by Rob Buckman
"Good. Remember. No shooting close to the house, we don't want to hit, or upset any of the guests, do we."
"No Sir, I'll make sure of that." Bonner was thinking he’d like to shove the business end of a MAC 10 up this guy's ass and squeeze off half a mag. Instead, he picking up his radio and MAC 10 and followed Karl out of the monitor room, the radio coming to life as he did.
"Gate to H.Q."
"H.Q here, what up?"
"I'm not sure. Murphy and his bunch just turned up. There kicking up a fuss about leaving."
"Leaving?"
"That's right. Your orders are to let no one leave, but they're getting angry and waving guns around all over the place."
"Hell, open the damn gate and let them out, you know fucking well none of them are the one we want. But check the vehicle just in case this asshole hitched a lift on the back or something"
"Will do! You’re the boss."
"For Christ sake move your ass Karl!" Bonner felt that something was wrong, yet unable to put his finger on what. Why the hell had Murphy bugged out? It wasn't like him to quit in the middle of a job. They stared trotting down the driveway towards the gate, feeding magazines into weapons. Bonner heard breechblocks snapping forward into battery, as each man got ready.
"Lock that damn gate the moment Murphy and his guys leave, then make your way back to the house. I've got a feeling something’s up!" He snapped into the radio as he took off running.
It was a long jog, almost a quarter of a mile from the house, and coming round a slight bend they spotted the car, a shadowy figure bending over the open back, as if search for something. Whoever it was made a beautiful target silhouetted by the headlights. His lower back and legs, illuminated by the taillights.
"Where the Hell are you guys!" Karl whispered into the radio.
"We're cutting across through the trees. I can see the headlights of the car."
"Good. On the count of five, drop the hammer! Remember, don't take any chances. I don't care what Rolass said. I want this sucker dead and gone." Moving to the right, out of the line of fire, the two groups moved closer until it was possible to see each other in the diffused light from the car. As they neared, the figure stood up and looked around.
"Five. Four. Three. Two. Oneeeeee." The words drowned out in a mounting crescendo of fire as two Mac 10's, two Uzi's, a SPAS-12 shotgun, a Beretta 12S submachine gun and one AR15 open up. The night ripped apart by bright flashes and the static chatter of gunfire. The long slow 'boom' of the shotgun, adding punctuation mark to the cacophony of sound. The firing lasted longer than it should have, adrenalin pumping all of them up to the point where they just blasted away. First at the man, then the vehicle. With a long, slow 'whoosh' the car erupted in flames, the shock wave flipping the mangled body back up the road. It landed in a broken, bloody heap five feet from where Karl was standing, slowly settling to the ground with a mushy sound.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
"Well, I guess we showed that sucker." Someone shouted, excitement, fear, and relief in his voice. Somebody else giggled.
Walking over, Will Bonner, flipped the body face up with his foot. There was something wrong here but he couldn't tell what. The light from the furiously burning car didn't help. The body looked like a heap of torn, burned rags. The blood, black in the fire light, oozed to the asphalt. Torn flesh, with bits of bone and tissue showing here and there were startlingly white, highlighting the massive damage. The legs were all but gone, no more than tattered extensions to the torso. Bonner took a small flashlight out of his pocket and scanned the body. It was the jacket, or what was left of it, that did it. It was the same type as the security people were wearing, the logo still visible through the blood on the left breast pocket.
"SHIT! We got the wrong man." Bonner snapped, immediately switching the flashlight off and looking around. But his night vision was gone, seeing only blackness around him.
* * * * * *
Driving away from the house Mike kept the speed down to a crawl, expecting an ambush any second. He drove with the lights off and at the last bend he stopped, jumping out, and moving round to the back. Nothing moved, no sound, no action. All was quiet and felt right. Quickly, he lowered the tailgate and pressed a concealed catch, releasing the lid of the hidden compartment. A few seconds later, he had the bags out, moving them quickly into the bush beside the road. Just then shouts could be heard coming from the direction of the front gate, making him doubly suspicious that something was about to go down. Placing the bags on the other side of the rail fence, he quickly unzipped one and took out a pair of starlight goggles before moving back to the car. Taking a roll of fishing line out of the glove compartment, he formed a small loop, passing it over the headlight switch and through the steering wheel. He played it out, walking carefully backwards off the road, until he reached the fence. Climbing over he knelt down beside a small bush and waited, but not for long. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps of someone coming up the road, giving the line a pull. The headlights came on and he heard the footsteps stop for a moment, then continue towards him. Slipping the goggles on, he picked up the bags and cut diagonally across the open field, heading for a small patch of brush and small trees. Reaching relative safety, he quickly stripped off all his cloths. Pulling on thermal underwear and heavy wool socks before donning the rest of his clothes. He then pulled his boots on and laced them up. With dark leather gloves and a hood, he was invisible to the naked eye. The Starlight glasses turned night into day, giving him an additional edge. Quickly assembling the L70 he flicked the safety off, the rifle feeling firm and familiar in his hands. It had been a long time since he'd held it, but nothing had changed.
