Missing Persons

Bridget walked in on the middle of the conversation. "...assure you we are usin' what manpower is available, but unless he turns up drunk or dead, we really don't havalotta options," the detective said. He turned to look at Bridget as the approached them. "This the girl?" he asked. Sid nodded. Bridget shifted nervously in place. She wasn't a criminal per se, but her bike had quite a bit of contraband Stadti gear incorporated into it and she'd done some under the table deals trading goods or favors for ration cards. That wasn't the only source of her trepidation, however. Diesel City had a law that police can't use witnesses while on the job, but the law was so laughably under enforced it had become something of a running gag among the Diesel city women, using the phrase "detained for questioning" when they were late for something due to being used.

She eyed the detective and his partner up and down. The detective was almost certainly a vet. He was tall, around 6'4, acne scarred, and barrel chested with a shock of gray in his dark brown hair. She could tell by the strange bulges under his jacket he most likely had a G.I. standard prosthetic limb. Unlike the more anthropomorphic models of mechanical limbs that are used mostly by working stiffs who have suffered a workplace accident, the G.I. models were built with the express purpose of looking as terrifying and intimidating as possible. The shoulder, which contained the gas tank, was oversized and steel-plated while the chassis that held the bicep actuator, elbow axle, and forearm pistons was of milled aircraft aluminum that had been brazed; the knuckles made out the same drop forged steel that they use to make hammers and formed to resemble brass knuckles. Soldiers often decorated their prosthetics with trench art, some of it quite intricate. This guy looked more like the type to only bear scratches on his forearm to denote enemies killed.

His partner wasn't as tall at his level six foot height, and was of mixed race, perhaps the son of a refugee from the Cuban Front before the island was firebombed in '52. He was shaven squeaky clean and wore his suit a bit better. He was handsome in an exotic way, but his manner absolutely oozed "Blue Blood". Bridget, coming from the notoriously rowdy nation of Ireland, had an instant dislike for his type. She put her hands on her hips, and said "Yeah, I'm the girl. How can I help, officer?"

"Yer boss here says that two days you and one Jonathan Rockwell had an encounter after work, is that correct?" he said, flipping open a notepad. She nodded, glancing at Sid.

"Yeah, that's right. He used me after our shift was over. Has something happened to him?" she asked, concern on her face. Johnny was a jerk, but he was a good worker and easy on the eyes.

"We're working on that. For now, did he act strange or say anything out of character?" the partner said with a smug look on his face. Bridget shook her head.

"No, just a triple play with me and the usual small talk. What's going on here, Sid?" she asked, turning her attention to her gray-haired boss. He looked at her grimly.

"They found the delivery truck in Lake Michigan. It didn't sink all the way and got caught on the trash bank. Johnny, and all the engine parts in the back, were gone. The windows were broken but they don't know if that happened before or after it was dumped." Sid was obviously shaken. Johnny, like many younger guys, was an orphan, and Sid was the closest thing to a father he had.

"What's a triple play?" the smug partner asked.

"Christ, Dennis! It just means he fucked all three holes. Don't they do that in Northspire? Anyway, we'll let you know if anything turns up. You can pick up the truck once forensics is done with it. Gonna guess its a total loss. Sorry, pal." The detective flipped his notebook closed and said "We're done here. Let's go."

"We're done? Excellent." Dennis said with a hint of a Cuban accent, walking up to Bridget. She tilted her head, looking at him with disdain. He smiled at her with his mouth, but his eyes were expressionless. He casually cupped Bridget's crotch, rubbing his soft, well-lotioned hand against her sex. He dipped his finger into her and withdrew it, bringing it up to his mouth for a taste. "Nice pussy, doll." he said, walking passed her and smacking her ass. She tensed up, and couldn't bite her tongue.

"Thanks. My mother gave it to me." she said, attempting to shame him by pointing out he was blatantly using his rights to harass her rather than anything that might lead to conception. It wasn't illegal, but it was tasteless and crass.

He smirked, and said "Well, your mother probably has a nice pussy too. Good day." Bridget sneered at him as they left. Sid motioned to her. She followed him into his office, not surprised to see him pull a bottle of bourbon from his desk drawer and pour a glass before unzipping his pants. She waited for him to sit down before she walked up to him and started unbuttoning his greasy work shirt.

"Christ, I don't wanna believe that Johnny would steal from me and skip town." Sid said, unbuckling his belt. Bridget kissed his cock through his grimy work pants before fishing his slowly hardening cock from his boxers. She used her tongue to tease the tip as her hand slowly stroked him. "Still, that's better than the alternative..." he said, taking a drink of bourbon and staring out the window as she took the head of his cock in her mouth. She ran her hands up his hairy body, feeling the hard-earned muscle won from four decades of physical labor, in an attempt to take his mind off of it.

"Johnny's a tough kid, and has a good head on his shoulders. I'm sure he'll turn up," she said taking a breath before licking all around his swelling manhood as she stroked it to proper hardness. She sucked the tip rapidly before letting it slide into her mouth and down her throat. Sid sighed contentedly as she worked, comforted by her words and deeds. She was just a fresh-faced 18 year old when she first came in for the interview. She was nervous at first, but after a round with the guys and a welding demonstration, he hired her the same day. Sid admitted to himself that he used her quite a lot after his wife Martha died, but she didn't seem to mind.

Bridget was worried about Johnny. She thought about how dangerous it was getting to make supply runs as she sucked her boss. Complete engines powerful enough to run the newest vehicles are in high demand, and a thriving black market for them was widespread and rarely challenged. She licked the entire length of Sid's cock, dark thought filling her imagination. She sucked faster and faster as scenarios where he was kidnapped, or even killed, played out in her mind. She nearly choked when Sid came suddenly in her mouth, and she had to pull back, his cock spewing cum onto her face. He chuckled a bit. At least she'd gotten him to smile.