"It's No Midnight Run" (closed)

[TiredFingers]

"It's No Midnight Run"

Martin "Max" Harding

http://i.imgur.com/LPxDc9o.jpg?1​

Max had been watching the house for six days. His current employer, a bail bondsman named Robert Howard, had told Max that he was wasting his time sitting on the bail jumper's own house. And he continued to tell the bounty hunter the same thing when he entered the Bail Bonds office to give an update and collect a prepayment for the job he was certain he would close tonight.

"There's no fucking way he's coming back to his own house, Max! Why the fuck would he come back to his own house?"

"Have you seen his wife?" Max asked, his hands out before his chest with curled fingers, illustrating the woman's unbelievably amazing bosom. "I did."

"Yeah, yeah, so did I, so what?" he said, unimpressed. Big tits wouldn't be enough for Robert to risk capture, forfeiture of a $50,000 bond, and an instant Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200 incarceration.

"Have you seen them out ... bared in all their glory?" Max continued, looking down at his curling fingers with an amazed expression as if his hands were the wife's impressive tits, right before his eyes, in all that glory he'd mentioned. He added with a tone of awe, "I did."

Robert asked with a bit of surprise, "You did?"

"I did," Max answered quickly.

"When?"

"When I was titty fucking them last night in the back seat of my sedan."

Robert's eyes and mouth widened in shock. "You ... you fucked my jumper's wife?"

"No," Max answered, again quickly. Then his lips widened in a devilish smirk and he clarified, "I only fucked her tits."

Robert's shock caused Max to laugh loudly before explaining. "I was following the wife and lost sight of her in the mall on 33rd ... and a moment later I was face to face with her. She confronted me ... asked if I was following her."

Max shrugged, as he had with the wife that day, then recounted, "I said, 'Yeah, I am'. When she asked why, I looked down into her Grand Canyon cleavage and said, 'I always wanted to titty fuck an amazing, natural rack ... and you have the most amazing natural rack in all of Southern California."

"But ... they aren't real!" Robert corrected, as if suddenly the naturalness of his bail jumper's wife's breasts was the true topic of the conversation at hand. He added, "They're right out of a box."

Max laughed. "You know that, and I know that ... and she most certainly knows that ... but I'm not going to tell a woman I know her titties are fake before I ask to titty fuck them ... am I?"

The two men laughed together for a moment. For almost a decade, Robert had been employing Max to hunt down the worst of the worst of his bail jumpers; and for almost a decade, Max had been coming back with those jumpers in cuffs and -- more often than not -- with a great story to accompany the chase and capture. But this!

"And ... she just let you fuck her tits?"

"No, of course not!" Max said, laughing again. "I had to buy her lunch first ... so she could get to know me ... decide whether I was the kind of guy she wanted to be spunking her a pearl necklace. Apparently I was, because before our order even arrived we were crossing the street to my sedan and stripping her top off."

After a moment, Robert asked, "But ... you didn't fuck her. I mean ... fuck her."

"No, she said she was married," Max went on. "Said he'd be coming home soon, and he'd want to fuck her ... and she needed to be tight for him when he did."

Robert stared for a moment, then gave Max a rolling hand And...? gesture.

Max finished, "And he'll be there tonight."

"She told you this," Robert said with a mixed tone of mixed doubt and suspicion. "She told you he was going to be there tonight."

"No, she didn't tell me he'd be there tonight," Max corrected, standing to adjust the gear on his utility belt, including his 9mm Beretta and Taser. "But he will be."

"And you know because--"

"And I know because she made a date with me tomorrow afternoon ... at the Notel Motel ... and I'm supposed to bring a string of condoms and a bottle of warming lube."

Robert just shook his head as he opened the mini safe near his feet and pulled out a rubber banded stack of fifties. He tossed it onto the desk before Max, knowing that while the bounty hunter wouldn't count it here and now, he would certainly count it once he'd stepped outside the office. While Robert had never cheated Max out of a dime of what the bounty hunter had been owed, Robert did have a reputation for taking any advantage he could when it came to keeping some of his money -- or other's money -- inside that favorite little safe of his.



3am:

The ruckus at the front door of the 14th Precinct drew the immediate attention of the dozen or so patrol officers and detectives there for a mid-shift check in concerning an imminent drug bust. Some of the cops who didn't know Max even reached for the holstered weapons on their hips, surprised by the armed, tattooed man who was pushing and equally tattooed but very much handcuffed bail jumper before him toward the booking desk.

