My Everett Mountain Retreat
Special thanks to Phil Gorman 2014 for his expertise in re-editing and proofing.
Each time I enjoy the view from the veranda of the cottage, I can appreciate the reason my great-great-great grandfather filed a claim for this pile of rocks. The claim consists of four hundred acres of rock, some timber and underbrush; basically, a mountain face, part of Everett's Mountain Range. Mineral wise, until there is a market for volcanic rock, I won't get rich from my inheritance; but, that wasn't the main reason for the original claim. Many, many years ago, there were a large number of fresh water creeks with an abundance of beaver in the surrounding area. Great, great, great grandfather trapped for years. When the trapping ended, a result of too many trappers and too few beaver, the cottage became a hunting camp for the next generations. Which, for all intents and proposes, it still is. Even though I haven't hunted game animals for years, I have hunted, not animals, MEN!
Who am I, you ask? My name is Don P. Johnson, forty-six, single, never been seriously involved. While in the Special Forces for my twenty-five, I never felt comfortable with the thought of getting involved with anyone for a number of reasons. First, it would not be fair to anyone, always wondering if I would return from an assignment. Second, without a very clear focus on my task and the many risks, I could end up very dead. My profession was killing: a sniper; a profession I excel at. And, no, it doesn't bother me. I looked upon my job as being an exterminator: getting rid of vermin.
With the exception of my sister, Rayne, and her fourteen year old daughter, Jayden, I have no other persons of interest in my life and, to be really truthful, my only interest is in my niece: Jayden is my rock. Both of my parents died young from cancer, the same disease that took my grandparents and great grandparents. I hate to admit this, but the only time my mind isn't on guard is when my time is spent with Jayden; unknown to her, she is the closest thing to a girlfriend I have ever had. Anytime I was down, because of my assignment, just the thought of her gave me a purpose to be very successful at what I did; so, leaving her to the wiles of my mixed sister is not an option!
I am self-sufficient as a result of inheritances from parents and grandparents, plus my own savings, all invested at a New York Brokerage firm. My funds are managed by a compatriot who, many years ago, acted as my spotter in many exercises, as well as in the field. I was instrumental in saving his life three times during various tours of action: I know he will never knowingly let me down. The value of my investments keeps growing.
From the cottage, I can see at least fifteen miles of rough wilderness. There are a few lakes and rivers, among the miles of timber that is yet to fall to the harvesters. The majority of the terrain is inaccessible to harvesting machines, making it uneconomical to consider at this time; that is, until technology figures a way to harvest the forest profitably; fortunately, that is not likely in my lifetime! The only mar on this pristine view is a road that seems to have followed a snake. Many years ago, the engineers just followed the path of least resistance, blasting through the rock bed to create a road for some limited logging. The timbering didn't pan out but the road, which ends up on the other side of the mountain, is here for eternity. It is the shortest route to get to the other side, but also for a very dangerous trip; a few use it regularly, but those are the experienced, cautious drivers.
A billion years ago, when this area was formed, the pressure from the earth forced upwards large slabs of granite; some nearly two thousand feet in height, those slabs are supported by many smaller slabs. From my view, you can make out the layers. Actually, the cabin is located in a valley between two massive slabs; over time, vegetation grew, and died, building up what we call soil. The cabin is located approximately seven hundred feet up from the road: it is a very steep grade. This location was selected because of an active, fresh water spring behind the cabin.
Through time, many of the outcroppings grew moss which in turn, died and created more soil. Thus, somewhere in history, a lowly blueberry plant took hold. Now, every spring and summer, the hills are blue with berries. My mom was a great baker and many a blueberry ended up in her pies and muffins.
I've been out of the service for seven months and, during that time, I have been approached six times by my prior superiors trying to convince me to re-enlist. Poo-poo on that idea! I like the solitude and not being a target; at least I keep telling myself that.
Many years ago, in my grandfather's time, a large power line company wanted rights to cross his property: they needed to construct two large towers on the highest part of granddaddy's land claim. Grandfather, being a wise old man, knew if he refused, they would go to court; win and the towers would be built anyway, as the lower part of the state needed that power! So he gave them permission, at no cost to them, other than they had to supply power and maintain the service to the cabin for perpetuity. It was a good trade off. Another plus factor is that the company had to blast out a trail; you can't call it a road, it was built only to transport the tons of steel needed to build the towers. That 'trail' gives me access to the cabin; my Yukon XL sits behind the cabin.
Ten or twelve years ago, a large cellular company approached my dad with the same request for cell towers; like granddaddy, he gave them permission with the same condition that will have free cell phone service and internet use forever. Another excellent trade since the rocks, where the towers stand, will never have any other use.
Sitting in a very old, but comfortable, chair, surveying the panoramic view, I can recall a number of times cars were wrecked on the winding road. In my younger years, it was a good place to race; actually, it was a stupid place to race as there are very few areas wide enough to pass at high speeds. I lost six of my classmates on this road. Rock cuts are very unforgiving. From the deck, to the left, about two miles of twisting road can be seen; to my right, maybe one thousand feet. This is because of a very large slab of granite sticking upwards nearly five hundred feet. That particular slab has resulted in at least twelve lives lost in wrecks, as the speeders could not make the curve and totalled their vehicles. From this distance, I can make out a number of painted red crosses at the base of that outcropping, denoting the deaths.
In the evening, at dusk, I often hear the powerful motors of vehicles as two or more are racing to their possible deaths; fortunately, most survive. They will never learn.
Being discharged from the force doesn't mean you leave the force. Your physical body? Yes. Your mind? NO! I am always on alert! After all of the years in the service, it is inbred in me: I'm always scanning my surroundings, even at the cottage. I have no reason to be so vigil; it is just part of my survival training. You can't just turn it off.
One of my little quirks is surveillance. With the advances in technology, you can buy small, remote, wireless cameras, which can be set to activate by sound at a fixed rate of decibels, as well motion sensors. They can be equipped with night vision lenses as well. I have installed twenty-three of little gems: three at the back of the cabin, and the rest in front of the cabin, facing the access road and highway. No, I am not paranoid, just cautious; it comes from my years of experience with my prior job.
Each morning I check the control board for the camera; as usual, two or three have had their small LED lites activated, usually by a rabbit or a coyote. Today is no different. After erasing the tapes, I reset the recorder.
After breakfast, it is a repeat of what I've been doing for the past week: enjoying a hot mug of coffee and the view.
The road traffic is few and far between. This morning, to my left, there is the sound of a large diesel engine, a transport that is cautiously moving forward. He is driving according to the road's condition, approaching each turn slowly and sounding his air horn. Some of the corners are blind; you are virtually blind of anything around the corner, so the driver is very cautious. That, I can respect.
Soon all I can see is a large blast of diesel exhaust from the truck as the trailer moves around the last rock cut to my right. The only reminder of the truck is the sound of the driver changing gears, then nothing.
The sound of my cell brings me back to earth.
It is Jayden, my Jayden. Jayden is the only good thing my useless sister has done in her life. Jayden is the result of a one-night stand. Unknown to Jayden, she provided me with the will to keep me going in some of the far off shit holes of the world. Just thinking of her beauty always gives me a lift!
Jayden is fourteen going on twenty-two, she very wise for her age and able to function very well, despite the handicap of her mother, my useless sister.
Jayden Johnson is about five feet tall, maybe ninety-five to hundred-five pounds. The weight is very well distributed. She has beautiful, thick, blonde hair, and striking blue eyes, that have sheen to them. Her look makes me feel uncomfortable when I'm thinking un-uncle-like things, especially when she seems to be reading my dirty mind. Her bottom is perfect for her body, her breasts call me, all the time, to come and pay homage; well, in my mind. Her face is to die for. She is destined to make every male humble himself in her presence.
A number of years ago, prior to going on a tour, I hired a caregiver for Jayden, ensuring she had everything a young lady required, from food to clothing and an allowance. I have zero confidence in my sister. And, as expected, my sister didn't give a shit what I did for Jayden. She looked at it as a gift and was happy that she could use more of her waitress' salary to get shitfaced. Jayden was never a priority for my sister: she looked at her as more of a burden. To me? Jordan is my lover, who is never to be.
"Hi Jayden, what's up?"
"When are you coming back to town?"
