Message-ID: <20137eli$9902210522@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Delta Subject: ASSM {WriterSwap}{Delta/Gordie} End Of The Line (MF,FF) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19990221020619.11245.qmail@nym.alias.net> RE Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No place or event described within exists outside of the writers' imaginations. Copyright retained by the authors and this post is for private use of the reader only. It is not to be published for profit in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs or web pages, without the express prior consent of authors. Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which they reside are asked to please pass by. Delta and Gordie END OF THE LINE (c) 1999 By Gordie GordonD103 @ aol . com and Delta Delta @ nym . alias . net "Not now," Martin Evertson groaned as the irritating squeal from the engine compartment rose to a whine. He glanced at the road sign as he passed it: END OF THE LINE 30 miles No way in hell the car was going to last another thirty miles, Martin thought. This thought was promptly confirmed as the whine rose to a scream and then faded as the engine died. The car came to a gradual halt at the side of the road and Martin sat there for a while, cursing his fate. Then he stepped out to view the damage. Opening the hood he caught the smell of burning rubber but, other than that, all appeared as it had appeared the last time he'd opened the hood. Of course, as filling the windshield washer tank and checking and topping off the oil was the extent of his dealings in the engine compartment, just about anything could be wrong and he probably wouldn't notice it. "Hell!" Martin swore again. Maybe, he brightened, all it needed was to cool down. Perhaps then it would start and run again. "Yeah, right," he muttered to himself, crushing that small bit of optimism. In the end he decided to simply wait for an hour. If no one had come by before then he would hoof it into town. Thirty miles. He wasn't looking forward to that. He opened the car's windows, reclined the driver's seat and adjusted the rear view mirrors so he would see an approaching motorist in time to get out and wave him down. Then he opened a bottle of water, took a long drink, sat back and relaxed. It was a hot day and the road was not one which was well traveled. It could be a long wait. He couldn't, he realized, afford a long wait. On the other hand, he had very few options. He waited. Some forty-five minutes later he took out his cell-phone and considered it closely. He reached for the switch to turn it on, then reconsidered and dropped it onto the passenger seat. "Not yet," he spoke out loud. Martin looked into the mirror and his reflection surprised him. His blue eyes were just a bit too sharp, his face that little bit too tense and his usually neatly combed light brown hair was tousled. He brought up his palms and covered his eyes, trying to relax his face, let go of the strain. As the minutes passed he felt the muscles in his face beginning to relax and he knew that he was averting the headache he'd felt coming on. Too little sleep and too much worry, he decided. The roar of the motorcycle brought him out of his reverie. He opened the door and stepped out of the car just as the motorcyclist shifted down and glided to a halt beside his car. After the darkness of his cupped palms, the bright sun had him squinting. "Having problems?" The cool voice confirmed what the cascading long, dark brown hair suggested. The motorcyclist was a woman. Her helmet now off, Martin could appreciate the fine lines of her face. This woman was a beauty. The curves under the leathers did nothing to dispel that thought, either. "Yes. It gave out on me," Martin replied as the woman dismounted and walked over to him. She glanced in car as she stopped in front of him. "Call for help?" she asked, indicating the cell phone. "Dead battery," he lied, "and I've lost the adaptor." "Let me take a look," the woman suggested as she went forward to peer into the engine compartment. Martin followed along feeling a little useless. What he didn't know about engines would fill volumes. "Try starting it up." He returned to the car, sat down and turned the key. Instead of the familiar purr of the engine, all he heard were little clicks. "Okay. Stop." The woman fiddled around for a few minutes then called out, "Try again." There was no difference and the woman straightened up and came around to meet him as he got out of the car once more. "Sorry. I think you need to get to a garage. Tell you what: I'll give you a lift into . . . " his wary look stopped her. "I'll stop in End Of The Line and send a tow-truck back for you. Okay?" "I'd appreciate it," Martin told her gratefully. "I also appreciate your stopping to lend a hand." "Oh, we're like that around here," she smiled at him and he thought he'd never seen quite so nice a smile in a long time. "End Of The Line is a small town, but we're friendly." She looked again into his car, taking in the loads of possessions which filled the back seat. "Looks like you have your whole world in there." Martin looked in and considered the load. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?" he replied. "Well, hang tough. We'll get someone out to you as soon as possible." With that, the woman replaced her helmet and remounted her cycle. She kick-started it and, with a friendly wave, left Martin behind. Forty minutes into town--maybe less--forty minutes back, and forty minutes to find the tow-truck. Help should arrive in two hours, maybe less. Martin wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat back to wait. Good looking woman, he thought. The picture of her straddling the cycle came back to him and he allowed his thoughts to roam up and down her back, resting on her quite lovely ass from time to time. Having finished off his bottle of water and having nothing better to do than to either wish that the air-conditioner still worked or concentrate on her body, he made up his mind to simply enjoy the memory. It had been a long time since he'd allowed his imagination free rein and he was enjoying the process, not hurrying it at all. The slow unveiling of her curves was going well and he had her off the motorcycle, in a nice secluded grove of trees, the wind warm and fresh, the jacket undone. Slowly he stripped it off her and took in the wonders of her body. Her shirt was wet from sweat and her nipples hard in anticipation. He looked into her eyes and saw the same longing there which he knew was in his own. A longing to be free, to just enjoy for today without the thought of what the morrow might bring. For too long, now, he'd had to think of consequences. He was tired. Bone tired. The buttons on the shirt were being undone, one by one, revealing the skin beneath when the tow-truck came around the gentle corner and slowed down. Martin sighed. Figures, he thought. Just when things were getting interesting reality had to intrude. The truck made a U-turn behind him, pulled over in front of his car, then backed up. Martin's eyebrows went up when he saw the operator step down from the cab. He was expecting a surly, unkempt grease monkey to step out, but the bouncing blond ponytail, and the girl it was attached to, were certainly a nice surprise. "Hey handsome, car conked out on you? Lemme take a look." She stuck her head under the hood. "Did it quit all of a sudden?" "No, it had been running badly for a while." She pulled a screwdriver out of the pocket of her coveralls and began twisting at something in the engine compartment. The heavy coveralls didn't give away much of her figure, but he did take an appreciative look at her butt as she bent over to work on the car. She was a little tomboyish, snapping her gum every so