Chapter 2

But I could always hit a curveball. It was the fastballs that I couldn’t quite catch up too.

I kept going after I hit Phoenix and wound up in Houston, America’s fourth-largest city, cosmopolitan in every way. My kind of town, only I had to use it to hide from the FBI and other possibly interested members of law enforcement.

I had money enough, I wasn’t on the 10 Most Wanted List, and as far as I could tell they had no recent likenesses of me to post all over the USA, so Houston seemed to be a safe haven. But was it? I’d find out soon enough I guess.

I set my priorities: #1 Living Quarters, #2 Sustenance, and #3 Companionship.

I found a moderate place that rented condos by the week and settled in. I took two full days to familiarize myself with the city itself, exploring it using a rented car and walking; although in the blazing heat not all that much. I already had new ID, including a valid California Driver’s License, Social Security Card and even a Birth Certificate. Actually, I had two of the certificates. They were invaluable in obtaining the other forms of ID.

On the third day a call to Jiggs brought the following news. Lyle Williams, a sometime customer, had been swept up on pornography charges, albeit not with a minor, but on distribution of same. The Feds probably squeezed him hard and in all likelihood he gave them my name and two other suppliers as well. I hadn’t thought Lyle would have three suppliers. In his position I’d probably have done the same, but still, if I ever got my hands on him...

I would probably lose the house. It was standard procedure with the Feds on finding weed on the premises and they must have found at least three plus pounds of it. Mea culpa --- I left it there when I should have stashed it with the rest. Hopefully I would find that waiting when and if I returned.

Well I could kiss about $600,000 in real estate goodbye. The only satisfaction I could salvage from that was that my ex would be out half of that since we’d never be selling the property now.

Knowing full well I couldn’t stay in the condo for more than a month or so without any visible means of support, I perused the Houston newspaper for an apartment; a house was out of the question; I had money, but not the kind that a house would cost. Plus I’d need a job to show income and I hadn’t even begun looking in that area, but I needed to do that too.

I saw a promising ad the following morning in the Houston Chronicle: Multi-Unit Apartment Manager needed. Minimum 10 years experience. Must have references. Living quarters provided on site. Interview in person – call 713-945-2323. Applicant must pass physical and be drug free.

I phoned Jiggs and asked him for a favor.

“Well hello to you too!” he said.

I laughed and said, “How are things, Jiggs?”

“Same as the day before yesterday as far as I can tell. Is this your new number?”

“No, it’s a throw away.”

“What do you need, amigo?”

“Call me back from what you consider a safe phone on your end, say fifteen minutes?”

“You got it!” Jiggs said, and hung up.

Fifteen minutes later my phone rang. “Hello, Jiggs.”

“Yeah it’s me all right. So what can I do you for?”

“You still good with that forger ... you know, the woman who did the birth certificates and the other stuff?’

“As far as I know, yeah; she likes money, so ... I guess she’s good. What do you need?”

“References.”

“That should be easy.”

“Well, will they stand up? People I show ‘em too are gonna make calls to verify ‘em.”

“I’d have to talk to her about that. Just what are you trying to pass yourself off as?”

“Don’t you laugh, Jiggs, but I see an opportunity to get a place to live and a salary as an apartment manager. I need to show at least 10 years experience in a large multi-family complex. I’d also appreciate a quick primer for how to do it. Know anyone with an Apartment Manager for Dummies Yellow Book?”

We both chuckled over that, and Jiggs promised to get back to me.

It was a quarter to eleven that night that Jiggs called me back.

“Got your résumé, Jimbo! Jiggs crowed, using a variation of my new name. “You have fourteen years experience at three places.”

“Three places? Jiggs, how will you find that many people to vouch for me?”

“No problem. The first place was torn down twelve years ago. The second place is also gone, but the guy that managed it is now at apartment #3. For three hundred he will vouch for Joe Stalin. His name is Vladimir Krustove. You got a laptop?”

“Yeah, same email as before.”

“No, no, Bozo! Don’t use that address anymore. Make up a new one, send me a message and I’ll get you the particulars on Mr. Krustove and his past and present apartments. If you can wait a day, and I know that’s a maybe, I can get you a kind of primer by putting Krustove on the phone with you to run down the job’s basics.

“I know you can handle simple plumbing problems, and do some light carpentry, but what about electrical?”