Jayden and my useless sister live in Abbotsville, approximately thirty miles from here. When Jayden and her mother moved to Abbotsville, I rented a two-bedroom apartment for them and I'm still paying the rent and utilities. Jayden's caretaker lives in the same building; that, in itself, gives me peace of mind. Jayden will never want for anything. In the event something happens to me, all my assets go into a trust fund administered by my long time buddy. My sister will have no access and no influence to the disposition of the funds. When Jayden turns sixteen she will be provided with a monthly allowance, plus the cost of her education and any costs related to it will be taken care of as well. Her accommodation, if required while at school, will be paid. At the age of twenty-one, the administration of the estate will be passed to her.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, I just miss you."
"I will be in town on Saturday. Can you wait till then?"
"I guess I will have to."
"Tell you what ... let me take you to dinner at an upscale restaurant and maybe a movie, your choice!"
"Hmmm ... what if I want to see a tearjerker?"
"Then I will have to sit through it."
"What if I had said a porno?"
"Then I would have to consider the fact that I am not talking to my sweet, loveable, beautiful niece Jayden, and I would wonder who the imposter is!"
There is a giggle on the other end of the line: the same giggle that makes my spine tingle as the vibes end at the tip of John Thomas. Just the sound of Jayden's voice makes me hard.
"I'll make a deal with you: I will let the real Jayden accompany you for dinner and a movie, then we can go to see that new action movie with Brad Pitt."
"Hey, that sounds like a plan! I will call you Saturday morning to set up the times. If you have a particular restaurant in mind, tell me, so I can make reservations."
"I'll call you back later today, okay."
"Talk to soon, Jayden. I love you."
"Hmmm, I really love you to!"
I am now listening to a dead line. She does it every time, at least in my mind. I have a boner of all boners, and it is a result of talking to, or just thinking of my lovely niece. What I wouldn't give to be fifteen or fifteen and dating her. Really, that thought doesn't help my current condition.
She did call back and told me she wanted to eat Italian, fortunately, Theodore's was still taking reservations for Saturday evening. I booked us for five thirty; Jayden told me the movie starts at eight-forty-five.
When I pick up Jayden, her outfit has me panting; she is wearing a short, black, pleated skirt that shows a vast amount of flawless nylon covered skin, and a white semi-sheer blouse that does her breasts proud. They stand out like beacons calling me. Dinner, and the movie, goes well, I think. Jayden surprises me or, should I say, shocks me. During the movie she slides herself under my arm, slips her hand under my shirt and slowly caresses my stomach, gradually going lower and lower till my belt blocks further advances. When she sees my tent, she whispers in my ear.
"Is that for me, or because of me?"
It is hard to concentrate on a movie with that kind of distraction. I want to take her in my arms and touch her in kind; but, I restrain myself. Finally, the movie ends. Walking to the car, she clings to my arm, bouncing her soft thigh against mine.
Assisting her into the passenger seat, I notice she has a very guilty look on her face; that should have been a red flag to me. Jayden has always been a soul of propriety, but tonight, for some reason, the devil Jayden is here. As soon as I close the driver's door she is on me like a second skin: Jayden is on a mission! The way her breasts are mushed against me it's obvious they were unencumbered. She had unhooked her bra. The final shock was when she tried to climb over the console into my lap. With my hands on her legs, attempting to block that movement, I encounter bare skin, lots of bare skin. This young lady, whom I don't know, has removed her panties and my hand is now caressing her soft, warm, moist pussy; my finger slides between her luv lips, it feels so inviting! My mind is screaming at me, 'this is wrong! She is your little niece!' But, John Thomas says, 'go for it, do the deed man, where are your balls!' The saving grace is we are still in the parking lot, and a number of other patrons from the movie are moving about, with headlights illuminating the inside of the cab. Jayden slips back into the passenger seat, with a large satisfied grin on her face. The witch has her skirt tucked into her waistband exposing my nemesis, her luscious bare moist pussy. Her sexual essence fills the cab.
"Jayden! What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Uncle Don, don't be a prude. I want you and I know you want me. Look at your hardon!"
John Thomas is going to be the death of me; he is all for being introduced to Jayden's honey pot.
"You can't think like that, you're my niece."
"Like that matters! You know I love you and I know you love me. I also know what you have done for me over the years, yeah, and I know my mother isn't much. How many years have you taken care of me? Hmmm, all of them? Right!"
As I try to formulate an answer, her hand grasps my excited John Thomas, who is now enjoying being the centre of attention. Oh, how I want Jayden! Looking between her legs, I am sure there is luv juice accumulating. John Thomas votes go for it. My good side is yelling, 'she's your niece for god sakes, get a grip!' Good side wins! When I drop her off at her building, she smiles that evil smile, then sticks her sexy tongue out at me. I didn't trust myself to walk her to the door.
Needless to say, I am frustrated, I am not happy; I could bite the heads off rattlesnakes. You guessed it: I am not in a good mood.
I had a helluva sleep, thinking how close I came to making love to Jayden. John Thomas keeps reminding me that his frustration and mine could have been taken care of by a very willing Jayden. She wasn't any help; actually, she kept instigating all kinds of un-uncle/niece like things during the evening. She wanted me to take her cherry! John Thomas voted yes for that scenario!
It is just past five in the morning, my shitty sleep has done nothing for my shitty disposition! The big question is should I get up or try to fall asleep again. Two squirrels having an argument outside my bedroom window decide for me.
Once the coffee is perking, I return to the bedroom to get dressed. The bed looks worse than some of the places I had to conceal myself while wearing my ghillie suit while on a mission. My conscience is a helluva advisory! Just as I am tying my shoes, there is a horrendous crashing noise; someone has hit the rock cut. I know that sound: an unforgiving pillar of granite and the dying scream of twisting metal.
Looking down the hill from deck, there is a black, full size sedan, squashed up against the granite pillar; another cross will likely be added. There is no movement. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see more carnage. Not noticing it before, I see four tires in the air; from here, it looks like a black SUV in the ravine on the other side of the road, on its roof, and steam is rising from its punched rad.
Quickly dressing, I travel down the hill, cautiously, for if one was to slip and start rolling down the hill, the odds are you would end up dead by the time you stopped rolling; the outward cropping of sharp granite would ensure that. Now, on the road, I rush to the car, there is no hope here, only one passenger, the driver is sitting next to the engine, and the magnitude of the collision had so much force it pushed the engine through the firewall. All that is left is blood and brain matter splatter on the windows. I have seen that combination many times before.
The SUV is another story. Steam is now rushing from the damaged radiator and there is snapping sounds, like electrical shorts. The big surprise is the ground is covered with one-hundred dollar bills. The crash had sprung the back doors of the SUV, dumping most of its contents on the ground. Five, very large, black, soft sided, duffel bags are on the ground; one burst its fastenings, and a bundle of bills broke its band, but the rest of the full bundles are still in the bag. Also on the ground are a number of sealed plastic bundles of, what I assume is, coke, or drugs of some kind. There are about twenty bundles, my guess three to five pounds each. It is major weight that someone will be looking for.
The SUV has two males in the front seat, both dead. In both cases, the airbags released, but the force of the rolling vehicle snapped both of their necks. Their bodies are secured by their seat belts, hanging upside down. Both heads are sort of dangling from their necks, not in a natural position. Blood is seeping from their noses, ears, eyes and mouth. Not a good sign.
Then, I smell gas. The unit is leaking gasoline from the filler hose; it is seeping into the wheel well then dripping to the ground, not a good situation. There is a good possibility the SUV will go up in flames. More sounds of electrical shorts from the engine compartment make the possibility of a fire eminent! Time to get the hell out of Dodge!
Being a good conservationist, I remove a pair of surgical gloves from my pocket (this is a habit from my service days: leave no trace is always the motto) and I pick up all the loose bills, replacing them in the open duffel bag. After moving all five bags away from the possible inferno, I pick up all the drugs bundles and place them in the wheel well, under the gas drip; waste not want not! Grabbing the heavy duffel bags, I return to the wrecked auto for one last look. Still just blood and brain matter, nothing has changed. Then I get an eerie feeling, like something about this scene is wrong. At the back of the unit, the trunk lid is sprung, but not open. Curious, I lift the trunk lid. The surprise is it contains luggage. It's not that the luggage is a surprise; the fact that it is all feminine is the surprise. It is a very large set of very expensive matching designer luggage, consisting of three large suitcases, two smaller cases, a makeup case and a smaller travel case. The scent of leather is evident. This is odd, since I've only found male bodies. Did I miss something? Unless one of them was gay!
