The Last Ride

Story Info
When a dream job turns into a nightmare.
2.3k words
4.19
6.4k
1
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

Normally I have no problem sleeping in a moving car, but tonight I'm too keyed up to sleep. Sure, the back seat of the Lincoln is comfortable enough, but I just can't seem to find a position that will allow me to relax. Instead, I futilely twist and squirm, trying to find a position that will relieve some of the tension in my back and neck.

It'd been a long and exhausting day. I'd planned to arrive at work even earlier than normal today. I wanted to get in and get out before the morning rush, to be on my way to Europe with my family, but of course, of all days, this is the one day that there is an accident on the interstate and I was stuck in traffic. For hours. Nothing for it, I had to go in. I had just one more thing I had to do, one more task to finish. It was important that I get all the loose ends tied up before I left. I'd been driving myself hard of late. Arriving in the early morning and staying late into the evening, trying to make sure everything was in place and ready. It was important that everything went off without a hitch, because if it didn't, there was going to be hell to pay. I think Mr. Macalli noticed all the long hours as the deadline approached, but it wasn't his way to say anything. That's for his underlings.

The Lincoln glides along the interstate, silent as tomb if not for the radio softly playing easy jazz. I never liked jazz, but the driver gets to pick the station. Them's the rules, ya know? I sit in the back, alone in my thoughts, wondering if I should mention that I needed a pee stop. There isn't a lot of pressure on my bladder, yet, so I decide it is not worth bothering with. I won't have to hold it much longer.

When I arrived at work this morning, a couple of my office mates were already there. I walked past without saying a word. Nothing unusual there. I was the rumpled, lumpy guy among the beautiful people. It always amazed me how people with no brains but plenty of looks and charisma could get so far. The guys were handsomely turned out in their five thousand-dollar suits and five hundred-dollar shoes. And the women... what could I say other than they were breathtaking? All of them. Any one of them could have been a model, but instead they were office help... among other things. It was a privileged circle; rich in power and wealth, and that environment attracted the beautiful people.

My head jerks up. I can't believe I nodded off. I peer at the glowing clock in the dash. Just after one in the morning. In two hours, I will have been up for twenty-four. Another all-nighter. Anne, my wife, is used to it. Most women would be suspicious if their husband spent as many hours at work as I do, especially knowing all the temptations around, but not my Anne. We'll be married 19 years, come June 9th, with two great children and a house in the suburbs. Anne may not be as beautiful on the outside as any of the women at work, but she glows with a warmth and kindness that no mere physical beauty can rival. Still, I regret tonight more than most. I'd promised her I'd be home early. We were going to spend the night at an airport hotel and then catch the flight to London first thing in the morning, well, this morning actually. My wife, our kids, and four first class tickets on British Airways. Sounds lovely, but it doesn't look like I am going to make it now. Still, if I can manage to get away, I can either meet them at the airport or catch a later flight.

I was sitting at my desk pecking away at the keyboard. The final pieces were in place and I was ready for my much needed and greatly anticipated getaway. I couldn't focus on my job. I was just putting in my time, watching the clock, and waiting for the scheduled transfer to clear. I remembered thinking that I should just leave. I was walking out on this lousy job and never coming back anyway, so what did I care? But I waited. I never left early and didn't want to arouse suspicion. I'd wait for the rest of the staff to leave, wait for them to start their weekend early, going home to their mistresses and plastic wives. I looked at the clock again. 10:30. In another hour I'd be gone, ostensibly leaving for lunch, but actually ready to start my new life. I didn't want anyone to realize I was leaving until it was too late. I began looking everything over one more time; just to make sure everything was as it should be. Suddenly I got that rarest of all thrills, the rush of impending doom. Something was wrong, way wrong. I begin typing frantically on the keyboard, trying to find out what happened. Shit. Shit. Shit! So close. I was so close. I began gathering my stuff, trying to appear calm, but in fact screaming inside. If I missed this flight, there'd be no other chance. I'd just picked up my bag when Marco stepped into my office.

The Lincoln is cool, but I feel greasy with sweat, and my glasses won't stay up. Sitting in the back I chew my lower lip, wondering what options I might have. Mr. Macalli was going to be pissed, that's for sure, and I didn't relish being on the receiving end of his wrath. I've seen him reduce strong men to simpering fools without mercy, and my bowels tighten with the mere thought of that happening to me. As the car ghosts off the interstate onto a side road, tears of frustration begin to well in my eyes. All that stress and work, and for nothing. Well, it wouldn't be long now before this was resolved, one way or another.

Marco escorted me down the thickly carpeted hall. The carpet looked good, just replaced I recalled, even though the carpet it replaced looked better than the one in my house. It was funny how the mind wandered, skittering away from unpleasant thoughts, and this meeting was going to be very unpleasant indeed. Marco directed me into the conference room. Designed to impress, the room was richly paneled in some dark and expensive looking wood with precious paintings adorning the walls. This was where the real money deals were made. I'd been in this room only twice before. The first time was during my job interview. Not knowing what I was getting myself into, I was duly impressed. The second time was when I installed parts of the computer system that allowed Mr. Macalli to run his sprawling, multi-billion-dollar empire. The first time I was happy and upbeat, looking at a dream job. The second time I was alone, late at night, longing to get away from the greed, the corruption, the hell I had glibly walked into three years before.

We ride in silence. The lights of the city are no longer visible behind us, but the powerful headlamps of the Lincoln peel away the darkness in front. We meet few cars. Most people are sleeping, a few may be making love, some watching TV. Any of those would be preferable to riding in the back of a company car, Marco and some guy I have never seen before in the front, me in the back, the three of us on our way to see Mr. Macalli at his estate. Only two hours outside the city, but a million miles from the bustle, it's where the rich and powerful live.