Thirty minutes later, after Max had signed the appropriate papers to turn into Robert to claim the rest of his bounty, the Desk Clerk approached and asked, "Did you really fuck his wife?"

Max smiled, responding instead by asking, "Wha'did he say?"

A second cop was exiting the lock up and answered, "He said you busted into his house, beat him down, cuffed him ... then spent the next hour fucking his wife."

Max only smiled broadly, again adjusting his utility belt before donning his leather jacket against the chill of the early morning air. He shrugged as was so common for him, saying, "Hey ... he's a fugitive. You can't trust everything they say, can you?"

 

[RennyStyle]

http://www.joblo.com/moviehotties/images/news-gallery/thumb/Tricia-Helfer-TJ-Tub-Nude_3.jpg

After soaking for an hour in the tub, Tricia Wells mind was still nowhere close to clear.

She was still reeling from the fact that she had actually jumped bail, but she was too terrified of what would happen if she showed up in court. Her lawyer and the idiots at his firm had totally dropped the ball, if she had shown up in court she'd be arrested, but first she would be humiliated. She couldn't stand that.

She thought she could disappear, it would be easy enough. There were murderers and drug dealers and all sorts of terrible people that the police should be looking for, she would have to be a low priority. And, if she was being honest with herself, she was young, beautiful, and white. She had gotten pulled over plenty of times and never gotten a ticket. Odds are no officer who ever encountered her would have any reason to check her ID.

But she also realized that she had no idea how to go on the run. How to access her bank account, where she would go, or what her long term plan was. She hoped that her bath would give her time to figure it out, or at least calm her down enough so she could approach the problem with a clear head. So far, nothing was working.

So once the water turned cold, she withdrew from the beige tub and wrapped the motel towel around her body. The tall blonde returned to the cheap bed and decided to see if there was anything about her escape from the law on the news.

 

[TiredFingers]

"Here you go," Robert said, tossing a file folder onto the desk before his favorite bounty hunter. As Max opened the front cover to find a very unflattering police photo of a seemingly otherwise beautiful woman, the bails bondsman explained, "Tricia Wells ... arraigned for killing her husband for reasons as of yet unknown to me--"

"Did she do it?" Max cut in suddenly.

"Don't care," Robert responded, continuing, "Jumped bail five days ago in LA, current location--"

Max had looked up to his employer with a concerned expression and now interrupted again, "Whaddaya mean you don't care?"

"I don't care," Robert repeated. "I don't care whether she killed her husband. I don't care whether she slit his throat, decapitated him, dipped his fingers in acid, sawed off his cock, or disemboweled him with a dull spoon. I only care that she jumped bail on a ten million dollar bond that I put up."

At the dollar figure, Max's eyes widened and he sat up quickly from his lounged back position. He murmured softly, "What the fuck, Bobby Boy. Where the fuck did you get ten million dollars."

"I didn't," Robert responded as he was again getting into his little safe. "I only had to put up ten percent ... but I'm on the hook for all of it if--"

With a raised and still shocked tone, Max asked, "Where the fuck did you get a MILLION dollars?"

Robert looked to the bounty hunter with an expression that spoke of his deep worry. "From some very bad people who want their money back. Jesus fuck, Max! Can we get back to the bitch who's gonna get me killed if I don't find her?"

Max was in true disbelief. He'd never gone after a jumper who'd skipped out on a bail larger than a million dollars before. Ten million dollars...? Hell, Robert had never even heard of someone being let out on that kind of money before. He looked to the file again, pushing aside the photograph to look at the name. "Tricia Wells. Who is she and what's she accused of?"

Robert stared at the bounty hunter for a moment, dumbfounded. "Tricia Wells ... the Tricia Wells ... wife of billionaire Winston Wells." The names were having no effect on Max at all. "He was found in his den with his brains blown out ... a Beretta, not unlike your own, still in his hands, one round discharged, powder burns on his right hand, suicide style."

"Suicide, and yet his wife was charged?"

"He's left handed," Robert pointed out.

Max sat back in his chair for a moment, a confused expression filling his face. "But ... a wife ... if she was going to fake her husband's suicide ... she would know that her husband was left handed and wouldn't--"

"Sure, and when she gets her day in court, that's what she'll tell the jury, and they'll find reasonable doubt and she'll be found not guilty," Robert said. He tossed another bundle of bills onto the desk before Max and closed the safe. "But, until she actually gets into court ... until you catch her and bring her back ... she can't do that, can she."