often, but she had a careless, casual manner that Martin kind of liked. "Boy, lucky thing Christie happened by," the tow truck driver said from under the hood. "You woulda had quite a walk." "Oh, the woman on the motorcycle? She's a friend of yours?" "Yeah, we're . . . friends. She's the Sheriff of End Of The Line, matter of fact." Sheriff. Martin froze for a moment, then forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. There's no way this old clunker he was driving could be traced back to him, he told himself. And anyway, a hick town like this wouldn't be concerned with the goings on in the big city, he thought with a little laugh. "Try 'er now." Martin reached in and twisted the key, the engine catching and settling down to a slightly rough idle. She emerged from under the hood, wiped her hands on a rag she had in her back pocket and thumped the hood shut. "You're a real lifesaver. My name's Martin, by the way," he said, extending his hand. "Hey, no problem, Marty. My name's Mary Jo. Listen, this'll get you back to town, but it's going to need a couple new parts. Why don't you follow me back to the garage, we can settle up there, and get you an estimate for the rest of the work, 'kay?" Trailing the tow truck into town, he thought about Mary Jo. When he shook hands with her, her hands were much softer than he expected, considering she worked on cars for a living. He thought about the slight hesitation when she had said she and Christie were just . . . friends. His mind slowly drifting, Martin imagined the two women kissing, laying on the floor in a darkened room, in front of a roaring fire, eagerly sucking their open mouths together, the light from the fire playing over their naked bodies, hands grabbing at each others breasts . . . He shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. What the hell am I doing, he thought. I got myself into this little situation and, if I'm going to keep myself out of jail, I'd better do some serious thinking, not get caught up in some fantasy world. In the hot, stifling garage, Mary Jo unzipped her coveralls down to her stomach and flapped them around, evidently to cool off, but taking a peek at Martin to see if he was watching. She took an invoice off the shelf and scribbled the necessary information onto it, then turned it toward Martin for him to sign. She leaned on the counter, studying her fingernails, and as Martin signed it, quickly thinking up a new last name, he took a peek down the front of her coveralls. She had a white tank top on underneath it, sweat making it cling to her body, the bump of her nipple clearly visible He speculated on what else she had on underneath, the thought of a brief pair of pink or white panties under the heavy grey suit strangely stimulating. As he paid up, he said, "You really saved me out there. Why don't I give you a little something extra." He reached into his wallet. Mary Jo waved her hand. "Nah, forget about it. As long as it's for a good looking fella, I don't mind," she grinned, filing away a copy of the invoice. "Well, listen, maybe I could buy you a drink after work." He made the offer automatically, not stopping to consider his circumstances. She looked at him and coyly considered it a moment, then said, "Sure, why not. There's a place just down Main street, the Elbow Room. Maybe around six?" Martin said he would be there and, as he turned to walk away, she added, "You'll probably be able to buy Christie a drink too. She's usually there after work." Back out in the sunlight it hit him. What was he doing? He ought to be on the interstate right now, not picking up women. And one the Sheriff, yet. A good looking sheriff, though . . . The three of them sat at a dimly lit corner booth, chatting, joking, Martin struggling to come up with a plausible excuse for being out in this remote desert town. Christie still had on her leather jacket from earlier in the day, but Mary Jo was really transformed. Her long blond hair, out of the pony tail, was carefully styled, and her black jeans showed off the figure he knew she had. She was wearing a bra now, but it made her tits stick out so nicely, he really didn't mind. "Can I get either of you another?" Martin asked as they finished their first round. They looked at each other, then Christie answered, "No, we're fine thanks. You get yourself another, though." He said he might have one more, and walked over to the bar, getting another draft from the bartender. As her returned to their booth, his breath caught in his throat a little. He could see under the table that the girls had kicked off their shoes, Christie's foot on top of Mary Jo's, stroking up and down slowly . . . Martin swallowed and returned his eyes to the chair he was heading for. He hoped neither of the two had noticed that he'd noticed what was going on beneath the table. So, his ruminations hadn't been entirely off track. Well, he thought to himself, where there's smoke there is quite probably something smoldering. "I was wondering if you two might know a good motel here in town. It's a bit late to get back out on the road, especially since . . ." he indicated his glass and then took a swallow. "Drinking and driving definitely don't mix, Marty," Christie nodded sagely. "And you've had a bit of a hard day, anyway, what with sitting in a hot car for several hours. Better to get a good night's sleep. Recover a little." "Too true," Mary Jo added. "Now, tell us, what brings you to an out of the way place like End Of The Line? We're not exactly on all the tourist maps." "End Of The Line," Martin rolled the name over his tongue, almost tasting it. "That's a very odd name for a town. How did it come by it? Is this where all the damned souls come to die, perhaps?" He joined in the laughter. "Nah, nothing so fancy," Mary Jo chuckled. "Used to be, when they was building the railways, that the camp at the rail head was called the end of the line. 'Bout a hundred years ago they figured to run track up north to the city through a boom town fifty miles north. The rail head was right about here when two things happened together." "Simultaneously," Christie interjected. "Simultaneously." Mary Jo nodded her thanks, then continued. "The gold ran out and the investors in the railway had money problems and the whole thing went bust. At that time we were, and still are, at . . ." "The End Of The Line," Martin finished the sentence with her. "So, what keeps you here?" Martin addressed Mary Jo, subconsciously avoiding talking with a police officer. "Worse places to be." Mary Jo's eyes widened slightly and Martin wondered just what was going on under the table. Christie had a sneaky cat-got-the-cream look on her face which she was trying hard to mask and Mary Jo's concentration was definitely suffering. "Now the railway is just a spur line," Christie continued. "It hardly pays to keep it open and if the mill goes under . . ." she left the words hanging in the air. Marty nodded, thinking of what the loss of any industry would do to a small town like End Of The Line. Pity, really, he thought. There was something about being here that appealed to him. The idea that it might become a ghost town brought something out in him which he couldn't recognize. Mary Jo gave a little gasp, bringing Martin back to the present. The thought of what might be going on was beginning to excite him and he knew he couldn't let that happen. Not here and not now. He had side-stepped a couple of questions already. To remain at the table much longer would be to invite more questions which he did not want to answer. And soon, if the Sheriff was any kind of police officer at all, Christie would start putting her cop's intuition in gear. "'Scuse me ladies. Gotta go to the Gent's." Martin stood and headed off in the direction of the washrooms. He was several