Tracking Evil The Web Pt 02

Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Tracking Evil: The Web Pt. 02

Chapter One:

"Hunger is the best sauce in the world." - Miguel de Cervantes

The plan was a simple one.

They had three suspects, all blonde cabin crew members in their forties, all had been present in the cities where, at the same time twenty-three men had been murdered. The similarities between the witness statements of the perpetrator and the crime scenes themselves, the timelines set over the fourteen months the murders had been committed, it couldn't be mere coincidence.

That coming Friday, each of the suspects was due to fly out to a different city, staying overnight before crewing a morning flight the next day.

Arlene had their schedules and the hotel details, courtesy of Erica's friend Victor in the FBI.

The first suspect, Sharon Gleeson, was flying into Mobile, Alabama. Erica would be waiting at the airport when she'd arrive, she would follow her from that point onwards. Arlene had booked Erica into the same hotel but in case the suspect didn't go there first, it was decided that it was better to start the surveillance from the airport onwards.

Sabina Warner was Denisa's assigned target. The set up was identical to Erica's, only the location was different, the suspect flying into Pensacola, Florida.

Lastly, Anna Jablonski, Arlene's suspect to follow. The Chicago native was set to arrive in Seattle, Washington and the former Deputy sheriff would be waiting for her.

Erica had elected to drive to Mobile, she'd leave on the Thursday. Her reasoning for this was that flying would mean she'd be travelling unarmed and she felt less capable than her comrades. Arlene and Denisa, due partly to the distances involved and their own confidence in their abilities, were taking early flights on the Friday so as to be checked in ahead of time at the hotels, free to surveil their targets from the moment they'd land.

The next two days passed painfully slowly for Erica. She wanted to get on with it, now that she had viable suspects. She also found herself feeling hornier daily. Things weren't helped by the sounds of Shondra and Trent going at each other full tilt in the bedroom next to hers on a nightly basis. Erica had invested in some noise cancelling headphones but the impact of the headboard on the partitioning wall couldn't be cancelled out so easily. As a distraction, she took Wednesday off work as well, spending it with her daughter. This was the first time she was potentially putting herself in danger since becoming a mother and she wondered if she was being selfish doing so. If she was truthful with herself, she probably was. Discovering she had a talent for this job, knowing the evil that existed in the world had meant that it had taken on the mantle of a crusade in her mind, one that was as intoxicating as it was frightening. She loved the exhilaration it provided, addictive in its own way as the sex that seemed to go hand in hand with it. She couldn't give it up, not even for her daughter. So, Erica rationalized that she was making the world a safer place for her child, that was why she was putting herself in danger. It was feeble as excuses went but it served to quell the guilt in her heart.

That Thursday, excited, scared and horny, Erica set off for Mobile, Alabama. It was an eleven-hour drive and so she left straight after breakfast. She took the I-85, coasting along the Interstate through South Carolina and Georgia. The weather was hot, the air conditioning in her car battling to keep her cool. Passing Atlanta, Erica pulled over at a truck stop, over halfway to her destination, needing a restroom, some fuel and maybe something quick to eat, in that order.

It was a fairly sad little enterprise, a couple of fuel pumps with a small convenience store set up to supply any travelers with just the most basic of commodities. However, Erica's mind was fixed on utilizing their amenities as her bladder was now uncomfortably full so she wasn't fussy. She parked up, the only other vehicles an Oldsmobile Cutlass from the seventies that looked as worn out as the tires it ran on, and a 6x4 cargo truck, its trailer emblazoned with the logo of an animal feed company. She quickly moved into the store with the particular stiff legged, jerky motion that people adopt in the hope that it will prevent them wetting themselves.

Ahead of her there was a short queue. An older man counting over cash in a slow manner, pulling each dollar bill from his wallet with the sort of flair reserved for magicians producing rabbits from hats. His audience, a greasy faced teenager working behind the counter and a black man wearing a baseball cap with the same company logo as the truck outside, weren't impressed, both rolling their eyes at the old man's almost deliberate lack of speed.

