"A Bag Full of Cash" (closed)

[PollyWannaCracker]

Claire slipped into some casual clothes to begin her morning. Well, morning might not be entirely accurate; she hadn't awoken until a bit past noon, and now -- showered and fed with her day about to get underway -- it was nearly 2pm.

But there were benefits of being retired at age 24: no schedule to keep, no alarms to set and then silence.

Again, retired might not be entirely accurate either. Since just shortly after her 20th birthday, Claire had been working as the mistress of Tyler Timmons, one of Boston's most powerful crime lords. She'd been a dancer at a high brow strip club when they'd met; when he left three hours later and six grand poorer, he was a very satisfied man and Claire was no longer a stripper. They'd been together nearly every day over the past four years: sometimes for just a few minutes, a quick suck and fuck; sometimes for the whole day or a weekend or full week, out on Tyler's 44 foot sailboat or skiing in Canada or down south on some beach, often in little to no clothes.

Tyler had even incorporated Claire into some of his business dealings. Whether they be associate or competitor, Tyler had learned that men tended to be distracted by Claire's curves and the way she casually but often erotically shifted them about as she strolled about a room or simply sat in a chair with a long, lean leg crossed before her. Tyler often found that Claire's presence gave him an advantage in business dealings.

Of course, Tyler was now surely regretting having allowed the former stripper such access to his business dealings. Claire made her way to the ratty old twin bed mattress laying on the floor of her new abode and looked down into the unzipped duffel bag packed full of bundled money. She hadn't actually counted it yet, but when last Tyler had shown it to her, he'd told her there was nearly $2 million dollars in it. It had been intended to be their get-away money in case he'd had the need to get away quickly, either from competitors or the authorities. Well, the money had gotten out of town, as had Claire. Not so much Tyler, though.

Claire giggled and was then flooded with goose bumps. She couldn't help it. The emotional outburst was a combination of surprise, joy, disbelief, fear, and likely more emotions and reactions she couldn't even identify. She still couldn't believe she'd stolen a bag full of cash from the crime boss, let alone one of such value. It was the stupidest thing she'd ever done, and yet -- at the same time -- it was the only thing she could have done. She'd known she had to get away from Tyler, but she'd also known that he would never just let her leave. Disappearing had been her only option and disappearing with a sweet two mill' was the best option of all.

She padded barefoot over the bare wood floors of the loft apartment toward the kitchen -- again, not entirely an accurate description. The 800 square foot, second floor, open space had an old Coleman brand propane gas camping stove, a dozen or so empty crates stacked on their sides to create shelving, and the mattress, of course, which the bar owner had apparently had handy for those times when some local was too drunk to drive home -- or even walk home -- and needed a place to lay down their head.

The loft had once been the storage space for the bar downstairs apparently. After some renovating downstairs and the construction of a storage addition down on the ground level, this formerly jam-packed space had wound up mostly empty for the last year or two or ten. There was evidence that once upon a time someone may have been living up here. That would explain why an old claw-foot bathtub was sitting in one corner -- no walls, no shower fixtures (let alone a shower curtain), no nothing but a pair of pipes that brought hot and cold water up from the bar below and a third pipe that drained the water out the wall to the rain gutter down pipe.

It was rough as housing went, particularly compared to the Boston high rise condominium Claire had been living in for the past three years plus. But the 24-year-old hadn't always lived in luxury: her family had been poor and dysfunctional; her mother had had a series of boyfriends, many of them having more intimate interest in young but shapely Claire than in her mother. She'd gotten away from there while still in her mid-teens, only to end up living on the streets or in the back seat of cars or sleeping over with strangers who, of course, required something sexual in return.

Claire was starting over once again now, though. She'd slipped away from Boston and spent six days on buses and trains; she'd crisscrossed the country in various directions, though her overall direction had been westward. Yesterday morning, she arrived in Greenrock, Washington, a little town in the mountains east of Seattle. The day to come went quickly: the Greyhound dropped her at 9am; at a nearby cafe, she learned of the empty apartment over the bar; by 10am, she was rapping on the door of the still closed tavern, luring the reluctant man inside to her; and after he showed uncertainty about renting the space to the poster child for strangers, Claire held out $5,000 still wrapped in a bank currency strap and told him, "I really need a place to stay for a while. How long will this get me?"