Slowly walking around the car, I look for anything suspicious; the passenger side window is shattered, so much for safety glass. Peeking in the back seat, I notice the seatbelts are engaged, securing what looks like rolls of blankets. Then I hear what I would consider a whimper. Not sure what it is, or where it is coming from, I stand still and listen. There it is again. Something or someone is in the back seat, still alive. Getting the back door open is a challenge: it is jammed! Again, I take all precautions of leaving no trace. Finally springing the door, I am looking at a pair of shoed feet of a young girl. Her legs are bound in such a way that they would not be bruised by the restraints. Quickly releasing the seat belts, I remove three rolled up blankets; the girl is wrapped in a heavy quilt. Opening the quilt reveals a beautiful young girl; her olive complexion gives her an era of mystery. She is not conscience, but she is moaning. There is a large bruise on her forehead: she likely struck the arm rest during the collision. Her hands are bound by a similar restraint as her legs. Whoever is responsible for this wanted to keep the young lady bruise free! First thing I think of is 'white slavery.' This girl was just a chattel for these creeps. They were delivering her to a purchaser.
The girl is wearing a form fitting dress, not the run of the mill type, but a designer dress tailored to fit her young body. Her shapely legs are encased in off white stay-ups. There is a gap of flawless skin, then a mini white thong, where her large luv lips are embedded in the small V of cloth. It appears she was dressed for presentation. A sickening thought turns my stomach; she appears to be the same build as Jayden ... what if!! Removing her restraints, it is a struggle to remove her limp body from the vehicle. With her slung over my shoulder, I carry her to the cabin, put her to bed and cover her. She was my first trip.
The luggage, and the young lady, was not the only surprises in the car. When I removed the luggage, I found another interesting item: a large, custom made rifle case containing an SVD Dragunov Sniper rifle, with accessories, plus twelve boxes of ammunition - 7.292 x 79 mm Warsaw. This is not your average gun. This is a very serious type of weapon! I will examine it later, as time permits. It is certainly not a priority right now!
It took me six trips, up the steep rock face, to remove the girl, all her luggage, the rifle and its accessories and, of course, the litter I picked up from the SUV still in the duffle bags! A true conservationist does not leave any litter, including one hundred dollar bills.
Just as I complete the last strenuous climb, I hear a loud WHOOSH, then an explosion. The gasoline, in the wheel well, had ignited and the gas tank exploded. A large cloud of black smoke rose from the SUV. No more drugs, no more cash, a tragedy in the making and two crispy critters in the front seat. Being a good citizen, I place a call to 911 advising them of the accident. In forty-five minutes, the place is crawling with people, including two local television crews. Fortunately, the investigators accepted the terrible scene as the truth: an unfortunate accident; the result of speeding drivers. It took three wreckers to remove what was left of the burnt SUV. Every time the SUV scraped and banged on the granite, it removed more traces of the dope and the 'theoretically burnt' cash.
My guest is still unconscious. In all of the activity, my priority was to remove her, and all traces of her, from the car. I even removed the blankets and comforter from the back seat. Then I stood beside the vehicle for a good ten minutes, just looking at the scene. I removed six, obvious, long, dark hairs from the back seat; there may be more, but the obvious ones are gone. Being ruled an accident, I don't believe anyone will be looking for anything more. The cause of death of the driver was obvious.
The young lady is either a preteen or a young teenager; but, I am no expert on young girls, with the exception of Jayden. There are fresh needle marks on her left arm: they had her drugged. It is fortunate for them that they are dead. Nobody hurts young kids on my watch. I can feel the wrath seeping up my body.
My subconscious reminds me to do things in priority. Until the drugs wear off, there is nothing I can do or glean from the young lady. My first task is to hide the duffel bags. Counting the funds is not a priority; hiding the stash is. Having them in the open would only invite questions. There is bound to be someone nosing around to determine if any of the funds and drugs were found and, of course, the girl, who could be my undoing. The authorities do not know she exists; but, the bad guys do! They will be looking and the only one close to the accident scene is me!
Years ago, Granddaddy made several attempts to mine the property and, as a result, there are many blast holes of various depths around the cabin. With beaver stock depleted, he had hoped to prove all the naysayers wrong, and there actually was something of value in the rock face. He was wrong!
One of those craters, close to the cabin, is actually covered with a heavy slab of granite. It takes all my strength to move it! There is just enough room to get all the duffel bags in and, when the rock cover is lowered into place, no one is any the wiser. If anyone finds this cache, it would be horseshit luck!
The cottage consists of one large room divided by storage closets and shelving; it has one double bed, where the young girl is now resting. The designer luggage is piled neatly at the foot of the bed. She is still in a trance from the drugs. Since I don't know what they used, I just let her sleep. The drug certainly wasn't meant to harm her; just to keep her comatose as they moved her from one place to another.
My mind is analysing the circumstance trying to come up with a possible scenario: Was the girl being transported to the head honcho? Considering the cash, the large volume of drugs, the fancy sniper rifle and, of course, the young lady; if my conjecture is true, then there is one helluva pissed off individual somewhere! And when you consider his three delivery boys are dead, he /she will be screaming for answers, especially the whereabouts of his money and dope: the girl could be easily replaced!
The squeal of brakes from the road has me on the veranda. There is a large county dump truck parked on the shoulder where the SUV went down. The men, carrying sacks, are picking up pieces from the wreck. I watch them for two hours before they decide the wreck area is now clean. Anyone trying to determine what actually happened, by what is left, will be lacking any clues, another point in my favor. The only thing left from the crash is blackened rock face from the burning fuel and tires from the SUV.
As the truck returns from whence it came, I brew another pot of coffee. Then I notice the console that monitors the cameras. If the camera has recorded anything the LED blinks: the twenty facing out from the front of the cabin are flashing. I turn on the viewer to watch what they captured! It shows various views of the car leading and the SUV that is following closely behind. When the car piled into the rock face, the SUV swerved to miss hitting the car; but, over corrected and rolled over the edge; it took a very rough ride before it came to rest. I don't think even professional drivers, with all of their protective gear, could have survived the punishment. The cameras also have recorded my rescue of the young girl plus the lugging the duffel bags, luggage and rifle case up to the cabin. That tape is now smoldering on the hot coals of fireplace. As I said, leave no trace.
Just as I am enjoying a fresh cup of coffee, the bed squeak; the young girl is moving as the drug is wearing off. Standing and looking at her in the bed, a pair of very frightened, big, brown eyes are staring back at me.
"Hi, please don't be frightened, you are safe!"
The look she gives me tells me that she has no confidence in my statement. She looks scared, not that I can blame her! She surveys the cabin. Of course, I have no idea of what her last conscience memory was or where.
"Do you speak English?"
At least now, I know she understands.
"The car you were riding in was in a severe accident. The driver was killed."
"What car? I don't remember any car! The last thing I remember is a woman dressing me in these fancy clothes, then everything went dark. Where am I?"
"This is my cottage in the mountains; the crash occurred on the road below the cottage, you can see the spot from the veranda. We are about thirty miles from Abbotsville. Do you know the city?"
"Yes, I was held at a lodge on Lake Ryan."
"Those men had sold me; they were delivering me to the purchaser. I have no idea who bought me. All I know is there was a lot of money involved because my guards talked about their share and what they were going to do with it."
"What is your name? Where are you from? How old are you?"
"My name is Charlize Dilorenzo; I am fifteen. I live in New Orleans with my grandmother: my parents were killed four years ago; my granny is all I have. All I can remember is being dragged into a van while walking home from school; a cloth was put over my face, I woke up at the Lodge, and when I told them I wanted to go home they just laughed, telling me I would be at my new home in a couple of days. They were not nice people."
"How many were there?"
"Three bad men!"
"If it was the three driving the vehicles, you will happy to know that they are dead, from the crash. There were two vehicles and both wrecked, one burnt as well. You were in the backseat of the car, bound and fastened in place with the seat and shoulder belts. That is what saved you."