"Oh my God," Erica hissed under her breath, shuffling from one foot to the other, regretting each and every one of the half dozen cans of cola she'd consumed on the trip so far. She obviously hadn't spoken as quietly as she'd intended, the black trucker glancing over his shoulder at her, grinning at her outburst. Erica shuffled in place again as he watched and he stepped back as he realized her need as being greater than his own, waving her forward.

"Oh my god, thanks so much, I owe you," Erica said jigging forward in line, smiling edgily towards him. He grinned back, wincing sympathetically at her obvious distress. The old man shuffled away and with a groan of relief, Erica approached the counter.

"Gas or food?"

"Neither, I need the key to the restroom," Erica said between clenched teeth.

"Restroom is strictly for paying customers, next."

"Fuck's sake, I'm gonna get gas I just need to use the restroom first," Erica said, her voice tight.

"Emmet don't be a fuckin' asshole your whole life. Give the lady the key," a deep voice rumbled from behind her. It was Erica's turn to glance around, the black trucker winking in support before glowering again at greasy faced Emmet.

The key, attached to a hub cap by a short chain, was handed over.

"Round the back, building with the blue door," Emmet said as Erica snatched the key from his hand, eyes darting about for the entrance to the restroom. She waddled for the exit, throwing a final smile of gratitude towards the trucker.

"Don't make a mess, I don't need to be cleaning up no more messes," Emmet called after her, Erica's ears burning with embarrassment.

It was a close-run thing but she made it to the small building with the blue door. The door was paint chipped and she probably could have opened it with a solid kick, hardly needing the key. That worn, ramshackle exterior didn't hold much in the way of promise for what lay inside, but beggars couldn't be choosers. There were two stalls in the windowless outhouse. Erica paused just long enough to flick on the light switch before dashing into the nearest stall. There was no toilet seat, of course, but at least everything seemed clean. She pulled her underwear down, lifting her skirt about her waist before squatting over the toilet, hovering there as she peed.

The sound of her stream slicing into the water of the toilet bowl was accompanied by her whimper of relief. It had been a close call. Erica had basically fully recovered from giving birth but even her newly recovered bladder control had been sorely tested by so many cans of soda.

Finally finished, she turned to look for some toilet paper, finding a half-used roll suspended from the wall of the stall. That wasn't all she saw. In her desperation to pee Erica had missed the big hole knocked into the dividing wall between the stalls. As wide around as two clenched fists, its purpose was clear from the plethora of vulgar scribblings that adorned the wall. Not that she needed to read them, the large black cock now protruding through the hole spoke volumes all on it's on.

It had to be the trucker, he had to have followed her into the restroom. It was fairly damning, with regard to her moral outlook, that what bothered Erica wasn't a stranger exposing himself to her, it was that he probably heard her having a pee that got to her.

'Cheeky bastard,' she thought to herself, closely followed by her conceding silently that she had said to him that she 'owed him one'.

'I didn't think he'd take it so literally. God, how long is it since I've even seen a cock, must be...' Erica's hand strayed to where the big black cock jutted into the small cubicle, wrapping around it without conscious thought. As it filled her hand, her mind abandoned its attempt to recall when last she'd had a cock this close to her.

Erica released her hold briefly, long enough to bring her hand to her mouth so she could lick her palm, gripping the cock again, this time stroking its hard length. She'd forgotten the tactile pleasure that came with touching a big cock. The warmth, the contradictory nature of it, rigid and yet compressible. She found herself on her knees, her underwear still about her ankles, her hand stroking the cock, bringing it to full hardness. It wasn't just the feel of it. A big black cock like this excited so many of her senses. The sight, first and foremost, the very dark skin almost drawing in what little light there was in the shitty little outhouse, the length now lubricated by her saliva as she jerked it off. Then the smell. She'd brought her hand to her mouth a couple of times to recoat it with her spit, each time she'd gotten a whiff from her own hand, the peculiar scent of stale sweat that could turn a stomach in some situations, in others, like this, it came across as masculine, potently so.

Touch, sight and smell... check, check, check. All that was left was taste and sound.

Erica's face was close enough now for the tip of her tongue to roll around the mushroom topped head of the big cock, a lazy circle that she completed twice before her lips rolled over it and she began to suck on it in earnest.

