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Fugitive

By: magmaman



I used to be a fairly wealthy man. I designed and sold improved parts for cars, my company was doing pretty well, too.

Enough so that I bought a small ranch, a nice house with stream frontage that had been part of an estate.

The old man that owned it had split it into two sections, several acres in each, giving one half to each of his two sons.

I bought the lower half from the one son, the other lived up above on a newer home he had built, we got along fine.

Then one day there was some bad news, he had been nailed broadside by a drunken driver and didn't make it.

The upper property sold as part of his estate, the new guy and his fat wife were a bit of a pain in the ass.

Still, I could ignore them and all was fine, until a survey report arrived in the mail.

It seemed that the new guy had his property lines surveyed, no big deal, one would think.

Except the old man had paced off the property, and called his paces each three feet, then recorded the property lines in feet.

He had long legs.

He hadn't considered the differences between hillsides and flat land.

The surveyed property lines in accordance to the recordings went right through the middle of my living room!

Then began the court battle, it went on and on and on. I put up a fight, but the law goes by the exact letter of the law, not common sense or what some old man long dead intended.

It was years later before I found out about a little known law called "Adverse possession" and my attorney wasn't smart enough to know about it, either.

It seems that constant and continuous use over 7 years is enough to imply legal ownership. I had been there over 12 years, with an established fence line.

Without the attorney citing the law in court, the established propery lines as indicated in the recordings applied.

Stupid, of course. But it happened. I lost.

My business, bled of all assets. My house and land, whittled down to a fraction of what it was before.

I got drunk that night, I was sitting in my house drinking the last of a full case of beer when the phone rang.

It was the asshole up the hill, getting his digs in, laughing at me. 

I hung up.

He called back, telling me he wanted me out in 30 days or he would have me dragged out.

"I got you, you stupid cocksucker!" was his exact last words to me.

Yes, those were his last words.

I went into my den, picked up my doublebarrel 12 gauge shotgun, loaded it with two buckshot rounds and walked up the hill.

I rang the bell, he opened the door.

He had time to look me in the eyes, and glance down.

I tripped both barrels, almost cut him in half.

I just turned and walked back down the hill, threw some gear into the back of my old truck...

and vanished.

There is a place owned by the government, it is wild and remote. Literally thousands and thousands of acres.

That is where I went, after disposing of the truck off the end of a launch ramp. I knew the current ran fast, the water was very deep. The old truck would end up a long ways away, perhaps one day discovered but it would be a long time if ever.

I carried what I could and walked for days to a spot I had seen years before while out hunting. Some of the gear I hid off the trail where it would not be found.

I knew I would need several trips to bring what I needed in.

I found a huge mound of blackberry bushes, I chopped an opening and cleared it out inside. I had some camouflage tarps that I used to cover the mound.

I dug ditches for drainage, in a month or so of hard work I ended up with a pretty good camp, it was warm and dry inside.

I had a stove I made of rocks, I fashioned a shroud to catch and direct the smoke out, running some pipe I had salvaged at night from a scrap yard down by the river to direct the small amount of smoke away and dissipate it.

No point in attracting the attention of the forest service.

The woods are full of food if one knows where to look, I happened to know. I grew up on a ranch, I knew about wild plants, how to catch animals with snares.

Rabbits and Squirrels were easy. Once I even caught a wild Turkey. Deer were harder to catch, but I got one or two every year or so.

I knew enough not to shoot, that could attract attention, even though I was many miles from anyone.

But I still had that shotgun, and a small pistol.

The creek nearby was full of Trout, they eagerly came to a bit of bait. They were small, less than 8 inches except in the Fall when a few Salmon came.

I made a spear and took several, drying the meat for later.

Several years went by, I saw no one except for my rare trips out to gather up beer bottles and cans for a dab of cash. Sometimes I would find small amounts of metal, I sold that at the scrap yard.

Salt and sugar was what I bought mostly, sometimes a sack of flour.

If there was enough, I would buy one of those red licorice whips, I liked those.

No one recognized me now with the hair over my shoulders and a full beard. They weren't even looking, I knew.

I had simply vanished.

I even had a small garden, a bit of a risk if a helicopter happened to go over and look down.

That almost never happened, though.

One day I was checking my snares and I heard voices. I hid as three men and a young woman went by, speaking quietly in what I knew must be Spanish.

I followed them to an opening, they had Marijuana plants growing. They were traveling in to tend the plants. I watched as they went about their work.

That worried me, their crop was only a mile or so from my camp.

Far too close, and the risk was they could attract attention to me.

The woman was young, perhaps 25 or so. She went down to the creek, squatted down. Then she stood up, pulled her clothes off quickly and slipped into the cold water.

It took her some time to adjust, the water was very cold.

Her breasts were full and sagged a bit, she had a bit of a soft roll across her abdomen. There was a mass of black natural pubic hair, her buttocks were slightly large for her frame.

I found her beautiful, I sat there in the bushes and watched her from less than 20 feet away. I knew I could not be seen, the clothes I wore were just like the brush around me, I had laboriously used charcoal from the fire and different plants to stain everything I wore.

Most of what I wore were skins of animals I had harvested with the snares.

She couldn't stay in the water for long, I watched as she turned and walked out onto the bank, driplets of water sliding down her brown skin.

I realized I wanted her, I felt the growth and my penis filled with blood.

It had been a very long time since I had even thought of that.

I managed to fight off my instinct to leap out and grab her, just take her. So many years I had simply taken what I wanted, but this was different.

I knew it would expose me.

Soon I heard the voices again as the men came down the trail. The woman hurriedly dressed.

I followed them as they walked on down the trail. At the highway, they waited, soon a van came by. They all climbed in and left.

I began to watch for them after that. They came every few days, sometimes just 3 or 4 days, sometimes 10 days. I knew they were trying to not develop any pattern.

Several times I went up to their field, the plants were growing rapidly, getting big.

They had carried in bags of fertilizer, I stole one, hoping they would not notice. They didn't seem to. I used that on my own garden, it really helped.

Several times I watched the woman bathe, each time was the same. She would work, then walk to the small pool and strip down and bathe. The men would come soon, and they would leave.

I knew that after the harvest they would be gone and I would be safe again.

Then came the disaster.

One of them stepped off the trail onto a side animal trail to urinate. I could see him reaching for his fly.

He stepped right into one of my small animal snares, it tripped and jerked his foot out from under him as the branch snapped back. He was too heavy for it to hold him, but he let out a loud yell as he fell.

The rest came running, one of them almost stepped on me as he went by.

There was a flood of discussion in Spanish, I knew they now knew someone was nearby.

I stayed completely still, knowing I was as close to invisible as it was possible to be.

Then the woman appeared. She was looking around, then her eyes fell on me. She squinted, I saw her expression change, then she looked away.

Finally they all left, and moved on down the trail. I didn't follow, I waited for a long time, then returned to my camp.

They were back the next day, and the day after.

I stayed hidden, quietly waiting. I knew they could walk right by the huge blackberry patch that hid my little room and never realize, it was fully grown up and over the tarp I had placed so long ago.

They seemed to give up looking for me, everything went back to that same abnormal pattern, every few days they would appear.

They were starting to get in my way, I needed to be putting in stock for Winter.

One day the woman came down to the pool to bathe, she was earlier than normal. Sensing a possible trap, I moved up the hill to the opening, all three men were harvesting and bundling their crop.

I moved back down to the pool to watch.

I had just settled into my spot.

"I know you are there." she said in perfect English, not turning to look.

I simply stepped out of the bushes.

"Yes, I am here."

She turned and looked at me and smiled, completely unashamed of her nudity.

"I see why you are so hard to spot." she smiled.

"Why didn't you give me away the other day?"

"They are not my friends, they force me."

"Oh."

I thought I understood.

"You can hide me, yes?"  She gave me that dazzling smile again.

"Yes, but you must move quickly." Crazy to try to do this, but it was an impulse.

As she dressed, I moved downstream a ways, turned a rock over just where the water picked up speed to a furious rush down the mountain, then into a waterfall. It would be a full mile long walk through heavy brush to reach the pool below, I was hoping they wouldn't bother.

I knew that all they really cared about was the crop.

"What are you doing?" she stepped up beside me.

"Trying to throw them off track." I said.

