14 comments/ 54103 views/ 6 favorites An Afternoon On The Basin By: JimBob44 *Author's Note: All persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age. * Ritchie Harris wiggled into the leather seat of the Lincoln Town car. He actually wiggled, enjoying the feel of the plush seat and the butter soft leather. He loved the rich tan color and appreciated how the tan contrasted with the deep black exterior of the luxury automobile. The black was lacquered several times; under a strong sunlight, the finish seemed to go into a great depth. Ritchie made sure that the car wash staff gave the finish its full attention. The November sky over Bender, Louisiana threatened rain and Ritchie smirked as he looked through the tinted glass toward the threatening sky. "Surest way to make it rain is to wash your car," he said out loud, and then searched through his preset functions to pull up his favorite satellite radio broadcast. Then, he was on Highway 19, cruising toward I-10, on his way out of Bender, out of Louisiana. He would have liked to have made love with Nadia before leaving, but she had steadily rebuffed all of his advances. The outcome would have been the same, but he still would have liked to have had the attractive blonde woman, with her bulging belly, bent over his desk. Or flat on her back, thin thighs gripping him tightly. Or kneeling, mouth open wide for his... "Move it, mother fucker," Ritchie hissed under his breath as a slow moving pick up truck pulled right in front of him. "Don't just pull out, and then slow down." Another pick up truck came behind him and Ritchie looked into the rearview mirror, and then looked again. He knew the driver of the truck; it was a co-worker of his. He puzzled over why Sonny Lambert wasn't at his desk at that particular time. It was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon; Sonny should have been behind his desk, or in court. Suddenly, a third pick up truck pulled up next to him, and Ritchie felt the first wave of panic set in. The third pick up truck put its blinker on and began to edge over. "No, no, no! I'm right here! Stupid mother fucker; you can't just pull over!" Ritchie screamed as the truck edged closer and closer to his immaculate car. "God damn it!" Ritchie screamed and cut the wheel hard to the right, turning onto Broussard Lane. He slammed on the brakes; a fourth pick up truck was parked sideways, blocking the street. Sonny Lambert pulled up right behind Ritchie, blocking him in. Oscar Coutre got out of the parked pick up truck; Ritchie knew that he knew the young man, but couldn't place him. Then he set his lips tightly. Oscar Coutre was Elizabeth Baggett's fiancé and Elizabeth Baggett was Nadia Baggett's sister. And the kiss he had seen the two of them share said that they were more than just sisters. He also now recognized the Ford F150 as Nadia's truck. Oscar smiled widely as he leveled the double barreled shotgun at the driver's door. "Get out of the car, Ritchie," Oscar called out. Ritchie hit the automatic door locks, even though the car doors were already locked. "Ritchie wished his nine millimeter wasn't in his suitcase, securely locked in the trunk of the large car. "Going to count to three," Oscar called out, putting the stock of the shotgun to his shoulder. "Why count? Just pull the fucking trigger," Sonny asked, also brandishing a shot gun. "Nadia would have to pay for any damage; little mother fucker leased it in her name," Oscar said. "All right, all right," Ritchie called out. He saw the other two pick up trucks' occupants approaching from the passenger side of his car; the three men also brandished shot guns. He was in a lost position; best to pretend to go along with these low-rent dumb ass Cajuns. Ritchie stepped out of the automobile, hands held up to shoulder height. He stepped closer to Sonny, figuring if he needed to strike out, Sonny would be the easiest target. He heard two shot guns being pumped and nixed that idea. "What you want done with the car, Oscar?" one of the unknown men asked. "Bring it to Nadia's house; she's the one paying for it," Oscar said. Ritchie was surprised to hear Oscar say this; he thought he had buried the lease under enough paperwork that it would take months for them to figure out that the car was leased in Nadia Baggett's name, and by that time, he'd be hidden once again. "Here we go," another one of the unknown men said, pulling Ritchie's laptop computer out of the trunk. "Thanks, Gabriel," Oscar said and casually tossed the laptop into the bed of Nadia's pick up truck. "Aargh!" Ritchie let out an involuntary strangled cry as his laptop bounced around in the bed of the truck. "Don't worry, Ritchie; you don't need it any more," Oscar laughed and nodded to one of the men standing behind Ritchie. "Hey, Ritchie, do me a favor and put them hands behind your back, huh?" one of the men said. Ritchie did so and swallowed nervously as his wrists were secured into a pair of handcuffs. "Thanks, Jack," Oscar said, and motioned with his head toward Nadia's pick up truck. "You; you're getting in the back," he said. "But, don't want you trying anything stupid, like jumping out or anything," Sonny said, and Ritchie felt something slam into the back of his head, then nothing. XxXxX Richard Andrew Harrisen felt gentle rocking. That was the first sensation. The second sensation was how cold he was. His third sensation was that he could not move his arms and legs and his fourth sensation was that he was nude, laying on his belly, in the bow of an aluminum boat. "Oh good, I was afraid you'd miss it," Oscar laughed and zipped up his pants. The boat rocked some more as Oscar sat back down on his bench. "Was going to give you another ten minutes, then I was going to piss on you to get you going." "Hard to get back here in anything but an air boat or a pirogue," Oscar said as Ritchie strained to look around. "And I just didn't feel like paddling your ass out here, so..." Oscar picked up Ritchie's laptop computer. "No, don't..." Ritchie said then screamed as Oscar tossed it into the brackish waters of the Atchafalaya Basin. "Don't worry, Ritchie; you don't need it anymore, Oscar said as the vinyl bag let out a few air bubbles, and then the water was still again. "God damn it; all my stuff was on that!" Ritchie screamed, face a comical mask of rage. "Ritchie, Ritchie, Ritchie," Oscar laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Baby! You don't need it any more! They don't have Internet in Hell!" Oscar sat up and nodded with his head to their surroundings. Ritchie, you see all these cypress trees? They're all less than twenty five years old. Know why? Twenty six years ago? In Nineteen Eighty Six? A DC Ten veered off course for a