Stud 7 fucks slave daughter if front of parents
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SargeChapter 22 free porn video
The next morning, while Maurice and Meg went to chat with the police and clerk of court. I went to Aunt Effie’s diner near the motel. First I had breakfast, and then I asked about the trial of the century. That trial would have been the trial of Jerome Edwards who was charged with the murder of his white girlfriend.
The first thing I learned is everyone had some ideas. I began with the weapon with which Evelyn had been killed. I asked if anyone knew what it was. One guess was a big blade, because she was chopped up pretty good. The old man I talked to thought it was a machete, or a big ass camp knife. The kind you could chop fire wood.
“Why you asking all these questions?” the gray headed waitress asked.
“I’m writing a book,” I reported to her.
“Really, I like to read. What else have you written?” she asked.
“You ever heard of ‘Murder on the Rosemary and Time’?” I asked.
She walked away shaking her head. I handed out a half dozen cards, which just had my name on them. They had absolutely zero business information. Those were just a few of the hundred cards I bought on line They were in addition to my security service cards. Since I left Force Protection, I planned to use the new ones for any job I might take.
I left the diner to walk the main street of the town even smaller than Siler City. After an few minutes I went back to the motel to unfold the bike. I carried it outside and then rode it off. After a half hour I rode it to the Coyote Club. The club was closed as I expected. There was a convenience store a few hundred yards away.
I stopped the bike and went inside to fuel up. Since they didn’t have iced tea, the fuel was diet coke. It tasted too sweet, even if it was sugar free. I spoke to the clerk in his late twenties for a few minutes.
“So do you know anyone in the ‘Stand Together’ movement?” I asked.
“Never heard of them,” he replied.
“Really? the Coyote Club is their hangout, and it’s right down the road. I’ll bet, if I got hold of your CCTV tapes of the pumps,” I said pointing to the monitors behind him. “I would find that they are pretty regular customers. I might even find that they don’t pay for their gas. Or maybe they do pay by credit card. I could probably get the state patrol to come take a look at your receipts. The Pure White Militia, or whatever they call themselves these days wouldn’t like that at all.
So why don’t you just tell me the name of the older dude with the greasy long white hair?” I demanded.
“I don’t know, I just heard him called Snake by some of his friends,” he said. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
I put through a call to Mason. I gave him all the information I had on the ‘Snake’ with greasy hair. I asked him to call me back later with the information.
I was back in Aunt Effie’s having lunch around 2PM when I started talking to an electrician about wiring an adobe building up in North Carolina. He laughed at my story, then he told me about Evelyn the woman who got killed.
“Yeah the DNA was what got that black boy sent up. He said, he was with her earlier, but nobody came forward to testify about the time line, or even that Jim Harper’s wife would fuck a black.
His lawyer kept saying he had a witness, but he never called anyone. The jury didn’t have nothing to deliberate about. They just voted to convict him on the very first ballot.”
“I can see that,” I admitted. “It sure would make a better book, if there was a secret somewhere.”
“Well there was some gossip that Jim told his sister he thought she was screwing black. Everybody thought that he was just pissed cause she left him and moved in with her mother two weeks before she was killed.”
“Now that could be a story in itself,” I said and winked at the electrician. “The lawyer surely brought that up.”
“Actually the DA brought it up. He is the one who said they checked the husband, but he was working down on the gulf coast. He had an alibi, so the kid was the most likely suspect.” The electrician suggested.
“You sure know a lot about the trial, did you follow it closely?” I asked.
“I was juror 13, the alternate,” he explained. “I heard all the evidence, but I didn’t have to vote on the case.”
I know it sounds like a lot of information, but trust me I talked to a a lot of people, and I listened to a lot of BS. There was a group of people who went back a hundred years in their thinking, and a hell of a lot who grew up in the integrated south. There were definitely two camps every time I brought up the controversial case.
I was back at the motel with my bike by 4:15PM. Maurice was sitting in one of the two comfortable chairs. Meg was seated in the other one. I took a good look at them before I sat on the bed. I sat on the bed to check my messages for something from Mason.
