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Paring: S/X |
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White Lightnin'
by
BmblBee
Part One
Spike was tired. Dead dog tired. He loosened his tie as he entered the building. He knew this was not the appearance of a dignified G-man, but fuck it. He couldn't be in any more trouble than he was already.
He tapped the brim of his fedora and nodded his head in acknowledgement of women he passed and continued on at an
unrushed pace.
Yeah, he knew he was late, but considering they had pulled all his important assignments and given them to other agents, what did he have to hurry for?
The most important thing on his desk right now was trying to locate some missing receipts for a catered lunch of big wigs last week.
No, he figured he was as far down this ladder as the rungs would go. He really needed to pull himself together. He really needed to get his life back on track. He really needed a cup of coffee and a donut.
Making his way to his cubby hole of an office, Spike used all the stairways and back hallways he could in an attempt to miss seeing and being seen by any of the important people.
Slipping in quickly, he shut the door behind him. 'What a shit hole' He looked around. 'Even a fuck up like me deserves better than this.' The room in question did not answer.
It was small. Smaller than small. It had a low three drawer desk and wooden chair. A short file cabinet, which admittedly held few files, and a barred and bolted window. "Looks like a fuckin' prison cell. Hell a prison cell probably has more
room than this."
Dropping into his chair, Spike unconsciously let it bounce back and forth on the old rusty springs. Barely hearing the repetitious 'squeak squeak' of the wooden seat, Spike tried for the millionth time to figure how it had all gone so wrong.
Just three years ago he was a young inspector at Scotland yard in London. He had his future all mapped out. Work his way up and some day would run the whole show.
He could see himself sitting down to lunch with Churchill, Roosevelt and other world dignitaries.
If only he wasn't the way he was. He winced. He hated that he was different than all the other men he worked side by side with.
They all wanted to run to the houses after work. Always talking about getting giggy with some hot tomato.
He tried. He really did, but his heart, and unfortunately his dick, were not there for him. Not until the shower room when they were all together after a hard day in the field.
All those men, sweaty, and wet together. He tried not to look. Hell, he gave himself credit just for not touching. Lord knows he wanted to.
London in 1938 was a very modern and progressive city. Unfortunately not progressive enough for a police inspector who
was only attracted to other men. Pretty soon some of them started to notice.
Not long after some started to complain that he was getting a hard on around them and they wouldn't shower with him any more.
Setting aside a time after everyone else was done, Spike took to washing by himself.
A solution that would have worked except for one small fly in the ointment.
A small blond assistant fly by the name of Andrew.
A fly that took to buzzing around at the exact time Spike was in the shower.
Finally on the third afternoon, Spike made the first big mistake of his career.
Both wet, slippery and soapy, they kissed and fumbled around. Not sure what to do, Spike just knew it all felt right.
Turning around with his hands on the shower wall, Andrew thrust his ass out and told him to go ahead. Said he had done it before and it wouldn't hurt him.
Hesitating for only seconds, Spike did what his brain was screaming not to do.
It was a revelation.
It was everything the other men said they felt with wet pussies, only better.
Just letting his fingertip brush over Andrew's wrinkled hole made Spike's legs go weak.
Spike shoved his dick in deep. Jesus it was tight! Slippery from the soap, Spike moved quickly and smoothly.
He knew after just a minute or two he wouldn't last. It was just too wonderful. He pounded erratically and came deep inside Andrew's ass.
Spike knew whatever happened he couldn't go back to pretending any more. He was happier than he had ever been.
Andrew was quiet, but since he had orgasmed also, Spike just figured he was being careful, especially considering where they were.
After drying and dressing, Spike ask Andrew if he wanted to go to the pub. In tears, Andrew rushed away leaving Spike wondering what had just happened.
Hearing the laughter of several of the officers in the other room was when Spike first realized he had been set up. He was crushed.
He was summoned to the office of the chief of the division at a half eight the next morning.
"Good Morning Mr. Giles, Sir. You wanted to see me" Spike had entered the office right on time and dressed in his cleanest uniform.
He was well prepared to kiss some Giles ass in order to save his own. Rupert Giles sat stiffly behind his huge oak desk. Flipping through a stack of papers, he deftly avoided making eye contact.
