Hired Gun Ch. 01

"I think she's had enough." I murmured to Justin with a grin. "At least for now."

"Whew!" Justin responded, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "I've never seen her cum so hard and so much!"

Clambering off the bed, I took a moment to get my bearings. All I wanted was a cold beer and a cigarette. With both in hand, I sat on the bed across from Kaitlyn. Facing me, her eyes were barely open. She had a happy and satisfied expression on her beautiful face.

Finishing the cigarette and drinking the last of the cold beer, I moved over next to Justin. He was more than ready to have sex with me. As a lover he wasn't bad but his stamina needed some work. He managed to get me off during oral sex but fucking his cock in and out me like a madman didn't do all that much for me. Still, I was satisfied as were Justin and Kaitlyn.

I slept with Kaitlyn warmly snuggled in my arms through most of the night. Waking before either one of them, I grabbed a quick shower and got dressed while I had the chance. After putting on a pot of coffee in the small kitchenette, I switched on the TV to get the latest news and weather report.

Justin was the next to waken, jumping in the shower after downing a quick cup of coffee. Kaitlyn was slow waking up. Her hair was mussed but she still looked beautiful. We chatted for awhile before I had to leave. I gave each of them a kiss, knowing I'd never see them again.

Longboat Key, a coastal resort town on the Gulf, was only an hour's drive away. After stopping at my hotel, changing clothes and checking out, I was on my way. I wanted to see the town during the day so I could get the lay of the streets in case something went wrong and I had to make a fast getaway. Getting lost was the last thing I wanted to have happen in a critical situation.

Sitting in a parking area along the beach, I reviewed the information I had on my next target.

Thaddeus Combs, a major drug dealer, wasn't a man to be taken lightly. A large black man, his build was described as six foot, five and weight around three-eighty. His last known address dated back to 2001 so I wanted to check that out first. If I could set up close enough to get off a shot with a high powered rifle I go that way. If not, I'd have to be lucky enough to pick him up while he was driving, then pull alongside him and hope my aim was accurate enough to snuff out his life.

Running Combs' last known address on my laptop computer, I was given directions from my current location. It was a rundown area of town along the intercostals waterway. Old buildings, mostly sheet metal fabrications, lined both sides of the street. My Cadillac XLR stood out like a sore thumb. Finding the address, it was just as I suspected it would be, only worse. The building was in the process of being torn down.

The information I had, mentioned a favorite hangout of Combs, a sports bar he was known to frequent on a regular basis. Located in a commercial area in Longboat Key, I decided to search it out. Playing detective wasn't one of my best traits but I was getting better at it.

Lannigan's Pub was an old concrete block structure, situated amongst a string of used car lots, two blocks parallel with the main highway through town. Right now, it was about all I had to go on.

Checking in at one of the less expensive hotels, I paid for three nights, hoping I wouldn't have to use them all. Sleeping during the afternoon and early evening, I parked in a used car lot adjacent to the sports bar after dark.

I was looking for a white, late model Lincoln Navigator with custom spinner wheels on it. I hoped that bit of information was up to date, having doubts that it was. 3:00am rolled around with no sign of Combs or a while Navigator so I returned to my hotel after stopping off for an early breakfast.

The second night, I had high hopes my luck would change but it didn't. It was frustrating not knowing if I was wasting my time or not. Whoever coined the phrase, "Patience is a Virtue", never packed a Glock stainless steel forty-five with a quick-detach Brunson silencer!

The third night, I eased my XLR into the used car lot, parking between two old pickup trucks. Spotting the white Lincoln Navigator parked halfway down the side of the building, set my heart pounding. I checked my forty-five, making sure the ten round magazine was locked in and the safety was off.

I sat there for almost two hours, viewing everyone who exited the bar through my night vision binoculars. I was getting antsy waiting but that's part of the game. I just hoped I'd be able to pull out when Combs did and stay with him until I could pull alongside him. Hopefully, he'd be alone.

Snuffing out the last cigarette I had with me, I saw a huge black man come out of the bar, dragging a young woman by the arm. Starting my car, I gripped the shift lever, ready to pull it into drive. I knew I'd have to take them both out, not wanting to leave behind any witnesses.

