by John Locke
No one says anything.
“Good.” I holster my weapon. “Which of you ladies is Mary?”
Mary tentatively raises her hand a few inches.
“You’re the corporate secretary?”
She nods.
“What have you written down so far?”
“N-nothing.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. I’ll provide the minutes later, and you can sign them.”
“Th-that’s not normally how it’s d-done,” she says.
“Right. And the way you people run a company isn’t the way it’s normally done, either.”
“What are you insinuating?” William says.
“Ropic Industries is under federal investigation for accounting irregularities.”
“Thanks to her husband!” Tony says, with contempt.
“That’s a rather nasty tone to take, under the circumstances,” I say. “Can’t you see Mrs. Peters is grieving over the loss of her husband?”
Everyone takes a minute to look at Gwen, but no, they can’t detect any sadness in her face. I ask, “Which of you is Stevie, the accountant?”
“Stephen Derrier is no longer with us,” William says.
“He’s dead?”
“He’s been relieved of his duties, awaiting federal investigation for misappropriation of corporate funds.”
“Why’s that a federal offense?”
“He and Lucky Peters conspired to fund a casino wagering scheme.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“That’s right, Mr. Creed,” William says, smugly. “We turned ourselves in to the authorities, pled our case, and they’re giving us an opportunity to stay in business.”
“Only in Vegas,” I say.
“That’s right. And you should know that since Mrs. Peters’s husband was directly involved in the embezzlement of more than $12 million of corporate assets, our attorneys are working to divest her of his shares and redistribute them to the shareholders.”
I look around the table and see they’re all wearing smug smiles. They think I’m losing control of the meeting.
They’re wrong.
I say, “Since Ropic has no in-house attorneys, you must have hired outside counsel.”
“That’s right.”
“How much was their retainer?”
William smiles. “That’s really none of your business.”
“Is it safe to say you paid more than fifty thousand dollars?”
“We’re a public company. You can learn those specifics at the next shareholder meeting, should you care to attend.”
“Assuming you’re a registered stock holder,” Toni Spumoni adds, with a sneer.
I walk to the door, open it, and Jeff Tuck enters, closes the door behind him, and plants himself in front of it. I remove my jacket, then grab the neck of the board member sitting closest to the door, and lift him out of his chair while applying enough pressure to make him wet his pants, violently.
“Now, see here!” William says, rising to his feet.
“I don’t feel like waiting till the next shareholder meeting,” I say. “Who’s this guy with the weak bladder?”
“Mr. Shay.”
“And he’s?”
“Our new accountant.”
I notice Gwen’s face getting flushed, which doesn’t mean she’s embarrassed. Quite the contrary, it means she’s getting turned on by my display of power.
I look at the lady sitting beside Mr. Shay. She’s cowering, trying to avoid eye contact. “And who’s this?” I say.
No one speaks, but I already know she’s Tootie Greene, Ropic’s executive vice president.
I drop the urine-soaked accountant back in his chair and say, “Mrs. Greene? You can either tell me how much the company paid for outside legal counsel, or I can squeeze some piss out of you, too.”
“Too late,” she says.
A quick glance at the crotch of her tan slacks confirms she’s telling the truth. From her place at the head of the table, Gwen exclaims, “Oh! Oh, my!”
Everyone looks at her, and she says, “Sorry.”
But I can see she’s positively smoldering. I wink at her, and she swallows hard. She fixes her gaze on me, waiting to see what I’m going to do next, clearly hoping I’ll put on a show of power.
Tony says, “Fuck this. We paid ’em two hundred fifty grand. What’re you gonna do about it?”
I smile and say, “The payment of funds in excess of fifty thousand dollars to any outside legal counsel requires a majority vote of the stockholders.”
“Who says?”
I point to the stack of corporate documents by the house phone on the table hugging the far wall. “It’s all in there. You should read your own rules sometime, Spumoni. At any rate, since Gwen’s the majority stockholder of the company, your actions in hiring the outside firm constitute a breach of corporate policy. Mrs. Peters could fire you right now, if she cares to. Mrs. Peters?”
“Yes, Mr. Creed?”
“Do you approve spending two hundred fifty thousand dollars of corporate money to divest you of your shares?”
“What’s that mean?”
“Do you want to let them take your company away from you?”
“Hell, no!”
“There’s your mandate,” I say, pointing to the house phone. “Tony, call the attorneys and fire them. Tell them to return any unused portion of the retainer.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
I start moving toward him.
“You can’t intimidate me,” he says, jumping to his feet. He takes up a boxing stance. I let him throw a punch at me. It’s a roundhouse right that takes so long to arrive I almost fall asleep waiting for it. At the last second I duck under his punch, reach up, and tear off one of his ears.
9.
Mary Screams.
Mrs. Greene vomits. Tony shrieks and runs to the corner of the room, and cowers, clutching the side of his head. Gwen’s eyes roll up in her head. She gasps. Then swoons.
I look at the sixth man in the room. “Who’re you?”
“George Best.”
