0 comments/ 5911 views/ 1 favorites The Last Car By: RonDixen I The beautiful brunette prances back and forth along the desolate corridor of the abandoned warehouse, trying to ignore the loud smacking noise coming from a nearby room. Each time the smacking noise occurs, loud screams, cries and pleas fill the air and causes her to bite down on her bottom lip. Several times she approaches the door, reaches out to twist the knob and enter the room, but each time she suddenly stumps her feet and walks away. As she walks over and gazes outside the window, she catches her reflection. The sight of her shinny brown hair hanging below her shoulders, soft hazel eyes, full lips, almond shaped eyes and small nose makes her frown, reminding her how much she hated her mousy little girl look. At least she was thankful for her 36 inch breast, sharp curvy waist and thighs, small ankles and feet, fitting so nicely in her mini skirt and 2½ inch pumps which definitely stood against regulations, but as an undercover field operative, she could always claim it was part of the job. The door to the room swings opens and she catches sight of the tall lanky man making his way to the bathroom across the hall. She quickly follows him, pushes the door open, and enters the men's bathroom to find him bent over a sink, splashing cold water on his face. "I take it you haven't broken him yet," she asks, folding her arms. "Nah, but I'm close, real close, I'd say any minute now," the man answers, snatching a paper towel to dry his face. "And suppose he doesn't tell you?" "Then I'll just have to try a little harder." "This doesn't make sense Monty; you've been at it for almost two hours now." "I don't give a damn if it takes nine hours, that bastard's gonna tell me every thing I want to know." "I took a peek at him, he looks pretty bad. I think he needs a doctor." "If that prick doesn't tell me what I want to know, he's gonna need a mortician," the tall man grumbles. "Respectfully sir, I think this is ethically and morally wrong, I don't think the general public, not to mention the guys up top are going to appreciate what you're doing in there." "What I'm doing in there," the man frowns and steps back as if to scan the woman before him. "Listen up kid, I accepted you as a partner. I took you on because I saw something in you. Call it grit, call it gristle, or call it passion, but whatever it is, I believed you had it, so in spite of this babe-in-the-woods routine you're running on me, I'm gonna give you a little tip." He withdraws and lights a cigarette, then takes a puff before continuing. "A long time ago, probably before your father was born, the bureau's been fighting the bad guys. From Hoover, to Purvis to Ness, our guys put the work in. At first it was rough and slow going, but eventually we caught on and learned to play the game. You wanna know what they learned," he never waited for her response, "they learned that you can't bring a pea-shooter to a Goddamn gunfight," he barks, his voice echoing about the walls. "The bad guys had all the advantages, they had superior gunfire, they had superior transportation and most of all, they operated above, below, around the rules, but like I said, we caught on and took their asses down." "That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that if we operate like them, operating above, below and around the rules, then what makes us any different from them," she challenges. "I mean we're in an abandon warehouse in the middle of nowhere. I thought we were above all this." His head slowly recoiles back in response, "You disappoint me agent, I would've thought you'd figured that one out on your own. He takes another long puff from his cigarette. "We're the good guys, it's guys like us that put our necks on the line when no one else will, we're the guys who make it possible for the general public to go about their business without having to look over their Goddamn shoulders, in other words, we protect them from the bad guys." "But Mon..." "That's enough kid, I've heard your piece, I was out here kicking ass when you were too young to wipe the shit from yours, so don't lecture me. Maybe one day when you're the senior partner you can call the shots, but with that attitude, I serious doubt it. It comes down to this, we're the good guys and there's a bad in there," he motions his hand toward the door, "with info that can help us end this case and take them down, so either you're with this or not. "He took a quick puff on his cigarette, before continuing, "Like I said, I thought you had grit, I thought you had some fire, I thought you wanted to make a difference, but if you can't handle this, then go out in the car and watch my back. That ought to help your uh...sensitive nature," he flicked his cigarette and watched tiny sparks scatter as it crashes into the wall. "I got work to do," he snaps and leaves the bathroom. The String sat in the vehicle for five minutes before her eyes grew heavy and slumber descends upon here. Her mind drifts rapidly as she concentrates on her senior partner's advice and his willingness to bend the rules. Should she turn him in, accept stigmatism as a rat, play this game of hypocrisy, or perhaps it was time to contemplate another line of work? The face of her cancer stricken father floods her mind, followed by visions of how her mother went bankrupt trying to pay for the overwhelming cost of medical treatment, and now her mother suffering from the same dreaded disease, and also sucking away everything she owed to pay for quality healthcare. These thoughts and visions flashing through her mind making her ask a most pertinent question. How could she truly make a difference when the good guys she proposed to serve were just as ruthless, cutthroat, and dirty as the bad guys they fought to arrest and incarcerate?" She grappled and fought with these thoughts as she fell into slumber. The sound of gunshots jars the young agent back to consciousness. Shaking her head vigorously to focus her vision and concentrate her thoughts, she jumps out the car, draws her handgun, and races toward the warehouse door. Her heels cause her to stumble on the gravel covered driveway, just as the warehouse door swings open and a man carrying a weapon dashes out. "Hold it, don't move," she shouts. The man never hesitates to stop and open fire, before his eyes can adjust to the shadowy darkness surrounding the facility. The young agent aims her weapon and fires. The gun men staggers back, then attempts to run a few feet before he drops on his face. Stringer races over, checks the wounded man, and discovers he's showing no vital signs. With the immediate threat removed, she scans the area for anyone else; she then makes her way to the warehouse. Once again she reaches the door, but this time it swings open and her partner Monty staggers out holding his stomach, before falling on his face. String rolls him over on his back and quickly discovers his blood soaked shirt. "Monty...what the hell happened in there?" "What the hell happened out here is...a...better...question," the badly injured man labors to turn the question." String swallows hard and then cries, "I...I fucked up Monty, I fucked up big time." "Doesn't matter...," he cuts her off, then began coughing up blood. "Chalk one up for the bad guys." "Holly shit...Monty, I'm so sorry, I'm calling the