[For the
The 2023 "Hammered: an Ode to Mickey Spillane" Author Challenge
.]
"Oh, God, Abel, don't stop... Don't Stop! God that's so good!" Her hips pistoned against me, never lifting more than a couple inches, body trembling in the wonderfully familiar herald of her climax. I gritted my teeth, desperate to obey, wanting to laugh that it was not me that was doing it, amazed that this angel was doing this... was mine, or more accurately that I was completely hers. "Oh, God, I love you, A..." She was interrupted by a searing brightness, accompanied by a clap of thunder...
I banged the steering wheel so hard it was a wonder the horn did not sound, I lurched forward so sharply. It was not why I could not catch my breath. There was a prolonged moment of disorientation as reality crashed back, destroying the brief moment of happiness I will only know again as a dream. With reality comes memory.
I pushed those dark moments away, focused on my breathing, two seconds in through my nose, hold for a two count, two second exhale. And remembered she had first demonstrated it for me—had me read about it later. A conscious exercise to get my autonomics under control. I shifted, shamming as if still asleep, wondering if I had made any noise. I tried to assess my surroundings, listening, then through half closed eyes. The Glock 41 in the shoulder rig under my right arm was less than reassuring as vulnerable as I knew I was.
Nothing.
I sighed, tried to ignore the pressure of the erection complaining in the too cramped confines of my jeans, and checked the face of my Suunto watch. I know, a watch? I am a walking anachronism. 5:45 AM. No need to check the tank, standard procedure is to fill up before catching a nap.
I checked out the surrounding vehicles more closely, a motley collection of Semi's and RV's parked a hundred odd yards from the Walmart Supercenter. Old Sam knew what he was doing when he invited travelers to take a break in his parking lots. A bathroom break was going to be necessary in short order, but I knew better than to loiter where I had already spent too much time. I glanced at the faraday cage I had purchased the day before at another Walmart, precursor to another necessary chore, but it could wait until businesses were open.
Fired the FJ up, pulled out of the lot headed toward the ocean... or rather headed west, because ocean or bay was on both sides... not the best choice of a rest stop, but after more than 13 hours behind the wheel in real life rather than a dime store gumshoe novel, I had not had time or energy to engineer the perfect hide. I should have headed out south, but one extra turn beats none. Watching the mirrors I crossed north of the Supercenter, daring a car to follow me, but of course no one did. Tailing someone successfully for any time would be difficult, given how few cars were on the streets. I found the 101 and headed North. Passed on 'the Pancake Mill' then pulled in at the smaller lot to Mom's Kitchen. Neither place was open, yet, but there were other vehicles waiting at Mom's, which was a good sign. Besides, it sounded less like a chain.
I did take the time to back the Toyota up against a pile of wood covered by an aluminum awning, my sole effort at maintaining operational security. When the others began to head toward the entrance I followed, realizing for the first time I had managed to make it harder to get from the front door into my car by backing in. I studiously avoided looking around as I walked in, which probably made me look even more like a man on the run.
"Welcome, stranger, pull up a booth and I'll be right with you," I blinked stupidly in the fluorescent lit diner, more than a little surprised there really seemed to be a 'mom.' Regaining my wit... not plural yet before 9am, I walked the length of the bar and settled into the next to last booth, back to the couple who were already in the booth I had hoped would be empty. I glanced at the menu, then at the newsstand I had passed on the way in. Mom swooped in, coffee in hand, and asked if I had any questions. I thanked her for the coffee, reaching for the sugar container as I asked if she had a meal with a little bit of everything. She nodded, and again when I added I wanted the hashbrowns crispy, and the eggs over easy. I headed to the men's room, then back toward the newsstand, pausing at the cash wrap where there was a stack of papers for customers to read. I picked up the local paper, 'the World' and returned to my booth. Frowned at the coffee I had left unattended, considered the empty nesters behind me, then shrugged and took a healthy swig.