"Why would they let someone like that out on bail," Max asked as he began reading the file Robert had given him. "I mean, if she has access to her husband's money--"

"She doesn't," the bails bondsman cut in. "It's all been tied up by a multitude of State and Federal agencies ... something about ties to organized crime ... or drug cartels..." Robert was getting annoyed again as he finished, "...or people who put catsup on their fucking hotdog, just ... bad people, I don't give a fuck! Just ... find her."

Max was beginning to worry about whether or not Robert was about to disembowel him with a dull spoon. He said more as a statement of fact than a point of inquiry, "So ... she's not using his money to escape."

"No," Robert said, plopping down in his chair as he tried to relax. He continued, setting the stage for the question he knew Max was going to ask next. "She's not accessing his accounts, her accounts ... not using her credit cards, her cell phone, her or his vehicles ... not talking to friends, all of which would allow her to be tracked."

"But ... you know where she is anyway?"

Robert smiled as he pulled out his wallet and flashed a credit card. "Brand new. Just got it today. It has one of those chips that allows you to just wave it--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what it does, so?"

Robert replaced the card, a smile spreading on his face. "They also allow the stores to track you as you move up and down the aisles..."

"And that information--"

"Get's uploaded immediately via the store's wifi, then the internet, to whomever the store has information sharing services with..." Robert was already laying a sheet of paper before the bounty hunter. "...which in our case, includes the NYPD fraud division."

"She's in New York?"

"Little town north of New York City, a place called Tippany, population 10,000 ... if you count the cows at the local dairy," Robert laughed. "Apparently she's walked past a little boutique with the credit card chip scanner twice a day for the past three days, which means she's probably hiding out in a motel nearby. Walking past the boutique to go get her morning coffee ... or maybe to wax that hot little pussy that landed her that rich fuck in the first place. My god, have you ever seen a picture of this woman?"

Max tapped a finger tip to the police photo. "Sure."

Robert only laughed. He tossed something onto the desk. "Ticket for the 9:09 flight. I'll have an Uber waiting for you at the airport, and I'll let local enforcement know you're there."

Max had had a few issues in the past when he was almost arrested by the LEOs in other states. They'd taken one look at him with his tattoos and weapons and presumed he was as much of a thug as the people he was chasing.

"Find her, cuff her, get her back here," Robert continued. He nodded Max's attention to the $5,000 already sitting on the desk before him, then attempted to conclude his business with, "I'll cover your expenses ... receipts this time ... and another five grand when you get back."

"I'll take ten percent of the ten percent you're getting back when I return her," Max countered, reaching out to take the bundle that this time was hundreds, not fifties. When Robert quickly objected, Max argued, "This ain't no midnight run, Bobby Boy. These people who fronted you the money to get her out on bail ... these bad people. They wanted her out on the streets for a reason that you might not have thought much about but which I have ... 'cause they want her ... alive or dead don't matter to me, but ... they want her. Which means that I don't just have to be watching for her ... I have to be watching for them. This ain't no locate, secure, and return ... this ain't no midnight run ... and whether you want to admit it or not, you know it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Robert snapped, beginning to come unglued at the thought of paying the bounty hunter that kind of money just to bring in a chick with no criminal history, let alone a violent one. "No one's after her but me. You slap the cuffs on her, slap her face if she causes you any grief ... hell, you can slap her ass while you fuck it for all I care ... just get her back here."

"For $100,000 I'll have her here by ... when is she due back for court?"

"$20,000 ... in five days," Robert negotiated.

"$100,000 ... take it or leave it ... and deal with your bad ass people who put catsup on their wieners," Max said, reminding Robert that he'd fucked up by borrowing against the kind of people who like to cut off fingers, toes, and cocks when they get screwed. "And I'll have her back in less than five days."

"$30,000!" Robert negotiated again, and getting no where pleaded, "Forty ... c'mon, Max, I can't afford to pay that kind of money."

"Can you afford not to?"

"I'll go with another bounty hunter," Robert threatened.

Max hesitated, then tossed the bundle of cash back onto the table, giving his signature shoulder shrug. "If you had another Dog who would do this, you would have gone with him already."

Robert's face reddened with anger and his jaws began to twitch as he clenched them tightly. Max was right about the other bounty hunters: they'd all turned Robert down after coming to their own conclusions that there was more here than the bondsman was telling them. Robert leaned forward and pushed the bundle of cash across into Max's lap. "Fuck! Just ... just go get her and have her back here by Tuesday morning, 9am."