CHAPTER ONE

 

The tall, shapely, blond woman had been dancing up a storm all night. She had partnered with just about all of the biker boys at one time or another and was downing Jack Daniels shooters like they were going out of style. She was wearing tall, black, high heeled boots with narrow, pointed toes that looked like they could punch a hole in a wall. Her stone washed, designer blue jeans were tight, showing off her rock hard rear cheeks. On top, her breasts pushed out prominently her rhinestone studded, blue denim shirt. Her straw blond hair was long and flew all about her as she laughed and hooted and hollered to the loud, twangy, boisterous country tunes. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties and gave off the impression of someone who had dressed down to seem younger and maybe a little less classy than she really was, like some 60's cop show director's idea of a hip, biker chick.

A heavy set, morose looking fellow was at the corner of the crowded, semi-circular bar. He wore a fractured, black leather bomber jacket over a pair of black denims with steel studs down the sides. His large, booted foot was on the gleaming brass rail at the base of the bar and he was nursing a long neck, his gnarled, meaty paw clamped around it tightly. He wore on the third finger of his right hand a prominent signet ring with a ruby red 'R' on it surrounded by a small, inlaid onyx chain and embedded in gold. His black beard was curly and wild. He had heavy, black eyebrows and piercing eyes.

He had been watching the blond woman all night. She really didn't fit in. The large bar was crowded, filled with rattily dressed, hulking, bearded and tattooed men and their similarly attired, rugged looking, tattooed female companions. The décor was late log cabin. The state mandated no smoking sign was largely ignored and the place was filled with a bluish gray haze. It smelled of smoke, legal and otherwise, stale beer and sweat. A T.V. mounted from the ceiling in the corner was showing a WWF Smackdown with the sound turned off and a small crowd was attending it, rowdily encouraging their favorites and giving out raucous, loud cheers or jeers at any particularly loathsome or ungentlemanly blow.

No, the woman stood out like a sore thumb. But she was pleasant to look at and easily found partners to gavotte with as she shook what God gave her. A couple of the boys got kind of ornery, debating the fine point of whose turn it was to escort her around the crowded dance floor, but a quick look at the hard, all seeing eyes in the corner convinced the disputants to share the pleasure of the desirable woman's company equitably.

A smaller, mouse faced man, wearing a dark green army jacket over blue jeans, stood next to the man in the corner like an acolyte, attending to his movements like an aide de camp. His long brown hair had receded somewhat, but the cut of his jib made it seem doubtful that anyone ever found any amusement in it.

At about 11:45, the taller man, after watching the woman down another shot, sharing a hoot and holler with her coterie of admirers, said something to the smaller man. The mousy fellow nodded in an understanding sort of way. He sidled off and, when the woman and a lucky companion moved off again to the dance floor, he slinked up to one of the men who had been hovering near her and whispered in his ear. The man looked over to the corner and nodded to the sullen one who lurked there. The mousy man returned to his post.

The next time the woman came to the bar for a shot, the man who had been spoken to leaned over and shouted something in her ear. She looked at him attentively and then over to the man in the corner. She gave out a luxurious smile, spreading her lips widely, revealing a large, eager looking mouth. The man who had spoken to her took hold of her arm and tugged it. She followed his lead willingly.

She was taken to the morose man's side. He turned his back to the bar to greet her. Her escort shouted in her ear, "This here's Ike. He's the owner."

The woman's smile grew broader. She reached out her graceful hand. "Nice to meet y...," was all she got out. The morose man's fist lashed out like a piston and caught her just under the jaw. Her eyes rolled back, her knees gave out and she careened backwards, right into the awaiting arms of the mousy fellow. He gently lowered her to the floor and her escort quickly took hold of the sides of her shirt and tore it open, launching the ivory colored buttons around the bar. Spreading the sides, a set of wires was seen taped to her belly just under her braless, pale, lust inducing breasts. The mousy fellow gently removed it, taking care not to rattle it too much. One of the biker girls came over at Ike's direction and she lifted her shirt, wrapped the tape around her midriff and scooted off onto the dance floor.

It had been done right there in the open. Plenty of people had seen it. Nobody gave a shit. Nobody fucked with Ike and everybody who saw the taped wires being removed from the woman's body understood that the woman was certainly law enforcement. Most of the folks had assumed or suspected as much. Ike's place's reputation was well known and no unescorted female would find herself dead in there unless she were prepared to end the night giving out blowjobs in the men's bathroom, a line out the door.

Once the wires were removed from the woman's torso, a burly fellow, after receiving instructions from Ike, took hold of her under her arms and began to drag her towards the back door of the tavern. The mousy fellow stopped him. He reached down and tugged the fashionable black boots from the woman's feet. He flicked open a switchblade and, after examining the heels carefully, pried one of them open. His face, normally expressionless, exhibited a flit of satisfaction. He showed his discovery to Ike who recognized immediately the GSP transponder taped to the bottom of the boot. The mousy fellow nodded to the man who had hold of the woman's arms and he resumed dragging the unconscious woman to the back exit. Another fellow took hold of her bare feet and assisted.

There were no lights in the back of Ike's place. The night was clouded over and the trio's forms, scooting through the darkness, could hardly be seen. The two men brought the woman to an ancient looking Ford pickup. They lifted her up onto the bed of the truck and put her down while one of them unlocked what looked like a large, rusted, white tool box nestled up against the back of the cabin. He flipped it open.

Inside were several sets of manacles and ropes and other accouterments of submission. The woman was starting to come around and she was moaning lowly. The men went quickly to their task. She was flipped onto her belly and her wrists were fastened behind her. Her ankles were joined. One of the men took a hold of her hair and bent her head back while the other jammed a leather plug into her mouth.

At this, the woman seemed to come alive. She began to twist and turn her body and utter a panicked moan. It was all too late as the gag was fastened securely behind her head and then her ankles were affixed to her wrists.

With a 'heave ho!', the men lifted her body and dumped it into the tool box. She gave out a muffled, unhappy grunt as she landed. The lid was slammed down after her and locked down tightly. The men quickly jumped down off the bed of the truck and hustled to the front, getting in on either side. The engine was soon fired up and the truck slowly and quietly rolled from the back and onto the macadam on the side of the building. Once there, the lights came on and the truck drove across the parking lot out to the highway behind a pair of loud, chopped up bikes, each ridden by a male and female passenger. The bikes roared out onto the highway, heading south. The pickup rolled out behind them and then turned north.

About a quarter mile down the road, they passed a dark brown, late model Chevy Impala parked on the side. There were two men in it. They hunkered down as the pickup passed and then sat straight again once it had gone down the road.

The men were clean cut and dressed in nearly identical business suits with narrow, featureless ties. The passenger was wearing a headset.

"I can't make out a fucking thing in there!" he said to the driver. "It's too fucking loud!"

"Shit, she's probably kicking up a storm while we sit out here and pull our dicks."

"I hate this whole operation," the passenger replied. "I was supposed to be at my kid's recital tonight. My wife is going to kill me."

"I had a date. And she was hot and primed, if you know what I mean. Now I probably won't even be able to get her to answer her phone. I mean, this broad comes in from out of district with orders on high to mount this operation. We don't even get told what it's all about. She's in there drinking and dancing all night and we're out here pulling our puds."

The driver looked into his rear view mirror. The rear lights from the old, rattletrap pickup could still just be seen. He watched them until they faded out of sight.

"I just hope we don't have to wait out here all night," was what he said.