Date: Mon, 07 Feb 2011 17:27:20 -0800
From: marianasdeep3@hushmail.com
Subject: Fast Cash Stripper (Part 8:  Run Like Hell)

What's a movie without a chase scene?  I need to move my characters
from A to B, so there will only be some passing references to the
sex already presented.  If you're just looking for friction, read
the first installments and await the next.  If you've been
following all along, you will want to read to see how the
characters develop, and how they end up in the next scene ;) Our
hero finds his limits ... and his balls.  Cut to the chase ...

Run Like Hell

I came off stage-left and turned right into the locker room with
all the other boys.  We were all in the shower, first washing the
cum off, then getting our bodies clean.  It looked like any
innocent shower room after gym class.  Finally, we were dressing
into our own clothes.

When I came out of the locker room, Scooter's uncle was handing
each of us $250 dollars, "You have lodging here tonight, and your
last session is yours, $100, paid in the morning."

Scooter came up to me, "Come on, Mark, double enticement to stay."

I replied, "That's a maybe if my last guy can be Mr. O'Connor, or
at least someone like him."

Overhearing, Carlitos came up to us, "No, it's with Carlos Gambino
and Tony Merrata.  Last on your list, and a personal favor to them
from me."

I looked at Scooter shocked, "Come on, I've only got one more name
left!"

"There's two left on your list, Mark.  Mr. Edison was an add-on
after all." Scooter replied.

Carlitos chimed in, smiling as if to mock me, "Gambino and Merrata
are really looking forward to a gangbang.  I'm planning to join
in." He pointed to them down at the end of the hall, two burly
guys, one with acne scars all over his face, the other with more
sinister looking scars, smiling at me.  I instantly thought to
myself, "No fucking way.  I'm not being used like a rag doll again."

I turned to sprint to the back hallway leading to the backdoor.
But Carlito's grabbed my arm, which finally ejected the thoughts in
my brain out into words, "No fucking way!" ... something else
ejected from my body ... it surprised the hell out of me as much as
it surprised the hell out of Carlitos.

...

I connected a strong right hook into Carlitos' face.

...

The punch not only released my arm, but actually sent Carlitos to
the floor, I'm sure more from surprise than the blow itself.  I
took the opportunity to bolt.

"Grab that little fucker!" Carlitos yelled as I turned the corner
down the back hall.  I ran past several dancers and others in the
hall, shoving some of them out of my way before they knew what the
commotion was all about, and leapt through the backdoor clearing
the backsteps.  I looked back only once to see Carlitos, Scooter,
his uncle ... and Gambino and Merrata in pursuit.  I found my bike
across the parking lot, jumped on but couldn't land my feet on the
pedals, so it hurt my fucked ass really bad, scrambling with my
feet running on the ground to get the bike going.  When I was
finally coasting enough to lift my feet, I found the pedals.  As I
rode off, standing on the pedals, the last I heard, and it was
coming from Carlitos, "Why didn't one of you fuckheads think to
take the kid's bike!!"

I knew I had to go about two miles down this desert highway to the
end of the busline.  Not that I expected the buses to be running,
or if they were that I could ever sit there and wait for one, but
until I got back to that point, I had no idea how to get home.  My
mind wasn't thinking clearly yet.  The last place I should have
been heading was towards home.  Luckily the highway was downhill,
as are most of the remote highways near Vegas, following the wash
slopes leading into town from the surrounding mountains.  I was
moving at an extreme clip, certainly faster than I had ever ridden
a bike, and faster than I thought a bike could even go.  The speed
gave me enough confidence to look back toward the club ...
something gave me another surge of what I learned later is called
adrenaline ... headlights leaving the parking lot.  I double-took
to confirm my worst fear ... they were coming my direction, another
adrenaline rush.  Another double-take and another adrenaline rush
... they were gaining on me at a considerable clip.

There was no fucking way I could stay on the highway!  But which
way to go, off to the left or right?  As I looked to the left, I
saw mountains.  As I looked to the right, I saw the lights of the
Vegas strip.  I couldn't believe this thought entered my mind at
this time, but it did, "What plays in Vegas, stays in Vegas."  I
even had time for a follow-up thought.  "How much hell is released
from that strip, like the hell I was in now!"  Then it hit me, this
time a much more useful thought.

