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The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 01

By: carvohi



Foreword: This is a revision of the chapter one to this story. The original first chapter, which you can still read, makes the assumption that a woman could enjoy being raped. Actually we know better. Susan still gets raped in this revision, but it plays out differently. I hope you still enjoy it.

Introduction

Susan Slattery was proud of herself. Here she was, promising young attorney, out on her own, starting her own law firm, and about to conclude her biggest case. Smartly dressed in a beige business suit, white blouse, top three buttons opened providing the opportunity for judicious and certainly provocative glimpses at her healthy bosom. 

She had on a tailored A-line skirt dropping to just above her knees permitting just a slight voyeuristic glimpse of muscular thighs wrapped in dark brown nylons. Her feet were encased in dark brown high heeled shoes she used to click clack around the floor in front of an already enthralled judge. 

Hair done up in a tight bun with just a couple stray blond fronds drifting alluringly around her tortoise shell glasses. She looked every bit the young female professional about to win her case.

The case had involved another notorious womanizer who'd been leaping from bed to bed for years. However he'd committed one indiscretion too many, and his wife had brought down the hammer. The hammer came in a nasty legal battle, a massive settlement, and the man's reputation forever and irretrievably a shambles. 

Susan had to congratulate herself. She'd brought the mighty kingpin to his knees, and she'd acquired a hefty fee in the process. Her name would be broadcast far and wide; Susan Slattery the man killer had brought down another one. Her courtroom power would be every philanderer's nightmare. She would be enshrined in the hearts of every woman ever cheated or betrayed by a wayward husband. Her reputation had been established, her future bright.

Close to the rear of courtroom sat another professional; not in the back of the room, certainly that would have been too conspicuous, but about midway back from the middle sat a nondescript observer. He had a reputation also. His reputation was neither that of man or woman killer. His reputation was just killer. 

The crushed and defeated man currently at Susan Slattery's mercy had played his one last card. Believing his destruction at the hands of the pitiless Ms. Slattery was nothing better than an assassination he'd called some acquaintances from his past. Sitting in the courtroom was the fruition of that phone call. True, he may have overstepped himself. He may have seduced one woman too many, but he knew his wife never intended what the Slattery woman had done. The great Ms. Susan Slattery had become a marked woman.

Briefcase under her arm, Susan sauntered out of the courtroom. She thought, just a short trip to the office, clear off her desk, check the calendar for next week, and then a quick drink at the tavern before home, a shower and bed.

Behind her in an undistinguished dark suit walked the engine of her destruction. He'd been paid and paid well to see the woman in front of him never saw another sunrise. His instructions had been simple. Get her, kill her, chop up the remains, and bury them. He thought about that. That was the kind of thing only a disgusting perverted mind would want. He thought it was too much trouble over a person who'd done nothing more than her job. In fact he'd watched some of the case. She was good. Besides the kind of garbage the client was asking had never been his style.

He'd think about it. Maybe he'd kill her, maybe not. She was pretty. He liked the way she looked, the way she sauntered around the courtroom. She might be worth a lot more alive than in some plastic bag dead. 

He'd liked her looks. Besides, if he didn't punch her out, it wouldn't be the first time he'd let someone off the hook. He was his own man, his own boss. It didn't matter too much anyway, first he had to get her, and then he'd decide what to do. 

The easiest way was a shot of some drug, put her under, carry her out, and take her home. She was small. It wouldn't take much to knock her down.

As it turned out it was just that easy. The bar she habituated was dark, well served, but not especially crowded. It whispered that sense of pseudo familiarity so many places did; a place where patrons thought they were known, but in truth, were just as nondescript as he had been in the courtroom. As he watched her order a drink he could tell she had that comfortable feeling of being at home, relaxed, off her guard. It would be too easy. 

He tapped her arm, stealthily inserted a smallish needle; she dropped like a rock. He intimated to the bartender he was her date, helped her up, half carried half walked her to his car. He gently laid her on the back seat and drove home. She was light as a feather and soft too.

