Absolute Devotion Ch. 11

"You're killing him!" Haggerty yelled at Erica. "His body can't handle that much ecstasy!"

Erica kept sliding her feet up and down on my erection, and I went in and out of consciousness, letting the world around us slip away, but then having it intrude on me once again.

"You can't have him," Erica told the detective.

"I don't want him, you crazy bitch," Haggerty told her. "You can have him. I just need to get this operation underway now. Marcello is waiting at the coffee shop and if he leaves, this operation falls apart."

For the first time since I entered Erica's room I became aware of the fact that I was wearing my Grandma disguise. That realization gave me a sudden feeling of discomfort, as I enjoyed what Erica was doing more than anything I'd experienced before, but I didn't think it fit with Grandma's personality and cover story.

"Okay," Erica said, sounding resigned as she took her feet away from my cock and got herself up to a standing position. "Take him, but you better bring him back in one piece."

"Yeah, don't worry about it. I take care of my informants."

"Oh, sweetie, I almost forgot to tell you something," Erica said as she gently grabbed my good arm.

"Yes, Miss Erica?"

"Remember how I told you about that guy Dirk, the one I've been seeing two or three times a week?"

"I remember."

"Things have been getting serious between us. I wasn't really sure how to tell you. I knew I needed to, and while I know this isn't the best time to tell you this, it isn't something I can keep from you any longer."

"What do you mean by serious?" I asked, my heart racing in a different direction than it had when she was stroking me with her feet.

"We can talk about it when you get back," she said, stroking my arm the way someone pets a dog. "I've been thinking a lot about my life, and I'm not getting any younger. Dirk isn't like other men I've been with, he's sensitive and caring. He's even talked about getting married."

I stood with my mouth agape, not knowing what to say. Then Detective Haggerty grabbed my other arm, the one with the cast on it, and started pulling me towards the door.

"We have to go, foot boy, come on," she said firmly.

"I have to get into character," I told her. "You need to call me Grandma."

"Okay, Grandma, let's go."

Detective Haggerty led me to my car and told me to drive. She got in on the passenger side and rode with me to the hole in the wall breakfast place. When we got there, she put her hand on my leg and told me to wait for a moment before going in.

"You realize that woman is just messing up your head," she told me. "She doesn't love you, Keith. She's just using you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "My name is Grandma and my late husband has been gone for twenty years now."

"Okay, go meet Marcello. We can talk about this later."

I was distracted by many thoughts as I approached the breakfast place. The most distressing of those thoughts was of Jimmy and Cat spending so much time in my bedroom. I really hoped they weren't breaking or moving my things and hoped they intended to wash the sheets on my bed when they were through.

I walked into the restaurant and immediately saw Grandpa and Whitney, sitting at a table together. She was having eggs and bacon with coffee. Grandpa was having coffee as well, but he was eating oatmeal, a favorite of old timers.

"Should I sit down and join you or are we ready to scurry off on our grand adventure?" I asked.

"Have you eaten?" Grandpa asked.

"No, I haven't, and I probably should as I received quite a workout this morning."

"You 'received' a workout? How intriguing," remarked Grandpa. "Join us, we have some time."

I was a bit torn about his response. Detective Haggerty had insisted we needed to rush to the restaurant before Whitney and Grandpa left for the cabin without me, but now that I had arrived they seemed to be in no rush whatsoever.

I ordered items I thought would be typical of an old lady, such as oatmeal and prune juice, and the three of us ate together like old friends. While I tried to choke down the prune juice without appearing distressed by its foul taste, Whitney began a story.

"I went fishing with my uncle once," she said. "We went down to this pond and he showed me how to cast my line into the water and I reeled in this huge marlin and he was embarrassed by my good fortune and never took me fishing again."

"You caught a marlin in a pond?" Grandpa asked. "Is this story in any way true?"

"I have an uncle," she reported.

Once we finished, Grandpa used the power of chivalry to pay for all our meals, and we were off to the cabin. He led the way outside and Whitney and I followed close behind. His car, an old wood paneled station wagon, was loaded with supplies but had ample room for three passengers without having to sit with luggage on your lap. I was glad for that. When I was young my parents had a small car and when we went on trips I had to sit in the back seat with all of the luggage and other items we owned on top of me.