"THE CHANNELS!!"

I knew there was one of those gulley-washer channels on this slope.
 I must have played in all of them in the Vegas area.  I knew the
feeder ravine for this one had to be behind me to the left, and the
town was ahead of me on the right ... so the channel was definitely
to the right!  To the right I went!  At first the going was tough;
I was sinking in soft dirt and sand, but it got harder as I left
the road.  Eventually the ground was hard enough to get a clip
going, certainly not as fast as on pavement, but I managed to get
far enough off the road that I saw three sets of car headlights
whiz past me on the highway.

I kept working my way forward.  Luckily for me it hadn't rained in
a long time, so I didn't have to worry about gumbo, in fact I was
moving fast enough that my biggest hazard was dodging sagebrush ...
and sidewinders.  The occasional sidewinder kept the adrenaline up,
and I realize now, that kept me going.  Eventually I had to stop,
ride a little more, always standing, my ass still hurting, stop,
walk and push the bike some, stop, ride again, stop, walk pushing
... I finally reached the channel.  It was small this high up the
slope, but at least it was down the slope enough to be cement
lined!!  It was only five feet deep, so it had straight walls.  I
had to jump down to get in and lift my bike to the bottom, but at
least it was wide enough to be ride-able!  And it was downhill!
Always downhill!  I didn't know exactly where this one would end
up, but I knew they all joined together, feeding massive canals
that led to the aqueduct.  I knew my bus-route was to the left,
picked a light to the left on the skyline across the valley, and
kept my eye on it so when I reached town, heading downhill in all
these merging channels, I would at least start heading that
direction until I knew where I was.

Finally feeling safe, I was able to coast along, and actually enjoy
the night sky.  The Mojave at night.  Always clear enough to see
the meteorites.  Each flashing streak took my mind off the fear.
With each channel joining in, the floor got wider, the ride easier
even as the floor got wetter.  I noticed then, that the seat of my
jeans were wet, as was my left leg.  I had to take a piss anyway,
so I stopped riding, got off, and pulled down my pants.  My
underwear was full of cum from my ass, expelled from the exertion.
It had gone down my leg, my leg still slimey and wet with it.  I
was getting hungry too.  All I was getting was cum taste in my
mouth, still, every time I burped up.

But then I started getting scared again.  Relieved of the piss, I
pulled up my underwear and pants, letting them re-slime my body.  I
knew I wasn't heading directly home, and that even a direct route
was at least 15 miles.  I was in the middle of fucking nowhere in
pitch darkness, except for the stars and the lights of the Strip
off in the distance.  The fear was building and building.  I knew I
had to get home, or at least to the streets.  You can't be out here
when the sun comes up.

Suddenly there was a dark gap between what I could see of the route
I was taking, and the skyline ahead.  I slowed, rode ahead
cautiously.  Then was elated!  A main canal!

My feeder came to its edge, then over the steeply sloped cement
wall to the bottom.  I stood on the edge.  "I can do this, even in
the dark.  I've done it a hundred times."  And with that, I pushed
off, knowing to take an angle, not be stupid by going straight
down, keep the uphill leg off the pedal, at the ready, in case the
tires slip.  I had gone off to the left; so that meant controlling
the descent with my right leg on the downhill pedal, always turning
left uphill when you needed to regain control, never downhill.  I
reached the bottom and stopped.

How many times had I been yelled at to stay the fuck out of the
bottom of the main canals!!  Skateboarding or biking the walls was
irresistible.  We were kids.  We were stupid.  When it rains in the
desert, it pours.  A flash can come down this system in a
heartbeat, taking everything with it.  The newspaper had at least
one story per year of some kid washed away.  I looked to the left
upstream, the direction I thought I was supposed to go.  Nothing.
I looked to the right.  A freeway bridge over the canal about a
half mile downstream, the canal heading downtown.  I knew I didn't
want to go that way, but I was already lost enough, so to the right
downstream it was.

