Heavyweight
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Heavy TrafficChapter 17 free porn video
The only difference between the abandoned roadhouse called “The Outpost” and an oversized outhouse was the absence of a crescent moon cut-out on the door.
Sean glanced at the CO monitor on the seat, and then at his watch. Nine hundred and fifty parts per million had been displayed for the past twenty minutes.
The sound of the men in the building complaining of headaches had ceased, but he could still hear the occasional vomiting attack through his headset. The transmitter in the building would not be affected by the carbon monoxide he was spewing into it from the tailpipe of the truck, so he was able to monitor the condition of the gang inside by their sounds.
Since the cinder block building had been abandoned by the previous owner, the front doors and all the windows had been boarded up. The gang had been accessing the building through the one back door, which Sean had blocked when he had backed the truck up against it after he was certain that the last member of the gang had gone inside.
Sean had positioned the truck too fast for them to react to the sound of it, even if they had heard its approach over their boisterous chattering and thumping rap music.
The intelligence that Rick Acosta had obtained confirmed that a Major Ellis still led the organized crime operations of all Black gangs in South Georgia, and that Ellis had accepted the contract from DeMarcus Steele to kill Sherriff Smith.
Ellis had used his own son, Minor, to kill Gideon James, burn down his and Sean’s cabins, and then to take the captured Mickey Anderson and deliver her to DeMarcus Steele personally.
The information on Minor Ellis indicated that he typically rendezvoused with his gang members at this location each night after 11 pm to collect the money from their drug sales, prostitution, and extortion operations. Sean had arrived four hours previous to this and had time to reconnoiter not only the building, but the surrounding area as well.
He had used commercially available spray cans of foam insulation to seal gaps around windows and doors, verified the amount of propane left in the tank behind the building, placed the CO sensors and radio transmitter in the building and prepared the method for the exhaust fumes to enter the building without detection.
While carbon monoxide is odorless, the exhaust fumes from the truck were not. The twenty-six gang members in the building noticed the smell gradually, and when two of them discovered that the only door was blocked by something on the outside of the building, their situation became more obvious.
Several of the men began vain attempts to find an alternate means of exiting the building, or at least a source of fresh air. Others turned to the only solution they had ever needed for any of their problems and began shooting the steel-reinforced back door.
Sean turned off the engine and sat listening to the radio receiver for five additional minutes before getting out of the truck and disconnecting the tubing that had run from the tailpipe to the opening in the building.
He considered sealing it with insulating foam, then decided that the airflow it allowed would serve his purposes better. Returning to the cab of the truck, he started it and pulled away from the building, parking close to the large propane tank that had once supplied fuel for the hot water heater, furnace and appliances in the building. It was still connected through underground pipes, and Sean made quick work of removing the padlock from the service handle, using a bolt cutter. He left the handle in the ‘off’ position and returned to the back of the truck.
Donning the portable respirator that he had purchased earlier at a paint supply; Sean then approached the back of the building and opened the door. Stepping quickly into the building, he did not turn the head-mounted flashlight on until the door was closed again.
The scene was just as he had expected, and he moved accordingly. There were pools of vomit next to every one of the twenty-six unconscious bodies, so Sean took care not to leave any tracks by avoiding the mess. Checking the pulse of each man as he passed confirmed that all were still alive and breathing, which was the desired condition Sean had been seeking. He wanted them to be able to breathe enough smoke to explain the carbon monoxide poisoning any potential autopsies might uncover.
The gang had been using kerosene camping lanterns to light their hide-out, and all were still lit. Sean kicked over two particular lanterns, and while the flames extinguished, the fuel quickly spilled out and began soaking into the worn mattresses on the floor. Sean left the other three lanterns upright and lit. He wanted the flames burning when the propane reached them.
Dragging one of the old mattresses that didn’t have a body on it with him, he left the main room and entered what had once been a kitchen area. Sean found and turned on the valves for the gas lines that at one time went to the stove and water heater and laid the mattress directly in front of these.
With the interior of the building staged to his satisfaction, Sean retrieved the transmitter and CO sensor. He turned off the flashlight, removed it and the respirator, and then quickly exited the building.
Placing the items back into the truck and closing the camper door, Sean then opened the service valve on the propane tank, climbed into the truck and drove past the collection of large SUV’s parked around the walls of the building that the gang had arrived in, and turned onto the highway just after midnight.
“So, you gentlemen like playing with fire,” Sean said to the reflection of The Outpost in his rearview mirror. “Have fun with this one.”
