Lady Grace the Story of Ben and LaraChapter 17 Father Ben
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Lady Grace: The Story Of Ben And LaraChapter 7: Fulsome Nights free porn video
Fulsome was an ugly city, Lara thought to herself as she waited in a long, exhaust filled line to enter it. It was essentially owned by a corporate conglomerate, and they dictated its civic budget as they saw fit. Evidently, their view of public spending did not include beautification or anything beyond basic sanitation. It was surrounded by sixty foot concrete walls that were stained by rust and soot, and the occasional spire of a high rise or smoke stack that poked into view looked equally tired and drab.
It had a very effective and paranoid police force, so Ben told her. They only enforced the laws they wanted, and one of those laws was privacy. 'Getting into Fulsome is harder than screwing a nun' were his charming and descriptive words. There were only four city gates, one at each end of the crossed highways that went through the city. They were paranoid about who got in or out. If you were on their 'shit list', another of Ben's colourful descriptions, then there was simply no way in.
He had supposedly taken care of his clearance with Mo, during their visit to Corley Motors, but the moment of truth was coming up soon. The line they were in was inching its way towards the gate, as city officials did complete and exhaustive searches of every vehicle. Ben had said that no guns were allowed in the city, so they had buried Betsy and Lara's pistols under a rock in the desert.
Lara was not thrilled about going into the city unarmed, but Ben had just laughed when she suggested smuggling them in or bribing a guard to ignore them. That worried her. Still, if they had to go in unarmed, then it seemed logical that their enemies would be equally disadvantaged. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
It was early evening and Ben and Lara had been on the road for most of the day. According to Torque's last words, Gunny was meeting who ever he was meeting tomorrow some time at a place called the Rebar. Ben had been a rock for the entire trip. He had only spoken when she had asked a question, and most of his answers were rude or abrupt. She understood his mood. It was not like she had expected him to be Mr. Congeniality, but a word that she didn't have to pull out of him like a stubborn tooth would have been nice.
In front of them a car entered the first set of gates, then passed out of sight when the gates closed with a clang. Ben hadn't been kidding about the paranoid security. If there was a problem with your admission, then there was no way out of the steel cage. From an impersonal point of view, Lara had to admire their thoroughness but as a person about to be devoured by those same jaws she found it very imposing.
Ten silent minutes later, the steel gates opened and a plain faced man motioned for Lara and Ben to enter. The two of them drove their bikes in and parked them in the indicated areas. "Shut off your engines and get off of your vehicles," He told them in a bored, monotonous voice.
"Present your identification and place all items on your person into the trays provided."
As soon as Lara and Ben had dismounted their machines, another group of inspectors in oily coveralls swarmed over the vehicles. Lara could see Ben's jaw tense at the sight of people on his bike, but thankfully he said nothing. Their same flat voiced inspector fed their ID's into a computer while another passed their belongings through a series of metal and explosive detectors. Ben wasn't exaggerating, Lara thought. The security in this place is impossibly thorough.
"Lara Estelle Croft, age 31, born in Sussex England,"
The man read off the computer screen impassively. "Hair: brown, Eyes: Brown, Height Five foot eight, Weight one hundred twenty five pounds." As he read off Lara's statistics he glanced at her, making sure that they matched. When he had assured himself that she was who she claimed to be, he continued. "British citizen, in the US on a three month visa. What's your business in Fulsome?" He asked, voice flat.
"Sightseeing."
He just nodded and typed it into the computer. "Duration of stay?"
"Just a day or two."
He looked at her, annoyed. "Which is it, one day or two?"
"Two, I suppose."
He nodded. "Pass through the turnstile. You may collect your vehicle and belongings on the other side." He continued speaking what was obviously a oft repeated statement. "You must sign a waiver stating you know all of this cities regulations before entry, and may exchange your money for currency chits at the Currency Exchange only. Next."
Lara stepped through the turnstile and waited for Ben. There was no way inside to see how Ben was going. Here's where we find out just how helpful Mo was.
This guy was getting on Ben's nerves. "Benjamin Richard Butterwell, AKA Ben Polecat, age 35, born in Springfield, Indiana. Hair black, eyes blue, Height six two, weight two hundred twenty pounds." Ben scowled. He hated that name and every memory that came with it. Ben Butterwell had died in a military prison 14 years ago, and the less said about that the better.
He glared at the bored inspector and wished violence upon him. "Get on with it." Man, Mo had better come through. If she didn't I am one screwed biker.
