Maxine's New Life Ch. 12

When she finally calmed down, my face was covered with Jerry's cum. I managed to find a comfortable spot on the floor to slip into the arms of Morpheus. It seemed that my drift into oblivion lasted only a few minutes.

I felt something on my lips. Jerry's dick had come back to life. "You do that better than anyone ever has," he said pushing his dick into my mouth.

I couldn't speak, all I could do was nurse on his only slightly erect dick. I drew it into my mouth like a vacuum cleaner. Inside I made a tight, hot, wet tunnel for his dick to rest. I lay there nursing and Jerry lay on the floor enjoying it. I wondered where Mosby was, but I didn't open my eyes to look. I was far too deep into the feeling of Jerry's dick in my mouth.

I was wondering if he would ever come to life again, when he began to gently stroke the extremely sensitive tissue inside my mouth. After a few strokes he went deeper and began to choke me a little. He must have enjoyed the sound of me struggling to cope with his dick, since he didn't stop. He even increased his movements to push deeper and more often.

I was getting adjusted to his dick in my throat, so I reached around and slipped a finger into he ass. When I did that. Jerry didn't increase his speed but he did push harder. He was trying to fuck my throat. It was what I wanted, so I just relaxed and allowed it to happen. It was hard to get enough air, but I didn't resist the over powering feeling of his dick in my throat. I wanted to throw up and I wanted more air, but I stayed with it until he tightened and show hot cum almost directly into my stomach. I didn't need to swallow he was that deep in my throat when he came. It was the Mendez brother all over again, but without the anger and with only a little pain. After I knew that he was finished I pulled my head back freeing myself from his dick. I gasped for air over and over. No I didn't cum from it, but I still felt wonderful.

Chapter 68

I had slept off my sexual hangover by 3AM, so I left Mosby's apartment. I figured that Jerry and Mosby would do better with breakfast alone. I knew for damn sure I would do better with breakfast alone.

It wasn't just chilly. It was cold that Saturday morning in mid November. I could managed to make it home and into my small bed before I got core body cold. The heater in the cruiser was pure crap. From Mosby's apartment to my cabin was about eight miles. The heater in the cruiser got warm at 6.7 miles. Toss in the fact that I was not dressed for the cold, and you had a woman who drove six miserable miles at 3AM.

Fortunately there were no lights in my rear view mirror at all that night. Thank God there were also no signs on the surveillance cameras of any intruder, so I got through all my security precautions rather quickly.

Once in the tiny bed, it was all over for me. Sometimes I lay in bed waiting for my mind to disengage. Not so that early morning, the sexual fog residue put me right out of it again. I closed my eyes at 3:30AM, then opened them again at 8AM.

When I awoke the sun was not shining, and all was not right with the world. It was a dreary day, which put me in a dreary mood. In my case a dreary mood manifests itself as aggression. I might have been in an aggressive mood, but I wasn't pure evil. I decided to let Jen sleep until 10AM at least.

While I waited I fixed myself an egg sandwich which was every bit as good as Helen's. It should be, she taught me how to do it.

First I reached into the freezer unit of the small refrigerator to remove on of the two frozen sandwich roles, which I had stored there. Those rolls were from Helen's day old roll supply. I got them before she made stuffing or some such from the bread. Helen refused to use anything but fresh bakery rolls for her sandwiches. Which helped explain why people paid almost double the going rate for them.

I put the frozen roll into the microwave for 22 seconds exactly. While it nuked, I broke one ordinary egg into a cereal bowl. I added salt and pepper then a generous dash of Texas Pete hot sauce. I stirred the hell out of it. By the time it was ready for the microwave, the bread was soft and warm.

I replaced the bread with the egg bowl, then reset the timer of the microwave to exactly fifty seconds. While that ran, I found the sliced cheese in the refrigerator. I removed one piece, on which I folded the corners back making the square piece into one the shape of a stops sign. When the microwave beeped, I put the cheese on top of the egg. I ran the 'nukalator' another ten seconds. I added just bit of Mayonnaise to the role before I assembled it.

