Page 26 of Hemmed

“What are you thinking about?” asked Thurston.

“Just wondering how we get out of this. I mean, I think we might have fucked up.”

“Of course, we fucked up!” he snapped. “Have you not been following this at all? We royally fucked up, and he’s going to cut us into pieces if we can’t find a way to help him make more money and get what he wants. We need more ideas.”

“It has to be a pay site. Something that involves credit cards or money transfers. What about videos of cheerleaders? We get male cheerleaders to wear cameras, so when they’re looking up at the sweet little pussy in the skirts, everyone gets a view.”

“That’s not bad,” smirked Thurston. “Not bad at all, and I’d damn sure pay for that. We could expand it to dancers too. Ballet, ballroom, anything where the woman is lifted over their head.”

“Exactly,” nodded Craig, feeling a little better about having a plausible idea.

“Okay, okay, what else?” asked Thurston.

“City street grates. You know, the kind that Marilyn Monroe stood over.” Craig stared at him, waiting for a reaction.

“Not bad, not bad. Not all cities have those, but it could work. We could do train platforms.”

“Oh! What about airlines? Put small cameras in the seatback pockets. Those damn seats in coach are so fucking small. Poor women sit down and have no room. Legs just have to open a little bit, and we get a good view.” Craig smiled, feeling very proud of himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smiled. “Or we could put them in the air vents. Perfect view looking down into their tits.”

“See, this is easy,” smirked Craig. “We got this. Oh, wait! Swim teams! You know, high school, college, all of it. Those tight little swimsuits with their ass cheeks hanging out. Or gymnasts!”

“Easy, man. We got this. Krauss is gonna be happy to see us.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ace waited at the top of Golden Gate Park near the pedestrian walkway that went over the bridge. The wind whipped across the bay, making others pull up their sweaters and sweatshirts around their necks. Ace was used to temperature variations, so stood stoically, waiting for their marks.

Below him in the park were Alec, Tailor, and Miller. Jean stood only a few feet away from him, taking photos of absolutely nothing, while Ian, Ghost, Nine, and Gaspar were spread out on the bridge itself.

“We’re here, and we’ve got some great ideas for Mr. Krauss,” said Thurston, walking toward him casually.

“I’m sure you do,” said Ace. “He wants to see you in Miami. The usual spot.”

“The usual spot? He’s got like fucking ten spots in Miami,” frowned Craig. “How are we supposed to know what that is?”

“You’re asking me? Well, I can give him a call, and you can ask him yourself,” said Ace with a sly smirk.

“No. No, that’s okay. I’m certain that he means the island mansion. That’s fine. We can go there.”

Ace stared at the two men, waiting for just the right moment.

“Well? What now?” snapped Thurston.

“Now, you either speak or die,” said Ace. The two men stared at him, wondering what he meant. Was there something else that Krauss wanted? Needed?

“We don’t know what you want.”

“Sure you do,” said Ghost, walking up to them with Ian, Nine, and Gaspar.

They stared at the other men, taking a step backwards, realizing they would be killed by traffic. They were trapped on the walkway between the men. Looking in the opposite direction along the walkway of the bridge, they spotted a large man standing guard in the path.

“Wh-who are you? What do you want?” asked Craig.

“Besides getting back at you for what you did to your soon-to-be ex-wife, for being such a dick?” smirked Ian. “Pretty much everything. Why is Krauss getting into vanilla porn sites watching women undress and use the bathroom? He’s trafficked women all over the world. Why this?”

“H-How do you know that?” asked Thurston.

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