Lucky Jim 2 Student Farmer Volunteer Pickup Truck DiplomatChapter 38
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Lucky Jim 2-Student, Farmer, Volunteer, Pickup Truck DiplomatChapter 24 free porn video
Thursday
I found that I really enjoyed the few minutes of watching the dogs chasing each other in the morning. Their carefree enjoyment lifted my spirits, especially after finding the human remains yesterday.
I also began to better appreciate the individual personality and sexuality of each woman in the harem and worried less about one or more wanting to leave the relationship. I had no idea why I was less worried about it, but I let the worrying drop, just like I didn’t wonder anymore why or how I got the feelings of warning about things. This morning, Chloe was my pre-dawn treat. “I didn’t take my birth control pill yesterday,” she said in a sultry voice.
“Then I guess I should cum as deep inside you as I can,” I growled back as I slammed my full length into her dripping pussy in a single thrust. “You. Are. Going. To. Be. A. Won. Der. Ful. Mom,” I grunted each time our bodies slammed together. She wailed loudly as she came, feeling me pulsing inside her, sending my sperm in search of an egg. I figured the odds were low that she’d get pregnant so soon after stopping the pill. Still, the possibility excited me enough that I came much sooner than I had expected to.
Trying to decide what to do today, I started to get an uneasy feeling, one I was starting to dislike. I couldn’t place the feeling, and couldn’t identify a location or a threat, but still felt that something needed my attention, and not something that I’d forgotten to do.
I warned Sonja, who was on duty. Seeing Toni, I asked her to muster the handlers and dogs and have them armed and wearing vests. I ran to the bedroom and did the same for myself. Chloe ran into the room a couple minutes behind me with Jan, Carlotta, and Marisa right on her heels. I was surprised when the girls grabbed Glocks and holsters, and even extra magazines.
“We found a range in town and have practiced almost every day,” Chloe explained as she pulled her MP5/10 and extra magazines after donning her vest.
When I was ready, I went outside and walked around the house. The feeling was strongest at the southwest corner. “Any action in the boathouse tunnel?” I radioed Sonja, even though the boathouse was due west.
“Negative, no action in any of the tunnels,” she replied.
“It’s that way,” I said to nobody in particular, pointing southwest. The wind was blowing from that direction, but none of the dogs were reacting to anything.
“Meridian is that way,” Mrs. Jefferson commented.
While it still didn’t explain what was bothering me, her comment rang true. “I think the problem is in Meridian,” I said as I ran towards my truck. Martine joined me while four of the Wounded Warriors followed in a car. Everyone else stayed to watch over the house.
While Jan called the FBI office, I called Walt. “We have an agent watching the judge hearing the case against the Whyte Knyghts, and one watching the prosecutor. There’s a hearing this morning,” he replied.
“That’s it!” I almost shrieked. “Get the judge and the prosecutor somewhere safe. I have an FBI agent and four handlers with me en route. We should be there in fifteen minutes,” I exclaimed.
“Let me talk to your handlers,” Walt requested.
I gave him Leon’s cell phone number, telling him they were in a car behind me. Several minutes later, he called me back. “I just swore them all in as temporary Deputy Marshals,” he explained. “I’ll get there with more agents as quickly as I can get a flight.”
Five minutes later, one of the Deputy Marshals in Meridian called. They were hunkered down in the homes of the judge and the prosecutor. I got directions to the judge’s house and asked him to call Leon with directions to the prosecutor’s house.
When I got to the street the judge’s house was on, someone dressed like a cop was blocking the cul-de-sac where the judge lived. “Beat it buddy, road’s closed,” he growled.
“Do you know where Ashwood Street is?” I asked, having no interest in Ashwood Street. I didn’t even know if there was an Ashwood Street.
“I said get lost,” he insisted, his hand reaching for the gun in the belt holster. Unfortunately for him, I knew the sheriffs and the Meridian police didn’t use a Colt 45. They also didn’t wear loafers. I opened my door and slammed it into him, knocking him backwards. Jumping out, I was ready if he still tried to pull his gun.
