James Born - Shock Wave

“Like it?” She laid on her Dixie drawl and smiled.

He nodded, taking her in his arms. The sheer material of the tiny pink teddy smelled like lilac. She bit him on the neck playfully and took his hand, leading him through the living room to what was normally the guest bedroom downstairs. They had done it in there before, rattling the huge brass bed frame and tilting the mirror on the vanity to watch themselves.

Once in the room, she turned and whispered in his ear, “Let’s get dirty tonight.”

“Anything you want, baby.”

She winked and pulled a matching pink teddy from the dresser near the small bathroom.

“Really?” This was new.

She held it up to him and nodded vigorously. Then she pulled out some handcuffs.

That wasn’t too unusual. He shrugged and started to yank off his shirt.

Camy turned him toward the bathroom and said, “Come out ready. I wanna be surprised.” Then she gently shoved him toward the open door.

Inside he flipped the light switch, turning on the bright, clear lights around the mirror. He held the teddy up to the mirror and shook his head. If it made her wild, why not. Even though he’d rather just do it, sleep an hour and do it again. He slipped out of his street clothes and had to survey himself naked for a few moments, then dropped the teddy over his head. It looked miniscule but had amazing stretch capabilities. He pulled it down but was unable to button the crotch over his genitals. What did it matter? He checked himself in the mirror again, then, satisfied, he shut off the lights and made his entrance.

“Look at you,” said Camy from a sprawled position on the queen-sized bed. She patted the mattress. “C’mon, stud.”

He bounded into the bed and grabbed her, trying to un-snap the teddy immediately.

“Hang on there, big fella.” She stroked his rising erection. “Let’s do it right.” She pulled the handcuffs off the small table next to the bed.

“If that’s what you want.” He obligingly stretched out his arms and allowed Camy to run the cuffs through the brass frame and secure his hands.

“That’s a little tight, baby.”

She smiled. “That’s not all that’s tight.”

He felt his breath get short as she slipped off the bed and made a show of walking around the bed. She went back to the dresser and retrieved two sets of leg chains.

“Where’d you get those?”

“Amazing what being nice to the Marshals will get you.” She casually strung one set on each side of the foot of the bed frame, then walked to the bathroom. A couple of seconds later, she walked out with two washcloths. She folded one and placed it inside the metal cuff on the leg chain, then secured his right ankle. The cloth made the tight cuff comfortable. He sighed as she did the same to his left leg.

“Try it,” she said as she gazed at his toned body, spreadeagled on the bed. The pink teddy stretched to its seams around his chest, the white, puffy frills on the shoulders brushing his nose.

He pulled his hands, then each leg, and said, “Baby, that’s tight. Now let’s get dirty.”

She ran a hand down his chest. “You bet, baby,” she purred. Then she walked to the door to the family room and opened it a crack. She walked back toward the bathroom, flicking on the overhead light in the ceiling fan. The room was suddenly lit up like a classroom.

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut. “Baby, I know you like to see me, but that’s a little bright.” Behind his closed eyelids, he saw a brighter flash and opened his eyes. Two men in bedsheets with pillowcases over their heads like old-time Klansmen stood at the foot of the bed. One had a camera in his hand. He shot another picture, and the flash blinked.

Each man had holes cut out of the pillowcases. One man fumbled with the case to get a better view. Camy remained motionless by the bathroom door, still in the see-through teddy. The broader of the two men, the one without the camera, pulled a slender three-foot baseball bat from behind his back. He slapped it in his hand. Jimmy could read the Fish Billy logo on the handle and knew it was used to club hooked game fish. A chill ran down his back and he felt his bowels loosen.

One man said, “You are so fucked.”

At which moment Jimmy’s bladder just emptied.

“Jesus,” said the man.

Daniel Wells looked down from the cab of the Freightliner with great pride. He had walked onto the Big Rig Academy grounds unseen, used the key he had stolen to start and then drive a tractor right off the lot and through traffic with hardly an incident. He had clipped a parked Chevy, then bumped another car near Seventy-second Avenue, just hard enough to knock it onto the median. The man looked dazed and no one else was around this time of night, so Wells wasn’t worried. First he was headed over to Emerson-Picolo Transportation, and then his problems would begin. He had to hook up to a trailer, alone, then get off the lot. He knew no one was there, he’d already driven past. He had used a series of stolen cars during the evening to get from one spot to the next. They had all been Hondas, that being the only car he knew how to hot-wire. Getting into the cars wasn’t pretty, either. He just shattered the side window and opened the doors. He turned on Thirty-sixth Street and slowed almost immediately as he came up on the lot. He stopped the rig with its blinkers on and hustled to the gate. He tried the key he’d kept from the year before and it worked perfectly. Sliding open the double gate, he trotted back to the truck. After a minute of maneuvering, he was in the lot and close to the small tanker opposite the open gate. That solved a couple of problems. First and most important, it was pointed in the right direction. Second, it was fairly small, about two-thirds the size of a full tanker. He’d checked it to make sure it was full. The cargo was avgas. The small warning placard on the side had the numbers 100/130 written on it, confirming that the cargo was, in fact, aviation fuel. It would blow. He had already tested that theory.

He backed the truck, slowly watching the rearview the whole way. This was something they usually used two men to do. He heard a thump, then a click. He threw the tractor out of gear and set the brake. Jumping out, he raced to the rear, only to discover he had missed the “fifth wheel,” the connector for the trailer, by three feet to the left. Now the trailer was hooked on the truck’s supporting beam.

Back in the cab, he gunned the engine to pull free, but ended up dragging the tanker a few feet. The noise and sparks were horrendous, especially considering the tanker’s load. He hopped out and inspected the connection again. Still hooked to the side.

Then he used his problem-solving mind. He let some air out of the rear tires. When they were half empty, he jumped back in the cab, and the tractor pulled out smoothly.

He lined up the tractor again and then inched it back. As soon as he heard metal on metal, he hopped out and inspected the alignment.

“Incredible,” he said out loud to himself. The connection lined up perfectly, the ball of the trailer-tanker directly in the center of the fifth wheel. Just like a pro. He backed the tractor some more until it locked in place, then secured the trailer, brake lines and electrical connections. His first solo. His heart raced with the engine as he headed toward the open gate. He couldn’t resist blasting the horn like a real trucker. No one was around, and if they were, who would expect a thief to announce himself like that? He was on top of the world.

He reached the gate and turned east on Thirty-sixth Street. He turned a little sharply and took out the fence with the tanker-trailer. He shrugged as he dragged a seventy-foot length of chain-link fence a block before it broke free. He looked in the mirrors. The right one was missing. No problem-still no one around.