They Used to Call Me Mouse

I started this one just after I finished 'When Life Imitates Art.' I wanted to inject some kind of crime drama into a story, and I think it works ok. Still a love story with a transition theme with a cute redhead as the main protagonist. I don't think I'll ever tire of writing about fiery redheads, and this one is a bit of a badass, so it was even more fun.

Standard caveats, everyone's over eighteen, there's some steamy sex and the requisite happy ending. I hope you enjoy the story, and please leave me a comment when you're done.

***

"Shell, baby. We need to get going. We're going to be late." Cuddled against his warm body, nestled in his muscular arms, this was my favorite place in the world to be. So, I didn't really want to get up either, but it was my little sister's graduation and we needed to be there for her.

Nobody called him Shell but me. To everybody else, he was just Reeder. He didn't like his name, Sheldon Marris Reeder, and probably read too many Jack Reacher novels, deciding that if it was good enough for Jack, it was good enough for him, so Reeder, it was. Except for me.

He reminded me of Denzel Washington. He always had. Even when he was dating my mom, but that's another story.

Or is it?

They used to call me Mouse. My friends, that is. I was small for my age, and I guess I still am. It came in handy with the crowd I ran with. I could get into places they couldn't and that meant I could sneak through small windows in bathrooms that were conspicuously left unlocked and open doors.

It was mostly petty stuff. We'd steal a dozen burner phones from a convenience store or maybe a car stereo from the pawnshop for one of the guy's new rides. Small time. No big deal, right?

We were just a bunch of petty thugs in a rough neighborhood that had nothing else to do. Paco had a dad, or at least some guy, shacking up and banging his mom. Me, my mom didn't even know who my dad was. She worked nights at Rounders. That's a strip club just down the street from the main gate to the army base. Odds were my dad was one of a long string of soldiers that had picked her up after one of her shifts.

Some of my friends had dads. Most were never home or drunk when they were. I had a bunch of uncles, all in the military. One or two had even hung around for a while. I especially remember a Denzel Washington looking guy named Reeder. Yeah, the one I'm currently sleeping with. Anyway, he stayed for almost two years. My mom thought he might finally be 'the one.' His rotation came up, and he left, just like all the others.

Two weeks later, I had another uncle.

Reeder, though, he taught me stuff. He showed a genuine interest in me, always spending time with me, just the two of us. He taught me to defend myself. He taught me to pay attention to things around me. If it hadn't been for him, I would have been fodder for every bully in my high school. Instead, I stood up to Rico, almost taking him down, and we became fast friends. I joined the others in his crew that ran the neighborhood. We called ourselves the Quinces since fifteenth street was the main drag that ran through what we called our territory.

Small and wiry, but nasty mean, and small enough to get into places Rico wanted me to go, I was 5' 6", 115#, long red hair and my mom's blazing green eyes, I stood out like a sore thumb in the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood, but everybody knew not to mess with little Ricky, or Mouse, as Rico had named me.

Unfortunately, Mr. Ramirez tired of us stealing shit from his pawn shop and put in an alarm, one of those silent things, and put a lock on the bathroom door. We tempted fate one too many times. The police found me in the bathroom by myself at three in the morning. When they showed up, Rico and the crew scattered, leaving me with no help and no way to get out of the building. It was obvious what was going on. They called it burglary. The knife in my pocket made it aggravated. I never ratted on my guys and at sixteen, the judge gave me a year in juvey. I was lucky he didn't sentence me as an adult.

When I got out, I had a new uncle, a guy named Tommy Heath, and my mom was pregnant with my little sister, Rachel. Tommy was an MP at the base and had almost arrested my mom when one of her 'dates' had tried to sneak her on base after hours. He left her in the detention cell until his shift ended and then gave her a ride home and just sort of never left. My mom quit the club and took a job cashiering at Safe Mart. The money wasn't as good, but she had Tommy.

He was hard on me. He got me through high school and then sat me down, going over my options in very explicit detail. I was going to end up dead, in jail, or in the army. With my history and grades, I agreed. I did my four and re-upped when I made Ranger school, serving four more in places most people never heard of. Once again, it was my job to get into places the other guys couldn't and wreak whatever havoc I could.