Sean almost chastised himself for these words, until he thought back on the conversations that he and Amanda had had over the past few days. She had been perceptive of his feelings and prophetic of his thoughts where their pending actions were concerned. Sean had killed before, and Amanda knew this, but he was not a “killer”. Twenty-six men were about to die due to his actions, and together they had prepared mentally, emotionally, and spiritually to accept their actions as justifiable.
Each of the gang members currently lying unconscious within The Outpost had some culpability in the killing of Gideon James, the abduction of Mickey and the burning of the cabins; even if they didn’t fire a shot or light a single match.
However, as Sean had explained to Amanda, he could not approach their mission merely as an act of revenge for what had already occurred. His justification needed to be more preemptive in purpose and in promise.
Would each of these gang members someday kill or torture another person if Sean didn’t stop them tonight? Sean and Amanda couldn’t be certain of that, but it was certain that none of them would ever get the chance. If a rancher spotted a wolf stalking his livestock, he didn’t wait to see if it would attack them, he took action to prevent it from attacking. Sean just made certain that this pack of wolves would never be a threat again.
As the truck reached the top of a slight incline on the highway, Sean could see the faint orange glow in the distance indicating that the flames inside the building had already reached the wood covering the windows. As this wood burnt through, additional oxygen would feed the fire and the roof, followed by the vehicles beside the building, would soon become engulfed as well. The flow of propane would not cause an explosion, but it would continue to feed the fire until the tank was empty.
There was little chance that the fire would be noticed, or that emergency responders would get to it before the roof collapsed onto the charred bodies lying within the building. It was even less likely that the scene would be viewed as anything other than an unfortunate accident involving trespassers in an abandoned building falling victim to their own carelessness.
The view of the flames fell away as the truck began descending on its continued journey east. Losing sight of the building, Sean wiped the event from his mind and began focusing his attention onto his next part of the mission, and frequent thoughts of Amanda.
Stephan Mota didn’t even attempt to sleep. He knew it would be a fruitless effort. Instead, he had spent the last six hours scouring the internet and every database he had access to in an attempt to learn all he could on Amanda Wallace. After all these efforts, she remained an enigma to him.
Her Olympic accomplishments were detailed, and there was cursory mention of her when her parents and then her brother had died. Glaringly absent were any details about her business philosophies or her personality in general that would provide some insight into how Mota might be able to deal with her.
It could be assumed that the acquisition of the Tri-Star Partners accounts was done for some reason, or reasons other than merely wanting to own these businesses. As Judge Menéndez had implied, the actions were those of someone seeking vengeance or retribution of some sort, and Mota knew that DeMarcus Steele had definitely brought Tri-Star Partners afoul of Sean Wallace, but that involved Wallace Enterprises, not Wallace Holdings.
Mota had done nothing himself to Amanda or Sean Wallace, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that the old adage, “A friend of my enemy is also my enemy” came into play here.
Sean and Amanda Wallace were obviously working together to a greater extent than Mota had been told; but who between them was calling the shots, and why these particular ‘shots’? The information on Sean Wallace that he had taunted DeMarcus Steele with had been provided by multiple sources that Mota had within various government agencies and was just summary data in every case. Mota had thought that the summaries would be adequate for his purposes, but now that he craved greater details on this man, would these same sources be willing to cooperate. He had his doubts.
Switching from his data search on Amanda Wallace to Sean Wallace, Mota decided to include photos of the man in his queries. If this was his enemy as Menéndez had implied, then he wanted to see what he looked like.
Remembering the conversation with Menéndez, Mota now recalled hearing almost a sense of awe in the Judge’s voice as he detailed the influence that must have been brought to bear for his political and judicial dealings to be under review without any prior investigations or complaints.
Mota knew that the level of the pressure; coming from the Justice Department directly rather than merely a field office, also indicated that the influence was unlikely to have been brought by Amanda Wallace alone.
Photos of Sean Wallace were even more scarce than those of Amanda Wallace, but Mota didn’t need more than the one on his computer screen right now to grasp the understanding he had been seeking.
A wedding photo taken at the White House identified Sean Wallace as one of the groomsmen. It was a grainy news file photo, but Mota could see in the eyes that Sean Wallace was going to be trouble. Becoming “an enemy to his enemy” might be the best approach for Mota to take where Sean Wallace was concerned.
The nearest Wallace Enterprises hotel property was along Interstate 75 in Valdosta. The two-hour drive was worth it for Sean, because staying in one of his properties provided him with the privacy he wanted.