Message: Jonas Martin Boyle aka Snake, fifty five years old. Several assault charges most of them went away. Not quite sure how that happened. He was doing two years for drug possession when our victim was killed. He orchestrated a bloody coup two years ago. This guy can be very dangerous. Stay away from him, that’s an order. Masons voice demanded.
“So Meg what did you learn from cop central?” I asked.
“Not a lot, everyone told the same story about Jerome. He evidently was a smart ass teenager. He was a disrespectful black kid, who liked white women. The white women of the county seemed to like him,” Meg said.
“All the white women,” I asked.
“Not all, but enough so the he was hated by the cops,” Meg suggested.
“Enough to set him up?” I asked. “They could have faked the evidence. It wouldn’t be the first time evidence was planted.”
“Maybe, but I really don’t see how. There just wasn’t enough hatred to risk everything, but I wouldn’t carve that in stone either.” She voiced her opinion rather honestly I thought.
“So Maurice how goes the clerks office? I asked.
“She let me file a petition to replace the public defender. That is usually a routine thing, but I’m an out of state lawyer, who never passed the bar in Georgia. I’m going to meet the county judge, in his chambers, after he has had time to read the petition,” Maurice explained.
I nodded then said, “Okay now to the important things. First order of business we need to come up with nicknames for you two. Trust me there is a reason for it. It is a kind of code. So Maurice what was your nickname as a kid?”
“God no, you can’t be serious,” he said.
“Come on Maurice, I am going to have to do it too,” Meg said.
Maurice gave in finally. They called me Toad, because I wore these glasses that made my eyes appear to bulge out.”
I went on without commenting, “Okay Meg, what will if be?”
“My family tagged me Little Bit,” she said. “In my teen years it changed to Bitsy.” As she said it, she pointed to her ample breasts.
“Okay so it’s The Toad and Bitsy. Sounds like a great name for a TV movie,” I observed. “I’m going back to listen to the gossip at Aunt Effie’s Dinner.”
“I think you just like seeing us work, while you sit and chat up the ladies,” Bitsy said with a smile.
“When I come through the door, the ladies all move to the other side of the diner. I chat with the working stiffs. I did hear a couple of interesting things though.” I went on to share my intelligence report with them. It was on my laptop, so I just forwarded it to them at the new addresses they set up with their new names.
“So this guy sat in with the jury?” Bitsy asked.
“Yes, but he didn’t give me anything that we didn’t get from reading the trial documents,” I suggested.
“He did reckon that the murder weapon was a machete or a camp knife,” I said.
“What is a camp knife?” Bitsy asked.
“A long thick knife, it’s used like a hatchet,” Toad said.
“Exactly, those things are usually custom made locally. Not always, but I’ll ask around today about a blacksmith or a blade smith. I watch forged in fire,” I explained.
“So you learned about police procedure, and knife making from TV. Did you learn anything else?” Bitsy asked.
“Why do you think I watch all those foreign shows,” I explained with a leer.
“You have an answer for everything,” Bitsy suggested.
“It’s not that. Sarge is the only person I ever met who really doesn’t care what anyone else thinks,” The Toad proclaimed.
“Not true, I’m fascinated by what other people care about. I just don’t care what they think of me,” I corrected him.
“You two have company credit cards, so you decide where we go for dinner tonight,” I demanded. “Then we need to go to Walmart, or some other discount department store. I didn’t bring enough underwear.”
“We already decided that the Farm to Fork sounded good to us,” Bitsy said.
“Well it sounds okay to me as well. Give me thirty minutes to shower and dress, then we can go. You drive your car Bitsy. It’s probably a good idea to keep it in sight,” I suggested.
Dinner that night was very good. I had a piece of Alaskan white fish and the usual southern side items, fries and coleslaw. I had to have corn muffins and iced tea, since they didn’t make hush-puppies for one. Neither of my companions ordered the fish plate.
