The Butterfly Effect

by D. F. Roberts

  "They are more important than the client!” Jill said vehemently. “What can we do if the sick fuck recruits another kid before we put him away?"

  "An extraction,” I said. “That's where I was heading, Robert. When your bugs or surveillance indicate the presence of a new kid, extract the child at the earliest opportunity. If we had a choice, I'd prefer to wait. So the extractions must not provide French with the idea that someone is on to his illegal activities."

  "You've got it, Boss. I couldn't agree more. What should we do with them once we have them."

  "I don't know. Any suggestions, anyone?"

  "You're going to be angry with me again, Martin. But I'm paying for this one. I think we should send them to Disneyland and the other kids’ amusement venues in California, like Knott's Berry Farm, for a week, and then get them into some kind of program that will help them become kids again."

  "Great idea,” Robert said. “I'll chip in, too."

  "Me, too,” Ruth quipped.

  Roy said, “Boss, you can fire me if you want, but I'm chipping in, too."

  "As usual, I agree with my husband,” Vera said. “If you want my resignation, you can have it within the hour."

  Marilyn looked at me. “Martin, put your wallet in your pocket on this one. You're outnumbered."

  "Okay, okay, I get the point. Jill, you started this mutiny, so you'll be in charge of this part of the operation.” I looked around the room. “Any other comments or questions?” Silence. “Meeting adjourned. Marilyn, would you drive Jill and me to the accident site. When she's safely in the ambulance, you can take me to the airport. Robert, I'll see you in a few hours. Will you be meeting me at the airport in New York?"

  "No, but I've arranged for a limo. The driver is a friend. He'll find you."

  "Okay, bye, Robert.” I pushed the hang up button.

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  Chapter Seventeen

  Marilyn and I watched the ambulance carry Jill away. Rotating lights flashed and a siren screamed.

  "She'll be fine, Martin,” Marilyn said as she backed the vehicle from the parking space and turned onto the street.

  "I know. I trust Doc Hanley. She's in good hands."

  "She's more than halfway in love with you, you know."

  I chuckled. “What does that mean? I don't believe it's possible to be half in love. It's whole hog or nothing. Lust, of course, is another matter. Lust can be spread along a wide spectrum. Lust and desire are always described in degrees. If you had said Jill was halfway in lust with me, I would have agreed with you. I'm halfway in lust with her. I am not halfway in love with her. I'm not in love with her at all."

  "I know. You're still in love with Dianna."

  I sat silently while the vehicle clunked through a few potholes before Marilyn guided it up onto the freeway.

  "I guess I am,” I said after ten minutes of silence. “I don't want to be in love with Dianna anymore, Marilyn. It's too painful. I can't touch her satiny skin, or watch her expressions change, see her brow crinkle from a frown, or watch one of her smiles light up a room. The fragrances she offered are gone, like the scent of her hair, even her sweat after a run. She used to run each morning with me, and sometimes we would make love before we showered. This morning after my run, I sniffed the air, and with my imagination tried to capture her odor, but all I could smell was my own sweat! I miss the taste of her, the pungent flavor of her arousal, the salty sting of a tear from her eye to my lip. The contralto sounds of her lovely voice no longer echo in my ears, or her laugh. Oh, how I miss the little giggles, the tittering chuckles, even her belly laughs. She laughed at life, found it hilarious. My senses are bereft, Marilyn. They need the stimulus of a new love. I want to fall in love again so badly it's painful sometimes. I want to fall in love with a soft, feminine, strong, intelligent and loving woman who loves me as much as I love her so I can be whole again."

  An eighteen-wheeler roared by us and shook the car with its draft.

  I chuckled. “I'm actually making progress, Marilyn. Even a month ago, I would not have recognized my deprived senses, my desire to fall in love again. I would have confused the pain caused from not loving with the pain of grief from my loss."

  I glanced toward Marilyn. The lights from an oncoming car lit up her face briefly, and the light reflected off tears in her eyes. I wondered what I had said that made her miserable.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad, Marilyn."

  "I'm not sad, Martin. I'm happy you're making progress. Your words brought on my tears, the way you described your loss, the things about Dianna you remember that you cannot experience with your senses anymore, moved me to tears. I want a man to experience me with his senses like that. Oh, I long to be loved like you love your wife."