Marco spent three hours grilling me, then he left, telling me not to go anywhere. A couple of hours later, he was back with a new set of questions. Obviously, they were still trying to get their hands around what happened, but they didn't ask for my help and I wasn't offering. Several more hours passed before Marco returned with a stricken look. I wasn't sure what they found, but Marco had a few more questions he wanted answered, and this time he wasn't as pleasant. What did I know about the break in? Was I involved? How could this have happened? I protested and proclaimed my innocence, of course. Why would I ever cross Mr. Macalli, I'd asked. He'd given me the job that ten-thousand other computer guys would salivate over. With total freedom to design and run the computer system, and for all practical purposes, unlimited money to do it with, it was the stuff geek dreams were made of. Marco paced like a panther. He never yelled. He never lost his temper, a fact that scared me far more than histrionics ever could. Finally, he left the room for the last time. I knew he was reporting to Mr. Macalli, and though he hadn't told me to wait, I also knew that somewhere outside this room was a gentleman in a five thousand-dollar suit and five hundred-dollar shoes whose job was to see that I didn't leave until Mr. Macalli had answers. It was going to be another long night.

Rain began to patter against the windshield. Driver Guy flips a switch and the wipers begin a rhythmic thumping, but the car never slows. This is probably Mr. Macalli's driver and he's driven this road a thousand times. As the car sizzles through the rain, I again think of my family. The boys were almost assuredly asleep, and Anne was probably frantic, wondering where I was. I wish I'd had a chance to call her before we left the office, but cell phones didn't work in the conference room, just as I intended. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so good at my job.

About midnight Marco opened the door to the conference room. Outside stands the man I later christened Driver Guy. Marco led me out, dapper as always. I, on the other hand, was tired, rumpled, and hungry, plus I had to pee. Marco allowed me to relieve myself. He didn't care about me, but he probably didn't want to have to clean up a mess if I wet myself. While in restroom, I slurped a mouthful of water, just to get some spit back into my mouth. I looked in the mirror. I looked like hell, but I felt worse. In the garage, Driver Guy opened the rear door of a spotless black Lincoln like I was someone important. How clichéd. I sat down in the back as Marco slid into the front. Driver Guy shut my door, hurried around the car, and slid under the wheel. Driver Guy started the car without hesitation before the car pulled smoothly out of the underground garage. Mr. Macalli wouldn't want to be kept waiting. I didn't try to chat Marco up. Everything that needed to be said had already been said.

From Marco's questions earlier in the evening, I have a good idea of what someone found, and I have an answer for every question Mr. Macalli is likely to ask. I try to think calming thoughts, but it's no use. Mr. Macalli scares the shit out of me. A nice guy can't put together the kind of organization Mr. Macalli has, much less keep it together as long as he has. As I woolgather, the Lincoln turns onto a private road. The wipers thump their rhythm in counter-point with the thudding of my heart. I can see the house lights blazing ahead when the car veers right and continues down another road. Moments later, it glides to a stop by a stable. Terror really begins to stir inside me now. Marco gets out as Driver Guy hurries around and opens my door. At first I don't move, but as the two men stand in the rain, I sigh and begin sliding out. If Marco can stand in the rain in a five thousand-dollar suit, I can do the same in my JC Penney off-the-rack.

As I stand up, the pistol slide being pulled back focuses my attention like no other sound can. So, this is it. I knew the risks, but I also knew you don't just quit when you work for Joseph Macalli. The six hundred million that is waiting for Anne in London should provide enough money to allow my family to live comfortably hidden forever. You can't hide that kind of loss, but I made sure there was no way to track where the money went. Macalli would never stop looking for them, but that much money buys a lot of anonymity, especially when someone doesn't know where to start looking. Anne is smart; she'll know what to do. As Marco's arm swings up, my mind begins to swirl. I'm finally going to be free of the job that was eating me from inside. A 4-terabyte hard drive can hold a lot of damning evidence on the Macalli syndicate, something the FBI is going to find very interesting later this morning.

Anne and the boys can restart their lives, safely away from the influence of an organization that breeds only corruption and death. I hope I get blood stains all over the Lincoln's sumptuous leather upholstery. Macalli is going to be busy for a long time, which gives Anne time to lose herself and the boys. Everything went off just as I planned it, except for my timing. If the syndicate had known what I was doing, why hadn't Macalli stopped the transfer? Why did the transfer happen early? All these thoughts, and more, tumbled through my mind in the seconds before the roar of the 9mm blends with a clap of thunder. I'm on the ground, lying the mud with my life bleeding out of me, before the echo fades.

Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
3 Comments
AnonymousAnonymous19 days ago

Poor writing style is distracting. Trying to be edgy and cool only comes off as vague and pretentious. Maybe get an editor to keep you from hitting the curbs and guardrails...

AnonymousAnonymousover 1 year ago

Definitely non-erotic…and quite dark. Though well written, all the shadows made it difficult to discern the MC’s personality well enough to feel a lot of empathy.

SithLord6969SithLord6969about 5 years ago
wow...

Powerfully written. I have recently discovered your work. Your are a feast for my eyes. Thank you

Share this Story

Similar Stories

Surprise! (in 750 words) Imagine her surprise when...in Loving Wives
20 In 750 Time to retire from work….and our marriage.in Loving Wives
Former Friends Gutting and saving a former friend.in Loving Wives
Hotel Room Confrontation She wanted the promotion.in Loving Wives
Frank's Daughter Why won't Frank support his daughter?in Loving Wives
More Stories