I came home to a world I never knew existed. Tommy had joined the police force when he got out, making detective in record time. Tired of the bureaucratic BS and left the force to start his own security and private investigation company. A couple of key security contracts, and my family was now living in the hills, far away from my fellow Quinces, and where I grew up. I went to work for Tommy.

"Rick, this one is simple. You find a good vantage point and you take pictures of Beneci with his mistress. I hate these things too, but the fee is huge. His wife wants to take him to the cleaners."

"But, Tommy, there's a reason we don't do divorce shit. You told me yourself; it always gets messy and with Beneci in the equation, that could be a colossal mess." I was pushing back with everything I had. Mostly because the last thing I wanted to do was take pictures of some fat guy screwing a girl half his age.

"All right. Tell you what. You get the full fee. Listen, don't tell your mom, but I know his wife. She doesn't deserve this. She needs out, just like you did when I first met you."

Dammit, he had to play that card. "Ok, give me the damned address."

Messy wouldn't describe what I was getting myself into.

It took me two weeks of following Mr. Beneci before I found my opportunity. Once again, it was my diminutive size that gave me my chance, and I had to get creative to make it happen. Squeezed into an air conditioning duct like you see in the movies, I started snapping. Damn, this guy was sick. He fucked her in the ass and made her lick him clean and then fucked her pussy until she screamed, pulling out and exploding all over her face.

He made her lick his ass and even suck on his fricking toes before he did it all again. I had a ringside seat to him, dragging her to the bathroom, beating the crap out of her, throwing her in the bathtub, and pissing all over her before he took out his gun, fastened a silencer on the barrel and put two in her face.

The problem was, it wasn't his mistress; it was his wife. So much for my fee.

"Fuck me." I hadn't realized I said it out loud. Beneci heard me. It didn't take long for him to figure out where I was. Scooting backwards through an air-conditioning vent isn't exactly a quick maneuver. He started shooting. He came close, but I managed not to get shot by dropping into the room next door.

It didn't help when the lady that lived there screamed as I collapsed onto the floor of her bedroom. Bursting out into the hall, I headed for the elevator at a dead run, two of Beneci's men hot on my heels. The door closed. I went down one floor, used the stairs, and went up three. I ducked into the maintenance closet where I had stashed my stuff and closed the door behind me, locked it, and waited.

I replaced the memory card in my camera with one from a Bar Mitzvah I had shot last week. Yeah, I'm a photographer, too. You want to make something out of it?

My problem was the memory card I was spinning between my fingers. I had a plan for that, too. If you want somebody to keep something safe and protect it for you, who better than the U.S. Government? Taping the memory disk to a piece of card stock, I slipped it into an envelope addressed to a PO box in the valley.

It wasn't Beneci's men, but the police that found me on the roof taking long exposure pictures of the L.A. skyline. If I were guilty of something, I'd be hiding, right?

I got cuffed, and they confiscated my camera. They wanted to talk to me about the brutal murder of Beneci's wife. Evidently, I was the only person with long red hair and a camera in the building.

My story was simple, and I stuck to it. All I was guilty of was trespassing. I had a rep for going places I wasn't supposed to, after all.

"Hey, you need a ride?" A detective I had talked to motioned toward his car.

"Nah, I'm good." I was futzing with my camera, trying to make sure they hadn't broken it. The dozen memory cards I had were all gone.

He tried to insist, but I grabbed a cab that was dropping someone off and left him standing there. When I got to my apartment, I saw him parked outside, waiting.

The question now became, who on the police force could I trust? The guy in the Taurus out by the curb was off the list.

Tommy answered on the first ring. I didn't even let him say hi. "He shot her in the face. Protect mom and Rachel. Cops are dirty. I'm out. When I'm safe, I'll get in touch." He didn't need to reply. I just hung up.

My next call was just as important. "Rico. It's Mouse. I need a favor. I'm on my way."

I packed a bag, put my hair up under a ball cap, tossed my phone in the microwave, hit the popcorn button, and used the chaos from the fire alarm to get past the detective and two of Beneci's men that were waiting outside for me.

Beneci's men waded into the crowd looking for me while the cop just sat and watched. One of them grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around. He tried to shout for his partner, but I didn't give him the chance. I grabbed his hand from my shoulder and twisted, bringing the elbow of my other arm down hard on his. Elbows aren't supposed to bend that way, but with the proper encouragement, will. It hurts like hell, too. I kneed him in the face as he collapsed and left him there.