I went under and past the freeway bridge, decided to check out the
streets beyond, above me in the canal, and got off the bike.  I
found a little washer coming in from the right and decided to
follow it out.  I certainly knew how to negotiate up the wall of
the canal--As a kid, how else do you get to have another ride?--so it
wasn't long and I was on a trail leading to a fairly busy
residential street, running parallel to the freeway.  And within
seconds, the first set of headlights to go by me sent an instant,
reminding chill down my spine.  Now what?  I still didn't know
where I was.  I started riding across the blocks, still standing on
the pedals, my wet butt swaying from side to side as I rode.  I was
trying to find a street name I recognized.  Occasionally there was
a honk, but the car always went on past.  Then I found out why the
honking:  a cat call ... and eventually a call of, "Nice ass, kid."
 That sent a chill down my spine.  Damn, I was still lost.  I
needed help ... and protection.  I found a filling station on a
busy cross street on which motorists were constantly going by.

I found the filling station's outside pay phone on the corner.
They actually had them back in those days.  "Call Dad!!" my brain
went off.  I reached into my pockets, but like most kids penniless,
I couldn't find a quarter ... but I did find $250 in cash.  I
pulled out the cash:  2 C-notes and a fifty?  Who the fuck is going
to be able to change that at this hour?  And for a kid?

Then I noticed on the top of the phone "Emergency dial 911"

I dialed.

"Police, Ambulance, or Fire dispatch?"

"What?" I replied, thinking I could just ask for Dad.

"State your emergency and your location."

I had never done this before, "I'm ... being chased by the mob ...
and I don't know where I am."

"First, can you give me your name?"  I thought about this.  The
chief of police was my first fuck.  I somehow had enough presence
to think twice about answering the request.

"No" I replied.  There was a silence, mainly due to the surprising
answer.

"O.K. kid, do you know what street you're on?" the dispatcher next
asked.  Shit, she could tell I was a kid, but I could also sense
that she was genuinely concerned.

"Yes, Shadow Peak."

"Do you know a cross street?"

"... No ... I can't read the sign from where I am."

"Any businesses nearby?"

"I'm at a Mobil ...  There's a McDonalds on the cross street,
towards town way up."  The McDonalds started the business district
leading downtown.

"... Kid, you're going to need that cross street's name.  Go look,
come back immediately and call 911, ask for agent #37 first thing.
Do you understand?"

"Yes."

It took me about a minute to find the street sign and get back.  I
dialed.

"Police, Ambulance, or Fire Dispatch?"

"Agent #37"

"... OK kid, what's the cross street?"

"Gowan." I said.

"OK, I'm dispatching police.  Wait at that corner until you see a
squad car.  If you need anything else, call again.  Agent #37
again.  Got it?"

"Yeah ...", I was interrupted, "Never mind.  Stay on the line.
Stay at that phone and stay on the line, got that?"

"Yeah..."  There was silence, but I could tell she was still there.
I looked up and down the street, waiting.  Way up the street on
Gowan started the business district.  Down the street I had come
up:  about four blocks of residential ... and the canal.  My brain
locked onto the canal, more and more, with each interminable
minute.  Then I saw a black car at the corner.

"Hey kid, nice ass.  Thanks for telling us where you were."

"Fuck!" I said dropping the phone, the last I heard from it, "Kid,
what's wrong!"

I bolted.  The car pulled into the station, but I was already
behind the building, threw my bike and myself over the wall.  I
heard the car screech out of the station while I crossed someone's
backyard to the street in front.  I started riding down the street
from its cul-de-sac dead-end.  Perfect, ahead it was curving left
back towards the canal, but there was a neighborhood entrance
street on the right.  I no sooner passed that street when I saw
headlights turning in from the main street.  But when they reached
my street, they turned left, the way I had just come!  I heard them
screeching around the cul-de-sac dead-end, but by then I had turned
the left curve out of sight.

I heard the car brake near the entrance street, hesitating, then
screeching forward around the bend coming behind me.  I ditched the
street, quickly running through a yard, throwing my bike and myself
over a neighbor's fence to its backyard, dogs barking.  I saw the
car whiz by on the street.  I was soon on my bike again the next
street over, riding toward the canal.