And now, here she was, in her new home. Sure, it wasn't much: no carpeting, no drapes, almost no furniture; the walls and slanted-peak ceiling weren't even insulated against the cold. But Claire looked toward the bag again, smiled, and thought to herself, I think I can afford to take care of that.

 

[Homerun2611]

Daniel Buford had just come back into the bar from cutting up some firewood out back and probably looked quite menacing standing at the door with an axe still in his hand. It was early, the bar didn't open until noon, on most days, and on Mondays, after a long weekend, they didn't open until 4:30. His bar was about the only decent food for at least ten miles. He served lunch, breakfast all day, and dinners. Nothing fancy, burgers, barbecue, chicken, pizzas, but you could get steak if you wanted it, served on burning hot plates, a trick he had picked up from eating once at Ruth's Chris, but that was in his old days.

There were other specialties, chili, nachos, wings, he had to have a bit of variety, he was the only game in town. Daniel hadn't expected to come back to this little town that raised him, nor did he ever dream he would take over his Daddy's Bar, which still bore his father's name, "Jimmy's Bar & Grill". But that was before, before the academy, before becoming a seal, and before Afghanistan. He had come home pretty messed up, and this little town, its quiet, its lack of pace, had been about perfect.

The only thing it didn't really have was women, well available women, but he didn't care much about that either, he'd been there, done that, and was probably not worth the trouble to get laid. Once every couple of weeks he headed up to Dustin, the nearest city, if you could call it that. There he would hook up with Sally Mae, The local whore, she wasn't a bad looking woman, but she sure as hell wasn't a good looking one either. But get it dark enough, she could suck and fuck a man's brains out, and didn't mind him leaving in the middle of the night with $100 in cash, left on her bed stand.

So not just the hour, but the girl, herself were most unexpected. "Sorry, we don't open until 4:30 on Mondays." He had allowed himself to take in the form of the intruder, women like her, just weren't seen often in these parts. "You're welcome to come back later, I'll even buy you a drink." He smiled and was about to turn away when she said why she was here. "You want to rent a room, here, ma'am, it ain't much. Not much there, not much to look at, not much of anything?"

Yes, the room was for rent, but other than the occasional drunk, sometimes himself included, he didn't figure it as long term dwelling, but she seemed intent. "I take it the boarding house was full?" But as he asked it, and the way she answered, had his old Seal senses tingling, the girl was running, but from what or why, he didn't know, nor did he care. About the only reason he could think anyone would want to stay in the one stoplight town, was if you was running from something In his own way, he was too.

When she held out the money, he found himself looking over her shoulder, and around. "Ma'am that's a lot of cash, you best be careful flashing that kind of money. I mean, people aren't bad around here for the most part, but, they never been tempted like that either." It was a friendly warning, he found himself already being protective of her, even if she wasn't looking for it.

"If you're willing to do that though, I could help you fix it up a bit, make it more suitable for a lady." He had gone up and showed her the place, and as bad as it was she took it. "I tell you what, the money will get you 6 months, lunch and dinner included. I'll also give you a thousand to buy what you think you need. Deal?"

He was just about to leave, "Have you had anything to eat yet? If you wanna come down, I was just about to scramble up some eggs, maybe a few pieces of bacon, a cup of coffee. Nothing fancy, but happy to share..." He even had a little smile, "Oh, and I'm Daniel Buford, but you... you can call me Danny." She was the most interesting thing that had happened around here since, ... well, since he could remember!

 

[PollyWannaCracker]

Claire probably should have changed into something a little less ... provocative when she came downstairs for the lunch offered by her new landlord. She wasn't a tease; she certainly wasn't a slut. So, maybe something flashing a little less skin and flaunting her curves a bit less dramatically would have been appropriate, particularly since when she got down to the bar, she was all alone with Daniel.

Danny, she thought as she caught sight of him working behind the bar, stocking supplies. Naw. Daniel is a man's name ... and this guy's definitely a man.

"Hey," she said simply when he looked up at the sound of her steps creaking the old bar's original hardwood flooring. "You said something about eggs and bacon...? Coffee...? I like mine runny crisp, and with a full teaspoon of sugar."

She smiled, then laughed, realizing that the descriptions might need a bit more explanation: "Runny eggs, crisp bacon, and coffee with sugar."