landing in Lafayette and plowed right through here. The water here is only about five or six feet deep, but the mud goes down for hundreds of feet. They never did find that plane. And let me tell you, a DC Ten ain't no itty bitty plane," Oscar said. "So fucking what?" Ritchie screamed. "So?" Oscar asked and leaned forward. He picked up a thick chain and gave it a tug. Ritchie felt his arms and legs jerk with Oscar pulled the chain. "My dad bought a Nineteen Sixty five Corvette; man was totally blind, but he loved the feel of that car," Oscar laughed, dropping the chain. "He had it in his mind that he and I would rebuild that car, then he and I would drive it down to Jazz Beach, pick up a couple of girls, bang them, then drive around some more and find us a couple more girls to bang and just do that until we got tired of it. Like we'd ever get tired of pussy, huh?" Ritchie now saw a large automobile engine sitting to his left. There was a thick chain wrapped around it. "We pulled the old engine out of it; it was completely shot. That's what happens when you never change the oil in it. But, we found out a new engine, if we were going to go all vintage, would cost nearly twenty thousand dollars or more, so we put a stock three sixty in it. We never did drive down to Jazz Beach; he found my step mother and married her before we could do all of that, Oscar smiled. "Really fucking fascinating," Ritchie snarled. He looked at Oscar more carefully. The guy, he knew, was twenty three years old, but looked to be much younger. His golden eyes were almost obscured by black plastic frame glasses and thick lenses. His nose was too small, so the glasses kept slipping down. His lips were full and when he smiled, Oscar's teeth were white, straight teeth. Oscar's chest was sunk in, his belly protruded slightly; his arms and legs were toothpicks. If Ritchie had not been hog tied, he could have very easily overpowered Oscar. He had met Elizabeth, Nadia's sister, and Oscar's fiancé and marveled at how Oscar Coutre had managed to win the heart of such an attractive woman. Elizabeth Baggett had lush, curly dark hair, deep dark eyes, full, luscious lips. Her breasts were very generous, as was her rear end and hips. Her thighs, from what Ritchie had surmised, also seemed to be full, even plump, but no one would label Elizabeth as 'fat.' He had overheard Elizabeth and Nadia joking about the size of Oscar's feet; he looked now at the canvas tennis shoes Oscar wore and nodded to himself. Oscar's tattered shoes would have been appropriate on a circus clown, His hands, too, were enormous, especially on such thin arms. "But I got tired of that old engine just sitting in my garage and thought I'd take it out here and dump it," Oscar continued and stepped over Ritchie. "Yeah, I know, not very environmentally friendly of me; don't tell Al Gore, all right?" He put a two by four chunk of wood underneath the engine, and wedged another two by four under the first piece of wood. "There's about a hundred feet of chain there, Ritchie. "How long you think it'll take for this engine to pull all of it down?" Oscar asked and pushed down on the fulcrum. Ritchie began wiggling frantically but his arms and feet were shackled tightly. He could feel the chain as it was looped around his binds. "No, no, please!" Ritchie began to scream. "Look! I've got two, almost two million! I'll tell you where it is! You can have all of it!" "Ritchie, Ritchie, Ritchie!" Oscar laughed. "Ritchie! I already have it all. And, you lying sack of shit, it was almost four million, not two. "See, Ritchie, your first mistake? Logging onto the network," Oscar said. He paused in his efforts to push the engine into the brackish water. "See, Ritchie, Sophia Coutre? That's my step mom. I'm the one set up her network. The second you logged on, I had everything I needed." He reached over Ritchie and grabbed the can of beer that was sitting on the bench seat. "When Nadia, by the way, Nadia is my fiancé's girlfriend. Oh! And her sister, too. Anyway, when Nadia comes and tells us that she's got this investment counselor named Ritchie that's got big ideas for her portfolio, I immediately get suspicious," Oscar said after a deep gulp of the beer. "See, Ritchie? I'm real leery of grown men that add 'Ie' or 'y' to the end of their names. I mean, really! Grow the fuck up, huh? Ritchie? Not Rich, or Rick, or just plain Richard. No, fucking grown man running around calling himself 'Ritchie' and I'm thinking I better check this shit out. Then I remember giving my step mom a whole bunch of shit about hiring some stock broker named Ritchie. Coincidence? I think not. So, I check into it, and it turns out to be you. Same guy." "Please, dude, you got all the money, what more you want from me?" Ritchie began sobbing. "Oh my God, are you crying? Jeez what a bitch!" Oscar laughed and again tried to push the engine into the water. "Ritchie. Really? I mean, girls do it all the time; friend of my mom, they went to school together so that would make her about forty eight, forty nine? Anyway, her name's Jennifer but she goes by Jennie. And there's this nurse I know, Vicky, you know what? I have never met a Vickie I ever thought was worth a shit. Think it's because Vicky rhymes with Icky? But they're girls so it's kind of okay they do that shit to their names." He paused to assess again the weight of the engine. "But I did a little more digging; turns out Ritchie Harris isn't even your real name. Richard Andrew Harrisen is, but Richard Andrew Harrisen is wanted in Illinois; embezzlement, larceny, fraud, and a simple little thing called murder," Oscar continued. "It was an accident; he wasn't supposed to come home," Ritchie sobbed. "Oh, so it was his fault?" Oscar laughed and decided to try standing on the lever. "No, no, please!" Ritchie screamed. "Doris Dayton, wasn't it?" Oscar asked and wiped at his brow. "After that, you went by the name Ricky Hansen; see, most criminals, even when they change their name, go by one that's kind of sort of close to their own; makes it easier to remember, doesn't it?" Even in the cold, grey air, Oscar was working up a real sweat. Ritchie thought back to his first 'conquest,' Doris Dayton. She was a plump middle aged woman who had been beaten down for years by a loud, domineering husband. They came to the firm Ritchie had been hired by because John had recently inherited one hundred and sixteen thousand dollars. "My dad said 'rich men don't work for their money; their money works for them,'" John boomed. "Your dad sounds like my kind of guy," Ritchie complimented the man. He had four years of college, four years of text books, and absolutely no real world experience, but Ritchie knew how to manipulate