Chapter 3

The new digs I moved to was at least twenty miles from the strip but for some strange reason, the city workers were tearing up the street outside because it flooded every time the rains fell heavy and the mayor was up to his ass in complaints about poor construction.

I had my new ID and other documents from my old buddy up in North Las Vegas. I felt sorry for him in the wheelchair and all but that was the price of fooling around with the organized crime families and the cartels that were in all the dark corners of Clark County.

Since it has been some time from the last entry to my story of “Susan from Susan”, I guess I better re-introduce myself to you guys.

My prison name is “Dutch” and I escaped from Folsom prison on a rainy day that promised it might just turn to snow if it got one degree cooler. I jumped off the laundry truck just outside Susan, California about halfway between Sacramento and San Francisco. Not many houses here with the primary residence being typical doublewides with lots of age on the siding. Wearing stolen pants and with no wallet, I went into a 24 hour pancake house and swiftly scooped up a tip on the table before ordering a cup of java to warm my bones.

That is where I met Susan and Trixie.

Neither of them was innocent and soon they were both sitting next to me in the booth eating up my story of an accident and waiting for funds to be wired to me as I had no papers.

The lived in a doublewide with nice furniture that that been a present from Susan’s ex who had to make a quick exit from the scene due to problems with a loan shark. That led to me offering to take the pair of them with me to Las Vegas because the loan shark might take a dim view of owning something that had belonged to his debtor.

Now, we had the doublewide parked in an empty lot intended for stick-built houses but willing to take mobiles on a temporary basis as the owners got their shit together.

Trixie was a sexy hot number and Susan was sort of more the domestic type with her romance television shows and her submissive nature that had her pulling her undies down for any polite guy that asked her the leading question.

I didn’t ask either of them directly but I estimated Susan to be in her early twenties and Trixie to be just a little bit over thirty.

I paid some Mexican day workers to set up the doublewide after picking them up outside of the local Lowes service center. They were good workers and we got the thing all set up in one day. The girls were chattering the whole time and I thought that Trixie broke in one of the bedrooms taking care of some of the workers as an added perk of the job.

Susan was not engaging in that sort of fooling around. I suspected because she was angling to show me that she might be a whore but didn’t act like that in normal circumstances. I could tell it was a way of life with Trixie but to Susan it was just a way to make money in order to survive.

That night we all slept together in the king-sized bed which was so big that we could all stretch out and roll over without any problem at all.

My new ID gave me the moniker of Steve Sampson and I got business cards with that name and my new cell phone number with the title “Confidential Investigations” and I was back in business. I transferred title to a car to my new name and address for the mobile home.

The two girls went the circuit of agents for porn casting and both of them got banged front and back more than once before the day was over. We all knew it was a racket but it was the only way to get in the door of an escort job connection.

Trixie got connected first and the following night she made almost a thousand dollars and had to sleep most of the day to get back to normal. The following night Susan went to a party at the Flamingo Casino and didn’t get home until six in the morning. She had a total of seven hundred and fifty dollars but told us she had to split with the other workers like the security and the driver who didn’t get any tips from the client.

We had almost four thousand in the kitty by Friday and the weekend promised to be just as lucrative. I got a call on my cell phone on Saturday morning about locating a missing girl from Indiana that guaranteed my client fee of five hundred and two hundred a day for tracing work and reports on the subject. That put another fifteen hundred into the kitty and it looked like we were sitting pretty as long as we had no hassle from the cops.

I was following up some leads out in the Henderson area where the girl was last spotted in the company of a pair of motorcycle guys headquartered up in the Utah area. I was outside one of their watering holes on the road to the Dam just monitoring the customers and looking for any dames that matched her description.

There was a knock on my window and I looked up into a pair of the bluest eyes I had ever seen and then those delicious ruby red lips moved and her words and the sight of her pink tongue gave me an instant hard-on that pushed against my trousers with determination.

“You got business in this area, Mister?”

She flashed a Clark County Sheriff’s badge at me and her smile was pretty enough but I could tell it wasn’t the least bit sincere because she had me made for a bad guy just from my broken nose and the tattoo on my neck that had been done by my cellmate in Folsom prison. He made serious money doing those things and he had done another on my back as well that was not intended for mixed company.