The commotion at the gate had ended and three men started up the road towards him, then cut into the trees. Sweeping his head around he spotted another group of four men coming down from the house, all seven were armed. So it wasn't a sheep round up they were going on. Unless they considered him the sheep. Maybe they did. This sheep was about to turn wolf, and speaking of wolves he was glad that Max and Maxine had been made to understand to stay and guard the house. At that moment, an unexpected element entered the picture. The footsteps he'd heard turned out to be some wandering guard. He walked up to the vehicle and checked it out, walking around to the rear when he saw the tailgate open. With the driver’s door and the back open, it was predictable that he would walk round and have a look in. What he didn't expect was a shit storm of lead to erupted out of the dark, turning the ‘Range Rover’ and man into scrap metal and dog meat.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Roland Hawkins softly closed the door of his study, admiring the slope and curve of Kat's back, wondering what it would look like after he'd beaten her into submission. He imagined it would be red and covered in whip marks, as she looked like the sort of women that would take a lot before submitting. They all submitted in the end, no matter how brave or tough they thought they were. But to the matters at hand. First the boring, but necessary formalities.
"A drink my dear?" He asked. For the moment being polite.
"No thank you." Kat gave him one of her dazzling smiles, while not liking his tone of voice nor him calling her 'my dear' all the time.
Roland Hawkins looked at the study with distaste. New money can be so tacky in his opinion. Hopefully within two or three weeks he could order a bulldozer through this place and erase it from the landscape, maybe plant a few trees on its corpse. That could wait until later, for the moment, it was time to have fun. His guests were retiring for the night and this study was sufficiently sound proof not to disturb them.
"You know Ms. Ballard, you are a most beautiful women."
"Thank you, but I thought we came here to discuss business?"
"We did my dear, and we are."
"Oh?" Kat sat down in an easy chair close to an antique desk, again feeling confident and sure of herself. But she didn't understand his cryptic remark
"I feel that I can relieve you of some of the financial burden y
ou are under, at the present time. That is if we can come to an agreement."
"Financial burden? I don't understand. What financial burdens!"
"Come, come my dear. Is it not true that you are in the process of breaking up the partnership with Mr. Crossman?"
"Well yes..." while wondering how he'd come by that bit of information.
"Isn't it also true that the partnership has incurred a large debt liability over the last few months?"
"No! Not to my knowledge."
"Then I have some bad news for you. If what you say is true, then your partner has been conducting business behind your back."
"I don't understand you? What business?"
"For one, he had been investing heavily in the stock market, on poor advice I might add. He and a few other investors were caught in that insider trading deal a while ago and he lost heavily."
"How heavily?"
"I believe to the tune of half a million dollars."
"Oh, my God!" The news shocked her. If he had been trading in the name of the corporation, then both of them were liable.
"That is not the worst of it." Roland Hawkins was enjoying himself. It was clear that Kat knew nothing of this. And that their accountant had been true to his word and said nothing.
"What else?" she asked, feeling her stomach dropping.
"He recently tried to recoup his losses by a succession of short trips to Las Vegas."
"He went to Las Vegas a month ago, to a business conference I believe." Something was not right here and she had a nasty sinking feeling in her stomach that it was going to get worse.
"Yes." He chuckled." You could call it that. "He used your corporation credit cards and check book to finance his, shall we say, new business transaction, losing more than two hundred thousand dollars."
"But that's impossible! We don't have that much in any of the corporate account."
"The gentleman from Vegas found that out to their displeasure the following week and now they are looking to collect, one way or the other!"
"How on earth could he be so stupid?" She said it more to herself than Roland Hawkins.
"Not him my dear, both of you. They are not particular, nor are they willing to believe you were not involved in this."
"But... but I knew nothing about it!"
"You do not have to convince me my dear, I believe you. It is the gentlemen from Vegas, and they have heard it all. They believe no one. All they are interesting in is recovering their money or? I will leave that to your imagination."
"So what am I supposed to do?" He had her. Now for the close.
"At this junction you have two choices, and only two. You can pay the gentleman their money..."
"I don't have it!" She exclaimed. "Nor do I believe Jim or I owe it to them."
"Then I am afraid they will extract it from you by other means." The smile he gave her reached his eyes.
"What means would that be?" Kat asked, the lump growing in her throat was proportional to the rate of growth of the cold spot in her stomach.
"Let’s just say, you would not be going home again."
"You have proof of these accusations I presume?"
"Oh yes my dear, right here." Saying that he opened a draw in the desk and placed a file beside her. Slowly, she opened it, scanning the pages inside. The more she read the further her stomach dropped. All that he'd said was true, Jim Crossman had been gambling and losing heavily.
'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid' the words screamed in her mind. 'How could he be so stupid as to get them this far into debt?'
"You think you can get away with this?" Kat said, trying furiously to think of a way out.
The phones were out, besides that who would she call. The police, what could she tell them? If these documents were true, they did owe the money. The man from Las Vegas would collect one way or another. If they didn't catch her tonight, then sooner or later they would, then what. Running was out of the question, for the same reason.