"I need to go pee and I am hungry!"
"I only have an outhouse in the back."
The facilities are crude at best: an outhouse twenty feet from the cottage back door. There have been very few female guests and, the ones who were here, they were not impressed. I will have to invest in a Porta Potty for the weaker sex. I watch as Charlize attempts to get up; she is very weak. Getting up to assist, she pulls back into the bed looking at me with genuine fear in her eyes.
"Charlize, you are weak, likely from the drugs; plus, we have no idea how long you were under. What is the last date you remember?"
"Tuesday the sixth."
"Shit! That was five days ago! You don't remember anything since then?"
"Only hazy images: a woman came to the room, undressed me and took all my body measurements; the last thing was when the same woman dressed me in these fancy clothes."
"First, my name is Don Johnson; second, I rescued you from the car wreck. I mean you no harm. I wish to help you; but, I won't touch you, if that is your wish."
Again, she attempts to get up with no success. She is going to need my assistance.
"You really need my help. May I?"
"Oh please, I really need to go pee!"
She is so delicate. In her weakened condition, she slides in my arms; my hands are on her breasts, so soft. Of course, my body reacts. Since there are no other options, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the privy; but, I quickly determine she hasn't the strength to do her business by herself. Hoisting her dress, and lowering her panties, exposes the eighth beauty of the world! Her slit is partially spread, exposing a pink pea sized clitoris out of its hood.
With some effort, I manage to get her body in position to pee.
"Charlize, you can pee now. I will support you."
I can feel her body tense as she tries to pressure her bladder to release her pee. Then, there is a flood for a good minute, the golden fluid flows from her beautiful opening; it is fascinating to watch! Finally, she is done, a dribble remains. She looks at me with a very feeble smile; a silent plead to wipe her heaven. Leaning her against the back wall, I do my chore. If Jayden's pussy is a duplicate of Charlize's then I know there is a heaven! After using the tissue, I run my finger from her clitoris to anal opening to confirm it is dry. That feeling is burnt into my fingertip.
Once her panties are in position, I scoop her up into my arms and return to the cabin. Sitting her in my comfortable chair, she gives me a big smile.
"Thank you, but I am still hungry."
"I am not sure what to suggest; you are so weak, and we have no idea what kind of drug those bastards used on you. I will warm some beef broth. If you can hold it down for a couple of hours we can try some cooked rice and broth after that, as well as a vitamin pill and some Omega-3."
"Thank you for helping me."
"You're welcome. Let's see if there is anything on TV about your abduction and the accident."
The all-news channel is carrying a rehash of the accident. Authorities have ruled it an unfortunate accident, the result of inexperienced drivers driving too fast. It goes on to give a bit of the history of the road and all the lives it has claimed. The interesting thing is they identify the dead men; all are from the New York area. There is no mention of their backgrounds. I wrote the names and ages down and will google them when Charlize is sleeping.
I see that the broth dish is empty and that Charlize has fallen asleep. Covering her with a blanket, I grab my laptop and sit at the table facing her. Googling Charlize Dilorenzo comes up with a flurry of items. First, the abduction: police have no clues, but are continuing their investigation. Charlize's abduction was the fourth in the last two months and, like in her case, there are no clues in the other kidnappings; the FBI is now involved. The girls came from varying backgrounds and no connection between the victims has been found: the only thing the binds them is their obvious beauty. A supplementary article is about Charlize's grandmother: the shock of the kidnapping was a horrendous event for a woman of her advanced age; it resulted in a seizure and Charlize's granny died in the emergency room. The gist of the balance of the article is there are no other living relatives. Charlize is all alone in the world! The next article gives some background. The family emigrated from Venezuela, six years ago; Charlize's parents and her grandmother. It goes on to explain that Charlize had two older brothers who both got involved with drugs; both were killed in a drive-by. Shortly after that, the remaining family emigrated.
Now, the three hoodlums are another story. There are articles on each one, referring to their vast criminal backgrounds; they all have been charged with numerous offences, but very expensive lawyers got them off or with only small fines. That means mega dollars were protecting those hoods: money that will be curious about the drugs, cash and the girl. Not good! Perhaps a call to my investment buddy in New York could provide me with more info. He may be an investment banker now; but, I would lay odds he has kept his contacts with the FBI and, likely, Homeland Security.
While Charlize slept, I boiled some rice and cooked a small portion of ground beef. I mixed the two with some broth. This will give Charlize something solid. My hope is she can hold it down.
She does look beautiful sleeping. My mind recalls the wonders between her legs. Her pussy was so soft and warm so ... Shit! Why am I even thinking things like that? Then, Jayden's image pops into the mix. My witch of a niece did her damndest to make me do something to her after the dinner and movie date. I have to admit, I was so tempted.
When Charlize wakes, she does look better; the ghoulish color has gone. Again, she reiterates that she is hungry. The rice mixture goes down quickly. I have to remind her to eat slowly; otherwise, we will be cleaning vomit from the floor.
Four hours later, she devours another plate of the mixture, plus two unbuttered pieces of toast. She certainly has the appetite; but, I don't want to push it. Tomorrow morning I will try a full breakfast.
It is really good to see her up and about. She is now curious about the cabin.
"Don, I really need a bath; the way I smell ... it has been a long time."
Bathing at the cabin is an adventure! It involves an old zinc coated laundry tube, a couple of buckets, an old-fashioned dipper and soap. In good weather, I drag all the items to a small deck at the back of the cabin, fill the tube and then stand in it. Using the dipper to wet down my body, I wash and then rinse using the dipper. Voila! I am done!
With Charlize, it could be a challenge. The odds of her being comfortable, standing naked on the little deck, are slim to nil, which means lugging the tub to the kitchen area. After explaining the action plan to her, she has a funny look on her face.
"And where will you be while I bathe?"
"Wherever you want me to be."
"You have already seen most of me, so ... you can help!"
Getting ready for a bath is not as easy as it sounds: two large pots of water have to be heated. Once that is done, the pots are refilled with more water to rinse. If she washes her hair, we will need volumes of warm water to rinse. With me, I can stand cold water. Her? I doubt it!
It took a good hour to get ready: placing soap, my bargain basement shampoo and a washcloth at the ready, I call Charlize.
I have pulled the curtains on the three windows and then I sit down waiting. Charlize comes from the bed area carrying clean clothes.
"I can't believe the clothing I have! There is nothing practical for roughing it; no jeans, shorts or T-shirts. Everything is high end: blouses, skirts, even three dresses. I have never seen so many bikini panties and thongs. The bras must have cost a fortune, they are all fitted!"
"We can go to town tomorrow and pick up whatever you need."
She looks at me, then at the tub. In a one-room cabin, there are not too many areas where you can disappear. She turns her back to me and lowers the zipper of her dress; it slides down her body, ending up in a pile at her feet. From her beautiful hair, down her smooth back, to her beautiful bum, which is perfectly proportioned to her body, and her legs, which just don't quit ... I am gazing at Venus! Hell, my body is trembling, and that's just at the rear view. John Thomas is really excited!
She steps into the tub and begins. I am mesmerized watching her. When she leans over to do her legs, her bum cheeks spread; her rimmed rosebud has my attention for a moment, then the lower part of her luv lips makes themselves part of my view. John Thomas is standing at attention enjoying this vision. Does Jayden look as spectacular as Charlize! I have yet to see Jayden in the nude, not that she hasn't tried. My mind goes back to Jayden and our dinner and movie. It was so close!
After Charlize's bath is complete, she looks at me.
"Would you help me rinse my hair?"
Beside her, with a bucket of warm water and the dripper, I pour water on her hair, waiting for her to indicate for me to add more water. I get a view of her beautiful breasts; they are more than a handful, supporting half-inch dime sized nipples. John Thomas really likes the view; so much so, he's determined to embarrass me. I really would like to see all of her pussy, but I don't want to appear that crass.
"Thank you, I appreciate that."
I've been dismissed. Sitting, I still watch all her movements. She could be very easily become a fixture. Dumb! How would I explain her to Jayden!!
She has to comb and brush her hair dry; I mentally put hair dryer on my list. Now she is dressed in a short skirt and blouse, no shoes or socks. Then she hits me!
"I want to call my Grandmother!"