feet away, rounding a table, when he saw Christie whisper something to Mary Jo. They both looked at him, then quickly away when they saw he noticed. Mary Jo must have thought him farther, or she whispered slightly louder than she'd intended, but he heard her quick aside. "Christie, you're such a bad girl!" Then they both began laughing. He wondered what Christie might have said. While he was gone one of them must have ordered, for the glasses in front of them were filled when he returned. By then he had worked out his strategy and was rubbing at his temples as he returned to the table. "Headache?" Christie asked sympathetically. Martin nodded. "Sitting out in the hot sun will do that to you," she agreed. "You're probably a little dehydrated. Maybe booze isn't such a good idea right now." "You're right," Martin agreed. "Sorry to cut out on you so soon, but I think I'd better just get my head down in a dark room. If you'll just point me to that motel, I'd appreciate it." To Martin's surprise the two women quaffed down the remainder of their drinks and stood together. Either they were going to show him the way or they had plans of their own for which being in a public place was not conducive. He figured it was the latter. "It's on our way. We'll walk you there, right Christy?" "Right-o." Christie hid the smile which threatened to break out. "Thank you ladies." Martin was sure there was something going on of which he was unaware, but was just too tired to really care. Putting his head down *was* a good idea. He needed time to relax and to think--or to relax and to *not* think. They not only walked him there, they went into the office with him and told Jerry, the clerk, to treat their good friend Marty right and proper. The two women were playing little eye games with each other and now and again Mary Jo would giggle a bit at an inside joke or something. "Okay, Mr. Walker," Jerry glanced at the filled-out registration form, "if I can just get an imprint of your credit card we'll be all finished." "I prefer to pay cash," Martin replied just a little too quickly. "I'll just be spending the one night, so work it out and I'll pay now. I'll be on my way early, so there'll be no need to disturb you when I go. I won't be making any phone calls. I just want a good night's sleep." "No problem, Mr. Walker." Jerry worked out the total and Martin pulled out his wallet and paid. "That'll be number four, just off to your left." "Thank you, Jerry." Martin turned to the women. "And thank you, ladies." Blonde and brunette. Damn, but it could be fun, he thought, especially if he was reading the signals correctly. A long time since he'd had any fun. If she'd been anything but a cop . . . but no. They saw him to his room where he thanked them again and bid them a good night. Only after he'd shut the door behind him and breathed out a sigh of relief did he realize just how tense he'd been. He lay down on the bed, turned out the light and closed his eyes. Apparently he'd been telling the truth, he thought ruefully as he felt the precursor to a good headache building up. "Do I know a good thing, or do I know a good thing?" Christie asked as she put her arm around Mary Jo's waist and felt Mary Jo's arm around her shoulders pulling her closer. "Should'a put the cuffs on him, Sheriff, so he wouldn't get away. Mebbe we go sabotage his car?" Mary Jo seemed almost in earnest. "Hey, babe, if you can't get him by flashing a hard nipple, then practically pushing those breasts of yours out and into his face--nice bra, where'd you get it--then he just isn't the man for you. And any more talk about vandalizing that poor man's car and I'll have to put the cuffs on you!" It might have been nice, Christie thought. They'd sent him all the right signals, but either he wasn't receptive or was a bit dull. She thought it was the former. Mary Jo shivered and husked, "Would you?" as provocatively as she could. "Damn straight!" "Hey, pal." Jerry looked up from his novel. He hadn't heard the big man come through the open door. He was one ugly character, Jerry thought to himself as he stood up and moved to the desk. "Yes, sir. Can I help you?" "Lookin' for a pal of mine. S'posed ta be home yestaday and his wifey's worried 'bout him. Got any strangers book in t'night." The big man looked down a Jerry, who felt he'd not want to be around if the guy got angry. "Only one. Some friend of the Sheriff's," he told the bruiser. He was immediately happy he'd brought Christie into the conversation for the big guy seemed to take a mental step backwards. "Nah, not the guy. This one don't know nobody 'round here." He put what he considered to be a soft, compassionate tone into his rumble of a voice. "My cousin, his wifey, she's worried. So I gots ta go out and check the hospitals and such. The jerk, he wouldn't think of calling if he got delayed so he's prob'bly snoozin' somewhere. Ya know?" The smile Jerry received was less than encouraging, even though it was meant to be such. "Gee, must be tough," Jerry sympathized, hoping the brute would get out of his office. The guy's face was like something out of a nightmare. "Yeah, t'anks. Say, ya got any other motels in town? Or a hospital? Better check 'em just in case." Jerry gave him directions to the other motel and the doctor's office--any real casualties got sent on to the next town or the big city if the doc couldn't handle them--and gave a sigh of relief as the brute turned and left. The car's tires spun in the gravel as the big man gunned the engine. A minute later, already back in his novel, he almost jumped out of his skin as he heard a voice from the desk. "Jerry, can I trouble you for an aspirin?" "Sure, Mr. Walker," Jerry gulped. "You shouldn't sneak up on a man like that," he complained as he handed Martin a package of two pain relievers. "Sorry, Jerry." Martin walked slowly back to his room. They were on him already. Not only that, but they had passed him. It might be better to give it some time for the search to widen rather than hurrying on and catching up to the searchers. Mary Jo was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling in the moonlight, nipples hard and distended. Her arms were stretched above her head, wrists cuffed to the headboard. Christie was on one elbow, her head surrounded by a mane of dark brown hair, white teeth gleaming in a feral smile as she looked down on her victim. "Liked that, didn't you?" she chortled. "Oh, god, Christie," the blonde gasped, "you know it." "I hope you've learned your lesson. No more talk about illegal shinnanigans from you, young lady," Christie said severely. "But if we did, then Marty might . . . umph!" Mary Jo groaned suddenly. "Yes, I'll bet you'd love to have Marty here where I I have my fingers, wouldn't you?" "Umph!" Mary Jo groaned again as Christie moved her hand. She bucked her hips up to meet Christie's little thrust, but Christie just laughed and moved with her. "Yeah," Mary Jo finally responded, "I'd love to have him there inside me. You know, he offered me a tip," she grinned lecherously, "but I wanted more than just his tip, I wanted his . . . ooof!" "Slut!" Christie began working her hard and fast, latching on to a nipple with her lips and enjoying the feel of the blonde squirming under her, surging, almost out of control. She stopped. Mary Jo was panting now, eyes closed, hips working, but Christie had something on her mind and wasn't driving her on up the slope. She opened her eyes to see Christie frowning slightly. "What . . ." "Mary Jo, did Marty pay cash or use a credit card?" "Paid cash. Why? Is it important?" the puzzled, panting woman asked. Christie looked down on the blonde, at the sweat running running down that pretty face; the sweat pooling between the breasts; at the nipples, so lost and alone, begging for attention; at the small triangle of blonde hair above her spread legs. She smelled the lust in the air and the tingle inside returned. Her own nipples were hard and waiting for their turn to be pleased. "Probably not," she answered, her grin returning as Mary Jo jumped once more to the sudden pressure. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes," she answered her own question, and swung around to present her pussy to the blonde, "we were getting ready for a meal." Mary Jo cried out in pleasure as Christie tongued her clit, pushing her inexorably towards orgasm. And, although Mary Jo busied herself returning the favour, Christie knew that she would only be getting warm when Mary Jo went over. It didn't matter, she'd get hers shortly thereafter. Both were so engaged with each other that they didn't notice Isis, the brown tabby, yawn at their antics, then jump down from the dresser to see if anything interesting was going on in the other rooms. Martin stood out in the courtyard of the motel. Breathing the morning air, after almost ten hours of sleep, he felt absolutely great. He laughed at himself a little. With all the people you've got after you, you should be scared out of your wits, you knucklehead. But the quiet town of End Of The Line seemed to have a strange effect on him. If I lived in a sleepy little place like this, instead of the city, I might not be in the mess I'm in, he thought. He looked over at his car, filled with his belongings. What do you take with you when you're not going back home? When you can't go back home? Clothes, books, CDs, old photographs, a couple of paintings, he had thrown them into his car in a panic right before he'd left. In the restaurant next to the motel, over his second cup of coffee, Martin tried to weigh his various options, but couldn't keep his mind focused. He wasn't the daydreaming type, but he couldn't seem to get Christie and Mary Jo out of his mind. Mostly Mary Jo. She seemed so innocent and carefree, unpretentious, happy wearing just jeans and a tee shirt. It had been since, when--high school?--that he had known a girl like her. Sex would be great with someone like that, he speculated. It would be fun. Like kids playing. The only time Martin's wife had really been in the mood was when he bought her something, or promised her a vacation. With a wry smile, he remembered that she was one of the things he forgot to put in his car when he took off. Strolling down Main Street, Martin took in the sights. Yes, he should have laid low and holed up in his room, but the town was so quaint, like something out of the 'fifties, it was difficult to imagine yourself in danger there. Thompson's Pharmacy. Valkenberg Hardware. End Of The Line Grain and Feed. The whole place put a smile on his lips. Looking down a side street, he saw the garage where Mary Jo worked. He stared at it for a while, leaning against a lamppost. The two girls had been so friendly last night, and he wondered if it was just friendliness, or a little more. Martin was virtually certain they had a relationship with one another, but would either one consider going the other way? He spent a while thinking it over. Strolling over to the garage, he didn't spot her, just another mechanic working on a car up on the grease rack. There were a number of cars waiting to be serviced beside the garage, in an area surrounded by a chain link fence. He scanned around, eventually seeing a familiar butt sticking out from under the hood of one of the cars. He went up to the fence and held onto it, waiting for her to finish her job. He felt drawn to her in a way he couldn't explain. In a few minutes Mary Jo emerged from underneath the hood of the car, took a deep breath and wiped her hands on a rag. She collected her tools and turned toward the garage, and as she did she spotted Martin. "Marty, hey!" she said with a big beaming smile. "I thought you were gonna be heading on." She walked quickly over to the fence. "I decided to stay on a few days. I've kind of taken a liking to this little place. Not to mention certain people who live in this little place," he said, returning her smile. "Couldn't live without me, huh?" "Well, I could try, but it wouldn't be much fun," Martin agreed, going along with Mary Jo's playful flirting. "I'd like to get together with you. Could you join me for lunch?" "Mmmm, I'd love to. Meet me here around noon, okay? I'll try to get a little extra time off. See ya!" She bit her lip, gave him a look, then went skipping back into the garage. Martin felt like he never wanted to leave this town. Putting her tools away, Mary Jo felt a real rush go through her body. She had been wrong about men before, but that never affected her hopeful spirit. She was already imagining a future with Martin. For lunch Mary Jo had thrown on a pair of shorts and a clean tee shirt, and she blushed a little as Martin gave her a good looking over. "You quit," she giggled. "C'mon. There's a place down the street that has real good pastrami sandwiches." She seized his arm and led him to a little diner that was just off a side street. "Hey Frank," she called to the man behind the counter. "Gimme two pastramis and two Cokes." She gave a wicked glance at Martin. "Make 'em to go, okay?" Sitting in his motel room, they finished the last bites of their lunch. "You were right, That was great," Martin said, sitting back and putting his hands on his stomach. After a minute of silence, he turned to her. "I don't know if I've ever met anyone like you. You're really something." Mary Jo looked at the floor, embarrassed, then put her eyes on Martin. "You're not like the guys around here. You're real nice, real polite." Martin stood up, taking her hand, Mary Jo standing up with him. He pulled her against him, the two of them looking silently, smilingly into each others eyes. Martin stroked her back under her tee shirt, Mary Jo first stroking his chest, then letting her hands wander down to his butt. They separated and started undressing, Mary Jo quickly pulling off her shorts and tee shirt. She hadn't been wearing any underwear at all. She jumped on the bed and curled up, waiting for Martin to strip down, watching him carefully. The anticipation of being with this playful girl had gotten to him. He was as hard as a rock, and when he pulled down his shorts Mary Jo giggled, "You ain't coming near me with that big old thing, mister." Martin wasn't given to joking around lately, but he felt like a changed man. "I thought you worked with tools all day long." "You shut up!" She laughed, throwing a pillow at him. She was getting ready to throw another one when Martin jumped on top of her, pinning her arms down. She squealed and writhed around but, as he pushed his mouth against hers, running his tongue around, she slowly stopped fighting. Once she had relaxed he started working his way down, kissing down toward her breasts. Her nipples were extremely erect, pointing at the ceiling, and she really let out a high pitched gasp as he sucked them, pulling the soft flesh into his mouth and lifting his head up. He spent a long time on them, stroking her body at the same time, then continued down, running his tongue around her belly button. He parted her legs and began exploring her little pussy. Mary Jo grinned and bit her lip in anticipation. He massaged her clit, the two of them looking into each other's eyes, then he leaned in and tickled it with his tongue, lightly at first, then more firmly, eventually really sucking at it, flicking it around quickly. No man had ever done this to Mary Jo before. Christie had introduced it to her, and it was absolute heaven for her, the way Christie slowly and gently brought her to an orgasm. Martin was certainly more aggressive about it, a bit clumsy maybe, and he didn't use the same finesse, but Mary Jo