Chapter 519: Labor Disputes

Desi’s dad said, “Desi will wake up if you put her down and will find some way to follow you to this meeting. Take her with you. She doesn’t like to be away from you if you are nearby. If she is with you, I don’t have to worry about her.”

The Pixie and Agent Summers agreed to go to one of my penthouses a few blocks from the meeting location I was about to have with the labor union bosses hounding the women making the pedal-less bikes. It was more to have a place close to get Desi if things got nasty.

Agent Summers could also use it as her reason why she didn’t answer her phone when the FBI did their thing at the mints with those from Becky’s family that crawled out from under their rocks.

When we got there, the requisite thugs were there to “pat the women down” before they could go into the meeting. Things got interesting when I followed in behind the women.

“Who the fuck are you, and where in the hell do you think you are going,” one asked me. “No babysitters allowed.”

Being cocky, I said, “Great. Then you can go home now.”

Yep. I wanted to make it clear I’m not to be fucked with.

All the thugs drew guns, and the one with the mouth put his gun to Desi’s head.

Without disturbing Desi, I turned in a circle and shot every thug I saw here with yet another new round type. Instead of having the black widow projectiles’ intense pain, these made them feel like I beat the shit out of all over their body at once. Those I shot included the ones in the building and meeting room. All but the one who put the gun to Desi’s head dropped to the ground, moaning in pain versus screaming out in agony. I had knocked his weapon from his hand before I started shooting mine.

As he pissed himself, I said, “I’m that guy with non-lethal guns with rounds that go through everything until they hit flesh. The thing is, I don’t need them to drop all of you on the ground before you can see me start moving. I didn’t want to wake my friend. She needs her beauty sleep. Since you put a gun to her head, I’m going to give you a little parting gift to remember me. I hope you can keep your hand perfectly steady. If it rolls around slightly, you will feel the pain you have never imagined you could feel and not die.”

From one of my spare magazines, I put a shield around a black widow round. I nudged it to where I could reach it and then put it in his hand.

“This is the nasty bitch’s sister, having the world’s worst PMS, compared to what I used to shoot the guys on the ground moaning in pain. Now keep your hand from moving. Even the slightest movement will cause the micro-needles to inject the payload into your body,” I told him. “Just a bit of advice, don’t point guns at kid’s heads.”

As I walked into the building, I heard him say, “What the fuck can this little rat turd do to me? You’re one funny guy.”

Well, you did ask.

The bosses came rushing out of the room at the end of the hall. That is where we were having the meeting.

“We told you no police or fed,” one man snarled. “Now, your worker’s families will suffer.”

Showtime.

I released the shield around the black widow bullet in the thug’s hand. The primal blood-curdling scream from the thug stopped the one making threats from dialing his phone.

“I’m not sure my being an agent for the federal child protection services counts as being a fed,” I told him. “Well, being an adjunct U.S. Treasury agent probably does count, but I’m not here in any official capacity. These women got my ass out of a jam with my four-year-old daughter a while back. I was in town, so they asked if I could come to the meeting to get a different perspective on what you offer their workers. I’m confused because these women seem beyond generous with pay and benefits compared to everywhere else, especially the unionized shops.”

The most officious and arrogant of them said, “Anyone that runs a manufacturing operation around here is a union shop. We ensure the workers aren’t getting screwed and get everything they deserve.”

“What are her workers not getting now that them unionizing will provide in exchange for their union dues?” I asked, playing along with his bullshit.

“These women enslave the city’s most vulnerable people and bank millions. Their workers barely have a roof over their heads while they live in a three million-dollar-condo,” another stated.

Before the others jumped in, I said, “To be clear, the women don’t own that three million-dollar-condo. They are long-term guests of the condo’s owner. None of them had anywhere to go when they got evicted from the small apartment they all shared.”

I let them go around telling me all the bad things they thought these women were doing and what the union would do for the workers.

“I must have this wrong. You want to force workers to vote to unionize for you to negotiate better working conditions. Can you help me here? It sounds like you want to demand that employers provide low-deductible, low-copay health insurance. On top of that, you want them to have the workers’ pay into a pension fund that you manage and entry-level workers to make fifteen dollars an hour to start,” I said.

One of the men said, “You seem to have it spot on.”