"Yes, William Beemish is it? Come in lad. Please have a seat. I'm afraid there have been some very serious charges leveled
against you. Nasty business to have to discuss."
"Charges, Sir?" Spike sat up straight and could feel himself start to sweat.
"Yes, unseemly and highly irregular charges. Young master Andrew has alleged that you accosted him in the shower yesterday"
"What?"
Spike was stunned. He knew some of the other officers hated him, and also already figured out that Andrew was a set up, but he really thought it was only to further torture him.
He never dreamed they would bring charges to headquarters. He was also trying to set aside the hurt he was dealing with over the betrayal of what to him was a life changing experience.
"No, sir. That is not what happened." Spike was getting frantic. He could see it all slipping away. Every thing he had worked for.
"Are you saying you did not have physical contact with that young man? I trust that as an inspector of The Yard you will
be truthful and forth coming."
Spike knew he was fucked.
If he admitted to the sex he would be thrown out for perverse acts, a disgraceful charge that there was no recovery from.
If he denied it he would be discharged for dishonesty. Something in Scotland Yard that could not be forgiven, and with Andrew testifying against him, he was screwed.
Taking a deep breath, Spike cleared any emotion from his face and looked Rupert Giles in the eye. "No sir. I do not deny the situation that occurred yesterday in the shower room. I do, however, claim that it was agreeable on both sides and no one was accousted."
"Yes, ahem, well you must understand that is really quite irrelevent, William, we can't possibly have someone here of less than exemplary morals."
Spike wanted to argue that hot tomatoes and wet pussies somewhat interferred with the high moral standings of the other inspectors, but knew at this point it would do no good, so he kept his mouth shut and waited to be sacked.
Having the most distastful part of the discussion over with, Giles relaxed. "Look, William, my boy. I understand this is difficult for you. I have read your file and see that in all areas of the field you do extraordinary work. I know that you had your heart set on working and advancing here, but this makes it quite impossible."
Spike sat impassively, wondering why he was still here. Why not just get up and tell the old bird to fuck off. Break wind in the direction of his oversized desk and cushioned chair and walk out. Might even slam the door on......... "What did you say?"
"I said that we have an agreement with the government of the United States. They are interested in an exchange of information and investigative techniques. They have sent us three agents and we have sent some to them. If you are interested we could transfer you to New York to begin work at the bureau there."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you will be sacked. Probably unemployable in any decent occupation and disgraced. Of course some circles are talking of a war on the horizon. You could always enlist in the service." Giles rocked back, his chair making no sound.
A lack of noise that was not lost on William.
With a strained and unpleasant smile on his face, William rose and offered out his hand. "Looks like I'm going to the colonies."
Giles also stood and accepted the gesture. "Excellent. I will make all the arrangements and you will be off in less than a fortnight. When you arrive you will report directly to Mr. Liam O'Conner"
Holding William's hand still in both of his, Giles finally looked William in the eye. "This is a second chance, my boy. Please don't waste it."
"No sir. Thank you sir." William walked out and gently closed the door behind him. Looking down at the paper with the name and address on, William snorted.
'O'Connor. Fuckin' Irishman. Fuckin' figures'
Part Two
The crossing was nightmare.
'Doesn't the fuckin' Yard know there are air flights that transport over the pond now?' Spike wrestled his overpacked grip up the gang plank and proceeded to find his assigned state room 'Inside and lower level, of course'
Kicking the door open he swung his arm tossing the bag in ahead of him. It hit the far wall. Sighing, he stepped in to see that yes, the room really was that small. "Oh great. A full week of living in a floating mop closet."
Feeling more exiled than privileged, William wondered if he wouldn't have been better off taking his chances in London.
Surely he could have obtained employment in some related field.
He knew the truth.
Giles was right.
He had no options.
Dropping down onto the tiny bed, William put his head in his hands and wept. He felt as though he was the only man in the world that wanted to be with another man.
He had been thrilled to think he had found someone in Andrew. It had crushed him more than he was willing to admit when Andrew betrayed him.
Now he had no home, no job, no country, and no love.
Maybe he should just go up on deck and throw himself over. Curling up on his bunk, William let himself sleep.
