Nickles and Dimes Ch. 09

It was time.

Truckers Annuity had added nothing to its cash balance in the past two months. In her planning Ilysa noted that the following month both Sandy and Rick were heading in more or less the same direction. She'd find a setting for the next Truckers' Annuity mark somewhere easily accessible from their routes.

In fact, Ilysa constantly searched for marks and situations from whom theft of a good sized stash of cash would not be reported. She scanned the notes she'd been making on her computer for such opportunities in the general area where Sandy and Rick would be headed.

This one she found in a small, northern Arizona town. Sandy and Rick were headed for Southeast Colorado. That would work.

From her research it appeared that the lifestyle of the proprietor of a local motel didn't square with the revenues possible from the small, old, rundown motel. Indeed, his large home, flashy cars, and exotic vacations would have required an entire chain of motels. Nonetheless, he was continually the big spender.

It also struck her as interesting that the motel proprietor would use a small community bank in another town two hours from where the motel was located instead of using the bank in the town in which the motel was located.

Scouring the web (including hacking into his bank account), Ilysa could find no other sources of income for him. There must be something going on she figured. That something was probably something that would make him unlikely to want the federal or state tax auditors poking around in his finances were he to be robbed or burglarized.

She began to think this could well be a nice haul for Truckers' Annuity. Feeling like she needed a break, she thought she'd take a look for herself.

In keeping with the founding principles of Truckers' Annuity (the retirement arm of Guaranteed Transport as they jokingly called it) she drove several days to White Rock, New Mexico where she purchased an older, but serviceable Taurus and drove into Arizona. Her destination: Tuba City, Arizona. It was a long drive for someone not used to driving long distances, but the weather was cooperative and the scenery striking.

Once in town she sized up the situation. It was much as she had suspected. A rundown motel and a man living a flashy lifestyle. To keep herself from being noticed as she learned more about her potential mark, she took a motel room in a chain motel just outside of Tuba City where the mark's motel was situated and about two hours from Red Mesa, Arizona, the town where the bank was located.

Studying the proprietor's behavior, using some of the hacking skills she'd developed, she determined that not only did he make the bank run weekly on Thursday night, but he also spent the night in Kayenta, a town about an hour from Tuba City and midway between Tuba City and Red Mesa. He always stayed in the same motel in Kayenta and always went to the same Texas bar-b-que restaurant in the evening. It was almost a ritual.

The weather was pleasant as it had been almost all the time she'd been in Arizona. Hot, but hot in the high desert this time of year was in the high eighties with very low humidity. She followed him the next time he made his Thursday run, taking a room in the Kayenta Inn, a rundown motel near the chain motel where her mark was staying. She picked up her key having endured the leering of the old desk clerk, but instead of going to her room, she got back in her car to stake out the motel where her mark was staying.

Waiting in the car made her look conspicuous. Why would an attractive woman be sitting in a parked car in a parking lot reading a book? She made a point of sitting part of the time on a lone park bench hoping to make her presence less curious.

He spent an hour in the motel, a popular chain motel, then headed for one of the few night spots, a restaurant featuring Texas bar-b-que and two-step dancing. He had not changed his clothes, but she thought he might have showered.

She followed him into the restaurant. Alone she was sure to stand out, but she decided to chance it. Indeed, her pale skin and sophisticated looks attracted some of the cowboys. As politely as she could, she turned them all away while she nursed a beer. She watched for over half an hour as several females from the wait staff as well as other women chatted up Darrin B. Holtzheizer, her potential mark as he put away an enormous steak.

He was, in fact an enormous man. Probably carrying over three hundred pounds on his six foot three frame. He dressed like the locals from his Stetson hat to his alligator boots except that what he wore was much more expensive.

He seemed pleased with the attention, but allowed none of them to join him. Then, between his steak and his pie, he rose from the table and intercepted the attractive young singer from the band as she headed off stage. The band was evidently taking a break.

