Author's Note: If you hate spoilers of any kind please skip this note.
This chapter contains some pretty tame male on male bisexual exploration, but if this is a turn-off for you, probably best to skip this story.
Story edited, to fix odd missing word and spelling and also tweaked in response to some feedback.
Thanks everyone for reading, and as always, any feedback is welcome.
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Miss Masters, Ch.2: Cabin Fever
"Are either of you going to tell me where we are going?" asked Miss Masters from the back seat of a non-descript black sedan.
"Like I said before, that's no concern of yours. We'll be there when we get there." Replied the man in his early forties, who was sitting in the front passenger seat.
The car journey seemed to have gone on for hours. The steady sound of the water spray from the tyres, was only interrupted by the repetitive rhythm of the windscreen wipers. Now that the sun had set and the rain was lashing down, there wasn't even a view to enjoy. Just the edges of the road, illuminated by the headlights.
She sighed in the back seat, since they had taken her into custody at the Drake Hotel, they had barely spoken to her. She had expected to be taken somewhere official -- not this endless interminable driving.
Her escort were a suitably boring pair. Both men were tall, wore almost identical drab raincoats, with cheap suits and hats to match. They looked like just what they were,
bureau agents.
"Yes, but where is that." She said responding to his earlier non-answer.
Neither man responded. But the driver, a younger man in his early twenties, handsome with blond-hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders, looked over at his older colleague for guidance. Only to be dismissed with a curt shake of the head.
"This little jaunt would be a lot more pleasant if we could talk." She said, becoming a little tired of the situation. "You bundle me into this car, you don't tell me where I'm going or let me contact my lawyer -- the least you could do is speak to me."
The young driver looked over again, his face quizzical. "What harm would it do?" He asked.
"Just do as your told and drive." Replied the older man, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
* * *
Earlier that day, the older man, Senior Special Agent Jack Blake had been sifting through paperwork at his desk. He was forty-six years old and had the salt and pepper hair to prove it. He was exactly what everyone thought a Bureau Agent looked like; he was a little over six-foot-tall, two hundred and fifteen pounds (with a little extra around the waist these days). But he was still in good shape, he was more than capable of running down a suspect half his age and then beating a confession out of him after he caught him.
Paperwork bored the hell out of him. So, when he was called into the assistant director's office, he popped up from his desk with a sense of relief.
"Close the door" Said the balding man behind the desk, as he motioned to Blake to take a seat. "I've got a funny one for you Jack. I want you to get down to the Drake Hotel in Chicago and pick up a suspect."
The assistant director passed over an almost empty file.
A little disappointed it wasn't something more interesting Blake suppressed a sigh. He opened the file, it was just a cover sheet with a name, some aliases, a date of birth and a photograph clipped to the sheet.
"Is this it? What is she a civilian?" He asked, commenting on the almost non-existent information.
"If only. She appeared, seemingly from nowhere, about eighteen months ago. She took over a whorehouse in downtown Chicago, and then quickly started acquiring control of more and more of the cathouses in the city. Pretty soon, she moved on to the numbers, buying up significant gambling debts, taking over established games, then she started opening up her own. It wasn't long until she was muscling in on protection and the smuggling rackets down on the docks."
"In just a year and a half. The lady works fast." Said Blake looking at the slender woman in the photograph, his eyebrows raised.
"She does, we hadn't even identified her as the ringleader until around six months ago. What little we have is pulled from informants and dodgy rumours. But we estimate she now has a stake in around a third of the organized crime in the city."
Blake whistled. "That much."
"That's why I've had her arrested." Said the assistant director.
The senior special agent looked down at the near empty file. "Do we have something?"
"Well that's where it gets sticky. She's guilty as hell, we just can't prove anything."
"Sir." Blake furrowed his eyebrows.
"I know, I know. But trust me I know what I'm doing. Just pick her up from the local cops. Take her to this address and sit on her for a few days." He said, tossing over an envelope and some keys. "Take Special Agent Taylor with you."
"Dutch? He's green as hell." Said Blake his shoulder's sagging.
"I know but he's gotta learn some time."
"Fair enough sir. I'll head straight home, pack a few things, and let my wife know I'm going to be away for a few days."
The assistant director shook his head. "Forget that, this is more important. Call your wife on the phone, then get Taylor and go pick up the prisoner."
"Yes sir." Sighed Blake, not looking forward to his impending phone call.
He stood up and made his way out of the assistant director's office.
"Hey Blake, one more thing."
"Yes sir." He said, looking back over his shoulder, the open door in his hand.
"Watch this bitch, she's slippery."
"Understood." Said Blake closing the door.
For a moment, the assistant director stared pensively at the door. Once he was confident that Blake wasn't coming back, he picked up his phone and fumbled in his top pocket for a small scrap of paper. Squinting his eyes, he slowly read out the number for the operator.
He waited for the line to click through. "Hello is that you?"
There was no answer, just the sound of a long exhale down the line.
The assistant director spoke, keeping his voice low. "I've done what you asked, she's been arrested, and my men are taking her to a safehouse. Everything is just liked you asked. You said you'd handle it from here?"
Again, no voice came from the other end of the line. Eager to fill the threatening silence, the assistant director read out the address. Once he had finished, the line went dead. Hesitantly, he looked at his phone and gently put it back down on the receiver.
* * *
Finally, the car turned off the road. The steady smooth running of the tarmac gave way to the rumble of a dirt track. The headlights illuminating the trees on either side. Miss Masters shifted in the back seat, sitting up and paying attention to the suddenly changing environment. She glanced at her watch and noted how long it had taken to get to wherever they were.
"Up here on the left Dutch."
