Are You Tiffani Caine?

Author's Introduction:

This work in its entirety is dedicated to KF, whose life was brutally unfair and far too short. I will always remember you, always love you, and always miss you. Rest now, my brother. You've earned your peace.

Are You Tiffani Caine? Chapter 7

deals with non-consensual elements (blackmail, non-violent coercion), violence, interracial sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, bimbo and hucow fetishes, lesbianism, internet pornography, explicit descriptions of meals, struggles with religious faith (Christianity), manipulation of middle-aged men by means of breasts, exhibitionism, and prostitution.

I welcome feedback, positive or negative. If you want a response, either leave a comment at the end of this story or email me at the address on my profile page.

All fictional characters that I made up in my head as fiction who engage in fictional sex are over 18 fictional years of fictional age fiction fiction fiction.

Up next:

Flying Monkey Express, Chapter 1

Are You Tiffani Caine? Chapter 7

By Senor Smut

It's easier than just waitin' around to die

- Townes van Zandt

Monday, October 3

It was a perfect early-October evening: clear, no breeze, the temperature crisp but not cold. On evenings like these, she and Isaac would deliberately park several blocks from their restaurant and relish the walk to and from the restaurant as much as they did whatever wonderful meal they'd share. Those were some of her favorite times with her ex-fiance.

But now Isaac was gone, and those walks and good meals with him. Five months to the day after she broke up with him, he had announced his engagement to an infuriatingly pretty blonde, only a few days after Sara committed to being a prostitute. For all she knew he was sharing a delicious meal at one of her favorite restaurants his new love Bonnie, and here she was about to eat way too much shitty fast food and then go home alone. The contrast was so sharp that it cut.

It wasn't like she wanted him back or wished that she was in Bonnie's place. It was just that her life had spiraled right down the toilet since she left him, and now he was getting married to a woman who was probably far more what he wanted than Sara herself had been, while Sara had become a whore to keep a roof over her head.

Hello, rock bottom.

She had just cleared the Taco Bell drive-through where she had bought too much food when her phone rang with an Unknown Number. She wasn't sure why - maybe it was a side-effect of her mood - but she was filled with a sudden apprehension that this would be no cheerful pep talk or breezy check-in. A sense of creeping doom told her that this was the beginning of those missions they'd been threatening her with. She took a deep breath and answered, "Hello."

"Are you Tiffani Caine?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You sound down."

"Isaac got engaged."

"Ah. I'm sorry."

"Who am I talking to this time?"

"Yvette."

She sighed. If only it had been Wilbur. She could use a therapy session tonight. "I suppose you're going to tell me to shut up and deal with it."

"I'm that harsh?"

"Sometimes, especially lately."

"Maybe I am when you need me to be, but every woman has had to see some ex or another do better than they're doing. I'm no exception. I know how much it sucks."

"it's your fault, you know. Yours, Wilbur's, all of you. You assholes ruined my life."

"I can understand why you might feel that way."

"Oh you can, huh? That's mighty fucking big of you! You cost me my fiance! You cost me my job! You made me a whore! What's next, huh? Are you going to tell me I have to sleep on a park bench from now on? Are you going to send someone to kick my teeth out? What do you fuckers want?"

"Would you rather still be with Isaac? You two would be married by now if we hadn't stepped in."

"Of course not! But that's not the point and you know it!"

"Would you rather still be at Danforth, eating shit everyday and being forced to smile and say thank you?"

"The only reason it got that bad was because you pieces of shit arranged for it to. Yeah it was bad before that, but it was no worse than most jobs in today's economy. You ruined it for me there, and don't try to deny it."

"I won't. We, the broader we, fucked with my life too. We fucked with Wilbur's life. We fucked with all of us. We tore us all right down to the ground."

"Why?"

"So we could all be built back up again."

"Why me? I'm nobody, I'm just a person!"

"Wrong. We looked at you and saw the raw material for a person, something that could be hammered into shape and become a person - a useful person."

"FUCK YOU! I'm a human being! You took away all my choices and made me this

thing!

I'll probably never be in a decent relationship again because of you! YOU!"

