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Subject: {ASSM} Fonda and Cat [13/23] {John A and Virago Blue} MF,MFF,FF, Rom, anal
Date: Sat, 30 Sep 2000 15:10:08 -0400
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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real
persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you are below
the age of 18, or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right
now. If your government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading
now and delete this. If you choose to continue, that is your decision
-- and your responsibility -- not mine.
This is intended solely for adults, and any other rebroadcast,
retransmission, and account of this game is strictly prohibited by the
National Hockey League. Wait -- The NHL doesn't care -- we care. Any
unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright. We
authorize the reader to make one copy for reading purposes only. We
expressly prohibit posting of this work on anyone's website, including
but not limited to pay-sites, sites with advertising, and any type of
site where a fee is charged. Any distribution without the authors -(TM)
permission is strictly prohibited.
DO NOT REPOST
"Fonda and Cat"
Copyright (C) 2000 by John3365A@aol.com (John A)
and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue)
All rights reserved.
---------------------------
Note: We're only posting one chapter today...as you read it
the reason will be evident
If you liked it, send us a note. Thanks.
Email us at John3365a@aol.com or VBwrites@aol.com
Fonda and Cat
by John A and Virago Blue
Chapter 13
Fonda drove at a snail's pace, battling downtown traffic and
scanning crowds of pedestrians on either side of the street for a
glimpse of Trina. He reeled his car into a coveted parking place
on Broome St., just a block from his destination, slamming a few
coins into the parking meter before continuing on foot. "If
anything happens to her . . . " he muttered, ignoring strange
glances from the few people hurrying past on the sidewalk. He
sped his pace and jogged to the address written on the invoice
from the fish market.
This was a dangerous part of the neighborhood Trina was visiting
to make the delivery. She had no idea of what the merchandise she
carried on her was -- she was so innocent, despite the tough and
brash front she projected. Fonda clenched his fists in anger
thinking of the way she was being used. Corey had no care as to
the safety of this woman that had become so special to him. His
step quickened.
Fonda paid no attention to the skinny man that stepped from an
alcove fifty feet in front of him, walking in his direction. He
barely acknowledged the sneer on the man's face -- this was New
York, after all. If there's one thing you learn growing up in the
city is that you ignore the various looks that people give.
He spotted the building where the studio was and he quickened his
pace. In one moment he was intent on finding Trina and in the
next he realized he might be too late. As he passed an alley, the
thin man in front of him turned and flashed brass knuckles just
as a board or pipe sliced across the back of his head. The pain
burned on his neck as he lashed out blindly at his assailant.
Fonda had no time to respond or protect himself as the blows kept
coming one after another. He lunged at the man facing him,
managing to land a meaty blow to his pockmarked face but he never
was able to see the one attacking from behind. A few minutes of
scuffling and wild flailing of his arms and Fonda was slipping
into the deep recesses of unconsciousness. His last thoughts were
of Trina.
The two men looked around quickly and dragged Fonda into the
alley, where they threw him onto a pile of trash.
"Think we should finish him off?" the smaller of the two asked.
"Fuck that shit," the tall, thin man with the pockmarked face
replied. "He ain't going nowhere for a long time. Besides, I
don't kill nobody for no one. Least of all fucking Corey."
"Yeah. That mother fucker better get us that shit now," the small
one said, giving Fonda a final kick in his mid section for good
measure before leaving the alleyway with his companion.
Trina looked up at Ray's building, it was much more run down than
she last remembered. The whole neighborhood was going downhill,
she thought. A few homeless men or women huddled within the
doorways of these once grand buildings, some staring pitifully up
at her. She wished she could help but instead increased her pace
and kept her eyes forward. Litter lay in piles in the gutters and
some trash was still being blown around in the wind only to come
to rest against the scarred and graffiti-ed brick buildings. The
sooner she got this delivery over with the better. She didn't
need the money that bad and wondered how she had ever been
desperate enough to do any work for Ray.
She hurried past an alley, casting a quick glance as she
skittered by. The homeless were everywhere in this part of town,
another one lay in the middle of a pile of garbage either drunk
or dead. Trina swallowed down the revulsion she felt just
imagining the depths of despair that must be reached to end up
like that. She heard a faint noise emanating from the alley, a
noise that seemed out of place for the setting, but she ignored
it and quickly walked past to finish her task.