The man gave Ben a short, empty look before continuing. "US Marine Corps, dishonorable discharge, no reason stated." He glared at Ben a moment, as if the blank record was his fault or something. "No current wants or warrants. Last entered the Fulsome Urban Commercial Zone on 6 March two years ago." Here's where I find out how much sway the CEO of Corley has in this city.
The man paused for a moment, and Ben wished there was somewhere he could run to. There was no jail in Fulsome, just a coal mine that no one ever came out of. They called it 'working off your debt', but the street term was much more colourful: The Black Hole. I ain't gonna rot in no mine.
"What's your business in Fulsome?" The man asked, his voice blessedly bland. Ben let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"Tiddlywink convention."
The inspector gave Ben another bland look.
"Personal." He concluded. "Duration of stay?"
"Two days."
"Pass through the turnstile." He continued to read off his mental cue card. "You may collect your vehicle and belongings on the other side. You must sign a waiver stating you know all of this cities regulations before entry, and may exchange your money for currency chits at the Currency Exchange only. Next."
Ben stepped through the turnstile and stepped up the desk where Lara was waiting and signed away his soul. The waiver stated that you understood the laws of Fulsome and that they superseded normal US law in such areas as privacy, right to bear arms, and freedom of speech. He walked over to his bike and gave it a quick once over. He didn't like other people messing with his bike; you never knew just what they were going to do with it.
"You somewhat understated the security of this city," Lara commented as they walked across the street to the currency exchange. "I had less of a going over when I met King Alistair."
She'd met the king of England? "They're paranoid as hell here. Corporate espionage is pretty fierce." Ben told her as they got in yet another line. "Terrorism, too."
"Why would any biker go into this city?" Lara asked. "It seems far too ... stifling."
Ben shrugged. "Fulsome's neutral turf for every body. You can deal in anything here: Guns, drugs, fenced goods. The brokers stay here because no one can muscle them. The cops'll protect anyone who pays 'em enough."
"So did you get into trouble, the last time you were here?" She asked.
Ben grunted. "Some guy insulted my bike."
She looked perplexed. "That doesn't sound that terrible. I would think that even a brawl would only get
you deported."
"The guy was a cop."
She nodded in understanding. "I see."
Ben was spared further conversation by their arrival at the head of the line, and yet another bored looking bureaucrat. Ben shoved a wad of cash into the slit and the man handed Ben back a number of oblong plastic blocks, each with different colours and numbers. What the hell was wrong with paper cash?
Behind him, Lara handed through her debit card. "Five hundred, please." There she was, throwing cash all over the place again. She took the plastic chips sceptically. "These are quaint."
A number of people watched them leave. "Everyone calls them fuck-bucks." At her raised eyebrows, he explained. "F C U, Fulsome Currency Units." Lady Grace had acquired a fan cub, one that had everything to do with the large stack of fuck-bucks in her pocket. There were three members, and as Ben and Lara left the building, they followed. Ben gave them his best glare, and they went back inside. For now. Pretty soon, though, every mugger and cut purse in the concrete jungle was going to know by the grapevine that Lara was little miss money bags. Just what I need to make this night complete.
"So what do we do next, find this Rebar place or find some place to spend the night?" Lara asked as they went back to their motorcycles. Ben kept watch in his side mirror, checking to see if any one was following them. No one was, but several pairs of eyes were following their progress.
"I already know where the Rebar is." Ben growled. "All we do tonight is find some place to lay low."
Hopefully someplace where these turkeys can't find us. He knew just the place, if nobody had condemned it or burned it down in the two years since Ben had last been here. It was called the Four Star Hotel.
It was in the fraying edge of the commercial sector, near the industrial zone. The cops in the city didn't give a damn about law and order unless it dealt with either the industrial zone, or the executive residential area. Those area were patrolled so tight not even a yellow bunny could get through, but any other place in the city had to take care of itself. No one gave a damn about the neighbourhood where the sagging hotel sat, which made it perfect.
Ben started his bike and took off. He knew that Lara was right behind him.
The Four Star Hotel didn't live up to even one eighth of its name. Perhaps, back in the 1970's when it was built it had been passable, but it hadn't been maintained since then and was most definitely a dive. Ben and Lara had a pair of narrow adjoining rooms on the fifth floor, with a lovely view of the bright, noisy neon sign and beyond it, a drab grey factory wall. It seemed appropriate that the only working letter on the sign, the 'T', was on their floor. It was hardly her first choice for accommodations, but it had a bed and a shower so she couldn't complain to much.