I took her hand and led her away, careful to leave no tracks. We moved slowly and carefully until we were several hundred yards away, then we moved very quickly.

I was hoping the men would find the overturned rocks and think she had fallen. A long shot but worth a try.

At my camp, I pulled the fresh bushes from the entrance, then we crawled in as I pulled it shut behind us.

We waited in silence until it was full dark, then I set a small fire and cooked a meal.

She ate greedily.

"So why were you with them?" I asked, finally.

"I was smuggled into the Country, but they never let me go. They made me work, they...they...used me." Her eyes went downcast in shame.

"You are safe now." I told her, not completely sure of that.

No one came after that, several days later I made my way up to the pool. I could see the tracks, they had found my ruse, had they accepted that she had fallen, perhaps died?

I couldn't be sure.

She told me her name was Maria, I told her mine was Dan. Other than that, I simply went about my business, harvesting game, drying some Trout.

I came back to camp to find her weeding the garden. I also saw two small hides she had scraped and hung to cure, and she had carefully clipped the inside thorns that never failed to regrow.

Even the tarp I used for a flooring was swept and cleaned. She simply became part of the camp, part of my life.

I never made a move to touch her, even though I wanted to.

The truth is, I was enjoying her company. 

Several times we walked over to a different nearby pool to bathe, she simply stripped and washed, I did the same. I found myself trying to not stare at her with little success, I caught her smiling at that, too.

At night we slept under the hides I used for blankets, sharing the warmth of our bodies.

I kept my hands to myself. That was also a struggle.

But one morning I woke up, feeling an odd sensation. I realized quickly that she was under the covers, and fondling me.

Things progressed quickly after that, she sighed as I entered her. I came quickly, in just seconds, but I never softened. I just kept on.

The thrill of a woman's bare breasts pressed against my chest, the joy of sex again after more than a decade was almost more than I could handle.

I wanted her all the time, we quickly progressed to making love several times each day. We went through the entire Fall and Winter like that.

The warmer days of Spring arrived early, we saw high 60 degree days by March.

I knew what was going to happen, I planned for it.

I watched the trails, one day the three men came again. There was an area of the trail that opened up wider, just before the top of a rise. It was a perfect ambush point.

They were coming up the trail, I stepped out with my shotgun.

They stopped, looked at me in shock.

"Hablo Ingles?" I asked.

One of them nodded.

"Si'.  Yes, I speak English." He said, a flustered look on his face.

"This is my land." I told him.

They all looked at each other.

"Here is my deal. You plant your crops, then you leave and don't come back. I will tend it, and leave a mark at the road to let you know."

They looked at each other again.

"When you see my sign, you come and harvest. You will bring me $1000.00, Then you leave again."

"Why do you do this?" the one man asked.

"And why for so little?"

"I can't have you giving me away, and that is all I need."

He smiled, seeming to understand.

There was a short conversation in Spanish, they all began to nod.

Maria stepped out of the bushes, they looked at her in shock.

"She is with me now." I told them bluntly.

They all nodded. Something about a double barreled shotgun with the hammers back ensures compliance.

I lowered the weapon, set the hammers down.

They walked on up the trail. I watched, out of their sight as they walked on past. I went on up to the upper field, I could see they had done their work.

Perhaps they would understand my rules. If not, I knew what would happen.

I think they knew, too.

The next day, I took Maria and we walked up to the pool where I had first seen her.

"Will you stay with me?" I asked her.

"Yes." she smiled simply.

"Will you be my wife?"

"Yes." Another smile.

I took her hand, and spoke quietly, offering her my love. I knew we could not go to a church.

We held each other and kissed, then started the long walk back to our camp, our home, meager as it was.

I did not know how long we had, every day could bring my capture. If anyone knew of me, they would come. I knew that, too.

Life is but a moment. I planned on living it as best as I could.

Tomorrow somone could find me. Tomorrow Maria could leave.

So I live for today.

Fugitive



By Likegoodwinecopyrighted December 2011 Here's another short story for you. There is almost no sex to speak of in this short one. Sorry, I put no humor in this one. Enjoy! Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated, as they will help me grow. Thanks to Scalia for his patient editing



They finally caught up with me. I knew this day would come. It was the nightmare that caused so many hours of lost sleep over the years. I have been very good at avoiding detection and living off the grid. But now, after eight-years, my world was collapsing around me. I don't know when they will be here, but it will be soon.

My name is Mark Stewart. I don't use that name anymore , but now that my assumed identity is busted, I might as well use it. You see, eight years ago I left my wife behind, taking my two children with me: Mark Jr., who was eight years old , and Krista, who was six years old. They are now 16 and 14 years old.

My story started with the very common occurrence of a husband discovering his wife in another man's arms. Or discovering his wife with another man's cock in her pussy, to be exact!

I was at my office one morning when I realized I forgot some important papers at home. I needed some figures for an afternoon meeting so I decided to go and fetch them.

I almost rear-ended an unknown car, an old Ford Escort that was parked in our driveway. I assumed it was a friend of my wife, Martha, who stopped by for a coffee. The front door was locked. I let myself in and hurried toward the den. Passing by the kitchen, I looked inside but nobody was there. .

In the den, I retrieved the file folder on my desk when I stopped in my tracks. A familiar sound could be heard from here. You see, the den is on the first floor, just beneath our bedroom upstairs. I could clearly hear the box spring being given a good pounding upstairs, and my wife's voice shrieking loud enough to be heard down here.

I am many things, but certainly not delusional. My wife was upstairs, fucking with somebody. 

I dropped the papers on the desk and headed upstairs. The closer I got, the clearer the fucking session could be heard.

I heard Martha yell "Oh God, yes Steve! Fuck me harder!" .

Then Steve replied, "To whom that pussy belongs? Who fills your pussy the best?"

"You Steve! Only you! Fuck harder now, I am almost there."

Steve! My wife's former college boyfriend was banging her. I almost rushed in the bedroom when a split second of sanity hit me.

Knowing my temper and my strength, I would probably kill the guy, or at least do enough damage to end up in jail. I wanted to hurt them, but not by going to jail. I had a quick look in the bedroom, enough to see Steve screwing my wife doggie style. Somehow, I wished that I was wrong but Steve was proving me right with each hard thrust. 

I quietly went back downstairs, grabbed my papers and headed back toward my office.

I don't know how I made it there in one piece. One hour ago, no make it 20 minutes ago, my life was fine by all standards. I had it all: a very nice looking and loving wife, two kids and a company I owned.  Now I was reliving the ghastly scene of Steve fucking my wife. I had fled the scene, but at each thrust, my mind was pummeling that lowlife.

I didn't want to believe what I just saw. I wished it could all go away, as if my memories of that moment could be swept away. I wished that I could go back with my normal life. But the sight of that asshole thrusting inside my wife was still too vivid. 

After a while, I extracted myself from my car and went to my office. I immediately phoned an old friend who was now a lawyer. He took my call right away and I told him what I had seen.

He explained to me what was likely to happen if I wanted a divorce. Canada is a no fault country in term of divorce, even when the motive is adultery. There would be a split of all assets, including the company I had built up from scratch. He explained that Martha could be said to have taken care of the household and the kids while I was burning myself from 7:00AM till late in the evening to make our life better.

He also informed me that she would most likely gain custody of our two kids and receive a generous alimony. Without a wife, I would still have to support her and her lover. I was pretty sure of that, as Steve was never able to keep a job for long. 

That didn't fit well with what I believed was right or wrong. My friend urged me not to be too rash and try at least to find support in the adultery charges against Martha.

It wasn't hard at all. I had the house phone tapped and a discreet video camera installed that could cover the whole bedroom. I had all the evidence I needed within a week.

Being around Martha without arousing her suspicion was hard. However, since she was used to my long work hours, it was easy to avoid contact with her. Starting that fateful day, I made a habit to come home late when she was already in bed. I know that she was intrigued by my refusal to have sex with her. But there was no way in hell I could fuck her. Even my kisses were half-hearted, a slight contact of my lips on a cheek.

Over the next week, she gave me a few puzzled looks, but without uttering the questions that were probably eating her. No sex and no kisses were not my usual behavior.

Well, she did open up to somebody: Steve! And I caught it all on tape!

"Hi honey! What's up?"

"I'm worried Steve! I think Mark knows something," answered Martha.