Shit! I was hoping we could have had that conversation at a later date. She has gone through so much and now she is going to learn the last of her family is gone. Shit, Shit, Shit!
The look on my face must have telegraphed what I was feeling in my gut. The color drained from her face.
"What is wrong? I can tell by looking at you, there is something bad happening. What is it?"
"Charlize, come and sit beside me. Please."
She moves towards me, her body racked with a sob. She sits beside me looking into my face; I watch a tear form and then run down her cheek.
"Charlize, there is no easy way to tell you, but your Granny has passed away; triggered by your kidnapping, her body just wasn't strong enough to take the shock."
Charlize's demeanor vaporizes. She collapses on my shoulder, her body racked with sobs. Pulling her body to me, I try to comfort her. My face is buried in her hair: inside I cry with her. In life nothing, as a rule, bothers me; but, women crying (or worse, girls), does get to me. It must have taken an hour before the sobs diminished. I just hold her. Then I realize she cried herself to sleep. Picking her up, I carry her to bed, cover her and I go to the front of the cabin.
My mind goes back into defensive mode. Rather than call Bill, I send him an encrypted email, requesting info on the three dead hoodlums and, if possible, their employer. Bill won't question the request, but will provide the info, if possible. Now? It's a waiting game.
Grabbing the rifle case, I remove the unit. It appears to be brand new; the manufactures protective coating still covers the surface. The only things questionable are two machined groves at the end of the barrel. Also in the case is a telescopic scope with night vision, a very expensive piece of equipment. I recognize the name: mega dollars! In seconds, it snaps into place. Moving the carrying case, there is still some weight to it. The groves on the barrel tip are explained when I find a noise suppressor combined with a muzzle flash suppressor. Someone one, with a master's skill, machined this unit. This combination makes this rifle truly a killing machine, and not for rodents.
The situation keeps getting worse: someone will be nosing around; it is just a matter of time. Will I be prepared? There is a slight beep from my notebook; a new email. It is from Bill and it is not good news.
The three hoods were members of a drug and people smuggling cartel. The FBI has been trying to nail the leader for years, but he is like Teflon: nothing sticks to him. Rumors are he is vicious and the FBI believes he is personally responsible for the deaths of eight of his competitors. That is all I need! There are four paragraphs of suspicions, items the authorities believe he is responsible for, but no proof. Bill asks the reason for my interest. My quick answer is in explaining the three dead soldiers and how they ended up on my door step. Again, I wait.
Grabbing my gun cleaning kit, I start to work on the Dragunov to remove all the manufactures guck. An hour later, I reassemble the unit, including the suppressor. I need to test fire this killing machine. Loading a clip, I slip to the back of the cottage. On the slope above the cottage there is an overhang about three hundred yards distance, and under the overhang are four boulders of varying sizes: my targets. Any ricochets will only hit more rocks. Taking aim, and then slowly squeezing the trigger, I hear pizt, see no muzzle flash, and the smaller rock explodes! Three more shots eliminate the other rock targets. This is one helluva rifle!
Returning to the cottage, I remove the magazine, clean the rifle and pack all the items back in the case. Granddaddy had an iron box built with a large lock to store his rifle and ammunition. The Dragunov joins the original 30-30 Winchester: the iron box still servers the same purpose. The ping of a new email sounds out from the laptop. It is Bill.
As expected, Bill warns me to be very careful and be on alert for anyone new in the area. This cartel has a number of hoodlums and killers who wouldn't think twice about blowing my head off, if the boss ordered it. There is a rumor floating around that the leader has his men looking for something; no idea what or where it is. His last comment is, 'Don these are not guys you fuck around with; if, for some reason, you cross their path, do what you do best!!!!'
I really didn't like the sound of that. I could run and hide ... yea ... that will never happen! My concern right now is Charlize. If she is the target of the hunt, I will die protecting her. But, how do I get her out of harm's way? That is the million dollar question!
When Charlize wakes, her eyes are red and swollen from crying herself to sleep. She looks at me like someone lost.
"What am I going to do? I have nobody now. Will those people be looking for me?"
"You can stay with me. You have me, and I won't let you down. I can't answer anything about your abductors; but, they will have to come through me to get to you."
Then, more tears. Attempting to comfort her, I hug her tight and pat her shoulder. While whispering in her ear, 'it will be alright, ' over and over again, I hope I haven't written a check I can't cover. I mentally consider our options. What pisses me off is the unknown. It is hard to plan when you don't know the game plan. My vigil has started.
One thing did come to mind: my caretaker for Jayden. Mrs. Rose is a widow, in her late thirties and, as far as I know, she does not work. Perhaps she would be willing to take care of Charlize. It is worth pursuing.
Charlize could stay with me until school; but, I am not comfortable with that, if she is being hunted. She will need new papers and I know just the one to call: Bill!
It's been four days, since the excitement; the cameras reveal the same stupid rabbit and two squirrels, none carrying anything lethal. Charlize is eating full meals now. But, she is grieving. I haven't called Mrs. Rose for my cell may be monitored. Yes, I am very cautious.
As a precaution, I line the outer walls of the cabin with a rock face nearly two feet thick at the base; it looks odd, but the purpose is to stop bullets. The logs would stop many calibers; but, if the adversaries are carrying rifles similar to the Dragunov, their projectiles will pass through the logs like a shit through a goose. One difficulty was constructing rifle ports through the walls and then spacing the rocks so the ports have a clear view of the front of the cabin. Firing a gun through a window may look good in the movies; but, it is not practical in real life. The firing ports are large enough for me to use the night vision scope. I manage to cut three ports: two in the front and one in the back. I can't see those worms doing a frontal attack during the day.
Early the next morning I retrieve one duffel bag to confirm if the cash is real or counterfeit. The loose bills are real and, better yet, they are used bills. Emptying the bag on the floor reveals that they are, actually, in shrink wrapped bricks of fifty bundles. I count seven sealed bricks and the one that broke, as a result of the accident, makes eight. If all of the bills are one hundreds, then each brick has a fifty thousand dollar value. Times eight? Four hundred thousand! Times five? Two million dollars in used one hundred dollar bills! Yes, we are bound to get visitors. Removing the broken bundle, and one other, I repack the duffle bag and return it to the cache underground.
First thing I do is burn the two wraps; then, grabbing a handful of envelopes, I stuff each one with a wad of bills and distribute them in different places throughout the cabin. If any, or all, of the money is found, it isn't enough to question the quirks of a hermit like me! And it will provide walk around money.
Today, I am going to suggest we go shopping. We still need the Porta Potty and hair dryer, even though Charlize has mastered the outhouse. At breakfast, Charlize smiles at the suggestion of going into town. Maybe the trip will be what is needed to bring her back to the living. While we are in Abbotsville, I will use a payphone to call Mrs. Rose.
When Charlize is in the truck, I return to the cottage and rig all of the openings of the building. I place small items that will move; if the doors or windows are tampered with. Old habits die hard.
The drive to town is quiet; Charlize is gazing at the wonderful view. Pulling into the parking lot of the Super Mall gets a smile from Charlize: this trip may be the catalyst to get Charlize out the dumps. I hope so. Once in the mall, I give her six hundred dollars to shop with, telling her I will be in front of New York Fries waiting for her. The Porta Potty, and hair dryer, I can pick up from a hardware store as we leave Abbotsville. Charlize tucks the cash in her small carry purse and is off.
There is a bank of three pay phones to my left. Mrs. Rose answers on first ring.
"Hello Mrs. Rose, it is Don Johnson, how are you?"
"I am fine, is there a problem with Jayden?"
"No, why would you ask that?"
"Because, every time you have called me, for the last three years; it has been about your niece!"
She is right. It has always been about Jayden.
"No, not this time. I have a very serious situation that you, hopefully, can help me with."
There is caution in her voice!
"What can I help you with? You have never come across as anyone that needs help with anything!"
"A friend of mine from New Orleans passed away a couple of months ago, leaving his young daughter in my care. There are no living relatives, other than me as her Godfather. As you are aware, I live in my cabin, not exactly the right circumstances to raise a young lady. Would you consider being her caretaker and mentor?"
"Wow! That is one helluva request! How old is she?"