As he drove he watched for cars that might follow, and he watched for movement on the back seat. She was sound asleep, or, more accurately, soundly drugged. Her hair had come undone. It looked thick and soft. She had small delicate hands and equally tiny feet; all very feminine. Her dress was hiked up around her thighs, nearly to her waist. Watching her relaxed deep breathing, he much preferred the idea of having sex with her of than offing her. 

He'd checked into her background a little bit. She was one of those robot-like feminists; who, for want of a man of her own, preferred slicing and dicing men she didn't know. The man who'd hired her, he was told through intermediaries, had said as much. He believed it. Bitch she was, and bitch she'd die, unless...

Home was quite a distance, but after several hours of driving he was there. He carried her inside, and surrendered her to one of his friends, a woman in this case, who worked with him. She took the drugged woman upstairs, undressed her, cleaned her; put her in some pajamas, and into bed. Later he went upstairs and secured her so she wouldn't be able to get away. Then he went downstairs, showered and hit the sack. It would be hours before she awakened, plenty of time for a little shut eye.

A Rude Awakening:

Susan slowly awakened. She shifted her body, or tried to shift. Something was keeping her from freely moving her arms and legs. She felt warm, nice and cozy. She didn't really want to get out of bed, but something just didn't seem right. She tried to move her arms and stretch. She could move, but she couldn't separate her hands.

She stretched her arms out and up over her head, but without spreading her hands. She was awake now. Her hands were held together. Each wrist had some type of bracelet affixed to it. She saw the bracelets were held together by a small padlock.

She tried to sit up, but to her chagrin realized that whatever was keeping her hands together was also doing the same thing to her feet.

She wriggled and rolled, and finally was able to sit. She looked down at her feet and found they each were circled by an anklet, and the anklets, like the bracelets were held together by a padlock. Eyes wide open now, she was frightened, she tried to speak, but something was in her mouth. What was going on? She reached for her mouth. In her mouth she felt a small rubber ball. Jesus! The reason she couldn't speak was because she was gagged!

Something uncomfortable was around her neck too. She reached there and found some kind of metal necklace, a collar! It was tight but not uncomfortably so and it was apparently locked on. She felt all around it. She couldn't find any locking mechanism, but there was some kind of attachment at the front. She fiddled with it and discovered a small ring with another tiny object, another ring, dangling from it.

Normally something small and delicate like this wouldn't have been offensive. Normally this might have been something she would have bought or welcomed from an admirer. But this collar and the attached ring was indeed offensive. Someone else, she didn't know who, had affixed it on her in a way she couldn't fathom. She didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. She didn't like anything about her current circumstances.

Fully awake Susan looked around. She was sitting on a bed, and it wasn't hers. It was a large, king sized, extremely comfortable bed, monstrous compared to the tiny bed she slept in. It had a massive headboard, and, peering toward the bottom, she could see a low foot board. 

The blankets, the cover sheet, and the bed spread had been pulled down. She was lying atop the under sheet. It was silk, the softest whitest silk she'd seen or felt. Behind her on the bed was a plethora of large soft pillows, they were all dressed out in white silk just like the sheets.

Susan's mind started to race. This was crazy. This must be some kind of sick joke. How did she get here? Where was she last night? What happened? Who put her here? And why was she locked up like this?

She jumped to the side of the bed, but immediately fell backward. She tried again; the second time she was able to maintain her balance.

Susan looked herself up and down. All her clothes had been replaced. She was wearing pajamas, white shorty pajamas, and they were silk, the same as the bed sheets. They were nice pajamas, expensive. 

There was a full-length mirror along the wall about three feet from the foot of the bed. Susan saw her reflection in it. The pajamas looked really pretty. The top had a nicely cut peter-pan collar, pearl buttons held the top of the blouse together down the front. The buttons were all white of course. The top didn't quite reach the panties; she could see just a trace of her midriff and her navel.

The panties were very short, coming only to the tops of her upper thighs. They were cinched at her waist by a silk belt. She could tell the front of the under pants, like the top, was also loosely held together by more pearl buttons, how unusual. These, she assumed, were to be unfastened on the off hand chance she needed to pee.

