In Sharpe Focus
Copyright© 2023 by corsair
Chapter 29: April Fools Day at the Alamo
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 29: April Fools Day at the Alamo - Who shot JR Ewing? I mean who shot JFK? One was a fictional Dallas, and the other has much fiction attached. Agent "Jackie" has been voluntold to investigate a coup in progress and begins with an investigation into a dead actress, a trip down a rabbit hole.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Coercion Mind Control Reluctant Slavery BiSexual TransGender Fiction Crime Fan Fiction Historical Military Mystery Restart War Science Fiction Alternate History Body Swap Paranormal Magic Incest Rough Sadistic Gang Bang Swinging Interracial Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Petting Voyeurism Water Sports Body Modification Small Breasts ENF Nudism Prostitution Transformation Violence
Another day, another body. Billie now was five foot four inches and one hundred ten slender pounds with brown hair and brown eyes. I was all of six feet tall and one hundred eighty muscular pounds with brown hair and brown eyes. I was still learning my new identity as John Keith Lee, or just Jack Lee. Billie was now Beatrice Ann Lee (nee James). She had dropped out of school to help her family last year and we had married in a small town in Minnesota, Chandler. Billie was called Bea Ann James back in Minnesota until she dropped out of school--close enough to our code names that we could slip up and still be fine. Meanwhile the James family had scattered to the four corners of the world and their farm had been foreclosed. As Billie had quit school on her 16th birthday and was now 20 and newly married--and looked like Bea Lee--the odds that we’d get found out as fakes was low. Very low.
I was supposed to be a retired Air Force investigator, age 39. We were on our honeymoon and touring the nation in our camper-equipped pickup truck. It was April Fools Day 1963 and we were at the Alamo touring the Texas shrine. Our orders were to arrive at opening and stay all day. I was ready for the place to be closed on a Monday and had pressed for alternate plans.
“You have reservations for the Howard Johnson motel at the edge of town,” Athena said. “You will rent a Hertz car because we are putting your camper in a garage for repair--one of ours, the Dixie Boys Motors. Nothing is wrong but we want you to have a sportier car than your half-ton pickup. Your first dead drop is...”
I’m leaving off the dead drop location because it is probably being used by others. Billie and I would spend the day in a counter-surveillance routine and collect the contents of the dead drop. We started off with a breakfast in the motel’s cafe served by a waitress named Mae. Did I mention that we were unarmed--except for my pocket knife and Billie’s tear gas gun, a small thing spewing a small charge.
“Decoy weapon, Billie?” I asked.
“A girl has to have something,” she replied. “Athena said we might be arrested and interrogated.”
I hate fishing when I’m the bait!
The exhibits at the Alamo were fascinating. Restoration was in progress on something but the exhibits did help me to imagine the battle unfolding. For a while I was not anybody’s spy, just another tourist. Billie brought me back to Earth.
“I’m hungry, Jack.”
“I owe you an apology,” I said. “Take care of the troops! Where do you want to eat?”
“You pick a place.”
“There--that place,” I pointed across the street.
“A greasy spoon?”
“Let’s have two lunches, one now, one in a couple of hours,” I said. “A sandwich for now. What do you want to drink?”
No sandwiches, but I enjoyed some meatloaf with fries and string beans. Billie had a chicken breast with rice and corn. Sweet tea, no dessert. Mae was our waitress.
“I want to register to vote on my birthday,” Billie announced. “If JFK is running, I’m voting for him.”
“We need a home state,” I said. “We still have six states to tour.”
“I’m tired of snow. Let’s move to someplace warm.”
“How are your feet holding up?” I asked. “We can go shopping or tour the River Walk.”
“Let’s go for a drive,” Billie suggested. “Just drive around town.”
“Good idea, dear,” I said.
We paid, left a tip for Mae, and departed. Billie took the wheel of our rental, a convertible provided by the Dixie Boys Motors while they had our truck. It was red, a Ford--and a Thunderbird. Billie and I folded the top down and she put on sunglasses and cinched her scarf in place. I took my hat off so it wouldn’t blow off--I’m paranoid about convertibles at high speed. Billie had reason to drive around town; we needed to see if we had interested anybody in our activities.
“I wish we could drive someplace and make love under this blue sky,” Billie moaned. “I hate being all bundled up!”
“Yes, dear, but Texas isn’t ready for your beauty. The women will forget to breathe and will faint. The men will all howl like beasts. You make Helen of Troy look plain.”
“You flatterer!”
Anybody who bugged our car would have succumbed to saccharin overload--and that was the point. We stopped at a drive-in for burgers and shakes and I made a production of reading the map until the food arrived.
“Darling, you’re holding the map upside down,” Billie commented.
“So I am,” I admitted as Mae brought our food. Same face, different uniform, same name. Third time? Something to note.
“Now what?”
“I see Mae everywhere.” I bit into my hamburger, chewed thoughtfully. “Perhaps we need to change our plans.”
We took our time, returned to our motel room. On the way, I recommended that we pass up the dead drop pickup and phone it in. Paranoia was my profession. We stopped and Billie made the phone call while I watched traffic pass us by. Then we went back to the Holiday Inn. Billie dashed into the bathroom. I removed my suit coat and hung it up, placed my hat on the rack, and I heard the toilet flush. I loosened my tie as the door flew open and a naked Billie charged out and hugged me.
“Fuck me, Jackie,” Billie breathed.
The room phone rang three short and one long bell.
“FUCK ME!” Billie yelled. “Fucking cock-blocking bitches!”
“I’ll go find a phone booth,” I muttered.
“Don’t bother,” Billie snarled. Yes, she was angry. “Give me a moment to throw on a dress. I’ll drive. We have thirty minutes.”
In clandestine work you show up on time or not at all. Billie parked us at a locked gate leading into an Air Force base. We sat in our convertible with the top down waiting.
“How long are we supposed to wait?” I asked. “What are the recognition signals?”
“Just wait,” Billie said through clenched teeth. “God, I need to get laid.”
At that moment two police cars appeared from opposite ends of the road behind us.
“Put your hands on the steering wheel in plain sight,” I said as I leaned forward and placed my hands on top of the windshield. “We are about to interact with law enforcement.”
Both cars pulled up behind us and I sensed rather than saw four policemen exit with revolvers drawn. They ordered us out of the convertible and had us place our hands on the trunk on opposite sides, feet apart and leaning. We were frisked, handcuffed and taken to different patrol cars.
“Sir, check my right hand pants pocket again, please,” I requested.
“Shaddup!” Despite the Bexar Deputy Sheriff badge and shoulder patch, despite the decal on the car, the man’s accent was more New York Bronx. Odd, but not quite a red alert.