"What you're asking is a great responsibility. Can you give me a couple of days to think about it? Please don't tell me any more about her: if I feel I have to refuse, I don't want to feel guilty."
"I can appreciate that. Can I call you, Friday?"
"Fine, I will let you know then."
She hangs up. At least it is a start. I know it is a lot to ask of anyone; but, she is the only one I know and would trust. My sister is a plain ZERO!
Just starting my third coffee, I notice Charlize coming towards me with a loaded cart. There is a smile on her face: shopping took her mind off her sadness. It looks good on her.
"Don, I spent most of the money, there is more than clothes."
"Please, if you need more money, just ask. If you need to shop again, we can come back Friday."
I have to call Mrs. Rose Friday. The shopping trip will give me a good excuse to come back to Abbotsville. Grabbing the cart, I lead Charlize back to the Yukon. The trip back to the cottage is much better than the one to the mall. Charlize is bubbling over with enthusiasm. Telling me about her purchases of real jeans and denim shorts, no more designer clothes; she can't wait to show me. There is a large hardware store on our way out of Abbotsville, a Porta Potty, and two hairdryers, join the pile of Charlize's purchases. When we arrive at the cottage, I have Charlize stay in the vehicle while I check the cottage for tampering. Nothing out of the ordinary is found.
After dinner, Charlize wants to bathe. Heating the water warms the cottage. As before, she undresses in front of me. Like before, John Thomas wants to become one of the audience! Every time I am honored with the view of her body, my want quotient goes up. I want to touch her, I want to taste her, and I want to make love with her. Her beauty is undeniable.
She has grown daring: she stands before me giving a full frontal view. Her pussy is to die for! Her slit seems to go forever, pointing to prominent deep belly button. Her luv lips are full and her inner lips are bulging: so kissable. The smile on her face, tells me she knows her visual effect on me. Could she be interested in an old reprobate such as me? I have to get me and John Thomas away from all this temptation. Grabbing my laptop, I head for the veranda.
If Mrs. Rose accepts the challenge of being Charlize's caretaker, I need documentation, confirming all the bullshit I told her. Bill should be able to help. In another encrypted email, I ask if has access to the following documentation, passport, birth certificate and immunization certificates. I go on to explain the rouse, of the old army buddy, with me as the Godfather, the only living connection to the girl, etc., telling him I need documentation to support all of that for her acceptance at the local school. I provide her birthday and her name as Charlize Johnston.
Back in the cabin, Charlize has finished her bath. She is standing in a new wrap, drying her hair with the new hair dryer. She turns and smiles at me. Boy, has her demure changed! As she moves, the wrap opens and displays all of Charlize: John Thomas is now ready to salute. I don't know how much more of this I can take!
"I haven't thanked you for saving me. I would have likely died in the back seat of the car. There is not a lot of traffic on that road."
Lifting the hairdryer upwards with one arm and combing her hair with the other, spreads her wrap, exposing her nude body. She is a very sexy young girl. Her puffy luv lips have a sheen to them that seems to reflect the light. Then I see it is not sheen, it is pussy elixir! I want some! I have to get a grip on my emotions. John Thomas is not helping and, perhaps, he can take up basket weaving.
"I won't speculate about that; but, if nobody came by it certainly is a possibility. Fortunately, you are here safe."
"Only because of you! Do you think anybody will be looking for me? What if the guy who bought me comes looking?"
"There is no way I can answer that because I don't know the type of people that would think it is okay to buy a young beautiful girl that was kidnapped. But, I do know what they deserve if they are caught."
Charlize looks at me, as if asking me to continue that line of thought. Me and my big mouth! My laptop pings with an email! It is from Bill. He has some good news, and he wants to know if I would consider the name Charlize Jackson. It gets even better, the documentation is authentic. Passport, birth certificate and immunization forms are all available. The only thing Charlize will have to change is her birthday, from Mar. 9, 2000, to June 12, 2000. I don't think that will be a problem. And the fee is only fifteen thousand cash! Cash is something I have! It is fitting that the shitheads who are responsible for the kidnapping will also be paying for the items that help her go off the radar! I send Bill an okay and ask for details.
Charlize is still standing before me in all her glory. How I want to taste her. But, that is something for another time.
"Charlize, please cover up and come and sit beside me. We have something very important to discuss, so you have to behave."
It takes nearly an hour to explain the details of her new life. I don't mention anything about Mrs. Rose, for I need her agreement first.
"How can you do that? Give me a new identity! Isn't that illegal?"
"Having hoods get their hands on you is even more illegal. I am not suggesting you have to live under this assumed name forever; but, at least until we know you are safe from those bastards. If you were to show up in New Orleans, out of the blue, there would be too many questions and only god knows where you would end up. It would also alert whoever is after you."
She looks at me. Really, her face turns in my direction, but her mind is far off, digesting the information I just threw at her. This young lady has been through enough shit during the last month to cover three lifetimes and she's only fifteen. The glaze in her eyes fades, and then there are flashes of excitement: her body shifts as she is arranging her bare boobs against my arms. The nipples are like bullets that end up in John Thomas's head. This not good! She leans into me with her mouth at my ear, whispering:
"I'm not a virgin."
John Thomas certainly heard the remark! The strain of my shaft against the restraints of my jeans is very uncomfortable. Now, Charlize is nibbling my earlobe. Any more of this, and I am going down for the count! It has been over nine months since I have enjoyed the company of a woman. My laptop goes ding: saved by the bell!
"I have to get that."
The long and short of the message is that Bill requires the cash and two passport photos. Once payment is received, it will take up to three days before the documents are ready to ship. He provides me with an address where to ship the funds and passport photos; then he tells me that he requires a shipping address from me, where the documents are to be sent.
Charlize is standing naked, with the wrap in a pile at her feet. Her finger is beckoning me to follow her to the bed. After all the time I spent thinking about her, looking at her, and now with the revelation she is not a virgin, what willpower I had has slipped under her wrap. Now beside me, she grabs my hand and leads me to Valhalla.
Her nimble fingers remove the balance of my clothing. John Thomas hasn't been this happy since Jayden played with him. Now lying on the bed, Charlize looks at me, draws up her knees and lets her leg slump to the outside of her body, opening her fantastic, moist peach for viewing and, subsequently, eating. On my knees, between her legs, her fantastic scent is like a beacon guiding me to the Promised Land. One taste leads to another taste: I am hooked! Charlize's prominent clitoris is out of its hood, extending three quarters of an inch, very suckable! She uses my ears as guides, pulling my mouth as close as possible into her abyss, where her elixir flows freely; my tongue slurps the excess, when I am not sucking her clitoris. Three times her body trembles with a massive climax. Finally, her death grip on ears is released, her deep breathing continues. Her elixir continues to flow, coating her extraordinary rosebud. Its rim is very distinctive, thick and smooth. I can't help but run a finger over it and, with minor pressure; it slides in to the first knuckle. Charlize's anal muscles attempt to squeeze the invader into submission: it doesn't work. This opening has a lot of promise.
Charlize has grabbed two handfuls of my hair and pulls me bodily upwards. Balancing myself on my arms, she smiles and then grabs both of my nipples and squeezes, giving me painful instruction to mount her. John Thomas is more than willing to fulfill his role. He easily slips deep into the abyss. This feels so good! Charlize has me in a death grip, as her hips are slamming into mine. John Thomas takes over and, before I can say J. P. Morgan, all my months of pent up frustration flow deep into Charlize. I collapse, rolling to the right, bringing Charlize's body with me: she is now on top. Exhausted, and fulfilled, we both fall asleep!
Hell, we really must have crashed! I awake on my back with Charlize beside me, still out. Her legs are spread, pussy open and a small river of cum is seeping down and over her rosebud to the sheets. John Thomas is showing renewed interest. He will have to wait for I really need a shower; but, that will come later too. Right now, I need to retrieve some cash before Charlize wakes; I don't want to answer any questions.
The slab covering the cache of cash hasn't gotten any lighter! Grabbing sixteen bundles, sixteen thousand in cash, I replace the slab. Charlize is still out of it when I return. Removing all of the bands from the bundles, I stack them in two piles of eight. Using a food vac, I vacuum seal the piles into two bricks. Placing the bricks in a grocery bag, I just hang it up on a hook next to the door.