people. The cheerleaders, the prom queens, even the goody two shoes all put out for him while holding their boyfriends at bay. Ritchie had been blessed with bland good looks, curly blonde hair, slightly crooked teeth, and a gift of lying very well. He was average in height, slender weight, and average in cock size. But the gift of lying well and very convincingly was the advantage he had over all other males of the species. Ritchie turned on the charm with the Daytons, promised to study their best options, drop by their house later that week with his suggestions. "I drive, but Doris is home most days," John said, standing up. Ritchie did put together a modest packet, drove out to the Dayton home, and was delighted to find that John was out. Doris stood at five feet, four inches, and had a thirty eight B breast size (with quite a bit of sag), forty three inch waist, forty inch hips. Her legs were mottled with cellulite and varicose veins and her feet were gnarled looking hooves shoved into dirty slippers. Her hair was a dark mass threaded through with gray, cut severely short; framing a pudgy face and small blew eyes. Ritchie immediately disarmed, and charmed her, by giving her a quick little peck on the cheek. "Hi, John around? Got some stuff I wanted to show the two of you guys; see if you'd be interested in moving on it," he said, entering the modest home without being given permission. "Um, no, no, he's um, he's on his Springfield route today; usually doesn't get home until seven, eight o'clock," Doris admitted. "Um, and the market closes at..." Ritchie checked his faux Rolex watch. He fought down the grimace; the cheap thing had stopped again. "Five our time; damn it, was hoping to get his... But your name's on the account too; you could give me authorization," he went on and put some papers on the coffee table. "Um, I don't really..." Doris hesitated. "Got any coffee?" Ritchie demanded. Doris waddled quickly to the kitchen; behind her back, Ritchie shuddered. She was wearing threadbare shorts, exposing much of her mottled legs to his view, and a matching top that was heavily stained. "What you take in it?" she asked. "Stick your finger in it; that ought to sweeten it up enough for me," he called back. She tittered at the obvious flirt and he rolled his eyes at her gullibility. Ritchie left with a signature and Doris felt guilty about the passionate kiss she and Ritchie had shared. John didn't ask why Doris cooked his favorite meal, chicken pot pie, or why she was so eager to make love that night. Ritchie knew that Fridays was John's St. Louis route, so he again paid a visit to Doris. He finger fucked the middle aged woman to two orgasms, let her suck his cock (she was very inexperienced) and left with another authorization. On the day of John's Springfield route, Ritchie showed Doris what it was like to have her very hairy pussy eaten and showed her what sex with someone other than her husband felt like. Ritchie wasn't surprised to hear that John thought that slapping it to Doris should be enough for her to be satisfied. He fucked her to three orgasms, managed to keep a straight face when he told the woman he thought that he was falling in love with her, and left with another set of her signatures transferring more of their money to him. Friday, John woke up with a slight fever and a headache. But years and years of hard work ethics forced him out of bed and into the cab of his rig. But after he vomited his lunch, John decided that St. Louis could wait until Monday or Tuesday, and turned his rig around. Doris was surprised that a second mortgage on their home brought an additional two hundred and four thousand to invest. She was also surprised that anal sex was enjoyable. "What the fuck?" John thundered from the door of the bedroom. "John!" Doris shrieked. Ritchie got out of the bed and grabbed his suit jacket; his .38 snub nose was in the inside pocket. "John, I can explain," Doris was babbling as John lurched toward Ritchie, meaty paws ready to strike the young man down. Three slugs knocked John backward. Doris started screaming at Ritchie, then scrambled to pick up the telephone. Ritchie put two slugs into her head, and then slowly, methodically dressed. He looked around, made sure that he had left nothing of himself behind, grabbed the four condoms out of the wastebasket, checked the bedroom again, and then left. Ritchie again slowly, methodically checked the living room, satisfied himself that there was nothing of himself left behind, and left the house. XxXxX A Violent rocking of the boat brought Richard Andrew Harrisen back to the present. "Didn't stay too long in St. Louis, though, did you?" Oscar grunted and stepped around the chain that was slowly beginning to uncoil and slid over the lip of the boat. "No, no, oh please God!" Ritchie began screaming and thrashing again as he noticed that the heavy engine was no longer sitting on the boat. "Whew man! That was a heavy mother fucker, huh?" Oscar grunted and sat on the bench seat. He popped open another can of beer and took a sip. "St. Louis was next huh? So, what happened there? Oh, yeah, you fucked your way through another couple's assets and marriage," Oscar smirked. Ritchie glared at him, remembering Allison Hillager. "Hmm, a Perdue man, eh?" Allison asked as she read Richard Hansen's resume. "Believe it or not, that's where my daddy went." Richard smiled; any grown woman that still called her father 'Daddy' would be an easy mark. "Well, Mr. Hansen, let's see what you can do, huh?" Allison smiled and offered her hand. "Please, call me Ricky," he smiled, shaking her hand. Donald Hillager, Allison's husband, barely acknowledged the new kid on the block, barely acknowledged Allison, barely acknowledged anyone or anything that did not directly affect him. Ricky noticed a flicker behind Allison's eyes when Don ignored Allison's conversation. "Sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you were talking about Exxon-Mobile and I'm very much interested in what their projections are for this coming quarter," Ricky said as they stepped off of the elevator. He listened, and lightly touched her hand, her arm. He listened and lightly put his hand on her shoulder. He listened and put his hand on her thigh. He excused himself and put his hand on her thigh again right before leaving her office. An Afternoon On The Basin Ricky was given very limited access to Hillager & Associates network, but he did make use of what files he was given. "Allison, glad I ran into you; I'd like to show you what I'm working on," Ricky said as Allison was leaving Don's office. It was obvious that she was unhappy, even a little angered, but Ricky pretended to not notice as he followed Allison to her