found herself liking the assertive way he led her along. And she let Martin know, groaning deeply, gasping in surprise as he really sucked at her erect clit. She reached around and pushed her middle finger in and out of herself, working her hips around, getting wetter and wetter till, taking a deep breath, she let out a cry of pure joy as she came. Martin propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed her with his hand, watching the pleasure on her face. He had never known a woman who threw herself into sex so completely and uninhibitedly, enjoying it so totally. With a heavy-lidded smile, she sat up and pushed him on his back and began quickly and eagerly sucking him off. Martin's head dropped back on the pillow at the intense feeling, her soft tongue and lips working firmly and smoothly up and down. Mary Jo moaned loudly, which made it feel even more incredible. Groaning, he knew he wouldn't last much longer, but he couldn't bring himself to slow her down. Finally, he forced himself to sit up, and guided Mary Jo onto her back. She eagerly wrapped her legs around him as he worked into position. The head of his aching erection easily found her slick opening, and he wasted no time in pumping her hard, the two of them completely lost in the feeling. After a minute or so he rolled onto his back, letting her bounce enthusiastically on top of him. Pumping into each other, finally Martin gave out a grunt and a long groan, exploding inside her, filling her, the thick slippery fluid running out of her as she continued to ride him. As his orgasm subsided, Mary Jo collapsed on top of him. They couldn't have been more exhausted if they had just run a marathon. She laid her head on his chest and held him tightly. Breathlessly, she said, "Oh, that was incredible Marty. Most guys don't take their time like that." It wasn't so much what she said that made an impression on Martin, as the way she gazed deeply, and trustingly into his eyes. At the other end of town, Christie had spent the morning watching for speeders along Route 29. But her mind had been elsewhere. She just knew something was up with that Martin guy. Christie had grown up fascinated with detective novels and TV shows and, although her imagination had gotten her in trouble on occasion, she had been right about people enough times to encourage her. There were no wants or warrants out for a Martin Walker, and although the registration for the car he was driving didn't match that name, it could be that he had just bought the car, and hadn't had it registered in his name yet. He seemed to be too straitlaced, kind of yuppie even, to be involved in anything illegal. Anything violent, at least. Oh well. He said he'd be leaving early this morning, so she figured she would let some other jurisdiction worry about him. Her mind drifted to Mary Jo. That horny little bitch, she smiled to herself. I'm really going to give it to her tonight. Smack that cute little butt of hers and make her beg for mercy. Just as she was driving back to town to take her lunch break, her radio crackled with the news of a felony suspect believed to be in the area. The licence plate of the car he was thought to be driving sounded familiar to her. Very familiar. Too far, too fast, Martin thought to himself as he nibbled at the sprout and vegetable sandwich. He wondered what the hell was going on. All his adult life he'd been a vegetarian and here with Mary Jo he'd had and, apparently, enjoyed a pastrami sandwich. Not only that, in the bar he'd sucked back a couple of beer. He hated beer. It was as if, Martin laughed to himself, he were two different personalities and each one was alternating the exercise of control over his person. If he didn't know better he'd think he had Multiple Personality Disorder. And the way he went after Mary Jo . . . not like him at all. Still, she was great in bed. Even so, it was pure and simple madness to try and get closer to a woman whose best friend or--even worse--lover was a cop. And the sheriff, no less. Still, he couldn't help thinking about their tryst. Mary Jo wasn't an air-head and her wistfulness when they had to dress and part was all to evident. He recalled her words, "You're not like the guys around here." He wondered what 'the guys around here' were like, as related to Mary Jo. If they treated her as poorly as her words suggested, then they didn't know what they had in her. Pity. She deserved better. He watched the sun sinking towards the distant mountains. It was beautiful. It had been years since such simple things had moved him. Here, though, in End Of The Line, it was easy. Life moved at an unhurried pace. Almost no one seemed to be in a rush and everyone was willing to stop and chat. Given different circumstances it would be a nice place to stop and rest for a while. He grinned. Maybe a year or so. A way to recharge the old batteries, so to speak. But the circumstances weren't different and his grin faded. They were what they were and he should be concentrating on getting out of the country, not to mention the state. He relaxed against the chair back in the restaurant and took another sip of his orange juice. Still, a couple more days here couldn't hurt--or could it? The lights in the Sheriff's office burned late. Martin wasn't the only one doing some hard thinking. Christie looked down at the fax and pursed her lips. Her thoughts drifted back to lunch hour. It had been a strange one. "Hey Bill," Christie called to the protruding feet of the mechanic. "That you, Sheriff?" His voice was muffled by the car above him. "Yeah, it's me, Bill. Seen Mary Jo?" she asked. "Thought she were with you, Christie," came the reply. "She said something about taking a long lunch hour, so I naturally figured . . ." he left the sentence unfinished. Bill groaned and there was a creak as a rusted bolt finally turned. "You two mix your signals? She's probably waiting for you at your office, right now," he suggested. "Right you are, Bill. Sorry to have bothered you." Christie walked away feeling a lot less chipper than her voice had sounded. Mary Jo knew damn well that she was going to meet her at the garage. At the office there was no Mary Jo. She sighed and gave her deputy and the dispatcher a break for lunch. She'd eat there. If Mary Jo came looking she wanted to be easily found. An hour later, while Christie was working at the computer pulling down some very interesting information from the crime center, the phone rang. "Sheriff's office, Sheriff speaking." "Christie, guess what," Mary Jo's voice bubbled into her ear. "I caught him, bagged him and bedded him!" she whooped. "Slow down a minute, MJ," Christie frowned, hoping that her sudden guess was a wrong one. "Just *who* did you bag?" "Why, Marty, of course, you ninnie. Who else?" Mary Jo laughed gaily into the phone. "I thought he was leaving town," Christie said slowly as she looked at the report in front of her. This could be very bad. "Yeah, well he decided to stick around for a couple of days. You were right. You sure can pick 'em. Look, I got to get back to work. I'll talk to you later, 'kay?" She paused a moment, then came back a little more seriously, "Thanks, Christie. I owe you." "Okay, Mary Jo. Long as you had fun." Right. She sure could pick them. "Super fun, bye." At the click Christie's spirits sank. Real bad. Now, as the sun was setting, turning the sky a fiery red, Christie was more troubled than ever. It had taken a lot of ferreting, but the story was finally coming together. And the fax with the picture was the final piece of the puzzle. Well, the final piece which was readily obtainable. Martin Evertson, not Walker, was wanted by . . . well, everyone. Yet no one was saying exactly why. The police wanted him. The FBI wanted him. The Mob wanted him. And, as if that weren't