There is a 'ship it' location in the mall in Abbotsville; I can also rent a mailbox for a month, providing Bill with a return address. The passport photos we can have taken on Friday as well, when we return to Abbotsville for Mrs. Rose's decision. Things appear to be moving forward like a plan!
Rolling into Abbotsville, the first thing we do is get the passport photos of Charlize. When I suggest to Charlize that she go shopping, her eyes light up! I plan to meet her in an hour in front of New York Fries. With her passport photos, and my shopping bag of money, I enter 'ship it'. A very helpful clerk provides me with the right size box and a shipping label; there is a table where their clients can prepare a box for shipping. Once done, I pay the fee in cash and arrange to rent a postal box for a month. The firm allows their street address to be used; thus, my box is actually Unit 1204, 6576 Appleby Street, Abbotsville. This ensures couriers will deliver. I will send Bill an encrypted email tonight, advising him the package is on the way and the extra funds are for his time.
With a fresh coffee, my next chore is to call Mrs. Rose. Again, I use a payphone, very hard to trace. Mrs. Rose answers on the first ring.
"Hello, Mrs. Rose, it is Don."
"I thought it may be you."
"Have you thought about my request?"
"I will do it; but, first we have to come up with a fee, and how it will be paid. It's not that I am calloused, but I am being a realist."
"I will increase the fee that I forward to you for Jayden's care, by the amount you have likely calculated for Charlize's care. What did you decide?"
The amount is actually under what I had envisioned Mrs. Rose requesting.
"I will instruct my bank to increase the payment, by that amount, with the next payment."
"When do I meet my new charge?"
"She is shopping right now. She knows the plan; but, I never gave her any personal information."
"What is her name?"
"Charlize Jackson. I really hope you like her. She is a wonderful girl who has lived through some horrible things."
The introduction of Charlize to Mrs. Ann Rose goes well. I left telling both I had an errand to run. Actually, it was to let them get some face time together. Me? I enjoyed a coffee and a jelly donut. Arrangements are made so that Charlize will return tomorrow, with her luggage, and stay until next weekend. After the night with Charlize, I want a repeat and, by the looks she has been giving me, she feels the same. John Thomas is looking forward to playing train again in Charlize's tunnel.
Back at the cottage, Charlize is happy and is really impressed with Ann. That makes me happy as well. That evening, Charlize undresses in front of me, and then she grabs my hand and leads me to the bed. John Thomas is overjoyed and shows his interest. To be truthful, this is exactly what I was hoping for. I will miss Charlize. It is bitter sweet the next day when we load the truck with her belongings and drive back to Abbotsville. When she sees Ann, it is like two old friends meeting.
Returning to the cottage, it seems so vacant without Charlize. I know she will be better off living with Ann. I call my bank manager and change the monthly payment to Mrs. Rose, adding an extra two hundred for an allowance for Charlize. I make a note to myself to look into my financial arrangements; it may have to be adjusted to take Charlize into consideration. There are more than enough funds for both Jayden and Charlize's future. Before bed, I send an email to Bill.
Three days later, there is an email from Bill saying that the package has been sent. That means a quick trip to Abbotsville. The package is waiting for me. Everything appears authentic. A quick trip to Mrs. Rose's allows a quick delivery of the documents.
It has been seven days since Miss Charlize Jackson moved into Mrs. Rose's apartment. Charlize and I have talked at least twice each day. She wants to come and visit, and John Thomas wants her to visit, but I keep putting it off. I still have a real shitty feeling about what may happen; nothing solid, no actual evidence, just a very, very uneasy feeling of impending doom.
Every morning the surveillance cameras keep me up to date on the movements of that stupid rabbit. That small little bastard seems to trip three cameras each night, and not always the same ones. Maybe I should consider a rabbit stew.
The Dragunov, and four clips, has been my bed partner each night. I keep wishing it was Charlize's warm body beside me instead.
Jayden has called numerous times suggesting another date; I keep coming up with excuses. Then she tells me she met Charlize Jackson, who is living with her caretaker. She is very nice; Jayden tells me I would like her. If she knew, I would be in deep shit, likely with both girls.
I am really starting to go shack wacky! I would love to see both girls; Charlize for renewing our carnal knowledge, and Jayden? Oh, my Jayden. I do want her, but dare I? The knowledge that Charlize is more than willing helps, but being stuck here waiting for something, which may, or may not, happen is frustrating. Then it happens!
After another frustrating day, I tried to watch some television, but my mind kept looking at the images of Jayden and Charlize: Charlize in her naked splendor, Jayden flashing her very willing pussy. I shut everything down and lay on the bed. After an hour of rolling around, nature calls. When I am here alone, and it's dark, I usually walk out the back door to a rock and let it go. Relieved, I return to the cottage. After stubbing my toe, and expressing a few curse words, I notice the camera monitor screen is blinking; something, or someone, is moving between camera locations. Is this it?
Now on my stomach, with the Dragunov in hand, I crawl to the closest gun port. Flicking the scope to night vision, I scan the perimeter, back and forth, until I pick out one body; he is moving slowly, taking measured steps and he is wearing night googles. He freezes and, using his hand, signals someone to move to the left. Switching my view, I am able to pick out two more bodies moving slowly upward. It takes me ten minutes to determine that there are seven different bodies moving towards the cabin. It takes another ten minutes to determine the first body I found is the leader; he is the only one giving hand instructions. Panning back and forth between the bodies, keeping tabs on them, I know it is only a matter of time when they will rush the cabin. I have the advantage of surprise as they assume, because the cabin is dark, that I am sleeping. I am sure they have likely been watching the cottage for a number of days.
Again, panning to check their progress, all are standing stationary; something is about to happen. The body in the middle is moving; he drops a knapsack and now has something in his hand. There is a flash of a lighter and I see that the son of a bitch has a Molotov cocktail! Focusing on his forehead, I squeeze the trigger and 'pszt.' A small splat forms on his forehead. He seem to collapses, dropping the cocktail, which hits a rock. The area lights up like a Christmas tree. Then I hear,
"Jesus Christ! He has a gun with a suppressor."
Five shots come my way, all hitting the rocks piled against the walls. Then, one takes out the window. My next shot takes out the leader, another forehead shot; two more shoots, two more down. That leaves three. Victim five is behind a large rock outcropping using a night scope, panning the cabin back and forth looking for movement. 'Pszt, ' he has a neat hole in his forehead, now leaving only two. After seeing their comrades taken out, they are very cautious, keeping their body masses out of my view. But, I still have the advantage: They don't know where I am shooting from, thanks to the flash retarder. If they are not looking, the moment I shoot, there is no after flash. I know they are attempting to move towards the cabin. I keep panning, looking for the slightest movement. Then, to my advantage, the morning sun slowly starts to spread its welcoming start of the day. In the center of the hill, a small bush moves. Got ya! Watching the bush, it moves again. Whoever it is has no way to advance. He has to show himself. I aim to the left of the bush, which is his only opening, because the right has a sizeable rock impeding any progress from that route. I watch as a small bush rises, then a forehead comes into my viewfinder. He has a blueberry bush stuck into his headband, 'pszt, ' and end of number six. Now the real challenge: number seven. With my concentration on number six, seven could be anywhere.
Two slugs hammer the rock barricade. Now, in the morning light, I don't have the advantage of seeing a muzzle flash. I continue to pan. I have no idea how close the gunman is. It is not a good feeling. Sliding backwards, I reach back for the cameras monitor, assuming it hasn't been hit. If the cameras are still active it may get me out of this mess. The twenty forward cameras are still working, but only two are active. The son of bitch is to my left, hugging the ground, covered in a ghillie suit. I am up against one of my peers, and he is good. If that camera hadn't picked up the motion, I could have been dead meat. With the advantage of knowing from where he has to approach, I line my sights to that area and wait. It takes him an hour to move five feet. He is a professional, and he is good, but not good enough. He has to come into the open between two sizeable rocks: the ground is covered in blueberry bushes. Then, one of the blueberry bushes is moving forward: he is twenty yards from me. The ghillie suit raises enough to allow him to look towards the cabin, searching for my movement. It is a shame to kill such talent, but the last thing he sees is my muzzle. The ghillie suit rises as the slug tears through his cranium, and then falls. Assuming my count is correct, there are seven dead bodies on my mountain face. I wait another two hours, watching the cameras and panning my killing zone. There is no movement.