"I understand your feelings. From firsthand experience, I understand them."

"Then why are you doing all this to me?"

"Because we need you."

"Why? Why me?"

"To be honest, Tiffani, it's not something you can understand with the information we're willing to give you right now."

A million and one responses tore through Sara's mind in a flicking instant; the one she gave was to simply hang up the phone and turn it off. She tried eating some of the food she'd just got and managed to choke down a chicken taco, but her appetite was well and truly gone. She dumped the rest in a trash can and headed home. Once there, she took a long, hot shower; when she got out she was still too angry to want to talk to the Caller so she left her phone off and went to bed.

Tuesday, October 4 - Thursday, October 6

Sara slept poorly and awoke early, and as she pushed herself out of bed she realized that her phone was still off. Yvette might be pissed about that, but fuck her - Sara was pissed too. She turned it back on, and as it was booting up she headed for the bathroom -

Her phone rang with an UNKNOWN NUMBER before she could sit down on the toilet. She had no desire to pick up and continue the conversation of the night before, but there was really no point in putting it off. With a deep sigh, she connected the call and said, "Hello."

"Are you Tiffani Caine?"

"Yes. Look Yvette, I'm sorry I hung -"

"This is Wilbur. I'm sorry, Tiffani, but I'm transferring you to Zebediah."

Zebediah? It took her a moment, but then her blood ran cold. Zebediah was the fourth Caller, the one she hadn't spoken to yet, the one she'd been told she never wanted to speak to. She didn't even have time to brace herself before there was an electronic click over the line and a disguised but obviously angry voice said, "You listen to me, you stupid little cunt. If you hang up on any of us again your ass will be arraigned in a Florida courthouse within forty-eight hours. The only fucking thing I want to hear from you now is, 'I understand, sir.'"

She swallowed hard. "I understand, sir."

"I told Yvette and Wilbur that they were getting too chummy with you. I told them that it would make you feel like everything we told you was optional. It's not. Everything we had on you, we still have on you. Everything illegal you've done since has been documented. I don't think you hold all the promise that the others believe, so I will be happy to see you sent to prison or the chair. Do you understand?"

"I understand, sir."

"You fucking well better. I'm transferring you back to Wilbur because talking to you makes me sick. You fucking well better remember what I just told you."

Before she could answer - not that an answer was required - there was another faint click and the disguised voice of Wilbur came back. "Sorry. We did tell you that you didn't want to talk to Zebediah."

"I didn't know hanging up on you would trigger that," she replied, voice shaky. "I've hung up on you guys before."

"It wasn't the hanging up that escalated the situation, it's the fact that you deliberately avoided contact with us for eight hours. Zebediah steps in when things like that happen. And make no mistake, Tiffani: he meant every word he said. You do not want to talk to him again. OK?"

"I talked to him for thirty seconds and I almost peed my pants. I definitely do not want to talk to him again."

"Good, we're agreed. Now, what you didn't get from Yvette last night was your assignment for this morning."

No wonder Zebediah was pissed, her fit of pique almost screwed things up good. "OK, what do I have to do? More spy stuff?"

"Yes indeed, more spy stuff. I'm sending you a couple of pictures and some info." A moment later she was looking at the photograph of a thin, shaven-headed, mustachioed white man wearing a business suit and an ineffectual expression. Wilbur continued, "That is Roy van Hoek. He works in Eagan - the address is in the info I sent."

"And what am I supposed to do with him? Seduce him?"

"No, you're going to follow him."

"Follow...like...online?"

"No, in a car. Kids today. He's going to leave work between 10:15 and 10:25 this morning. He's going to get in his car - a dark blue Mitsubishi E-Class with the Minnesota vanity license plate 2MUCH4U. You should have some pictures of that too."

"I hate him already."

"Yeah, he's a douchebag. You're going to get on his tail and follow him as he drives."

"What...you know he's going to spot me, like, instantly, right?"

"We're counting on it. When he makes you, he will attempt to lose you - do nothing to pursue, just let him go."

"So you want me to follow a guy for like a block?"

"It will take longer than that, but if he spots you in a block and steps on the gas, just let him leave you behind."

"OK...then what?"