“I’ve thought about that, Jiggs, and I’ll call in a licensed electrician. I’ll tell the owners that my electrical knowledge is weak, and I wouldn’t risk doing it myself because it’s too dangerous.”

“It’s plausible and shouldn’t be a problem. Candor helps in difficult interviews, and it would seem ... wait, how long have they been looking?”

“I’m not sure, Jiggs, but at the local library I saw the ad in last week’s paper, so that tells me they’ve been looking a while.”

“Maybe they’re getting antsy. That would help you.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought that myself.”

Not wanting to miss out on this particular job I called the number and spoke to a man named Johnson, “Um, I’m calling about the ad for an apartment manager.”

“Yes?”

His short reply caught me off guard and I stammered, saying something like: “I’m interested. I have the experience mentioned and, well I guess we might meet and talk about the job and its ramifications.”

“Ramifications?” he said, and a moment later he relinquished the phone to what sounded like an impatient female.

“Hello? This is Joan Biddle, my husband and I own the property in question. We’ve advertised for an apartment manager. Are you qualified to manage a fifty apartment complex? Yes or no?”

Feeling more confident after speaking with Mrs. Biddle, I replied, “I’m hesitant to say yes without knowing more about what’s entailed, Mrs. Biddle. Perhaps if we were to set up an interview I could lay out my qualifications for you and we could discuss what’s entailed from both our perspectives.”

“That sounds fine to me Mr.?”

“Grabowski, James Grabowski. Most people call me Jim. I should mention that I’m not in Houston at the moment; I have some business in Dallas tomorrow morning, but should be back in town tomorrow evening. We might meet then unless it’s inconvenient for you.”

“Let’s do it the following day, say about eleven am?”

“Fine, don’t go hiring anyone at least until we meet, now, Mrs. Biddle.” She laughed and it had a nice tinkle to it. “Don’t worry, and now if you have a pen and paper, I’ll give you the address.”

The property was located in midtown, making it a highly desirable place to live for anyone working in the area. It meant skirting the clogged highways leading into Houston from the suburbs and in the terrific heat of the city that meant a lot.

I drove past the apartments twice and then walked by sizing it up. I counted 55 units, but Mrs. Biddle had stated they had fifty---so one for me, one or more for the Biddle’s, leaving at least two more units, or were they being used for something else? It was certainly possible. I didn’t know all that much about apartment complexes. The swimming pool wasn’t visible from the street, but I heard some children shrieking joyfully from the street and that told me it was in use and was something I’d be looking after.

I walked around the property; it was nicely laid out with each unit facing a wooded area, and had a balcony that looked out at the pool in the back. The residents that I managed to see appeared to be for the most part couples, some with children and several apparently single –divorced—men and women, some with children as well.

The units themselves appeared to be in very good condition and the surrounding area was relatively quiet partly from the wooded buffer and another, similar complex just down the street. For Midtown Houston, it was very peaceful indeed.

I returned to my condo and continued with my studies. The materials sent by Jiggs indicated that my role was more than likely as kind of overseer; someone who would contact the plumber, electrician or repair man for whatever problem arose. And I would be at the beck and call of the tenants for whatever complaints they had.

In that regard I was able to call upon my previous experience as an officer in the Navy in my twenties. I had commanded a Destroyer Frigate with a crew of approximately 160 men. As Commanding Officer I bore responsibility for the ship and its crew, which included their assigned tasks such as navigation, engine room, radar, deck force, personnel and many other assignments required to operate a naval vessel. I only mention this as a means of assuring the reader that I was fully capable of managing the complex and was not going in blind.

Later, having tired of studying the résumé, I hopped back into my rental and found another apartment complex that was slightly larger and studied it as well. Having no idea of what they were asking for rent, I bought several more newspapers and returned to my condo.

I munched my diner and crunched some numbers after perusing the papers. Mrs. Biddle had mentioned there were 50 apartments; I assumed that roughly 20 were two-bedroom, two baths and that thirty were one bedroom, some of which had one bath, and some having either 11/2 or 2.

The results were as follows:

2200 x 20 units = $44,000

1800 x 30 units = $54,000

Total Monthly rentals: $98,000 per mo. Or $1,176,000 annually

That probably meant a salary of at least $75,000 plus some expenses. I hoped a car would go along with it.

I went to bed after doing some additional research on managing and the general area and making a list of local repair services that I thought might come in handy during the interview.