Together, after a short conversation, the motel owner and the singer disappeared down a hallway. Above the hallway entrance was a sign with an arrow indicating that it led to the restrooms. Curious about why he and the band's singer would go to their separate restrooms together in the middle of his dinner, Ilysa decided it was time for her to visit the ladies room.

She pushed open the door marked "Cowgirls" to find a pleasant rest room nicely decorated and clean. However, there were only ladies here getting away from their male partners and primping for their return. There was no evidence of the singer. She used the restroom and refreshed her makeup.

Exiting the woman's restroom, she took a quick look into the dining area and saw that the mark's place was vacant, but that neither the remnants of his dinner nor his dishes had been removed. The table sat empty as though expecting him to return.

She stood outside the men's room until she could waylay a gentleman before he entered. "Excuse me, sir, but I think my friend may have gone in there by mistake." Shyly she indicated the men's room. "She may have had a bit too much to drink. Would you please look? If you see her, would you send her to the ladies room?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Sure." He returned moments later. "No ladies in there," he said, "but, how well do you know her? Sometimes I've seen ladies go in there usually with a gentleman." He pointed to a nondescript door that bore a sign reading Staff. The restroom doors said either Cowgirls or Cowboys. "Maybe," he said, "And I don't mean to demean her, but maybe she decided to be part of the entertainment." He walked back into the restroom.

Ilysa paid her meal tab and relocated to the bar. Here, again, as she expected, nursing a beer she had to spend a fair amount of her time fending off would-be cowboys as she watched the restroom hallway. A half hour later she was rewarded when the mark emerged with the girl. She looked as though she'd just finished refreshing her makeup while he looked tired, but happy.

The girl left him and rejoined the band which had returned to the stage. The mark ate his piece of cherry pie and left. The smile never left his face.

Ilysa paid her bar tab and followed him outside where they both got in their cars and drove off. He went to his motel where he took an obscure stairway to a wing that appeared to be much newer than the rest of the motel. A special room for a special guest, she wondered. Maybe she had missed something and he owned this motel as well.

She drove on going back to her room at the Kayenta Inn, the rundown motel she had chosen about a mile down the road. On entering she dropped her duffle and lay down to rest before showering and going to bed. It was still fairly early. She'd read or do some Guaranteed Trucking work after her nap and shower before going to bed.

She dropped off to sleep only to be awakened an hour or so later by a soft knock on her door. Startled she went to the peephole in the door. Looking out she saw a uniformed policeman standing under the yellow bulb that lighted the motel corridor. She opened the door to the length of the ancient, virtually useless privacy chain.

"Yes, officer?" She tried to smile though she was extremely nervous.

"You're new in town," he began, "and we like to check out young ladies that come into town in the middle of the night taking a room at a motel." He looked at her meaningfully. "Especially, this motel." He tried to smile, but his demeanor, while not unpleasant was that of a cop. "It doesn't look too good, if you catch my drift. May I come in so we can talk about it?"

"Well, I can assure you, officer that I'm here on business. I'll be leaving in the morning." She realized instantly that she'd said it wrong. "Not that kind of business," she corrected herself.

"May I come in," he repeated.

"OK." She closed the door and pulled the chain off. Opening the door, she retreated allowing him to enter. He closed the door softly.

"Thank you," he said, then, referring to a note pad from his shirt pocket, he said, "The car you're driving was purchased roughly forty-eight hours ago in White Rock. So you bought it and drove straight here. That about right?"

She was getting angry. Nothing she had done was in any way illegal. Not wanting to create a problem, however, she said, "That's right."

"Seems strange," he mused. Ilysa looked at him waiting for a question. "May I see some identification?" She went to her purse. As she opened it, she saw his hand go the butt of the pistol on his belt.

"I don't have a gun in here," she said irritably. He nodded, but did not move his hand. She pulled out her wallet and fished out her driver's license. He reviewed it. "Iowa, how did you get to White Rock?"

Ilysa was getting really pissed. "I don't see that that's any of your business."

"Probably not," he responded, "but I'm guessing you didn't just pop up in the middle of White Rock to buy a second hand car so just call me curious."

