The Convertible - Thief of Hearts

Life on the farm was hard work, but it was good. Rusty taught me how to drive a tractor, care for chickens, and harvesting hay to sell to the cattle farmers in the San Joaquin valley. If he were still here, he'd know how to save the farm, but I'm afraid it's a losing battle right now."

I asked, "What about your meeting with the County Agricultural Agent? Was he helpful?"

She shook her head, "He had a lot of good ideas for future crops, but nothing that's going to get me enough cash to catch up on $20,000 of overdue farm loan payments. But that's my problem, not yours. But now you know, I'm far from the perfect person you think I am."

Poor Elena! If I could only get to some of my other hidden cash drops I might be able to help, but they were all so far away; while the manhunt was still on, it would be too risky to retrieve them.

I took a minute and digested what she'd just told me and realized if anything, I now had more respect for her than before. "That's an amazing story, Elena, but I'm sorry, it still doesn't change the way I feel about you. Rusty believed in you, and so do I."

She smiled, and kissed my hands. "Please don't think it's all been hard times. Rusty and I had a lot of good times together. For fun, he taught me how to shoot skeet. I got fairly good at it, too, and won a few women's shooting contests. My trophies are in the guest room closet, on top of the gun cabinet where the shotguns are locked up. Things got really great, though, when Teddy came along.

It's funny, Rusty and I were married for 3 years, never used any birth control, but nothing ever came of it. It really took us by surprise when I missed my period and started having morning sickness. When Teddy was born, Rusty was so excited to be a father he did practically everything but breastfeed the baby. The two of them were peas in a pod, they had seven great years together. When Rusty died, Teddy was devastated; he's never been quite the same since."

For a quick moment I was jealous of Teddy - all my old man ever did was yell at me to bring his cigarettes and then beat my ass if I didn't do it fast enough. I didn't miss my dad at all, but could imagine how awful Teddy must have felt losing Rusty. I interjected, "He's a great kid. I get a kick out of being with him." I didn't want to admit it, but it was more than that. I was really fond of the boy.

"I think he senses that, which is why he's become so attached to you in such a short time. I doubt if you meant to, but you've become a part of his world now. The longer you stay, the more painful it'll be for him to lose you." A shadow crossed over her face as she said it, and it struck fear into my heart.

"Wait, I'm confused. Are you asking me to leave?" I'd just made love with this wonderful woman, was she kicking me out now?

She looked out the window, avoiding my gaze. "I'm asking that whatever you choose to do, think about how it will affect Teddy."

"What about you?" I could see her chin tremble, just a bit.

"I'm a tough girl from the barrio. My feelings don't matter. I'll survive." If that was the case, why were her eyes welling up?

I took her hands in mine and asked quietly, "Elena, what do you want me to do?"

Tears were flowing down her cheeks now. "Why does that matter?"

"Because you matter to me, Elena. Like I told you, I've been drifting all my life; nothing's been permanent for me. I've never really been in love until now. Until you. I don't want to fuck this up, I want to make the right decision. I've got people after me and I should run, but I don't want to leave you."

She put her arms around me and kissed me, soft and gentle, then whispered, "Paul, Te quiero! ¡ Quedate conmigo! Do you need me to translate that for you?"

Stealing cars for shipment to Mexico, I'd been around enough Spanish speakers to understand what she was saying. "No, mi querida. I understand." I looked into those lovely brown eyes. "Yo también te amo; No puedo dejarte. I'm staying. Whatever happens, we'll get through it together."

Maybe I was trying to make a point or maybe just because being naked with her was so damned wonderful, your guess is as good as mine; rolling her onto her stomach, I put a pillow under her hips, the whole time whispering how perfect she was. I then began a trail of kisses from the base of her neck down her vertebrae.

Once I reached her tailbone, I gently spread her cheeks apart and kissed the insides of both of them, telling her how wonderful her ass was. She gasped as I trailed my tongue around her little rosebud. I moved around so I was positioned behind her, then, grasping her hips, I slipped my hard-again cock into her pussy. I could feel my cock get harder when I heard her groans of pleasure. I realized that pleasing Elena made my own pleasure that much more intense. Ah! So THAT'S how this relationship stuff worked!

As I began to move in and out, I leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Elena, soy tu hombre y prometo amarte para siempre!" There was no longer any doubt in my mind, I WOULD love her forever.