enough, his *wife* was raising a stink to the sky, demanding that the police get off their asses and find this missing person. Good old Marty was real popular. Oh, yes, and Mary Jo wanted him, too. Yes, real popular. And she, the Sheriff of End Of The Line, had him. After telling Mary Jo to behave herself, it was the Sheriff who sabotaged his car after all. He wouldn't be getting far without a rotor, she grinned to herself. The grin disappeared. "Armed and dangerous." That's what the APB on him read. Sure, but why was the FBI involved. They just muddied the waters. And then there was Jerry, the night clerk at the motel. Christie had run into him on her way out of town that morning. He'd mentioned the ugly man from the night before. A leg breaker, Jerry had described him. Something straight out of a gangster movie. Could be that the poor guy was the unfortunate victim of his looks, but Christie didn't think so. His story was just wrong. And she'd checked with Doc Bradford. No one had called on him and certainly not this man. Things were plain wrong around here. Now the question was: what was she going to do? After watching the red leave the sky and feeling the cooling breeze through the open window, she finally decided. First she would talk to Mary Jo. Then she would go see about Mr. Evertson. "Hi, Christie," Mary Jo bubbled as Christie walked through the door. "Good day?" Isis was quite comfortable in Mary Jo's arms, purring up a storm. "No, not a good day, but that can wait. Tell me about you and Marty." Christie put a smile on her face that she hoped Mary Jo wouldn't be able to see through. She needn't have worried. Mary Jo's eyes were shining and her thoughts were elsewhere. "It was great, Christie. Just like you said it would be. He's a fine man. Gentle and kind. And fun to be with." She laughed out loud. Bad. Real bad, Christie thought. Why did this have to happen now? Now, with Mr. Lying Martin Evertson, fugitive? "I like him, Christie, I really do. Maybe we can talk to him, get him to stay a while longer. Whaddya say?" She nudged Christie in the ribs, almost causing her to spill the jug of juice she'd pulled from the refrigerator. Isis put back her ears at the untimely jerk. "Hey, careful!" Christie poured the juice deliberately, concentrating on that action only. When she finished, she turned to Mary Jo. "Mary Jo, I have some bad news. He's married." "Yeah, I know." Mary Jo shrugged. Christie was surprised. "How? Did he mention it?" "No, but he has just the faintest tan line on his ring finger." She looked up defiantly. "But he's left her--or she kicked him out. When his car was at the garage I looked in the trunk and back seat. He took everything he has. He ain't just on a holiday or nothing. Maybe he might settle down here. If we made him welcome." Christie sighed. It was going to be harder than she had thought. She began explaining what she'd learned, feeling like a traitor as she watched Mary Jo's face fall; feeling a cold weight in her stomach as she watched her dear friend and lover's dream torn down. But Mary Jo was tougher than all that and rose to Martin's defense. "I don't believe it. He's a good man. Let's go ask him. He'll tell us the truth, I know he will. There's just something too fishy about all this!" She put Isis down on the floor, much to the cat's annoyance. "Very well, Mary Jo," Christie told her, proud of her friend. When Mary Jo gave her loyalty to someone, she gave it unstintingly. She was never ready to believe the worst about another person. She was a true friend, as Christie had come to know, time and again. "Very well," she repeated, "let's go talk to Marty." Dozing in his motel room, Martin was brought awake by a knock on the door. He saw Mary Jo through the peephole, and opened the door. "Hi Mary Jo. I'm glad to see you. My car . . . oh." He was stopped short by the sight of Christie, in her uniform, looking at him in a professional, not social, manner. "I need to have a word with you, Mr. Evertson." Martin's body sagged. He walked back into the room and sat heavily down on the bed. Mary Jo sat down next to him, clutching his arm. Looking imploringly at Christie, she said, "I'm sure he had a real good reason for doing it. He wouldn't do anything wrong on purpose." Christie tossed a newspaper she had in her hand onto the bed. On the bottom of the front page there was an article about an embezzlement from a Las Vegas casino. He scanned the first paragraph: " . . . regulators investigating the million dollar theft discovered that the Golden Eagle Casino was actually a front for organized crime, which laundered millions of dollars in profits from drugs and prostitution through the casino. Numerous arrests are ongoing, both in Nevada and New York . . ." "You knew the casino was a front for organized crime?" "Not at first. They hired me as financial officer. As soon as I found out what kind of people were involved with it I tried to quit, but they wouldn't allow me to. Evidently they liked the job I was doing. They made it pretty clear I would be in danger if I tried to leave." "So you took off with their money?" "I . . . I felt I had no choice. I had begun sending anonymous messages to the FBI, telling them what was going on at the casino, sending them copies of business records. I hoped I could get those lowlifes put away, but . . . . Those guys scared the hell out of me." "I wouldn't want them after me," interjected Christie. "If I had thought about it a little longer, I probably wouldn't have done it. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, I was sure they would catch on to me any minute. Well, a few weeks after I sent the first message to the FBI, a detective came to talk to me about a murder, of someone who was investigating the casinos. I answered all his questions and told him I couldn't help him. He seemed satisfied with my answers and thanked me for my time, but when I got off work that evening, I got quite a shock. There was a plastic garbage bag on the floor of my car, and when I looked inside I saw a gun, gloves, a shirt with what what looked like bloodstains on it." "You grabbed all the money you could and took off?" "I panicked. I felt if the police didn't get me, the Mob would." Martin closed his eyes and put his hands to his face. Mary Jo looked back and forth between the two of them. "You ain't gonna do anything, are you Christie? I mean, he got all those bad guys thrown in jail." "No, you can't ask her to overlook something like this," Martin said with a sigh. "You've kind of taken a liking to this little town of ours?" asked Christie. "As a matter of fact I have." He gave a weary laugh. "I'll come settle here when I get out of jail." "But, when the heat was on, you ran, leaving your wife behind you? Is that how it went?" Christie drilled through him with her eyes, unmindful of Mary Jo's gasp of surprise. Martin shook his head wearily. "You don't understand," he replied. "I found out I married into the mob. Given the choice between me and Family, I'd come up second best every time. There's no going back for me." Her thumb hooked in her belt, Christie looked down at the two of them sitting on the bed. "You've got a million bucks on you?" "A little over, I think. Hidden under the back seat of my car." Christie continued to look at him, her expression unchanging, but her mind working. "You know about running a business, stuff like that?" His head in his hands, not really trying to follow her, he said, "Yes, I have an MBA. I've worked for several corporations." Mary Jo's face lit up slightly, sensing things might be worked out somehow. Christie thought a moment, exhaled, then said, "Okay, here's how it's going to go. There's a lumber mill at the other end of town. They've been having financial difficulties for some time now. You go to