Thinking quickly she said, "I drove down and my car died. I didn't want to mess around and buy an expensive car, so I just picked up that one." She pointed to the parking lot.

"I guess we can check that later. So what is your business here?"

"I sell mining equipment, specifically rock crushers." He blinked. She dug in her purse and extracted a brochure on rock crushing equipment. She'd copied it from the Internet in case anyone asked.

"Hmm," he said looking at the paper. "Maybe." He looked up. She waited. "These things look expensive. Kind of a crappy motel for a high class salesperson." He looked her over. She was dressed in an expensive silk t-shirt and designer jeans. Though expensive, her clothing didn't look professional by any standard. "I think you'd better come down to the station where we can learn more about what you sell. We'll need to search you. I'll see if I can get a female officer to do it, but I think the only one we have is on vacation. The station is about forty-five minutes from here. This town doesn't have a police force so the state handles complaints for them. Our station is out on state route forty-six. You'll be back in about three hours unless you somehow find yourself our guest overnight."

Ilysa froze. He looked at her with a calm demeanor. "No," she said adamantly.

"No what?"

"I'm not going to your station to have some guy pawing over me." She had crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you expect to find?"

"Don't know, but drugs wouldn't be unusual. We're still looking into prostitution priors." She looked around for some other options. "You gonna come along peaceful like or do I have to handcuff you?" He produced a pair of handcuffs.

Defeated, she said in a low tone, "No. I have appointments in the morning."

"Who do you have appointments with," he countered.

"Well I expect to go around town to find prospective clients." He looked at her saying nothing. "Look, for all you know I'm just a poor girl that ran away from an abusive husband."

"Ma'am, you're not making this any better."

Panicked, she asked softly, "Could you just search me here?" Oh, god, she thought, what have I done.

"Maybe." The look on his face hadn't changed. "You gonna be cooperative?" She nodded. She knew how it would end, but he'd go through all the motions before he ended it.

"Sit right there until I'm through." She was thinking that knowing how it would end, she could just go right to the end, then she could get some sleep. But, no, if she did that he might decide she was just a prostitute and that would open a whole new set of problems. Better she let him play it out. She'd play the humiliated victim.

"Where do we start," she asked. She could already feel his hands on her body.

"We'll start with your luggage. You do have luggage, right?" He smirked. She nodded fighting back a sarcastic response, and indicated her bag and purse. He went through her overnight case first then her suitcase. He held up her underwear one piece at a time, a pair of panties held high, a lacy bra inspected. "Kinda risque for a saleswoman," he said keeping a straight face.

"I like to wear those things. No one has to know I have them on." She hesitated for a moment then said, "Sometimes you can make out the bra underneath the blouse. Men seem to like that. It helps make the sale."

He stared at her, "What?"

"Jeez." She didn't want this line of conversation. "Even company CEO's like to look at a girl's boobs. Don't you? Or are you different." She'd spat it out. He looked mildly offended. Maybe she'd gone too far. He nodded and continued his search, but there was little else besides a few outfits and makeup and toiletries for him to investigate. He opened and checked each bottle and plastic case.

"Where are the pretty professional clothes you're going to wear," he asked looking toward the empty clothes rack.

"I'm planning to wear my cowgirl stuff." She picked up the shirt and designer jeans she'd worn earlier. He nodded. His apparent level of belief continued to drop.

He checked in the wardrobe then went into the bathroom. Somewhere during the search he "found" a plastic bag containing a white powder. He didn't say anything, just put it on the dresser where she could see it. She had no idea how far he would push this finding of something that looked like drugs, but this could be a real problem, she thought. She said nothing.

He went through her purse removing each item and examining anything that had the potential to hide drugs. He set a strip of three condoms he found on the night stand. At least he's thinking about using them, Ilysa thought. If he fucks me, he probably won't take me in.

He stood in front of her. She sat on the couch looking up at him. Hands on his hips, pistol on his service belt, chin squared, mouth set as he looked down at her. She looked up at him, a look of determination on her face.

They both knew what was next. His determination wavered. Her skin tingled with anticipation. She was truly ambivalent. He really was good looking.