She made her way to a stool at the end of the bar so that she could watch him work; coincidentally, it gave her a view of the grill in the adjacent kitchen, too, where he would be cooking her breakfast-lunch. When he made his way there, he might also notice that he had a view, too: Claire's legs crossed one over the other as they extended from the cutoff legs of her tattered jean shorts.

Claire had always been fairly proud of the body Mother Nature -- and her parents' genes -- had gifted her. She took good care of it, too, out of respect for her good fortune. Her B-cup breasts were firm and practically gravity-defying; her waist was thin and her belly flat and strong. Her pear-shaped ass was a bit bigger than she would have preferred, but it was tight and firm below a comforting layer of softness that drove men crazy.

Her only real wish regarding her body was that she'd had longer legs. But there was an answer to that, of course: high heels, of which she had not a single pair after her flight from the East. She would have to do some shopping, of course. But, where? Green Rock was lucky to have a drive-thru espresso. What were the chances there was a women's clothing and apparel that would offer a pair of 4 inch spikes? (Ironically, though she couldn't know it now, Claire would be key in bringing a clothing store to the little burg in the boonies in the near future thanks to the duffel full of green in her room upstairs.)

"So ... about the loft?" Claire prompted. "I know you said you'd put a grand of my money -- now your money -- toward renovating. I'm thinking that if you covered the stuff that's permanent -- carpeting, a kitchenette, drapes, a proper bed, and the like -- maybe I'd take care of the more personal things like bedding, towels, kitchen ware. Whatcha think?"

Claire listened to Daniel's response, then asked, "So ... where in Green Rock does someone go to buy things like that? I mean, what are there, like eight businesses in the entire town?"

She asked the question with humor in her voice; she actually liked small towns as much as she did the big city. And Claire was exaggerating on the smallness of the town: they had all the usuals, like a grocery store, a pharmacy, a hardware and seed and feed, a beauty salon, yadda yadda yadda. But there were also a lot of empty store fronts as well; Claire saw at least eight empty establishments just on her walk from the Greyhound stop to the bar.

As she listened to Daniel answer her question, Claire's mind went to the big bag of cash 15 feet above her. Her thinking when she'd stolen it was that she would need it to get herself a new identity and transportation out of the country. She couldn't know it now, but over the days, weeks, and months to come, a good portion of that money would actually stay right here in Green Rock ... as would she herself.

 

[Homerun2611]

Daniel wouldn't have wanted to admit it, but he had a bit more spring in his step after leaving Claire upstairs. Other than Sally Mae, and the various patrons of his establishment, where the relationship was purely transactional, it had been a long time since Daniel had any real interaction with a woman. Claire was young, and very attractive, but what was more, there was just an energy and vibrance that made him feel like a man!

Daniel himself lived in a small farmhouse on the edge of town. He had a small herd of cattle that he would raise and slaughter for serving at the bar. There was a small lake there, where he had an old speedboat and a Waverunner he had picked up second hand and fixed. Maybe it was the sailor in him, but he liked water, and he liked going fast, so the two kinda went hand in hand. Daniel had graduated with a degree in mechanical engineering from Annapolis, and so if it had a motor, he could fix it, and if he did, he could ride it. Didn't matter if it was car, motorcycle, boat or plane.

The time, after having left Claire, had been used to fire up the smoker out back to cook the brisket, and he had just finished cleaning the grill and pulling out the pans, eggs and bacon, when he heard her. It had been hot getting the smoker going, so he had peeled off his shirt, and was only wearing a white, wife beater, when she showed up, reminding him of the offer to cook that he was well aware of, but less certain she would take him up. He didn't say it, other than a slight smile, but he was damned pleased she did!

His body still glistened lightly with sweat, and with his shirt off, she would see the Navy Seal tattoo on his back and shoulder. He didn't talk a lot about his military background, nor the skills that he acquired and still were sharp. He'd oly had to use them a few times in the bar, but that had been enough, and even the toughest, baddest dudes who frequented his establishment, didn't dare fuck with Daniel.

"You took my up on my offer? Good, an itty bitty thing like you, should eat!" He hadn't expected her quite yet and he moved to grab his shirt and put it back on but left it unbuttoned and simply draped on his broad, and muscular physique. She gave him her order, only to clarify, and he simply laughed, "I understood the first time. Coming right up." In truth, the offer hadn't been to cook to order, but he liked runny eggs too, and they weren't much harder than scrambling, and, what the hell, she was a guest.

