The Bus Route: Part III
The Bus Route: Part III of a brand new KDG story
I hope all of you are staying safe during lockdown. For me and many others, it feels like an opportunity to press the restart button in a world gone mad. For me this has been a time of intense writing and reading. Anyone who follows my blog loves to read or they wouldn’t be here. So I’m choosing this time to share a brand new KDG story that has never been made public before.
Be warned, this is a different kind of KDG story, a hybrid of erotica, crime and paranormal with a pinch of horror thrown in for good measure. I am sending you an instalment of The Bus Route once a week for seven weeks, so be sure to check in every Friday for a new instalment.
Sex in derelict buses. Who knew it was a thing?
A money-making thing for Seth Allen, who blackmails enthusiasts stepping out on their other half by catching the deed on cameras he’s rigged at a public transport scrap yard known by frequenters as the Bus Route. Sadly the paydays aren’t as regular as Seth would like until con artist, Jon Knight, suggests they team up. With Seth’s tech and Jon’s charm, the money rolls in and the future looks bright until their marks start disappearing mysteriously.
The Bus Route: Part 3
I met Jon for brunch at a posh suite in the Ritz chuckling at the cliché of it all. “Wow! You must have given Eleanor one helluva ride if she coughed up for this.”
“Oh this is all my own money,” he said with a dismissive sweep of his palm, and before I could ask, he added, “what you and I do, I do for the chase, for the challenge of it.” He led me to a table set with what was surely breakfast for six complete with a bottle of Moet & Chandon on ice. “The payoff it was good?”
“Are you kidding,” I said as he motioned me to sit. “The earrings alone were worth a mint, and all that dosh to help our poor dear mum.”
“Why yes, darling brother, a rare tropical disease that can only be treated in America.” He opened the fizz and gave a dismissive shrug. “Transparent as hell, I know, but in all fairness, dear Eleanor was rather distracted.”
It was a week after we’d scored. We were supposed to meet for brunch the next day, but I came down with some strange bug. I felt like shit for nearly a week, fever, shakes, bad dreams. Then, strangely enough, I woke up feeling just fine. We demolished breakfast along with a second bottle of fizz. I was slouched at the table thumbing through Jon’s copy of the Times when I came face to face with an image of our Eleanor, dripping diamonds and pearls. An over-sized headline read, Mining Heiress Missing. “Bloody hell, did you see this?” I shoved the paper over to him.
“Oh my God,” he said, staring at the image. “This is terrible.”
“You did see her home okay, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did, and everything was,” he swallowed a chuckle, “more than fine when I left her.”
When he simply handed the paper back and refilled his coffee cup, I sat in silence for a moment, then I said. “Do you remember anything, anything out of the ordinary?”
“Nothing. She was just fine.” He thought about it for a moment. “Pretty drunk, but you knew that.”
“Creepy coincidence though, don’t you think?” I said nodding down to the paper. “Don’t they say the police won’t even pursue a missing persons report until they’ve been gone twenty-four hours? It must have happened not long after she was with us. And the woman is an heiress. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Look,” Jon brushed his hand across my wrist, and his voice took on the tone you’d use with an ignorant kid, “the fact that she is an heiress is why dear mum will get her medical treatment and you can afford a new wardrobe,” he gave my aging hoodie a disapproving look. “Besides, she could very well be hiding out at some friend’s house, a little comeuppance for daddy and boring hubby. What happened to her after she left us is not our business, Seth. Don’t let it ruin our celebration of a brilliant team.” And that was the end of it. He flashed me a bright smile and said, “if you think our last job was lucrative, wait till you hear what I have lined up next. There’s an art to what we do, Seth. You’ve just never had the liquidity to enjoy the creative aspects of your work, until now.”
Before I knew it, most of the day had passed, and after lots of scheming and plotting and a lovely dinner delivered to the suite we hadn’t yet left, I was raising a glass of expensive French red, toasting us and toasting Jon’s brilliant plan for our next mark. I suppose when I was drunk enough, the question was bound to come up. “Does it bother you, another bloke filming you fucking a stranger?” Those slurred words must have sounded naïve to someone as sophisticated as Jon. A love life was at the top of the long list of things my impoverished condition did not allow for.
“Of course not. It’s business. I’m playing a role, just like in the movies. And now you’re the director.” His face took on the look of an adolescent boy with a great porn stash. “What about you, does it bother you that I’m doing the dirty with someone else?” When I didn’t answer immediately, he brought his ankle up against mine under the table. “Or do you rather enjoy it?”
“We should sort the money situation,” I said changing the subject, which felt pretty irrelevant considering Jon’s finances.
“Not now,” he said refilling my glass. I wondered when we’d started another bottle. “I trust you. I know you won’t cheat me. Besides,” he said, lifting his glass and holding me in a vice grip gaze. “I know where you live.” And then he laughed when I startled at his words and spilled wine on the white tablecloth.
I woke with the sun streaming through the curtains of the guest room in Jon’s suite. I was tucked into a mound of fluffy bedding on a cushy mattress with a seriously pounding head. “Couldn’t let you go home in your condition,” Jon said. He was sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed reading the paper. “You drank a lot.”
“Tell me you were not watching me sleep?” I mumbled, to the protest of my hangover.
“You were having bad dreams. I didn’t like leaving you alone.” He came to my bedside and poured me a big glass of water, standing over me until I forced it all down. Then he glanced at his watch. “I have a lunch meeting, but the suite is yours. Stay as long as you want. I left a spare card key on the dressing table if you need to go out and come back. Oh, and there are some clothes for you in the closet in much better condition than your old ones.”