"Oh, hell yeah," a deep voice said, unmistakably belonging to the trucker she'd met. "Suck that cock, yeah, good girl, that's a good slut." And there it was, the sound, the words that made her pussy spasm in arousal. The holy, or unholy, quintet. Erica stifled her own moan of yearning with the black flesh in her mouth, her tongue pressing against it as she swallowed still more inside her mouth. She rolled and bobbed her head, alternating between slobbering and drooling saliva in thick rivulets down the black shaft and then lapping them up with her ceaselessly working tongue. Fast as she worked, and she was going hell for leather in her heightened state of excitement, she didn't catch all of it. Her fingers, when she brought her hand into action, finding the tight mass of pubes clustered at the root of his cock were soaked by her saliva.

"Sweet baby Jesus, you as hungry as a starvin' wolf, aint you girl? Shit and I thought I was sneakin' up on an innocent little lamb," the voice of the trucker drifted over the partitioning wall of the stall. Erica squeezed the base of his cock in acknowledgement of his words, finally taking her mouth off his cock in order to gasp out a brief request.

"Fuck my mouth," she gasped, short of breath but long on horniness.

"Bless your heart," he grunted, moving his cock back and forth almost as soon as her lips reattached themselves to his black cock. Erica gurgled and spluttered, a contented sound, as the big cock shunted forwards and backwards through the hole, treating her mouth the way she wanted and needed it to be treated.

"Gak... Gluumph... Gock," Erica gagged, choked, swallowed and sucked the rampaging cock, till she felt it pulse, her tongue sensitive to the throb of impending ejaculation. Her mouth, streaming saliva already, went into overdrive, tastebuds oozing in anticipation. Adrenaline and an almost forgotten addiction had her pussy shivering, aching with emptiness. As he unloaded, she gulped and swallowed, dribbled and gulped some more. Her fingers flying to her chin, catching errant trickles of semen that escaped her lips, smearing it into her skin as they stopped his cum from dripping onto her clothes.

"Fuck, you got me worn slap out little Missy. Got me runnin' late an' all," the trucker said wearily, his cock escaping her hungry lips as he purposely pulled it free. Erica was still swallowing his thick offering, her mouth sticky with his seed, so that the door of the restroom shutting behind him came before she could try persuading him to go a second round with her.

Stiffly, her knees sore from the hard linoleum of the floor, Erica got back to her feet. She finally got her panties back where they belonged. Her pussy was slick with need, dampening the cotton underwear even as she settled them in place. She gave a little unhappy sigh as she turned on the fossette to wash her hands and face. Far from taking the edge off her sexual desire, this had just kicked the furnace to a hotter setting. Cleaned up, she went back to the store, filling up on gas but not buying anything to eat or drink. She wanted to savor the taste of cum as long as she could, hours left still in her journey.

Chapter Two:

"The reason of the unreasonableness which against my reason is wrought, doth so weaken my reason, as with all reason I do justly complain on your beauty." - Miguel de Cervantes

Erica slept in late on Friday. She'd arrived and checked into the hotel late that night, or early that morning as it had gone past midnight by the time she'd arrived. It had been a fitful sleep, filled with dreams that she couldn't quite recall the next morning although her bodies state of excitement told its own tale.

Awake and now up, she'd gone for a long shower, to refresh her mind as much as her tired limbs. An almost desperate longing made her want to play with herself, to get herself the climax she craved beneath the warm spray of the shower, but Erica was nothing if not stubborn. She refused to let herself become a slave to her baser desires, setting them aside, focusing on her job instead. This was her hunt, she'd done the legwork, made the connections, proposed the suspects and the plan. Arlene and Denisa, they were professionals, a bar for her to set herself against. Erica had no intention of falling short.

She left for the airport early. There was no way to know where Sharon Gleeson, her target, might go after landing, so Erica had decided to go with casual smart as a dress code. A navy blue, box pleat mini skirt with a gold metallic button fastening on the waist, a sleeveless navy crop top with gathered detail and a high neck to match. She didn't bother with a bra, her firm breasts restrained partially by the stretch fabric of the top. For footwear, she'd taken a leaf from Denisa's playbook. Although she hadn't gone for the knee length boots her friend invariably wore, she had instead opted for flat lace up ankle boots that were subtly steel capped, blending fashion with practicality.

