In this chapter, the search for the Monty brothers leads W to Davenport Iowa and a club call “Colonel Boogie’s” I could have run this book through my regular publisher and made a couple hundred dollars, but I am posting it instead because many more people read my posts than buy my books.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician..

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Chapter Five

Colonel Boogie’s

Davenport, Iowa, was an eighteen-hour drive. A flight would have been faster, but getting the arsenal I was carrying through airport security would have been impossible. The guns were all legal and registered, but the paperwork necessary to allow me to take them aboard a plane, even in a secure container in the baggage compartment, would have been a longer delay than just getting in a car and driving the 1200 miles to Iowa and then the 1800 miles to Los Angeles. The other specialized equipment I was carrying would have taken a lot more than just a firearms waiver. I’m not sure all of it is legal, but the components that Boris put together are all openly available from Amazon.

Normally, I would have preferred to start with the older brother at LAX since that was where the hostages probably were, but since I was driving, and since Davenport was more or less between Shangri-la 3 and Los Angeles, we decided to take care of little brother first. I checked with Master Randolph through a secure link Boris had set up and he assured me that he could– and would– have a plane waiting for me at a small, private airport with proper personnel ready to fly Wyatt Monty to join his brothers.

I had to delay leaving while waiting for a couple of pieces of equipment to arrive. Amazon doesn’t deliver to abandoned mine shacks, but they do deliver to a small house in a nearby town that I own and rent out to a very nice retried couple. They know me as their landlord and, in return for very reasonable rent and a local manager who responds to their occasional problems, have agreed to accept packages addressed to me. Actually, the packages are addressed to Mr. Arnold Bachman. Anything that comes in for that name is put in the “back garage” by the couple.

There is an alley that divides the block. The garage is an overly-long, double-wide garage which is attached to the house at the back corner so you can enter the kitchen– or take a package into the garage– without going outside. It is actually two garages, with one double-wide garage door facing the street, and two individual doors, facing the alley. The arrangement isn’t all that unusual. Several of the garages in the area originally faced the alley and were modernized to face the street somewhere along the line. That modernization often meant just building another garage facing the street in front of the old one facing the alley. In this case, the front garage was an extension of the older garage rather than a separate building. There is an inside door between the front and back garages, so no one notices when packages are moved back there.

Even with expedited delivery, it took the packages two days to arrive. Boris and Natasha spent those two days scouring the web for more information on the Monty brothers. I spent them familiarizing myself with the layout of a seedy club by the name of Colonel Boogie’s that was located on the north edge of Davenport. Colonel Boogie’s advertized on the open web as a “gentlemen’s club catering to exotic tastes.” The website didn’t say exactly what it meant by exotic tastes. It also didn’t give an address. Instead it just said, “On the north side of the Quad Cities across from Daisy Dooks.”

For reasons known only to bureaucrats and politicians, Interstate 80 splits as it reaches the western edge of Illinois and forms a giant box around what the locals refer to as the Quad Cities. The lower portion, which runs alongside the Rock River below the Illinois towns of Moline and Rock Island is officially I-280 until it turns northwest to cross the Mississippi River into Iowa and then north until it rejoins I-80. If you are westbound from Chicago, like I was, you have to exit and go north to remain on I-80 until it also turns northwest to cross the Mississippi and then continues west around the Iowa towns of Davenport and Bettendorf. I’ve been in– or actually through– Davenport several times and I always have a hard time getting my head around going north to cross the Mississippi River. Despite being a long north to south river on a map of the United States, the Mississippi actually runs from east to west in the Quad Cities as it curves around the bottom of that bump of Iowa which creates that distinctive shape at the top of the Illinois-Iowa border.

Up on the top of the square, about three-quarters around on the western edge, old US highway 130 exits off to the north. The entire area near there and especially the area just above the Interstate is primarily truck dealers, tire shops catering to semis, diesel repair shops, and two full-nudity strip clubs. Daisy Dooks– which the ad for Colonel Boogie’s used to give their location– and Colonel Boogie’s. Clubs like these skirt the edge of the laws in several states and stay legal by not serving alcohol or food. Food, and in some cases, alcohol vendors often operate next door or from a truck in the parking lot, but the clubs themselves are strictly Bring Your Own Everything, thus avoiding strict liquor laws and possible harassment through food service inspectors.

According to both clubs’ websites, in addition to full frontal strip tease, the girls offer their services for private dances with a menu ranging from titillating to full nudity, depending on how much you are willing to pay.