She looked back at me, smiled, and said "¡Jódete, bastardo!" One thing for sure, Rusty had it right - big butt, little tits, foul mouth, Elena was the perfect package. This being my second time tonight, I was able to hold off until after an orgasm, gentle this time, swept through my lover. I rolled us over on our sides, a happy, sweaty pair.

The night air was getting cool, so I got up and got Elena one of my t-shirts to wear. Sliding into bed behind her, I kissed her hair and kept whispering how much I loved her until we both fell asleep.

++++++++++

I had been blissfully spooning Elena but was suddenly wide awake. The LED numbers on the clock radio said 1:45am. My nervous system was suddenly on edge, tingling with adrenaline like it did right before a job. Something was up; then I heard Duke and Earl honking. These weren't their regular honks, they were the loud, aggressive honks they used to intimidate intruders. If a fox was going after the chickens, a few honks were adequate to chase him away and would stop after a minute, but the boys didn't let up. Somebody was definitely out there.

I went to the closet. The gun cabinet was secured with a padlock, but with the nail file and a paper clip I found in the nightstand I made short work of the lock. I took a shotgun out. I didn't know if it was loaded or not, but I felt better carrying it with me. Duke and Earl were still going at it with the intruder outside, and now I could hear a voice with a definite Chicago accent swearing at them.

I was a full moon, so the yard was slightly illuminated. I went out the mudroom in the back of the house and I crept slowly towards the front. I saw a big man walking towards the front of the house trying to reach the front door, but his progress impeded by the two feathered guardians. He repeatedly swung the barrel of his shotgun at them, but they were fast - he couldn't land a blow.

Stepping out from the side of the house, I pointed the shotgun at the figure. "Drop the gun and get off the porch," I ordered. The figure lowered the shotgun to the ground, then raised his hands as he stepped off the porch steps to face me. "Duke, Earl, back to the shed!" As a rule, the geese did what they pleased; thankfully, this time they stood down and waddled away. I breathed a sigh of relief; if anybody was going to shoot, I didn't want them to be in the way.

The figure started to laugh. "You gotta be fucking kidding me! Little Paul Cahill with a GUN? Shouldn't you be out hot-wiring somebody's Ford?"

I knew that voice. Rocket LaRocca, a Chicago enforcer. I'd met him a few times as I was growing up; he was one bad motherfucker then; Kevin, Joey, Wheels, and I were all scared shitless of him. He wasn't getting any younger, he'd been an enforcer for as long as I could remember, but he was still a scary guy. If he wanted to make you dead, then you may as well say your prayers.

I might be dying tonight, but that didn't mean I was going to take any shit from him. "I'm holding a gun on you and you insult me like that Rocket? I mean, come on, man, nobody hotwires cars anymore, cars got transponders and chipped keys and shit. Give me a little credit. To steal a car, you got to know what you're doing."

He chuckled. "My apologies, you're right. When it came to car theft, you always were a smart little bastard, I'll give you that. But you got stupid, you know that? Somebody seen on the news that you were around Bakersfield in that old Triumph and had a hunch it might break down. We've had people checking in every garage and repair place within a 50-mile radius.

Nobody saw the Triumph, but when we showed him your picture, this old mechanic in Lebec said you were the guy who'd paid him $1700 cash to repair an old Chevy. With a little persuasion, he gave us the license plate number and here we are."

SHIT! The old saying about how no good deed goes unpunished was true! Despite me having a shotgun pointed at him, Rocket laughed like he didn't have a care in the world.

"I still can't get over you with a gun! This is some funny shit right there, because guns ain't how you roll, kid. Never have been. Frankly, I'm surprised you even have the right end pointed at me." He took a step closer and challenged me.

"Go ahead, Cahill, let me have it! I'm right here! You know I'm going to kill you and whoever else is in the house, so you'd better take your shot now." He took another step closer, anger boiling up in his voice. "Come ON, you little fuck! PULL THE TRIGGER!"

Taking a deep breath, I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Rocket was on me in a flash, ripping the shotgun out of my hands and back-handing me. I tumbled onto my back; when I looked up, he was standing over me, pointing a large caliber semi-automatic pistol.

I began to plead with him, "Rocket, man, go ahead and kill me but please don't kill the woman and the boy. They haven't done shit and they don't know anything. The Triumph's in the barn, there's about $8,000 in the trunk, take it, but please don't hurt them."

Rocket shook his head and laughed, that dirty bastard, "Well that's real nice of you to give up that money, but you know that ain't how it works. Mr. Gallifino don't like loose ends, so no can do." He aimed the pistol at me and fired. At the same time, I heard a shotgun blast and Rocket's screaming.

