Tuesday, December 27, 2011

The Contractor - Part 2 - by nova

I have to admit I felt a moment of unease the way she disappeared so quickly. Especially as she took the big ass purse that she was carrying with her.  I thought about it, mentally shrugged, and told myself, "Just cause you had sex doesn't mean she trusts you...yet." There was probably some deep moral or cultural meaning in there somewhere but I wasn't going to dig it out.  I looked around the room and saw some cosmetics on the table.  Yeah, she was staying here so sometimes a cigar is a cigar and I relaxed.

That was when the door burst open and big men came busting through it yelling, "FBI! Get your hands where we can see them! Now!" I stuck them up in the air and got as far as yelling "Hey!" before they were on me. What really disturbed me was the guns pointing at me.  Me! "Out of the bed an on the floor now! Move"  They wouldn't stop yelling either.  "On your stomach asshole! Do it! Now!"  I was yelling, "Alright! Alright!" Damn I felt naked.  More so than I had in front of the Swedish cougar who I hoped had enough sense to stay away now.  Hell, she needed to get to the airport and get back home where they didn't do stupid shit like this.  There was a pause in the noise and I felt like they were all staring at my ass.  It was a creepy feeling.  Especially when one of them cuffed me.

"Hey! Can I put on my pants?"

"Shut up."

"Jones check his pants and let cotton tail get covered up.

"Going to be hard to do since I just cuffed him."  

"Well uncuff him and then do it again."

I was getting a good look at the carpet.  I wasn't as clean as it looked and it smelled like old feet this close up.

"Smith check the room. See what we can find."

So the black guy was in charge.  I didn't even think the FBI hired blacks for agent jobs. They were wearing the blue windbreakers with FBI in big bold yellow letters so they were the real thing.  I was looking forward to explaining to them how they had the wrong person. I would try not to be too snotty about it.

My pants were dropped on my head and I was told to get up slowly and put them on.  Then to get my ass back down on the floor. 

I was pulling them on when Smith pulled open one of the dresser drawers, reached in, and came out with a Tupperware container that he carefully sat on the dresser top.  "Lookee here...and there's more." He whistled as he pulled some kind of black pistol out next. "I bet that isn't tuna fish in the Tupperware either" the black agent said. 

"Hey! That's not mine!"

"Shut up and get down."

I was forced back down to the carpet and cuffed again.  I changed my mind.  I hoped that little blond bitch would walk in the door.  This was starting to suck in a major sort of way."


  1. All contacts with "Agents" suck.

    It's us and them, and you ain't us.

    Lie back and think of Sweden.


  2. Damn, I was thinking she was on her way back to Sweden with his wallet.

    You now you can buy those windbreakers here at a local army navy surplus store. FBI/FEDERAL AGENT/ATF/ICE/DEA whatever you like for $39.99.

    As usual, good story.

    Jim in MO.

  3. Jim,

    Pretrial Services has them here. They also get to do a 20 year retirement. I big yellow PTS on them. I think it's funny except for the sweet retirement