medics." "No...no...no time, my card is punched. Listen up kid...this shit's gonna look...bad, real bad, so, so pay attention, this might be your only chance to save your...ca...career." He coughs up more blood as he struggles to hold on to his rapidly shrinking window of life. "We...got here at about 8:15, I instructed you to stay outside while I went...wen...went inside. You heard gunshots, and let the story play out from there. You...you, you were never inside...hear me...you never came inside, you hear me...kid?" "I hear you Monty," she answers as her voice cracking. "One more thi...thing, check the trunk of his..." he cries, as his eyes began to roll to the back of his head. II On any given day, New York's Pennsylvania Station is a hustling, bustling hub of traveling humanity, severing over 300,000, passengers, and the most used traveling train station in the United States. It's grand Beaux-Arts style architecture reflects the majestic technological innovations as envisioned by the creators of this colossal project. In the 1960's the iconic complex fell under controversial scrutiny when the decision made to demolish and rebuild the grand old structure, as many considered this an act of vandalism. After reconstruction, and the addition of Madison Square Garden complex, which sits above it, many of the original landmark Roman age elegance were shipped to sites across the city, state and country, and only two original eagle ornaments remain at the sight. In spite of the fact that the station continues to attract hundreds of thousands of riders each day, it remains a highly criticized and controversial landmark. Orlando Santana casually strolls through the terminal with a gym bag draped over his broad shoulders. Golden honey colored Timberland boots, a heavy gold metallic unbuckled belt dangles above the zipper of his loose fitting baggy black jeans, sagging below his wasp-like waist, a tightly ribbed white wife beater, stretched about his hard muscular chest, along with a gold nugget chain are displayed through the opening of his soft black calf leather jacket. His eyes quickly dart about the train station, totally focused on his surroundings. Two elderly women maneuver from his path as if he carries a disease and he smiles at their discomfort, realizing how intimidating his mere presence presents to other people. Another woman perhaps in her late thirties passes him by, stealing a glance at his deep dark chocolate brown chest. Flashing his boyishly handsome smile, he nods in her direction, then drops his bag on the ground, leans back, places his back and his foot up against a pillar behind him, all the while continuing to scan through the large crowds of travelers in the station. The smell of hot pizza fills his nostrils, and causes his stomach to growl in hunger. Ignoring his urge to eat, he glances down the tracks, then down at his watch. According to the schedule, the train should arrive at any moment, a train he could not afford to miss. Taking a long deep sigh of relief, he glances about once again, as if trying to capture every sight in his mind, as he wonders, will this be the last time, he'll ever see the city of his birth. Fighting the urge to smoke a cigarette, his mind drifts back to a little over twenty four hours ago, when the thought of leaving the only home he's ever known, unthinkable. Orlando slowly pulls his Lexus S550 curb side, and then answers his cell phone. He smiles easy, seeing the name on his caller ID, but asks anyway, "Yo who's spittin" "Ace baby, what's up Duce," the voice answers in code, letting him know the voice belongs to Raheem Champion, head of the East River Outlaws, a notorious drug gang, and his good friend. "I just got here, bout to go up now," Orlando answers. "Good, tell Ladonna moms wants her to pick up Tomika from school tomorrow." "Will do homie," Orlando replies. "So where you guys hangin tonight?" "She wants to go dancing, so I'm taking her to 'Night Crawlers', grab something to eat and go back to..." "Alright that's enough info," both men laugh in response. "Yo Duce I got'ta tell ya, when you first told me about you and my little sis, I had my doubts. Don't get me wrong, you mad cool with me, but you're my number one, and I was worried about a conflict of interest, especially with my sister's attitude and shit. Not many Ni**er's can hold a chick like her down, but I can see shit's working with you two. Of course you realize, if you knock her up, there's a shotgun wedding in your future." Orlando laughs loudly, but fully understood Raheem's close family ties, and if he didn't do right by his sister, he'd have to deal with the family's wrath, even if he was the second in command of the gang. "Yo dog don't sweat that shit, your sister's got my heart, and she don't need a kid or a ring to get that." "Yeah, yeah, alright enough with that mushy shit, holler at me in morning, before your feet hit the concrete." "Will do son, we out?" "Yeah Ace's out," Raheem answers. "Duce's wild baby," Orlando fires back, and ends the call. He steps out into the cool night air, glances up at the old five-story tenement building, then up and down the street. He waves to the look-out-kids strategically placed on the either corner and along the block before trotting up the staircase. A metal door swings open and a overweight kid wearing a baseball cap smiles as he approaches. "Wha'd up Duce?" "Everything's 'Ice and cheese'," he answers with a fist bump, "All quiet on the front?" "Ain't no muthafuckas around here looking to commit suicide," the kid snaps. "You crazy son," Orlando laughs, playfully nudging the boy's head with his open palm. As he steps into the corridor, the kid asks, "Yo you came to pick up Ladonna?" Orlando stops in his tracks and gazes seriously at the kid, "Is that your business?" "Nah Duce I was just..." "Watching out, that's your job," the smooth dark chocolate man answers earnestly. "Yo Duce I didn't mean anything you know." "That shit is privileged info, remember son, you're a trouper, a soldier, and I'm a general. In this army, troupes don't inquire about shit over their head, you got that son?" The young man swallows hard and answers nervously, "Yeah, I understand." "Good, don't make me repeat that shit again, that's the first and only warning you're gonna receive." The young man at the door glances up at another kid, guarding the first floor stairwell, and then looks down, knowing he's crossed a dangerous line. Orlando walks up to the other kid and scans him from head to toe as if inspecting him. "What were you doing behind the staircase?" "Notthin Duce, I heard you talking, so I figured shit was cool." "You figured shit was cool huh, you think I'm stupid, I see that bitch in the corner. Now I know shit gets boring down here, but that's your job and you get paid well for it and anytime you feel like you'd like another job, there's plenty positions at Mickey Dee's flipping burgers, now get that bitch out of here and you're lucky I wasn't Ace. Knowing him, he'd slammed your fuckin hands in his car door, yeah I seen him do it, so step up or step the fuck off." He cleverly spies the frightened look on both faces of the young men as he trots upstairs. Taking long strides, and using his athletic agility, the six foot three inch man runs up five flights of stairs. Before he could knock, the door swings open and a very tall kid wearing long dreadlocks steps aside and allowing him entrance. "What's up Duce." The kid asks in a deep husky voice. "Ain't no thang son, where she at?" "Yeah she's in the back, Cheyenne's finishing her hair." "Damn I thought she said she was ready," Orlando snaps. "I'll be ready in a minute, don't be so impatient," a high pitch voice calls from a nearby room. "Alright now, hurry up, I'm hungry," he shouts out. "So what's up Duce, ain't seen you around here for a bit," the tall kid asks. "Yeah so I noticed," Orlando, snaps, staring intently at the kid. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means your people are lax and your operation looks sloppy. Your guards and look-out-crew didn't see me until I was right on them, maybe because they're spending time fucking little neighborhood hoes. You need to check that shit son." "Oh shit, I didn't know that." "That's what I'm talkin bout homie, that's some shit you should know. Now I want them two downstairs docked a days pay and if I see some shit like that again, all you muthas can look forward to transfers, you hear me dawg. You're the captain of this site, so you're responsible." "I hear you Duce, I'll take care of it." "I suggest you do, remember, your soldiers are pawns, you're a knight in this game, so if you can't handle your spot on the board..." "Oh damn there you go again with that chess, card game game shit, Ni**er please, ya'll just some drug dealing thugs," Ladonna snaps entering the room. Orlando took his position in the gang very seriously. He was the queen, the most destructive piece on the board and second only to Raheem, the king. Anyone one who dared to mock or took their game philosophy lightly, stood on dangerous ground. His eyelids squint preparing to fire back harshly and then he saw her baby smooth coco brown skin, soft green eyes, shinny black curly hair far below her shoulders, full lips and awesome body, and whatever else in his mind faded to black. "Watch yourself little lady, I'm talkin shop here," he scolds but softly. "Yeah, yeah I know, queens to bishops, to knights and all that bullshit..." "Ladonna chill, don't disrespect me in front of my troupes." "Troupes, knights, aces, duces, ya'll some confused mutha..." "Ladonna," he barks, cutting her off mid-sentence. She casually strolls up to him and asks in a sexy voice, "Is this disrespectful," then tenderly kisses him on the lips. Her soft full kiss send a jolt right through his cock and quickly melts away his anger. With a sly grin on his face he offers, "Why don't you wait downstairs for me, I'll only be a minute?" "Alright big poppa, take of business, but you better hurry up, I'm hungry too." "Hey Ms. Ladonna, let me get that door for you," a burly kid asks, stepping forward, hoping he might avoid Orlando's oncoming tongue lashing. "Ni**er I'm a grown ass woman, I got my bachelors and closing in on my masters, what makes you think I need your help Freight-train," she snaps rolling her eyes and stopping the young man in his tracks. The feisty young woman walks to the door, snatches it open and suddenly she's sent across the room and down to the floor. Orlando, Freight-train, and Deon watch in shock, trying to comprehend what they just saw, but when the two masked, armed gunmen enters the apartment, any and all questions were answered. "On your knees motherfuckers," a short man hollers. "What the fuck is this," Freight-train shouts. "It's a robbery, asshole, and unless you want a hole in your head, get yer black ass on your knees now," the shorter gunman fires back. "Ease up," Orlando shouts to Freight-train motioning for him not to reach for the handgun in his waist. "That's right homeboy, tell your man to back his ass down before I lay his ass down," the shorter man shouts. Orlando swallows hard, watches his woman on the floor, holding her bleeding head wound and fought the rage swelling inside him. Unfortunately now was not the time for a hot head. "Okay, I take it you guys came here for the money right?" "No, we came here for your welfare checks, you 'Section 8' motherfucker, now shut the fuck up and get the cash." "Oh you got jokes huh, alright Deon give it to him." "But Duce, you know we can't..." "Fuck that, give them what they want," Orlando orders as he carefully observes his enemies. He quickly concludes that the taller man was definitely the steadier of the two men, while the shorter man seems on the edge, nervous as if trying to prove himself, which clearly made him more dangerous. Deon races over handing the taller man a large metal box. The taller man peers inside and exclaims, "Yes that's a good man." Orlando sighs deeply, he reasons that if they cooperate, these two would be on their way, and vows he'd fight another day, especially one without Ladonna. Everyone keeping a cool head was his biggest concern. He barely finishes the thought when a voice shouts out. The Last Car "I can't believe this shit, ya'll just gonna let these punk ass white boys come up here and take the fucking money," Ladonna snaps. Before she could complete the sentence, a bullet pierces her forehead, knocking her back into the wall. She slowly slides down, leaving a trail of blood along the wall. With cat-like reflexes, Orlando knocks the metal box up and into the taller crook's face, knocking him backwards. The shorter man attempts to fire his weapon at the smooth dark skinned youth, but saw the figure of Deon closing in on him and manages to fire, hitting him in the gut. Orlando fires a series of left, right combos that knocks the tall crook out the door, then spins on his heels, withdraws his weapon, and fires two shots into the short man's chest. He spins back around to open fire on the fallen man's partner but discovers he's no longer in the doorway. "Yo Duce, I got that muthafucka, take care of your woman," Freight-train shouts as he dashes out the door. Orlando turns slowly toward where he saw Ladonna fall, then quickly turns away from the grotesque sight of this once beautiful woman, his woman, lying lifelessly on the floor, her face mutilated by ripped flesh and blood. He drops his weapon, staggers forward then down to his knees. He takes her lifeless but still warm hand into his, pulls it to his lips and kisses it softly as tears freely run down his face. The memory of the last moments he spent with Ladonna fades quickly as the voice of Raheem echoes through his troubled mind. "You fucked up son, you fucked up and let my sister get killed, why didn't you just give them the fuckin money son?" "I did man, but Ladonna barked and the fucking punk's were nervous." "Why didn't you keep her ass in check?" "Shit was happening so fast, shit man, you know how she is...I mean...I was." "All I know is I'm out of ten fuckin grand and my only sister is dead because you wasn't watching out for her." "Nah Ace you got it..." "Don't call me that shit, this game is over, I mean yo dog, how the fuck am I gonna tell my family she was mixed up in all this shit. She was about to get her masters, she was better than this shit," Raheem cries, his voice cracking. "Raheem I know you're grieving, but I'm grieving too, I loved her man...I fuckin loved her homie." "Not enough to give your life for hers. Yo Orlando I can't get past this shit, not to mention the heat from five o behind this shit and the money we owe." Like his deceased sister's coco brown