office. He chattered about precious metals and a few 'safe' stocks until Allison slammed her hand on her desktop. "Am I that ugly?" Allison asked Ricky. "What?" Ricky stammered, pretending to be shocked at her question. Allison stood five foot eleven and weighed two hundred and eighty nine pounds. Her blonde hair was styled exactly the same way it had been styled when she was in high school, and her make up skills were entrenched in the same time frame. Her taste in clothing, even limited by her physique, was frumpy, with dark, muted colors. "Am I that ugly? It's a fairly easy question, Mr. Hansen," she repeated and dabbed at the tears that threatened to spill. "No, no, I heard the question; I was just stunned that you would have to ask such a question," Ricky stammered, putting his high school drama club membership to full use. "Mr. Hansen," Allison said tightly. "Told you, it's 'Ricky,' and Allison, look, I'm glad we're not married, well, I mean, to each other. You are married, but if we were married, I can promise you, there'd have to be a couch in this office, or in mine," Ricky said. "Oh bull shit," she snorted. "Fine, its bull shit, don't believe me," Ricky shrugged. "Don't let me stop your silly little pity party." "Then why the hell is Don such an ass hole?" Allison shrilled. Ricky was glad he had shut the heavy door to her office. "Think he's gay?" Ricky asked, smiling playfully. Allison smiled and shook her head at that question. He then showed her the profiles he was working on and praised her when she spotted the two 'dogs' he had slipped into the folder. He made sure to touch her again before leaving her office. Over the next week, he found several excuses to be in her office, found several excuses to touch her, to compliment her. After a week, he finally sat down in front of her desk, threw up his hands and sighed dramatically. "So, Allison, what are we going to do about him elephant in the room?" he asked her. "What elephant?" she asked, eyes narrowed, lips tight. "My attraction to you," he said. "I mean, come on, Bradley's my immediate supervisor, but I haven't spent ten minutes in his office; I keep coming to you." Don picked that exact moment to rap on her door and sticks his head into her office. "Going to the Hyatt for that meeting with Schumaker," he informed her. Don's tone of voice was curt; his facial expression was sneering. His lack of respect for her was overwhelmingly evident. "Fine, whatever," she said, not even looking at her husband. "Meeting, my fat ass," she spat when Don closed the door. "Schumaker? The furniture people?" Ricky asked. "No, you're thinking of Schumacher, with a 'ch' not a 'k.'" Allison smiled tightly. "No, this is the paper Schumakers." She threw her pen across the room angrily. "It's probably that God damned Kay Schumaker, if you want to know the truth," she snapped. Several long moments of silence passed and Ricky finally got to his feet. "Where are you going?" she snapped. "Look, I want you, all right? I mean, I want to hold you, to make love to you, kiss every square inch of your body, but not like this, all right? I mean, right now, you're pretty pissed off at old what's-his-name and I can understand you wanting a quick fuck, a revenge fuck, but I'm not going to do that. You and I make love? It's going to mean a lot more than just you being all pissed off," Ricky said. "Oh bull shit," Allison laughed mirthlessly. "Uh huh, keep telling yourself that," Ricky moved to open the door. "Fine, prove it," Allison ordered. "No, what did I just tell you? I'm not going to be just some resentment fuck," Ricky said. The next day, Allison did not bother to tell Don that she was going to a meeting. She just grabbed Ricky as he came in, told him that they were going to an important lunch, and to be ready at twelve thirty. Ricky was grateful for small miracles; Allison Hillager, unlike Doris Dayton, did shave her pubic mound. She also kept her genitalia very clean, almost antiseptic. And, unlike Doris, Allison was a very vocal lover. Ricky was happy to obey her orders, happy to pound her hard and fast, as she demanded. Allison was thrilled that Ricky was able to recover very quickly and able to achieve a second and third erection. XxXxX "Seems to be hung up on something," Oscar said and reached over to give the chain a bit of a yank. Ricky looked over and saw that the chain was no longer slipping into the water. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Nope, there it goes," Oscar said as the links again began to slowly pull off of the boat. "Yeah, Allison Hillager, right? Fucked her for a couple of months, and then emptied her and her husband's accounts? They got a divorce after that; did you know that? Of course, Hillager & Associates had to declare bankruptcy; who in the fuck's going to trust a company can't even keep its own accounts safe?" "For the love of God, please!" Ritchie screamed for help, but the swamp was eerily quiet. "Right after the divorce, she turned on her gas oven and lay down and went to sleep, forever. Him? He moved in with some Ken Schumaker, turns out they were lovers," Oscar said and watched the links slowly, steadily pull off of the boat. "God please!" Ritchie screamed, sobbing again. "Please! I'm sorry, all right?" "Omaha's pretty flipping cold, ain't it, Andy Harrington?" Oscar asked. Ritchie stared at him, unbelieving. No one knew about Omaha. "And here we go, Mrs. Lavert," Andy smiled as he brought the valued client a cup of coffee. "Plenty of cream, two Sweet N Low, let me know if there is anything else I can get you." "You can get that Mr. Whittaker off his fat ass; I've got other things to do," Mrs. Lavert snapped. "Of course, Mrs. Lavert," Andy smiled. "God damned miserable bitch," Tom Whittaker muttered as Andy relayed the message. Tom finished the work he was doing and nodded to Andy. Then an idea came to him. "Andy, I want you to sit in on this meeting," Tom smiled. Mrs. Penelope Lavert, a sixty two year old widow, did object to Andy Harrington sitting in on their meeting, but Tom assured her that, since Andy was the brightest, up and coming broker in their firm, her interests would be best served. "I'm not stupid, Mr. Whittaker," she snapped. "You just palming me off on some flunky and I just won't stand for it." "Mrs. Lavert, I fully understand your feelings; if it's all the same to you, I think I'll excuse myself. Your business is far too important for this firm to lose. Since I'm the cause of your displeasure, I'll take myself out of this equation," Andy smoothly said, making eye contact with Tom. Andy had just sat down at his desk when Tom paged him back to his office. "I didn't realize that you had graduated from Emory University," Mrs. Lavert