He knew he wouldn't jump.
He was too much a coward.
The week was everything William had feared.
The days were nauseating with the ship rocking and William's
stomach rolling.
Nights were worse.
The dining room was loud and ruckus. Filled with fat, loud, obnoxious American men who did little else but chew on cigars
and talk of war.
Like home, these were men he had nothing in common with, and he had no interest in spending time trying to acclimate.
The women who flitted around the ship were impossible to avoid. Their inane twittering and giggling over his accent, blond hair and blue eyes made him cringe.
No, he did not wish to dance, and no, he would not care for a
walk on deck. They were so bold and brazen he had taken to being just short of rude to ward them off.
As soon as he ate his dinner each evening he hurried back to his room as quickly as possible. It only depressed him more to see the couples on deck, holding hands, and kissing in the moonlight.
The days of isolation did, however, give him time to think. He would never again allow himself to be put in a situation like that. He would not be so open and vulnerable.
If Giles was right, and this was his last chance, he would make sure it worked to his best advantage. If he could succeed and exceed the time may come that he would redeem himself.
He could be so successful that they would overlook all the gossip and welcome him back home.
He could return to London.
He could return to Scotland Yard.
William felt somewhat encouraged.
He knew though that he would have to make some changes in himself. He would exude a more manly presence.
He would find a woman and force himself to have a relationship with her. He would joke with the other men and talk of vulgar things as they did.
In completing the transformation William made the decision.
From now on he would be called Spike.
It was a name and an attitude he hoped he could live up to.
Wednesday night saw the ship come alive. It was the night before they were to dock in the harbor of New York city, and the passengers seemed to celebrate without sleep all night.
William was both irritated at the disgraceful disruption and sick to his stomach from fear of facing the unknown, so he too got no sleep that night.
When he saw the sunrise out his tiny porthole he scurried about making himself and his belongings ready. Dragging his bag up on deck he had to admit the excitement was infectious. Hundreds of people standing at the edge watching the city come up on them.
In awe he stood as they passed the Statue of Liberty. It truly was magnificent. He felt buoyed. Feeling better than he had in the last two weeks, William pulled himself up straight and heaved his bag up beside him.
This was a new start, and he would make the most of it. He was "Spike" now and although he wasn't sure who that was exactly, he knew it was someone who would succeed.
Waiting till the worst of the throng of passengers disembarked, Spike made his way off the ship. It was a madhouse of people, cargo, cars, and movement.
It was so much like London, it was almost reassuring.
'A city is just a city. How different could it be?' It was a question that would answer itself a thousand times
over in the coming months.
Not sure where he was to go to procure a vehicle, Spike stood by himself looking for all the world like a lost child.
"Mr. Beemish?"
Startled, Spike turned to find a uniformed bobby smiling behind him. "Yes?" Spike watched as the attractive young man easily picked up the satchel and started with it to a waiting patrol car.
In answer to Spike's confused expression, he explained "Recognized you right away from your description, sir. You want
to follow me?" Rushing to catch up, Spike apparently had no choice.
"They sent a bobby to fetch me?"
Tossing the bag into the trunk of the patrol car, the driver opened the passenger door for his charge "No, sir. They sent a Jack. Jack Tucker at your disposal."
Extending his hand, Spike accepted and shook it feeling like something in that conversation had not gone exactly right.
Jack's handshake was firm to almost painful.
"Wow, got some small hands there Mr. Beemish. Guess you high up muckety mucks don't do much hard work, Huh?'
Only a few of those words made sense, but the young man's smile still appeared sincere, so Spike assumed he was not being insulted too badly and smiled in return.
"Yes, well, I have an address here...." Spike climbed into the large black and white car and was barely settled when the
door was shut and the driver hustling to the other side.
"No sweat, boss. Know right where to take you." And with that they whipped out into the chaotic mass of movement.
Clutching wildly at the dash board, Spike felt faint when he realized no one had explained to him that cars drove on the
opposite side of the road.
"Yo, you o.k. there, Boss?" Jack hoped desperately that this sissy looking man wasn't about to upchuck all over the inside
of his brand new patrol car.