"Yay! Road trip!" exclaimed Whitney, who was wearing a tube top and daisy dukes, which revealed she had no reason to be wearing long pants. Her legs were far from being as reality defying as Erica's, but they were long, lean, and fairly toned. She did need to get more sun, however, as while her thighs were not pale, they were definitely on the lighter side of beige.

"I haven't seen a young lady in a top like that since 1979," I told Whitney, speaking in regards to her tube top. "Wherever did you find such a thing?"

"It was in my mom's things when she died. I kind of like the way it makes my boobs look."

"Oh, I agree with you, honey," said Grandpa. "Your boobs look great."

"Thanks, Grandpa."

"Oh my," I was heard to remark. Her breasts were actually quite small, and were barely noticeable, even in the tube top.

I was in the back seat, as Grandpa wanted Whitney up front so he could look at her and occasionally grope her. She giggled at him and called him a "dirty old man" when he did things like move his tongue around in his mouth and push it against the inside of his cheek repeatedly. I found it reprehensible, but somehow titillating.

I tried not to be obvious when I'd turn and look behind us. I was trying to see if the two detectives were following in the surveillance van, but it was hard to see anything with all the luggage and boxes of undetermined contents piled up in the back of the station wagon.

We stopped for gas, at which point Grandpa said we were only fifteen minutes away from our destination. I told Grandpa I needed to stretch my legs, at which point he turned to Whitney and said, "I'll stretch your legs later," and then made farm sounds before saying, "Ooh, ooh, piggy! Ooh, ooh, piggy piggy!"

"Stretching my legs" was an excuse to walk around to try to see if I could see any sign of the surveillance van. There were a few families, probably actual families rather than people pretending they were a family for weird sexual reasons, at the gas station, which sat at the entrance to a national park. I didn't see the surveillance van anywhere, and hoped that was because Detective Haggerty was very clever and good at her job and not because they'd gotten lost trying to follow us.

"We're at a gas station at the entrance to a national park," I said out loud, knowing the wire I was wearing would pick it up. "I hope you are still following us. If not, he says we're only fifteen minutes away from the cabin."

Whitney raced past me, giggling loudly. Grandpa was chasing her with his hands outstretched in front of him making pig noises and chanting, "Sooooweeeee... Sooooooweeeeeee..."

There was a loudspeaker not far from where I was standing, but I was unaware of its presence until an announcement came over it.

"There is a telegram for Keith the foot boy at the cashier. Please come and retrieve it if you are here."

I had never received a telegram before and thought they had gone out of style like telephone booths. I tried to act casual, not wanting Grandpa or Whitney to see me respond to the announcement, but they were still running around acting out some kind of farm routine, so I started towards the gas station cashier.

"You have a telegram for Keith?" I asked, using my regular voice despite being in full old lady dress.

"Yes, is he here?"

"I'm traveling with him. Can I pick it up and bring it to the car for him?"

"He has to get it himself."

"Can I show you his driver's license to prove that I'm with him?"

"He has to get it himself."

Not knowing what else to do, I went into the men's room and quickly changed back into my regular self. I didn't have any clothes other than the old lady clothes, but there were some rubbery fishing pants in the station wagon. They were the kind a fisherman wears when wading out into water that comes up to his waist, "hip waders" I believe they are called, so I bought a tourist type t-shirt from the cashier and went into the bathroom to change.

"I'm Keith," I said very seriously. "Do you have a telegram for me?" I asked.

"Yes, sir," the cashier said. "Just sign for it here and it's all yours."

He pointed to where I had to sign and I took the telegram into the men's room. After I changed back into my old lady secret identity clothes, I looked at the telegram to see what it said.

"We didn't lose you. Don't panic."

That was all it said. It wasn't signed and gave no information as to who had sent it. I figured it was a crank telegram and threw it in the trash.

We were underway again. As Grandpa drove up a steep incline, which he said led up to the cabin, I continued to worry about whether or not the two detectives were still following us. I wished that the wire worked both ways, as in enabling them to communicate with me instead of just allowing them to hear everything I said and did. That way I would have some idea if they were still following Grandpa's station wagon.

As things stood, I had no idea if I was going off into the unknown without anyone to back me up if there was trouble. We were only minutes away from a cabin where the man who had killed Ray Mundo was hiding out. Things were getting very tense and I was regretting not having tinkled while in the men's room.