Mister Sandman Ep. 01

All characters are adults.

*****

Joe Hooker's cell phone rang. "Hello."

"Can't you make it?" It was Carol, his date.

"I'm on my way," he said.

"Where are you?" She heard street noises in the back ground.

"Parking my van," he replied.

"Don't leave it anyplace conspicuous."

"I won't. I'll be there in five minutes." Joe found a secluded spot on the roof level of the city parking garage, he saw no security cams or pedestrian traffic, though one other car was parked closeby. He locked the van and walked to the Latin Quarter saloon where Carol rented a room. It was above the saloon.

A discreet elevator in the bar, near the toilets, took him to Carol's floor. The foyer and hallways were empty. He walked to her room and knocked on the door softly. Carol opened the door a crack, recognized Joe, and let him in. The light in the bathroom was the only illumination, Tommy Dorsey and GETTING SENTIMENTAL OVER YOU played on her cd player.

Carol Hopkins rented the room above the popular saloon and felt no self consciousness when she was noisy in the bed with a lover. The din from the saloon buried everything else beneath bad music, cussing, yelling, and whisky fueled laughter.

Carol liked the 40s, and looked the part. Older people often said she looked a lot like Donna Reed. Carol always wore replicas of the lingerie Reed posed in for World War 2 pinups. Tonight's nightie was a halter-top, tunic made from a shear orange material that made her nipples tantalizing and almost concealed the red fur between her legs. Joe saw Kim Kardashian in the same outfit, with underwear, at a Hollywood event. Carol had an ass like Kim's but not as much of it.

Married to Arnold Hopkins, the rector of Saint Pia Zadora Episcopal Church; Arnold was a half-queer, pipe smoking num-nutz who swooned for radical Muslim imans he shared his pulpit with as often as possible. Sex and honest work filled him with dred. So long as Carol cleaned up and wore hat and gloves to mass he didn't trouble himself with her lovers. Carol was his second wife. Arnold owned his seventy years, Carol got younger as time passed. She made Joe use protection for a long time, now she didn't. Hard to say what was up with that. But she liked Frankie's body and what he did to her in the bed.

She knew Joe spent 3 enlistments in the Air Force and that he left after he murdered some terrorists he caught in the jungle, close to the canal, sniping at cruise ships. The Pentagon brass soiled their pants when they heard of it. To Washington's way of thinking the terrorists were souls lost to the Messiah whose love for evil passeth all understanding. So Joe came to town with his honorable discharge a year ago and went into the handyman business, it's how he met Carol.

Joe was clueless of Carol's past and wasn't curious, what he cared about was her fine pussy, smooth as good whisky and as deft and nimble as a gifted surgeon's hand. Such pussy was lost on Arnold.

Truth be told Arnold had found Carol on the street dismissed from a brothel where she had created problems for management when she refused to restrict her services to a local politician. Then she cut the woman off entirely, threatening to expose their activities. The pol was a fanatic champion for family values and the persecution of sexual degenerates.

As Joe pulled his cock out of Carol's hole his cum fell out of her in thick milky globs that reminded him of Elmer's Glue, it even felt the same as the glue. He stuck his briefs between her legs to clean her up but her pussy kept pushing it out. Both of their bodies were wet with sweat. Frankie went to the bathroom for towels and tossed one on her back. "Are you going?" She asked.

"Umm hmm," he replied.

"I think I'll take a nap then shower," she said.

He leaned to kiss her. "Your breath smells like cunt." She smiled. "Arnold has a grand-daughter I'd like to corrupt; she's a freshman in college and the right age for it. Would you mind if I did?"

"And you smell like a cum swamp at low tide. She'd tell everyone she knows."

"I can seduce her here. Maybe at your place? I don't even know where you live."

"You know where I live and I don't lock the door. Shut the bedroom door if want privacy, though, and make the bed before you leave."

"You really don't mind?"

"As long as I don't hafta fuck her, what do I care?"

"She's pretty."

Joe kissed her again. "Then enjoy. I gotta go."

"Be careful."

Joe left the saloon and walked back to the parking garage, riding the elevator to the roof where his van was parked. The other car was still there but otherwise his van was it. He looked around for anything suspicious, saw nothing, and walked across the lot to the van.

