92
Aligned Design
Ch 16
Navicky and Pangborn drove in silence. Each man considered the options open to him. Neither was particularly happy with the way this day was ending.
Navicky ran through how he saw this going down. He'd drive to the storage unit, unlock it, make Pangborn go in first, move the paintings to his car, take Pangborn to his car, and shoot him, take the money, and leave with the paintings. Then . . . call Jenese.
Pangborn ran through how he saw this going down. He'd ride with this idiot to where ever those paintings were. Load them into the car, break this jerk's neck, take Navicky's keys and drive away.
Neither spoke. Each imagined. Both smiled.
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"Bobby?"
"Oh, Honey," he was so relieved to hear her voice. "Thank you for calling me."
"Of course I called you, I said I would." His voice is so soft, she thought. "Bobby . . . I'm sorry this happened."
He sat on the edge of the bed his forehead resting between the thumb and fingers of his right hand, elbows on his knees. What do I say? I don't want to say the wrong thing.
"Bobby, are you ok?" Gleason sat on the bed, knees pulled up, leaning back on a pillow, the green throw around her. Why won't he talk to me?
"I'm, I'm here."
They sat silently for nearly a minute. Then Gleason said, "Bobby, I know you are angry with me. I'm sorry I left the way I did. I had to come to Chicago. I should have told you."
She could hear him exhale. "Why are you in Chicago?"
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Jenese got out of his car, smoked a cigarette and watched Navicky cross the car park to the beat up Honda. He saw the stranger straighten up and walk to the passenger side. The two men spoke briefly and then get into the car. Jenese stubbed out his cigarette and got into his own vehicle. He waited for Navicky to exit the car park and then followed. He tried to keep two vehicles between them.
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Oh, she did not want to tell him why she was in Chicago. Not over the phone. It will be so complicated, she in Chicago, he in New York. "Bobby . . . love, I, I . . . I want to talk about it when I come home. It's complicated, Bobby."
He said nothing and squeezed his eyes with the fingers of his right hand. She heard him sniff. "You're not coming back, are you?"
"Of course I am, sweetheart! Bobby, I'm coming home Friday night. I told you. I am coming home." She was so sorry she'd done this to him.
"Will you stay? Will you stay here, with me? Gleason, I need you." His voice was so soft.
"Bobby. Oh. . ." She was lost for words. Anything she said would be nothing he wanted to hear.
"Ok. I understand." His voice had changed, he sounded flat; he wasn't upset, sad, angry. He felt nothing.
"Oh, Bobby. Please, I'll explain everything Friday night. Please love, we'll talk about all of it when I get home. Ok? Say we'll talk Friday night."
"Whatever you want." He detached. Nothing mattered. Whatever she wants.
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Navicky drove to an industrial area in Brooklyn. Jenese followed. Navicky turned right from Myrtle onto Clinton Avenue and headed for "Big Apple Storage – Take a Bite out of Your Clutter." The facility sat on the left, half way down the second block, just before Flushing Avenue.
Navicky pulled into the blacktopped driveway, stopping in front of the ten foot, barred gate. Chain link fencing crowned with curls of razor wire surrounded the entire property. Two rows of four sheet metal buildings stood parallel to the drive. Each of the eight buildings housed five individual units on each side. Two, twenty-foot tall buildings towered at the far left end, parallel to the shorter buildings. All ten buildings rested on a blacktop field.
"This is it," said Navicky as he put the car in park and got out. Pangborn watched Navicky walk to the gate and pick through the keys on his ring. Navicky opened the lock and swung the gate wide. Pangborn's eyes never left him. Navicky returned to the car and they drove through.
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"Don't, don't be like this . . ." Gleason began to cry. Softly, nearly silently, she cried. She didn't want him to hear her. He did. And it broke his heart.
"Gleason . . . Gleason, honey . . . don't, don't cry. Baby, don't cry. Come on. I'm sorry. Gleason, please." He waited. She cried softly, sadly. After a bit, he heard her crying slow. She hitched a sob. "Honey?"
"Bobby, I miss you. I want to come home. I want us to be together. I miss you so much. I want you to love me. Will you make love to me when I come home? Will you?"
"Oh, god, Gleason, yes. Yes, honey. I want you." Bobby had wanted to make love to Gleason for weeks. But she had been so sick. He, too. He'd recovered and wanted her. But, he had been afraid to hurt her. She was so weak. God how he had wanted her.
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Jenese watched the Honda turn right into a blacktop driveway in front of a storage facility. He drove past and continued down the block. Jenese turned around in an abandoned gas station and slowly headed back up the block.
He pulled to the curb and watched Navicky's car drive through the gate. He noticed the Honda turn left, between the fence and the front of the buildings. Navicky stopped just past the third building and backed into the driveway between the third and fourth buildings
Jenese watched the Honda disappear between the buildings and pulled from the curb. He entered the storage lot through the opened gate and turned right, stopping at the end of the first building. He turned left at fence in front of him and followed it to the rear of the first building. He turned left again, drove between the two rows of buildings, and pulled into the drive between the second and third buildings. He stopped at the second door from the end. He was on the opposite side of the building where Navicky's Honda sat. Jenese could see the exit driveway straight a head of him.
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Each listened to the other breathe. Then, softly, Gleason said, "I thought of you yesterday. I was thinking of our first time. That Saturday night. Oh, Bobby it was so good. Everything you did." An ache started between her legs, a nice ache. "Do you remember?"