said as Andy again sat down at the large table. "Harvard of the South?" Andy smiled. "Yes ma'am; a fine university it is. Thank God for scholarships; I would never have been able to afford it otherwise." "I grew up in Atlanta, Stone Mountain," Mrs. Lavert said, smiling at the memories of her childhood. "Loved walking the trails around that area; got to go early in the morning though. Gets too hot, and oh my God! The mosquitoes will eat you alive!" Andy offered. Andy listened, made some notes on his laptop, and then, when he was asked for his input, threw out a few suggestions. "Why does everyone always push gold and silver?" Mrs. Lavert snapped. "More readily accessible; there fore, more easily unloaded," Andy offered. "Platinum is more desirable, but is not as easily sold should the market again begin to drop." "Fine," she snapped, signifying that Andy had scored a few points with her. A few weeks later. Amy put together a packet, informed Tom that he planned to drop in on Mrs. Lavert and see if he could generate more movement on Mrs. Lavert's portfolio. "Want movement out of that dried up old bitch? Try an enema," Tom suggested. The large home was impressive, as was the Bentley automobile parked out front. Andy knew that the car did not belong to Mrs. Lavert; he knew the four separate insurance policies she carried and none were for a Bentley. He parked behind the luxury automobile and ran up the marble steps to the massive door. After a few moments, he decided that no one was going to answer his knocks and turned to leave. The door cracked open. "Oh, it's you," Mrs. Lavert snapped, obviously displeased by his presence. "Uh, yes ma'am," Andy put on his best smile. "Was out here, happened to have some suggestions for your portfolio, thought I'd swing by and get your input on them." "Call next time," she snapped and opened the door for him. "Can't expect people to just drop everything just because you feel like popping up." "Yes ma'am, I'll make sure to do that next time," Andy said, following her. He fought down his revulsion; she had obviously been out by the large swimming pool, as she was dressed in a two piece bathing suit, covered by a short poncho. Her legs were wrinkled sticks and her rear end sagged mightily. She opened the rear atrium doors and led him onto a concrete pad. Mrs. Lavert sat on a chaise lounge and nodded curtly to a chair nearby. Andy heard a splash and turned to look at a stunning blonde that swam energetically toward the edge of the pool. "Janice, I told you..." Mrs. Lavert spat as the blonde climbed the ladder. "I put my bottom on," Janice snapped back. "I'm sure this kid's seen boobs before." Janice's breasts were magnificent; Andy judged they were Double D cup size, with almost no sag at all. They were capped with light brown nipples, both crinkled and pointing from the cold water. They swayed enticingly as she walked. Her face was very nearly flawless, heart shaped, with wide, blue eyes, small nose, and pouting lips. Janice's shoulders were slightly broad, leading to slightly muscled arms, impressive breasts, flat stomach, and long, well muscled legs. When she turned to saunter back to the elevated diving board, Andy could see that her rear was as beautiful, as sexy as her front. "Think you could put your eyes back in your head and show me what was so God damned important you just had to come out here?" Mrs. Lavert shrilled, still glaring at Janice. "Uh, yes ma'am, certainly," Andy stammered and pulled a few sheets out of his briefcase. She reached over to a table, picked up a pair of reading glasses, and looked at the two sheets of paper. Andy heard another splash, but did not turn to watch Janice. "This?" Mrs. Lavert asked, lips twisted in scorn. "You couldn't have just e-mailed this to me?" "E-mail is so impersonal; I kind of like a more personal..." Andy said, smiling easily. "It's also convenient," she snapped. "In the future, Mr. Harrington, e-mail me, or call me. I do not have time for such foolishness." She got to her feet and pulled the cover-up off, exposing more of her wrinkled darkly tanned flesh to his eyes. "You can show yourself out," she snapped and sauntered toward the pool. "Yes ma'am," he mumbled and got to his feet. "And you, when I tell you to put your suit on, I mean the whole suit," Mrs. Lavert snapped at a smirking Janice. "Oh, eat me, bitch," Janice said. Andy closed the door on their argument, but watched for a moment longer, hoping that Janice would drop the bottom half of her suit. Janice did begin to push the bottom down, but then looked directly at the glass doors. She obviously said something to Mrs. Lavert; the old woman turned and glared at Andy. Andy waved, and then hurried through the house and out the front door. So, he was surprised, a week later, when he was summoned to Mrs. Lavert's home. "Well, young man, I'm sure you were a little surprised when I called," she said as she peered out at him over her reading glasses. "Uh, yes ma'am, I have to admit, I was," Andy smiled nervously. He was hoping to catch another glimpse of Janice; the Bentley was out front again. As if on cue, the young woman entered the library. Andy looked at her long legs, displayed very well in a short blue miniskirt. Her large breasts were unencumbered as they wiggled and wobbled in the snug tank top. She smiled briefly at Andy, then bent over and gave Mrs. Lavert a passionate kiss. "Be home by...?" she asked. "Janice, you're a grown woman. I really shouldn't have to tell a twenty three year old what time to come home," Mrs. Lavert snapped. "Just for that, you miserable old bitch..." Janice smirked. "I think I'll be home for lunch. How you like that?" "Fine, do whatever you want," Mrs. Lavert snarled. Janice waited. Finally, Mrs. Lavert huffed, pulled a fat wallet from her purse and counted out five one hundred dollar bills and slapped them into Janice's hand. Janice didn't move and Mrs. Lavert pulled two more one hundred dollar bills out and slapped them into Janice's hand. "Thank you, Baby," Janice whispered, gave Mrs. Lavert another passionate kiss, then skipped out of the room, her five inch heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floors. "Your um, your friend is a lovely young woman," Andy complimented. "She's a pain in the ass; if she wasn't such a good lover, I'd kick her ass out of here," Mrs. Lavert snapped. She reached into a desk drawer and pulled a file folder out. She tapped it on the desk, smiling tightly at Andy. "So, Mr. Harrington?" Mrs. Lavert asked. "Yes ma'am?" Andy asked. "Or, would you prefer Mr. Harrisen?" she smiled, showing all of her teeth. "I um, I don't know what you mean," he said, sitting up straight. "Richard Andrew Harrisen, born April ninth, Nineteen eighty five in Cook County General to Patricia Harrisen, father one Mr. Albert Michael Johnson. Couldn't marry your mother because, surprise surprise, he was already married to one Cheryl Johnson," she read aloud. Andy sat as she read the pertinent facts of his miserable, poverty stricken childhood. "Oh my, seems your mother was busy, wasn't she?" she smiled maliciously. "Four brothers and one sister? And none of them from the same father? Before you were even eight years old, huh? Golly gosh, guess your mommy didn't know the meaning of the word 'no' huh?" "What do you want, you miserable old dyke?" he spat. "Oh, come now, Richard!" she cackled. "I haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet! Like a little thing called murder? And of course, there's the nearly two million you managed to siphon out of Hillager & Associates..." "I asked what you want?