I knew I had to clear the next intersection toward the canal, and I
did, but just as they went behind me.  I heard the tires screech.
Back up.  Shit they saw me.  I knew I had to ditch across a yard
again, and chose to go to the right. They sped the next block to
the next street and turned right, and went down the next block.
Hiding in the next yard over, I saw them ahead of me, waiting.
Then I heard sirens.  Were there cops coming to my rescue?  Or was
it more of them!!  Neighbor's lights were going on, more dogs
barking.  When I saw the car slowly idle forward, I doubled back to
the last street.  I cleared the intersection toward the canal,
looking up the street to the right at their tail lights, then
bolted down an alley to the left to get to yet another street
behind them.  I had more time as the car had to go around the
blocks to the left.  I had two to go when I noticed cops going by
on some of the cross streets.  I decided to negotiate backyards,
crossing the streets only when I had to.  Eventually I took to a
street that backed up to the canal, and rode to it on my bike.

I made it to that main canal, leaping off my bike and throwing it
over the edge.  I went over sliding after it, picked it up.  I had
fallen on my bike halfway down the wall numerous times as a kid.  I
knew it was tough to get started again mid-slope, but I knew how,
and mounted the bike, riding at an angle toward the bottom.

Once I reached the bottom, I knew I had to go continue downhill in
the canal.  I had come down a mile from where my gulley washer came
in, and I was now about a quarter mile down from the freeway
bridge.  Another quarter mile down there was a city bridge crossing
the canal.  I knew I had to clear that bridge fast.  I rode on ...
exhausted.  As I was riding towards it, I saw police lights on the
bridge, but the car continued on across.  Keep going.

As I approached, I noticed a sign on the bridgehead:  Hualapai.
Why was that familiar?  As I passed the bridge, I kept double-
taking back on it.  It was o.k., coast clear as I got further and
further along.  Then I saw spotlight beams scoping the floor of the
channel from the bridge.  The beams were side mounted on a car.  I
couldn't tell, but assumed it was a cop car.  Lucky for me, the
first beams were aimed upstream of the bridge, sweeping across the
floor.  Of course I knew what was next, and hastened my pace on the
bike.  By the time they were aimed downstream of the bridge, I was
well out of sight.  But I knew I now had to get the hell out of the
canal.

I looked ahead for anything:  another bridge, a gulley-washer
entering in a cascade on the wall, anything.  I saw streets lit up
ahead, but oddly could not make out any bridges.  I looked back
upstream ... and I couldn't fucking believe it.  There were three
single headlights way up the channel running on the channel floor.
But they weren't running together ... separating ... coming
together ... but all the while coming my direction, and fast.
MOTORCYCLES!  They were now between the freeway bridge and the
bridge I had just past.  They must have started where I had re-
entered the canal or somewhere upstream.  I started to beeline for
the wall ... when I saw it in front of me.

THE DRAIN?!

The Drain was a huge pipe that would collect up the canal water and
send it under the streets of Vegas.  You could fit a car into it
... but wouldn't dare.  If a flash came along, the pipe would run
completely full.  You would come out on the other side of Vegas ...
a drowned rat.

How could I be this far north!?  At least I now knew where I was.
My friends and I had played in the drain, exploring.  We were kids.
 We were stupid.  We used to have to take dirt bikes to get to it.
It was far; I was probably now further from home than when I had
started biking.  The only time my dad spanked me--and yes on the
bare bottom, but no not kinky-- was when we were caught playing in
The Drain.  The Drain only got deeper and deeper as you went in,
how deep to this day I don't know.  It got stifling hard to breathe
the further you went in.  There were cases of kids suffocating just
having gone down too far.  But The Drain collected storm drains
under the city streets, and if you were willing to get down to
their first few connections with the main pipe, the underground of
the streets of Vegas were your oyster.  We were busted by the
police coming out of a manhole cover from a storm drain onto a
sidewalk.

I remember my dad was beside himself.  All he could yell while he
reddened my butt was, "Stay the fuck out of The Drain.  Stay the
fuck out of The Drain ..."  Then he grabbed me, hugging me close,
wouldn't let go for five minutes, sobbing.  I remembered that as I
stared into it now.  But the motorcycles were coming.  In I went.
Of course I wasn't stupid enough to ride in.  The steep slope would
take you on a black ride into oblivion.  I crept in about 200 yards
pushing my bike, trying not to slip, watching the circle of night
city lights from the entrance get smaller and smaller.  I stopped.
I had no flashlight.  I would have to feel the walls all the way
down if I wanted to find a storm drain.  At least The Drain would
protect me from the hot Vegas summer day.  I decided I would stay
here for the night.  If a light were to come into the entrance, I
would descend further using my headstart for escape time.  I knew
their lights couldn't throw this far into the darkness.  I heard
the motorcycles, sound resonating at the entrance, but never saw a
lightbeam.  Then silence.  I spent the night trying to stay awake,
afraid watching for lightbeams, but more afraid listening for that
surging sound that comes with a flash flood.