"You're shitting me! That idiot hadn't a clue for the last 5 years and now he would wake up? What makes you say that?"

"It's the way he behaved lately. I've never seen him refuse sex and he has all week long. He doesn't kiss me, doesn't hug me anymore. Oh my God! I'll die if he found out!" said Martha.

"Nah! We talked about it before. If he finds out, you will take him to the cleaner and we will finally have our freedom to fuck without a thought for that loser. Let him work his ass for you for the rest of your life" calmly stated Steve.

"Oh, I don't like that, not one bit. Can you come over? I don't feel like being alone now. Please..."

And he did come, three times, once through the front door and twice in her waiting pussy. I had it all on tape.

I decided my revenge: she would get nothing from her betrayal. But it would take me a while to get organized. This meant that I had to fuck her at least once a week, the days I knew she hadn't hook up with Steve. My kisses were a bit more hubby-like too.

Over the next few months, I fucked her on a regular basis. She didn't even notice that I wasn't making love to her anymore. I was simply fucking her like the whore she was without wearing a condom.

But I missed making love. From the first day we met, I had never simply fucked Martha; we made love. We met at a college frat party. I wasn't a student anymore but I had many friends that still were. 

My dad died when I was 17, during my last year in high school. Time was tough for mom and me. While still in school, I found a part-time job with a moving company. I had a hard time graduating high school, with all the hours I was putting in that job, but it sure helped Mom and me. But I made it. The first few months after graduation, I worked like crazy. I never refused overtime. I wasn't well paid – just a few dollars over the minimum wage – but it was a lot for a young 18 years old guy fresh out of high school.

Using my dad's old pick up truck, I even started helping friends and family move their stuff when I was not working. The pay was even better. They didn't need a big moving company when they only had a few items to move, but they always paid me well for helping them out.

That's when I first thought about doing a little moving on the side. My motto: "No task is too small." I started to advertise by putting flyers all over town under peoples' car wipers. Soon, all my free time was busy moving small stuff. Nobody else was offering that service and it showed. Within a month, I had more requests than I could handle. Slowly, I started to do less overtime and do more on my own jobs.

Within a couple of months, I had to quit my old job: I was too busy with my new business and making more money. 

The following year, I expanded by buying a bigger truck and hiring a couple of guys to help me out. That's when I met Martha. I was at a frat party and minding my own business when a girl came beside me while I was sipping on my beer. She was a cute little thing not much over 5', dark haired and with a killer smile. She started to chat with me. She was very friendly. After half an hour of friendly conversation, a drunken guy barged in.

"There you are, Martha!" Steve slurred when he came by us. "I was looking all over for you."

"Bug off Steve, and go back feeling Lisa's tits," answered Martha. "I met somebody way better than you."

I didn't like the way she was pointing at me. That smelled trouble. Sure enough, Steve turned around and had a hard time focusing on me. Steve was a good two inches taller than me, and a few pounds heavier. However, even if he wasn't drunk, I knew I could take him with one arm tied behind my back. 

"Get away from my girl," he said pushing me. Or should I say, trying to push me, as I didn't move an inch.

Unfazed by his failure, he threw a punch at me that I deflected with ease. Using his momentum, I turned him around and pushed him all the way back toward the living room.

"Get lost!" I simply said, and then I turned toward Martha. "What about I give you a ride back before the asshole comes back and I have to kick the shit out of him?"

Martha took hold of my arm and we left the party. 

My truck wasn't very roomy but thank God it wasn't a stick shift. I was prepared to only drop her at her parents, but she attacked me on the way there. Soon, we found a secluded parking and we fucked our brains out. 

We started to date. Within a year, I moved out of my mom's house and I popped the question. Martha said yes. We were husband and wife six months later.

Life was good. I was still working long hours to make sure my business would provide well for my family – yes, we had our first child, Mark, 16 months later, and another one, Krista, two years later.

As the years passed, my business required less work from me. I was still putting many hours each week, but not as much as before. I still pitched in to help the crew but mostly I was managing, doing more overtime work out of my den – soft tasks such as invoicing and bookkeeping.

Everything was perfect. My little business was bringing in over $100,000 in yearly profits , on top of my $70,000 manager salary. And then, I found my wife fucking her old boy friend.

***

I was determined not to loose everything out of that mess. Everyday, I was taking an hour to monitor my wife and her lover. It didn't look good. The more I learned, the more determined I became. Their pillow talks were getting to a point that I had to speed up my plan.

Within the next two months, I took a line of credit with our equity on the house as collateral for my business. On top of that, I sold my business in complete secrecy - at a bargain price . I was also able to get the children and myself some fake IDs including passports. They were not good enough for close scrutiny, but enough for me to make a clean getaway.

I had been working on Martha to go visit her parents. She did finally accept. Yes, I learned while listening to their pillow talk that Steve made a habit to travel with her when she was visiting her folks. That explained why she always stayed in a motel instead of staying at her parents' place. It also pissed me off because her parents knew about her dalliance with Steve.

The morning she left, I cancelled all of our joint credit cards and emptied the bank accounts. I left just enough to cover the month-end payments. With the sale of my business, I had close to one million dollars in cash.

Leaving my car in the driveway, I walked all the way to fetch an old jalopy. I paid cash for it and licensed it using my false ID a few weeks earlier. Then I went and picked up the kids at school. They were thrilled when I told them we would be going to Disneyland on a surprise trip.

I drove down south, crossed the border, and the rest is history. 

***

As young as they were, the kids believed the story I told them later of their mother and grandparents dying in a car accident. They found it harder to accept their name change but believed me when I explained that it was normal for orphans to change names.

For eight years everything went as planned. I was working on a cash only basis and always found employers willing to accept that arrangement. I am strong, I work hard, I am reliable, and I always keep to myself. The perfect employee!

Over the years, the kids started questioning my fabrication. It wasn't long before I had to come almost clean. That was the name change that got me in the end with the kids. An eight years old child might believe it, but not a street-wise 15 years old. I didn't tell them that their mother was still alive. I simply said that I was fleeing Canadian justice, which was not a lie.

Afterward, I was living a constant teenage crisis with Mark. He took off twice that year, coming back home a week or two later, no explanation given. You don't tell your kid that you are fleeing justice without some difficulties in your parent prerogatives, isn't?

But what gave me away was that darn Facebook. Every kid has to be on Facebook, and soon Mark and Krista were also on it. Then they began to look for childhood friends. They found some and they found something else too: their mother.

One day, after work, I came back home. My two kids were sitting at the kitchen table: the atmosphere was frosty.

"Frigging liar!" was all Mark said.

"I beg your pardon young man! It's not a way to talk to..." I started to say.

"Cut it out Dad and follow me. I want to show you something" interrupted Mark. He then walked toward the computer in the living room . As soon as he touched the mouse, the screen cleared and there it was: the picture of Martha on her Facebook page.

"She looks healthy for a dead mother, doesn't she?" Krista said.

While we had the computer on, I decided to explain everything. I went to my room, opened my small handgun safe and grabbed the DVDs. I had stored all the recordings of their mom cheating and her plans to take them away from me.

"Here! Take that!" I said to Mark. 

"Listen to the audio 1, 5 and 7 and if it is not enough watch the video 1 and 2."

Audio 5 was very damning to their mother's case. On that bit of audio, she and Steve were planning their next move to milk as much money of me as they could. The video 2 was a very explicit sex scene between the two lovers and even if the sound wasn't great, their pillow talk was the worst.

"Nothing is sure in a divorce, honey!" said Steve while Martha was still playing with his flaccid cock, trying to put some life back into it. 

"I'm thinking that we would be better off if Mark had an accident, you know, like a car accident or a hunting accident. It could be arranged you know. You would have everything, including a good pay-off from the insurance."

I remember well that part. I had been very close to go back home with my rifle and just shoot them. The worst was Martha's lack of indignation when confronted with that idea.

"Don't say that Steve! It is way too dangerous, too risky. And the kids would hurt too much" was all she said. 

There was too much unsaid and that was the final straw that had me change my getaway planning eight years ago.

"Oh shit Dad!" Mark finally said. "We have to get away from here."

"Did you tell your Mom where we are?" I asked.