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid over next to her. When I leaned to kiss the corner of her eye, she turned toward me. “No, keep your eyes on the road.” I leaned again and kissed her cheek and finally the tip of my tongue reached out and tasted her tear. “Your tears are salty, but the taste didn't sting. Your taste is like you, Marilyn—soft, feminine, but with strength and courage."

  She gulped and a sob escaped her mouth. “Ah, shit, Martin. Now you've done it. How am I going to drive if I'm crying?” She pulled over to the side of the freeway and stopped. “Let me have your handkerchief, damn it!"

  I pulled one from my back pocket. Fortunately, it was still clean. I decided I didn't understand women.

  She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and her shoulders shuddered, shaking away her urge to cry. She set the handkerchief on the seat between us and glanced up at me through tear-stained eyes. “I must look a mess now,” she said. “I certainly wanted to look better when I told you, but I can't wait any longer. I'm in love with you, Martin. I'm in love with you like you loved and still love Dianna. I'm madly and completely in love with you. I've been in love with you for more than a year. I can't stop loving you whether you love me or not, so I decided to tell you. I ... Oh, I'm rambling now. You must think me a foolish female. I cry easily; I ramble. I..."

  I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. That made her start crying again. Females confused me; I didn't understand them. Not even Dianna, and I knew her better than any one I ever knew, but I didn't understand her. She confused me frequently. I believed kissing Marilyn would make her happy; instead, my kiss made her cry.

  "You drive,” she said angrily and pushed me toward the door.

  I walked around the car and slid behind the wheel. After buckling my seat belt, I carefully pulled back onto the freeway. We drove in silence for a minute.

  "I missed the exit for the airport, Martin. You'll need to take the next exit and go back. I'm sorry."

  I pulled off the freeway and stopped at the red light at the bottom of the ramp. I turned to Marilyn. “I'm halfway in love with you."

  "You told me you didn't believe in halfway love. It was whole hog or nothing."

  "I was wrong."

  The light turned green. I turned left and went under the freeway. Another red light impeded further progress.

  "I know it isn't very romantic, but I feel comfortable with you, Marilyn. That doesn't mean you don't excite me. This afternoon, just before I kissed you and told you that you were becoming very important to me, I suddenly realized I felt comfortable with you. That surprised me. Then I remembered I felt comfortable with Dianna. It was a large part of the love we had for one another. We were comfortable with each other. That's when I realized you were becoming very important to me, so I told you how I felt. I believe that qualifies as halfway in love."

  "Oh, Martin, I don't know why you say being comfortable with me isn't very romantic. Those are the most romantic words any man has ever said to me."

  Her tears flowed again.

  The light turned green. I turned left and sped onto the freeway. I didn't miss the exit to the airport.

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  Chapter Eighteen

  "Let's talk abou
t bail, Robert.” The two of us sat in my suite in the Marriott Marquis on Broadway. We had watched a dusky evening sky turn to black while we talked. It was my third evening in New York. I sipped scotch. The fat man preferred bourbon. “Able and French will post bail and be on the street soon after they are arrested. One or both could disappear, jump bail, and our efforts to put them behind bars will be deferred until they are rearrested, which could be never."

  "That's the American way, Boss. There isn't much we can do about it."

  "Maybe there is. We could snatch them and keep them on ice until a bench warrant is issued for their re-arrest, and then deliver them to the courts."

  The big man chuckled. “Neat, but not very practical. The trial date will be months away from the day of arrest. Their defense attorneys could delay the trials for up to a year. Keeping men like that on ice, as you put it, for that long would be difficult and expensive. I know, money is just money, but..."