He would end up spending the rest of the shift cleaning it up, and even then it was a smell that never really went away.
"I am quite all right, thank you. Will we arrive soon?"
"Sure will, quicker than a rabbits hop. So, you gonna work for the bureau. huh? Big guy's a real peach. You spend your time pullin' yer weight and not yer pud and he won't bust yer chops."
Spike made no move to respond. He was given the impression that people in the colonies spoke the same english as the British, but nothing this young man was saying made sense.
He further found he was very uncomfortable with the familiarity with which this bobby spoke to him. It was something that would never be tolerated by the inspectors at the Yard.
The underlings knew their place and treated their superiors with due respect. Resorting to the one thing that seemed to satisfy the officer, Spike smiled and nodded.
Suddenly slamming on the brakes and cutting over two lanes of highway, Spike cringed as horns blew and driver's yelled.
"Pay them no mind. Cop's privilege,"
Laughing at Spike's shocked face, Jack turned into the parking lot of a huge twenty story building."We're here."
Pulling into a roped off section of spaces, Jack hopped out and opened Spike's door. "You good or you want I should take you up to his office?"
As there was no way he wanted to be abandoned in this alien area, Spike stepped back as Jack heaved Spike's belongings
out of the trunk. "I would be most grateful for an escort, Mr.Tucker."
"Sure thing. No sweat, Boss." Swinging the clutch effortlessly over his shoulder, Jack took off at a brisk walk that Spike had to hustle to keep up with.
Around the corner, out of sight, was a row of elevators. Spike tried to memorize all the steps they were taking in hopes of being able to find his way back, but knew it was hopeless.
Watching the arrow on the numbers, the elevator stopped on a "ding" as the "12'' lit up on the top. The door slid open to a world of activity. People rushing by, typewriters clacking, phones ringing, and voices all apparently trying to out shout the other.
Without pause, Jack stepped out and turned to the left, Spike close behind. Apparently Jack was well known as everyone he passed had something to say, and he a snappy retort.
"Hey Jack, my man, what's shaking?"
"All eight inches after a leak, Bill"
"Morning, Jack. Looking good this morning."
"Back at'ch, Baby. How 'bout we swing to some platters some time?"
And on it went. Spike wondered what it took to be that well liked.
Stopping so quickly Spike nearly ran into his back, Jack pointed at an office door.
"This is it. Go on in. Secretary in the outer office will take care of you. Real slick chick by the name of Buffy. Tell her who
you are and she'll introduce you to the head honcho. Good luck, Man."
And with a near painful smack on the back, Jack was gone, presumably to establish a time and place that he and the overly painted female could "swing to some platters".
Rapping twice on the door, Spike opened it and stepped in.
Part Three
Knocking twice, Spike enter a small functional office. It had dark wood paneled walls, with wooden desks and straight back chairs. Each desk had a goose neck lamp, a large black telephone and a cup of pencils.
The only difference in them was that the first also had a typewriter. Spike assumed that signified some type of seniority, so this was the one he approached.
Both desks were occupied by women. Something that was rare back in London. Snorting, he was firmly of the belief that women should be home tending to their duties.
Before he had the chance to announce himself, the blond that had been pounding away on the typewriter jumped up and rushed around the desk to greet him.
Stepping back to take in her appearance, the only word he could conjure up was "floozy".
She wore a sweater that must have been deliberately purchased a size too small, and a skirt that flipped loosely around
her knees suggesting she was wearing only one under slip. Scandalous!
Her blond hair was pulled up in a thick rolling curl around her face. Her nails and lips were painted blood red. Glancing down it occurred to him that secretaries in this country must make very good money to be able to afford silk stockings.
Ones that she obviously made sure had very straight seams. When his eyes finally hit the floor, he was stunned to see
she was brazenly wearing high heels. To work in!
"Hi. See anything you like?"
Snapping him out of his musing, Spike's eyes immediately met those of the blond who was now standing directly in front of him.
"What? Well I never. I'll have you know....."
"Hey, no biggy. Just joshing is all. I'm Buffy. Can I help you?"
Regaining his composure, Spike smoothed his suit jacket and fussed with the handkerchief that was tucked in his breast pocket.