and smooth skinned, Raheem, reached inside a draw, pulls out a thick roll of cash and tosses it to Orlando. "You gotta bounce son, the whole organization's in chaos, cops watching our every move and straight up, I could never look at you again and accept the fact you watched a muthafucka kill my sis...sister, yo homie you gotta go and go real far, feel me," Raheem spoke with tears in his eyes and a very deadly tone of voice. "Come on Raheem, it can't end like this...not like..." "Yo muthafucka, get the fuck out my face, before I make shit worst and take all this fury I got inside out on you...please, go." "Raheem..." "Get the fuck out," Raheem screams pulling out and aiming his weapon at his former best friend and right hand man. Orlando wipes a tear from his cheek and slowly backs away. III The sound of a young child screaming in the distance brought Orlando's thoughts back to the present. He slowly wipes a tear from his face and glances about to see if anyone notices his momentary heart-ship. Gritting his teeth, he felt the anger and rage building up inside him and knew if he didn't find a way to release his pain, someone innocent would die. It was at that moment that he saw her. Gorgeously beautiful, the woman with super model looks strolls down the platform as if she owned it. She stood around five foot six inches, long flowing blonde hair, a silky smooth dark tan, a tight curvy figure encased in a white blouse, turquoise skirt and coming his way. The troubled young man licks his lips as he marvels at her shapely legs, descending down into a pair of nude ankle boots. The woman was hot, seductive with a flaming aura of sexual energy and just the cure for a stressfully sick man. Summoning up his cunning instinct, he flashes a warm pleasant but sexually seductive smile. "Yo lady you're lucky I'm not a cop." "Why" "Because I'd have to arrest you for disturbing my peace," The confident young man replies. "Really," she responds dryly, "Is that the best you can do?" Orlando walks slowly behind her and returns fire, "Didn't your momma ever tell you to never ask a question, if you can't handle the answer?" "My mother told me to watch out for men like you," she answers sharply. "And what kind of man do you think I am?" "A man who stands around in train stations trying to pick up vulnerable women." "Oh so now you're vulnerable huh, I guess you think I'm the big bad wolf," he responds with a boyishly handsome smile. "I...think you're up to no good, to be frank." "Aw did mommy and daddy frighten you with tales of big black wolves on the hunt for white flesh?" "Don't flatter yourself stud," she rolls her eyes, "I don't trust you and it has nothing to do with the color of your skin." With a keen sense of observance, Orlando shrewdly analyzes the young woman's comfort level then asks, "Yeah you're probably right, you don't trust guys at all." "What's that supposed to mean," she fires back curiously. "I mean you're the kind of woman that plays it safe, keeps her guard up, like you said, you're vulnerable." Now he had the woman's full attention. "Excuse me bro, but I don't know you and you don't me so cut the psychoanalysis, homie." The cunning young man ignores her rant and counters, "Hmm, let me guess, you gave your heart to someone that didn't deserve it and you're hurt. Once bitten, twice shy, yeah I understand, but as fine as you look lady, I'd bet money you've left a shit load of broken hearted road kills down the highways you've traveled." "First you're psychoanalyst, now you're a philosopher, what's next, a psychic friend?" "How about someone special," he counters with a warm smile. The woman tries her best to maintain her fiery attitude, but his disarming smile, handsome looks, ruggedly hard body and manly presence made her tingle all over. She sighs deeply and smiles back at him. Knowing he had his victim where he wanted her, the cunning young man moved in for the kill. "So what's your name lady?" "Amy...Amy Wilcox," she replies softly. "So where are you off to...Amy?" "I'm taking a little trip to...Vegas." "So am I, my cousin lives out there, has a slot machine company, I figure I'd visit and check out my prospects, how about yourself?" "Business" "What kind of business, if I may ask?" "Respectfully none of yours," she answered flashing her attitude once more. "Oh I see, well Amy, It's a very long trip to Vegas, and I'm not ashamed to say I could really use some company, particularly...your company, is that cool with you?" Before she could answer, he interjects, "That is of course if you're not afraid of a big...black...wolf," he smiles. "Do you have a name, or should I just call you Wolfe?" "My names' Orlando Santana but I'd prefer if you called me Lando." "Well...Lando, I guess we can keep each other company, but just remember to keep Mister Wolf on a leash, or I'll have to use this can of mace in my bag," she slides her hand into her purse for emphasis. They share a laugh together. Orlando notices her leaning to the side of him as if watching someone near by, but before he could look around, and trace her line of sight or even comment, he saw the bright glowing lights emerging from the darkness of the tunnel. "Looks like the train's here." "Thank God," she cries and glances along with him. "Have you ever taken a ride this long before," she asks. "Nah, I'm not much for long distance traveling." "Really, well I'm not looking forward to it, train rides are bor...ing." Orlando reaches out and gently takes her hand, "Take it from me Amy, with you sitting next to me, I promise you will not be bored. Orland and his new friend climb on board the 8th car of the train. An hour later the couple find seats in the dinning car. While Amy sips on a cup of coffee, Orlando forces a stale, soggy ham sandwich, with wilted lettuce and a mushy tomato down his throat. "Wow you must really be hungry to eat that," Amy remarks. "Yeah, I haven't eaten since last night, I just need something, anything in my stomach." "Well let's hope it stays there," she laughs. Amy cleverly spies the man sitting across from her. His strikingly handsome looks, smooth dark chocolate brown skin and hard buffed body causes her mind to wonder, especially when she stares at his large dark hands. Not until she realizes he's staring back at her does she catch herself. Fighting to divert his attention she asks, "So Lando what exactly are you running away from?" "Huh, what do you mean, I'm not running away from anything," he answers defensively. "Well for starters, you're traveling with a gym bag, you haven't eaten since last night and if you're checking out your prospects in Vegas, why did you purchase a one way ticket, yes I saw it," she smiles, appearing but definitely not innocent. "Wow, I see you're very observant, what are you some kind of FBI agent?" They share a laugh at the ridiculous nature of his question, "No I'm just cautious." Amy waits while her companion forces another bite of his sandwich and struggles to swallow. "Man I wouldn't give this shit to a dog." "How about a wolf," Amy laughs. She continues to wait on his response until it becomes obvious that he wasn't going to answer her question. "Well" "Well what," he asks pretending not to know what she awaited. "What are you running from, are you in trouble with the law or mixed up in something over your head?" "Hey the less you know the better