It was warm enough here in bible belt country, that Erica had no need of a jacket. She carried a small clutch for her phone. Her gun wouldn't fit in it, something she really should have thought through beforehand, a lesson for another time. That meant leaving it stowed in her hotel room, Erica would just have to manage without it.

At the airport, she took up a position at a café in the arrivals hall and began observing the flight crews as they exited the arrival gates. Those who were done for the day seemed to travel in groups, chatting as they caught cabs to their hotels. Most, like Erica and the suspect she'd be following, had rooms in the small group of hotels that ringed the airport. She checked the arrivals board for perhaps the hundredth time, the flight Sharon Gleeson was working on had finally touched down. In the last hour, both Arlene and Denisa had already texted to say their targets had arrived, both of her friends now following them.

A group of people, all wearing the same dark uniform, strode from the gate and Erica recognized Sharon from her file photograph. She'd aged a bit since the picture had been taken. Her blonde hair was longer now, well down her back where before it had been shoulder length. She walked with an easy grace, relaxed, laughing at some quip from one of her friends. The group passed by Erica without any attention being paid, the journalist turned vigilante rising from her chair to follow as they went to the cab rank. The entire group, Sharon leading the way, piled into a minivan which then pulled away smoothly.

'So far, so good,' Erica thought to herself as she climbed into a cab as well, instructing the driver to take her to the hotel.

The cabs arrived within seconds of each other and Erica hung back, fumbling on purpose with her bag, allowing the group to head into the hotel before she got out of the cab. She couldn't spend the day hiding in bushes as she followed Sharon, but she could try to stay out of her line of sight where possible.

Now that she knew the woman had checked into the hotel, there was nothing for her to do but sit in the lobby, to wait and watch.

Erica knew, from her records, that Sharon Gleeson had flown into this destination a number of times, most likely staying over before. That meant she'd be more familiar with the city than Erica, who'd never been here. If Sharon was the killer, she'd probably already know where she wanted to go that night, a bar or somewhere like it, with no real security. If she stayed in her room, then it'd be a long boring night for Erica, but chances were the woman she was following would be innocent then. Part of Erica hoped she was. The smiling, heart shaped face that had passed by her in the airport didn't look like a killer, not at all. If anything, she looked like someone Erica would like having a drink and a laugh with.

Erica also had a second, more selfish reason for hoping Sharon Gleeson would prove to be innocent. She was nervous about that fact that she was alone in the city, no back up on hand. Despite the training and her recovery from her brush with mental health issues, Erica just wasn't a hundred percent sure that she had what it took if it came down to her having to stop any attempt at murder by herself.

Around an hour later, the elevator doors to the lobby

binged

and Sharon Gleeson stepped out, dressed for a night out it seemed. The uniform was gone and now she wore black, low rise bootcut jeans and a white, V-neck fitted t-shirt. Erica was so caught up in her own disappointment that her target was leaving that she missed the point. Her target was leaving!

Quickly she moved to the hotel doors, getting through them in time to see a cab pull away, Sharon Gleeson sitting in the back.

"Fuck," she swore, dashing over to the next cab. Erica hopped in the back, not waiting to talk to the driver first. A man past his middle years with a pronounced widows peak, he turned grumpily to look at Erica over his shoulder.

"Quick, follow that cab," Erica said excitedly.

"Are you serious? I got no time for jokes Miss," he said exasperatedly.

"No, no I'm serious. Please. She's getting away," Erica said. She realized more was needed though as her driver simply narrowed his eyes at this. "Uh, that's my friend. We just had a fight, I want to catch her up, I'm afraid she'll do something stupid."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, my wife's always storming off. Okay, no problem." Satisfied with that explanation, her driver pulled smoothly away and moved after the cab that was almost out of sight. The next few minutes had Erica wanting to chew on her fingernails. Somehow her cab kept pace but never closed the gap on Sharon's ride. Each junction, each set of lights, Erica found herself nervously bouncing on the backseat, expecting to find Sharon disappearing. Her luck was in though, at the last set of lights she saw the cab pulling in to the curb, the blonde middle-aged woman getting out with a wave to her driver, turning and walking down the street.