GETTING PUMPED BY THE MAN
BY Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
Carver kept his stash of marijuana in small baggies secreted in several places, in his jumpbag, in his sneakers, in his jockstrap. A policeman who would bust him would usually stop at finding the first one. That was enough to let him have some chance of dumping the rest of it if they took him in. That, at least, was what he told people. It worked well enough.
The others on the basketball court were selling crack, mostly. One woman had some red pills, Carver hadn't found out what they were. Obtained from a pharmacy on a fake prescription. All of them were standing around the court pretending that they had business there, with the lights busted out and the basketball court silent and the darkness around them. Just hanging out.
Yeah, right!
The police knew that the Mad Tower was crawling with junkies and small-time dealers. None of the really big boys were here, just a lot of small dealers like the woman and her single pad of prescriptions. She'd get busted sooner or later with those things, or run out of prescription forms.
The call went out, hissed. "Cops are coming!" Many of the dealers and all of the buyers took off, some running, some strolling. Carver stayed where he was. He only had some weed; they didn't bother busting a man for selling weed. Usually.
Then the lights hit him, that bright, white searchlight near the car door next to the external rear-view mirror, it hit him with what must be several hundred watts of white light, and he flinched, threw his arm up over his eyes. "Shit!" he said in exasperation.
"Stay right where you are." came the voice.
"Man, go hassle someone else tonight!" he groaned. He had nearly two hundred dollars worth of dime bags on him, it was early Saturday night! He could stand to lose it...but he'd be eating macaroni and cheese for a few weeks if he did.
The light stayed on him while the door opened and the form stepped out. Carver recognized the long, lean figure, tan and white. "Shit, Fields, why you hassling me tonight?" Carver realized that Fields was alone. "Where's Rodriguez?"
"Back at the station filling out paperwork." Fields said.
"So why ain't you with him?"
"I'm done with my paperwork."
"A policeman comes here at night, alone? You stupid or looking for a medical leave?"
"I'm supposed to be stopping people running red lights, but I got bored. I figured the Mad Tower would give me a perp or two to take in. You're the lucky winner. Or are you clean?"
"You know I only sell some weed." Carver protested. "Half my customers buy it for their grandmothers to smoke for their arthritis."
"Oh, I don't expect them to prosecute." Fields said easily. "Just want a reason to go back to the station and kill a few hours."
"All right." Carver sighed. "Let's go." He left his jumpbag where it was, tucked into a corner. He hated to lose that jumpbag, but it held most of the dime bags and not much else. Some used paperback books, a newspaper and other junk. In his line of work, you had to be ready to throw things away. Maybe one of the other dealers would actually save it for him. It had happened that way last time. Washington had done that, but Washington wasn't here tonight. Oh, well. Cost of doing business.
He shucked his sweatshirt as he stood up and tossed it toward his jumpbag. Now he only carried three dime bags, one in each shoe and one in his jockstrap.
Fields let him do that, let him saunter over. He straddled at the police car, let himself be patted down. The hands were vulgarly familiar, they found the dime bag in his crotch and Fields ran his hand in to pull it out.
"Hey, officer, watch the family jewels!" Carver protested. "You turning funny on me?"
"You're a laugh riot, Carver." Fields said as he pulled out the dime bag. "I'm dying laughing. What's this, some incense? You're under arrest for possession of an illegal substance." Fields run through his Miranda rights but didn't cuff him.
"Now get in the back."
"Aren't you going to cuff me?" Carver asked.
"Why, you want me to? Now you're turning funny. Get in the back. Like I said, you'll be out by morning. I just don't want to play traffic cop, okay?"
"Okay." Carver got in the back and they took off. Went about six blocks and into a business area, one that closed totally down during the day. From there into an alley, this one lighted and secured. Local security guards chased away the homeless before settling in for the night to watch their TV's they weren't supposed to have.