Fortunately, the damage to the cottage is minimal. They were professional killers, looking for shots, rather than blowing holes in everything hoping to hit something.
With my rifle at the ready, I survey the carnage, the guy in the ghillie suit, is dressed in a black jump suit, soft soled boots, with everything a dull black, no metal showing at all. The bloody mess is minimal; searching all his pockets divulges nothing except a wad of one hundred dollar bills, which I seize as a nuisance tax and a loaded Glock 9mm and three clips, which I also seize for hunting without a license. All of the bodies reveal nothing; all have a wad of one hundred dollar bills, seven loaded Glocks plus loaded clips and seven impressive rifles, all with high end scopes and additional ammunition. The guy I believed to be the leader also has a set of vehicle keys for a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter. It has to be somewhere close. My problem is how to get rid of the bodies. I can't call 911 and tell them there was a war on my mountain and the bad guys lost.
From my position, midway down from my cottage, I spot the van to my left. Guess what color? Black! Stashing extra Glocks, rifles and my Dragunov beside the leader's body, I walk to the Sprinter. With the Glock at the ready, I unlock the doors, no gunfire. Slipping on my gloves, I open the door; inside reveals nothing personal about the group of dead gunslingers. The van is a rental. In the back is a full ten-gallon gasoline container, a funnel and two empty wine bottles and an open package of auto polishing clothes. Now in the driver's seat, the unit starts on the first twist of the key. It takes some fancy driving, and a lot of wheel spinning, but I manage to climb the trail to the cabin. It takes four hours to drag the bodies to the van. I use a sheet of plastic, from the roll that has been hanging in the rafters of the cottage for ions. It takes time to man handle the dead, limp bodies into the seats and secure the seat belts. By the time I finish, I am sweating like a pig. The bodies are starting to smell too.
At dusk, I drive the unit down the trail turning right and driving past the massive rock pinnacle about a half mile. Driving off the shoulder, up against a rock cut, I cut the engine. Removing one of the polishing clothes, I clean the key fob of any trace of me or my DNA. Returning to the front, I start the engine and put the unit in gear. The unit just pushes against the rock, but doesn't stall. At the back, I remove the top off the gasoline can and flop it on its side; gravity takes care of the rest. The gas runs down the floor to the front, soaking into the floor mats. My last act at the scene is to light a match, toss it into the back, closing the door quickly; then, I get the hell out of Dodge!
Three hours later, I hear sirens; someone reported the burning van. Although I can't see the Sprinter's location, all of the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles provide an eerie panorama of colors. Nobody comes to visit.
Early the next morning, I mix a solution of water and sodium peroxide powder, a very dangerous caustic mixture, and carefully pour some on all the blood splatters from the bodies. The mixture should deter anyone from getting a DNA sample, assuming someone was to search for something that may have happened on my mountain.
The news reports are interesting with the theme being it was a gangland hit. With speculation of rival gangs in the drug trade, the local police requested help from the state police, who in turn requested assistance from the FBI. The identities of the bodies still haven't been released. One reporter speculates that authorities have a very difficult job; the burnt bodies are making IDs very challenging. It has me wondering if the bad guy's boss will be sending another crew; so far, he has lost ten soldiers.
Then, another surprise: an email from Bill with the contents very interesting.
'Hell Don, what did you do? We are having a gang war in New York. It seems the crime boss of those three you inquired about had his top lieutenant and six soldiers executed, gangland style, and then burnt, close to your digs in Abbotsville.
Tell me you didn't have anything to do with that. It has your fingerprints all over it! The boss blamed a rival gang. My guess? He couldn't accept that one man could overcome his lieutenant and his soldiers, and so he ordered a hit out on the leader of the rival gang and, then, the shit hit the fan! Both of the gang bosses were badly wounded in a shootout; eleven of the bad guys are in jail, including both gang leaders, and there are seventy eight charges against them. What in the hell did you do?
At last, some good news! I return an email, advising Bill, saying that I have seen the story on the news. I request he keep me updated. I admit nothing.
I follow the story online. According to reports, because of the weakened state of both gangs, their territories are being torn apart by smaller gangs. The local police have their hands full. In the last week four have been shot in drive by hits. All of this is good news for me. In their weakened state, the gang's interest in the money, drugs, guns and Charlize will be drastically diminished. They are now in a survival mode! Assuming they come out of this, they will have to rebuild and that is one thing the local law enforcement will do everything in their power to inhibit.
Last night was the best sleep I have had since all of this started, with the exception of the two enjoyable nights with Charlize. John Thomas continually reminds me that we should have a repeat!
In my daily conversations with Charlize, she hints it would nice to come to the cabin for a visit. This weekend would be great, as Mrs. Rose will be going to a seminar on Early American History, one of her passions from College. She is leaving Friday and will be back on Sunday. Sounds good to me.
The weekend was fantastic: we never left the cabin! Even John Thomas had to admit that he was finally satisfied. He was so exhausted he couldn't even get up to say goodbye when I kissed Charlize goodbye Sunday.
Monday was a complete wipeout; I slept most of the day. The latest email from Bill gave me more good news for a change. The charges against the gang leader have a good chance to stick. One of his soldiers rolled on him and is providing creditable evidence that should result in a conviction. He will be tied up in court for months, even years.
Finally, I may be able to relax. Nobody will be looking for Charlize, me or the other material I have collected. I have enough ordnance to equip a small army. But, relaxing is not to be! My cell is buzzing.
"Uncle Don, why didn't you tell me you knew Charlize? Or how well you know her?"
It's my beautiful, sexy Jayden; but, something is not right. The timbre of her voice tells me she is not happy, there is an icy feeling to it, and the hair on the back of neck seems to be standing on end! That is not a good sign. Something tells me there is a bit more to that statement. How do I answer?
"Mrs. Rose introduced me to Charlize, and told me my Uncle Don, YOU, introduced them and that you are supporting her and you are her Godfather! Since when???"
Hell, I am still trying to create an answer for her first question!
"Charlize and I had a long talk, about how you met her, it was very enlightening!"
I am still at a loss for words, I have a shitty feeling where this leading.
"She told me what you did for her, that you saved her, about buying all of the clothing and introducing her to Mrs. Rose."
Have you ever got a shitty feeling that someone is trying to remove your balls through your anal opening? I don't think I am going to like what is coming next!
"She also told me how she spent this past weekend! She is still swollen, and you know where, for she showed me what you did to her!"
That swishing sound you hear, it's the sound of the guillotine blade sliding through its guide, to remove my male appendages. What next?
"She told me that you made her feel wonderful and that she lost count after four climaxes, and she even showed me the pair of red lacy thongs she wore home from the cottage when you dropped her off Sunday. She is proud of the thick coating of dried cum and pussy juice at the crotch. You're cum, Uncle Don! She is keeping the panties as a trophy! She has them in a zip lock bag. I have to admit you did a good job filling her pussy! And you will be happy to know that she wants more!"
John Thomas is not inspired by this conversation; I can't recall when he has shrunk so small. I still haven't had the balls to answer her first comment.
"Uncle Don, this is the devil, Jaden, talking. You have a choice: you make arrangements to take my cherries this weekend, or I will give them to the next guy that asks me for a date. Your choice!"
Suddenly John Thomas sees a small glow of light at the end of the dark tunnel; he's happy to remain part of my body and not be removed with a dull knife. His confidence is building and is more than willing to do the deed. I've dreamed of doing Jayden for years. Now, it is her idea!
"Jayden, may I pick you up Friday after school? Would you like to spend the weekend at the cottage enjoying the view? I am sure my sister, your mother won't mind."
"Why thank you, Uncle Don. It is so good of you to ask. Will I get everything that I want?"
"Yes, every way you want. Your desires will be my commands!"
"Good! I have been checking the net; there are a many things I want to try. Make sure you are up to it! You know I love you. I still can't believe you did Charlize before me! You're going to pay for that!"
"I love you, Jayden, more than you'll ever know! Bye until Friday!"
Sometimes, uncles just have to make sacrifices for their niece. It should be a memorable weekend. If taking Jayden's cherries is the price, so be it. Arrangements are made to pick her up at school, Friday; she will pack Thursday night!