  "I've studied the matter, Robert. Our anonymous calls about the drugs Able and French will have in their position will be made to the D.E.A. In both instances, they will be charged with federal crimes. After their arrest, they will be taken before a magistrate to be arraigned on the first available business day. At this initial arraignment, Able and French will be informed of the charges against them, and bail will be set. They will be given a date to return to court for a preliminary examination in approximately ten days. However, preliminary examinations almost never occur in federal court because the case is indicted before a grand jury prior to the preliminary examination date. If Able and French are indicted by the grand jury—and have no doubts, they will be indicted—the preliminary examination will be cancelled and Able and French will be arraigned on the indictment. As before, this arraignment merely consists of Able and French being told of the charges in the indictment, and they will enter their not guilty pleas. The case is then assigned to a district judge for motions and trial setting. If they don't show up for the arraignment after being indicted at the grand jury, their bail will be revoked and bench warrants will be issued. This means we'll only need to keep them on ice for ten days on the outside. We'll need two safe houses—I want to keep the two separated—and the men to guard them. What do you think?"

  "Boss, sometimes you amaze me. I like it. I'll start organizing the effort tomorrow."

  I grinned. Things were going well. Plan B went off without a hitch. Jill had called French from her hospital bed yesterday morning to give him the bad news. He didn't believe her and called a man involved in his pedophilia ring who lived in New Orleans to check it out. The man reported back within hours that Jill was in fact in the hospital, trussed up with a broken leg. He bribed one of Doc Hanley's men to acquire an x-ray, which clearly indicated a break consistent with Jill's treatment. When French reported his findings to Able, Able passed on the information to Perini, and Perini's down payment was returned. They planned to try again in six weeks. We listened to all of their conversations.

  Able's dossier was complete. Ruth, Roy and the two additional wing flutterers would start making waves with Able's initial conditions tomorrow morning. Calls to French's vendors and personal services would continue as well. The insertion into French's studio was set for the coming Friday. Out-of-town members of the insertion team would start arriving on Wednesday for rehearsals. I would be in Amsterdam on the following day. I had not told anyone about my pending trip to Amsterdam to buy the drugs needed to frame Able and French. Robert assumed he would make the trip, and I had not discouraged his assumption, but I couldn't expose him to the potentially dangerous situations inherent in a drug buy. I couldn't put him at risk unless I was willing to put myself in the same risky circumstances. Besides, I had never seen Amsterdam. I elected to delay the flak I would receive from him about taking his place until the last minute.

  I suspected flak would come from others as well, specifically Marilyn. Marilyn and I talked three or four times a day, but our conversations revolved around the operation. No mention had been made about our discussion en route to the New Orleans’ airport Friday evening. I knew I missed her more each day I didn't see her. I didn't miss Jill. But Jill would return to my sister's home tomorrow and would need to have her hand held. My flight left for New Orleans at ten in the morning.

  The big man's massive yawn was a sight to behold. Robert looked like a hippo with his mouth agape.

  "It's my bedtime, Boss,” he said and struggled to push himself out of his chair.

  I worried about him. The weight he carried had to hurt his health, but he insisted he had a strong heart, and the doctors had given him a clean bill of health after his last physical. He said goodnight and lumbered to the door. I locked up after he left and returned to my scotch. I was lonely and wished Marilyn was with me. I wanted her soft warm form next to mine while I slept. With the late hour, I would suggest we have a talking fuck before we nodded off. She had enjoyed the last one and would probably agree to another.

  I suddenly realized I had been thinking more about Marilyn the last two days than I thought about my wife, and the thought made me happy. But then guilt washed over me as if I had been unfaithful. I shuddered. My emotions were a wreck. I glanced at my wristwatch. Just after midnight. New Orleans was an hour earlier. She might be awake.

  My cell phone rang her number five times before I hit the end button. Disappointment replaced the excitement I had experienced when I started to dial. I sat dejected, wide-awake and lonely, and sipped my scotch.

  I jumped when my phone jangled. It fell to the floor when I tried to pick it up. Finally I muttered a hello.

  "I'm sorry I missed your call, Martin,” Marilyn said. “I was in the shower."

  "No, I'm sorry I interrupted your shower. Call me back when you're finished."

  "I'm finished. I didn't call you back immediately, not until I had toweled myself dry and propped up pillows so I could talk with you in comfort."

  I pictured her naked, her eyes shiny with happiness from hearing my voice, propped up on huge pillows like a harem girl as her soft straight hair fell across smooth rounded shoulders. I could see her delicate fingers caress the phone in her ear as if it were my penis, and a dainty tongue reached out...