Bobby said nothing for half a minute. He had to sit up; he was stiffening. "Oh, yes honey, I remember. It was good. So good."
Gleason slid down on the bed, pulling the pillow under her head, "Will you do everything to me again? Will you make me come? Like you did?" she whispered.
"I'll do anything you want. Tell me what you want me to do. Tell me." His voice was husky.
"Remember how you kissed me? I love the way you kiss me, Bobby."
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Navicky stopped in front of the second door from the end. He put the car in park and popped the boot. Both men sat and stared ahead.
"Ready," asked Navicky. He glanced over at Pangborn and opened his door. Navicky did not notice that Pangborn used the edge of his shirt to open his door. Pangborn stayed on the passenger side of the car as Navicky again fumbled through the keys. He watched the other man open the cheap lock and turn to him.
"Are you going to help me with this, or just watch?"
Pangborn came around the car and stood beside Navicky as he bent and raised the segmented overhead door. It was dark inside the unit.
"You go first," Navicky said to the buyer.
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"I love kissing you. Your lips are so soft. You taste so good. You are sweet. And salty. I like your salty places." He stretched out on the bed. He was nearly erect.
"Your tongue, Bobby, what you do with your tongue. Where you put it." He heard her breathe.
"I want to lick you. I want to drink your juice. You like when I lick you there, don't you? Feel it, put your hand down there. Touch it. Touch that place. Do it, honey. Touch there."
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Jenese removed his Glock .22 from under the seat and took the silencer from the glove box. He checked the ten round magazine and threaded the silencer. Soon, soon, soon, he said to himself.
He opened the car door, stepped out, closed the door, but didn't shut it. He crept to the near corner of the building and then along the end to the next corner. He peeked around. Those two are less than seventy-five feet from me. Shit, I can pop them both from here. This will be a piece of cake!
Navicky motioned for Pangborn to enter and Navicky followed him. Jenese leaned back against the end of the building. He'd wait until the six canvasses were in Navicky's car, then pop! pop! He would back his car up to the Honda, move the paintings from one car to the other and off he'd go. Baltimore, here I come, he thought.
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Oh, god, Gleason thought. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She slid her hand down the front of her pajama bottoms, under her panties. She felt her wetness.
"Oh, Bobby." He heard her suck in air.
"You're wet aren't you? You are wet for me. Move your finger over your nub. It's my tongue. Feel it? That's my tongue, baby. Good?" His voice was so deep, rough.
"Oh, god, Bobby. It's, it's good. You need to feel good, too. Are you hard? You are so long, so thick. Do you want me?"
"Yes." His breath came quickly. "Yes, I'm hard, Gleason. I want to be in you. You are tight, hot. Wet. Uh!"
"My mouth was around you. My tongue, remember? I love sucking you, Bobby. You are so big. So hard. I want you in my wet mouth." Gleason's finger rubbed harder on her clit. She breathed through open lips.
He moved the phone to his right hand and shifted on the bed, sliding his pants to his knees. He pulled himself free, fully erect. He grasped himself and moved his hand up, then down. He moaned aloud.
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"Isn't there a light in here?" Pangborn didn't like being inside, out of the light. It would be just like this chump to take him out. He stepped back outside.
"Ok, ok. Take it easy. Here." Navicky found the string hanging from the ceiling and pulled. "There. Better? Now get in here and help me with these."
The unit was empty save for six wooden crates leaning against the far wall. The crate was about five feet by three feet. They would easily fit into the boot or hatch of a mid-size vehicle.
"Come on, give me a hand. Let's get this done."
Navicky and Pangborn each took a crate and moved it to the boot. Jenese shot a look around the corner. He worried about being seen, he was that close. It was hard to tell how many paintings were in the boot. He stole one more look and saw Navicky reach for the strap on the overhead door. Pangborn stood by, watching. Now, do it now, Jenese shouted to himself. Now!
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"Oh, god, Gleason. God." He was breathing hard. "You are hot inside. And tight." He slid his fist up and down, slowly. "I want to be in you." His thumb rubbed over the tip, smearing the drops of early cum. "Slide your finger inside. Slide in slowly. Like I did." He ran his fingers up and down the ridge on the underside of his velvet length. "Do it, slide in. All the way." His penis was thick, hard, long and dark red. He slid faster and faster. "In and out, slowly, in then out. Oh, unh. Unh!" His eyes were shut tight. He was right there with her. He felt her wetness. He was approaching the edge. Soon. Oh, god.
"Unh, unh, oh, Bobby. I'm going to come. I want to come. Oh, god."
"Yes, come, let me hear you come, honey. Feel it. Go in and out. Fuck yours – . . . oh, unh. Gleason, come. Come. Ungh, ungh! Come, honey. Feel me. In you. Let me hear you come."
Gleason panted, and moaned. She slid in two fingers. She rubbed her clit; she slid in and out. She felt him. She rubbed against her own fingers. "Oh, uh, ungh, god, ungh, ungh, aaaagggghhhh . . ." She came with guttural, feral sounds. Gleason rode against her hand, arching up from the bed.
He heard her come and he exploded. Short, fast streams shot from him and fell onto his shirt; it ran down his fist, through his fingers. His hips jerked up as though fucking her on top of him. His deep growls were short and fast, just like his cum.