Fields stopped the car, killed its lights and got into the back with him, a thin white policeman with a pale bush of a mustache, with high bony cheeks and a sharp, thin nose. He was too thin to be truly handsome, but he looked damned good for a white boy, just the same. Carver looked at him with disgust. "Man, why you have to come for me in uniform? You know I got to explain this to the brothers." Fields usually visited him in street clothes, and during the day, just a friend paying a visit. It worked, nobody who sees a policeman really notices the face, they all see the uniform and nothing else.
"I had an emergency call and dumped you out here." Fields said. "You walk back home and get back on station in a half hour."
"What about my dime bag?" Carver said.
"Call it a business expense."
"I call it ten bucks." Carver insisted.
"Fine." Fields reached into his wallet and pulled out a ten, handed it to him. "Now, what can you tell me about the real stuff? We hear something's going down this weekend."
"Already has." Carver said. He knew darned well. He was with the police on this, the crack dealers were the dangerous ones. "Shipment came in on a truck loaded with television sets from Canada."
"Shit!" Fields said. His hand came over and onto Carver's thigh, ran almost idly back and forth. "Where'd they ship it?"
"Several crack houses." Carver said. "I only know of a few of them."
"We'll take whatever information you can give us on this one." Fields' hand came up and cupped Carver's balls, squeezed and felt out their shape, followed up the line of his cock. Carver licked his lips. Those fingers knew him so damned well, knew he liked it like this.
"Come on, talk." Fields said as his fingers went up and found the waistband, the tie there and undid it. "Give it to me."
"I got what I know from listening to the dealers." Carver said. "I can't tell you how much of it is true or what, you know that."
"I know." Fields said and his hand went into Carver's sweatpants and into his jockstrap, the same as they had when they fished that dime bag out of his jock, it had rested in his pubic hair above his manhood. But now that barrier was gone, Fields' hand sailed through the hairs and bumped against his cock which was aching here, found and wrapped around it. A sharp tug on his waistbands with the other hand and Carver's cock was brought out into the open. Fields fondled it lovingly, slowly.
"Come on, man, tell me the houses that took the shipment."
"I know three for certain." Carver said. That hand began to stroke his prick, pumping him up into firm rigidity. He groaned and slumped back in the seat. "There's the one at 620 Franklin Street, that old two story house all boarded up. Front's all boarded up, but hey got their lab in the back and they approach it through the bushes from the house at 624. They go in the front door of 624, out the back and over to the lab."
"Gotcha." Fields said. His hand, God, his hand was making long, firm strokes, Carver's cock was hard, damned hard, it was alive with sensations all along its ten-inch length, loving the hand that pumped on it, loving the white boy's hand that milked it, his tip was wet and slimy with precome that he could see as sparkles in the dimness of the car's interior, the nearby sodium lights turning everything oddly colored, making his cockhead sparkle with gold. Fields was jerking his cock, and all the while acting cool, like he was just talking. Carver was trying to do the same, but shit! That hand, that fucking hand was working him!
"The next place." Carver panted. "Is at 1218 Oakwood. `Nother abandoned house, this one they got in the basement, I think. The dealer complained about having to crawl down in and he tore his pants. I don't know for sure." Oh, God, this was such a fucking trip! He was a small-time dealer keeping the cops off his back by turning in the harder dealers. Fields had shown himself a cocksucker the second time he'd come by Carver's place and Carver had been wearing a pair of ratty shorts, woke up and groggy, he'd laid back on the mattress and Fields had sat down and just took down his shorts and sucked on him. After that, every time Carver dealt out information, Fields dealt out a blowjob.
But this...shit, this was why Fields had come by in uniform on a night he'd managed to dump his partner for a shift. He hadn't come looking for an easy bust, not even the information, maybe, but just to do this, to take Carver here, in his squad car.
But Fields never wanted to talk about it, always acted like he didn't know what he was doing. It had thrown him at first, then it had turned him on.