He poured the coffee and slapped the mug in front of her, sliding the sugar dispenser in her direction. "Serve it any way you like it? You want any cream or milk with that?" Although, unasked, He always had fresh squeezed orange juice around and he poured her a glass, "It's good, try it!" He looked over once or twice as he cooked, but she was generally looking back and he tried not to gawk. Damn it had been too long since he had seen legs or a body like that, and he was pretty sure, she wasn't even trying, she just looked that good naturally. Course pretty girls just have natural gifts, how they cross their legs, flip their hair, laugh in ways their whole body shimmies, and Claire seemed to have all those natural talents in abundance.

He knew better than to act like an old fool though, and so he tried to stick to his knitting and prepare the breakfast he had offered. He fried up the bacon first, eggs were best cooked in the bacon grease. There wasn't anything particularly healthy in the way Daniel cooked, but it tasted damn good! He served, just as requested, two plates, crisp bacon, two runny eggs, and he tossed in hash browns and whole wheat toast to boot.

He set his plate next to hers and slid around the bar to set beside her to eat and talk. She proposed how to fix up the place, "Sure. I figured you might like a shower too? I can do that, carpet, drywall, but I'd like to keep the exposed brick as is. If you don't mind me being around, I'd do the work myself. There ain't anybody in town who can do it better, and I enjoy working. I'm good with my hands, I promise."

He didn't mean it as suggestively as it likely came out, but he was good that way too. It had gotten so Sally Mae didn't even charge him every time, she enjoyed how the powerful man took her, and given that she wasn't exactly tight, his large, thick cock gave her a thrill she rarely if ever otherwise experienced. That and the fact, Daniel was a worker and was willing to put in the time and effort most men simply didn't do.

He laughed at her characterization of the town. "A few more than 8, but maybe not 10." He was also exaggerating. "There's a Wal-Mart on the east side of town, just off the highway..." Highway 10 ran North South, and the Wal-Mart, McDonald's and Stop and Go gas station were all right there, a two minute exit form the highway, with the next major town 45 minutes north. "But if you want anything nicer, linens, lady things, I'm afraid you have to go up to Dustin, 45 minutes north, they got a mall and some of those boutique and salon things."

He didn't add Sally Mae's brothel, or the Silver Spur titty bar, which other than the supplies he needed to get for the bar were his main reasons to venture north. "I assume you don't have a car?" It was a safe assumption as nothing was outside and she had seemed to have all of her stuff, which wasn't much, with her. "You're free to use my pick-up anytime you want to drive up there. And if you want to wait a day or two, I'd take you myself."

He figured, his 2005 Ford F-150 was worth maybe two grand, and he had five grand of hers in his pocket, so even if she stole it, who cared? Plus, she just didn't seem the type. However why he trusted a girl with that kind of cash he wasn't sure. They were about finished, and he turned on his stool, and put his big mitt, lightly on her waist.
"Listen Hon, I'm not sure why you're here, or if you're running, but I don't care. But I got to ask, "Did you hurt anyone you shouldn't have." He waited for her response and looked into her eyes, he could tell if she was lying?

"Good, you can feel safe here, and if you got issues, just let me know and ... well I'm pretty sure I can take care of them. I don't know what you plan to do, but if you want to come down and work here ever, I could always use another pair of hands at the bar, and it would give you something to do? Things get going later, pool, darts, some two stepping ... Oh, do you have cowboy boots, you might want to get some if you're staying?"

He paused, "Other than that, there is the library, the Shadow Lake theatre, which changes movies every two weeks, and the Full Moon drive-in, that well changes movies when they feel like it. There are lakes for swimming, boating and fishing, and ..." He laughed, there's my old Harley! Other than that, you'll have to find your own fun!"
He was just getting up, when he heard the pounding on the locked front door. "Damn it Danny, you know I am hungry! And whose that in there with you?" Looking over his shoulder he could see Sheriff Billy Davis, trying to look through the only marginally clean and painted windows. "Ain't nobody, just my ... niece come to visit. Nothing you should be concerned about. Sheriff Billy Davis was 25 and engaged to Kelly Robbins, who, prior to Claire's arrival was the prettiest girl in town. She was indeed pretty, but the title itself was a fairly low bar.

