A Red Picket Fence
Vert, looking like a four hundred pound, upright, hippopotamus wearing pink tights and a tutu, attempted a greeting through the pizza. Failing miserably at that, he stepped back, still holding the door open. This is the exact thing Sam had been waiting for. She rushed in the door, pushing Carly and her sister in with her.
Then she kicked the door closed.
Passerby's heard loud squealing and screams shortly replaced by the revving of a weed whacker engine.
This went on for a while...
Chapter 10
He felt the slight weight shift on the bed, but still wasn't fully awake. He was chilly, well his legs were. His eyes flickered... No, not his eyes. His eyes were open. The room was flickering... Candles.
"Hey sleepyhead..." A voice said as his dick was being stroked softly.
He looked up to see Carly sitting beside him on the bed. She was grinning while she worked his cock. He was mesmerized. She was nude. Somehow his sweatpants had been pulled down around his ankles without waking him up. Carly took his hand, and placed it on her crotch, and giggled. A tiny little giggle which stopped as her breath hitched as he slid his finger along her moist folds. The door opened silently and the room was suddenly bathed in a bright light, which made him squint. The door closed and the brightness was replaced by the twins. Sam smiled, and said they were here to help. Melanie nodded, smirking as the sisters both slipped out of their bath robes and dropped them on the floor.
Carly looked into his eyes, smiled and pushed herself further down the bed... Her small, pert breasts jiggling as she moved, her raven hair falling over her face, her head was just above his dick. She looked up, directly into his eyes, and smiled...
'CLUNK'
"...a non fatal accident occurred near the Highway 95 and Highway 10 intersection four miles west of Quartzsite. Traffic was slowed and moved to one lane for three hours, but has now been restored to normal..." The clock radio blared.
'...how the fuck did the alarm get turned on...' he thought.
He reached over to press down on the 'off' button as he stared blearily at the damned thing. Five after five... Judging from the sunlight parading through the sooty windows like a fucking brass band, it was in the afternoon. He and the gals must have tied one on again last night... He couldn't remember. But then again, that wasn't anything new for any of them. Where the hell were they? Oh... Yeah. Ehrenberg, Arizona. The bed springs squeaked and the camper shifted slightly as he stood up. He rubbed his three or ten day old beard and adjusted the torn remains of his soiled white wife beater and royal blue boxers. Looking around the inside of the camper, he could see a number of empty pint bottles of cheap, 'POPOV' vodka... 'old soldiers'... Why the hell did folks call empty booze bottles 'old soldiers', he mused. Continuing his survey of his castle, three overflowing ash trays, discarded hamburger wrapping paper and a pair of bright yellow panties that were too small for Sugar Tits... So they are Trixee's. Various cardboard boxes filled with mystery trash... The flotsam that was his life now. Foraging through the ashtrays, he found a longish butt, dusted off the ash sticking to it, and lit it. Inhaling deeply caused a choking spasm that lasted until he spat a gooey, brownish cherry sized blob of phlegm on the floor, where it joined its dried mates from previous days. He blundered over to the campers back door and opened it. His squinted eyes slowly focused, revealing the heat scorched desert complete with dust devils, diesel fumes, idling engines and about a hundred eighteen wheeler trucks randomly parked around the large 'Flying J Mega Truck Stop'.
He farted.
He noticed a fellow walking across the parking lot, toward him. Even with the bright yellow and red - semi setting sun at the guys back, he knew who he was. His old friend, the private dick... Private dick, he chuckled. Why did they call a Private Detective a Private Dick? Even worse, a Hotel Detective a House Dick?
People said weird stuff around a hundred years ago. He turned to his left when he heard a nearby truck growl to life. It spewed black and blue exhaust into the air as it lurched forward and began threading itself through the parking lot on it's way out to the highway.
The truck was red, with 'Playboy' mud flaps.
He took a step down onto the threadbare - carpet covered step, and then another onto the asphalt, scorching his bare right foot. Stepping back up and sitting on the campers floor, he rummaged around in an old cardboard box until he found two, unmatched flip flops. One was red, the other pink. He slid them on his feet.
"Fred..." the fellow said as he walked up and stopped a couple feet from the back of the faded green camper, that was sitting atop the old, rusted out pickup. The pickup did still wear hints of yellow and white, alluding to better days. Days when some happy family had traveled many highways - days long ago.
"Gib..." he answered back.
Fred reached to his side, and pulled an old aluminum folding chair from it's hook on the back of the camper, and dropped it in front of his old friend.
"So Gib... Ya found me... Again." Fred said, chuckling.
Gibby picked up and unfolded the chair. The lawn chair was pretty ancient, and showed it's age. He sat down as he nodded, grinning.
"Melanie still doesn't want a divorce." Gibby said, shrugging.
"Fuck her..." Fred retorted, and then grinned.
"I have been, quite a few times actually. Your estranged wife is a good lay." Gibby grinned back.