“VP, research and development?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have some questions for you in a few minutes.”
I toss Tony his ear and say, “Stop being a baby. Jeff, will you escort Mr. Spumoni to Dr. P.’s office? He’ll have that ear back on by the time we adjourn.”
Jeff helps Tony to his feet.
“This isn’t over, Creed!” Tony shouts. “You’re a dead man! Do you hear me? A dead man!”
“Yeah, I hear you,” I say. “I’ve got two good ears.”
“Asshole!” he shouts. “I won’t rest till I kill you!”
“You can show me how tough you are when Gwen takes control of your company and sticks you in the mail room.”
Gwen gasps, “Oh! Oh! OH!”
Everyone’s looking at Gwen, including Jeff and Tony. Being a guy who knows an opportunity when he sees one, I spring into action. “Jeff, take Tony to Dr. P.’s office and guard him. Close the door behind you. Tell Joe to stay in his office. Mrs. Peters and I need to confer in the hallway.” To Gwen I say, “Mrs. Peters? Will you join me in the hallway to discuss this recent development?”
She jumps to her feet.
I could easily unplug the phone from the wall and take it with me, but where’s the style in that? I grab the phone, rip it out of the wall, and fling it across the room. Gwen gasps, “Oh, Oh, OH!”
To the board members I say, “Stay put.”
William says, “And if we don’t?”
“I’ll kill you.”
Gwen shouts, “Oh, Oh, OH, OH My God! OH, OH, OH MY GOD!”
She and I race out of the room. I slam the door behind us and pin her against it, rip her panties off and take her right there in the hallway. Gwen moans and yelps and gasps as I give her all I’ve got. She pulls me into her again and again, and each time she does, her back slams against the door, making a loud banging sound. But that’
s nothing compared to the ear-splitting volume of her demonic shrieks and wolf-like howls.
The last time we power fucked was the best sex of my life, so I naturally assumed that had been her “A” game. But no. Today she’s elevated her sexual frenzy to a level that transcends space and time! The combination of Gwen realizing I’m rich, and my sudden display of violence, and her growing awareness of her power in the company, and the fact that a roomful of important people are being forced to wait while we have sex right outside the door-has driven her over the edge.
It doesn’t take me long to hit a nice stopping point, but Gwen’s insatiable. We drop to the floor and I quickly realize this party has barely started.
I won’t tell you what transpired next, or how long it lasted. As for the commotion we raised, let’s just say it was considerable. When Gwen and I re-enter the urine and vomit-infested room, her face is drained of all color and our knees are shaking. All eyes in the room turn to Gwen as she reclaims her place at the conference table while displaying not the least hint of embarrassment.
What a woman!
“Thanks for your patience,” I tell the board members. “Mrs. Peters and I were engaged in a rather heated debate, and had to get something straight between us. I’m happy to report we achieved that goal.”
“A debate?” Chairman Wadsworth says.
I give him a stern look and say, “Yes, of course. What did you think was going on?”
“Honestly? I thought a construction crew was demolishing the building.”
I look around the table. “Anyone else?”
Tootie Greene raises her hand.
“Yes?”
“I thought someone was kicking the door while playing a high volume recording of killer whales singing across the ocean.”
I look at Mary.
“Sir?”
“Anything to add?”
“To me it sounded like you were flogging an angry banshee. No offense, Mrs. Peters.”
10.
“I’m aware the conditions aren’t ideal in here,” I say, “but believe me, I’ve seen worse.”
I call Joe Penny to fix the phone. While he does that, I coerce William into calling the attorneys. As he fires them, we learn they’ve already blown through half the contingency fee.
“You’ve wasted over a hundred grand,” I say. “Now stop this nonsense, and I’ll tell you why it wouldn’t have worked in the first place. Your medical director, Dr. Phyllis Willis, was murdered in this very building two weeks ago, along with several members of her staff. What you may not know is why. Shall I tell you?”
No one speaks, so I continue.
“Dr. Willis helped supervise the implanting of a chip into the brain of a government assassin named Connor Payne. The chip can be activated by remote control. When a four-digit code is entered, the chip heats up and Mr. Payne’s brains will liquefy. How many of you knew that, raise your hands.”
No one does.
“George?” I say.
George reluctantly raises his hand. The others appear shocked.
“Your company, Ropic Industries, manufactured the chip.”
“That’s ridiculous!” William Wadsworth says.
“Tell them, George.”
“You know it’s true, William,” George says. “You signed off on it.”
Mary’s jaw drops. She looks at William like he’s a child molester.
“There’s more. Phyllis was having an affair with Gwen’s husband. When she performed Gwen’s breast augmentation…” I pause so they can all take a moment to check out Gwen’s boobs. They do, and continue staring at them until she finally crosses her arms over her chest. Then I say, “Phyllis placed a small ceramic device behind one of Gwen’s implants. This device can kill Connor Payne, and he knows it. Which puts Gwen’s life in danger, which means if she files a lawsuit, you’re out of business.”