In any case, Daniel had little use for Billy, considered him a pain in the ass, and really wasn't necessary to keep the peace at his establishment, Daniel had that well in hand. "Why don't you go shoo and I'll handle the baby boy sheriff?" Daniel spoke with obvious disdain. "Just let me know if you want to use the truck?" He moved toward the door, "God damn it Billy, you know I'm closed on Mondays, can't you go the fuck to McDonald's?" Yet he was unlocking the door, and soon would probably be cooking one more free meal!

 

[PollyWannaCracker]

The very expanded breakfast-lunch was a surprise to Claire. So was suddenly feeling Daniel's hand on her waist, the placement of his hand resulting in his cool index finger contacting her bare skin just above her short's waist band. Since becoming Tyler Timmon's plaything, Claire hadn't been touched by another man ... well ... except for a half a dozen times when Tyler had demanded it in one form or another.

"Listen Hon," Daniel began with a soft, meaningful tone. "I'm not sure why you're here, or if you're running, but I don't care. But I got to ask, did you hurt anyone you shouldn't have?"

"No, no!" Claire said without hesitation. "No, it's nothing like that. I was ... I was in a relationship that wasn't good for me, and I needed to get away. I pack my bags and split. It's nothing more sinister than that, believe me."

There was, of course, a lot more to it than that: $1,920,000 more to it than that, the sum she'd come up with after sitting down this morning and doing an accurate count of the money in the duffel. As to whether or not she'd hurt anyone, that depended upon your definition. Tyler was surely suffering a broken heart, Claire knew; he'd had two wives and ten times as many mistresses in his life, but he'd truly been head over heels in love -- and lust -- with Claire.

Daniel reassured Claire that she could feel safe here, and yet -- with a knock on the door and the appearance through the dirty glass of a nice, shiny Sheriff's Deputy badge -- her stomach turned over violently with the thought, Fuck! They already found me?

"Why don't you go shoo and I'll handle the baby boy sheriff?" Daniel spoke with obvious disdain.

Claire spun on the stool to put her back to the door as Daniel headed for it, and once she was sure her already-trembling legs wouldn't fail her, she dropped to the floor and hurried to and up the stairs. At the top, she stopped to listen; a couple of minutes later, she was convinced and relieved that the Deputy's visit had nothing to do with her.

She changed into less provocative clothes -- a looser-fitting blouse and a midthigh length skirt -- and headed downstairs again. She used the bar's backdoor to avoid the Deputy and headed down the alley to Main Street. Claire didn't know where she was going exactly, but -- with two bundles of hundred-dollar bills amounting to $20,000 in her purse -- she knew exactly what she was doing: shopping.

Her first stop was the Green Rock Market, just a block from the bar. It wasn't a very big place for a full-service grocery store -- maybe twice the size of your average 7-11 -- and it didn't have three or four brand names of every item on the shelf like the chain stores did. Its shopping carts were on the small side, and after venturing up and down about half of the aisles, Claire had filled one to overflowing.

"I don't know how I'm going to carry all of this home," she joked with the woman at the one sole register.

"We offer delivery if you'd like," the woman who was about twice Claire's age said.

"Really?" the new resident asked. Claire looked to the cart, then back to the part of the store she hadn't yet been through. "Can I do more shopping then?"

The woman laughed. "Shop away"

Claire joined the laugh, headed for a second cart as the woman began emptying the first, and swept up and down the remaining aisles to fill her new wagon better than halfway. The woman at the register -- she introduced herself in a heavy German accent as Ingrid -- bagged everything, separating the refrigerated and freezer items to be put away until the delivery boy got out of school. When informed of Claire's new home address, Ingrid exclaimed, "Over the bar...? You live over the bar?"

They laughed together again as Ingrid retrieved a box of ear plugs, telling Claire, "You're going to need these, 'specially on Karaoke night. Cats on a fence is what they sound like in my opinion."

Claire's total came up to $229, and when she produced 3 one-hundred-dollar bills, Ingrid grimaced. "We're not allowed to make more than $20 in change. Green Rock doesn't have a bank. We have to go all the way to Dustin for deposits and change."