The paper was mostly a tool to keep anyone from starting a conversation. I scoffed at the name, then saw that the front page was Associated Press snippets from the world after all... Canada reporting 400 more cases. New Zealand boasting no new cases, and conveniently ignoring the Draconian measures they were employing to get such results. The photo above the fold was a drone image of an almost sprawling mansion taken from the street between the limbs of a big circle driveway. The headline beneath read 'Internet Wunderkid Drowns escaping a fire.' I read enough to see that it had happened in Seattle.
The whole bottom of the front page was dedicated to the virus. The numbers were rising again, and there was talk about closures and stay at home orders. I wondered bitterly for a moment what that meant for people without a home.
"Here you go, hon," Mom had four plates spread over an asbestos protected arm. I gaped at the plate with crispy hash browns and a pair of perfectly done eggs, followed by the plate of a biscuit smothered in sausage gravy, a plate covered by two big pancakes, and finally a smaller plate with three strips of bacon and three old style casing links. "Since you said crispy for the hash I assumed you wanted your bacon that way as well," Mom explained, "If that's not right let me know." I thanked her with a nod, then dug in. It was the best meal I had eaten in recent memory, and I cleaned every plate, which left time to get through most of the paper. Small articles detailing protests against lock down orders. The Oregon Supreme Court and the governor were at odds over just what the governor had the power to order. Their neighbor to the south was still essentially locked down, and I was glad I had not strayed south on my trip.
A second photo above the fold showed George Floyd and another man I had never heard of. The article touched on the protests still going on across the nation and expanded on the 'police free' zone citizens had set up in Seattle. Wondering just how that worked, I slapped down a twenty, which covered the bill with a healthy tip, put my mask back on, and exited the diner. I had eaten too much but would not need to eat again until I got to Seattle.
I kept the tank full, with stops in Pacific City and Astoria. Dads nationwide would have shaken their heads at the foolish delays, but my soon to be host did not know he had a visitor on the way, and arriving late was definitely a better choice. It would have been better to rent a different vehicle, too, but I was down to precious few 'back up's and leaving the FJ unattended seemed like tempting fate.
Came in to the Seattle 'burbs midafternoon, and made a third stop in Newcastle for gas. It was good to stretch my legs and actually pump my own gas, after the weird insistence on attendants pumping gas for my in Oregon. There was plenty of gas to get where I was headed, but like I said, late beats early, and I had no idea where I would be heading when I was done with my visit. But then I was not really sure where it was I was heading, beyond the address.
The residential roads twisting generally west from the highway into Bellvue were wide with impressive lawns fronting more impressive homes. It was also less than conducive to blending in, what with out of state tags and a dusty faded 4x4, rather than the endless Teslas, Beemers, Mercedes, and Audis that were parked behind twelve foot iron fences. I pulled over and checked my notes, puzzled that my host would live so comfortably. The address checked out.
I made a turn and rolled along the street, never meaning to stop. So why did I find myself standing on the brake at the closed gate to the closest limb of a sweeping circle drive? It could have been that I had seen the mansion before, after all. Actually, it was so I did not run the young member of Seattle's finest standing in the street over. He seemed surprised I was there, but less surprised than I that he had not heard my approach. Hand relaxed on his hip above his holstered regulation sidearm, he moved farther into the street and waited for me to lower my window.
"Nobody is allowed here," he waved at the gated drive.
"I didn't have an appointment," I answered, gesturing, forward, "I got turned around, I'm not from here, and I'm trying to find I5." He eyed the FJ more pointedly. "These are some digs," I added, conversationally, "I doubt I'll ever be invited to visit a place like these."
"Well, you can turn around at the beach park just around the corner," he told me, "You're headed away from the highway now. Or you can turn left with the road before you hit the water and it will take you back."
"Thanks, I knew I should have used Waze instead of Google," I shrugged, "Appreciate the help, officer." And coming off the brake, I rolled by, trying not to react or even show that I noticed when his eyes followed. At least he did not take out a Moleskin pad and write the tag down. I followed the road to the beach he had mentioned, pulling in and parking instead of turning around as he had advised. I glanced around, seeing mothers and children and a few walkers of varied age. I shrugged into a gray North Face rain jacket, flipped the hood up, even though it was not raining, and got out.