The following morning I received a long Email from Jiggs filling my request for a primer and more importantly, my résumé. I read it five times, almost memorizing it, but also adding some imaginary answers to questions that might arise from the facts listed in it.

I still had the rest of the day to reconnoiter or just relax. I decided to do a little of both.

Not finding anything new at the apartments, it occurred to me that I might not get the job after all, and that I should lay in some groceries if I was going to remain at the condo for the next few days or longer.

And so it happened that I was in the produce section of a nearby Fresh Mart when I noticed a gorgeous MILF with butt length blond hair, dressed in a neat business suit with a short blue jacket and a skirt that came to just above her knees. She was wearing a white, frilly, lace blouse underneath the jacket. She was tall; roughly 5’ 7” and long legged, wearing a devastating pair of red high heels. I would have bet anyone she was wearing hose and not pantyhose. Her cart was filled to the brim and she was having some difficulty in managing corners.

So of course that’s how I arranged to meet her without being detected as the wolf in waiting that I actually was.

We collided and things flew out of her cart and rolled along the floor. I made a profuse apology and bent to help her pick up the items on the floor. I gloomed a peek down her blouse---frilly bra, nice breasts, although I only got a quick glimpse of their tops.

In my imagination I was already pressing her into the grapes on the nearby counter and hoisting her skirt up with my dick out preparing to fuck her.

In reality I merely smiled and apologized again. “I am truly sorry. I’m so clumsy. I wasn’t looking. (That was an out and out lie. I was looking hard and getting harder as I looked.)

She returned the smile and apologized to me, saying it her fault for using a defective shopping cart. We went on our respective ways then, only to meet again two aisles over.

I filled the lower part of my cart with 2-liter bottles of Pepsi Cola. With Several boxes of cereal and milk and orange juice spilled recklessly into the upper basket.

We checked out together, well three lanes apart actually, but eye contact was made and she smiled at me. I think the cashier saw me adjust the boner I was projecting and smirked. Maybe she thought it was for her. Maybe she saw them all day long, and maybe, just maybe she was hoping I’d hit on her. But I didn’t.

I loaded my own groceries in my cart after the checker had them bagged. They were busy and all the bag boys were already on runs. When I went through the sliding doors, I looked over my shoulder to see two bag boys vying for the chance to be the one to push HER cart out.

I laughed, a little loudly and she looked my way. We made eye contact and I pointed down to the cart that I was pushing and looked at hers, with two boys around it. I just shrugged my shoulders, smiled again then walked out thinking that if we met again we’d have something to talk about for openers.

I loaded my groceries into my rental and watched as the two boys filled the back of her big white GMC SUV. She gave me a little wave as she drove off and I thought, well there’s ammunition for my evening’s masturbation and smiled all the way back to my condo

As I drove into the condo’s parking lot, I almost lost control of my rental when I saw her unloading the SUV!

I pulled into a space four over from her and got out.

“I don’t believe it!” I said. She whirled round at the sound of my voice.

“Why did you follow me?” She said accusingly.

“Whoa,” I replied, I’m staying here. I promise I’m not stalking you. It is quite a coincidence through, you have to admit it.”

“Quite,” she said, obviously not accepting my story.

“Look, here’s my room card.” I held it out so she could see that it was virtually the same card she had.

She began to laugh. “So it is a coincidence!”

I nodded and joined her in laughing at the situation. “My name’s Jim. Jim Grabowski, I’m new to Houston.

“Millie, Millicent Travois, but everyone calls me Millie.”

“Hi Millie, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Jim, or do you prefer James?”

“Either one will do. It doesn’t matter, Millie,” and as I said this I made sure to keep my eyes on hers. No ogling her body just yet that was a quick way to end any promising relationship.

“What unit do you live in? I’m in 110. I’ve only moved in today myself?”

“We live in 210, directly above you. We’re close neighbors,” she laughed again.

“So, you have a husband and kids, Millie?”

“Um, no, I don’t. I do have my mother, who’s disabled and doesn’t get around very much. We manage on my job and her pension.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about her situation; but what about you?”

Millie shrugged and said, I’m divorced ... four years now. No kids, although I sorta wish we’d had at least one,” she said wistfully.

“Sounds like you could do with some cheering up. I’m celebrating my divorce, mmm, must be three months, two days and six hours now.”