Combs grabbed the young woman by the hair, smashing her head against the rear window of his SUV. Spinning the woman around, he slugged her with his fist, knocking her out. But he wasn't finished. The huge man, built like a linebacker, began kicking the woman in the stomach.

"GO! GO NOW!" My brain commanded me.

Reaching for the Glock forty-five, I leaped from my car and rushed towards the couple. Combs heard me running towards him but he didn't see the gun I had behind my back.

"WHATTA YOU WANT, BITCH!" Combs shouted, pulling a switchblade knife out of his pocket. "YOU WANT ME TO SLIT YOUR WHITE ASS OPEN?"

My only answer was pulling the gun from behind me and pointing it right at his head. Standing ten foot away from the man, I squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. The bullets passed through the silencer, barely emitting a spitting sound. The first shot hit Combs in the throat, passing through his neck, then hitting the SUV. The second shot hit him in the forehead. The third struck the man right on his nose, blowing the appendage off.

Combs stood, not falling to the ground. I pumped three more shots into him, hitting his heart and lungs. He fell straight backwards like a sack of concrete falling off the back of a pickup. Blood smears coated the back quarter of the Lincoln Navigator.

Although the young black woman he'd been beating on was probably unconscious through the whole thing. I couldn't take any chances. I had four rounds left in the clip so I pumped two into the back of her head.

"Sometimes the innocent pay for the crimes of the guilty!" I remember Michael Whittaker saying. This was one of those times.

Sending Thaddeus Combs and his lady friend to the morgue for processing had taken less than sixty seconds. Setting him up had taken three days. At fifty-thousand dollars a hit, I was making damn good money!

Rushing back to my car, I shifted into drive and pulled out into the late evening traffic.

"Now's a helluva time to be out of cigarettes!" I thought. "Just when I could use one the most!"

I drove north, catching the bypass over to Interstate 75. My need for a cigarette and a cup of coffee was getting the better of me. Approaching the intersection of Highway 52, I pulled off at a convenience store to satisfy me needs.

I filled a large cup with coffee, adding one cream before putting the lid on it.

"Let me take care of that for you." A male voice spoke up.

Turning to face the guy, I saw he was wearing a Florida State Trooper's uniform.

"Thanks." I responded with a pleasant smile. "I appreciate your offer."

I waited while the officer fixed himself a cup of coffee, admiring his masculine appearance. He was strikingly handsome for a man in his late forties.

"Three packs of Camel Light 100's." I ordered after the state trooper paid for our coffee.

"I'm sure you're aware those things are bad for your health." He laughed, watching me stuff them into my purse.

"Yeah but we're all gonna die someday." I laughed. "I just wanna die happy."

The trooper had parked right next to my car, along the side of the building. Setting our coffees on the hood of his patrol car, I proceeded to light up a cigarette, surprised he was also lighting one up.

"Don't say it!" He laughed. "I keep promising myself I'm gonna quit!"

The two of us chatted for awhile, interrupted only by the calls coming over his radio. I never heard a word about a shooting in Longboat Key and the trooper never mentioned it. Saying our good-byes, I thanked him again for the coffee, reminding him to be careful.

Back on the interstate, I headed north. Driving towards Georgia, then into Tennessee, I'd pick up Interstate 24 and wind my way home to Stoneridge, Missouri. It was a twelve-hundred mile trip, one that I wouldn't try making without a layover.

Passing by Valdosta, Georgia I wondered how Justin and Kaitlyn were doing. I was sure they'd always remember our night together. I knew I'd never forget it.

Reaching the Music City, I pulled into a hotel just off Interstate 24. I still had another five-hundred miles to drive but I needed a good night's sleep more than I needed to cover the miles.

It was mid-afternoon the following day when I arrived in Stoneridge, Missouri. A small community in south central Stone County, it was located within a few miles of Table Rock Lake. Rolling hills surrounded the town, contributing to its picturesque scenery. With a population of just a few hundred people, the community was perfect for someone in my line of work.

I'd purchased a small farm that was overgrown with weeds. The dilapidated two-story Victorian style home, which I'd hoped to restore, proved too costly to renovate. I had it torn down, replaced with a new home that mirrored the original dwelling. The three bedroom, two bath home with nearly two-thousand square feet of living space was more than I needed but I considered it a sound investment. Situated on eighty acres, the house and property would greatly appreciate in value over time.