That sandwich, along with day old strong ass coffee, started me on the way to a better mood. Making the best egg sandwich in the world is easy, but I seldom bothered. I did it that morning only because it was Saturday. On Saturday Helen didn't run her truck. Also because I just didn't feel like leaving the cabin that early. I know 8:30 isn't all that early, but after Friday night, it was indeed too early for me to be out for the world to see.

I even washed the one cereal bowl, since I was killing time that morning. I wasn't sleepy, but I was still exhausted. My energy level was low for some reason. So low in fact that I was still in the sweater I had slept in the night before. It was also the sweater I had worn to the Cop Out. I was still in the soiled panties as well. Even I knew it was time for a shower and clean clothes.

My cell phone played that stupid song right in the middle of my shower. If I didn't remember to have Lucas fix that damn phone soon, it was going to find itself in the city sewer system one day. I was pretty sure it wouldn't get down my cabin's plumbing, but it would fit down the toilet at Ed's converted service station for sure. The phone had gone to message, before I could get out of the tiny shower stall.

I had expected the call to be Jen, but it was Ed instead. "Max,"The message began. "I have some news. I'm not sure if it is good or bad, but my client's mother called me at home last night. She has convinced her son, the cabin's owner, to sell it. Since you already lived there, and it would be a quick easy sell, she is going to give you the first option. If she doesn't hear from you by Monday, she is going to list it with a Realtor. That means your cover is blown for sure. You would also lose all the money you put into the place. So let me know what you want to do."

Now that just sucks rotten eggs, I thought. I had never spent a complete winter in the cabin. The last winter I had been in Jen's apartment. Fuck, it is always something, I told myself as I began to dress. I was going to spend the weekend trying to decide, whether I wanted to live in a tiny cabin, or take my toys and leave.

I still hadn't heard from Jen. The call from Ed put me in an even worse mood. so I called her.

"Hello," her sleepy voice said into the phone.

"Get your ass out of bed you lazy heifer." I said it way too cheerfully. Yes waking Jen up had cheered me up some.

"Max what the hell are you doing calling me at 9AM on a Saturday?"

"It's 9:30 Jen and you were supposed to call me?" I informed her.

"Why would I call you, you cow?" she asked. I could see the smile on her face through the phone.

"Because Helen's husband came to see you, and you have an agreement with Marty. So are you taking Jack's case? Even more important are you hiring me?"

"Oh hell yes, It was after six when all that got decided. I figured you had already started your weekend, so I didn't call. Now can I go back to sleep?"

"Is the Reverend there?" I asked more to piss her off than anything.

"No, our mutual friend the Reverend, does not spend his nights here," Jen snapped.

"Temper, Temper. I know that he spends a few nights there. Like anytime Bob is out wandering around, or the three of you want to play at the house of kink games." Thank god she didn't know about the Jerry, Mosby and me tryst just yet. Of course she would, since it was going to be all over the Internet one day. I had no doubt that it would be complete with a 'shadows on the wall' video as well.

That image just dawned on me. It was why the setup was in the living room with the lights on throwing images against the curtains for Mike or Gwen to film. That had to be Mosby's idea. I expect there were negotiations going on, or soon start for Jerry's waiver. What a fucked up mess my life had become.

"Well he isn't here," Jen insisted.

"I need to talk to him. That mission story sounds a lot like the Reverends Empire in the sun." I said it humorously I thought.

"Hey the Reverend does good work. His is not a cult." she said not quite angry but it was snippy.

"You can bet your ass Archer knows something about it. The plan is the same one he is using. His might be for the community's betterment, but we both know that plan can be twisted to make some asshole rich. So if it isn't Archer, he most likely knows which asshole it is."

"He might, I am not going to speak for him." Jen said.

"Always the a lawyer aren't you Jen?" I asked.

"Always the cop, aren't you Max. I thought when you left the military, you would get past that."

"Hey bitch, you got me into all this shit," I replied angrily.

"Bullshit, I got you into delivering court papers to supplement that tiny little pension you got from the Air Force. You didn't even let me apply for the disability add on."

"Because, I'm not disabled. If you had done that, I would just have to give it back now that the business is profitable. Let's not go through this again. Just call Archer and tell him I'm on my way to talk to him. Call me back with his location."

"Say please, you ungrateful bitch," she insisted just before she broke into a hearty laugh. "I'll call, just as soon as I find him."