Millie laughed, “You are evil!” she said still laughing.

“Um, listen, Millie. If you like, um, what I mean is ... after you see to your Mom’s needs, you might come down to my place and help me demolish a bottle of fine red wine. I also have some killer appetizers to go with it. I’d enjoy nothing more than sharing them with you.”

I thought I caught her glance at my crotch before she answered. I’m not sure, but women have that ability to peek and not get caught unless one is waiting for them to do it. I was, and I did.

A moment later she said: “Yes, I’d like that. Would eight be all right? I can have Mom in bed watching her favorite TV shows, and that usually frees me for the rest of the evening.

“What if something goes wrong?” I asked.

“She has her phone. I’ll keep mine on. That should suffice. After all we’re just having a glass or two of wine. I won’t be leaving her alone that long.”

She refused my offer to help with her groceries and I picked mine up and walked to my first floor unit. Once inside, I opened a beer and sat down in the recliner and looked out upon the swimming pool. The lifeguard was skimming the pool. The only other person was an elderly woman under an umbrella waiting for another elderly woman, or man to join her.

I never found out which it was, for the voices in the next unit captured my attention and held it for the next forty-odd minutes. I could hear, and quite plainly too for that matter, the voices of two young girls and a boy. He being the brother of one of the girls, but I’ll relate the conversation as best I can recall it, for it was very interesting and sordid enough to cause me to jerk off even knowing Millie would be stopping by in two hours time.

“Come on, Randy. Show us your dick, you promised if we got naked and showed you our pussies, you’d show it to us,”

“Yeah, Randy; you told me in the bathroom last night that you’d let Reese and me see it. I already told her you would; now here we are. It’s time to show and tell.”

“You sure she’s never seen one?” he asked.

Come on Randy, please? She’s never seen one before and wants to know what they look like and so do I” the other girl begged.

I figured this one had to be his sister, the other one, Reese, her best friend.

“Not so fast, Olivia. You promised me that I could touch both your titties and your pussies too. All’s you did was flash me. I didn’t get to see much at all. If I whip my dick out, it’s stayin’ out, you know?”

“No we haven’t, Randy,”

I think it was Olivia speaking, but then again it’s just a guess. At any rate she continued: We’ll even let you put your finger in each of our pussies, but we get to hold your dick for a while ... each of us.”

“I’ll let you touch my titties and suck the nippies,” the other girl said plaintively.

If this didn’t beat all ... I had been with plenty of women, young and old, but never had I had any begging to hold my dick. I recall thinking this kid must have a dick the size of a giant cucumber tucked away in his pants.

“Yeah, Randy, Reese will even suck you. Just let us touch it. Isn’t that right, Reese?”

“Fuck you, Olivia, I only said maybe and that was if he licked my pussy first!”

“Jesus Christ, Reese, we talked about this ... you agreed to take him in your mouth ... I mean, he’s my brother ... I can’t do it!”

As the two girls argued, I heard Randy say, “I’ll do that!”

One of the girls shrieked, the other clapped her hands. Olivia cried out, “You will? You’ll kiss our pussies and play with our tits if Reese sucks your dick?”

“Yeah, but you better not laugh at my dick. All the guys at school call me the freak whenever I’m in the showers.”

“We won’t laugh, Randy, honest we won’t,” Olivia said. “But why do they call you that?”

“I think ... I think it’s because I’m bigger down there then they are. They say I stretched it.”

That caused Reese to jump in, asking: “Stretched? You mean it’s long, or is it stretched like a balloon with air in it?”

I was dying to see these kids, especially the girls. I knew he couldn’t be more than 8 inches unless he was truly a freak. But most guys are 5 or 6 inches, so an additional two is significant. I’m a freak by the way at 8 ¼ inches.

Randy sounded forlorn in answering her. “It’s long and thick. They say I’ll never be able to get it into a girl and to tell you the truth I’m not sure I’ll be able too.”

“Ohhh,” both girls sighed sympathetically. I heard what must have been the bed they were on creak as they girls moved around. C’mere, Randy,” Reese said imploringly. “Let’s get those shorts off. I know I wanna see it. I promise I won’t laugh or poke fun at it.”

“Me neither, Randy,” his sister Olivia said. “Come on, take the shorts off and show us.”

“Lemme see you finger Olivia first, he said, playing the upper hand he now held.