Tracie Dumas #2 - Disappearing Act


[anal, threesome, hardcore, strip club, bounty hunter, urban]

In the heat of the city, Tracie’s relationship with Johnny isn’t going well. The bar's air conditioner has died and worse, he's hired a cute Latina chick to work there. When a client wants her to help him disappear to Asia with a chunk of money that doesn’t belong to him, her hackles go up. She goes to her cop friend Sean for help. He’s hot and connected and willing to help her if she’s willing to play his games. She's happy to, besides, the client is stealing mob money and Tracie can’t afford to become a target. Sean arranges a meeting a strip club owned by the mob. As the heat level ramps up, she plays to her strengths… being street smart enough to make a deal. And Sean is there to reward her before she goes back to work things out with Johnny, and show him that she can enjoy Rosa too.


      I sat in Jersey's Bar on Sixth Street, sipping a scotch, staring at the business card in front of me and trying to ignore the way my clothes were sticking to me, to the sweat that was running down my face.
      "Mason's Heating & Air Conditioning" the card read. I'd just talked to Mason himself. Our air con, the big noisy, rattly one that sat outside in the alley and was supposed to keep the bar cool during heat waves like this one and made it a haven for customers, was dead. It was, apparently, far past its prime.
      "It's not worth fixing," Mason said. "It's old and seeing that no one has bothered to maintain it for about ten years, it is totally fucked."
      I'd stared at the estimate he'd given us for a shiny new one. The figures looked like they'd be right for buying a new car, an upmarket one at that. "But can you fix it? Make it last a while longer so we can get money for a new one?"
      "I can make an ashtray cool this joint if you want, but repairing this bitch is gonna cost almost as much as putting in a new one. Maybe more if I have to adapt parts for it. Besides, a new one will cost less to run, pay for itself over time."
      I imagined he was right. Sure he wanted to sell us a new one, but he made sense. The trouble was we didn't have anything like that kind of money. So I told him we had to talk it over, maybe see about a loan. That left me with his estimate, his business card, and a bar that was losing money because of the incredible heat.
      And to make things worse, Johnny and I were fighting about it.
      Johnny is my partner in the bar and, when things are going smooth, my lover. Right now that part wasn't working out well. I'd come back from a business trip that also didn't work out to find his apartment, above the bar, and the bar itself had turned into an oven. In that heat, our tempers were in as short a supply as customers willing to put up with that heat.
      "It died yesterday," Johnny said. He'd called Mason and the two of them gave me the bad news. That fucked over my plans for a sex-filled homecoming, and I'd wanted that to take my mind off the costly trip I'd made.
      And then he told me about Rosa. He'd hired her as a waitress. Not that we could've afforded an employee even when the air con was working. It didn't help my state of mind or attitude that Rosa was a drop dead gorgeous Latina. I blew up—lost it completely.
      "We can't afford any help. You're supposed to talk to me about things like this before you decide, not after."
      "You weren't here."
      "I'm back now. What was the rush?"
      He wiped the sweat from his face with his tee shirt. Even the sight of those spectacular abs didn't cheer me, which shows you how upset I was. "Rosa had another offer and she needed a decision. You don't want me calling you on bar business when you are off doing whatever the fuck it is you do on those trips."
      "Work. That's what I do. Try to earn some money to live on." It bothered me that he had a point. I was in no mood to admit it, but he was in the right. He'd been here and needed to make a decision. Running the bar is his job. I'd been busy following a bogus lead that was supposed to get me a bail jumper. I should mention that my real job is being a bounty hunter. It says so right on my business card: Tracie Dumas, bounty hunter.
      I'm good at my work and most of the time I like it. Still, it's freelance work and when I don't score, I eat the costs. Right now that hurt.

Word Count: 12,400

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