The gravel driveway, which I opted to keep in lieu of concrete or asphalt, led past the house to a new stable facility I had constructed. The two-story barn with five stalls and a tack room had ample room overhead for hay and straw.

Ever since I can remember I was always fascinated with horses. My father would often take me out to a stables west of Philadelphia where you could rent horses by the hour. He didn't care for riding himself but he loved to see me enjoying it. I even took riding lessons to improve my skill level. Although I never owned a horse when I was young, I never gave up on having one....or maybe a stable full!

I spent my first day back recuperating from the trip to Florida. I needed to unwind and catch up on some sleep before rebuilding my physical strength. For some strange reason, I dreamt about the erotic evening with the couple from Georgia, reliving every moment.

Early the following morning, I awoke to the sounds of the construction crew replacing the last of the field fence and stringing the barbwire. It was the last improvement I'd have to make to the farm. I was glad to see if finally getting done so I could proceed with my plans to buy a horse.

I didn't know as much about horses as I would have liked to. I'd read several books from cover to cover so I wasn't a complete novice but I was still far from knowing as much as I should. Still, I wasn't about to give up but I had some reluctances.

Being gone for days and sometimes weeks at a time added to my reluctancy. Horses needed caring for on an almost daily basis. I couldn't stand the thought of knowing they were neglected if I wasn't there to look after them.

I thought about posting an ad at the local convenience store in town and maybe a few other places in hopes of finding someone qualified to care for my horses while I was away. I hoped to find someone locally that was trustworthy and dependable. It was a wild idea at best but it was better than no idea at all.

I spent hours trying to phrase the posting, carefully selecting words that might attract the right person. The words "stable boy" sounded too demeaning so I replaced it with "ranch hand" which sounded a little better. After making several copies of the posting I drove into town.

Lowery's General Store on Highway 13 at the north edge of town was my first stop. The single story pole barn building, offered gas and diesel fuel, convenience store items and a limited selection of groceries. It was also the favorite hangout for some of the community's senior citizens who often played cards at a table in one corner of the store.

Walter Lowery owned the store with his wife, Catherine. Both were extremely nice, going out of their way to be friendly and congenial to all their customers. Catherine was restocking one of the coolers when I entered the store. Her husband was busy, chatting on the phone.

"Hi." I said, approaching the middle-aged woman. "I was wondering if you'd allow me to put up a posting on your bulletin board."

"Sure! Sure!" She replied, smiling from ear to ear. "What're you selling?"

"I'm not selling anything." I responded, returning her smile. "I'm looking for someone who can look after horses for me."

"A stable boy?" Catherine questioned.

"Well....not a stable boy exactly." I stammered. "I was thinking more along the lines of a ranch hand."

"Ain't no difference, Missy!" One of the elderly men playing cards shouted out, overhearing our conversation. "Horse manure's, horse manure, no matter how you spell it!"

"Pay no attention to them!" Catherine laughed. "They're all full of horse manure!"

"What's it pay?" Another of the elderly card players asked, tapping his cane on the wood floor to get my attention.

"Well....I was thinking somewhere around ten to twelve dollars an hour." I stuttered, hoping he wasn't thinking of applying for the job himself.

"I gotta grandson who might be interested." The man asserted, motioning me over. "He's damn good with animals, especially horses."

"You mean Trace?" Another of the card players chimed in. "Thought he was working for the vet over in Branson?"

"He is but it's only part-time." The first man responded. "He's always looking to pick up some extra money."

"You interested?" He continued, looking me up and down.

"Yeah. Sure." I replied. "How can I get in touch with him?"

Reaching inside the pocket of his checkered shirt, he took out a cell phone.

"His phone number's in my address book." He stated, handing me the phone. "Just click on his name and it'll dial the number for ya."

"What's his name again?" I asked.

"Trace! Trace McCall!" The elderly man shouted, hooking his cane on the edge of the table.

Finding the guy's name, I clicked on it. The phone rang several times before anyone answered. I could hear dogs barking in the background so I assumed he was at work. I didn't want to take up his time, sensing his employer might not like it, so I briefly explained what I was looking for.