It took a while, making sure I wasn't being followed and stuff like that. A few buses, an Uber, and a taxi and I was at a hotel that I knew had a shuttle to Rico's primary club. I'd find him there.

If there was anyone outside my family I could trust, it was Rico. I told him the story, leaving out what I had done with the memory card from the camera, and he confirmed that word had come around that Mr. Beneci wanted to 'talk to me.'

"Listen. I've got an idea. You won't like it, but you crash here and tomorrow morning, I'll get you out of town without Beneci finding you, ok?"

All I got to take with me the next morning was my camera. "You won't need those." Rico pointed at my clothes.

Wherever we were was not an accredited medical facility. "I use this guy to help some of my girls with, um, things." I think Rico blushed. "When he's done, we'll go see my sister Alma at her salon. Trust me Mouse. This is the only way. They're looking for a guy with red hair. Not a girl."

He was right on both counts. I didn't like it, and it would work. Working meant me staying alive so, I got undressed and laid on the table like the guy asked me to.

When Rico and I left, I had nice perky breasts, full hips, and a nice round ass. Alma did her magic. Anyone can cut their hair, but she added bonded extensions and my shaggy mop suddenly fell almost to my ass. Pierced ears and a couple of hours tutoring me on makeup and my mother wouldn't recognize me. I think Rico told them to save the waxing for last, just so he could laugh at me screaming like the girl I had become.

His girls from one of his clubs fitted me out with stuff from their closets. For strippers and prostitutes, they had some nice conservative things. I took some sluttier outfits, too. A girl never knows, right?

Rico was in some sketchy businesses, but his people were loyal to him, and he took good care of them in return. His clubs were always clean, and he limited the drugs he sold to recreational stuff. No crack, no heroin, just a little X here and a little coke there, you know, party stuff. Hell, even his dancer/hookers had a health plan of sorts. I had just spent hours with one of his 'doctors.'

One last stop at a pawnshop where Rico knew a guy that had an interesting hobby. He gave me a birth certificate. Rico and I stopped at the DMV. An hour later, Melissa Rogers had a California driver's license.

We were on the way to the bus station when an unmarked car pulled Rico over. It was the detective that had offered me a ride.

"Mr. Sanchez. You're a little out of your territory, aren't you?" He leaned in the window, checking out the car and taking a long look at me.

"Hey Randall. I already paid you guys this week. What do you want?"

"Looking for that redhead you used to run with. You seen him?" He glared at me.

"Who, Mouse? Nah, man. Haven't seen him since he joined the fucking army. What a waist. You know what I mean? I'm just taking one of my girls to the bus station. Her mom is sick. Family, you know." Rico smiled at him.

"One of your girls. I thought I knew most of them and I'd certainly remember a gorgeous redhead like her. Maybe she should tell me herself how important it is to go see her mom. What's your name, sweety?" The son of a bitch unzipped his pants right there. "Or I could take the two of you down to the station and we could have a longer chat about what your relationship with Mr. Sanchez really involves."

"Missy." I blushed. Or maybe it was the rage building up inside me that turned my cheeks red.

"So, Missy. Do you want to show me how much you want to go see your mother, or do you want to go down to the station with me?" Randall smirked and Rico put his hand on my arm.

"It's ok, Rico. It's ok." Fuck. I couldn't believe what I was getting ready to do.

There was nothing good about what happened next. I got on my knees. Randall face fucked me until he blew his load down my throat. Fuck that shit, I was a twenty-six-year-old army veteran, and my first sexual experience since I got home was to be raped by a dirty cop on the side of the road. It was disgusting.

Rico dropped me off at the bus station with one suitcase, my camera, purse, and five thousand dollars in cash. Eighteen hours later, I was in Grand Junction, Colorado and I owed Rico big time.

Grand Junction was a random choice, which made it the perfect choice. There would be no reason for anyone to look for me here. Like most small cities, the people in Grand Junction are really nice. All it took was a little confused searching through my purse and my bags for a gracious lady to offer to help. I told her I seemed to have lost my phone. She offered to drive me to Walmart to get another one and then took me to breakfast, ultimately dropping me off at a hotel where I got a room for a week.