"Worst Dad! Way worst! She's on her way with a bunch of cops. We talked on the phone earlier. She called the RCMP up in Canada and she is flying here this afternoon. Anyway, with that guy talking about 'having an accident', can't you just wait her up and have her arrested?"

"She never agreed to it." I answered. "I don't know how long it would have last, but she refused the offer. And with me taking off with you guys, I am screwed.

The weight of the whole world came crashing on my shoulders. I walked toward the bedroom and looked at the open safe. I still had most of the money I left with. I only used some for extra fake IDs I needed over the years. Would I still be able to run and hide? I doubted that. Eight years ago, I gave myself a week's head start. Now, with two grown up kids and maybe a few hours left, it would be almost impossible.

I didn't want to go to jail or to lose my kids, but it seemed that I was in a dire straits. Leaving the money and the IDs in the safe, I grabbed my .38 and hid it in the small of my back in my pants' waistband. Then I closed the safe. I had feared for years that dreaded moment where the only way out would be a permanent one.

I turned around and Mark was watching me.

"And what do you think you are doing?" Mark asked.

"Er... I will take to the woods. I can't stay here. Stay with your sister and wait for your mother."

"Yeah, right! Take to the wood for what? Escape? Without taking any of that pile of money? Don't take me for a dumbass Dad! I know what you are thinking and I won't let you!" said Mark .

"I don't want to go to jail, to lose you guys or to see your triumphant mother helping the cops nab me. With more time, I could have done something, but I know when I am toast Mark. Just let me be!" I muttered.

Krista was now at the door of the bedroom. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Dad thinks he's fucked and he plans on the easy way out. He plans to shoot himself," replied Mark.

"No...!" yelled Krista. She threw herself at me, grabbing me with despair.

Suddenly Mark rose to the occasion.

"Krista, go to my room, grab my big duffel bag and start filling it up with some clothing, mine, yours and Dad's. Now!"

Krista left the room.

"And you, open that safe, grab all the money and whatever else you need!" 

Mark then took a cell phone from his pocket. Since when did he have a cell phone? He punched in a number then looked up at me.

"Hurry, we don't have all day!" he said. 

Then his call went through. "Hey Bro! I need a favor. Jump in your truck and come right away to pick me up at the usual... Yeah see you there!"

Well, it finally paid off to have a street-smart kid. With two practice rounds already at running away from home, Mark had us in a vehicle slowly heading east. His friend went back home and is now driving our car west toward LA, plenty of gas money and enough to buy a plane ticket for the return. 

Technically, I am the only fugitive in the pick-up truck. But to my amazement, now I am running away with my two kids who follow willingly, knowingly. Who knows now how long we can last? We might even decide to cross back the border and return to Canada. Who knows? Not my ex-wife!



Fugitive Wife



When you have only street smarts, and no academic credentials whatsoever, there is a real dearth of high paying jobs that are open to you. However, I do have something else besides street smarts going for me - I'm six three, two forty pounds, can bench press 450 pounds, and have a year's training in Brazilian jujitsu. Perfect qualifications for a bounty hunter/soldier of fortune. The only problem, at least for me, with bounty hunting is that it is either feast or famine - plus I don't handle money real well.

When some really sketchy looking guys were willing to front me $50,000 for a job I suddenly forgot how low-life they looked and seriously considered it. It seems that some diamonds that they owned had been stolen.

"Why not go to the cops?" was my obvious question.

"No cops Rick man; you do job for us or not; when diamonds come back, we add $200,000 more," a really ugly big guy who didn't speak English real well said as he waved a stack of hundreds that he swore amounted to fifty grand.

"OK; let me know what you know about who might have taken them," I replied after I counted out the dough.

"Bad people. Jimmy Grant and three-four thugs he work with," was the reply.

"If you already know who took them why not get them yourself?"

"No one - mean every one - scare shitless of Grant; why we ask professor like you, Rick man."

"You mean 'professional?'" I chuckled.

"Yeah - professor like you," the big ugly guy responded.

"OK - but I also want expenses since I have to hire a computer dude to do some research and get my SUV all tricked out."

"How much?"

"Probably another $25,000; I'll take $5,000 now for my research, non-refundable," I said counting out 50 hundreds and then handing the rest of the stack of C-notes back to the big ugly dude. "I'll know by tomorrow if I'll take the case, in which situation you give me the other $70,000 down payment."

"Deal. Give to you next day - get to work, Rick man," the big ugly guy replied, handing me a card with two cell phone numbers and an email address on it, as he and his two grungy little buddies scurried out of the barn that I used for my office with his cash stuffed in an oversized fanny pack.

I had my computer-geek cousin Bertram find out everything about Jimmy Grant that he could. Bertram is socially inept - hell, he probably got the shit kicked out of him at school every day with a pussy name like "Bertram" - but really good with computers. He loves me because I treat him like a hard-ass rather than the pussy that he is, and call him "Hot Shit" instead of Bertram.

"Here's four grand, Hot Shit. I want everything there is to know about Jimmy Grant and his associates by ten tomorrow morning," I told Bertram in his mother's - my aunt's - basement, keeping $1,000 of the non-refundable advance for myself for my trouble.

Bertram's eyes got as big as saucers -with that cash he could involve a few of his geek buddies and if he worked all night - which he loved to do since he had no social life - could get it done. "Sure Rick, you bet; see you at ten a. m." he virtually giggled he was so bubbly.

When I went to Bertram's lair the next morning at ten to ten he, and one of his giddy geek buddies, had a whole ream of stuff for me. I didn't like what I was reading. Jimmy Grant seemed to be one hard-nosed son-of-a-bitch. Although he was good-looking, he had evil eyes and a permanent snarl on his face, had skidded around the law beating raps his entire life, although there was an outstanding Nebraska petty theft warrant, and more importantly, one for armed robbery. He also associated with four big ugly mother-fuckers who looked like they ate nails for breakfast, and all of whom seemed to have a fascination with guns, and one of which had an outstanding Nevada warrant for assault, and two had outstanding Oregon warrants for extortion, as well as long criminal records.

"Where'd you get all this great stuff, Hot Shit?" I asked Bertram as I was leafing through it.

"I got my sources, got my sources," he giggled, mirrored by his little geek buddy.

After twenty minutes I was pretty sure that I was going to decline the diamond-retrieval job when I came across something that might change my mind. "Who the fuck is this?" I asked Bertram, pointing to the photo of a woman hotter than a Carolina Reaper chili pepper (if you don't know what that is, look it up; this ain't no Scientific American article).

"Grant's main squeeze," Bertram chortled.

"Got any other photos of her?" I asked.

"Thought she might interest you," he chortled again, pulling out two 8 x 10 glossies from the bottom of the sheaf of papers.

I've had my share of pussy, but given my lack of sophistication and intellectual acumen most of it has been low to medium class pussy. The woman in the photos was the highest class pussy that interested me that I had ever seen (prissy pussy isn't my thing; I go more for the Gina Carano and Ronda Rousey types). Some college dude probably wouldn't go for her looks, but she looked perfect to me.

She had jet-black shoulder length hair, black eyes, a gorgeous face made up in a slutty manner, and what appeared to be a couple of half-inch scars on it. In the most cock-inflating photo she was dressed in Daisy Duke shorts with a bare midriff and skimpy top which highlighted her big tits. He legs were long - hell they looked six feet long, and muscled, as were her arms. With low heels on she was as tall as Jimmy.

"How big is this Grant guy?" I asked Bertram, hoping that he didn't see that I had tented my pants.

"Six one, one ninety," Hot Shit shot back.

That would make her, without heels, about five eleven to six feet tall, one hundred thirty five to one hundred forty pounds. I could already taste her cunt on my tongue.

"What's her name?"

"Don't know her real name - Jimmy calls her 'Killer Bambi.'"

"Did you hack into Grant's credit card and bank card and cell phone activity?" I asked Hot Shit while still mesmerized by the photo of the bitchin' broad.

"Got is all right here? And the cell phone data for his main stooge, Bret James, too," he snickered, reaching for another pile of papers.

By noon that day I met with the big ugly dude - finally got his name, Chan Chan, reallcutesy, huh? - and accepted his $70,000 advance. My SUV was already being modified in a buddy's body shop, including by adding totally run-flat tires. After getting the money and some more contact information from Chan I went to my arsenal and picked out the pieces that I needed, with plenty of extra ammo.