"Yes. I am William Beemish. I am to see Mr. O'Connor in regards to my position."
"Wow! Listen to you talk. You hear him talk, Faith?"
The dark haired girl at the other desk had been watching the exchange with a grin. Winking, she sat back in her chair.
"Sure did. Real classy. Better show him in before we gobble him up."
Positive he was being mocked, Spike clenched his jaw and tightened his hands.
Flouncing over, Buffy tapped on the frosted glass of a door on the side of the room. Sticking her head in, she announced him
"Hey, boss. Got a William Beemer out here to see you."
"Beemish" He attempted, but was ignored.
"Thanks Darlin'. Show him in." The voice was deep and strong.
Spike was ready.
"Go on in, Mr. Beemer, and if you want some coffee or anything, you know where I am."
"It's Beemish, and no thank you." Spike stepped in and closed the door behind.
"Wow, he's dreamy." Buffy floated back to her desk. "Real cat's meow."
"I guess. Kinda girly though." Faith looked at the office door appraisingly, then returned to her work.
The man behind the desk rose as Spike entered and extended his hand. "Liam O'Connor"
'Firm grip. Firm grip' Spike kept telling himself.
"Got some soft hands there, William." Sitting back down, he motioned for Spike to take the chair in front of the desk.
Straightening his back bone Spike corrected him. "Spike, sir. I go by the name of Spike."
Confusion wrinkled Liam's brow and he flipped through the papers in the file on his desk. Flinching, Spike wondered what all was in that file. He really wanted to start here with a clean slate and hoped his past problems would not have followed him.
"Doesn't say anything about that. But to be honest, it really doesn't say much of anything. I know you scored high marks on whatever written tests you took at your old job, and that you're here on one of those exchange of information programs.
Gotta be frank here Wil - Spike. Don't have much use for London Police tactics. We do things a certain way. If you can adapt, you're welcome. If not, well,"
"No, sir. I can adapt very well. I just want to learn your way of doing things and do a good job."
"Great! Great. Then we're good to go. Just one other thing. A couple lines in here about some trouble you got into doing the nasty with another inspector. Real modern of you folks to have women inspectors, but we can't have that happening here. Can't shit where you eat, so to speak. Keep 'er zipped, Spike."
Spike was absolutely mortified. He had no intention of discussing this matter, but was slightly glad for the misunderstanding. He made no move to correct the fact that it was not a female.
"No sir." He stuttered, unable to lift his eyes from his lap. "It is not a situation that will ever repeat itself."
"Good man." Leading Spike to the office door, Liam yelled "Buffy! Darlin' have someone show Spike here to the dorm rooms." Turning to Spike he explained "That will give you a chance to get settled into the job and get some money under your belt. Then you can find an apartment later. Sound o.k?"
Nodding his relief, Spike had no idea how to finding a living space. This was an excellent solution, and encouraged him that the direction of his future was right.
"Follow me, dreamboat." Buffy bounced off toward the elevators, Spike collected his bag and followed trying to both keep up and keep back.
"Spike, huh? Can't wait to find out what that means."
Spike offered no response. Buffy looked like trouble. He knew he wanted people to think he was a real woman's man,
but definitely not this woman.
Stepping outside, Spike feared he was going to have to get in another vehicle. Something he dreaded, and the thought of Buffy piloting said vehicle sent shivers up his spine.
"It's just a block away, we can walk." Bouncing ahead, she did not see the relief show on his face.
They stopped in front of a large victorian three story house, turning, she smiled. "This is it. I can't come in." Leaning in uncomfortably close, she whispered "No women."
Giggling she started back the way they came but paused to shout over her shoulder. "Go on in. Someone will take care of you. Hey, don't be a stranger. Come up and see me sometime."
The last part was said with such flourish, Spike was sure it was some type of reference, but it confounded him as to what so he just shook his head. Climbing the steps, he entered the front door.
The foyer was large, warm and welcoming. It had light painted walls with wide, thick, dark wood work. The carpet was rich colors and patterns. It felt thick and plush under his feet.
Off to the left was a library. Several men were talking easily in there. Some smoking. Some sharing a bottle of wine.
It was relaxed and masculine.