Almost to the ground level exit Joe came to a barricade across the ramp he was descending. The obstacle was a large truck. He got out to assess the situation about the time a car with its brights on stopped at the top of the ramp behind him. He looked at it until a voice coming from a public address speaker shouted, " Get down on the ground, now, you're under arrest!" A cop ran over to Frankie, opened Frankie's legs with her foot, then kicked Joe's balls until she was ordered to stop.

The ball-busting at the parking garage was the last Joe remembered until bright sunlight woke him much later. He opened his eyes, the light came through the filthy panes of an old skylight but he couldn't see anything clearly, it was all blurry. He was lying on his back, on a wet concrete floor somewhere, the place was hot and stunk of cigarette smoke and stale urine, like a truck stop restroom. He lifted himself a wee bit by his elbows, the place was empty but for the biggest fucking man he had ever seen, sitting in a chair by the door.

When the man noticed Joe awake he got up, pulled a syringe from his shirt pocket, walked over to Joe's naked body, stuck the needle in a convenient spot on Joe's ass, and went back to his chair. Somewhat later two ugly amazons pushing a wheel chair came for Joe. The large man picked Joe off the floor and dumped him in the chair. The amazons wheeled Joe out the door to another location and room. At their destination they didn't bother to pick Joe up when he slid out of the chair.

Later he aroused enough to sit up and move to one of the walls where he could support his back. The room and floor felt cold. Much later the door opened and an older fat man with closely cropped hair, with white side-walls, and thick glasses came in, except it wasn't a man or maybe it was, though it could have been a priest with tits. Joe had seen such people. "Fuckin Dilbert!" He thought. The person produced a form and dropped it atop a table, "Read this," his tone was soft and calm.

"What is it?" Joe mumbled.

"A confession."

"A confession to what?"

"Murder."

"No."

"We need to talk. Read it."

"I want a lawyer."

"Be serious, this isn't tv."

"I ain't doing shit without I talk to a lawyer first."

Fatso with the sagging tits and short hair and soft voice left the room. Joe remained alone for several hours. Soon enough Joe felt cold and tired and irritable. Fatso returned shoving a small man bound by handcuffs and shackles through the door. Fatso kicked Joe. "Wake up," Fasto sounded like Michael Jackson. Joe opened his eyes at the exact moment Fatso forced a pistol into the other man's mouth and pulled the trigger.

The handgun roared and bone, hair, blood, and brains exploded out the back of the man's skull. Joe got a face full of viscera. The man collapsed onto the concrete floor. "Are you ready to talk?" Fatso asked. "You're not in Kansas anymore, Joseph. Things are much different where you are now."

"And you're not the Emperor," Joe said, wiping the shit from his face.

"No. My name is Glinda but don't get the idea I'm a good witch."

"You my fairy god mother?"

"Joseph don't make me regret saving your life, okay? Join the team, put your hate aside!"

"I'm starting to embrace the idea."

"Good boy! Joseph I have a task I want you to do; that is, if you want to leave here and live. Are you interested in a proposition?"

"I think I'm coming around to the idea."

"Better! Do you know a whore named Jehmu Brown?"

"No."

"Sure you do, she lives next door to you; she's the pudgy black girl with the Puerto Rican pimp. Know who I mean?"

"Yeah."

"I want you to arrange a reunion with the infinite for the pimp. Quietly. Afterwards our association ends. If you fail, though, our association also ends. Unhappily for both of us but mostly for you."

"I guess I have no choice."

"No you don't, and never forget it." Glinda pulled out a syringe. "This is the key to open the door, so arise and relax."

Joe awoke later stretched out on a bus bench, dressed, with his van parked at the curb. His wallet and keys were in the pockets. A car parked across the street left after Joe was on his feet and unlocking the van. He drove to the trailer park.

Jehmu Brown passed for Indian, her friends named her 'Dotty' after she fooled some guys when she put a red dot on her forehead and told them she was Indian. Her hair was long and curly, her racial features looked Aryan though she was light brown with cocoa colored nipples. She was plump and short. Her titties were a mouthful and firm and pierced.

Joe had an idea for how to deal with the boyfriend "But not tonight," he decided. Joe went home, showered, and went to sleep till his cell phone awoke him twenty-four hours later. "Hullo?" The caller hung up after several seconds, the number wasn't familiar to Joe. He dressed and drove to the Quickie Mart for gas.