*************** 

Since Jimmy probably was certain that he was stealing from crooks and not legitimate business men, he wasn't as careful as he should have been. I trailed him to a cabin in the badlands of South Dakota less than twenty four hours after starting after him. Using illegal cell phone tapping equipment that Bertram had scored for me about eighteen months back, I knew that he, his four thugs, and Killer Bambi would be there for another two days or so while he made arrangements to fence the diamonds. I started planning.

When in late afternoon two of the thugs went into town, probably to get some food, I decided that the time was right. I snuck up to their cabin and heard, and partially saw, Jimmy and Killer Bambi fucking up a storm in a bedroom with the other two goons playing cards and with the radio blaring away, obviously to cover up the sounds of fucking. I busted into the cabin and told the thugs not to move. They had other ideas and reached for their handguns. I shot both of them in the head with my suppressed signature .45 ACP Korth Classic (you'll have to look that one up too - a hint, though; it may be the most expensive handgun in the world). I didn't want to kill anyone, but these were bad dudes and I wanted even less for me to be killed. After I shot them I policed my brass and cursed that I'd have to install the backup barrel for my Korth so the slugs in the crooks heads could never be traced to my gun.

I listened at the door to the bedroom while Killer Bambi was swearing a blue streak and the bed springs were getting a real noisy workout. I burst in on Jimmy and Killer Bambi as she was riding him cowgirl and he was fondling the most fabulous tits that I had ever seen. I Tasered him with a maximum charge - which sent a jolt into Killer Bambi too. He was rendered inoperable, but Killer Bambi wasn't. 

Killer Bambi attacked me kicking, swinging, and screaming. Shit she was tough to deal with not only because she was vicious and strong, but because I was more interested in watching her tits flop than fighting her, and there is no way that I was going to hit that gorgeous face even if it was contorted in anger. After receiving a few blows I finally was able to take my eyes off of her tits for a few seconds and when the opportunity was right got her in a rear naked choke hold with my left arm careful not to squeeze hard enough to really hurt her. Then with my right hand I pulled out a syringe from my pants pocket, removed the cap with my teeth, and injected her with a knock-out drug. She was limp in less than two minutes.

I tied-up, gagged, and blind-folded naked Jimmy before he started gaining awareness. Then I looked around the cabin and found the container of diamonds within ten minutes - they didn't hide them well. I then dressed the limp Killer Bambi with just a loose-fitting top and shorts (it was summer) not being able to resist licking her nipples and cunt as I did so, and gathered up everything that I thought were her clothes and put them in a suitcase that was in the bedroom. After I carried the suitcase and diamonds into the back of my SUV and locked the diamonds in a fire and explosion-proof lockbox, I put her purse on the front passenger's seat.

I drove up to the cabin's front door, retrieved Killer Bambi, threw her over my shoulder, and then handcuffed both of her wrists to metal bars in the back seat of my SUV that were designed for that purpose.

As I drove away I made a couple of calls. The first call, with my regular cell phone, was to Bertram as I held and viewed two driver's licenses from Killer Bambi's purse. "Hey Hot Shit, you really did good with that information you got me. But I really need you to follow up. I'm holding two driver's licenses with Killer Bambi's photos on them. The first is a Nevada license in the name of Barbara Gaines, #xxx-xx-xxx. The second is a Nebraska license in the name of Jillian Brooke, #xxxxxxx. Try and find out if one is legit, and if there are any outstanding warrants."

"Got it Rick. Anything else?" Bertram asked.

"Yeah; continue to keep tabs on Grant's cell phone and credit cards, and starting tomorrow morning, every few hours check the South Dakota State Police incident reports to see if they've filed one about the 911 call I am about to make for the cabin at the end of Rural Route 387."

"You know that I'll have to hack into The State Police database and that's illegal, don't you?" Bertram giggled.

"I told you not to tell me shit like that - just do it."

"I'll have to use a buddy's equipment - could cost another $500."

"Just do it Hot Shit it's worth 500 bucks to me," I said in exasperation, then ended the call.

The second call was with a burner phone to the South Dakota State Police using a voice modifier app. "A concerned citizen here. If you want to find Jimmy Grant who has an outstanding warrant from Nebraska for armed robbery; you can find him at the cabin at the end of Rural Route 387. Caution is advised, he's armed and dangerous;" then I terminated the call. 

By the time that I reached a rural motel with a rear hidden from a view of the road, and rented the end room, Killer Bambi was coming to life. I didn't want to give her any more knock out drug in case it had a bad effect on her. She was still groggy when I carried her into the room that I had rented and cuffed her to the bedpost.

My cell phone rang; it was Bertram.

"What's up Hot Shit?" I asked.

"He, he - I'm sooo gooood," he cackled.

"I know - that's why I call you 'Hot Shit.' Now stop patting yourself on the fucking back and tell me what you found out."

"Well Jillian Brooke is Killer Bambi's real name, and there is an outstanding Nebraska warrant for her issued the same day as Jimmy Grant's for the same offense, the petty theft one. She does not have one for armed robbery, or anything serious."

"I'll give you a big sloppy kiss the next time that I see you Hot Shit," I chuckled.

"I'd rather have another 200 bucks Rick I ain't no homo."

"I'll wire it to your account. Email a copy of the warrant to my phone. Also, keep yourself available because I think that there are going to be a few more surprises associated with this case; and remember to keep checking up on Grant and the State Police," I said just before terminating the call.

************** 

I knew that the knock-out drug that I had given Jillian - which I chose to call her instead of "Killer Bambi" - would make her dehydrated. I got a bottle of water and put it to her lips. She was groggy, but thirsty, and kept sipping until all twelve ounces were consumed.

After I brought her suitcase, and one for me, in from my SUV she was almost completely awake, even though based upon her voice her throat was still dry. "Who the fuck are you, and why did you Tase Jimmy and kidnap me?"

"My name is Rick Carlisle, I've been hired to recover the diamonds that you stole, and I took you with me for two reasons."

"Yeah! What reasons?"

"The first reason was to get you away from Jimmy since the South Dakota Police will be picking him up - if they haven't already. The second reason is - after I return the diamonds - to turn you in on your outstanding Nebraska warrant."

"You a bounty hunter?"

"Yeah."

"You must be really hard up to bring in someone charged with petty theft in the wasteland that calls itself Nebraska. Plus, you must really be corrupt to work for a fucking Chinese Gang."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Are you really that fucking stupid? You don't know who we lifted the diamonds from? The Long Zi Group!"

"Say what?"

"You stupid fuck, you probably don't know that they're blood diamonds either, do you?"

I had to admit, Killer Bambi - that is Jillian - had shocked the shit out of me.

"You mean to tell me that Jimmy was either brave or stupid enough to steal from an organized crime unit?"

"He'd had two previous run-ins with them that didn't go so well for Long Zi. They are scared shitless of him; I'm betting that's why they hired you."

I did remember Chan telling me that his people didn't want to mess with Grant themselves. "Did he kill Long Zi members?" I asked her.

"How fucking stupid do you think that I am? I'm not saying any more," Jillian replied with an acerbic tone. After a pause her tone changed. "I need to pee."

"OK; but we need to have a talk first," I replied, pulling up a wooden chair from a small desk close to the bed that she was handcuffed to. "I have no intention of harming you, but it may be a while before I can turn you in to the Nebraska authorities. When we are in public I would prefer not to handcuff you but if you try to escape I will and if anyone questions me will just show them the warrant. If I find that I can trust you not to escape I not only won't harm you, but will treat you well."

"What does that mean - you're going to do me a favor by fucking me?"

"Actually, Jillian, despite the fact that I think that you are the sexiest woman that I have ever seen in my life we will NOT be fucking unless you beg me to," I responded stone-cold serious in tone, although of course hoping that it would occur.

I was surprised to see that my words startled her; they weren't quite what she expected.

Without any further words being exchanged I carried a hammer and nail into the bathroom, nailed the old wooden window in a position where it was just cracked a few inches, undid her cuffs, and with a sweeping arm gesture motioned for her to enter the bathroom. She closed the door and I sat outside of it in the chair.

When she came out she said "I feel filthy. I want to shower. Did you bring my clothes with us?"

"In your suitcase, I said pointing to it."