  "Are you naked?” I asked. I wanted to know my imagination had some validity.

  She chuckled, a low guttural sound. “No. Almost."

  "Oh,” I said and no doubt my disappointment projected through the phone lines.

  "I don't want to tell you what I'm wearing. You'll think me foolish, a romantic teenager."

  Now my curiosity was piqued. I waited. “Tell me,” I said. An order.

  She sighed. “Promise not to laugh."

  "I promise."

  "I'm wearing a pair of your boxer shorts, the silk ones, navy with tiny yellow stripes. I wanted you next to me, and I found them in the dresser drawer. Oh, dear, now you will think I'm a sneak as well as foolish."

  I chuckled and broke my promise.

  "You promised!"

  "I'm sorry. I don't think you're a sneak or foolish. You are acting like a romantic teenager, and I adore you for it."

  "I just wanted a part of you next to me, and the silk shorts provided the only solution. I could smell you on them."

  "I wish I had a pair of your panties with me now. I wouldn't put them on..."

  She laughed. “That would be quite a sight."

  "...but I would bring them to my nose. I wouldn't want clean ones, though, like my boxers. I'd want a pair you wore while aroused, so I could sniff your pheromones."

  "Damn it! You're making me wet!"

  "Save the boxers. I'll take them with me on my next trip abroad. That way custom officials won't think I'm kinky when they rifle through my bags."

  She chuckled again. “You're incorrigible."

  Silence. Then I heard a barely perceptible squishing sound. And a tiny sigh.

  "Are you playing with yourself?"

  Silence.

  "Are you blushing?

  "
Yes.” She hesitated. “Yes to both questions. I couldn't stop myself. The sound of your voice, the thought of your nose sniffing my soiled panties like a pervert turned me on. I'm in love with a panty-sniffing pervert, I thought. The thought made me grin, but it also made me very aroused, Martin, so I'm playing with myself. I'm finger fucking! Finger fucking through the hole in the front of your silk shorts. Men must design men's underclothes. They are very efficient, the underclothes I mean, not the designers. Oh, I suppose the designers are efficient, too. I'm rambling again. Why do I ramble when I talk with you? I'm not a rambler by nature. I don't believe I ramble with anyone but you. Say something, damn it! Stop me..."

  "Sorry, I was taking off my trousers and boxers."

  "Oh."

  Silence.

  "Are you hard?” she asked. The squishing sounds were louder. And the sighs.

  "Yes. Very."

  "Are you playing with yourself?"

  "No, I'm taking myself very seriously."

  Another chuckle. “This is phone sex, isn't it?"

  "If it isn't, we've discovered a new way for two people to have sex."

  "Are you jacking off?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, that makes me hot! I want your hard cock in me like the other night while we talk. I liked that."

  "I did, too. I was thinking before I called you that I wished you were with me so we could have another talking fuck tonight."

  "Oh, that would be nice. But we can't, so we'll just talk and make ourselves come. I have a dildo at home, a large rubber phallus I sometimes use to stuff my cunt full when I finger fuck. I wish I had it with me, and I would push it inside me and pretend it was you while we talked."

  I groaned. “I'd love to see you fuck yourself with a rubber cock. How big is it?"

  "Larger than you, larger than any man I've fucked. I call it Big Ben, affectionately. Big Ben has given me a lot of orgasms over the years. My cunt is quite resilient. It stretches to fit anything that slides within it, and then shrinks back down like it was before it was stretched. A cunt is an amazing piece of engineering. When I was young, I used cucumbers. I would warm them first and grease them with butter. Over the years I selected larger and larger cucumbers. I believe the produce manager at the grocers suspected my ultimate use of the vegetable. He watched me fondle them. His eyes would get flinty with a wild look and his nostrils would flare like a stallion sniffing a mare in heat. Onetime I purchased a crooked one to see if it felt any different. It did. With the bend, I could reach my G-spot easier. The first time I saw your bent cock, I knew I would enjoy it. I did, too. I adore your big, crooked cock. Did you break it when you were young, and the doctor didn't set it properly? Or is it a genetic enhancement most men will have when finally nature figures out it's a better design?"