Nelson Crow robbed banks for a living. He enjoyed his work. It was relaxing and he was very good at it.
He was like the famous Willy Sutton; he robbed banks because "that's where the money is." And in between jobs, given his past career, he tried to live the life of
shibumi
after he read the book by Trevanian.
From the Mississippi River to the Pacific, over four years his take was $12.5 million from 42 banks.
In all his jobs only two citizens and four police officers were injured; none killed. It was a safety record for which he was proud.
Crow did not like violence though a limited amount of violence, or at least the perception of violence, was a necessity in his line of work.
Crow set aside 15 percent of every job for "pain and suffering" to give to anyone injured on one of his jobs. He also set aside 10 percent of every job to give to a church charity, usually a homeless shelter in the city he had hit.
Despite Nelson Crow's ethical banditry the FBI was not amused. And the FBI had no idea who their
uber
bank robber was they were severely frustrated.
Unfortunately for Crow someone did learn his identity. Unfortunately, it wasn't the FBI or local authorities that found out; it was a crime boss in Memphis. A crime boss who thought he'd found the goose that laid the golden egg.
Crow was an independent operator; he worked for no one but himself except as personal favors and he paid tribute to no one unless
he decided
he wanted to.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Here's the deal Mr. Crow: you work for me. I give you 40 percent of the take and the FBI is none the wiser to your identity."
"Let me offer you a counter proposal: I'll do one job for you, give you the entire haul and the FBI is none the wiser to your activities. I understand more than bank robbery the FBI hates white slavery and the DEA hates facilitating drug distribution for the Mexican cartels."
The boss looked at Crow for a long time then laughed.
"Nice bluff, Mr. Crow. Ballsy, I'll give you that. But I don't think so. The FBI likes evidence. So does the DEA. Whatever you've heard is just that, hearsay."
"As far as you know."
The boss knew he'd just been threatened.
"Tell you what," Crow said, trying to change the atmosphere, "let's just agree that we're not compatible working together and part as professionals, keeping each others' 'trade secrets'."
The boss smiled a smile that Crow immediately took as insincere, "Well," he raised his hand in resignation, "Okay. But I think I could improve your life significantly. It's a shame. But, hey,
que sera sera
, eh?"
"Yeah,
que sera sera
. Thank you."
~~~~~~~~~~
A week after Crow's meeting with the crime boss, while Crow was out of town, a group of men paid a call at his home.
Joanie had just gotten out of the shower when the doorbell rang. She padded to the front door in a thick terrycloth robe, her short red hair wet and slicked back. She looked through the peephole and saw a man in a suit. It was 9:15 in the morning.
"Who is it?"
"FBI, ma'am, please open the door."
"Put your badge up to the peephole."
The agent complied. The ID and badge looked legit so she opened the door. As soon as the door was opened the FBI agent pushed her violently away from the door and onto the floor. Eight other men swarmed in the house, the last man closing the door.
Joanie made no move to get up. She gathered her robe around her throat and kept her legs together as she looked up at the men standing around her.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, your call," the FBI guy said.
"Just a wild guess but you're not FBI," Joanie said, nonplussed.
"Good guess."
"Crow's not home."
"We know. Right now he's scouting a bank in suburban Chicago. So the easy way or the hard way?"
Joanie was defiant and didn't answer. This brought a kick to her side by one of the other men and as she curled in pain the fake FBI agent punched her in the face, knocking her out.
"I was hoping she'd take the hard way," the man said to his companions with a smirk.
Joanie Mathis was Crow's live in girlfriend - of 15 years. Privately, Joanie told their friends that Crow had "commitment issues." But for all intents and purposes and under the common law of the state of Missouri, they were husband and wife. And they were deeply in love.
Joanie was the one thing from Crow's past life that made everything else "right" for him. Tall, willowy, fair skinned, red hair and, according to Crow, "a very big brain." She kept him sane, kept his past demons from devouring him. She was, quite literally, his anchor in life. Though anyone who knew Nelson Crow or "Bob Valdez," the name he used in his past career, would never suspect that Nelson Crow needed an anchor.
Joanie awoke violently to severe pain and extreme pleasure.
She was in her bed, kneeling, her hands spread wide and handcuffed to the headboard. A cock was in her ass, its owner holding her tightly by the hips and jerking her back and forth violently with his rapid thrusting. Despite the pain, she felt an orgasm start to build.
She was on the edge.
A hand in her short-cropped hair violently hauled her head back, arching her neck, and then she heard a 'pop.'
She recognized the smell of the amyl nitrate popper as it coursed through her lungs, hit her blood stream and exploded in her brain, took her over the edge and multiplied the pleasure of her orgasm 100 fold.
As she sagged in her orgasmic stupor she felt the man pull out and another immediate replace him. The replacement had a different idea for the doggy position: he hauled her back by the hips so that her legs, sex and belly were flat on the bed and her upper body was hung, stretched out by the restraint of the handcuffs. The man sat on her legs right behind her ass and drilled into her.
Her scream was muffled as the hand in her hair pulled her head to the side where her mouth met cock. The cock pushed past her lips and into her mouth and went as deeply as it could before she gagged.
In gagging she had bitten down on the cock unintentionally and this immediately brought a yelp of pain from the sodomizer and another punch to her jaw followed by the black relief of unconsciousness.
After the nine men were done with her they uncuffed her and left her lying on her back, unconscious, obscenely sprawled like a broken doll. Both her eyes were blackening; a vicious looking bruise was forming over her ribs and cum mixed with blood oozed from her mouth, cunt and ass.
The last man out of the room made a call from the phone at the bedside table.
~~~~~~~~~~
Crow's cell phone rang. The caller ID said it was home.
"Hey lover, what's up?"
There was a male voice on the line. The accent was thickly southern. "Mr. Crow, you might want to come home. Joanie isn't feeling well."
"Who..."
The line went dead.