Spike wanted very much to be part of all this.
Part Four
Surprisingly, Spike settled quickly into the house and job. Because he was close, he was able to walk to work and avoid
the vehicles and traffic. There was a small diner down the street and everything he needed was at hand.
The other agents accepted him and tried to help him acclimate to the way of life he was presently in. They did tease him constantly, but he learned to take it good naturally as they also teased each other.
Avoiding Buffy was easier than he feared since it was obvious she had strong interests in Liam O'Connor. Called him "Angel", sometimes to his face.
Spike was shocked.
Liam was amused.
Apparently he shared her interest.
The only problems he had were in adapting to the way things were done in the States. The guns, the shooting, the talk of and the dealing with gangsters. It was all so much more violent than he had known back in London.
In the beginning he had been called into Mr. O'Connor's office twice for discipline, but now had perfected the fine art of invisibility.
Then it happened. The second biggest mistake of his career.
It started on the Saturday night at the end of his first year in New York. It was the night before one of his fellow agents was to be married.
Some of the others were holding what they called a bachelor party. Spike had never heard of such a thing and had no idea what it involved, but they insisted he come.
It was to be held in a downtown night club called "Gangsters Roost". Prohibition had been repealed some eight years ago, so bars and night clubs had reopened and multiplied. They were on every street and some back alleys. It was frowned upon for agents to patronize them.
Catching a ride with some of the men in the dorm house, the party was already in full swing when they arrived. Reluctantly accepting the champagne, Spike took his first drink. After three more he was soundly drunk.
Dragging him onto the dance floor, a tall dark haired woman clung to him relentlessly. Despite his insistence that he didn't want to dance, she demanded.
Introduced herself as Drusilla.
Dru to her friends.
Apparently they had become friends.
She danced till he was dizzy and she talked of swimming with fishes. It was all very confusing. Unnoticed, the party had moved on to another club, leaving Spike behind.
Just as he was about to demand she allow him to leave, a fight broke out at the bar. Glasses were broken and shots were fired.
Screaming with laughter, Dru grabbed Spike's hand and ran with him out into the night. Begging her to take him home, Spike could take no more. He was sick, drunk, and dead tired.
How he got home he never could remember.
He thought his head would explode and it felt like someone had rubbed dirty underwear over his tongue.
Cracking an eye open he was relieved to see that it was morning and he was back in his own room. Safe and sound.
Or not.
Just as he was about to drift back off, the sound of frantic pounding came to his door. Without waiting for his response, several men charged in, all in uniform and followed close behind by Liam O'Connor.
"Get up Spike."
Pointing to the bed Liam yelled at one of the policemen "Get her out of here!"
It wasn't till then that Spike realized Dru was lying nude and spread open beside him.
Covering his nakedness, Spike tried desperately to remember what had happened the night before. Dismissing the others, Liam sat down on the edge of Spike's bed.
"Look, Spike, I don't know what kind of carrying on is o.k. in London, and a few years ago this type of shit would probably be overlooked, but fact is, a new wind is blowing through Washington.
President is screaming about all government agents being cleancut and above board. Know what I mean? I can see you fancy yourself some kind of cock hound with women, but I warned you.
This office here in New York is one of Washington's most important and they watch us like a hawk. Can't afford this type of scandal.
Now you've been identified as being drunk in the Gangsters Roost when that mob boss got shot last night. And then we find you in bed with a well known prostitute in a men's only dorm."
Spike's ears were hearing all the words, but his brain was having a great deal of trouble processing.
"Sir, please. It isn't how it seems."
Holding up his hands effectively silenced Spike.
"Can't just send you back, not without causing an international incident, President wants this kept hush hush. So tell you what we're gonna do. There's a small apartment down on 123th st. We use it sometimes for witness.' We are going to move you in there for a short time till we can reassign you. Now get dressed. One of the men will take you there."
'Cock hound with women'? The irony of the situation was not lost on Spike, but seeing no alternative, he packed.
The "short time" turned into nine long months. Months of just enough of a paycheck for the rent, food, and thank God, booze.
Finally Spike could do something right.
He could drink like a champ.
He stayed away from women, and drank away all thoughts of men.
And waited.
