, the barrier raised and he drove into the lot. Mid day and it was three quarters full. He made it to the top floor when his eyes rested on the white Expedition. He stopped, parked across the lot in the far north east corner and walked over to the Expedition.
It was cold; three hours in a heated car and he was re-adjusting. Shivering slightly he stopped by the drivers side wheel arch and reached for the key. Sure enough it was there. He pressed the key fob, opened the door and stepped up into the SUV. He carefully drove the old SUV back down through the garage, pushed his ticket into the machine, paid his two dollar parking charge and headed out into the downtown street. It was all done in less than five minutes.
Pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket he made the call.
Ive got the SUV.
Good.
Im headed for that big ass industrial shit west of town. Ill call ya when I need to pick-up.
Okay.
This was the part Mike got nervous. He was driving a drug runners vehicle across town. There was the risk from the police but more worryingly there were the local boys buying the shit. Theyd know to look for a white 1998 Expedition with Iowa tags ISH812. A chance encounter now would be very bad. Very bad indeed.
Driving along the raised highway heading away from downtown and Mike was rolling well under the speed limit. He clocked the police cruiser but paid it no attention. You could call it a mistake or maybe just a risk of his business? Whatever, the cop behind the wheel was making a call.
What? said a deep, male mid western voice.
I just clocked your Expedition headin out of town.
Bullshit replied the man we gotta a call sayin its at the Sheraton lot.
Clear as fuckin day its in front of me.
Whats the tags?
ISH120.
Fuck!
There was a long silence. The cop waited for instructions. Eventually the voice said:
Follow the fucker but do nothin
You got it.
No stupid shit, right?
Yes sir!
Across town in a small office above Jackpots Strip Club a huge man rested back in his office chair. He tapped thick fingers on the office desk and thought. At first glance he had the look of big, dumb muscle. Weighing in at 350lbs with a mix of corn fed mid western beef and gym pumped muscles he looked like a bodyguard or club bouncer. However, Jake Jackpot Carlson was far more than that. Before turning to a life of crime hed had a successful college football career at Iowa State and then played four seasons as a linebacker for the Chicago Bears. A knee injury ended his NFL career and, after spending the money, hed headed back home to Iowa and gotten a job as a strip club bouncer.
It was there that he found his calling. Football had always frustrated Jake. There were rules and ethics and a line you couldnt cross. That was bullshit to Jackpot Jake. It was about winning and doing whatever it took. Ideally kicking the other guys ass along the way. As a bouncer he moved into the underworld of Cedar Rapids. Starting out kicking the shit out of losers with gambling debts hed begun to build up an empire. Before long hed gotten into drugs. Not as a user; Jake injected as much steroids as any 350lbs meat head youll meat at a gym but never the product. He began selling it round the downtown bars and clubs and over time hired low level dealers all around town. Now he owned drug sales in Cedar Rapids and had a dealer network into the surrounding small towns.
Who was that babes? asked the fat blonde sat across from him.
The blonde was called LaTasha. She hadnt been christened LaTasha but a whole sequence of bad life decisions had made her into LaTasha. A former beauty queen shed once had the world at her feet. But with a bad girl side that couldnt be tamed shed drifted to the wrong side of the tracks and was now as close to Jake got to a girlfriend. With a spectacular blonde hair do, oversized breast implants and pouting collagen stuffed lips she looked like a Playboy Playmate whod fallen into a silo of ice cream and eaten her way out. Over the years shed become Jakes fantasy creation.
Whats it to you?
Just asking she pouted.
Eat your fuckin M&Ms LaTasha and dont ask questions.
Whatever.
Rising from his chair Jake walked across his office, ignoring LaTasha, and out into the club. Mid day and it was empty. Just the club manager and two of his boys sat at the bar. He stepped out of the club. Blinking he adjusted from the dark interior to the bright mid day sun. It was cold but the sky was a clear electric blue. He watched the traffic roll past and figured out what to do.
Shit he grunted to himself.
Long ago hed learned not to rush a decision. His business was full of hot headed assholes who watched too many movies, TV cop series and video games. Jake saw his work more like a business with out laws. Always think out a move. After five minutes he pulled out his cell phone and clicked a number from speed dial.