work for them, help them back on their feet, maybe make them a loan." "But--" "There are some boys living on a ranch a couple miles out of town. I don't know exactly what they're up to, and as long as they don't bother the people in town, I don't really care. But I have a feeling they might be able to help you get a new identity, drivers licence, like that." Martin looked at her speechless a moment, the prospect of a new life in this little town slowly dawning on him. Finally he managed to say, "You're taking an awful chance. I wouldn't want to see you . . ." Christie waved him off. "Forget it. Anyway, if I put you away, I'd never hear the end of it from little Miss Nymphomaniac here," she said, nodding at Mary Jo. Beaming like a kid at Christmas, Mary Jo jumped up and gave Mary Jo a squeeze, then thumped herself down in Martin's lap, putting her arms around him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "This'll be so great!" she grinned. "The three of us are gonna have such fun!" "I'll have to put the cuffs on you, Marty," Christie said, unsnapping her handcuff case. "No!" protested Mary Jo. "You said . . ." Seeing a wink from Christie, the grin reappeared on the blond mechanic's face. "Yeah, he's a dangerous one, Sheriff. He's got a concealed weapon. A real big one." Christie took Mary Jo aside and began talking to her quietly. "If we do this, we do this right, understand? Go get his car and take it to your garage. Unpack everything that you think he will need. Leave everything that can be replaced where it is. Then meet us at the Old Mountain Road turn-off. Got that? Oh, here, you'll need this." Christie handed her the rotor from Martin's car and the keys she picked up off the night table. "Be quick and don't attract any undue attention. Just act naturally if anyone sees you." When Mary Jo left, Martin looked up at Christie, a question in his eyes. She ignored it. "So, you think you could help out our mill, given a chance?" "It's what I used to do. Make business plans. Advise businesses on how to maximize their potentials. Yes, I could help, I'm sure." He looked at her, now unable to stop from asking the burning question. "What are you going to do with me?" She considered him a long time before finally nodding to herself, decision made. He waited in anguished silence. "You are going to check out and leave town. You are never coming back here." Christie watched him closely to see how he would take it. Martin sighed, his face a mixture of relief and regret. "You're letting me go?" "Not exactly. It's time for you to check out. Just do it naturally. Jerry's usually too interested in his novels to pay much attention unless you give him something else to get interested in." Jerry, as advertised, was deep in his novel when Martin walked in. He looked up as Martin coughed gently. "Oh, hi. Need more pain-killers?" he asked. "I'd just like to check out," Martin replied. "It's kind of late for driving, Mr. Walker," Jerry suggested as he worked out the bill. "Less cars on the road and the sun won't give me a headache." "Ah, I see." Martin paid the bill, thanked Jerry, then turned and left the office. The sheriff was waiting for him. She put the cuffs on and placed him in the back of the cruiser. Without a word they headed out of town. Martin was surprised when they turned of the main road and pulled over. An hour later his eyebrows went further up when he recognized his car slowing to a stop beside them. "I leave from here?" he asked. Christie didn't say a word, just started up the cruiser and headed up the narrow road. They drove for another hour and a half, climbing all the time. It was one of the most frightening drives of Martin's life. After the first half hour the road became very narrow and there were sheer fall-offs past the unguarded shoulder. Half the time the headlights shone off into empty space. Finally they came to a stop and Mary Jo pulled up behind them. Christie got out and let Martin out. The three of them stood on the road together for a minute. "Here?" Mary Jo asked. "Here." Mary Jo reached in the open window and dropped the gearshift into neutral. The old car slowly started rolling backwards. Martin watched in stunned silence as the car, with all his possessions, dropped over the side of the road and crashed down the hill into the trees below. "What in the name of . . ." "You were taking the back roads out of the state," Christie explained. "When the car is found . . . if the car is found, it will be assumed that you walked away--or died somewhere near. We can't afford the car. You've already been connected with it," she told him. "I received an APB on the license plate late this morning." Martin nodded slowly, awareness dawning on him. He would have been caught quickly. He hadn't thought they'd find out about the car. He just didn't have the criminal mind needed to get away cleanly. "And now?" he asked, wondering where Christie was leading him. "And now," she smiled wickedly, "now you belong to us. Get in." Martin was herded back into the cruiser's back seat by a grinning Mary Jo. Christie carefully turned the car around and they headed back the way they'd come. The sun had just appeared in eastern sky when the car reached the main road once more. To Martin's surprise they didn't turn back towards town. In the back of the patrol car, headed away from town, Martin, still handcuffed, sounded a little unsure. "Uh, you were serious about letting me go, weren't you?" Up front, the two women didn't answer, just exchanged knowing glances. Well out of town, the car turned onto an unpaved road, bumping along for ten minutes or so, then leaving the road altogether, heading toward a rock formation in the distance. Completely confused, Martin gave up trying to think, letting the two lead him wherever they wanted. The past few days had been such a rollercoaster, his mind was barely functioning. At the base of the rock formation, Christie opened the door for Martin and helped him out. Walking up into the rocks, Martin turned part way around, showing her the handcuffs. "Do you suppose you could . . ." Christie stayed silent, but Mary Jo chimed in, "You're a dangerous criminal, mister. Were gonna have to teach you a little lesson about breaking the law." Once they had reached the top of the rocks, Martin saw where they were headed. There was a spring coming up through the rocks, feeding a small pond about ten feet across. Turning around, you could get a 360 degree view, rocky and desolate in one direction, the beginning of the forest off in the other direction. "This is kind of our secret little place," said Christie. Martin gazed around at the vast landscape, his mind slowly, gradually, beginning to clear. While he sat down to take in the sight, Mary Jo kicked off her shoes and dipped a toe in the pond. "It's freezing !" she squealed. "Hey Christie, what'll we do with Mr. Big Time Criminal here?" She playfully splashed some cold water on him. "A strip search would be standard operating procedure." Putting her handcuffed victim on his back, Christie knelt over him and unbuttoned his shirt, pulled off his shoes and socks, then yanked down his pants, along with his shorts. "Hey Mary, I thought you said he had a big weapon on him." "It gets way bigger. Lemme show you." She moved toward him, but Christie stopped her. "You can't reward lawbreakers, MJ." She took off her equipment belt and pulled her shirt out of her waistband. "We'll have to punish him for what he did, make sure he doesn't do it again." Standing over him, the two slowly undressed. Christie got behind Mary Jo and pulled the blond against her, reaching around and firmly massaging her breasts. Pushing the two soft globes together, she said, "Mmm, Marty, can't you just imagine that big rod of yours sliding in between these?" Martin's