It was on a Monday morning.
The call came early.
He was summoned to O'Conner's office.
Told to be there at 10:00 a.m. Promptly!
Showering, shaving, and brushing his teeth, Spike tried his best to clear his brain and his bloodshot eyes.
This time when he reached the outer office, Buffy did not bubble, and Faith did not look up. Opening the inner door she was short. "He's here" and stood back while he passed.
'Well fuck it' Spike didn't give a fuck what the bitch thought. Frankly he didn't give a fuck what "Angel" thought either.
Standing by the door, he waited. What was it to be? Sacked? Sent home? Didn't much matter. He was ruined either way.
"Well sir?"
"Sit down, William"
Spike didn't care enough to correct him.
"We have a new assignment for you. I still think you can be a good agent, William. You got off badly, but I have every
confidence that you can pull yourself up."
"Yes, sir, boot straps and all." Spike really needed a drink for this shit.
His brain was screaming, 'Just fuckin' spit it out, you ass' His face was smiling and nodding.
"Anyway, I think you'll like this. A whole change of pace. Something new and exciting."
Liam waited.
Spike obliged. "Yes, sir?"
"We are sending you to Arkansas. You'll be based in the main office in Little Rock, but will be out in the field."
The only words his brain could collect together were 'What the fuck?' Spike's face must have shown his confusion
"As you know, William, prohibition was ended years ago. However, during the time it was in effect, an industry known as
bootlegged sprang up. Bath tub gin.That type of thing.
Unfortunately it has only grown more prevalent in the years since the law was changed. We send some our best agents out
into the field to locate and destroy these illegal operations. We have decided this would be a good opportunity for you to
get back into the swing of things."
Slowly Spike stood up, unbuttoned his suit coat and loosened his tie. "Let me get this shit straight. You want to send me down to the middle of Bum Fuck Egypt to sniff out some rot gut that a bunch of backwoods ass holes are cooking up in a tub? And you're sending me there because I'm one of your best fuckin' agents. That about right?" Spike's face screwed up in a sneer that would take up permanent residence there.
Refusing to waste any more time or patience on this loser, Liam returned to his paperwork. Handing Spike an envelope without looking up he continued. "This is your letter of introduction and a bus ticket. Although you will report there, I will still be your superior. Your boss. Don't fuck this up! Pack your shit, Spike you leave in one hour."
He was dismissed.
The bus trip was two days long. He arrived both road sick and half drunk.
He was not welcomed with open arms.
He did for the first six months try to get on the right track, but his life was already sliding further down.
His boss was an intellegent middle aged man by the name of Harvey Price who had started him out in this little shit of an office. He was assigned to the paperwork division.
Even that seemed too much for him.
After several serious fuck ups that often cost the state legal cases, Spike was given the most unimprotant projects they could find.
'Fuck it' Spike didn't care.
So in retrospect, he decided, that's how he got here. How it had all gone wrong.
Snapping himself out of his brooding, he answered the phone just to stop the damn ringing.
"Spike. Get your ass in my office. Got you a new assignment. And don't fuckin' be late. It might be your last."
Part Five
Xander hustled out into the cool morning mountain air. His cock was stiff and ached with the need for an early wake up piss. He thought about trying to make it to the out house, but fuck it, if his old hound, Bubba could use a tree, so could he.
Fishing around in the front of his bib overalls, he grabbed hold of his best friend and freed him into the shock of cold air.
'Ahhh' The hot stream of urine steamed as it hit the tree trunk and ran to the ground. His ground.
Thanks to his Grandpa, he owned not only the old family cabin, but fifty acres of fertile earth that surrounded it. Off in the distance he could see the mist laying heavy over the tops of the Appalachian mountains.
It was a sight that had to make heaven envious.
Shaking off, he tucked himself away and started back to the cabin for a hot cup of coffee and a look at the books. He may be a bootlegger, but he was also a hell of a business man.
After all just because he got a free ride through four years of college on a football scholarship, didn't mean he was stupid.
He had studied hard and graduated with high marks.
Several corporations had approached him with lucrative business offers, but none of them interested him. He had been away too long. He wanted to come home.
He remembered how it had been upon his return.