"Jen honey, I know you. Archer is on your speed dial and he knows better than to not answer you." I laughed that time.

"I'll call you," she said. She was wide awake so I trusted that she would call soon.

I met archer at noon at the bike shop. He was in the small office that was used by everyone who worked there. It was the office, the break room, and probably the meeting place for lots of loose women. Hell, I fit right in.

"So Max, Jen explained about Jack's daughter. What do you want to know?"

"Are you running that mission?" I asked.

"All my work is here in Aster. My calling is to improve the lives of the forgotten people here." Archer said.

"Reverend, it's Max you are talking to, not the chamber of commerce. I know most of the money goes into the ministry, but you didn't take a vow of poverty. Now if you aren't running it, who is and what is their game?" I asked.

"I gave a lecture at one of those community improvement conferences two years ago. It was about how to grow a ministry from the streets. The representative from Tryon was there and he seemed to have a real interest. His name is Earnest Davenport. He went home and began a program like mine. But Davenport is not a minister. He is probably not even a servant of God.

"So is it a non profit organization, a scam, or a cult?' I asked.

"I'm not sure. It could be a little of each. Enough non profit to avoid the 35% tax bracket. He is skimming off enough of the profits to make me look like a saint." he said.

"And the cult part?" I asked.

"If you aren't doing it in the name of god, you have to have something for the lost ones to cling to. In this case it is the personality cult of brother Davenport, aka the Family Mission." Archer said.

"So tell me how is it organized?"

"Davenport began with the runaway kids in Tryon. Kids who leave home flock to Tryon or Charlestown. Most of them wind up on the streets. Living and working there. If they aren't hooked on drugs, they are half starved. He fed them and gave them a chance to make a more or less real contribution. They think they are involved with a higher calling.

He has a zero tolerance drug policy, so a lot of kids pass through the mission, but don't stay. He tries to move them from drugs to his personality cult, some make it, some don't."

"So does he put them fixing bicycles?" I asked.

"No mostly it wss maids and gardeners at first. He chose the kids because they were easy to con. He can't get ex-cons and drunks to buy into the bullshit he lays on the kids. You know the old Charlie Manson, we are family bullshit."

"So he used part of the money to do a hot lunch program at the community center?"I asked.

"Oh no, the community center wouldn't touch him. His hot lunch program is in the basement of a non denominational church. One that doesn't look too hard to see if the food is tainted by greed. Like it or not it is a good way to accumulate wealth and hungry people get fed. Sometimes the wealth goes to the church, sometimes it goes to the Family Mission."

"So the old folks die off and leave him their property. Is that the scam?" I asked.

"It's the tip of the iceberg. The old folks without family or any real ties to the church or anything else may remember those free meals. So yeah, some of them leave their property to the Family Mission."

"If it was you, there would be the thrift store to move the personal property of the benefactors." I suggested.

"Oh hell that's too smalltime for Davenport. That stuff he sells to me by the pound. We move it through our thrift store at a profit of course."

"So what happened to the houses and cars?'

"The first house he uses as his dormitory for the kids. It is a dump. Even I wouldn't let people live there."

"So what about the others?" I asked

"The Family Mission is a giant slum lord enterprise. The houses that are pretty nice, he rents to families at reasonable rates, but he does no maintenance. He makes that clear to the renters. They are responsible for any needed routine repairs. The laboring few have done some serious repairs. Just enough to keep the houses from being condemned. It is so hard to collect that we will only work for cash in advance these days."

"How about the houses that really need work?" I asked.

"He does the minimum repairs then they become half way houses for paroled cons, drug addicts and the mentally challenged.."

"Does he provide counseling?" I asked looking for some good in Davenport.

"He calls it peer counseling and the government buys it. Davenport houses the ex-cons and the recovering druggies in the same house. Then he hires an ex-con bad enough to keep the others in line. One for each halfway house is all it takes, if the counselor is violent enough. He has a couple of people he claims kicked the drug habit who hold group sessions with the addicts.

As for the mentally challenged shelter, the rescued kids go in and help out with their needs. He is only certified for the functioning level patients."

"Davenport sounds like a real slime ball," I said even though he didn't sound all that bad. He was warehousing people no one wanted wandering the streets. My objection was that he was screwing everyone in the process.