"Yeah, and what's the third one?" Fields asked. His hand was working harder now, working Carver's cock, and he expected Carver to remember details on a crack house! Shit! Oh, shit! God, his cock was practically burning, his balls were bubbling with jizz, he'd never make it!
"The third place." he panted. "Shit! The third place...it's an apartment...small one, one of them...uh!...one of them converted houses. They got...uh! Man!...they got a place on the second floor. Owner of the place knows what they're doing, and most of the tenants...oh, God!...most of the tenants work for them...Man! You can...uh!...you can....uh!...you can...." His voice trailed off, he was losing it, shit, he was about to come and he was supposed to keep on talking? God!
"I can what?" Fields asked him. "Come on, give it to me, spill it, man!"
"I'm sure as hell going to!" Carver grunted.
"Come on, what's the address?"
"It's at...it's at!"
"Damn it, man, spill it! The address!"
"24...23...Fifth...Avenue! God, shit, fuck!" Carver groaned. "Man, I'm about to come, don't you fucking stop now!"
"Was it 24 or 23?" Fields asked him.
"It was 2423!" Carver gasped out and he followed it with a loud moan, for he was coming, he was fucking coming! "Gah, uh, gah!" he groaned as he squirted his load, a heavy load, shot it all over his chest and stomach, and still Fields gabbled on like this was a common meeting between the stoolie and the cop.
"So it's 2423 Fifth Avenue, and we can bust the whole house?" he asked Carver while Carver was still spurting.
"Yeah! Yeah!" Carver groaned while gobs of jism landed on him, all over him. Shit, he was so fucking turned on by this!
"Good man." Fields said to him. "You're a good man." he said.
"Yeah, yeah!" Carver moaned as he finished, panting, weak and helpless, his cock a withering, wilting, soggy mess in Fields' hand, it still squeezing and working him, milking every last erg of joy from his dong, shit, he had been fucking milked dry in the middle of an interrogation! Fucking hot!
"You got anything else for me?" Fields asked him. "What about the gangs that run those crack houses?"
"All run by the Blanks." Carver said panting.
Fields leaned over and his pink tongue stuck out, then Fields said. "What else are they up to these days?" And that tongue came back out and Fields began to lick the come from Carver's chest.
Carver sighed as that warm tongue bathed him, cleaned him, licking up his pearly globs of sperm nonchalantly. Funny how much it excited him, this cavalier, by-the-way thing he had going with this cop. Like it was nothing to do with them, it just happened off there. So he talked of what he knew about the Blanks these days, talked freely, naming the ones he knew and the new ones they'd added.
Done, Fields said, "All right, I hate to make you walk back, but it's less than a mile."
"I can handle it." Carver conceded. "Get back to my post and hope they didn't steal my bag."
"If they did, let me know and I'll tap the discretionary fund." Fields promised. "You did some good here today, we don't mind juicing you to keep you on your post."
"Yeah." Carver said. He walked it and was back on his post by ten o'clock. The night's work was just starting, and his bag was right where he'd left it. Washington had shown up, he'd been coming in as the squad car arrived and he'd held onto it, and turned it over. Washington was kind of sweet on him, Carver decided, but no way he was doing the guy. Long as Washington kept his hands off, they'd be okay.
"So what happened?" Washington asked him. "You get out on bail already?"
"Naw, he got a call and just stopped the car and told me to get out." Carver said. "I been walking back ever since."
"He treat you okay?" Washington asked solicitously. "Didn't rough you up or nothing, did he?"
Carver shook his head. "Naw. He tried to pump me, but I just sat there and acted like nothing was going on. Gave him some stuff at the end, nothing big, and he lapped it all up."
"Good man." Washington said. Washington was in the Blanks, but not a major player. "Don't let the man fuck with you."
"He wouldn't do that." Carver said. "I got him playing just the way I want him to."
And he sat back at his post. He still had to sell some weed tonight.
THE END
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