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Not to mention that not only have you not attended Emory, you've not graduated from any of the three community colleges you did attend," she smiled, and then looked hard at him. "This is how it's going to be," she hissed back, eyes blazing. "That little bitch is bleeding me dry; you have any idea how much it costs to keep a twenty three year old whore happy?" "Dump her," Andy suggested. "Dump... Have you seen the ass on that girl? Oh, and those tits are unbelievable," she shook her head no. "Dump her? Not on your life, sonny." "I'm sure you were planning on helping yourself to my accounts and even had your eyes on this house, am I right" Mrs. Lavert asked, pulling more papers from her desk drawer. Andy didn't answer her. She looked up, shrugged, and then pushed the pages toward him. She then outlined what he was to do, and where he was to deposit the monies. "You're willing to commit..." Andy asked, almost snarling. She laughed a harsh grating sound. "I'm not willing to commit anything, my dear boy. You. You're the one that will be committing these crimes," she smiled and got to her feet. "There is no way in the world this could ever be traced back to me; even if you were to let it slip." She opened a cabinet, and then looked over her shoulder at him. "Would you like something to drink before you go? I do happen to have a decanter of Napoleon Brandy; Janice doesn't like it; that's the only reason it's not gone by now," she asked, almost in a friendly tone of voice. "I must admit, I've never had Napoleon Brandy before; I'd like to try it, please," he grudgingly admitted. XxXxX A screech from a nearby bird brought Ritchie back to the present. Slowly, the chain dropped over the side of the boat. Less than half the length of the chain was still on the deck of the small boat. "Pretty handy, how you made it look like she dove into the pool and broke her neck," Oscar smiled and blew out a stream of cigar smoke. "Damn, I love a good cigar. Elizabeth doesn't let me smoke at home; it's my house, but she runs the place. I can see her point, though. See, we got her son, Eddy, staying with us and second had smoke just isn't good for his little lungs. And you know Deonia spends a whole lot of time there too; I really love that little girl. She calls me Uncle Oscar." Oscar took one more puff of the cigar, and then tossed it into the water. The sizzle was a loud one and Oscar pushed his thick glasses up his hose and smiled at Ritchie. "Of course, Janice let the police know there was no way Mrs. Lavert willingly dove into the pool; she couldn't swim. Of course, how would you know that, huh?" Oscar smiled. He looked at his watch and gave a little shrug. "Damn, that engine, I really thought we'd be done by now, but oh well. Guess the mud's a little thicker than I thought," Oscar said. Oscar looked around at the scenery, then at his watch again. "You do know that your fiancé (he said 'fiancé' with a sneer) and Nadia are lovers, right?" Ritchie smirked. "No shit? You do know they let me join them, right?" Oscar laughed. Oscar smiled as a few more links slipped off the boat. "Topeka, Kansas must have been one boring ass place, huh? I mean, other than Angie Bennett, what the fuck was out there?" Oscar asked. Ritchie watched as yet another couple of links slid off the boat. "I've seen her pictures, though. I guess a couple of months in Topeka might be worth it," Oscar admitted. Ritchie remembered Angela Bennett and her husband, Henry Bennett. "And here's our newest hot-shot, comes to us all the way from Chicago," Robert Claymore said proudly, ushering the long legged red head and her squat, balding husband into Richie Harrison's office. "Chicago? Been there once; too God damned dirty for me," Henry growled, glaring at Richie. "And why you think I moved here, huh?" Richie smiled, shaking the man's limp, sweaty hand. "Richie Harrison." "Angie Bennett," Angie said, letting her eyes wander up and down Richie's physique, not bothering to hide her interest. "And as I was telling you, he comes very highly recommended; we had to snap him up before Bill got word of him coming into town," Robert continued. "Bill Johnson? Mother Fucker's a crook," Henry snarled. "We all are; the good ones just don't get caught," Richie smiled and gestured for the couple to take a seat. "Henry, great to see you again, Angie, always a pleasure," Robert took his leave and left the office. Angie made sure to cross her legs slowly. Richie did not miss the fact that Angie Bennett did not wear panties, and that she was indeed a natural red head. After a long fifty minutes, made long only by Henry's scowling, negative comments and disapproval of every idea Richie pitched to him, they agreed to meet again in three days. Without him, the time would have flown by; Angie also made Richie aware of her lack of a bra. An Afternoon On The Basin "Don't see what the fucking point is," Henry spat, but did agree to the second meeting. "Fuck I want to give some limp dick mother fucker my money for?" "Money's only good if you're going to use it, Honey," Angie smiled indulgently. "Aren't they a fun couple?" Robert asked, sticking his head in Richie's office moments after the Bemmetts exited. "Couple of what?" Richie asked, smiling. He did notice that Henry, while negative to all of his suggestions, was less negative toward the more risky ideas. Richie decided to aim for some high-risk ventures, but made sure to include a few safer stocks; Angie didn't react as positively to the higher risk suggestions. He was idly shuffling through his database (Robert Claymore had given him total access to their database from the first day) when his telephone rang. "Richie Harrison," He answered. "Hi, it's me. Angie. Bennett," a cheerful voice greeted him. "Yes, Mrs. Bennett, and how can I help you?" Richie