After my meeting with Reverend Archer, I had a pretty good feel for Davenport. He was different from Archer, but only in that he didn't have any feelings for the people he supposedly served. In fact they served him. Human misery was the end product of his little business. The prolonging of it meant a steady income for him. In my opinion he was no better than the guys who smuggled in sweatshop labor from Asia. He had just found a way to turn a profit from home grown misery. He most likely got a certificate of achievement from the politicians as well.

At least Archer, for all his faults, tried to get his workers off their knees and back into society. Davenport counted on them never becoming independent. He was in fact being paid to keep them dependent on him. And worst of all, he was endangering their lives in the substandard houses where he placed them.

Since it was all hearsay and from people with an ax to grind at best, I needed to see it for myself. I had a feeling Davenport wasn't going to be all that cooperative. If I planned any slight of hand, I probably needed to do it before he could recognize me as me.

I dialed Lucas's cell phone. It went to message right away. My guess was that he and Gwen were somewhere playing house and he didn't want to be bothered. Since the message wasn't urgent, I didn't mind.

"Lucas when you get this give me a call. I thought you and I might take a bike ride on our new toys tomorrow afternoon. I need you to do a computer search first If you can meet me at noon tomorrow in the office. Give me a call to confirm. If I don't hear from you today, I will just handle it. I do need to ride the bike tomorrow. Oh yeah the weatherman says bright and sunny. It will be a good day for it.

I was watching a TV show from the night before on my laptop, when the cell phone played that horrible music. "Hello," I said to the phone number I didn't recognize.

"Max, it's Jerry. Are you coming to the Club tonight?" he asked.

"Jerry, I haven't even decided where I'm going to eat tonight. Why?"

"Mosby won't answer her phone."

"Call me back in ten minutes," I said. Yes, I was concerned. I had too many friends get into shit because of me. I was always concerned when my friends did the unexpected. In Jerry's case my guess was that Mosby was just too embarrassed to speak with him.

"Mosby," I said in answer to her hello.

"Talk to Jerry, people like Jerry and me are paranoid. If you don't talk to him, he will be at your door. If that is what you want, I will just send him over."

"God no, I don't want to see him now. I'm still trying to work out how I feel about last night."

"Then take his call and tell him that. I will leave you alone tonight. I have some things I need to do anyway." I didn't really, but it sounded good.

"Hello Jerry," I said when he called. "Give Mosby a call now. She will explain. And I put your phone in my speed dial list for business calls."

"You can put it in your personal file. I found you just as amazing as Mosby." he said. I could almost see the stupid male conquest smile on his face.

"And, I found you adequate," I replied. He needs just s touch of deflation, I thought. "Anyway call her, you make a cute couple. Jerry, give her some time this is all new to her."

"Okay Max, so how are you?"

"Jerry it was Mosby's first time at the dance, not mine. But to answer your real question, you did just fine."

He laughed gently then said, "I guess that really was my question. It was my first time at the dance as well."

"Okay, tell Mosby that. Also tell her she was the reason you went to the dance. Just so she doesn't feel like a piece of meat."

I did not want to stay home alone on a Saturday night. Especially not after a Friday night like the one I just had, so I rode over to Tryon. First I called Mike, since it appeared he was on duty. I drove by the addresses that Archer had provided, with Mike following behind. It was his choice to being a separate car.

The houses were always the worst ones on the block. By the time Davenport's Family Ministry got them, they would have been rundown. Old people have to let the upkeep on their homes slip, if they want to survive. Particularly those in need of a hot meal from the Family Ministry's kitchen.

Add to that Davenport's practice of not doing any routine Maintenance and it was a recipe for continued slum housing. Each of the two halfway houses the ministry ran, was surrounded by a six foot chain link fence They were not supposed to be prisons, but they might easily have been mistaken for a minimum security prison. There were no guard houses, but they still looked like prisons to me.

The facility for the mentally challenged was no better. The fence was lower, but there was still a fence around it. I shook my head as I did the drive by at the run away kid's dorm. It was a large brick house, so it looked a little better, but the yard was littered and the porch looked ready to cave in. There were three colors of shingles on the roof. It was not a happy looking place at all. Hell the Adams family was most likely their decorator of choice.