The young man asked several questions, perceiving I was a novice around horses. Surprisingly, he never inquired as to what the job paid. I wasn't sure if he was really interested or not until he suggested setting up a meeting to discuss the job in person. I didn't hesitate giving him my address after agreeing to meet with him at evening.

"Sounds like he's interested!" The man's grandfather exclaimed when I handed him back the cell phone.

"Let's hope so." I responded, gently squeezing his shoulder.

Returning to the farm, I started jotting down questions I thought I should ask. Never having conducted an interview before I wasn't exactly sure what I should and shouldn't ask.

Around 5:00pm I grabbed a shower and got dressed, preparing for my meeting with the prospective ranch hand. Wearing a dressy blouse and western style dress slacks, which I loved the cut and fit, I decided to wear high-heels to give myself a more professional appearance. Trying on several pairs of earrings to compliment my outfit, I settled for a turquoise feathered pair that dangled from my lobes. After checking myself in the full-length bedroom mirror I returned to the livingroom to once again review my list of questions.

Around 6:30pm I heard a pickup pull into the driveway, its brakes lightly squealing when it stopped at the side of the house. Primping my hair one last time, I walked nervously to the front door, stepping out on the porch.

"Are you the lady I talked with on the phone?" A handsome young man asked, removing his western style hat.

"Yes. Amanda Douglas." I responded, extending my hand.

"Trace McCall." He asserted, clasping my hand firmly in his. "Glad to meet you."

"Is that your stable facility?" Trace asked before I could say anything.

"A....yeah." I stammered, soaking in the sight of him. "Would you like to take a look at it?"

Trace nodded his head, putting his hat back on. He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine. I was terrible at guessing ages but I definitely knew handsome when I saw it and Trace was quite a handsome young man. Taller than me by a few inches, he looked to have a strong build without being overly muscular. His broad shoulders and slender waist, accentuated by his western attire, gave him the rugged look of a cowboy. His dark hair, thick and lustrous and steely blue eyes complimented the small cleft in his chin.

I soon realized the high-heels weren't such a good idea. Walking on the loose gravel, I had to be careful of my footing. Walking close to Trace, my arm accidentally brushed against his several times.

"You really oughta consider boots." Trace suggested with a grin. "Or shoes with a flat heel."

"I'm used to wearing high-heels." I responded. "Flat heels hurt my feet."

Standing inside the new stable facility, I let the young man check out the stalls and tack room while I stood back and watched. His snug fitting denim jeans hugged his cute butt perfectly.

"How many bales can you store overhead?" He asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Oh....a....I'm not sure." I stuttered. "Quite a few I guess."

Traced snickered at my answer, deciding to climb the ladder and have a look for himself. I glimpsed at his butt, being careful that he didn't catch me.

"Oh yeah!" Trace exclaimed, his eyes scanning over the second floor. "You've got gobs of storage. Course it depends on how many horses you're planning on having."

"I'm not sure." I asserted. "I've got room enough for five."

Trace sensed right off I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing. He asked one question after another, not allowing me enough time to answer any of them. What kind of horses was I planning on having? Was I planning on showing the horses or putting them in competition like calf roping, team penning or cutting? Did I have a horse trailer and a decent truck to pull it with? How many hours did I want him to work? His questioning went on and on until I quit listening to him.

"Maybe I should think things over for a few days!" I exclaimed, interrupting his constant questioning.

"That's up to you." Trace asserted. "You've got my phone number in case you wanna talk some more."

"No. No, I don't." I replied. "I used your grandfather's cell phone to call you. I didn't bother to write down your number."

Taking a slip of paper from the glove box in his pickup, he jotted down the number.

"I'm glad we at least got to talk." Trace affirmed, shaking my hand.

"I'm sorry I wasn't better prepared." I muttered, clenching his hand tightly.

I suspicioned Trace wasn't all that anxious to leave. As for me, I didn't want to see him leave either.

"Would you like something to drink before you go?" I questioned, hoping he'd say yes.

"Sounds good." The young man responded. "A soft drink or coffee's fine with me."

"I'll put on some coffee!" I stated, elated that he'd accepted my offer. "I'm dying for a cup myself."