Jillian rifled through her suitcase, found a bra, some panties, some shorts and a top, then looked me in the eye. "Since I was naked when you found me, how did I end up with these clothes on?" she asked, motioning to the pair of shorts and top - no undergarments - that she had on."

"I dressed you - which is one reason why I know that you're the sexiest woman that

I've ever seen in my life - by a longshot!"

She almost smiled before she regained her composure and sashayed into the bathroom with her new clothes.

Before she closed the door I said "I'm going to be right outside our room making a call. Don't exit the room or try anything else funny - I want this to be easy for both of us."

She didn't respond, but I knew that she had heard me.

I may be a stupid shit, but I didn't know what "blood diamonds" were, and had to find out. Another call to Bertram was in order. As soon as I heard the shower start I went outside, and seeing no one else around called him again.

"Hey, Hot Shit; I got something else for you."

"Shoot, Rick."

"What the hell are 'blood diamonds?' Jillian says that's what the ones they stole from Chan are. Also, see what you can find out about the Long Zi Group - she says that Chan is a member of that organized crime family."

"Fuck, Rick; what have you gotten yourself into?" Bertram quizzed.

"Never mind; just find out the answers and call me back as soon as you do."

Soon after I walked back into the room, Jillian exited the bathroom, dressed in her new duds. Despite the fact that she had wet hair, she looked stunning. My eyes must have popped out of my head because after she stared at me staring at her she quipped "From the look on your face you are going to rape me, aren't you asshole?"

I regained my composure. "Sorry if I was staring, Jillian. I definitely will NOT be raping you." After than statement I started talking about where we were going to go for dinner, and what she liked to eat. We had a basically normal conversation for a few minutes, and then my cell phone rang. It was Bertram.

"I have to take this call, Jillian. Do I have to cuff you to the bed, or will you swear that you're not going to try to do something stupid and try and get away while I'm on the phone outside."

"You mean that you'd believe me?" she asked with true puzzlement in her voice.

"Yes," I matter-of-factly replied.

"No need to cuff me," she flatly responded.

I took Bertram's call outside. "Whatcha got?"

"I got info about blood diamonds; I'll get the Long Zi stuff later today."

"Shoot!"

"Blood or conflict diamonds is a term used to refer to diamonds mined in a war zone and sold to finance an insurgency, an invading army's war efforts, or a warlord's activity. They are illegal in the U S under what's called the Clean Diamond Trade Act, which is enforced by the Federal Government and violation can result in a ten year prison sentence as well as confiscation of the diamonds and a $50,000 fine," Hot Shit said, either sounding like a lawyer or quoting from Wikipedia, I couldn't tell which for sure.

"Are they hard to sell?" I asked.

"Yeah, but there are a number of fences, some not known by name but only by reputation, that will handle them in the U S."

"Thanks - keep working on Grant, the S. D. State Police, and Long Zi," I said as I terminated the call.

If I could confirm that it was blood diamonds locked in the safe in my SUV, I sure as hell would not be returning them to Chan. My life just got much more complicated.

When I returned to the room, Jillian was reading a magazine. "Did you decide what you want to do for dinner?" I asked.




Fugitive Wife



"Since you love the Chinese so much, why don't we get that - if there's a Chink restaurant in town."

"Fine by me," I said.

I opened the passenger's side door to my SUV. "What, are you some sort of fucking gentleman?" she inquired with a sneer.

"Actually, yes, Jillian; but that's not the only reason I opened the door for you. See, I'm going to cuff you to the bar welded to the inside of the door; I need to build up a little more trust before I put you in a position where it would cost me a lot of time and effort to retrieve you.

"Whatever," she mumbled, holding out her right arm.

I closed the door, stood on the running board, leaned in through the open window, and cuffed her. "That's not too tight, is it?" I asked.

"A little," she replied, probably not because it was, but just to see what I'd do.

I released the cuff on her wrist, redid it a little looser, and asked again. "How about now?"

"It'll do," she mumbled, although I could tell that she was pleased that I had accommodated her.

We found a half-decent Chinese restaurant only about a mile from the motel, I uncuffed her, and we walked in. I had her sit with her back against a wall while I sat next to her - not across from her - in a location where I could see who came in and who went out of the front door.

We actually had a decent conversation over dinner. I tried to pump her for information but she wasn't very forthcoming until after her fourth Tsingtao (she ended up consuming eight), a Chinese beer that I thought tasted like horse piss (not that I drink horse piss, by the way, just what I imagine horse piss would taste like), but that she seemed to like. My impression after a two hour meal's worth of conversation, especially from that that flowed after the fourth beer, was that she was very bright but misguided because of rough circumstances growing up. One thing that was clear was that she hated Nebraska.

When we got back to the room without incident she went into the bathroom and returned naked. If not drunk, she was feeling no pain. "How about a nice fuck, Rick," she asked sauntering up to me and putting her hand on my chest.

I almost burst my zipper my rod got so hard so fast.

"Uh...sorry Jillian but you're drunk and you'll regret it in the morning. Either that or you think that you'll be able to get away once I've gone to nirvana after fucking your sweet pussy." I gently pushed her away, pulled a T-shirt out of my suitcase that in view of my bulk compared to hers would likely drape down to her knees. As I handed her the 2XL T-shirt I said "Go back into the bathroom and put your panties back on and this over it."

"You're no fun," she mumbled as she took the shirt and went back into the bathroom.

After she returned to the main room I cuffed her to the metal headboard, got out a new pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt, went into the bathroom, showered, and started to get into the only bed with my clean underwear on.

"You can't leave me cuffed like this all night," she moaned. "My arm will be dead by morning.

"Well, I've got to cuff you," I said. "I'm a sound sleeper and I can't trust you."

Slurring her words slightly she retorted "Then get out some leg shackles - I now you have some - and shackle my left wrist to your right one. I can't get away then!"

That actually sounded reasonable. I did as asked, and made sure that my Korth and the handcuff and SUV keys were on my side of the bed, as far away from her as possible, even though since the Korth was a signature gun she couldn't fire it.

I had a little trouble getting to sleep. After laying awake about a half hour I heard mild snoring from Jillian's side of the bed. When she shifted her position and laid her head on my shoulder I mumbled "No body contact, Jillian." But she was clearly sound asleep and didn't hear me. Except for how stiff it made my cock her head on my shoulder was actually very nice, and I was soon in dreamland.

The night passed without Jillian trying to escape and I got a pretty good night's sleep. I did wake up embarrassed, however, since my morning wood was standing proud through the flap in my boxers, and Jillian was laying on her side supporting her head with her hand and an elbow on the bed. "Nice cock," she smiled.

I quickly covered up, then got dressed, I'm sure turning red as a beet. Jillian simply chuckled.

First thing in the morning after I got dressed, I called Hot Shit again and he told me that the South Dakota State Troopers' incident report was that they found blood in the cabin at the end of Rural Route 387 but no people or dead bodies, although there was other evidence that people had been there. "They collected some DNA but aren't doing anything further at this time except to put out an APB on Grant," Hot Shit concluded.

"OK - I'll have to be on my toes," I replied. "How about the Long Zi Group?"

"Fortunately they seem to be the most inept of the Chinese gangs in the U. S. but still not people to be underestimated. They have some wicked dudes, and members in a number of different cities," Hot Shit replied.

"Well I can't give them the blood diamonds," I said.

"While researching, I came up with a great idea," Hot Shit boldly stated.

"OK; I'll bite; what's your fabulous idea Hot Shit?"

"Multiple government agencies deal with them. I suggest that I contact all of them to coordinate a sting. You bring the diamonds back, put them in a traceable container, get paid by Chan, then have the government agencies close in on them a day later."

Actually, it wasn't such a bad idea. I just wondered if Hot Shit could pull it off by himself. "Give it a try Hot Shit; if it works I'll give you $25,000."

Bertram giggled like a little girl, said something unintelligible, and hung up.

Jillian and I went to breakfast. She insisted on wearing Daisy Duke shorts and a tank top so every guy who saw her almost popped his eyes out of his head. "You like showing off, don't you?" I rhetorically asked with a chuckle as about the 50th guy ogled her.

"If you got it, flaunt it," she snickered.

"There's no doubt that you've got it," I honestly replied. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her grin.

After breakfast we loaded up the SUV and drove to another town; one much bigger. When we got into the motel room Jillian whined "I'm getting bored, dude. Let's do something besides drive, eat, and sit in a motel room."