off you'll be." "Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that, I hope you're not some serial killer, or thug drug dealer." Although it was a shot in the dark, Orlando couldn't help but display his shock at her perception. "Wait a minute," she throws her hands up innocently, "You know on second thought, maybe I don't want to know, in fact it might be a good idea if I found another seat." "Hold, hold on lady chill," Orlando takes a sip of coffee, sighs and then states, "Okay I'm in some heat with my people back home. Things got a little too hot so I'm taking a little break until things cool down." "I bet a girl was involved." "Now why in the hell would think that?" "Because you're handsome, warm and from what I can see, a deeply passionate person. Guys like you aren't on the market long before someone snatches you up, and yet there's something about you...something innocent." "Innocent, baby I may be a lot of things, but innocent is not among them," he answers sharply. "Oh don't be so sensitive. Your innocence doesn't take away from your manhood. I bet you kick ass when it's time and I'm sure you handle your business, but I'm talking about your depth of passion, your urgent need to let go of all the things that hold you back. Do you understand what I'm saying to you Lando?" "To tell you the truth, I have no idea what you're talking about." "And that's what makes you innocent. You've yet to discover the real you, the strong capable lion inside just waiting to roar and unleash your full masculinity." "Da...dayamn girl, I'm not sure of where you're going with this, but I'm really starting to enjoy the ride, go on." She takes a final sip of her beverage, licks her full lips succulently. "Hasn't any woman shown you just how special you truly are, I mean has any woman totally surrendered herself to you?" "I think there was someone but we never got to that point." "Is she the reason why you left home?" "Partially" "So you loved her I take it." "Yeah I definitely loved her." "Then why did you leave her?" "Hold up this is moving a little too fast for me." "Don't be frighten Lando, I'm just trying to get you to let go and explore your inner self." "I left that inner self as you call it, back at the station where I got on, that's all behind me now." "Why don't you call her?" "I wish I could, but she...passed away." "Oh god, I'm so sorry...I didn't know." "How could you, although I must admit, you've done a pretty good job at reading this far." "Oh wow, you must be in pain, terrible pain," she extends her hand across the table and gently rubs his hand. "I bet you'd like nothing more than to have someone take your mind off all that pain." "Yo check this out, I'm not looking for sympathy so drop that shit," he barks aggressively. "Just as I'm not in the business of rewarding pity, I think you're a fine man Lando, something inside you speaks to me." She gets up, and takes a seat beside him. " "Really, well since you're in such a giving mood, how about giving me the lowdown as to why you're on this train, unless you feel this is a one way conversation." "Are you sure you want to know?" "Hell yeah," he answers firmly. I work for an investment firm; we deal in high value discretional imports, and then export them back on to the international market. A little while back I decided to invest in a...uh...how can I say this...a private endeavor with someone whom I thought I could trust and he took my earnings and hung me out to dry with my clients. My clients are not the kind of people that you can short change." "Damn, it sounds like you're in as deep as I am, how much do you owe them?" "Enough to live the rest of my life without any financial worries that's for sure," she laments. "So that's why you're going to Vegas, to run away, or hit the jackpot?" "No, I'm trying to get my money back. As I said these guys operate nationally and internationally. There's no place I can run that I would feel safe. My only hope is to get my money from the guy who set me up, pay off my clients with a little left over for myself." "So this guy's in Vegas?" "No he's right here on this train," she leans in close. "What, he's here on this train, where?" "He's in the last car and I know for a fact he has most of the money with him." "So you're going to try and take it from him by yourself?" "That's the only choice I have right now." "Don't you think this might be a little over your head," Orlando challenges. "Maybe but like I said, that's the only choice I have." "Well do you at least have a plan or something?" "No...no I don't, I'm sacred, confused and I can't say what I'm going to do, but I have to figure out something, anything, I have to get that or...or I'm dead," she breaks down in tears. Orlando slides his arm over her shoulders, and attempts to comfort her. "Hey hold together baby, maybe I could help you out here." "No, the last thing I want to do is get you involved in this mess." "What did I tell you back at the station, I said that you were special, and I meant that shit. I think you're gonna need some muscle to pull this shit off." "But Lando, I can't ask you to put your neck on the line for me." "You don't have to; maybe we can help each other out on this." "Oh Lando, that's so sweet of you." For a fleeting moment, Orlando's street instincts kick in, warning that this could easily be a sucker play, nevertheless, the pain, the anger, the loneliness along with his hard cock convinces him to at least play along. "Don't get it twisted chick, cause I'm no alter boy. Once you pay off your clients, I expect at least 40 percent of your take on this, is that a deal?" "If you get back my earnings, I'll give you anything you want," she smiles sweetly, running her hand across his warm hard chest. "Even this," he leans forward and plants a soft kiss on her lips. "That's already yours," she answers, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a deep long passionate kiss. Amy feels her body shutter in his strong muscular arms and loses herself in his powerful manly embrace. Lando's tongue flickers inside her mouth with a hot desperate urgency, while his large dark vascular hand palms and locks her head in position for his oral attack. Amy's lips quivered nervously and nearly as rapidly as her pussy lips, feeling overwhelmed by the depth of this man's unbridled passion for her. Finally after several minutes they pull away from each other just enough to gaze longingly into each other's eyes. "What I wouldn't give for some privacy," Orlando whispers. "What I wouldn't give for you." "I heard that but since we are where we are, let's focus on this guy in the next car." "No, let's focus on that guy, down there," she smiles and glances at his crouch. "But I need to check him out," he replies. "I need to check him out," she interjects, continuing to gaze at his hidden man tool, "in fact I think I'll introduce myself." "Huh...wait...oh shit," Orlando moans through clenched teeth. Before he could shift his body, her small hand strokes along his long bulge, stopping momentarily to administer a firm squeeze on the hard prisoner trapped inside his pants. Lando's body stiffens and his face freezes as he feels a hot wave of passion, jolt from his dick through his entire body. Amy looks up slyly and remarks, "I think he likes me." "I can tell, but this might not be the best place to do something..." "Can