In the movies, when a good guy gets shot, he's somehow still able to function, defusing a bomb or beating up a bad guy before collapsing. Let me tell you, getting shot isn't like that AT ALL. I felt a hard pluck in my right thigh, like a baseball player getting hit by a 92 mph pitch. There was initially a little pain, but the shock of it made me roll over on my side and puke.

I heard Rocket screaming, "YOU BITCH! YOU BLEW MY FUCKING LEG OFF!"

Elena responded, "Be glad that's all I blew off, motherfucker. The next shot, it'll be your dick."

She knelt down next to me, took off the t-shirt and pressed it to my gunshot wound, telling me "Here, hold this in place. I'm going to call 911."

She was wearing no bra; under ordinary circumstances I would have crudely complimented her on how great her tits looked, but I suddenly experienced a feeling of extreme burning, followed by a wave of nauseating pain.

A couple of minutes later, she came back, now wearing a sweatshirt. "They'll be here soon. Don't pussy out and die on us, Teddy and I need you, OK?" She gave me a quick kiss on the lips. "You love me, right?"

"Yesss," I hissed, nodding my head. No amount of pain could make me deny that. Speaking of which, the increasing pain in my thigh was headed off the charts now. I grabbed her hand. "Elena, I need to make two calls, fast," I gasped, "I'll tell you the numbers if you can dial them for me." She nodded, her finger at the ready.

First, I gave her Tommy's number. The bastard must have been expecting a call, he picked up on the first ring. "Rocket?"

"No, Tommy, it's Paul. I'm still alive, you worthless fuck. Rocket's on the ground, waiting for the EMTs."

"Paul, I swear sending Rocket wasn't my idea, it was the boss Joe Gallifino. You need to..."

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy. Rocket just tried to take me and my family out. I don't HAVE to do shit for anybody anymore. Now listen to me. You need to take your family to Mexico or Canada or wherever you think it's safe, just get GONE, OK? The Feds will be coming for you. Whichever underbosses tried to kill me and my family can all go to hell. You, I want to be safe. I owe you that for taking me in when I was a kid. Now we're square, right?"

After a few seconds of silence on the other end, Tommy responded, "Yeah, Paul. We're square. Thanks."

I disconnected, then and had Elena dial the FBI tip line 800 number.

I have to give credit to the Feds, they answered on the first ring, "FBI tip line, how can I direct your call?" I could hear sirens in the distance, getting closer.

"Yeah, hello, this is Paul Cahill. I'd like to speak to Special Agent Marie Workman. She's been looking for me." The conversation was short and sweet; I told Agent Workman where I was and to come get me, then hung up. Weak from shock and blood loss, everything faded to black.

++++++++++

I woke up in the hospital, Elena seated next to me. I wanted to thank her for saving my life and tell her how much I loved her, but a wave of pain swept up from my leg so all I managed to do was groan. She was on her feet and hovering over me in a flash. I was able to look down the front of her shirt for a minute and catch a glimpse of her cleavage, so at least I had that going for me.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, because you must be an angel," I managed to croak. Yes, it was an awful pick-up line, but I was groggy from painkillers and it was the only one I could think of.

She rolled her eyes at that, shook her head then kissed me, a long slow one. Yeah, things were looking up. "How're you feeling, stud?" she asked me.

"Like shit below the waist, I think I'm off the soccer team," I replied. "Thanks for saving my life, by the way."

"You needed it. You were carrying an unloaded shotgun with the safety on, you sweet dumbass. Promise me no more guns for you EVER, OK?"

I nodded in agreement. "I promise."

She took my hands in hers and kissed them. "Since I saved your life, am I officially your girlfriend now?" I shook my head.

"Actually, Elena, no." Her eyes went wide, until I finished my sentence, "if you don't mind, I'd prefer you to officially be my fiancée. I'd give you a ring, but unfortunately I'm not quite able to make it to the jewelry store at the moment."

I couldn't believe it when my tough barrio girl's eyes began to fill with tears. She whispered, "I heard you talking to that guy when he was about to kill you; you didn't care you were going to die, all you cared about was protecting Teddy and me. In my book that definitely qualifies you to be a husband, so yes, I'd love to marry you."

The next kiss was the best ever, at least until the kiss after that. And the one after that.