"Good for you, yeah, she always was a good fuck. What about Carly, still bangin' her too?" Fred asked as he resumed sitting on the floor of the camper, letting his feet rest on the step.
"Sure... Actually, I've kind of become a 'Freddie surrogate', but I haven't had all three of 'em... Yet." Gibby said grinning.
"Not Sam though, huh? Well, good for you. Just don't try living with 'em. Those three are the most controlling bitches I've ever had the misadventure to fuck. Fuckin' 'em was one thing, living with 'em was something else altogether. You aren't shackin' up with 'em are ya?" Fred asked, slightly concerned.
"Hell no. Never would. Fuckin' two of 'em is enough for me. Cum's n goes Gibby, that's best." He said while he dug into a brown paper bag he'd brought with him, handing Fred a fifth of Kessler's 'Smooth As Silk' bourbon and a carton of Pall Mall unfiltered cigarettes.
"Thanks Gib." Fred said before unscrewing the cap and taking a long-ish pull on the plastic bottle, then flicking the remaining small stump of his cigarette out onto the asphalt parking lot.
Gibby nodded as he wadded up the empty paper bag and dropped it beside his chair.
Fred offered the bottle to Gibby, who shook his head, no.
"More for me, then..." Fred mumbled as he slid the bottle to the side, hiding it next to the wall.
You know, screwing Carly and Mel is kind of cool... Fucking both the twins would be strange." Gibby said thoughtfully.
"Eh, you get used to it. It isn't so bad. The only way you can tell 'em apart is their bushes." Fred replied.
Gibby shrugged, again, before he said; "I'm still the huge secret. Carly and Melanie don't know I'm doing both of them. Sam doesn't know about me at all"
Fred nodded as he looked behind Gibby. "Hey baby..." Fred said as Gibby turned to see who Fred was speaking to.
"Back atcha Buck, Hey!." The tall, lithe red head greeted Gibby as she walked past him. She continued on, stopping in front of Fred, leaning into him and giving gave him a sultry, sloppy kiss.
She stood back up, then sat on Fred's lap.
"Need a quick fuck, buddy? Blow job?" Fred asked, pointing at the red head with his thumb.
"Best pussy, right here." She said while turning on Fred's lap to face Gibby and lifting up her tiny red skirt, showing him her shaved snatch.
"On the house, buddy. Trixee here is a fuckoholic." Fred casually mentioned.
"Thanks, but no. I'm good." Gibby replied even though he had run his tongue over his lips as he watched Trixee spread her legs and stick her finger into her bald kootch.
"Your loss..." Trixee said as she dropped her skirt and stood back up.
"Ha! Nah... This fellas got a code. Some ethics bullshit, Trix. All while he's fuckin' his clients, some of whom are my ex's." Fred said, laughing.
Gibby grinned, and nodded.
"I've picked up a couple. Sugar's got three over in that yellow Freightliner." Trixee said pointing to a truck about two hundred yards west of them. The yellow truck was nearly invisible as it was being back lit by the setting sun.
Fred held out his hand, while Trixee placed a small wad of cash in his palm.
"Trix, why don't you get that hot ass of yours over there and see if Sugar needs any help with those three... Maybe pull another hundred out of 'em."
"Okay Buck." Trixee said as she stood and began strolling toward the yellow Freightliner.
Gibby turned and watched her leave. About ten feet away a little dust devil blew past her sucking her tiny skirt up, exposing all she had... It didn't even phase her. He waited a moment more for her to get out of earshot before turning back to Fred and saying; "Still not using your name, huh? That's good I guess..."
Fred shrugged, then nodded as he retrieved his hidden bottle and took another long pull.
"So... Mel doesn't want a divorce, but I really couldn't tell you why." Gibby said as he reached into his pocket and produced a thick envelope.
"That's it then?" Fred mentioned, nodding toward the packet his friend held out to him.
"Yep, and you were right about all of 'em." Gibby said as Fred took the envelope.
"Yeah... I knew I was. Okay, I guess it's time. It's been damn near a year. Let's wrap this up, buddy" Fred said.
Gibby nodded his agreement as he reached into his Levis pocket and produced a set of car keys.
"Where is it?" Fred asked.
"Out front, green Caddy." Gibby replied.
"Okay... You need to get to Wells, Nevada. About fifty miles east of Elko on the 80. Can't miss it, address is in this paperwork. Don't mind Sugar, and don't listen to her. If Trixee suggests something, go with it." Fred said as he stood and stepped directly in front of Gibby and handed him a folded piece of paper.
"Good enough..." Gibby said, standing as well.
"They still have my Lincoln?" Fred asked.
"Still in the driveway as of two days ago." Gibby replied.
Fred nodded, and held out his hand. Gibby took it, and they shook.
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One more chapter to go. It's nearly written.
I'll post it as soon as it's finished.
Next week, or month, or year...