“That is why I’m confused. These women already profit share with their employees via a 401k with a renowned investment company. Their workers manage how they invest their money. The money is theirs regardless, even if they leave the company for any reason,” I said. “I don’t know health insurance, but it seems that the fully employer-funded, zero deductibles, zero copay plan these women provide is better than what will demand these women to provide once unionized. If I heard it right, the company even gives the workers the safety gear they must buy anywhere else, especially in all the unionized manufacturing shops your unions represent. I mean, I can see why you have difficulty convincing the workers. I know I wouldn’t pay someone my hard-earned money to force my bosses to take away benefits and cut my hourly pay. If I were a convicted felon, recovering addict, and anyone else down on their luck that these women agreed to give a second chance, I wouldn’t want any part of your deal.”

Before they could respond, a woman I didn’t recognize walked in to sit on the corner of the table. The men knew who she was instantly and weren’t looking all that comfortable with her being there.

“Before you shoot yourself in the foot, David is family,” she told them.

Am I? Whose family?

“These women were making a product that people wanted to buy. While they crammed into a two-bedroom apartment to put everything into their business, their CFO ensured he got the pay he thought he deserved. David got in deep shit with his toddler after he promised her he would take her on his trips and then left on one without her. He saw these bikes, but the family selling them had one color and an older model. When he asked what it would take to get other colors, the kid there told him he had to buy a thousand bikes in each color he wanted. You’ve got daughters, and I know you spend whatever it takes to get off their shit lists,” this woman said.

She explained how I bailed the women out, let them house-sit for me, and got out of deep shit with April. By the time she finished, the men had found that they had gotten smoke blown up their asses. These women started employees at eighteen dollars an hour, plus all the benefits, starting the first day of employment. Like the sock company, for each bike sold, they donate one to schools and youth centers in the poorest parts of the U.S.

I saw their reaction when the woman said, “They are giving a second chance to people who lost everything, including convicted felons, recovered addicts, and those no one else would hire to do even the crappiest jobs for way below minimum wage. People who lived in cardboard boxes and tents with their entire family can now afford a place with walls, clean running water, and not out in the elements. Many of them were shit on repeatedly by the unions forcing them to strike, only to find their previous boss made them all redundant one minute after the strike started.”

“I can’t speak for the others, but I need to talk with my employees as they painted a different picture. I look like an ass,” he told the women. “If you ladies need anything, call me, and I will see what I can do to help where I can. I was one of the people living in a box with my family until someone gave me a chance to prove myself. Harassing honest, hard-working people going above and beyond for their workers and the poor is not how I want people to think of my family or me. You have my apologies for not doing as my mentor taught me and checking the facts before sticking my neck out.”

He wrote down his home number and his wife’s cell phone. His wife would ensure that whatever the women needed was made available to them.

The rest of you clowns don’t see a problem with having fucked up.

The woman at the table said, “Look, guys, you don’t want me to ask David to come to stay in my home for a few days.”

“What does that mean?” one asked.

So that the bike manufacturing women couldn’t hear, she told them. “David showed my sisters that they didn’t need to fake getting off with him. All my sisters, young and old, were begging him to give them a chance to catch their breath after he fucked them bareback until they couldn’t take getting another cum. After showing one client’s daughter what people meant about great sex, he started a bidding war. You know the boy toy your girls like beating on while they fuck him? Guy tried to punch David when he was barely ninety pounds because the rumors were that David was getting all the pussy. It is beside the fact that there was truth to the rumors. Guy tried to use David to cushion his punch. The boy toy missed and broke his hand. His parents caused all manners of shit for David, including having David arrested as if he was an ax-wielding psycho, pro-wrestler on PCP. That was before David bulked up, learned martial arts, or had a dime to his name. When that guy showed up at David’s birthday party, David wanted him gone, but not dead or even injured. He called us and got him his dream job.”

“That dumb shit? Seriously? He’s too stupid to merit making disappear,” one guy said.

She told him, “He was smart enough to get that David didn’t have any bad feelings toward him. You don’t need brains to let girls and women pay to slap you around while using you as a flesh dildo. Leave these women alone and make sure everyone else gets the word to stay the fuck away from them. If not, I won’t make him leave as my mom did. He has the body of a Greek God and knows how to use his nine-inch dick to make women scream in honest orgasmic pleasure, including professional ones. I’ve seen you in action. Trust me. You don’t measure up.”

These small-time union bosses got the point.

Desi stayed out like a light, just as she had since she jumped into my arms.

I walked out with the women to where The Pixie and Agent Summers stayed with me. I knew both women wanted sex, and so did Desi.

It was a short walk to my condo, where the women lived.

The thing is, it went through a bad part of D.C. They would take a long way around, but I convinced them we would be fine.

You can’t see what I do, but I didn’t expect that you could.

