The Source - Part 8

[Proteus]

This is a short chapter that sets up the end of the story. I anticipate one or two chapters to finish it up.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | Epilogue

Part 8

The waxing moon hung overhead as I walked down Sixth Street to the gym. When I entered it was nearly empty—not unusual for this time of night. Only a few big guys were working out. One of them, to the delight of my gaze, was completely naked while he curled a barbell loaded with weight. With every rep, a trickle of cum leaked from his foot long cock.

I met Mo in the records room. He was jotting down some reminders in a binder and going over the chart of how much Hard-T he had sold this week. With every movement of his thick, hairy arm it looked like the strained sleeves of his shirt would burst.

“Are you ready to go on your inaugural delivery run?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, “anything to help out the gym.”

“You’ll be running this errand with Ron and Sam. You know them, right?”

“Yeah,” I answered, though I had been intentionally avoiding Sam.

Mo handed me a piece of paper with a string of random numbers and letters written neatly on it, telling me, “you’ll need this code to get into to the warehouse. I’m counting on you to keep it safe. Do not share it with anyone, not even other gym members. This is crucial.”

“Understood.”

“That’s my man. The others should be getting ready to head out from the lounge now. I’ll be here when you get back.”

In the lounge, my two accomplices waited. Ron wore a stretched out sweatshirt, tugged around his protruding gut, and a pair of jeans that looked ready to rip from his massive quads. Sam was taller, but thinner, and his broad shoulders strained the short sleeves of a grey T-shirt. Both of them weighed close to 400 pounds.

“Henry!” Ron greeted me jovially.

The brown-bearded man was of my closest gym buddies. We had even jerked off together a few times, though he always finished first. That guy came at the drop of a hat.

“You know Sam, right?”

Sam and I exchanged awkward glances before I nodded and mumbled, “Mmhm,” noting how my deepening voice rumbled in my throat.

We went out to the dental clinic’s parking lot behind the building, where a rusty green pickup waited. Its bed was strewn with a black tarp that would be used to cover the goods we would be delivering that night. After throwing a stuffed duffel bag in the bed, Ron edged into the driver’s seat (even with the seat all the way back, his muscle belly rubbed the steering wheel) and Sam pulled the passenger seat forward so I could get in the back.

“New guys always sit in the back,” he explained. “You’re the only ones that can fit.”

It was quite a squeeze, but Sam was kind enough to pull his seat forward a little, causing him to bend his long legs up like he was crouching. After a couple of false starts, the truck lurched forward and we were off. While we drove out of town, to the west, Ron explained the seating arrangement clearer: Two guys always got the shipments, and just two “full grown” guys could fit in the truck. Only when they were showing a newbie how to do the job did someone come along who could actually get into the back.

The trip took about 40 minutes. Sam and Ron talked most of the time, with Ron occasionally throwing the conversation back to me when it was appropriate. Once we got out of the city, we followed deserted back roads over rolling hills. Eventually we came to what appeared to be an industrial park in the dim light provided by a few orange gas lights on telephone poles.

We got out and Ron told Sam to grab the duffle bag and have it ready. We approached a large sliding door made of corrugated steel on the side of a warehouse. Ron knocked and it slid open about a foot, though it was too dark to see inside.

“Passcode?” asked a grizzled voice.

Sam nudged me and I realized that was my cue. I pulled the slip of paper Mo had given me out of my pocket and used the light from my phone to read the characters aloud.

“Checks out… Payment?”

Sam put the duffle bag down on the ground and unzipped it. In the dim lighting I could see thousands of dollars in twenties.

The door slid open the rest of the way and a big man in a dark hoodie walked out. I say big because even through the hoodie I could tell he was as large as a bodybuilder, but he was smaller than all of us. As he picked up the duffle bag, he stepped aside for a massive guy who dwarfed all of us to step out of the darkness carrying a large crate. He wore a white tank top so thin and stretched out that you could make out the thick hair underneath it, even in this lighting.

“You want this in the back?” he asked Ron in a deep voice. He spoke each word deliberately, as though he had a hard time talking too quickly.

The brute loaded the crate in pickup bed and lumbered back into the warehouse without saying another word. The man in the hoodie smiled, told us to say hi to Mo, and tossed a stack of twenties to each of us as a tip. I was an accessory to more things tonight than I was willing to admit.

After we got back to the gym and unloaded the stuff, Mo thanked us each. I learned that next week, I would be going with Ron and have front seat privileges.

Even though the night was over, when I got home, I was very excited. I pulled out my phone and texted Darnell, “I know where they keep it.”