After all, this was Ben's show and she was just along for the ride. He knew the city, and if he felt the best place to hide out was in this rather disreputable place, then she would have to trust his judgement. For now. At least the laundry worked, and for the first time in days she had clean clothes. She had even nagged Ben into surrendering his garbage stained apparel. She was tolerant and understanding of his moodiness but a lady had her limits, and the man positively stank.
At the moment Ben was down in the lounge. He said that he was going to get some food, over which they would discuss their plans for the next day, to surveil the Rebar and find out who Gunny was meeting and why. Lara had been on line with her editor while waiting for Ben to return, discussing her story and editing her last submission. He had been enthusiastic about her recent involvements, and was eager for more.
She was of mixed feelings about that. Up until yesterday, the events that she had been writing about had been to faceless abstract people: a biker and his gang, a new tough muscling into his territory. It was different now. The events that she would be chronicling were about real people: Willie and his duplicity, Torque and his valiant sacrifice, Ben and his loss. It seemed wrong to be making money off of their loss and pain. Her editor hadn't agreed with her moral dilemma, but that was hardly shocking news. She'd agreed to discuss things later, but that was only delaying the problem, not solving it.
There was a pounding at the door and Lara's stomach growled. It's Ben, his arms full of food. She got to her feet from the double bed on which she had been sitting and went to the door to open it for him, a smart remark on her lips. She had just turned the handle on the door when it flew open. Lara had very good reflexes and almost managed to avoid the door, but it still caught her hip and sent her flying.
Lara rolled with the blow and used its momentum to bring her to her feet. She automatically reached for her pistols and remembered a moment later that they were buried out the desert somewhere. Weaponless but by no means helpless, she faced her intruders.
There were three of them. The first was a wiry Hispanic in jeans and an under shirt wielding a nunchaku. Another had long greasy hair and had a pair of wicked looking double edged knives. The third was very tall with shoulders that could have spanned the English Channel. He had a baseball bat. This is not good. Lara had no idea why they were here and they said nothing that enlightened her.
"Can I help you?" Lara asked, trying to keep her voice light. In the past, some of Lara's opponents had been enraged or had misjudged her on the basis of her light, polite words. Considering that she was bare handed against three unpleasant looking men, Lara needed every advantage she could.
"Chicka," the Hispanic said to her in a thick accent. "You're going to give us everything you got." He grinned ferally and advanced into the room.
"Why do I get the impression that you want more than my money?" Lara asked, backing up a step and looking for either a weapon or an exit. Unfortunately, neither presented itself.
The Hispanic smiled again, revealing gaps in his teeth. "You're a smart lady." He swirled his nunchaku before him in a vicious figure eight. "You give us your money and let us have fun, we might tell our boss we never found you."
Threats not withstanding, Lara's interest was peaked. Boss? "And who would your employer be, then?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the swirling block of wood.
"Mr. Williams wants to meet you and your boyfriend," the knife wielder said, stepping towards Lara with a leer. He flicked a glance down to her bosom, and Lara took full advantage of his momentary distraction.
Lara lashed out with her foot, smashing it into the knife wielders knee cap. "And who—" He cried out in pain and stumbled forward. Lara drove her palm into his chin. He fell and she turned to face the remaining two men. "—is Mr. Williams?"
The nunchaku wielder said nothing, just charged her and lashed out with his flail. Lara jumped back, avoiding his blows. It would only take one strike to take her out of this fight, and then he would be free to have his 'fun'.
She could see the bruiser with the bat coming at her from the side, trying to blind side her. Lara kept moving back, trying to keep both men in her field of vision.
This room is too damned small. It had taken her no time at all to get backed into a corner. Lara needed a great deal of room to fight effectively, and these gentleman had so far been very unobliging. The 'chuck wielder smashed the lamp as she ducked his blow and the bat man, no pun intended, put a hole in the wall. As he paused to rip his weapon out of the wall, Lara managed to get one kick into his side, but it didn't seem to phase him. I certainly hope that something I throw can take him down.
The Hispanic lashed out with his two piece rod, and Lara dove onto the bed to avoid him. She was getting nowhere fast. She rolled of the bed to her feet just in time to face the bat man. He swung at her but she stepped into his attack, kneeing his crotch and driving a fist into his short ribs. He grunted and sagged, but didn't fall. So much for that idea. Before Lara could jump back or press the attack, he smashed down with the pommel of the bat onto her head, just above her hair line. Lara's vision flared white and she fell.
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