Following his earlier instructions, Emily had made arrangements for the ‘code-word’ check-in which eliminated him even having to show identification or a credit card to obtain a room key. He was completely anonymous to the hotel staff and would remain that way.
Sean took the time to relieve himself in the suite’s bathroom, and then brushed his teeth before removing his shoes and falling fully clothed onto the king-sized bed in the room. He set his cell phone alarm to awaken him at 6 am. Sleep came quickly and easily.
When the alarm sounded, Sean awoke refreshed. He contemplated calling Amanda straight off, but then decided to take a shower and get the in-room coffee maker started first. After the shower, he set up his laptop as the coffee brewed, and while it booted and connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi service, he called Amanda.
Sean wasn’t surprised to hear from Amanda’s perky answering of the phone that she had been awake for a while.
“Good morning Mrs. Wallace. While I don’t enjoy missing you, I do love having you in my life to be missed.”
“I feel exactly the same, Mr. Wallace. Have you seen any of the morning news yet?”
“Not yet,” said Sean as he picked up the remote control for the television, pressed the power button and muted the sound. “What’s going on?”
“Officials are investigating a building fire outside of a place called Thomasville, Georgia that killed twenty-six people. The bodies were burnt beyond recognition, but a spokesman for the volunteer fire department thought they were all males. Since the building had been abandoned and boarded up, they are suspecting that the men were not authorized to use it. A propane leak is suspected as the cause...”
“Did they give a name for the building?” asked Sean. His local news channel was still providing a weather forecast.
“Why do I think you already know the name?”
Sean sighed, “It’s not what I know or don’t know that matters, it’s whether the location gets announced so that the people I want to know find out about it. Hang on...” Sean paused as he unmuted the television to listen to the report that Amanda had mentioned.
The reporter didn’t have to mention the name of the building because it was obvious on the worn roadside sign in front of the burnt-out shell of cinder blocks in the background of the video. Even better the burnt remains of several, what were obviously once Cadillac SUVs were visible. Sean was satisfied that this would suffice for the time being.
Turning off the television and returning to Amanda on his phone, Sean said, “Never mind, the video from the scene showed the name of the building on its sign.”
“So, you’re good then with the news?” asked Amanda.
“I have to be,” said Sean. “My hope is that some other people aren’t good with it.”
“Do you have your next move ready to go?”
“I know what I want it to be, but I’ll need to get the right information back from Rick Acosta before I know if it will work. How are your plans progressing, Mrs. Wallace?”
“Quite well actually, I have a lunch date today with Mr. DeMarcus Steele.”
Even though he and Amanda had discussed this eventuality, Sean’s skin still cooled at the thought of Amanda being alone with the man who most likely tortured Mickey.
“Gail has everything set up for this?”
“Everything is set,” assured Amanda. “Mr. Steele will not be allowed to carry any weapons onto the plane, which unless he knows that private aviation has different rules regarding weapons than commercial flights do, will be a valid reason for him to surrender anything he has on him when he boards. He will be transported directly from the airport here to the house by Jeannie Sexton so he won’t have the opportunity to re-arm himself before we meet.”
“What is the plan for your safety at the house?” Sean asked.
“There will be more than a dozen armed guards within what Gail considers ‘striking distance’ at all times. She has shown me the areas where the cameras will always have both Mr. Steele and me in view, and provided me with two different means of signaling for help should I require it, neither requiring verbal communication, although the microphones will be on the whole time as well to record our conversation.”
“I still wish I was there...”
“I wish you were here too, Sean, but for different reasons. We both agreed that for this part of the plan to succeed we need to put DeMarcus Steele at ease. Thinking he is alone with me, along with certain implied promises should accomplish that. Trust me, Sean.”
“I do trust you Amanda, but I couldn’t love you as much as I do without worrying about your safety.”
“I understand that Sean, and I love you for it. Do you still think that you will be able to be in Atlanta tomorrow?”
“It may be later in the day than I had hoped, but that’s still my plan. Have you discussed flying down with Gail?”
“I have, and she’s working out the logistics just in case. I can’t wait to see you.
“Nor me you. I should probably check e-mail to see if Rick has sent me the information I need. Please call me after your meeting with Steele. I’ll be here at the hotel until sunset at least unless Acosta’s information gives me a good reason to venture out.
“I’ll do that Sean. I love you.”
“I love you too Amanda.”
DeMarcus Steele had been restless all night, and the reason was foreign to him. He couldn’t get his mind off of Amanda Wallace, and his thoughts of her were not what he expected them to be.
Instead of thinking of how he would humiliate and degrade her; physically and emotionally, using her body solely for his own pleasure, he found himself thinking of ways to please her.
