Making the Move

The next day, and I'm back in Granite Falls, MN. My uncle drove by at six in the fucking morning to pick me up for a job. It was an uncharacteristically hot day for Minnesota, and we were moving some furniture out of the Hasselbacher Estate. The Hasselbachers were a big name in this small town, owning both the gravel and soil companies. Earl Hasselbacher, it seemed, had a wandering eye and was ruled against by the judge.

By noon, I was panting. Grand pianos, Victorian couches, marble statues; you name it we loaded it and took it to a storage facility. Old Earl didn't help a goddamn bit, of course. I was moving my third Roman column of the day when I nearly slipped down the old wooden staircase leading to the upper floor and nearly dropped it. I cursed as my hand was crushed against the rail. If I was lucky, I'd get fifty whole dollars from the whole job.

I was eating my stale ham and cheese sandwich on the steps of the estate when it hit me. "Shit. I never even got her name..." I thought to myself. I still had all but $50 dollars of what the woman had left in the envelope and of course the ticket. I tossed the rest of the sandwich back in my lunchbag, grabbed my custom protein shake, and greedily drank it in the midday sun. I looked down on Granite Falls and grimaced.

There were less than 3,000 people in this town. They were friendly enough, but surely by now Holly had told every available piece of ass I'd gotten a blowjob from a lot lizard or something similar. I finished the shake, tossed the shaker cup back into the bag, and got back to work.

Six grueling hours and two trips to the storage facility later and I was exhausted, not having fully recovered from the events at the competition (and after). My uncle dropped me off at my crummy rundown house, handed me two sweat-soaked twenties, and said he'd see me in the morning bright and early. I nodded and waved as he drove away. I stood there watching him leave, and realized that no matter what else happened, I wasn't going to grow old here to inherit a mom and pop moving company.

"Ah, what the Hell. Why not." I said. I walked through my living room over threadbare carpets and passed a small pile of empty pizza boxes to the kitchen table. The envelope was sitting where I'd left it, right next to my jar of protein powder and Chinese steroids. "Won't need these anymore." I said, rattling the few remaining pills. I picked up the envelope, opened it, and read the card.

The Black Keep (inc)

P.O. Box 172, North Lake, Mass.

I googled it. It was a remailing service, so who knows where this place actually was. An internet search turned up a number of roleplaying settings, some edgy goth sites, and a conspiracy site that claimed the initials for Burger King actually stood for "the Black Keep" where politicians performed weird sex acts on each other. I raised my eyebrow at that one. Given the woman's behavior, that might not be total horseshit.

That night, I gassed up the Charger and drove a little over two hours on the 212 to St. Paul; or rather a private airfield about half an hour outside the city. I'd packed enough clothes for two days, my protein powder, and a flash drive with my pathetic resume on it. When I presented my ticket to the lady at the counter, her eyes flashed with surprise.

"Oh, going to see Mr. Stein are we?" she asked. I was shit at lying, so I just nodded. She lightly grazed the back of my hand when she handed me the ticket back. I glanced down at her hand, wedding ring and all, and then in her eyes. She smiled a smile I recognized. The woman had flashed the same look of longing and mischief. I realized she hadn't scanned it or stamped it. "Runway 6, to your left. The plane is waiting on you. I believe you are the last to arrive." I cocked my head to the side, nodded again as this was totally fucking normal, and made my way to the private jet.

It was a Gulfstream 200, whatever that meant. I'd never even seen a private plane let alone flew in one. A man in a black business suit greeted me, took my luggage, and opened the door at the top of the stairs. "This way, Mr Coogan." he said.

"Cogan, and thank you." I replied. I was wearing my best suit which I quickly realized cost less than this guy's tie. I ducked my head in, and was immediately struck by the sight of the stewardess. She wore dark blue cap on her blonde hair to match her jacket. That would have been normal enough had she not been nude from the waist down. I glanced back at the man in the black suit as he closed the door behind me.

"Welcome, Mr Cogan. Please have a seat. We'll have someone by to attend to your needs shortly." the blonde said. I smiled like a doofus as I watched her tight ass sway back down the narrow isle.

"Ollie Cogan! I see they'll let anyone on this flight!" I heard from a familiar voice. I winced and grimaced.

"Hey Sven." I said, turning to see the strongman smack the blonde's ass as she went by. I gritted my teeth as I surveyed the cabin. Three other men besides me and Sven were onboard. This interview was going to be far worse than he thought.