Someone had washed off her make up. In fact, someone had taken some serious freedoms with her body. She could tell someone must have given her a full body bath before dressing her and putting her in this bed. Honestly, she felt really fresh, really clean. Her skin felt particularly soft.

She looked at her hair. That had been washed too. Someone had combed it out, and oh my God, it had been cut! She saw, for the first time since she was maybe fifteen, she had bangs, and her hair, which she had allowed to grow long, had been trimmed off to just above her shoulders.

Susan sat back down on the bed. She was getting scared. No scared was the wrong word. She was mad. No frightened. No she was terrified. Someone had taken her, bathed her, cut her hair, changed her clothes, tied her up, and put her in a bed in God knew where.

She looked more closely at the bracelets. Bracelets really weren't the right word. They looked liked bracelets, and nice ones too. They were gold, engraved with intricate patterns. They weren't heavy. They weren't thick. They were quite nice actually. They looked like something someone would buy at one of the better jewelry stores. They looked expensive, but no they weren't bracelets. A person could take bracelets off. These bracelets didn't seem to have a hasp or any connector. Looking closer it appeared there might be a very small place where someone might be able to insert a key. It would to be extremely small, tiny, but yes, now she could see it, there was a place for a key. 

They might look like bracelets, but they were really very expensive manacles held together by an equally expensive looking padlock that had been looped between two tiny rings, one on each manacle.

Leaning back she pulled her feet up and looked at the anklets. It was the same story. Two beautifully engraved intricate manacles held together by another expensive looking padlock.

Oh Jesus, how had she gotten into this? She wasn't mad anymore. She was afraid. She was very afraid. No, she was scared out of her wits. She pulled her feet up under her, held her hands together and started to cry. How did she get here? She had to think. Think Susan. Think! For Christ's sake! What happened?

She started to remember. Yes, it was coming back. She had gotten off from work. It was Friday, and she was tired. She wanted to unwind. She'd slipped into the tavern at the end of the street. It was just down from her office, and people knew her there. She'd be able to relax, let her hair down. Hair she thought. She looked across at the mirror again and saw how her hair had been cut. 

Where was she? It had been a particularly grueling week. She had finally finished an especially nasty case wherein a husband had at last agreed to a very lucrative divorce settlement. 

The cad had deserved everything he'd gotten, and she was glad she'd been able to pin him to the wall. She'd gone into the tavern, ordered her favorite drink, a man's drink, bourbon over ice. Just as she finished tossing it off, someone who'd been sitting beside her had jostled her arm. 

That was the last thing she remembered.

Someone, she supposed, had drugged her. Whoever it was had put something pretty potent in her drink. Was it the bartender? No, she knew the bartender. But of course, everyone thinks they know the bartender. Then who was it? Oh wait! When she was finishing her drink, the same someone who'd jostled her had to have done something. It wasn't something in her drink. It was something else! 

She remembered feeling a faint pinch on her arm. Susan looked down. There it was! It was tiny, but she could clearly see it, a small but tell tale mark, like maybe the prick of a miniscule pin, or worse the prick of a needle. Someone had followed her into the tavern sat down beside her and just as she was finishing her drink they had jabbed her with a needle. It had to have been a potent chemical, because she couldn't remember anything after that.

Susan was really scared now. It wasn't like she'd gone out and gotten stone cold drunk or ridiculously high. It wasn't as though she'd shacked up with some man for a one-time roll in the hay. Yes, she'd done those things and thought nothing about it the next morning. Those were things she had every right to do. After all, she was a fully grown, well educated, kick ass, liberated woman, a lawyer, a divorce lawyer, an attorney with a string of male scalps figuratively hanging from her office lodge pole. No, this was something different. Someone had been out to get her, and by the looks of things, they'd gotten her.

She cried some more. Someone really wanted to hurt her. That was the only explanation for her particular predicament. It wasn't that she wasn't good looking, like she'd been kidnapped or something for sex. In fact, she was quite a looker, a babe. One might say she had a second lodge pole in her apartment where she kept the scalps of brokenhearted lovers. Not lovers in the carnal sense, more in the figurative sense.