I texted Tommy one word from my new phone, "Mouse." He called me back a few minutes later from a burner phone I knew he would have. We talked for thirty minutes. I filled him in on what had happened, leaving out where I was, where the evidence was, and exactly how Rico had gotten me out of town so effectively. He filled me in on what he knew. Beneci and the dirty cops he controlled were trying to pin the murder on me. It was a good thing I left town when I did.

Thirty minutes later, I got a text from another number I didn't recognize, a nine-digit number in the format of a social followed by, "You owe me. Stay safe." It had to be Rico. It was good to have friends.

A nap, then find some lunch and figure out what to do next. I either needed to create a life here or move on, but my limited funds wouldn't last long, so whatever I decided had to be quick.

The street that ran in front of my hotel seemed to be the major entertainment district of the city. Restaurants and bars and quant shops lined the street. I chose one that looked like a traditional English pub. The Goat and Clover didn't disappoint.

Taking a seat at the bar, I ordered a Smithwick's and Bangers and Mash and spent the better part of the afternoon talking with Adam, the bartender, about excellent beer, better whiskey and the curiosity that was British food. He was originally from London, and it amazed him that an American, especially a girl, knew as much as I did about excellent beer, Scotch, and Irish whisky.

"When you're stuck in Hereford for six months, what else is there to do?" I didn't bother to tell him I spent my six months training with SAS and had excellent tutors in such topics. He didn't seem to care. To be honest, I think he was more interested in the top button of my blouse coming undone, exposing the lace trim on my bra.

Shift change came at 4:30 and Adam asked me if I had plans. "Just finding a job and a place to live." I laughed. "Other than that, I think I'm pretty open."

"Job, huh? What's in a Mojito?"

"Easy. Mulled mint, lime, sugar, rum; top it with soda. Why?"

"Wait here." He disappeared into the back, coming back with a nice looking older blonde lady. "Ash, this is Mel."

She smiled and sat down next to me. "Adam says you're looking for work and that you seem to know a lot about what we have behind our bar."

"Well, I was in the military. That usually includes a lot of drinking." All three of us laughed. Ash and I talked for another hour, after which she gave me three T-shirts and a job. Starting tomorrow morning, Adam was going to train me to work behind the bar at The Goat.

Rather than leave, Adam and I sat at the bar and talked. He was smart and funny, and that British accent was too much. I knew he found me attractive. And as guys went, he was kind of cute; I guess. I had never really thought of a guy like that before, but I'd also never spent hours talking to one while dressed as a girl with tits.

Adam's dad was British, and his mom was American. He grew up in London, coming here to go to college, or uni, as he called it. When the whole Brexit thing exploded, he just stayed. "And Colorado just has things England doesn't." He put his hand on my knee.

I didn't object. I just smiled. I liked this guy in a way I didn't expect.

Just like when Randall had shoved his cock in my mouth, I felt things I usually only felt with girls. I even had to excuse myself to go to the girl's restroom, locking myself in a stall and masturbating, so I could continue sitting there with Adam. Thank god no one else came in while I was busy getting off.

I'd been around guys a lot in my life, and I'd admit, I got a few random boners in the showers in basic and at Ranger school. There were some uncomfortable moments during close combat drills, and dammit, that one time when I was working out with Reeder, his rock-hard body glistening with sweat, he had me pinned to the floor, his powerful arms grappling me, challenging me to break free. I had to go change my shorts after that one.

But I had always dated girls and enjoyed it.

As if I didn't have enough to think about, now I had this cute British guy walking me back to my hotel room. My mind was full of all kinds of conflicting images, guys in the shower, naked girls writhing next to me, fucking Randall's cock just before he shoved it in my mouth.

"Ten-thirty tomorrow. Don't be late." Adam's hand slipped into mine, and he turned me toward him when we reached my room.

"Sure. Ten-thirty." I looked up at him and, dammit, he leaned down. I lifted on my toes and kissed him.

Shower. Definitely a shower, a nice long cold shower. I stripped down, piling all my clothes on the floor in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I was pretty. Big green eyes, long red hair, somewhat pouty lips with a nice fit body with perfect full breasts, round hips, and a great ass. Damn, Rico's people did a great job on me.