She had intrigued him with her proposition to buy his shipment, and placed him into a perpetual state of arousal since her hints of sexual exploration. He knew that the arousal was due to the thought of cuckolding Sean Wallace more than the thought of having sex with Amanda Wallace. Hell, he hadn’t even seen what she looked like. She could resemble one of them bizarre animals that lived in Australia for all DeMarcus knew, but it didn’t matter. He would do his best to make certain that when he was done with her, Amanda Wallace would be spoiled for his cock and resent Sean Wallace for being the Pussy everyone knew him to be.
Choosing a custom-tailored taupe plaid suit to complement and enhance his dark skin, DeMarcus knew that his appearance would impress most women, regardless of their race. He had model-quality facial features, a tall lean, toned body and a captivating smile when he chose to display it. The uniformed sister approaching him now in the lobby of World Wings at Peachtree-DeKalb Airport would soon experience the smile, he decided.
“Mr. Steele, my name is Jeannie Sexton and I’ll be your pilot this morning.” She extended her hand towards him
DeMarcus did smile as he shook Jeannie Sexton’s hand and said, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Jeannie. I look forward to traveling with you.”
“We don’t currently have a magnetometer working in this building. Would you consent to a pat-down for any prohibited items, such as guns, knives, or other weapons?”
“I’m okay with that,” said DeMarcus as the man who had been behind the counter came around to frisk him. DeMarcus raised his arms and allowed the inspection without comment.
When Daniel had completed the search as he had been instructed to perform it, he nodded to Jeannie.
“Excellent Mr. Steele, if you’ll just follow me to the plane, we can be underway shortly.”
Raising his voice to be heard over the sound of various airport noises once they had stepped out of the lobby and onto the tarmac, DeMarcus asked, “How much do you charge for a flight like we’re taking today?”
Jeannie Sexton continued walking towards their plane as she responded, “It depends on several factors, such as the type of aircraft, layover duration, time of day, and the number of passengers. Someone in the office could provide you a quote when we return if you’re interested, Mr. Steele.”
As they reached the plane and Jeannie started climbing the stairs to enter, DeMarcus got an eye-level view of her ass under the khaki pants she wore.
“Fine!” more than summed up the view in his mind. Following her up the stairs, DeMarcus continued their conversation, “A quote’s not necessary. I was just curious how much Mrs. Wallace was paying to have me flown in for lunch.”
Pausing at the door to the cockpit, Jeannie turned and faced DeMarcus. Smiling, she said, “Mrs. Wallace didn’t pay anything for this flight, Mr. Steele. She owns the company. You are my only passenger, so please take any seat you would like and fasten your seat belt. We’ll be taxiing to the runway shortly.”
DeMarcus selected the first forward-facing seat on the right side of the plane after recognizing that it provided a view into the cockpit and might allow him to talk with this fine lady pilot during their flight. The conversation he wanted to have was one of the most challenging for men. How to pry information from a woman about another woman while at the same time trying to make her believe you were interested in her personally.
Unfortunately, the pilot placed a headset over her ears immediately after taking her seat and paid no attention to DeMarcus until they had landed. DeMarcus had not flown too often, and the few times he had, it had been on commercial flights. He enjoyed the convenience that this private flight afforded, as well as the views out the window. Even though he was anxious to meet Amanda Wallace, the time in the air was disappointingly short.
“Welcome to Sumner County Airport, Mr. Steele. Once I get the aircraft parked and secure, I’ll drive you to your meeting with Mrs. Wallace.”
“You provide chauffeur service as well?” asked DeMarcus.
“Not normally,” admitted Jeannie as she opened the cabin door and allowed the fold-down stairs to lower. “However, since I will be flying you back to Atlanta this afternoon, Mrs. Steele felt it would be more convenient if I drove you to and from her house as well.”
She led DeMarcus through the small terminal building and out to the parking lot where she used a remote key fob to unlock the doors of a pearl-colored Volvo C-70 convertible. As he walked around the rear of the car to the passenger side, DeMarcus took note of the temporary tags on the car.
Jeannie Sexton laughed to herself at this character pretending to be a gentleman when he didn’t make any motion to open her door for her. She climbed behind the wheel before turning to Steele.
“Would you like the top down?” she asked.
“That would be nice,” said DeMarcus. “New car?”
“Yes,” answered Jeannie as she pushed the switch that automatically retracted the hard-top into the body of the car. “Mr. Wallace had it delivered for me on Saturday.”
Geraldine
- 19.10.2022
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