"Of course I can get away with it." Roland Hawkins answered. "I'm the richest man in America you stupid girl."
"I would be missed!" She said in desperation. "People would start asking questions."
"Who? Your parents. They are dead. Your partner? He will be receiving a visit from the same people very soon. So don't hold out any hope that he will come to your rescue, or say anything to the police."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because, by the time the gentlemen from Vegas have finished with him, and he finds out that he is free in exchange for you, his silence is guaranteed... or else," He added after a pause. "Which choice do you think your late partner will take?" He let the sentence hang. Kat knew the answer to that. He would sell her out in a second.
"As for your other friend, you have no close friend. Other relations? You have none. Most have passed away or have forgotten you exist. You have no brothers or sisters, so who else will miss you?" What he said was all true. The picture was frightening. There was no way out. All avenues of escape had been covered.
"Nothing will happen if you would consider your second option!" This was the part he was going to enjoy the most.
"What second option?!" She could feel some sort of trap closing, but what she couldn't understand was why or from where.
"You sell any property you have, plus your half of the business, plus other considerations to me, and I would be willing to cover your debts in full." There she had it, what he had been leading up to all evening. It wasn't a bad offer, considering. She wasn't sure what he meant about other considerations.
"What are you looking for in 'other considerations’?"
"For a period of five years you will be my personal possession, to do with as I see fit." He said it so calmly that for a moment she thought he was joking. The look on his face said he wasn't.
"You've got to be kidding? That would be tantamount to slavery!" The mere idea he could suggest such a deal stunned her.
"I can assure you I'm not my dear."
"Then my answer is no!"
"Before you say that, I would consider the position you are in." Now the clincher. Like a cat playing with a mouse, or was it a cat, playing with Kat, he closed in for the kill.
"What position is that?"
"Before I answer that, I would like to show you a video tape." With that, he took a remote control out of his jacket pocket and pressed a button and the tape began to roll.
Instantly, she recognized her room and watched, horrified, as she undressed and took a shower. The camera picking up her every move, even if it was a little fuzzy from steam. Next, the massage, watching as first, the towel was taken away and then she rolled over, her whole body exposed to view. Thinking it couldn't be worse she closed her eyes."
"No! Please, you must see the rest. Watch!" He ordered, and Kat reluctantly opened her eyes.
The dressing scene was pure eroticism as she placed her garter belt on, then her stockings and panties. Roland Hawkins deliberately slowed the tape to show herself smoothing the nylons up her legs and settling the panties into place. The scene of her standing in front of the mirror, with its double image admiring herself, turning slowly to see herself from all angles drove her over the edge. It was as if she was deliberately playing for the camera. She turned a way, unable to look any longer, no matter what he said.
"You bastard!"
"Come, come my dear. Girls of your sort do this every day, and are, I am told, paid a lot of money. It is rare that any of them produce anything as good as what you have just seen."
"What do you mean, my sort?" She demanded a feeling of horror coming over her.
"Why, a whore, of course. Several gentleman here tonight watched this tape with immense enjoyment. One or two commenting on how good you were. All expressed a desire to take you to bed, plus how much money you could make doing this work on a regular basis, if you were handled right. I also pointed out to them that you were available." The fact that he'd shown it to other people appalled her. But the worst was yet to come.
"Now consider your position. And before you answer, I have to tell you. Four of the gentleman you met tonight saw the tape, all of them are from Vegas. Depending on your decision, you will either stay with me in this house or go with them. I don't have to tell you what they have in mind to recoup their money."
Her mind was numb. Unable to make a coherent thought come together. At one point, she thought of Mike, wishing she could stop time and make it go back. Back to the moment on the dance floor and change the future. Hope that he might change his mind and come back, flashed through her mind for a moment. Until gunfire interrupted. Jumping to her feet, she rushed to the window, arriving just in time to see the giant fireball lift into the night sky.
"My God! What was that?"
"That my dear was Mr. Grainger meeting with an unfortunate accident. Terminal I'm sorry to say. You can forget any silly romantic notion that he is going to come back to your rescue. You wanted his head on a platter, now you have it!" Hope fled and something inside died, something even now she refused to admit was there.
"Well, my dear? What is your answer?" He couldn't contain himself. "All you have to do is sign a few documents."
On leaden feet, she walked back and sat down, unable to think, unable to grieve, for what was there to grieve for, love that never happened, or for something that could never be. But there was still anger.
"Damn you!" She had little choice. The alternative of going to Vegas all too real. She knew from experience what they could do. And what to expect. First the drugs, until she was so dependent that she would do anything they wanted. They wouldn't need a guard and chains. The drugs would be both. If she signed, and he kept her here, she might have a chance to escape. To where and to what she had no idea. With both her parents dead and few friends that she could turn to, especially any that could or would help her in this situation were few. Taking sheets of legal papers out of his desk Roland Hawkins handed them to her together with a pen.
