Truck 55

Summary: Fetish dispatcher contacts erotica writer, enlists his help in disposing of problem driver.

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It was a warm June day, the wind whipping off the desert and blowing traces of sand against my office window. I was actually regretting having to work on such a day - it was perfect for being tied to a bed and tormented with ice, but that's another story.

Matt had been a problem employee from day one. Dan, our department manager, hadn't wanted him to begin with, but Personnel said the pickings were slim and we were shorthanded going into our busy season. Matt had tested positive for meth and had several complaints in the month or so since he'd finished training and been issued his own work truck, number 55. In fact, I was surprised Dan hadn't fired him yet, but then, so was everyone else.

Since I was the dispatcher - and the only one in our department who was in the office all day long - I was the one feilding all the complaint calls, and I was not happy one bit. It had started out slow, but in the last couple of weeks, I'd been getting a call or two about him every day. So I decided to take it on myself to solve the problem.

I spent most of a weekend searching the 'Net, and came up with a plan. An erotica writer I'd been reading of late turned out to live not far away; I made a discreet phone call and explained my problem, though what I told Scott was nowhere near the truth. According to the phone call, I'd been keeping Matt as a part-time sex slave for myself and my fiance for several months, but had recently found out that he was doing drugs on the side and wanted nothing more to do with him. Scott understood what I was working up to right away, and something in the back of my mind wondered if he'd done this before.

"You want me to take him off your hands and punish him?"

"Yeah," I said. "As far as I'm concerned, you can keep him, too."

"How?"

That's when I smiled. "I'm also the dispatcher at his work. I can send him up to your house, say first thing Monday morning... then all we'd need to do is retrieve the truck."

"That's no problem. I'll drive it back down myself."

----

Monday afternoon, I got a quick phone call from Scott. I'd been expecting it, but not quite this soon. Nobody was in the office except for the other department's dispatcher, since it was just after one and most of the rest of the staff was out to lunch.

"This is Scott. You know the pizza place on the corner? With the neon sign shop next door?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I'm sitting in front of it with your truck 55 and Matt's resignation letter."

"Be there in five." I hung up the phone, switched my clear glasses for my prescription shades, and waved my keys at the other dispatcher as I headed out the door.

I didn't bother driving my Jeep down to the pizza place, but walked, reveling in the Santa Ana wind on my face. I recognized the truck in the lot right away, though not the tall, mustached man leaning against it. "Scott?"

"Lib." He smiled, recognizing my voice from the cellphone call over the weekend. "Here's your keys." He tossed me the keys to the white Ranger, and I smiled.

"Up to your standards?"

"Of course not. That email address you gave me?"

"Yeah?"

"Might want to check it when you get home. It's not work-safe." He grinned, as did I. "Resignation letter's on the seat."

"Thank you." I palmed the keys into my pocket, and gestured at the pizza shop. "I've got to get back, so it's take out for me, but can I buy you lunch?"

----

Ten minutes later, a nice cold Coke and a box containing a personal-size pizza in hand, I headed back out to the truck, and Scott did the same, waving at a black-clad girl in a black F-150.

"Your wife?" I guessed.

"Don't be silly. One of my trusted slaves. She gets to run all the household errands while I write."

"Of course." I smiled. "Well, I'd better go."

"Have a nice afternoon." Scott waved, as he climbed into the 150. I jumped into the Ranger and nearly burned rubber in jubilation while driving back to the office.

Heading back in to my desk, the other dispatcher smiled, and I sunk into my chair, picking up a ringing phone as my pizza cooled on my mousepad.

----

Later that afternoon, Dan returned from a sales call, smiling. "Hey, Lib, I think I just sold a big account up in Sabre Springs."

I smiled too, handing over Matt's letter. "Matt resigned. Dropped off his truck around lunchtime. Said to mail his check."

"All right. Maybe now Personnel will get us someone who isn't a druggie fool."

----

Five hours later, I was at home, downloading my email, when I saw the mail from Scott. "Resignation Letter" said the subject line, and I clicked it open. What appeared wasn't the letter itself, but what had been done to Matt to make him sign, in a series of still photos.

Matt had been forcibly stripped, it appeared, by the girl whom I'd seen in the 150. Seen up closer, it seemed her outfit was leather, and cut to be revealing in all the right places. He'd tried to flee, but the door was locked, and she'd had help. Soon, he was tied to a rocking chair, stripped, and having a cock-shaped gag shoved in his mouth. Then 150 girl had come at him with a clipboard, and had him sign several documents, it appeared.

At the end was a little text note from Scott. "We told him it's a drug rehab center, and that he'll be free to go in 90 days... not true, but what the hell, right? Slipped the resignation letter in the middle of a bunch of fake consent forms. Email me back and let me know if you'd like further updates on his progress."

I clicked 'reply' and sent back a short email: "No, that won't be necessary. Have fun. Make sure he's adequately punished. I look forward to a story or three about him."