Her body tensed as he slowly knelt in front of her. She brought her knees together tightly. Carefully he removed her sandals. He examined them. "These look OK," he muttered as if to himself. He stood. "Stand up," he said gesturing with his hands for her to stand.

She rose. The tension in the room tightened like a noose around both of them. Now it starts, she thought. I bet I get goosebumps when I'm naked, she remarked to herself, but kept her face expressionless as she looked at him.

"Let me have your shirt." Her swollen nipples sent waves of erotic anticipation throughout her body.

"Jeez, it's just a t-shirt," she started in with the victim's whining. "And I don't have anything on underneath it. You can see I don't have anything under it." She crossed her arms over her chest. Her shirt molded around her breasts as they rested on her arms. The shirt became translucent, the red of her nipples clearly visible.

"You wanna do this downtown," he asked still keeping his straight face. "You're the one that wanted to do this here."

She looked away her eyes chancing to scan across his crotch. Was that a bulge? "OK," she said softly bowing her head. Her arms further tightening the fabric across her breasts. He held out his hand. Pouting she turned her back to him. She took the hem of the silky t-shirt and began to pull it upward. Her breasts rose as she pulled the tight shirt over her head. As the shirt pulled them upward, she felt the soft material slide erotically across her nipples. They pulled free of the shirt fabric and fell, bouncing seductively. She handed him the shirt without turning around. Again she crossed her arms.

"Turn around."

"What kind of a pervert are you," she snapped turning slowly until she faced him. He was handsome with a broad chest. The goosebumps embarrassed her. Her hard nipples betrayed her.

"Put your arms down." He let a note of exasperation enter his voice. She hesitated, then, arms at her sides, let him look. He reached for her breast. She pulled back. "I have to look under your breast. Women do tape dope under their breasts."

"Pervert," she spat. He gently raised each breast running his hand lightly under it before letting it down gently as he finished his inspection. His hand brushed against her overstimulated nipples. She felt his warm touch. Excitement built between her legs.

"Jeans." She could think of nothing else to accuse him of for wanting her jeans so she slowly removed her jeans and handed them to him. He examined them and set them on the floor. "Panties."

She let out a small gasp, but did not argue. The hip huggers were a combination of lace with a small triangle of translucent nylon. She saw him suck in a deep breath. They were quite damp. She could not look him in the eye. Instead, as she folded the lace of the waistband over she found herself concentrating on his crotch. He was concentrating on her crotch as she slowly revealed it. First a wisp of blond hair which had somehow been caught in the waistband, then nothing. She was shaved presenting to him a bald, but very damp slit. Several droplets glistened.

He watched closely as she bent to take them off. As she stood she realized she had forgotten to make a point of turning around to take them off. She did, however, remember to cover herself. He said nothing at first. Just looked at her. Probably thinking how lucky he is, she thought.

"Bend over."

"Oh, my god," she exclaimed you're not going to . . . , you know."

"I am. Bend over."

She braced herself hands flat on the rickety coffee table. Behind her now he had a really good view, she thought.

She stood suddenly and turned. "Go wash your hands first."

He nodded and pulled her into the bathroom with him. "Don't want you fishing anything out while I'm in here." He washed up.

When he had her bend over again, he nudged her legs well apart and began. His fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh. She shivered. He entered her with one, then two fingers feeling around inside. "Spread your legs more." She shuffled them further apart.

He began to stroke her clit. She spread her legs more. Oh, god, she thought. He could feel how wet she was. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was going to let him use her just to get out of the jam he'd put her in. Now she was beginning to respond to him.

It had started when he first told her to put her arms down. She liked the way he spoke, quiet, authoritative. She liked being in control, but she also liked a man who could be in control without being a bully. She liked the feel of his fingers inside her and on her clit. He was being so gentle. He took his fingers out. No, she said to herself, not so soon. Her fluids wet his hand, then dripped.

"OK," he said. "I don't have any rubber gloves, and it hurts to have a finger up your ass anyway. So can you explain this baggie?"