She had a terrific body. She stood a tall well-conditioned five foot five. She had a membership at the hottest health spa in the city where she was a regular. She kept her weight down, her figure trim, and her men at arm's length. That was a joke she liked to share with some of her girl friends. Susan had nice breasts. They weren't big, she wore a thirty-four B, but they were well shaped, and they were all hers. No silicon implants for her. Not her! No Sir! These pear shaped babies sticking out on her chest were the result of training and exercise, and that went double for her flat stomach, her arms, and her legs.

She had a pretty good face too. She wasn't stunning, but she had always been able to hold her own. She had blue eyes, luxuriant lashes, light brown almost blond hair, a smallish aquiline nose, good cheekbones, a small dimpled chin, and luscious lips, even if only she thought so.

She knew one thing. She knew how to use her lips. Susan wasn't just a great kisser she knew how lips could manipulate men. She knew what men noticed, the insecure bite on the lower lip, the subtle nibble on the end of a pencil while thinking or talking. Men watched that stuff. They fantasized about something else being in her mouth. Ha! 

She might be a tarty tease, but no man's thing had ever even remotely close in that regard. Sure she'd put out once or twice to promote her career, but she had standards, no bare backing and, certainly no sodomy. If a man wanted her he worked for what he got, and what he got was straight sex, only missionary, if that.

She was confident in her ability to control her surroundings. Well, maybe not right now, what with the gag and the cuffs. What was she thinking? This was certainly no time for casual reflection. She was in trouble.

She stopped crying. She wanted to keep on crying, but realized it wasn't doing any good. She didn't know where she was, and she had to find a way, some way, to get loose, get free, and get the hell out of wherever she was. Just then a door opened somewhere. 

Behind the bed was a long hallway, and at the end of the hallway a door opened. It was her captor; the owner of the house who'd opened the door. The owner was a tall, well built man, a person whose career was defined by murder, kidnapping, extortion, and, as Susan was about to find out, scaring young women . He stood just six feet tall. He was in his mid thirties, about six years older than the girl sitting on his bed. He had dark brown hair, flecked with the first signs of gray, brown eyes, a strong looking nose and chin, and a small scar on his right cheek.

He'd done nothing particularly brave or dangerous to acquire the scar. It had occurred when he was a teenager playing baseball. He was the team's catcher, and an errant pitch had jammed the catcher's mask into his face causing the scar. As scars went it wasn't much, but he knew it added to the somewhat sinister nature of some of his better facial expressions.

He was muscular though not muscle bound, and his military training had given him some, not much, skill in hand to hand combat. Right then as he entered the bedroom he was wearing a comfortably fitting pair of jeans, a short sleeved white T-shirt, black tennis shoes, white socks, and his old reliable Timex watch.

He had friends and associates who liked to go overboard on everything they owned. He was never one to do that. He used to joke how he always wore a precision wrist watch whose name brand was two syllables and ended in an X.

Since being separated from the army he'd gotten involved with some bad characters. He'd become what some would call a hired killer, a torpedo. For the right money he'd get rid of someone's problem, especially if the problem was a person. 

This girl had been one of those people someone wanted removed, and removed permanently. He'd watched her for some time, and realized she was a piece of cake. She had almost no social life. All she had was a career; a career, it seemed, aimed at making as many men unhappy as she could. He didn't really care what she did. He was in it for the money, and she set a good price. 

Now he had her. He could kill her, sell her, or even cut her up and put her in the dog food. But he thought she was pretty, so he decided he might keep her around a little while. If she was fun, he wouldn't get rid of her right away, so he'd brought her back to his house.

Actually his house was a substantial old farm property he'd converted into a very nice, large, home. He had outfitted it, though he'd never ridden, it with a horse barn, a salt-water swimming pool he never swam in, and the usual lawn fixtures. The whole thing sat on a two hundred eighty-acre tract of land well outside the city. It was mostly wooded, but there was ample pasturage for grazing.