We went to the Walmart at Fort Oglethorpe . I had Bitsy set her odometer. I found out that it was the perfect ten miles from Ringgold to Fort Ogle. yes I shortened the name to that, or simply The Fort. The traffic was pretty light until we got near the Walmart store. I decided I could make it my ride, if I was careful and I did it at 5AM. The evening ride would have to be around town. I could use that ride to get the lay of the land anyway.
At the Walmart I bought a six pack of briefs, and two more navy blue tee shirts in a size x large. I would rather them be too large than too small. Clothes sizes tended to be a roll of the Dice at Walmart. I also bought a pair of blue work pants.
I was surprised when Bitsy brought a folding bike, like mine, to the checkout register. She had managed to wrestle the bike into a store buggy alone. The Toad and I stared at her in respect.
“What? The company can afford something to keep me in shape as well,” she said.
“I paid for my own, but you are right. We can chalk it up to a general employee fitness program,” I said. “There has to be a crap load of bikes in the Raleigh Chapel Hill area, the great tree hugger enclave.
The minute I got out of the car I recovered my bike and took off on the ride accompanied by Bitsy. Safety in numbers, I thought. It was 7PM when we left and I wanted to get back before dead dark, which if my memory served me, was around 9PM. Maybe it wouldn’t be quite dead dark, but we would definitely be cutting it close.
We stopped for a short break at the Fort, before we turned around and headed for home. “Did you notice how hard it would be for anyone to tail us without being seen?” I asked.
“No, but I can see what you mean. Even so, what would we do about it?” she asked.
“Make a sharp U turn and confront them, or empty this into the car,” I said showing her the 1911.
She laughed nervously, since she didn’t know that I was joking.
Then I added, “Sometimes just knowing someone is following is more than enough. We could get the plate number and track them down.”
“Let’s go back to the motel,” She suggested.
When we got back to the motel, Bitsy came into the Toad and my room without even asking. I had knocked before I used the key. Toad had gone out somewhere it seemed. I was pretty sure I hadn’t seen the company car when we rode into the parking lot.
It hit me then that I knew nothing about Toad or Bitsy’s personal lives. I didn’t need to know of course. It would just be nice, if one or both of them went missing.
“So Bit, what do you do for fun when you are home?” I asked trying to learn something about her.
“I like to cook,” she said. Then added “Naked.”
“Remind me never to drop in on you around dinner time,” I suggested with a laugh. “Weak heart you know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she added with a laugh.
Frog knocked, then came in. “Sorry I wasn’t sure when you would be back, so I went out for a milkshake.”
“Not a bad idea at all. Is it any good?” I asked trying to be friendly.
“It is made with artificial strawberry syrup. That should tell you all you need to know,” he replied.
“Okay, note to self don’t order the strawberry shake,” Bitsy commented.
“Toad, be careful about going out alone. You should have one of us with you whenever possible,” I said as a warning to both of them. I turned my attention to Bitsy. “Can I assume you are packing.”
She simply nodded. She also showed me a Ruger .38 caliber revolver. It was obviously a small easy to conceal version. I didn’t need to handle it to appreciate it.
“How about you Toad,” I asked.
“Hell no, I’m a nerd,” he said with a smile.
“Then you need to use my Mossberg twelve gauge, if we need you in a firefight,” I said.
“God help us if it ever comes to that,” Toad said.
“Indeed,” I agreed.
“Don’t worry Toad, most cops never have to pull their gun,” Bitsy stated a fact.
“That is comforting especially the ‘most’ part.” Toad said with a smile.
The two of them spent the next hour telling each other stories. Toad was married and had a kid so his were mostly about his family. Bitsy was divorced and she confessed to being thirty three years old with a son fifteen. The marriage was short lived and her husband disappeared. She was convinced he was a major component in the foundation of some parking garage or other structure. At the time of his death they were already divorced. He had slipped back into dealing drugs, so it was possible for sure. It was also possible that she joined the police department to try somehow to redeem her husband. Or some other such foolishness.
Angelica
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