I press a button on my cell phone. When Jeff answers, I ask, “How’s the patient?”
“Sleeping.”
“Tie him down and bring me Gwen’s body scan.”
Moments later I hold up the body scan we took of Gwen when she entered the security cubicle. Sure enough, behind her right boob, the device is visible.
“Hey!” Gwen says. “That was a dirty trick, telling me I was going through security.”
I shrug. “It gets worse. This morning a bomb went off on Trace Street.”
“That’s common knowledge,” George says.
“It’s all you see on the news,” William adds. “Apparently a suicide bomber was heading toward the convention center when her vest exploded.”
“ Her vest?” I say. “I don’t recall the police releasing that information.”
William looks down. Mary walks over to him and stands there until he looks up. When he does, she slaps his face.
“We’re through!” she says, and makes a move for the door. I wonder if anyone knew before today that William and Mary were having an affair.
I put my arm out to stop her, and say, “Stay put, Mary. We’re all family here. This room may not be soundproof…”
I wink at Gwen.
She gives me the finger.
“…But it’s safe for conversations.”
Mary reclaims her seat.
“You folks have been breaking the law,” I say. “You’re dealing with terrorists.”
“That’s ridiculous,” William says.
“You’re selling chips that can be detonated by remote control. The woman on Trace Street walked into a lamp post, fell on her ass, and her head blew up. Tell me that’s not an explosive chip manufactured by your company that was placed in her brain.”
I give George a hard look and start moving toward him.
He says, “The chip was sewn into her mouth.”
Everyone turns to look at George. He says, “These chips are like blasting caps. We manufactured hundreds of them for the government, but they canceled the contract. I sold them to an arms dealer for two million dollars.”
“What was the government planning to use them for?”
“I have no idea.”
“How do you know the device was in her mouth?”
“The arms dealer called me to complain about the size of the explosion.”
“What do you mean?”
“I may have given them the impression the chips could take down a building.”
“They would have demanded a test.”
“We blew up a car.”
“How’s that possible?”
“The test was rigged.”
“You’re joking.”
“I tossed a chip into a car and detonated it. But the seats were filled with plastic explosives.”
“You’re dumb enough to cheat an arms dealer?”
“We were desperate. Our company was about to go broke. We needed the cash infusion.”
“Why was the woman’s chest wired with explosives?”
“They were testing the chip, but wanted a backup to destroy the evidence in case it didn’t work. They picked an illegal alien, threatened to kill her children, sewed the chip in her mouth, and sent her for a walk. When she got to Trace Street, she was crying so hard she walked into a post and fell down. She refused to get up, so they detonated the chip, surveyed the damage, and blew up the evidence. If this information goes public, we’ll all wind up in prison.”
William says, “We didn’t intend the chips to be used by terrorists. But it happened, and now you know. So what is it you want?”
“I want Gwen on the board and her shares reinstated.”
“That’s preposterous!” William says, “It’s common knowledge Mrs. Peters is a former stripper. The stockholders would never approve such a move.”
“You think they’d rather be represented by terrorist sympathizers?”
He sighs. “What else do you want?”
I look at Gwen. “If you could run any kind of business in the world, what would it be?”
She thinks a moment. Then says, “I’
d like to design and sell t-shirts.”
“There you have it,” I say. “Gwen’s going to introduce a line of t-shirts.”
“You’re insane!” William says.
“You think she could possibly piss away more money with a t-shirt venture than you’ve lost with your business plan?”
“That’s not the point. We’re not in clothing. We’re an electronics company.”
“How about electronic t-shirts?” Gwen says.
“How about that!” I say, beaming at her. “She’s already created a tie-in!”
Gwen beams back.
“I want something too,” I say.
“Of course you do,” William says. “What?”
“An introduction to your arms dealer.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to eliminate this terror cell.”
“I want something else,” Gwen says. “An assistant. And maybe a private secretary!”
“Then you shall have one,” I say. “Right, Mr. Wadsworth?”
“The inmates are running the asylum,” he says.
11.
Ten Days Earlier… Maybe Taylor.
“Are you kidding me?”
“It’s the next logical step,” Dr. Scott says.
They’re in the bookcase-lined office Dr. Scott uses for their intimate discussions. Maybe has no idea how many rooms are in Dr. Scott’s building, but she’s seen three, which is probably half of them. What she’s never seen is a secretary or any other employee. That’s because Dr. Scott stopped accepting new patients shortly after scheduling Maybe. Truth is, she was lucky to get in. Between the lobby and this room, Dr. Scott has a workspace where he handled all their early-stage interviews.
Maybe and Dr. Scott are clearly past that stage today.
She studies the tray of dildos arranged vertically on the cabinet beside her recliner. There are six in all, ranging from tiny to enormous. Each is a different color. The smallest is the length and shape of a tampon, but half the diameter. That one’s yellow. Next size up is tampon-sized and light blue. Next is green, then pink, then red. The cucumber is purple. A small tube of sexual lubricant completes the display.