The cabin was in disrepair when he arrived.
Abandoned and empty some ten years now.
The roof had blown off and animals were nesting in the bedroom.
He jumped in the first day and finished up just as the first snows of winter swirled in. Most of Arkansas stayed
fairly warm, but winter in the mountains was isolating and difficult. It was everything he loved.
Walking back, he stopped behind the cabin and studied the area around, as he did daily. Couldn't be too careful.
Those fuckin' revenuers were always finding and busting up any stills they could sniff out.
Came right onto a man's property, they did. Just wasn't fuckin' American!
He was luckier than most. His still was set back into a wooded area that could not be reached from behind and no one could approach from the front without being seen.
Anyone who did stumble upon his cabin would only find a simple halfwitted soul who survived by trapping coon and beaver for food and hide and growing corn and veggies in a garden at the clearing.
Satisfied the property was unchanged, he continued back down the path. The next stop was a large ramshackle barn that sat about fifty feet from the back door of his home.
Checking the padlock on the barn door, he tugged it firmly to make sure it was secure. Inside this barn was his true pride and joy. The most valuable thing he owned.
Inside sat a glorious, 1939, shiny black, Lincoln V12, sedan. He had bought it wrecked his first month home and lovingly restored it. The already powerful motor had been punched up, and nothing in the state could touch it.
Xander knew that was where the real money was. Any old farmer could throw together a still and make a little corn
mash, but the real money was selling to the local dealers and taverns.
And that took a first class rumrunner.
Someone who could out drive the law.
That took Xander.
Like anything else, he considered it a business. You took care of your equipment and used the elements to your best advantage. The back seat had been removed and packing crates were installed.
He could carry and deliver more crocks undamaged than any of those other fools who hauled in the beds of beat down pick up trucks. Wasn't no money in delivering broken crocks.
Hustling on back to the cabin, Xander stirred the hot coals in the fireplace and put on the pot for coffee. Tonight was a full moon and he had a lot of work to do today.
He liked to do his major deliveries at night when the moonlight lit the backroads. It meant he could drive like a bat out of hell with no headlights on. Law wouldn't even try to catch him tonight.
Tossing back a rag rug that laid on the floor in front of his bed, Xander lifted a loose slat and removed a metal box and thick bound ledger that were hidden there.
Opening the box, he counted the money and satisfied himself that it was all there.He then sat down on the bed to review the figures he had carefully logged. Convincing himself that all was as it should be, he replaced the items and carefully covered all with the worn throw.
Anxious to get started, Xander swallowed the last of the coffee and set the cup in the wash tub he used as a sink.
Circling the cabin he entered the open ended shed at the side. In there he kept all the innocent looking equipment a mountain
dweller might use to live simply.
He pulled out his wheel barrow and pushed it, whistling, to the barn. Using a key from his pocket, Xander unlocked the barn and wheeled inside.
Stopping for a moment, he ran his hand slowly down the side of the car. "Got us a run tonight, Sweetheart. Just you and me as always. Don't want no woman, and can't have no man so it looks like it's you and me and by best friend Lefty on them lonely nights."
Xander chuckled humorlessly. He had money, a home in the mountains he loved, and thanks to a serious football injury, no
worry about being drafted if the rumors of war were true.
Still, he sometimes missed the company and companionship of other men. He also missed the sex.
College had given him more than an education of the books. It had also schooled him in the secrets of his heart. There had
been several different college boys he had experimented with and he knew where his proclivity lie.
"Someday." He sighed. "Maybe someday God will just drop the perfect man right into my lap." Laughing, he wheeled over to a stack of sack corn and started loading them into the barrow.
Casually tossing the heavy loads in he whistled an old tune that constantly ran through his brain.
"We're in the money.
We're in the money.
We got a lot of what it takes to get along."
Leaving the barn, he relocked and double checked the padlock. Humming, he started off down the path to the still. Darting
through the trees he was almost there when he heard it.
It was the unmistakable sound of a car crash followed by the unwavering blare of a horn stuck on blast.
Xander paused, suspicious. He then gave everything a quick check over and satisfied that all was right, he ran for the road.
The only road that led to his property. A road nobody had any business being on.
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