"I saw a gym driving in; do you work out?" I asked.

"Every chance I get. I didn't get these abs and thighs being a couch potato," she snickered.

"Guess not," I chuckled. "You have to promise not to try and escape while we're in the gym, though, since I can't bring you in there in cuffs. Got it?"

"I still can't believe that you trust me, but yeah - got it."

"Promise?"

"I fucking promise," Jillian grinned, giving a poor imitation of the "Scout's Honor" sign.

The woman was a workout fiend. Of course she got the attention of everyone there but not just because of her looks, but because of her workout. Except for some upper body exercises, she kept up with or surpassed me and I consider myself in great shape. She disappeared into the bathroom for awhile, but returned and seemed to take her pledge not to escape seriously.

After we showered in the motel - I cuffed her to the sturdy metal headboard while I showered - we played miniature golf (I let her beat me, which thrilled her to no end), I had some more discussions with Bertram, and then we went to dinner. I let her choose the restaurant and treated her with respect and nicely the entire time. She looked at me funny each time that I did something nice for her, or said something nice to her; I guess she wasn't used to be treated that way.

She liked the beer at the restaurant even more than at the Chinese one the night before, and as with the previous night became quite chatty after her fourth.

Jillian again wore my oversized T-shirt and a pair of panties to bed, while I wore boxers and a T-shirt. I again shackled her to me, but didn't put the leg shackles on her. Once I heard her start light snoring I quickly went to sleep.

************** 

Bertram was still working on his idea the next day, and said that from what he could tell Jimmy Grant was on the move in my general direction, so Jillian and I moved to another town, closer to Nebraska, that was about one hundred miles away. I was very accommodating of everything that she wanted to do, including stopping at two tourist attractions. "I never got to go on vacations during my shitty childhood," she explained to me as she ogled fake dinosaurs at one stop, and acted like an excited ten year old at "Flintstones' Bedrock City" in Custer, South Dakota.

When we left the Flintstones' combination amusement park and tourist trap she was literally beaming and giggly as she held onto my bicep and genuinely said "Thanks; that was a ton of fun." I said nothing to diminish her euphoria even though I thought that it was the hokiest thing in the world; "Glad you liked it," was my only, smiling, reply.

When we went to dinner that night - again a restaurant of her choice - as she was getting drunk on the local craft beer - she started to talk about Jimmy, so I pumped her for as much information as I could without getting her too suspicious. Some particularly compelling bits of information were (slurred words, hiccups, and unintelligible phrases removed for clarity):

"Ya know, even though Jimmy is good lookin' and fucks pretty good, I only hooked up with him because I needed to get the hell out of my fucking horrible home town. He's really kind of a jerk, and a mean dude."

"How long have you two been together?" I nonchalantly asked.

"Probably five months, but we've only been married three weeks."

That knocked my socks off.

"I didn't know that you were married. Why did you marry him if you think that he's mean and a jerk?" I carefully quizzed.

"He essentially forced me into it. He said that a wife can't testify against her husband, and he planned to do some bad shit. You know he killed two guys when we stole those blood diamonds, don't you?"

"No; I didn't know that," I mused. "Where did you two get hitched?"

"Some god forsaken town in Nebraska, where we had the warrant put out on us for petty theft for stiffin the marriage chapel and taking some booze and wedding cake with us."

That surprised me because I thought that the warrant would have listed Jillian Grant instead of Jillian Brooke.

"Did you take Jimmy's last name?"

"Fuck no; I wasn't figuring on the 'to death do us part' shit; he was just a ticket out of a hell hole."

As always I treated her like a lady, opening doors for her and stuff as we left the diner. "I could get used to this gentlemen shit," she laughed when I opened the SUV door for her and helped her in.

While Jillian was showering that night - taking an inordinate amount of time probably because she was more lit than the previous two nights - I called Bertram. "Hey, Hot Shit; one more thing for you to check right away. Jillian says that she married Jimmy Grant in the county in Nebraska where the petty theft warrant was issued about three weeks ago. Check that out then text me the results, pronto," I barked.

"Why the rush, dude?" he inquired.

"Just do it," I huffed. "I'll call you early tomorrow about the little sting you're planning."

Bertram's text a few minutes later confirmed Jillian's marital status.

When I went back into the hotel room, Jillian was stumbling out of the bathroom with my 2XL T-shirt again serving as her nightgown, and she mumbled "Gd Ngt" as she fell into bed. By the time I had collected new underwear and was about to go into the bathroom, she was already asleep. I covered her up, gently kissed her forehead, and promised myself that I'd shackle her to me once I went to bed.

Jillian was snoring peacefully when I crawled into bed. I just loosely shackled one of her ankles to mine and almost instantly fell asleep, her snoring providing more "white noise" than being an impediment to sleeping.

I thought that I was dreaming when in the middle of the night I felt something at my crotch. There was enough light from an outside halogen bulb streaming through a space between the drapes for me to see what was happening. Jillian was sucking my cock. I started to say "What the fuck are you doing?" but that would have been a truly stupid question, and I was feeling so good that I didn't want it to stop. But stop it did about a minute later when she mounted me and impaled her white-hot pussy on my upright flagpole.

That woman could fuck with a capital "F;" no, on second thought all caps! I put my hands under her T-shirt and latched onto her jiggling big honkers as she rode me like she was riding a prize bull. Our substantially simultaneous orgasms rocked my world like it never had been rocked before.

When our male and female parts finally disengaged - after a good half dozen after-shocks - I was euphoric. When she buried her head into my shoulder and I gently stroked her face and hair I felt about as content as I ever had, and immediately went back to sleep.

When I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window Jillian's head was still on my shoulder. I eased away from her out of the bed, unshackled myself from her, and went to the head. When I returned she was stirring. I immediately unshackled her and sat next to her.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"About 8:30," I replied.

She smiled. "I've got to hit the head; those nine beers have worked their way through my system." Actually it was really eleven beers, but why be picky.

When she returned form the bathroom she saw the quizzical look on my face, sitting in the same spot where she had left me.

"What?" she asked.

"I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth - because fucking you last night..."

She cut me off "I was the one who fucked you," she snarled.

"OK - because being fucked by you was the best experience of my life. However, what the hell brought it on?"

"Three reasons, not necessarily in any particular order. First, I was drunk; second, I was horny; third, no one has ever been nicer to me than you were last three days and nights; Oh wait, I guess there's five reasons," she giggled. "Fourth, it was clear that you never were going to rape me so if I wanted to get fucked I'd have to instigate it. Fifth, I want you to like and lust after me so much that you won't turn me into the cops and will give me a share of the diamonds."

I guess that was straight-forward enough for me.

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. "Could it happen again?" I asked, probably blushing slightly.

"Maybe," she chuckled. "I really did like your cock. Keep treating me nicely, and who knows."

There was no doubt in my mind that I'd be treating her nicely. Like I said before, I've only had the equivalent of the hamburger or select cut of pussy in the past. Now that I've tasted prime filet my mouth is drooling.

As we were getting ready to leave, Jillian looked a little nervous. I decided to tell her a conclusion that I'd come to. "Jillian, I've decided what I'm going to do with you. I'm going to give you $50,000 from my reward money and put it in an account that only you can access. I'm going to turn you in to the Nebraska authorities, get you the best lawyer, and get your record clean after you spend a short time in jail. I'll tell them that you turned yourself in. Hopefully the $50,000 will get you off to a good start on a better and crime-free life so you won't have to associate with the likes of Jimmy Grant any more, and you can divorce him in Vegas. I hope that you're OK with that."

Jillian proved that she wasn't as big of a hard-ass bitch as she portrayed because she started sobbing, and buried her head in my shoulder. I comforted her. Suddenly she snapped out of it. "There's something I have to tell you. I called Jimmy Grant from a pay phone when I went to the washroom yesterday, and he may be waiting to ambush us when we leave town."

"What?" I snapped.

"Sorry; I didn't realize that I'd have so much fun fucking you, or that you'd treat me so right."

I thought for a second. Then I got out my smartphone and did a quick search including on Google Earth, and found what I wanted. 