++++++++++

EPILOGUE - SIX MONTHS LATER

Kevin, Joey, Wheels, and I were tried together, avoiding a long trial by pleading guilty and fully cooperating with the Feds. We were all sentenced to 8 years with a chance for parole after 2.

Fucking Jimmy Bonatello, the nice guy, pleaded innocent and was tried separately. Funny how Mr. Peanut Butter Sandwich who was only with us for one job, got the severest sentence. He was sentenced to 20 years with a chance for parole after 8, but that's what happens when you don't cooperate. In an ironic twist, the driver Jimmy gave his sandwich to acted as a key witness for the prosecution. Some gratitude, huh?

Thanks to information and testimony that Kevin, Joey, Wheels, and I gave to the Feds, the collector car theft ring was broken up and several underbosses were indicted and convicted. Joe Gallifino, that rat bastard who ordered me killed, got off the hook on the car theft charges but the now one-legged Rocket LaRocca implicated him in a series of murders. (The lessons Rusty gave to Elena on expertly handling a shotgun showed; her point-blank blast had taken out Rocket's left leg above the knee.)

In a not unexpected turn of events, Joe Gallifino was arrested and soon released on bail, then magically disappeared. I imagine he's currently studying aquatic life at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

Tommy DeLucca had fled before the FBI could arrest him, and his whereabouts were unknown. Good for him.

No charges were filed against Elena. Rocket LaRocca was a suspect in 19 murders, and the Feds had been after him for years. He started singing like a bird when the Feds showed up at the hospital. As far as Special Agent Workman was concerned, it was self-defense and Elena had done the Bureau a favor. All arrest and conviction records for Elena Hermosillo were purged.

I never served a day of my sentence, of course. Witness Protection took care of that; my family and I are now living in Sandusky, Ohio.

My new name is Dave Stewart. Elena and I got married in the hospital chapel while I was recovering from my gunshot wound, so she's now Mrs. Vivian Stewart. Our son Teddy is now Dave Stewart Junior. He's turned 9 and just finished 3rd grade.

A fresh start in Witness Protection has been good for Teddy; my little guy's taken up magic since we relocated to Sandusky, and with his crazy dexterity he's so good that he started working little kids' birthday parties for some side cash.

Every now and then, when his Mom isn't looking, the boy will pick my pocket just to keep his skills sharp. In 3 months or so he's going to be a big brother, and with his personality, I know he'll be the best big brother since big brothers were invented.

Winter on the southern shore of Lake Erie totally sucks, but sure beats being shot by a mob enforcer. Our neighborhood is pretty friendly, there's a lot of kids for Teddy/Dave Junior to pal around with, and when the weather is nice, we have a family season pass at the Cedar Point Amusement Park.

As for me, I now walk with a slight limp but have a job as a motor pool mechanic for a local shipping warehouse. Elena/Vivian runs a bilingual reading program at the local library. Without fail, we get a Christmas card once a year from Special Agent Workman.

¡La vida es buena!

++++++++++

EPILOGUE 2 - SIX MONTHS LATER: A WAREHOUSE IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

I'm Gerry Wentworth. My coworker Darren Cosgrove and I work for MoveIt International Vehicle Liquidation. He's been with the firm for about 5 years; I've been with them for over 25. In fact, this was my last assignment; I was retiring the following week.

We'd just arrived and parked in front of an aircraft hangar at a decommissioned general aviation airport just outside of Barstow, California in the Mojave Desert. A major insurance company had hired our company to liquidate a batch of stolen vehicles, recovered after they'd paid off the theft claims of the original owners. Darren and I had been sent to audit the inventory on the manifest list to ensure it was all there prior to moving the 37 vehicles out.

Darren slid the door of the hangar open just wide enough to admit us and exclaimed, "Wow, this place is HUGE! Look at all this stuff!" His eyes were lit up with excitement. He really loved this job; Darren may have been 27, but I swear sometimes he acted like a little boy wearing a grownup suit.

I nodded, checking the manifest sheet on my clipboard; "There's some good stuff all right; boats, cars trucks, 37 in all, it's quite a collection." I tapped the clipboard as he went down the list, "Look, there's an all-wood 22' 1954 Chris-Craft, a 1954 C1 Corvette, a 1951 M35 series 2½-ton 6×6 cargo truck, and HOLY CRAP, THERE'S EVEN A 1949 CESSNA 195 IN HERE SOMEWHERE!" I love airplanes and was really excited when I saw the Cessna on the manifest. OK, now who was a little kid wearing the grownup suit?