asked brightly. "Oh, come on! Mrs. Bennett?" Angie laughed. "Call me Angie!" "Okay, Angie, to what do..." Richie asked, pulling up Henry Bennett's file on his computer. "I'm right down the street, at Manuel's; you like Mexican? I just love Mexican; come meet me for lunch," Angie interrupted him. "Give me ten minutes," Richie said. "Five, then I start without you," she said and hung up. "Interesting," Richie said, noticing that Angela Bennett's name was not on any of Henry's accounts. There were no accounts at all for Angela Bennett. True to her word, she did start without him but the waitress was very quick to take his order and very quick to bring him his meal and his ice tea. "Had you figured for a 'martini' man, or maybe a 'double scotch on the rocks' kind of guy," she commented when he ordered ice tea. "First of all, those are before dinner drinks, not during dinner drinks, and second of all, I do not need to go back to work with alcohol on my breath," he calmly told her. "You're no fun," she teased. "Probably not; this is your dinner, you talk," he said and gratefully welcomed the waitress' interruption. "Henry is an ass hole,' she said and dove back into her enchiladas. "And?" he asked and nodded his thanks as the waitress put his taco salad in front of him. "And I'm tired of it," she said, mouth full of food. "So get a divorce," he said and fastidiously picked the croutons out of the salad; he had told the waitress 'no croutons.' "He has a pre-nup; I only get five thousand for every year we been married," she explained. "And?" he asked again and satisfied himself that his salad was picked clean. "I should get like five thousand dollars for every minute I got to be with him; he's got like fifteen million dollars," she said and scraped the last of her food off of the plate. "And what would you like for me to do about it?" he asked. "Pat your head and say 'there there, princess, poor baby? You knew all of this when you married him." "Well yeah, I know, but I kind of figured he'd be dead by now," she said and started popping his croutons into her mouth. "Why? Is he sick?" he asked and poured more of the salsa into his salad. "No, but you should see the way he eats! And those fucking cigars!" Angie shrilled. "Despite what all the doctors like to tell you, Angie, it is possible to eat like shit, drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney, and not drop dead in ten minutes," Richie smirked. "I know that!" she smirked in return. "But shit!" "And again, Angie, what would you like for me to do about it?" he asked. "I want his money," she said, dropping her voice. "That faggot Claymore? I offered him the pussy? Started off on all this shit about legalities, and ethics like I want to hear all that shit." "I'm no faggot, Angie, but I'm going to tell you the dame thing about ethics; fuck, you're not even a client. Your husband is," Richie said. "If I'm not a client, then there's no ethics to worry about, right?" Angie asked. "I think you may have found a loophole, Mrs. Bennett," he smiled. He made her pay for the motel room; after all, she was the one who suggested it. The moment the door closed, she tried to kiss him, but he roughly shoved her away. The hurt on her face nearly made him laugh. "Kissing and cuddling? Fuck, I'm not here for any of that and neither are you," he snapped and began to undress. She was an enthusiastic lover and a vocal lover. Richie was sure that whomever was in Room 210 and 214 had a very good idea of what Angie Bennett liked and didn't like. She especially liked the idea of taking a pussy full of Richie's semen home for Henry to enjoy. "Stupid mother fucker sucks at eating pussy but he thinks he's great at it; I'll give him something new," Angie giggled gleefully. Richie knew that he had to work fast; if Angie had approached Robert Claymore, than Robert knew that Angie was looking for a way to skim some of Henry's money for herself. That also meant that Robert would be keeping an eye on Henry's accounts and on Richie. So, he had Angie supply him with the information he would need, set up an account in her name with a separate brokerage firm, put one hundred thousand into that account, and put one point nine million into his own account, set the transaction to take place in one week's time, then quietly packed his bags and left town. XxXxX "Of course, Henry forgave her, but what do you care, huh?" Oscar asked, snapping Ritchie back to the present. Oscar started the boat's large fan. "Tired of waiting; thought it'd be over and done with by now," Oscar yelled over the fan. "No, no, please!" Ritchie screamed. "Fuck, this way, might take a while for you to get pulled under, but it's not like anyone's going to be out here anyway," Oscar smiled and slowly edged the throttle forward. "Wait, wait! There's, I've got a little bit squirreled away!" Ritchie begged. Oscar didn't say anything, just steered the boat toward a small pathway through the thicket of cypress trees. Ritchie watched, horrified, as the chain began to rattle and jerk off of the boat. Link after link rapidly pulled off of the boat, the links going faster and faster as Oscar edged the throttle forward. He could see the last of the coil as it whipped into the water, and then he saw the end slip off the boat. Suddenly the boat came to a stop and Oscar killed the engine once again. "You mean to tell me, I forgot to tie the other end off?" Oscar asked, and then smiled. "Come on, pretty boy; got a text from Sophia that the Marshals are at the office now," Oscar smiled. "See, Ritchie, Nadia Baggett? Yeah, she's blonde, yeah, she's kind of flighty, and yeah, she's pretty trusting," Oscar said and started the engine again. Ritchie had made a favorable impression on Sophia Coutre (It's pronounced 'coo TRAY' she had laughed at his attempts to pronounce her name.) when he interviewed with her and did not let his eyes go below her neck. Sophia Coutre was in her early forties, but was a very attractive woman and sported a very nice pair of breasts, a flat belly, and matronly hips and shapely legs. Even in a severe business suit, she could not hide her attractive physique. "Rice University, huh?" Sophia had asked. "So, Mr. Harris, what made you decide to leave Chicago?" "Honestly, I think I forgot how flipping cold the winter gets up there," Ritchie smiled. "Winter gets pretty cold down here too," Sophia said. "Humidity makes it even worse." "True, but it doesn't last as long," Ritchie countered. "True, true, there is that," Sophia nodded. "Now, Mr. Harris, as I told you on the phone, we're trying to expand the services we can offer to our clientele. With the economy the way it is, a lot of people just simply do not know which way to turn. We'd like to offer them a safe haven, somewhere they can go for help. We just hired a C.P.A. that's very well versed in tax codes and structures; we'd also like to be able to offer investment guidance as well." With a nod, they got to their feet and Sophia preceded him down a series of hallways. He walked behind her, enjoying the view. Sophia stopped in front of a door. "And this is your office; my son just installed a new router; you should be able to connect directly into our network." She shook his hand firmly. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Harris. And from what I understand, your first appointment's already been scheduled," she smiled and strode away. At one forty five, a very pregnant Nadia waddled into the room, lugging a diaper bag with her. "Sorry, I know it's a mess; I just dropped Deonia, that's my daughter; she's four, God, I can't believe it, my baby's already four years old! Anyway, I just dropped her off at her day care, so this is what I have, what do you think?" Nadia said, pulling a sheaf of sticky papers from the depths of the bag. Ritchie looked at the smiling woman, at her medium sized breasts, her massively swollen belly, her wide hips, and felt his erection grow quite painful. He had always had a pregnancy fetish, probably stemming from his own mother's constant pregnancies. He gingerly touched the sticky pages and even took a handkerchief out and tried to blot up the sticky remnants of what appeared to have been jelly. Oops, sorry about that," Nadia laughed. "I bet that's apricot jam; Deonia and Eddie; that's my nephew, they're going through this can't eat anything unless it's smothered in jelly phase." "You um, you own, let's see, three apartment buildings and four rental homes?" Ritchie asked. "Yeah, Sonja? She was my sister, my twin actually, anyway, she bought them from Dee, that was our girlfriend and anyway, they died, Sonja's husband killed them both, and I was already going to buy them but when she got killed I inherited them, where's the bathroom?" Nadia explained. Ritchie quickly logged onto the network while Nadia availed herself of the facilities, entered what information he could and printed up what forms he could. "Mrs. Baggett, by the way, where is Mr. Baggett?" Ritchie asked as Nadia waddled in again. "Bill? He, he passed away; liver failure," Nadia said and a few tears slid down her cheeks. She quickly rubbed at them. "I'm sorry, I mean, it's not like it was a surprise, but I kept hoping we'd find someone, anyone that would donate a kidney or liver. I mean, I only married him because I got pregnant, but each and every day I spent with him, the more and more I fell in love with him," Nadia explained. "No, no, quite all right," Ritchie hastened to assure her. "Quite understandable." He got her to sign the necessary documents, obtained access to her checking and savings accounts, learned that the true source of her income was several hundred gold coins her grandmother had given to her, and continued to stare at her swollen belly and milk filled breasts. Some light touches were met with frowns, but no verbal disapproval. When he leaned forward to kiss her cheek in parting, he missed by several inches when she ducked aside. Ritchie found the men's room, found an empty stall, and jerked off to images of a very pregnant Nadia submitting to him. Ritchie met with Nadia for lunch; she raved about this wings place on the edge of DeGarde and Bender. Again, touches were not encouraged, but she did not stop them either. She did, however, study his strategy proposal with great interest and did ask several questions that puzzled him. How would such a bubble brain know about sub-prime interest rates? His fawning praises of her questions were met with a blank look. Again, he made sure to touch her; touch her arms, her legs, nothing completely inappropriate, but intimate nonetheless. She continued to ask her questions, and nodded slowly as he explained certain focus points to her. "Okay, let's do this," Nadia said and outlined an entirely different strategy, nullifying any of his suggestions. He had her sign more forms, again with much touching. Again, he attempted to kiss her and again she deftly avoided his lips. XxXxX "By the way, the coins? We got them all back; they're back in the safe deposit box," Oscar said as he killed the motor. Ritchie stared at him in disbelief; how had he known about that? "Hey, just got a call," Sonny Lambert called out as Oscar approached the landing. "They made it to the office; everything's good to go now." "I Know; Sophia sent me a text; the extradition papers from Illinois were just faxed over," Oscar answered. "See, Ritchie, that's what we were waiting on; those papers," Oscar smiled. "We just had to wait until the papers got here." "Damn, Oscar, that is the ugliest gator I ever seen," Sonny Lambert laughed as he looked at the hog-tied Ritchie. "This? This is the famous naked albino piece of shit, one of the rarest alligators in the world," Oscar smiled as he and Sonny hoisted Ritchie out of the boat. They dropped him, with no thought to comfort, into the bed of Nadia's pick up truck. They then pulled the air boat out of the water and winched it onto Sonny's trailer. "Thanks for letting me use it," Oscar said. "No problem; got rid of that rusty old motor?" Sonny asked. "Yeah, and that rusted out old chain my dad had laying around forever," Oscar said. "Oh, Ritchie?" Oscar paused at the driver's door of the truck. "You're a pretty smart guy; the way you managed to fuck all them people over? Just remember though, no matter how smart you are, there's always someone smarter than you out there." "Fuck you, cock sucker," Ritchie spat. "For years, I was the kind of guy people like you shit all over," Oscar smiled. "Tripped me, put thumb tacks on my chairs, and tied my shoe laces together, just stupid, mean little shit like that. Bet you were that kind of guy, Ritchie, the kind that did mean, stupid little shit, just because. Remember that while you're in them showers with all them guys, okay?" The End. **Author's Note: I write these stories for my enjoyment; I post them here for your enjoyment. Like it? Love it? Hate it? That's fine. If you don't like it and feel it necessary to share your dislike, at least have the decency to explain why you don't like it. And, any and all comments from 'Anonymous' will be deleted. (Oscar Coutre is from the 'Oddball' and 'The Broussard Sisters' series. Sophia Coutre is from the 'Oddball' and 'Breaking the Family' series. Elizabeth Baggett is from the 'The Broussard Sisters' series. Nadia Baggett is from the 'Dee & The Twins' and 'The Broussard Sisters' series. Sonny Lambert is from the 'Breaking the Family' series.) Thanks for reading my story.