Eventually I saw the light at the entrance get a little brighter
from daylight.  I was going to at least spend the day here to beat
the heat.  I kept nodding off.

At one point in the late afternoon, I startled awake to the sound
of a motorcycle engine, resonating from the entrance.  Then a
fucking flashlight beam was coming from the entrance!  I panicked
and stupidly forgot my bike as I started feeling along the wall to
go further down.  The flashlight beam was getting closer ... then
the beam hit my bike above me.

"Mark?!!"

I somehow held in a scream, and kept going.

"Mark!!  It's me. STEVE!!"

Was he alone?  Could I trust him?  I couldn't hold back my elation.

Cautiously quiet at first, "Steve?", then louder, "Steve?"

When he met up with me, he grabbed me and I grabbed him, hugging,
BOTH of us sobbing.  His sobs convinced me he was alone, I could
trust him.

"I've been looking for you half the night and all day." Steve said.

"How did you know I was here?" I replied.

"Mark, I checked them all, but this is the best God damned hiding
place in Vegas ..." then added with a laugh, "... for a FOOL."
Then more seriously, "It's the August flash season.  We gotta get
the fuck out of here.  Come on, climb and grab your bike, then
wait.  I'm climbing the rest of the way out to get mine."

He gave me the flashlight to light his way.  With that I watched
his Levi butt as he climbed out.  He grabbed his dirt bike and
brought it down, a heavier ordeal.  We continued on, slowly,
deliberately, but at least with a light, to the first storm drain.
When we reached it, the storm pipe was still big enough to stand
in, most were.  We saw a light in it up ahead, and knew what it
was, an access portal room.  They were usually lit up brightly, but
if not, at least always had red emergency lights pointing to the
ladder and manhole.

"We'll leave our bikes here," he said as we dropped our bikes, not
in the room, but out of sight in our pipe leaving it.  We walked
through the room in the canal between the pipes, exiting through
the pipe on the other side, onward to the next room.  We
occasionally turned into a new pipe when we came across an
intersection, occasionally dodging rats too, not knowing or caring
where we would end up.  Finally we reached the chosen room.

"Wait here." Steve said as he headed for the ladder, "If anyone
fucks with the manhole while I'm gone, leave the room and hide."
With that, I got to watch his ass climb the ladder, and stand at
the top while he slightly lifted the manhole on different sides,
peering in different directions.  I couldn't help myself, and
laughed ...

"Remember when we got arrested?"

He set down the manhole over his head, laughing heartily, "Not this
time, kid."  Smiling he waited until the coast was clear, lifted
the manhole again, and was gone, leaving me with the sounds of the
manhole swirling closed.

I was exhausted and decided to crawl out of sight in the pipe and
sleep.  I don't know how long I was out.  I awoke to a whispered
shout, "Mark, where the fuck are you?"

"Here," I yelled a little too loud.  I came back into the portal
room.

"Let's go, I got us a room?" Steve said.

"A room?" I asked confused.

"A hotel room," he replied.

"A HOTEL room?  How the fuck did you do that?  You're 14.  Why?"

"Mark, don't be so naïve.  Remember?  This is Vegas man!"

"Can't we go home?"

"Absolutely not!!" Steve said, a little too loud, then quieter, "We
gotta lay low.  At least until they report the two of us as
"missing child" cases or something.  Let's go," then added,
"Between the two of us, we've got enough cash to hold out, even a
couple of days if we have to."

We left by way of the manhole, my eyes squinting with their first
daylight.

"You look and smell like a sewer rat!" Steve said laughing, "We
gotta get off the streets."

"Thanks!" I replied laughing.

Steve led me a few blocks, and we went straight to our room.  He
had already checked only himself in, using an alias.