"Let's use this to our advantage," I said. "You call Jimmy, tell him that I'm in the shower - we'll have it running - and tell him that at the gas station closest to the 102 mile marker on route 89 that you'll get me to stop for you to take care of a 'female problem' in the bathroom. I'll be ready for them, and have undercover cop cars there too."

We turned on the shower, just outside the bathroom door she called him. "I have to make this quick Jimmy; he's in the shower and I have the phone for only a few seconds. At the gas station closest to the 102 mile marker on Route 89 I'll claim a female problem. He's such a simple asshole that he'll stop. Take care of him while I'm in the bathroom. The diamonds are in a safe in his SUV. I'll delete this call from his phone record."

"Got it," someone on the other end - presumable Jimmy - said. Jillian then immediately terminated the call.

"You should be an actress," I chuckled.

She smiled. Then she ran a finger over the side of my face and my chest. "We have another forty minutes before checkout time," she mumbled in a super-sultry voice. "Got any ideas on how to pass the time?"

I couldn't believe it, but as I pounded into her consummate pussy with her heels on my shoulders, while I simultaneously manipulated the marvels on her chest, I felt even more euphoric than during the fuck the previous night. I unloaded more jism than I never had before in my life, she screamed, and we both almost went comatose. We checked out a few minutes late. My dick, and brain, felt better than at any other time in my life, by a light year! I didn't bother cuffing her to the SUV door.

*************** 

I made arrangements with the South Dakota and Nebraska authorities since the 102 mile marker was almost at the state line. It wasn't a straight shot from where we stayed the last night, and I took my time to set everything up, so it was about two hours before we got there.

I was in contact with the cops, in unmarked cars; they advised me that they had also called in two agents from the FBI. When I let Jillian off at the women's washroom, to her shock I gave her a .38 pistol. "In case you need to use it," I said looking her in the eye.

"You trust me this much?" she asked.

"Hell, yeah," I replied, then cautioned her "Lay low if there's any shooting."

Actually, Jillian was married until "death do us part" after all. Jimmy and his two remaining thugs, with AK-47s, came right for me in the remote area of the parking lot where the cops had told me to put my SUV. When the cops and two guys who sure looked like FBI agents stepped out from behind trees and trucks and told them to drop their guns, apparently Jimmy and his buddies preferred a re-enactment of the "Gunfight at the OK Corral" and started shooting.

Not being the shy and retiring type, I joined in. I know for sure that I was the one who shot Bret James in the head. Jimmy and the other thug were also killed, and one of the South Dakota State Troopers was hit in the leg but would eventually be OK, and another trooper was going to be really sore for a couple of weeks because he took three rounds in his bullet proof vest.

I went and retrieved Jillian, and was sure to get the gun back from her before telling her what had happened. When I did tell her she barely looked perturbed. I'm sure that she was feeling much more than she was showing, however, but she stoically said "It will save the trouble of getting a divorce," and went and sat in the SUV.

I talked with law enforcement for the next two hours. Surprisingly, the FBI agents showed up because their agency was one of the ones that Bertram was involving in the sting on Chan. There was only a brief mention of Jillian by the two Nebraska troopers that were there, and they were satisfied when I assured them that she had turned herself in to me, was cooperating, and that I was eventually taking her to Nebraska to turn her in.




Fugitive Wife



Jillian didn't say much as we drove to the county that had issued the warrant for her arrest. We had just enough time before it closed to open an account in her name at the local bank using $2,000 of the $70,000 that Chan had fronted me. for the initial deposite "Tomorrow we'll get you an attorney," I said.

When we checked in to the local hotel I said "No more cuffs or shackles, Jillian. If you want to take off, that's your business. However, I am going to be putting $48,000 more in your account if you stay, serve the short session that you'll need to, and then get on with your life."

She sauntered up to me, grabbed my shirt and said "I'll get horny in jail and need to get some real relief before then. Let's shower together."

Fortunately there was a real shower stall, not just a tub, in our room. I lifted her up by her ass cheeks and pushed her against the shower stall wall as I pummeled the shit out of her and she squeezed and released my cock with her pussy muscles while pushing her massive tits against my chest and saying dirty sexual phrases into my ears.

We ordered room service that night, fucked again that night doggy style, and once more in the morning. Her big tits flapping together while I pounded her doggy was probably the most erotic sound I had ever heard in my life. After our morning fuck we went to hire a lawyer.

We got some real good advice. There were two judges in town. One we definitely wanted, because he was reasonable. The other one was a "hanging judge" to be avoided at all costs; fortunately, she had a daughter who practiced law in town and had to recuse herself for all of her daughter's clients. Obviously I hired the daughter.

The daughter also turned out to be a great attorney. When all was said and done, I got a $2,000 reward - which I paid the lawyer with - the lawyer negotiated a one week sentence with record expungement if Jillian stayed clean for two years and if restitution was made. I made restitution that same day.

"Can I have one more night of freedom before I see the judge and the sentence is formally pronounced," Jillian asked the prosecutor in our lawyer's presence. "Sure - you're being very cooperative," he said.

That night was my best ever. Jillian rode me reverse cowgirl to the most powerful orgasm of my life, and I fucked her tits and she sucked every last bit of cum out of me just before I ejaculated on her chest. I was one happy fella the next day!

Jillian didn't want me to come to Court with her, so I left early in the morning, drove to where I could leave my SUV in a safe place, and took a plane, with the diamonds, home.

I have to hand it to Hot Shit - he really was a Hot Shit. He had three Federal Government Agencies on board. They wanted to do things a little differently than Hot Shit and I wanted, but it turned out OK.

The agents replaced all except for $50,000 worth of the diamonds with excellent - and I do mean top quality - fakes. I had the original container that they were in, which had several compartments, so I put the real ones in the most accessible one. I called Chan and arranged for a pickup at my barn, everything there recorded and videoed, but only to be used by the Feds if absolutely necessary - and it never was.

Chan gave me my $200,000, I turned over the blood diamonds, and then told him "If there's any problem, let me know. I didn't remove any diamonds, but if Grant did before I killed him and his four thugs, I'll cut my fee accordingly. But otherwise, I never want to see you again."

"Understand, Rick man," Chan humbly replied very impressed that "I" had killed Grant and all of his henchmen.

The diamonds also had a tracker. The agents waited until the next day before arresting Chan and four other Long Zi gang members. Chan never mentioned my name when he was interrogated - I guess he was afraid that I'd kill him too if my involvement became known, not knowing that I was the one who set him up.

The day after I got my $200,000 I gave Hot Shit $25,000 and wired $48,000 to Jillian's account. I wasn't sure what to do about getting my SUV back, but that could wait for a week or two since I didn't need it, and I didn't want to fly back to Nebraska. I was thinking of getting someone else to collect it for me.

***************** 

A week and one day after I had left Jillian, while looking out my barn-office window, I saw my SUV pull up. "What the fuck?" I thought. "Did Hot Shit arrange that and not tell me?" Then I saw those long sculptured legs unfold out of the driver's side, and those big tits barely restrained by a halter top, and that beautiful face and long black hair, though the black piercing eyes were covered by sunglasses. "Holy shit, it's Jillian," stormed through my pea brain while I tented my pants.

I ran outside, we both laughed as I lifted her up and spun her around. After planting a few kisses on her I stuttered out "So...uh, well...shit, you didn't escape, did you?"

"No, shit for brains," she chuckled. I got out after five days for good behavior - can you believe it, me, well-behaved!"

"How did you get into the SUV?"

"I called your cousin Bertram. He pretended like he was you and authorized a dealer to give me a duplicate key - I guess that I may have flashed the guy a little boob too to grease the wheels," she chortled. The reason that I came here rather than stealing the SUV is because to get my record expunged I need to have a place of employment and a permanent address. Got any suggestions?"

***************** 

For the last year Jillian has worked for me - actually much of the time I'm really working for her. She really has a knack for business, and has hired a couple of other bounty hunters to work with me and handles all of the money - including putting me on an allowance - so that I'm actually getting rich. My business is now constant, not feast or famine. Bertram swoons anytime he sees her and does everything she asks with much more efficiency than he ever did for me.

The only thing that Jillian hasn't been good at handling is her birth control - or maybe she did know exactly what she was doing with that too - because she's now six months pregnant. She didn't want the kid to be a bastard so we got married two months ago, with her solemn pledge that our "until death do us part" would be for much longer than with her first husband.