After he filled up the van and replaced the gas cap he saw Jehmu loitering outside the store. He went inside, paid for the gas, then approached her outside. "Need a ride home?" He asked. She was talking with a tattooed Latina woman. The Latina explored Joe with her eyes.

"No thanks," she replied. The Latina smiled at Joe. The Latina looked to be twenty or so. Short like Jehmu, same skin color. Plump ass packed into a tight skirt. Black hair streaked with blonde and cut short. Tats on one leg and arm. Piercings. Glassy eyes like a manic-depressive. She wore eye glasses with cheap plastic frames.

"How bout for two hundred dollars?" He pulled a roll of cash from his pants pocket.

Jehmu studied the money for a long second. "Not at my house." She walked over to van and spoke to Joe through the open window after he was in.

"How bout mine?" Joe suggested.

"Julio might find out."

"Julio doesn't know you're on the street?"

"He doesn't like me with men at the house."

"OK. No problem. If you change your mind later c'mon over. If the door is unlocked c'mon in."

"OK." Jehmu hesitated leaving.

"Got some other place we could go?" Joe asked.

"I use Marisol's place mostly," Jehmu said.

"Is she the emo girl you were talking to?"

"Uh huh. It's twenty more for the room."

"OK."

"Gimme the twenty to pay her."

Joe peeled a twenty from his roll and handed it to Jehmu. Jehmu took it to the Latina named Marisol then returned to the van and got in. "You want your money now?" Joe offered.

"No, give it to Julio when we get there."

The house wasn't far from the Quickie Mart. It was an old frame bungalow built a century ago for immigrant Italian factory hands. Two bedrooms, a bath and kitchen, living room and dining area. Porches, front and rear. The neighborhood was now mixed race and poor. People sold pot and pussy or served lunch as the school cafeteria down the street to make money. Julio's worthless ass was parked in an old recliner up on the porch. Julio, Jehmu, and Joe went inside through a screen door. "Pay him," Jehmu said. Joe handed the cash over to the pimp then followed Jehmu to the back bedroom. Jehmu went off to pee. In a minute or so he heard the toilet paper holder rumble, the toilet flush, and the door open. She was wearing shear boy-shorts with a matching bra.

Jehmu got naked quickly, as did Joe, both got atop the bed. Joe lay on his back and Jehmu engulfed his cock into her mouth. She knew her work and he was ready for her hole by the time she straddled him and guided him in. She had large nipples, he squeezed them. "Harder," she whispered. He squeezed harder and she ground her gash against him and bit her bottom lip as she did it. Joe didn't last long and Jehmu didn't stay aboard long after he was finished. He watched the cum seep from her as she backed her ass off the bed to go to the bathroom to clean up. He got up and dressed then drove her back to the store. This was on Wednesday.

He picked Jehmu up Thursday, and again on Friday, then asked her to slip over to his bed later if she was interested in more money. She came to him late on Saturday night and he gave her five-hundred in cash. All she said was,"Julio's spending the night with Marisol and a new girl."

Joe squeezed and pinched her nipples and sucked her tits till she squealed and drenched the sheet with pee. Then she wanted to fuck and he boned her for two hours. Sometimes hard and rough, sometimes slow and easy "You tryin to put a baby in me?" She asked. "Julio gonna kick my ass if you do. What time is it?"

Joe switched on the light to see, "Almost four."

"I best go before he comes home and finds me gone." Jehmu went home and showered.

At Marisol's house Julio arose early, careful not to wake the girls, put on his clothes, and left. He was slumped on the steering wheel when found. The key was in the ignition switch. No wounds. No signs of struggle. Both car doors were locked.

A few days later Joe found a small package, with no return address, in his mail box, inside the package was a ring box, inside the ring box was a door key with a folded slip of paper with an address on it. The address was an old hotel in a bad part of town. The key opened the front door. Joe went inside, nosed around the dusty, moth-eaten lobby, and found an envelope lying atop the registry desk. Joe's name was printed on the envelope. Inside the envelope was a deed with his name on it plus a brick of one-hundred dollar bills crisp, clean, and new. He also found current liquor, restaurant, and hotel licenses, and a note: At the end of twelve months you will make monthly contributions of one thousand dollars to the Saint Pia Zadora Parish, Widows and Orphans Fund.