chest began to rise and fall more rapidly as he slowly began to get erect. "I think he can," giggled Mary Jo. The two of them sat down next to him. Christie blew very lightly along the length of his almost full-on erection. "Like me to suck it, huh? Well, that's too bad. You've got to learn your lesson. Mary Jo, get over here." Christie lay back as Mary Jo worked her way over Martin, and kneeled over the beautiful sheriff of End Of The Line. She leaned down and kissed her, their lips touching softly at first, then really sucking together, their tongues wrestling. As Mary Jo worked her way down, Martin groaned helplessly, trying unsuccessfully to stroke himself with his hands secured behind his back. Watching Christie's soft breasts jiggling under the vigorous sucking, his erection was now pounding, visibly throbbing. Looking teasingly at Martin, Mary Jo ran her hand through the sparkling brown pubic hair, then let her hand dip downward, circling it firmly. Easing a finger inside, she said, "Bet you'd like to get in here, huh? Too bad you've been a bad boy." She parted Christie's legs. Still pushing her middle finger in and out, she leaned in and caressed the erect clit just the way Christie liked it, in firm, slow circles, occasionally pinching it between her lips. Hearing the sighs and groans of pleasure, Martin was in agony. His erection was deep red, stiff as a board, desperate for some human contact. "Mary Jo," he whispered, "For God's sake, stroke it, get these handcuffs off, something!" Christie opened her eyes. "I heard that Marty. You take your punishment like a man." Mary Jo's finger, still working in and out, had begun to glisten, and the girls made sure Martin got a good view. Diligently tickling away, the groans continued, one in pleasure, the other in discomfort. Christie let her friend know she was close. Running her hand through the long blond hair, opening her legs wide she let out a long, low groan of genuine delight as Mary Jo expertly brought her to orgasm. She kept it going with her tongue as Christie slowly massaged her own breasts, fluid collecting at the opening of her vagina. "Like that, Marty?" Mary Jo grinned. "Want to see what you're missing out on?" She stuck her tongue deep inside Christie and worked it around, pulled it out, then crawled up to Martin and put her lips against his. He knew it would be torture, but he had to know what it would taste like. As he slowly opened his mouth, Mary Jo snaked her tongue inside, the taste of her saliva mixed with Christie's cum pushing him over the edge. His hard-on throbbing urgently, it's veins purple, bulging, he growled, "You two fucking sluts make me come right now, understand?" They looked at each other in surprise, then broke up laughing. "You think we ought to parole him, Sheriff?" "I think he's likely to bust out if we don't." They sat on either side of him, admiring his pounding erection, stroking it lightly, Mary Jo eventually leaning down and dragging her lips softly along just the head, running her tongue around the few drops of pre-cum that had collected. The girls were being far too gentle to offer Martin any relief. "For Christ's sake," he groaned. "I'll do anything . . ." "I guess we're being a little hard on him. Could be considered cruel and unusual." "Yeah, I think he's learned his lesson. He won't be embezzling any more money. But remember, any more wrong-doings and you'll be cut off again." Christie took the aching erection in her hand and started stroking quickly, Mary Jo putting her hand over Christie's, helping out. In not more than thirty seconds Martin lifted his head up, took a sharp breath and let out a loud grunt as a sudden, thick spurt of cum gushed out. Groaning in relief, he shot out five or six more spurts, then dropped his head back in utter exhaustion. They both looked down at Martin for a while, grinning, admiring their work. Having worked up quite a sweat in the hot sun, Christie looked at Mary Jo, then tilted her head toward the pond. "Sounds good to me," said Mary Jo. Leaving Martin practically unconscious, the girls slipped into the water, sighing at the coolness of it. After several minutes passed Martin sat up, a little dazed. Realizing he still didn't have the use of his hands, he called over to Christie. "Um, say, do you mind . . ." "Oh, sorry 'bout that, Marty." She got out of the water and retrieved the key from her belt, then set Martin free from the handcuffs. "There you go, lover boy." She sat down beside him. They both leaned back and gazed off into the distance, enjoying the feeling of the sun on their naked bodies. "You and Mary Jo . . ." Martin blurted out the words before he had completely formed the question. Christie looked over at him, smiling at his awkwardness. She helped him out. "We've had a thing going for a while, yes. Am I worried about her getting involved with you?" He gave a little smile, relieved this was all getting out into the open. She looked off into the distance. "A while back, Mary Jo was involved with this fellow in town, a real troublemaker. It seemed like every weekend we would get a report of a domestic disturbance from their place. He would get drunk, slap her around, things like that. I talked her into pressing charges, and made sure he left town after he served his time in jail." "She seems so upbeat about everything." "I know what you mean. You would think an experience like that would change her, but she seems to have a real optimistic streak to her. Anyway, after I helped her out she sort of latched onto me and, well, we got close. Nothing really permanent between us, though. We just have a good time together now and then." Martin began to understand. "You like to keep an eye on her, make sure the people she gets involved with are okay?" The smile on Christie's face answered his question. "And how do I check out?" he asked. She laughed a little. "You're OK, Marty. But that's not to say I won't come around to check up on things from time to time," she chuckled. "If you think you're up to it," she finished with a lascivious wink. After a minute, she asked, "You really want to live in our little town here?" Martin gave a confident nod of his head. "I think you might be changing your lifestyle a little bit," she continued, "People around here aren't too impressed by BMWs and Armani suits." He thought a moment. "Yeah, I used to think things like that would make me happy. No, I think End Of The Line has everything I need." His eyes settled on Mary Jo soaking in the pond, then he saw that Christie was watching him watching her. "I'm not sure you understand completely. I think you'll look good in a beard." He stared at her. "And jeans." His stare became fixed and Christie knew he was starting to look inward. Finally he nodded. "Nothing to connect me with who I was," he stated. "Nothing at all," she confirmed. "You won't be able to come out in public until that beard starts to come in. You'll have to rely on us completely--if Isis accepts you, that is." "Isis?" "Mary Jo's cat. She doesn't like you and you're done. Otherwise, we'll look after you. Don't screw up, you're dependant on the three of us," Christie warned him. "For everything?" his eyes wandered back to Mary Jo again. He gave an embarrassed laugh as Christie shot him a skeptical look. "Yeah, everything you need," she repeated. She tugged on his arm. "C'mon, get in the water, lover boy." Martin rose with her and headed for the inviting pool of water. No more running scared, he thought. He jumped involuntarily as Christie pinched him on the bottom. Mary Jo laughed gaily and waved him in. She opened her arms wide and he made a straight line for her, stopping only when he'd reached the end of the line and her arms closed about him. End. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----