It turned out to be a non-issue as he had hit his head when he fell backwards and was out cold. “Go,” ordered Martine, motioning towards the houses on the cul-de-sac. Her phone was in her left hand calling for backup and her gun in her right hand as she kicked the guy’s gun away and kicked him again to roll him over onto his stomach so she could cuff him.
I didn’t even have to check house addresses. In a ritzy neighborhood where anything less than a Mercedes would be social suicide, the beat-up green and primer grey pickup truck stood out like a sore thumb, especially since it was pulled up across the sidewalk. The driver noticed me coming his way and started to raise the 30-06 he held. Even though I was running, I managed the awkward shot and a three-round burst from my already-raised MP5/10 permanently disabused him of that notion. Somebody was going to have to clean blood, gore, and grey matter from the sidewalk, though.
The lack of a report from my weapon when I fired it caused me to realize that Martine had taken the time on the drive in to attach my suppressor. “Driver’s down,” I reported to Martine.
“The fake cop is cuffed, and still out,” she replied.
Seeing no sign of entry in the front of the house, I crept around the side finding a wooden gate that was still open. “U.S. Marshal, freeze,” I shouted at the two guys I found trying to jimmy a window. The one who didn’t have a tool in his hand spun, raising his pistol. My three-shot burst in the head stilled him. The second burst did the same to the man who had been trying to pry the window open when he switched to trying to unholster and aim his pistol at me.
Unfortunately for him, when his partner collapsed, I was already aimed right at him.
“Two more down,” I said to Martine via our radio.
“Local Leos should be here any minute,” she informed me.
“Tell them that I apologize, but I’m a little wary of anyone I don’t know right now after the fake cop, so they might want to form a perimeter. They should secure the house behind this one, and make sure all the neighbors have been evacuated.”
I heard glass breaking as I finished the transmission and hurried to the back corner of the house. I arrived just in time to see one man stick his hand through the broken window in the back door, opening the door. His partner was watching him but looked up and saw me.
“Federal...” I started to shout when the other man started unloading a full magazine from a TEC-9 into the woodwork of the corner of the house. Fortunately, I dropped to the ground after jumping back behind the corner and he missed. Pulling my Glock, I held the barrel of the MP5/10 out beyond the corner and up high where they would expect it. When the guy began unloading a second magazine, I leaned around the corner near the ground and fired with the Glock before he could react to me. His mouth opened in surprise and he keeled over backwards with a large, dark red bloom forming on his chest and spreading rapidly.
His face was frozen the same way when I got there and kicked his gun away. Shit, the guy had eight more magazines with him for the TEC-9. I informed Martine that there was one more down, and at least one in the house.
“The Marshal inside says to thank you. He has a yellow windbreaker on and has red hair like you. The judge and his wife both have salt and pepper hair. All three have on vests,” she informed me.
I was torn. Should I continue to look around the outside for anyone else or go after the known bad guy inside? I chose the known, making sure to re-lock the back door, even though the window was broken. I took a pot hanging from a rack above the stove and hung it on the doorknob. If anyone tried the door, I’d hear the pot falling.
The quiet squeak of a door opening inside the house let me know where the bad guy was and I headed that way. He was still searching the downstairs. Since I knew the trio he was looking for were upstairs, I found a spot where I couldn’t be seen, yet I could watch the stairs.
“Freeze,” I shouted when he put his foot on the bottom step. He actually froze for a couple of seconds. Evidently, he figured that his odds of me missing him and him getting a lucky shot off were better than the odds he’d face in court. He might have been right. Either way, he wouldn’t have to worry about the consequences of the decision now. I hoped the judge’s housekeeper wasn’t squeamish.
“I think I got them all. We need five body bags. Tell the locals that they can approach now. They might want to check the south side of the house outside because I only checked the front, back, and north side. Still, how many racist idiots does it take to fill the back of a four-banger pickup truck?” I laughed. “Let the folks upstairs know I’m watching the stairs and think they’re safe now, but they might stay put until the cops finish checking outside,” I advised.
“Roger,” Martine replied. I stayed hidden until the pot fell off the door handle.
“Meridian PD,” a man shouted.
“U.S. Deputy Marshal, you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine,” I hollered back, getting laughter in reply. A hand appeared in the kitchen doorway with a badge.
