Chapter 15. Goodnight Sweet Prince

Monday Evening

After supper we talked a little bit about the security issues that Gracie would bring when she arrived next week. Irene had a detailed report from Detroit. Gracie was not a prima donna, far from it, but her old LA life of Mumzy’s constraints was over. We had to ease her into some new routines or bad things could happen. Too much freedom was dangerous, but too little freedom would be a slow cancer to the relationship. I didn’t want to talk shop during Irene’s boon, but she needed some guidelines. She could not let go of the issue. After eating we were both too full for sexual activity so I did what my captain asked.

Gracie was very rich, rich enough to use a jet of a regular basis. (She actually owned 2 jets and a helicopter.) Her mother had greatly restricted her movements by limiting the number of places she was permitted to visit in LA. The major roads are complicated enough so you have to know what lane to be in as you drive, and Gracie only knew by rote what her mother allowed her. The places Gracie knew where all places she fit in, shopping and eating with her approved friends. Plus she had a security team at the house, a chauffeur, and hired security always tailed her when Gracie was off the property. Even when she drove herself there was a two-man security team in a follow car. It was a considerable increase in manpower and expense over what we usually employed. On the other hand, for somebody with Gracie’s wealth and her recognition factor, the added expense was just the cost of doing business, and a small one at that, considering the alternative.

(So you might wonder, with these security arrangements, how did Gracie get taken and her mother killed? Because they broke their own security rules. There is a reason they have rules to live by. Gracie wanted to play out-of-bounds where she found a bad guy - that came close to getting her killed. Then her mother’s return trip from the Caribbean was a surprise. She just boarded her private jet and 6 hours later she was in LA without telling anybody - that did get her killed. Calling security was on her ‘to do’ list for the next day. The motorcycle gang who took her contract did not even know she had been gone. Coming to her house when they did was purely bad luck for all concerned, including dragging Mark into the fray.)

(Gracie managed to evade her own security because they were lazy with the boss thousands of miles away, they were paid to be cool instead of obvious, and they blew it - not for the first time - on the day when Gracie went totally off script. They missed a surprise left turn and after that they could not find her. For Gracie, she was celebrating her birthday and she, atypically, wanted some new and different fun. Gracie’s security wanted to cover their ass so they held off telling their HQ about misplacing her until they exhausted every normal possibility. By then it was too late, Gracie was in ugly hands of the Black King on the way to a bad place with dry ice.)

We could not do routine security in LA with the Patron’s soldiers, they were more “direct action” oriented folks with military tactics and training. They had no respect for a badge (encounters with corrupt cops was usually the case), so in LA they would leave a trail of broken and angry cops. Irene thought about hiring current and former cops, but if any ex-cops saw me it would raise their natural curiosity, and I didn’t need that. Irene knew that Mark, one of Gracie’s former step-fathers and lovers, had started a private security agency. I was sure they would be watching her no matter what, so why not hire them and put them formally on the job? It would require some delicate contacts, Mark considered me the Devil’s right-hand man. Gracie would have to approach Mark, then the contacts would have to be passed off to Irene and the current head of Mark’s agency. Making nice with Mark had to start soon. If a face-to-face meeting was required somebody had to go to Brazil or someplace in between, like Iquitos or Quito or maybe the Lesser Antilles. Mark was too good for anything else.

At the same time, getting Gracie to buy into our security plan was essential. Making a deal with Mark’s company could go a long way towards establishing her commitment.

I knew that Mark’s people would be curious about my business, curiosity was in their DNA. But Mark could explain that the agency had a life debt to me; one of their people committed a serious crime (inexperience and enthusiasm mixed with the best intentions). I made sure the guy was not tortured to death for it. If Mark stressed that event things would go a lot better, or they would reject the job. Mark knew that if the agency did not play ball under my rules, Gracie was the one who would be vulnerable. Nobody wanted that.

The key to this scheme was laying out clear areas of responsibility along with manageable handoffs between the agency and my troops. If everybody bought into the deal we would all be better off, plus as a bonus Mark would be able to keep an sharp eye on the step-daughter he loved (something he needed to do anyway) while keeping himself outside of the US. It was a better deal than most ex-step-fathers wanted by the FBI got over their 21 year old wealthy daughters/part-time lovers.

(Some folks in the FBI, former colleagues of Mark’s, wanted very much to question Mark under oath with the intention of catching his involvement in a crime or, failing that, a perjury trap. The starting point was an explosion at his house when it was full of hard criminals with automatic weapons and bad intent. It is a crime for a citizen to shoot a guy just because he has an Uzi or Kalashnikov, and killing them by the dozen makes it worse. A Perjury Trap is a standard FBI tactic, if they can’t get you for the crime they try to catch you in a conflict between your statements to them and some trivial fact they can prove, like if you say you did not have sex with an intern in a blue dress when her dress has your special sauce on it. This works on everybody except a lying sitting president who diddles an intern with a cigar at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.)

Irene and I sketched out some guidelines we thought would work for Gracie.

When Irene noticed that my evident physical enthusiasm for her naked form had returned we went back to the bedroom. Her body wanted more good times.

“I want to sit on your face again,” Irene said in a rush, like she had worked up the courage to say it. “Unless you don’t want to ... You know, that sounded disrespectful, I retract the remark.”

“Don’t be silly, I would be glad to please you that way. It is sincerely fun for me to get a hot chick wigglin’ and gigglin’ and getting all our of control dancin’ with every move of my tongue. Listen, there is NOTHING offensive for me about pleasing you and your body. I enjoy it.” I took a position on the bed. “Come here, settle down ... That’s it ... Slurp.” She had been thinking about this, I knew because as soon as I parted her labials she was very moist inside. Secretions spoke louder than words so I went right to work, like my Marta taught me.

Irene wiggled and pressed herself down, then moved in opposition to my tongue, so it traveled the length of her pleasure valley. “Oh fuck me, that feels good. Pure pleasure. No wonder you have so many fans, this is great. You say they all do this to other girls?”

“I can’t swear for some of my infrequents, but all of my of-age regulars lick ladies... (slurp) ... and get licked.”

I backed off for just a second. “Sometimes I have them do each other while I watch, or stick my cock in the extra, or do other things.”

“You know, I never would have thought of that ... I am too hetro oriented. What a thought ... could I maybe ... borrow one sometimes? Their choice of course.”