"Fonda, where are you?" Stavros said into the phone as he tried
to reach his brother for the third time. He ended the call and
tried again, this time slowly punching in the phone number to
Fonda's cell phone. He was sure he had the number right.
"He's not answering?" Will asked.
"No. That's not like Fonda. He lives by that phone. Something is
not adding up." Stavros turned and looked through the office
window back at Corey. The long-haired man seemed a little nervous
but something else, too. If he had to guess, Stavros would say
that he looked smug. But Stavros was too concerned about his
brother to give it much more thought and turned away and dialed
Fonda's number again.
Trina stopped and listened again. There it was -- a distinct
musical tone being played over and over again. It was almost like
the ringing of a cell phone or pager. She looked at the rumpled
heap on the pile of wet cardboard and broken crates. She looked
up the street and chewed her lip as she decided what to do.
Homeless men do not carry cell phones. But in all her years of
living in New York she knew it was best not to get involved. It
could be dangerous. She took another step, hesitated, and
continued on her way, deciding to call the police when she got to
Ray's apartment. For all she knew the man had been robbed and the
perpetrators were still hanging around. But, if the man had been
robbed, wouldn't they have taken the cell phone?
Trina kept walking as she tried to come up with a rational
answer. Her eyes scanned from left to right, waiting for anyone
to come forward and jump her, mug her or drag her off into the
alley like the man had been dragged off. It was then she spotted
the little car -- the cute BMW that looked so out of place in
this neighborhood.
"No!" Trina moaned out loud as she turned around and ran back to
the alley. The car! The phone she now realized was playing "Ode
to Joy," the same song she programmed into Fonda's phone -- it
must be him. She scurried back to the alley and dropped to her
knees beside the man. He was sprawled across broken wood and
cardboard on his stomach. Trina cried out as she saw the gash in
the back of his head, the blood that had stained the back of his
shirt and soaked into the cardboard beneath him.
"Oh, Fonda . . . hang on, Fonda . . . " Trina cried, touching him
tenderly here and there, his shoulder, his arm, his neck. She
felt for a pulse and her panic dissipated only slightly when she
detected a beat in his neck. "Phone. . . your phone. Where is it,
baby?" Trina patted Fonda down, looking for the cell phone.
Blessedly, it rang again. Trina found it in the pocket of his
rain coat and fumbled with the keys before calming herself enough
to answer it.
"Hello!" Trina cried out. "Who is this?"
"Trina, is that you?" Stavros asked.
"There's been an accident. Oh, Stavros, please help me . . . help
us. Fonda's been hurt, mugged or something . . . " Trina gasped,
trying to stifle her sobs.
"An accident? Trina, calm down," Stavros continued, "tell me what
happened?"
"I need an ambulance. He's been hurt. We're at . . . " Trina
looked around wildly before focusing on an address across the
street . . . "the address is . . . " Trina gave Stavros the
address, trying vainly to hold her panic in check. Fonda needed
her to remain calm.
"I know where Fonda was going, I have the address right here.
Sounds like the same neighborhood. I am on my way. I will call
the police. In the meantime, call an ambulance right away and
don't hang up. Do you understand?" Stavros tried to say as calmly
as possible. "Don't break the line, just in case. . . "
"In case?" Trina asked, gingerly smoothing back the dark, glossy
hair from Fonda's temple, "just hurry, Stavros. Please hurry."
Trina ended the call and dialed 911. She explained the situation
to the operator and their whereabouts and, just as Stavros asked,
she kept the line open. She told the dispatcher that she thought
they were still in danger and felt safer if she were able to
speak to the woman on the other end of the line in case anyone
showed up to finish the job. The woman kindly and calmly spoke to
Trina while she waited for the ambulance, a time frame of no more
than six minutes but, to Trina, it seemed more like sixty
minutes.
continued in chapter 14 (to be posted in a couple of days)
Do like it so far? Let us know!
even if it's a short email that simply says "loved it" or "it stinks"
Where do you think the story is going?
Where do you want the story to go?
Drop us an E mail
--------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright (C) 2000
John3365A@aol.com (John A) and
VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue)
All rights reserved.
---------------
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