"Van Hoek is going to a meeting in St. Louis Park - again, the address is in the info. There's a Middle Eastern restaurant directly across the street where you can park and have a view of both the door he'll use to exit the building and the parking lot. He will be leaving the building between 11:30 and noon. Tail him again and do it obviously - we want him to spot you. Again, when he does and attempts to escape, make no attempt to follow."

Suddenly she knew exactly where he was talking about - she had been to that restaurant a few times with Isaac. "If you already know where he's going, when he's going there, and what he's going to do when he gets there, what am I even doing?"

"You're smart, you tell me."

Sara only had to think for a couple of seconds before it was perfectly obvious. "You're sending a message. You want him to know that you know this stuff and that you're onto him. It's like a warning."

"Got it in one. When he sees you there when he leaves, he'll conclude that either we know everything there is to know about his dealings, or that you're so good a tail that you can follow him without him spotting unless you want him to see you, even when he's looking for you. Either way, he'll be scared and either back entirely out of the arrangement he's making, or panic and do something stupid - either way, he's no longer a threat."

"A threat to what?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Probably not," she sighed. "After that, am I done?"

"After that, your time is yours. Are you working tonight?"

She almost winced at the thought of Isaac and Bonnie cuddling in front of a movie while she scuttled from one sordid sexual encounter to the next. "No, I don't think so. I need a little time."

"Yvette told me about Isaac. That's tough, I'm sorry."

"Thank you. It's stupid, I know - I'm not living for him and he's not living for me, so what he does is none of my business - but it's still a kick in the pants."

"I also understand why you were angry at us. We put you into this situation. Someday you may thank us, but not today."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening. Anyway, what if this guy's carrying a gun? Will he try to shoot me?"

"Van Hoek is an inveterate coward. He doesn't have a gun license, and he's not the kind to carry an unlicensed weapon - he doesn't commit small crimes."

"Says you. I'm telling you right now, if he flashes a gun at me during the first tail, I'm not doing the second one."

Wilbur laughed. "Deal."

She sighed. "I guess if I'm going to do this, I'd better get busy. Goodbye, Wilbur."

"Good luck, Tiffani."

It was a lousy day, with a cool temperature, a northerly breeze, and rain combining to make a penetrating damp that left you chilled even when you had enough clothes on to be warm. She went to the gym, came back, got cleaned up, and tried to decide what to wear for her morning of espionage. Black was obvious, but she knew she had to make herself seen and recognized - her Honda Accord was all but invisible, so she'd have to wear something eye-catching. She settled on a maple leaf-red jacket over a pastel yellow shirt, a brown skirt, and calf-high brown leather boots; it was an ensemble that he ought to be able to spot from several car-lengths away.

That settled, she texted Krystal with a request that they postpone their meeting, scheduled for 11:00, until 2:00. Krystal turned out to be busy until 4:00, so that was when they would meet.

Oh the way out the door she grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses and stuffed them into her purse. All spies wore sunglasses, right? She closed the door behind her, then opened it and stepped back inside for a look at her place. It seemed important in the moment to remember something of her life, something about how it had been before the Callers; in spite of Wilbur's assurances, she more than a little worried that this would be the last time she would see it. The entryway, the rug she always liked, the framed photo of her family on the foyer wall, the little table that had been handed down from her great-grandmother - the first things she always saw when she came home.

Fuck it, I have a job to do.

She arrived at the Eagan address with almost an hour to spare. It wasn't a prepossessing structure: a three-story office park with several businesses in it, it could have been in almost any developed area of the United States and blend in with the scenery. She took a quick spin through the parking lot, spotted the 2MUCH4Umobile, and took a spot where she could see the car, and nibbled on the sausage McMuffin with egg that she got from the drivethru on the way - she wasn't hungry, but she had to have something to fidget with or she's go nuts waiting.

Waiting for something that frightens you is miserable. This was like being in the dentist's office, except that there was a non-zero chance that the dentist would shoot you when you finally got into his chair. She didn't

think

she would be shot, but she couldn't shake the image of Roy van Hoek simply pulling out a pistol and blasting her.