Hey boss said Duke.
Where are you?
Burger King.
You got the SUV from the lot?
No, next job.
Forget that job and get your ass back to the club.
Can I finish my burger?
Yeah.
Hanging up he re-dialled the cops number.
Where the fuck are you?
Stopped off industrial road fourteen replied the cop.
Can you see him?
No, stopped behind some unit.
Stay there an Im sendin some of my guys over.
You know I cant be seen with them!
Drive off soon as you see em.
Jake hung up and walked back into the club. This was fucked up. If it was cops theyd be sat in the lot waiting for Duke to pick up the SUV and then theyd bust him. Or worse follow him back to Jakes stash. But this guy was driving away from the garage across town to the industrial zone. Was the dumb fucker stealing his shit?
Hey!! shouted Jake as he stepped into the bar getcha asses into gear weve got a job to do!!
After some searching Mike found the blocks of white powder; cocaine. They were stashed in a hidden compartment underneath the spare tire. Not the most creative hide away hed seen but then he figured it would get the driver past any traffic stop. Out in the boondocks he figured there was no FBI or big narcotics units. Just good ol boy cops trying to keep the peace and maybe make a little on the side? Whatever, he guessed this stash had a street value close on three hundred thousand dollars. A nice little earner when they got back home to Boston.
Satisfied he was about to call up Jasmine when he heard the roar of a powerful V8 engine, a skid of tires before a black quad cab Dodge Ram pick-up truck appeared. The truck had a jacked up suspension and huge tires that crunched on the asphalt. There were three figures inside. The figures all had thick necks and huge shoulders. The truck nosed slowly into the side street and then, once it was straight, the driver gunned the gas.
Instinctively Mike looked left and right for a way out. There was none. Hed picked the access road running between two disused industrial units because it was closed in. Nobody could see him searching the SUV. Now it was working against him. There was only one way out and the pick-up was blocking it. Reaching into his pocket he grabbed his cell phone, opened it up and crushed the sim. No way could these guys find out who he really was.
The pick up stopped fifteen feet in front of the Expedition. Three big white guys jumped down.
Oh hell groaned Mike.
They were huge. In the cold they were wearing faded blue jeans and thick coats which made them look even bigger than they were. The front two were early twenties and muscled up like they spent half their life pumping iron. Maybe ex football linebackers? Didnt quite make the NFL and were now making money kicking ass? Wide shoulders, thick necks, biceps bulged out under the sleeves of their coats and tree trunk legs. Both were carrying baseball bats. Another step back was an equally big guy, older in his mid thirties, dressed the same and he was carrying a two headed wrench.
The three guys formed up shoulder to shoulder and headed towards Mike. Instinctively Mike took a step back and stumbled into the Expeditions front fender. The three guys stopped five feet in front of him and stood there. Side by side, their weapons in their hands, nine hundred pounds of beef, all flushed and sweating in the chill.
What the fuck you doing? shouted the older of the guys.
FBI! shouted Mike in desperation, reaching into his jacket pocket and flashing his badge. It was fake and bought from a fancy dress store back home in Boston. Maybe it would buy him some time? The two younger, dumber, guys glanced at the older guy. He smiled coldly.
Bullshit said the older guy your one stupid ass son a bitch. What the fuck you thinkin stealin my product?
Mike couldnt answer.
You still got the shit?
Mike nodded.
Then youre a lucky man.
At that exact moment Mike didnt feel lucky. He was stood alone, between two deserted industrial units staring down nine hundred pounds of seriously pissed off mid western beef. Nine hundred pounds of muscle, two baseball bats and a two headed wrench vs the one hundred eighty pounds that was Mike. He had no gun, no knife and no baseball bat. He was fucked.
How come? stammered Mike.
Cos if youd got rid of our shit wed have killed ya said the older guy now were just gonna send a message.
What message?
This.
The older guy with the wrench moved first. He dumped his weight on his right foot and started a long, looping backswing that bounced off pumped, tense muscles after forty degrees and then snapped forward again through a low horizontal arc, aiming to break Mikes left arm between his shoulder and elbow. It was a good first swing.