A few thought a guy carrying a sleeping girl and a group of women looked like easy pickings. I only put half a charge on the stun rounds. A shot in the groin put them to their knees. One to the shoulder made their arm go limp, dropping their weapons. A high-speed camera pointed in the right place would have caught me pulling the black-widow gun, taking two shots, and putting it back, but not any security cameras. Of course, there weren’t any cameras around these areas anyway.

Who am I to question it when one of the women kicks a thug in the nuts?

Desi needed to pee when we got to the condo. She headed to my bedroom to take care of things and told me she would get into bed afterward.

All the women were beyond horny but didn’t last all that long. They said it had been too long since I was last here, and my dick was the most recent in any of them. Their business took most of their time, and they weren’t interested in having a relationship right now.

To keep things from getting weird with Agent Summers, I wore Desi out before we showered. I always had some clean clothes here, and Desi had a change of panties in her backpack. The women were all asleep when we left.

I got us a rideshare to where Agent Summers and The Pixie were staying. Desi went into the master bedroom, stripped, and stole one of my t-shirts to wear to bed. She made it as far as the closest couch. The Pixie came out of one bedroom in the buff.

Agent Summers had liberated a t-shirt, too.

Damn, Pixie wasn’t kidding when she said that her skin color would change to be better camouflage. She still has vibrant-colored hair.

Julie was insatiable. She came in when I was fucking Pixie to start making out with us. Pixie didn’t glow or change colors when Julie was in with us. Pixie had passed out around three in the morning. Julie only stopped to get something to drink or eat after I pumped yet another load into her.

I woke up to Julie stroking my hard dick as she told Desi she wouldn’t tell anyone if Desi wanted to take a ride. Julie could lose her job for having sex with me since I was technically an adjunct agent working for her for the duration of this trip. Desi didn’t need to be told twice. Both women and Desi took turns getting laid until Julie got a call to locate me and have me come to the office. That was all the details she got.

Julie took the train to get into the office while I took Desi home. Her mom took one look at Desi and pulled me into a hug. She thanked me for taking excellent care of Desi.

If I had the time, I would take care of you too.

Everyone was waiting for me when I arrived, including The Pixie.

A group of FBI agents wanted to chat with me. They asked me to hand over my black-widow guns, but someone picked those up when I was sleeping.

“Let me guess. The people you caught in your operation this morning said I was behind it all, and they were only doing my bidding because they feared for their lives or some similar crap,” I asked.

The agent in charge said, “Interesting that you should mention that information. That is nearly verbatim to what they claimed.”

“I can vouch for Agent Jones. He spends more each month on his four foster care complexes than all the U.S. Mints print or mint monthly. He paid over a billion in income taxes last year after deducting his foster care complex’s costs,” Agent Summers told the AIC. “He wouldn’t have deducted those costs, but the IRS demanded his accountants do that to keep people from claiming the IRS was screwing David over.”

A senior Treasury agent came out of an office and said, “Mr. Jones has the direct line to every world leader, and they will answer his call anytime, anywhere, if he calls. I can promise you with great certainty that he has no involvement with those you arrested in your early morning raids. I reviewed his tax audit by the IRS. The criminals in question owe Mr. Jones tens of thousands of dollars for a party they had at one of his properties. Their scheme fell apart before fruition. They abandoned many of their children when they slipped out in the night. Mr. Jones took those children into his care and is a better provider than these people could ever be.”

Well, that solved that quickly and without a big hassle.

The Pixie slipped out when no one noticed. Nobody seemed to be looking for her.

While I am no longer a suspect in their investigation, the AIC did get my taxes from the IRS and reviewed what that senior Treasury agent told him. He still wanted to have me come in for questioning. A call from someone higher up the food chain and a senator ended that questioning before it ever started.

I asked the FBI AIC to speak with me in one of the offices.

“I’m sorry you were the one with the target on your back that got sent over to bring me in for questioning,” I told him. “They didn’t bother to tell you that you only needed to give me a call, and I would have come right to your office. I have the security clearance and credentials to walk into the FBI, CIA, NSA, and White House anytime I want, without being challenged. I’m that guy that doesn’t check his weapons or go through a metal detector. No one told you this because it is way above their pay grades. You’re doing your job, and I expect no less than how you did it today.”

“I suspected as much when told you would come to this suite. My team and I don’t have clearance to be on this floor. We were escorted up here to wait for your arrival. This is highly unusual. Someone expected this to become a career-ending investigation for me. At least I didn’t waste my time. I now know someone has it out for me,” he told me.

Good luck with that.

Agent Summer was walking funny, and there was no other reason for me to remain in D.C. I was in no rush to get home, so I bought a first-class ticket home. I could have gotten a flight with only one plane change, but I took the first available flight.