God, she had to do something or she was going to go nuts. She pulled out her phone and started up Candy Crush, but she was too distracted to focus on it and kept losing levels. She switched to reading social media, but she stopped when she discovered that she had been staring at the same post for three minutes and still had no idea what it said. She turned on the radio to a classical station in hopes of hearing some lovely, soothing Mendelssohn or Brahms; instead they were playing Stravinsky's

Rite of Spring,

which was nothing but tension and atonal thunderings, and she quickly switched the radio off. She ended up with her earbuds in, listening to Jacob Ondara (one of the singer-songwriters she had so come to love) and staring at the building's door.

Van Hoek emerged at 10:21. At first glance he had the strutting cockiness of a typical dudebro, and her anxiety about a gun spiked. However, her time as a prostitute (brief though it was) had taught her a lot about how men present themselves versus what was underneath, and she quickly saw that he was not nearly as confident as he wanted people to think. His walk was a nervous little pigeon-strut, and he kept looking around like he expected someone to be watching him - he was right, but he didn't appear to clock her as he climbed into his Mercedes.

She followed him west down Yankee Doodle Road, a busy four-lane. He got into the left lane and stayed there, and even though she put herself right on his tail, there was no reason for him to be suspicious of a Honda Accord heading for the same freeway he was. Two blocks before I-35, he jockeyed over into the right lane to prepare himself for taking the ramp to the freeway; she would have followed suit had not she spotted that the light a block ahead at Denmark Avenue was just turning yellow, and that if she stayed in her lane it would bring her up right alongside him at the red light. Hopefully this would give her a chance to get spotted like she was supposed to; she just hoped it wouldn't get her shot. They were the first two cars to arrive at the light, and she eased up alongside him - and then stared at him.

He was plainly preoccupied and didn't notice her, but she kept looking. Finally, shortly before the light turned yellow on the cross-street, he glanced her way...and froze, looking at her with confusion on his face. He was the sort of guy to assume that a good-looking woman would stare at him in his 2MUCH4U luxury sedan, but she could tell from his expression that he found it odd this time.

The light changed to green, and he accelerated away toward the entry ramp at a normal pace. The delivery truck right behind him was slower on the draw, so she darted in behind the Mercedes and followed him onto the freeway. The ramp was metered by lights, so when got through she had to wait for fifteen seconds before she could go too. He was just merging into traffic, and by the time she got to the freeway itself he had slid one lane to the left. She ostentatiously moved up behind him and switched to his lane - and that was when he jammed his foot onto the accelerator and the Mercedes leaped away; her Honda couldn't have kept up if she tried, and she didn't try. She followed instructions and headed for St. Louis Park at a perfectly unremarkable and legal speed.

The drive was slowed by rain, but that gave her time to think. After seeing the man, she was pretty sure that Wilbur had been right about him: van Hoek was pretty far to the "flight" end of the fight-or-flight spectrum. There was no real danger - no more than driving on any other rainy day, anyway - and she found herself exhaling and relaxing. There had been no reason for her to be frightened by what she was doing - in fact, it was exhilarating, sort of in the same way that a poorly-maintained Tilt-A-Whirl at a county fair is exhilarating: sure there was

a chance

you'd break your neck, but that just added to the adrenaline as you swung and spun. She remembered the look on van Hoek's face as he saw her staring at him, and she wondered what it would be like when she spotted him again.

Once off the freeway she drove slowly; she wanted to make certain he was already in the meeting when she arrived so that he wouldn't see her pull up. There was a perfect parking spot in the restaurant lot, and she parked there at 11:10. From where she was, she could see the Mercedes parked in the lot across the street as well as the front door of the building. She was sure she'd spot him with no trouble - her biggest impediment would be the delicious smell coming from the Middle Eastern place as they set out their lunch buffet.

This time she waited until 11:47 - a thirty-seven minute wait - but it was a much easier time than the first wait had been. She'd been frightened because of perceived danger and the fact that she wasn't sure she could even do was she'd been ordered, but it had been simple to get his attention and to keep it, and to provoke him into flight. As for being scared of him...well, it's hard to be afraid of anyone who's that afraid of you.