Mike not have been strong but he was quick. He put his weight on his left foot and dodged sideways. The wrench missed his arm but slammed into the side of his chest. Mike howled loudly and tried to control himself. Then one of the baseball bats slammed hard across his other arm. Then another hit. Then the guy with the wrench swung again and this time connected. Mike groaned and began falling forward. Another baseball bat slammed into him before he hit the floor.
With Mike on the ground the older guy with the wrench stepped forward. Jake Jackpot Carlson looked down on the thief. Both his arms were at angles they just shouldnt be, blood was pouring out of his nose and his eyes unfocused. In the decent world of TVs and movies it was time to show some chivalry and restraint. Jake didnt live in that world. The cocksucker was trying to steal his product so he needed taking down. Jake waited until hed rolled over before delivering the final kick to Mikes face. There was a degree of mercy in it. It was a hard kick; enough to smash his teeth and jaw but not enough for out and out brain damage.
Load him into the truck said Jake.
What we gonna do with him?
Dump the fucker at Memorial Hospital replied Jake.
You think hes ever gonna walk again?
Not anytime soon.
One of the guys scooped the dead weight of Mike up in a firemans lift and dumped him across the back seat of the pick-up. Jake stepped towards the Expedition. The passenger door was open and he could see his cocaine on the seat. That was a damn relief. Three hundred grand was a lot of cash to him. Now he needed to safely get the coke back to his lock up and find out who the hell was trying to steal from him.
Brett, take this back to the Sheraton garage and park up.
Sure thing, boss.
Wait there and well sort a car swap out. Then watch this fuckin thing.
For a moment Brett looked disappointed. A night freezing his ass off in a parking garage didnt exactly sit well with him. Much more fun to be in the club surrounded by girls. But hed learned never to argue with Jackpot Jake. Nobody had ever done well out of that argument.
Gotcha.
Lets haul ass! shouted Jake as he walked back to the pick-up.
Hauling himself up into the passenger seat of the pick-up Jake looked back. The skinny guy was still out cold. Smiling ruefully Jake shook his head and thought. Who the fuck would try and steal from him? Was somebody trying to muscle in on his turf? Biker Dan from Dubuque? That made no sense. Some dumb asses looking for a quick score? That made more sense. If that was the case the dumb ass on the back seat could be working alone? Jake checked him out again; that guy hadnt lasted ten seconds on his own. There had to be somebody else around. So he needed to be careful.
Several hours passed and Jasmine hadnt heard form Mike. Anxiously shed driven round the industrial zone and found nothing. She called his cell phone several times but it rang out. Something had gone wrong. In a risky business that was to be expected. Now she needed to work out what to do. Easy solution was to hit the road and get the hell out of Dodge. It was a big country and shed be gone before anyone even knew she was there.
Problem with that was she didnt know what happened to Mike. Dead and she was okay; dead men dont give up secrets. If he was alive he would be talking eventually. Not straight off but eventually Mike would break. It could be days but one way or the other he would spill the beans. She didnt much worry about the dealers out in Cedar Rapids; they couldnt do much out of town. But they would tell their supplier. That would lead back to the guy who distributed the drugs, then back to the gang in Chicago and that could lead back to Boston.
Jasmine needed to know what had happened.
Driving south out of town she headed for Eastern Iowa Airport. She needed to dump her car in the long stay lot and change her look. Stopping at the Westdale Mall she headed into a JC Pennys and bought a new wardrobe. Jasmine was about to become a mid level travelling sales exec. She bought three pant suits, make-up, a pair of heels and a carry on suit case. After paying for them she headed back into the fitting rooms and changed. At the airport she sat in the Starbucks waiting for a flight to arrive. Twenty minutes later the American Eagle flight from Chicago landed and passengers started filtering out through arrivals. Jasmine joined the crowd and headed over to the Hertz lot. There she rented, using a fake California drivers license and credit card, a red Toyota Camry.
Ten minutes later she was driving back towards Cedar Rapids.