I pet him," she asks ignoring his warning. "Hold up shorty, somebody might..." "Sorry but I can't wait, in fact I want to give him a long sloppy kiss, would you like that?" "Am...Amy wait, suppose somebody sees us?" "Well we are in the dinning car," she giggles. Amy held a tight grip on the steel hard member. The dinning car crew seems engrossed in cleaning up the small kitchen area, while two elderly ladies sitting across from them stand up to exit the car. That's when she makes her move. Sliding partially from her seat, she takes a position below the table and uses her jacket to cover her head as she works urgently to free the anxious prisoner trapped inside his pants. It took her a minute or so but once Orlando shifts into the corner of the seat, closer to the window, she manages to liberate the trapped member, which springs out, slapping her in the face leaving a trail of sticking precum on her cheek. The sexy blonde took her time, planting sweet soft kisses on the twitching crown, tasting the salty semen on her tongue and moaning as it sent tingles through her taste buds. Orlando's hands shook nervously as his mind fluctuates between someone discovering their act to the risqué knowledge that the possibility exists by the same token. Amy plunges her mouth down deeply on the cock with little to no regard that anyone within earshot might hear her wet mouth smacking diligently on the rock hard tool. The cock hungry siren sucks Orlando's big black cock with a fury making him wonder if she deliberately tried to make him scream out loud. To maintain his composure, he lightly pounds his balled fist on the table until a heavy set African American woman takes interests. He manages to muster a false smile on his face while nodding his head, hoping she turns back to her chores. The moment the woman looks away; Orlando feels his long thick cock slide down Amy's tight warm throat and then she slides up to smooch, kiss, and lick about the swollen crown. He felt her tongue flickering around and about the circumference of his vein covered dick, leaving not a single inch untouched. Through the darkness of the coat covering her head, Amy manages to watch the huge cock, bobbing, weaving, and twitching before her. Then she extends her hand, taking a firm grip on the base, pulls it downward, and slides it back into her mouth, forcing a low muffle cry from the owner. The Last Car "Plea...please, gawdamaymn," Orlando moans while keeping an eye on the fat woman occasionally glancing over at him. Amy shifts her lip service into high gear, plunging faster and deeper on her lover's tool, feeling it grow harder, and stiffer, knowing she was pushing him beyond the point of no return and then. In an act of sheer desperation, Orlando extends his hand, takes hold of a metal milk container, and squeezes it with all his might. He squeezes the container so tightly that it literally crushes and sends cold white liquid all over his hands, just as his cock splatters hot white liquid right down Amy's hungry throat. His cock fires blast after blast of the white juice, as his traveling mate immediately drains the cum from his gushing tool. Orlando's forced to roll his eyes to the back of his head and when he finally opens them, he spots the older woman standing only a few feet away. "Are you alright baby," she asks with a voice of concern. "Oh...oh yeah...I'm...I'm o...kay," He answers through clenched teeth. Amy holds the pulsing flesh spear in her mouth, occasionally sucking it as she listens to the intruding woman. The woman continues to stand there for a moment or two, carefully observing the young man whom reminds her of her son, then finally turns and goes back to her duties. Amy licks and sucks his cock clean before sliding to the side and back up to her feet. She leans over to her shaken lover and said, "Meet me in the bathroom in the next car. Orlando tries desperately to regain his composure, and stop his body from shaking. He glances up once again to see the face of the disappointed dinning car clerk as she watches Amy walk from the car. It took him nearly five minutes before his cock finally diminishes to a semi-hard state. He quickly slides it back inside his pants, holds his coat over his lower body as he dashes out of the car. Orlando makes his way through the car, ignoring the curious onlookers wondering why sweat ran down his face profusely. He notices the bathroom door slightly cracked and as he reaches out to take hold of the knob, a hand extends out, grabs his hand pulling him inside. Amy wraps her arms around her lover, locking the door behind him then throws her arms over his shoulders and gives him a kiss so powerful, his knees shiver. "You're a hot little bitch huh, you damn near got us both busted," Orlando scolds as he pushes away. "He didn't mind," she counters clutching his growing cock. "I never came so much in my life." "Tell me about it, my belly is full with it." "Wow you're a little freak huh," he snaps. "Yes, a freak just for you." "Well it's time I return the favor." With that said, he turns her around by her shoulders then takes her hands, places them on a air vent handle, squats between her legs, slides her sopping wet panties to the side, then thrusts his head up into her hot wet pussy, wraps his arms around her thighs and literally lifts her into the air as he attacks her honey well. Orlando's long wet tongue flickers and slaps rapidly about Amy's erect clit, causing her to squirm and shake in his arms. "Oh shit...ooooh shit Lando...you're eating my...you're eating my pussy sooo goood!" Orlando's tall dark muscular frame holds the woman steady, with his head buried between her legs. "Eat...ooh gawd Lando, eat my pussy, tear it up daddy...sss...good lord," Amy cries lustfully. The wet sucking sounds fills the small space only adding to the waves of lust passing between them. Lowering her body slightly, Orlando attacks her tight dark pink ass-ring, probing inside the cavity with his slippery wet tongue, which sent shock waves through the distraught woman. He backs up, pressing his back against the door, allowing Amy to drape her legs over his shoulders, while she uses her hands to descend the wall and plant them on the floor. One of the elderly ladies from the dinning car slowly approaches the door, leans forward to read the occupied sign, and hears the sounds of two people moaning inside. Orlando increases his efforts, feeling her funky sweet pussy tremble and cover his face with her love juice. Knowing the sexy young woman's pussy was ripe for picking; he guides, then bends her over the commode and drives his throbbing hot flesh spear right inside her wet waiting pussy from behind. Fully aware that her three month long abstention from sexual activity might catch up to her Amy realizes any penetration would prove literally a hard task, however, taking this huge cock would prove an especially daunting challenge for her and in spite of how sloppy wet her pussy felt, it proves no match for the massive cock invader. Feeling her tight pussy stretching open, Orlando fully anticipating she might scream, leans forward, covering her mouth, just enough to muffle a cry that would surely alert anyone in earshot what was taking place in the restroom. Orlando's long thick ebony lumber plows deep inside Amy's pussy, pries her open and if not for his hand beneath her