“Enter,” I hollered back, holding my ID and badge out where he could see it.
“Damn but you’re messy,” he laughed after he looked at the body on the stairs and at my ID. He introduced himself as Lt. Anders.
“Look at the bright side. Cleanup and a burial cost a hell of a lot less than a trial and prison,” I shot back.
“We cleared the outside, you got ‘em all,” he confirmed. I called Martine and she called the agent upstairs.
Still, he came downstairs cautiously and alone, and then shook my hand. “We had just hung up the phone from the warning when the truck skidded to a stop out front. Otherwise, we would have been getting into the car,” he said.
I had Lt. Anders contact the officers at the prosecutor’s home. So far, nobody had shown up, so I called the handlers. “The feeling is gone; I think they went after the judge first, or only went after the judge,” I told them.
We got the judge to the courthouse only a few minutes late. He didn’t even give the attorneys for the Whyte Knyghts an opportunity to say anything. “After the attempt on my life this morning by six compatriots of your clients, I don’t even want to hear your arguments against my denial of bail. In fact, I don’t even want to see or hear from you until the trial starts. Bail still denied,” he growled, slamming his gavel. I wasn’t sure if the shocked looks on the attorneys’ faces were from the judge’s outburst, or because of the attempt on his life. I hoped it wasn’t because the attempt failed.
The bailiff motioned for me to follow the judge into chambers. I felt a bit self-conscious since everyone we had passed on the way into the courthouse gawked at me carrying my MP5/10 over my shoulder as I strode purposefully into the courthouse. I still had my Glock out as I walked in front of the judge guarding him and accompanying him into the courtroom.
“On behalf of myself, my wife, and all the other federal judges the Marshals protect, I want to thank you. You undoubtedly saved at least three lives today. I’ve heard snippets of conversation about you for a week now. Evidently, you only recently moved here, and have already stirred up a hornet’s nest. Good job, thank you for everything, and good luck,” he said emotionally. Eschewing the proffered hand, he hugged me, laughing when the barrel of my rifle smacked him on the head.
I was home well before the backup agents from Jackson got to Meridian. I wrote my report and emailed it to Walt. While I was in the study cleaning my MP5/10, Chloe came in. Her eyes were blazing as she locked the door behind her. “Strip,” was the only word she uttered as she began leaving a trail of clothing on the floor from the door to my desk.
“Oh, god,” she moaned, shuddering as she buried her face in my hair and inhaled. Our coupling was fast and intense. “If I’d known you planned to get into a gunfight today, I would have let someone else take my turn this morning she sighed contentedly after our coupling was complete and another dose of babymakers were happily swimming inside her.
I was surprised when my new cell phone rang. “Reynolds,” I answered.
It was Mr. Smith with a transaction for me to handle. The buyer would be contacting me momentarily, and the “military surplus” items were already at NAS Meridian awaiting shipment. He gave me the agreed-upon dollar amount and I would need to meet the buyer at the east gate and escort him in. Once the transaction was complete, his aircraft would land and assume possession of the military surplus.
“Any chance you can start your initial tour tomorrow or Saturday?” he asked.
“As long as I can make a few personal stops along the way. I have three sets of future in-laws to meet, and want to sell some gems and gold,” I explained. He started laughing when I said three sets of future in-laws.
“I assume your menagerie will be with you,” he laughed.
“Yes, we want the future in-laws to meet everyone,” I replied.
“Figure out how much your airfare would be, and let me know where you need to stop. I’ll provide air transportation for everyone for what it would cost you to fly commercial. As for the gold and jewels, you might want to hang on to some of those. Some foreign dealers ask for something besides currency. Bring the gems to get a current appraisal. Then you can follow the current price online to see how much more or less they are worth at any given time. You can also follow gold prices online since most ingots are stamped with the weight.
“Okay, I’ll get back to you later today,” I answered before hanging up. I’d just finished telling Jan when my cell phone rang again. “Reynolds,” I answered.
“I understand that you carry military surplus items,” the man on the other end said with a thick accent.
“I do, would you like to see them?” I asked.