After contemplating either putting back the wine -- which likely totaled at least $40 -- or simply buying another $50 worth of food, Claire asked, "Maybe you could start me a credit account...?"

Again, Ingrid grimaced, thinking her customer had meant she wanted to pay $200 and walk out with $29 worth of unpaid-for food. "We're not allowed to give credit."

"Oh no no no, not what I meant," Claire corrected. She laid all three bills on the counter, saying, "I mean write down that I have, what is that ... $71...?... for next time?"

"Oh, sure!" Ingrid said. She reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic box full of 4x6 inch index cards. "We do that for a lot of the locals. Some of'em are always afraid they might run out of grocery money before the next payday, particularly the wives whose husbands tend to drink away their paycheck or the husbands whose wives are addicted to online shopping. They put money down here each payday, and to encourage them, we give them a 5% discount."

Claire smiled at the concept, asking suspiciously, "Do you really do that for them...? Or do you do it so that you have money up front for buying inventory?"

Ingrid blushed, then giggled. "No one's ever called me out for it before. You're kinda sharp, aren't you?"

"Well, I'll tell you what, Ingrid," Claire said, reaching back into her purse again with both hands so that she could separate the now loose bills without showing off just how many of them were in there. She came out with $700 more, fanned it out before the obviously surprised checker, and asked, "Can you start me an account then?"

The two took care of business, then -- in between other customers, to whom Ingrid introduced Claire -- the pair talked for almost two hours about Green Rock, its residents, its good times and bad, and even the owner of the bar over which the new girl in town was now living.

Claire learned that most of the merchants in town held credit accounts for locals, so by the time their conversation had come to an end, she knew exactly how she was going to spend her first full day in the little town. She made her way to the hardware store for some common tools needed in the common home; she visited the clothing and fabric store for some very nice quality secondhand outfits, as well as new sheets, pillows, towels, and more; she stopped at the beauty salon for hair and facial products (despite having already purchased most of what she needed at Ingrid's) and made an appointment for the next day to have her hair down, even though she'd had it down just two days earlier in Boston; and so on and such forth up and down Main Street.

Walking past the grocery store later, Claire had had a sudden realization: she'd purchased refrigerated and frozen goods but only had a tiny mini fridge in the loft. She turned back to the hardware store, ensured that they could deliver immediately, and bought a used, side-by-side fridge/freezer. How the hell they were going to get it up the stairs she didn't know, but the salesman -- absolutely tickled pink at the significant sale -- seemed to know Daniel's bar like the back of his hand and reassured Claire, "We'll get it up there, don't worry."

In between visits to retail stores, Claire visited each and every food establishment, too: the town's sole, full menu restaurant; both of its cafes (one at each end of Main); the drive-up espresso stand, to which she obviously walked-up; and even the Mexican food truck -- what they called a Roach Coach back in Boston -- that she'd seen stop during afternoon break in front of Carlton Ceramics, Green Rock's only still operating (but soon to permanently close) manufacturing establishment.

And at every stop, Claire made an appropriate purchase and asked if she could put some money down on a credit account -- even at the drive-away cart -- telling the proprietors, Just in case I run out before payday.

Claire hadn't walked so much in one day since the Walk-a-Thon for Breast Cancer her sophomore year in high school. Her feet were killing her, and she knew she had to give up this quest to spread the wealth about Green Rock. Peeking down inside her oversized purse, she found fewer than a dozen hundreds left out of the 200 of them with which she'd left the bar. She laughed; she'd most certainly spread the wealth, to the tune of almost $20,000.

She made her way back to the bar, slipping in through the back door; she was shocked to find it unlocked, something she would never have seen in Boston. Upstairs, she once again laughed at the sight of dozens of bags and boxes neatly arranged in the center of the loft. The fridge had been positioned in the makeshift kitchenette area, and when she opened the doors, Claire found the appropriate products right where she'd expected to find them. Who did this? The delivery boy? The appliance guys? Daniel maybe?

Claire set to putting away the rest of the things, then changed into a tight-fitting pair of second-hand slacks and a blouse with a deeply plunging, lacy neckline. Checking herself in the new standing, full length mirror she'd bought at the second-hand store, Claire concluded that she looked pretty good in the cowboy boots she'd also picked up, at Daniel's suggestion.

She headed downstairs to the sound of music and customers, wondering just how busy the bar got on a Monday night.