stomach, she'd fall helpless down into the bowl. Amy reaches out desperately trying to grab anything in front of her and pull away from the massive prick thrusting inside her quivering hole. With his cock drilling deep inside her along with the constant motion of the train, the torrent hot couple experiences a virtual wave of passion on a tsunami scale. Suddenly the train rocks violently, knocking them both off balance. If not for Orlando's quick reflexes, thrusting his hand against the wall they would both collapse, nevertheless, the loss of balance forces his entire cock inside her pussy balls deep and with his hand removed from her mouth, Amy releases a scream that shakes the walls of the tiny room. "ooOOOOOH...OOOH SHIT!" With the tight pussy squeezing firmly around his throbbing man flesh, Orlando's unable to control his rising orgasm and before he can stop himself, his pulsing fuck tool explodes and fires his white load, splattering all over her pink vaginal walls. The elderly woman slowly backs away from the door. Small droplets of her urine and love juice cascade down her legs. By the time the couple exit the restroom, nearly every passenger in the car has their eyes squarely fixated on them. Amy and her strong black lover ignore the eyes staring at them as they quickly leave the car. TO BE CONTINUED................................................................................. The Last Car by RonDixen© Amy and Orlando stagger back and then collapse down into their seats. After a long deep sigh, Orlando exclaims, "Damn shorty, you ought to bottle that shit and put it on the market. "Well after what you just put me through, I'm considering a rape charge." After laughing with a child-like mischievous zeal, the hot couple shares a deep soulful kiss. "Listen I need some rest before we pull this job off, but first I think I need to check this punk out that's got your money." "Actually it's diamonds, but either way, they're very valuable." "Well who is this guy anyway?" "His name is David Jerkewitz, he's sitting in the rear of the last car. You can't miss him; he wears a tacky toupee, big pot belly, fuzzy mustache and can't go more than a few minutes before he starts coughing. I think he suffers from emphysema." "He's gonna suffer from a lot more than that when I get my hands on him." "Wait a minute Lando, don't get carried away. This is about the diamonds. I don't mind you bouncing his fat ass around a little, but not so much that you inflict critical damage and get authorities involved." "Yeah, yeah I got, I got the program, just so long as he goes by that program, cause if he doesn't I'll give his ass the scenic view and dangle him out the window. "Ladies and gentlemen we are approaching the Newark, New Jersey Station. All passengers getting off the train, be sure to take all your belongings with you. We are not responsible for any items you leave behind, also, passengers exiting the train for refreshments, restroom or to smoke are expected back on board in ten minutes, thank you," the voice buzzes from the intercom. "Listen baby, I'm a sweaty stinky mess, I'm gonna run into the station restroom and freshen myself up and when I come back on board, I'm gonna call my sister. She's supposed to meet me in D.C. to bring me some cash." "What's wrong with the restroom on board," he questions. "It's great if you're a sardine. I could use some space and real running water, if you know what I mean?" "Why don't I go with you, I need to freshen up myself, and while we're at it, maybe we can have another opportunity to...you know." "Oh daddy, don't you worry, by the time we reach Vegas, you're going to have your name on this thing," she takes his hand and rubs it against her sopping wet panties, "but I really need to get myself together. I know you understand...don't you?" "Yeah I guess so shorty but damn. Okay do your thang; I guess I'll take a nap while you're gone." "You're going to check out Jerkewitz right?" "Of course don't worry, I got that shit." "I hate to leave you right now Lando, my pussy's still aching from this black steel pipe." She kisses his full lips and runs her fingers along his growing cock. "Take care little lady, you keep doing that and you'll bring that wolf out again." "You keep him on a leash until I get back okay." Amy quickly gathers her bags and moves toward the exit as the train enters the station. IV Michael Norfolk took one last but long drag from his cigarette before flicking it away and boarding the train. He patiently waits for an elderly couple to climb up the steps, but as he raises his foot forward he catches sight of a stunningly beautiful brunette. Wearing a lacey white blouse, displaying plenty of cleavage, skin tight black jeans, and a pair of Melanie red, polka dot wedge heels, a casual appearance by any account but to Michael, she displayed exactly what he looked for in a woman, gorgeously hot, sexy, but didn't take her appearance too seriously. Perhaps that's why he misses the first step and nearly fell. "Are you alright," the woman asks curiously. "Yeah...yeah I'm cool," he answers, feeling a little embarrassed, as he extends his hand, offering her to go first. "Why thank you." "No problem," he replies, struggling to find a way to strike up a conversation. As they make their way into the 7th car, Michael notices a polka dot wallet fall from the woman's purse and immediately seizes the opportunity to play hero and return it." "Damnit, that's the third time, I guess it's time to find a better place for you," she said as if speaking to the wallet, then slides it back inside her matching purse. "Thank you so much," she smiles warmly at Michael. "No problem," Michael answers, feeling dumb for repeating the same words and sounding like a robot. He tries to recover his perceived loss of 'cool', "I like that outfit you're wearing, I think its cool." "Really, some might say it's a little too flamboyant." "Do you feel comfortable?" "As a matter of fact I do." "Good then forget about your critics and concentrate on those who like it, like...." he points to himself, confidently. "How far are you going?" "I hope to a damn chair," someone barks in the growing passengers forming in the isle behind them. "Uh Oh, I think we better find some seats," the woman suggests. Michael quickly points to seats in the next row. "How about right here, I mean if you don't mind." "Why not," she replies. Michael offers the window seat to the lady, allows her time to set down her bag, and passes the larger one to him to place in the over head rack. The crafty young man eye fucks his new travel mate as she bends, twists and squats giving him plenty of eye candy. Finally once she's set up asks; "So what's your name jock?" "Jock, what's up with that," Michael returns fire. "I don't know, you just remind me of some Hollywood guy. You got this ruggedly handsome look, spiky dirty blonde hair, thin mustache, that Yankee t-shirt stretched across your chest, and those jeans grip you in all the right places." "Whoa...talk about sizing someone up. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were a cop," Michael laughs, but all the while checking to see her honest reaction to his own assessment. "Michael Norfolk," he extends his hand to meet hers. A sweet smile glows on her face as she answers, "Ashley Willington. "Well I did spend two years at John Jay." "So did I, when did you attend," Michael asks inquisitively. "96 through 97, but I realized it just wasn't for me. I did some probate work for Legal Aid, and could barely pay my rent, that's when I decided maybe I needed a more financially lucrative line of work," she laughs. "Yeah I know what you mean. I was there between 93 and 96, who knows, maybe I saw you there." "It's a small world, so did you join the force?" "Yeah for a couple of years, but like you, after a couple of years I found it to be an exercise in futility, he lies" "Would you care to elaborate on that," she smiles displaying her inquisitive nature. "Well for one thing, the system's shot, between the bureaucracy and the hypocrisy it's a miracle people get their trashed picked up every morning." "Many times they don't," she chimes in. "Right, the city's run by a billionaire, how's he going to relate to the average Joe, then you have your educated privileged bullshit politicians creating laws that everyone has to follow but themselves. I arrest a high level drug dealer and he's back on the street in a couple of hours. I arrest a politician and I'll probably lose my job, so in the in end you have prisons filled with low level dealers and no count citizens, who lose all their potential to do something worth while and now they're just part of the system." "Has anyone ever told you, you sound like some radical advocate from the 1960's?" "No seriously," he continues, "The people who profit the most during prohibition and the so-called 'War on Drugs' are the very same assholes that bitch, complain and make laws about it." "It took you two years on the force before you figured all that out?" "Yeah, I know, I know, everyone knows there's a rabbit hole, but not till you climb inside do you realize just how deep it goes." "Corruption's the name of the game," Ashley replies. "So are you escaping or just taking a break from the rigors of city life?" Michael shifts in his seat trying to find a credible response to the question and then blurts out, "To tell the truth, I'm going to Vegas to start all over, I mean for the first time in my life, I'm going to just live, relax and have fun." "Well unless you have money like those bureaucrats you spoke about, you're not going to survive out there very long." "Hell, maybe I'll open a P.I. firm, or become a bounty hunter, maybe even a Repo-man, I'm leaving all options open." "Are you...serious, is that actually your plan?" "Fuckin...excuse me, yes that's what I plan to do. Anything's better than just another brainless robot with a badge, serving the wealthy, and ignoring the needs of the people who require your service the most." Ashley extends her hand on top of Michael's arms and exclaimed, "I like that Michael, I like a man who lives by his conviction and to hell with the rules." Michael's glances down at her soft fingernails, painted with a beautiful shade of pink. "Well the way I see it, weather I'm a Repo-man, a bounty hunter or a P.I, I get the job done, get paid and move on to the next thing." "Of course you realize accepting those jobs aren't very different from a robot cop as you call them," Ashley challenged. "True but with these jobs, I'm not so invested in the system or the process of the bureaucratic hypocrisy and correction. In other words I do the job, get paid handsomely, and let the guys in suits and ties have their way. I work and get paid on my terms and I play by the rules that I see fit." Ashley smiles and gently strokes his arms, feeling his hard bicep. "Like I said before, you're a man with conviction. I like that," she smiles as she stares up sweetly into his eyes. "You know it's kind of funny, that you feel so passionately about hypocrisy and corruption. That's partially the reason I'm on this train in the first place." Instead of asking her directly, Michael simply gives her a look which conveys his interest. Ashley slowly kicks off her shoes, places her soft feet against the back of the chair in front of her while stretching innocuously and giving her fellow passenger a full glimpse of her deep cleavage. Michael's eyes grow wide as he stares down and feels his cock come to life; however his policeman's instinct keeps his focus. "So I guess you're not going to elaborate on your last statement." "What's that," she answers, pretending not to know the question. "You said you were on the train because of corruption, would you mind expanding on that statement?" The sexy young brunette smiles at Michael, "In all honesty no, all I'll say is of the three choices you named in reference to a new career, private investigation is probably the best way to go. You do your job, get your money, and still keep most of your dignity." "And how would you know this," he presses. Once again she disregards his question, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a container of yogurt. "Would you like some yogurt?" Now it was Michael's turn to ignore her offer. "Michael," she cries, gently rubbing his muscular arm, "Don't turn into a sourpuss and ruin the journey. Fact is we don't really know each other. Perhaps after a while, I'll give you a few more details, but I sincerely hope that the spirit and temperament of our trip doesn't hinge on how much we divulge ourselves to each other. Unless you lied to me. You are a former cop, and guess what, and even you still are, should I remind you that you're way out of your jurisdiction. Come on, lighten up babe." It took a moment for her message to sink in, but eventually Michael manages to smile, and calmly refocus his thoughts at least for the moment. "Can I at least ask you a more general question?" "Surely" "Are you afraid of the friendly skies? "In other words why the train, right, well I'm not in much of a rush and I had a few days to kill so I decided to try something different, and believe me, this is definitely different. "How about you, how'd you come to board this iron horse?" Michael appears to yawn innocently, it wasn't, "Perhaps I'll elaborate a little later, right now, I could really use a nap." Ashley laughs, to herself and stands up, "While you're in slumber land, I'll go to the restroom and freshen up, if you don't mind." Michael takes note that she picks up her shoulder bag. "I hope you're not ducking out on me." "I'm not that shallow; remember my other bag is in the overhead. I sincerely hope after your nap you'll shake that suspicious policemen's attitude." Michael's actions appear strategic but not totally insincere. His traveling companion barely leaves the car before; he closes his eyes, answering her question as he privately recalls the events that led up to him boarding the train. ************************************************************************ Somewhere in the Bronx, NY on a dimly lit street, a midnight blue Jeep sat curbside at a corner. Occasionally a plume of smoke rises from the window, highlighted by sporadically passing vehicles. "This old bastard called me a curbside shit waffle, can you believe that. He said if he had a gun he'd blow my fucking head off, the prick. All the while I'm trying to be nice, and this fuck, slams the door in my face. I stayed calm, I really did. I kept my cool and knocked on the door again and you wanna know what this prick does, huh, he sics his fucking rottweiler on me. It's a miracle I made it over the fucking fence; I didn't think I could jump so high."