We agreed to meet at the east gate to NAS Meridian at 5:00. He would ask how last year’s corn crop was, and I’d tell him that the tomatoes did better.
My attorney called with the three appraisals for both properties. He would email copies to me and would finalize the paperwork when we reached an agreement on the two properties.
Stella ran into the office and hugged me so tight that she almost strangled me. Her eyes were red and swollen and tears streaked down her face. “I just found my parents and called them,” she sobbed. “That bastard told them that I died in childbirth, and wouldn’t tell them anything about where or when the funeral was. They thought I was dead all those years,” she sobbed even harder.
Her parents lived in Jackson. They would be here as quickly as they could drive here. After warning Keegan that I would need a dozen bottles of hooch tomorrow for gifts, I left for the airbase. After showing the gate guards my Marshals badge and ID, they told me they were expecting one guest and me.
My guest arrived five minutes later and followed me onto the base. Another guard came with us to escort us to the hangar we wanted. I was shocked to see ten M-60 tanks inside the hangar. I didn’t even know we still had those around. The buyer spent fifteen minutes looking over each tank as if he were buying a used car--which I guess he was in a way. I almost expected to see him kick the tank tracks since there were no tires.
Then he checked each pallet of ammunition, twenty pallets of shells for the tank, and ten pallets of .50 caliber cartridges. Satisfied, he wired the money to the offshore account and made a phone call.
“Is it okay for his planes to land?” our guide/guard asked me a minute later. I nodded and he confirmed permission to land over his radio. Several minutes later, five C-17s and an An-124 began landing. Three were directed to us while the other three were directed to wait on a nearby tarmac that was empty.
It was a long evening, watching the planes rolling to a stop and being grounded, and then watching the ramp of the C-17s lower. The nose of the An-124 opened like our C-5. At that point, two tanks were carefully driven onto each plane. Men inside the plane were carefully positioning the tanks and the pallets of ammunition to balance the load. I called the house to let them know I was going to be here a while--a long while.
Long after my usual bedtime, the last plane was loaded. The planes were refueled, and our guide/guard told us how much fuel they used. My contact wired another chunk of change to the account for the fuel and thanked me. “You are a vast improvement over your predecessor. He was usually drunk, and was always hinting for a ‘tip,’” he explained indignantly. “He didn’t seem to understand that we are just the faces of the deal. Everything is already arranged and agreed upon before you or I ever know about it,” he continued.
He shook my hand before motioning for his car, which drove onto the final plane. As my contact started to board his plane, a Blackhawk set down nearby, and ten men wearing BDUs with no names or insignias climbed out and walked aboard the same plane. The last man gave me a half-salute as he boarded and I returned it. My guide/guard had snapped a crisp salute when they started boarding and held it until the last man was aboard.
“Fuck, a SEAL team was here,” he said afterwards, the awe in his voice clearly evident. I wondered what that was all about, the tanks, ammo, and SEALs, but it wasn’t my job to poke my nose into things.
Even though I was more asleep than awake when I got home, I checked my study. There was a note from Jan taped to my monitor. “Mr. Smith called for our itinerary. I gave it to him and told him what the airfare would run. He says for us to be at NAS Meridian tomorrow morning at 0700. A plane will pick us up. Your suitcase is already packed.” She also told me how much I was supposed to wire him, so I signed onto my computer and transferred the money.
Before I forgot, I got all the bags of gems and unknown metal from the bedroom closet safe and packed them in a duffel bag. Then I crawled into bed with my sleeping harem.
Friday
Okay, this was too much. Two dogs were nudging me with their noses, trying to wake me up. I’ve got to tell you, doggie breath in your face at 4:23 sucks. For a second, I almost panicked, thinking that the dogs were trying to warn me about something. The lack of a feeling that something was wrong made me realize that the dogs were just used to getting up with me at this time.
After relieving my own overnight built-up hydraulic pressure, I headed for the back door. By the time I got there, I felt like the puppy pied piper. All the dogs had padded out of their rooms to fall in with us. Their orderly exit through the back door was almost as funny as the first morning when three dogs got stuck trying to run through the door at the same time. This time, they almost looked like they were marching in formation, two abreast, as they exited. Once through the door, though, it was every dog for itself.
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