He thought, well I guess it's time to decide what to do with this girl, his newest acquisition. He'd brought her here because all his employees were devotedly loyal. Though they were all fluent in English, he and they kept all their dialogue to the languages they spoke, mostly Asian dialects. He knew the girl on the bed was well educated, and she'd certainly try to manipulate the people around her. What she didn't know yet, and would certainly find out, was these people were not easily manipulated.


The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 01



He strode to the bed, and spoke, "Well it looks here like we've got someone who is in a bit of a bind."

Susan turned and saw the man. If she had been afraid before, she wasn't very much reassured by what she saw now. He looked like a cool one. She could tell he was appraising her, but his demeanor gave her no clue about what he was thinking. Since she was gagged she couldn't say anything. All she could do was sit silently and stare.

He came over and sat on a chair resting at the foot of the bed. He looked her up and down with nonchalant grace. She stared back diffidently.

He began to speak, "I have a few questions I need to ask. All you have to do is nod or shake. Do you understand?"

Susan nodded.

"Have you ever had, or do you have any sexually transmitted diseases?" He thought, 'If she did then, he knew, she was a goner.'

She shook her head no.

He felt relieved, "Do you have any special martial arts skills?" He held up a hand, "Now before you respond, remember, you don't know anything about me. A truthful answer is going to be in your best interest."

Susan thought in disgust of the many opportunities that she'd had to take up karate. Again she shook her head no.

He continued, "I know you're no virgin, but tell me if you're on any birth control."

Susan shook her head from side to side.

He said, "Does that mean you are?"

She shook her head from side to side again.

He said, "Then if you had sex you could get pregnant."

She nodded up and down.

Then he asked, "Do you have any allergies, or allergic reactions to any drugs, medicines, or chemicals I ought to know about?"

Susan thought, 'I'll bet he's going to drug me up, get me knocked up, and kill me.' She shook her head no.

He asked, "Do you want to stay alive?"

Susan nodded her head vigorously up and down.

He again spoke, "If you want to stay alive, then you're going to have to do just two things. Are you listening?"

Susan, eyes wide open, nodded.

He said, "All you have to do to stay alive is" and now he spoke slowly and deliberately, "All you have do to stay alive is listen and obey. Now can you do that?"

Susan nodded up and down furiously.

He spoke again, "Well we'll see. I have one more question for right now." He looked at her closely, "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

Suddenly Susan realized going to the bathroom was something she really wanted, and needed to do. 

She nodded enthusiastically.

Again he spoke, "Hold out your legs please. I'll unlock your ankles. You'll find a bathroom off to your left. Go ahead, take care of everything you need to do, and come back when you're finished."

She extended her legs. He gently took her feet in one hand and using his other hand undid the padlock that confined her feet. "Now go scoot, and come back when you're done."

Susan jumped from the bed and headed to the left. She saw the bathroom door and went for it. Though her hands were still held together by the wrist manacles and padlock she was easily able to turn the door handle and go inside.

Inside the bathroom Susan found all she needed. She took her time at the toilet. It was a little tricky getting the toilet paper to wipe her privates, but she managed. She looked around and found there were several toothbrushes and toothpaste. She thought if she just didn't have the gag in her mouth, then she could brush away some of the awful taste she had. But with the gag in, there wasn't much she could do.

Finished in the bathroom Susan walked carefully across the marble tiled bathroom floor, then the soft bedroom rug to the bed. She didn't know what to after that, so she just stood there beside the bed.

The man gestured to the foot of the bed, "Come down here and sit on the bed."

Susan wanted to run. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry out to let her go. She wanted to fight for her life, but she tremulously walked to the end of the bed and sat down.

When she reached her destination he spoke again, "I want you to lie down and wriggle backward until your head is on the pillows. Take your time. There's no hurry."

Susan thought, "This is it. He's going to rape me, then kill me. I've got to get away." Slowly she wriggled back until her head rested on one of the big pillows.

The man walked around the left side of the bed, and rolled on beside her. Reaching over he took her trapped hands and pulled them over her head. He continued to pull her hands up and over her head, while simultaneously reaching for something behind her. He pulled down a short length of chain and attached it to her manacled wrists. Now her hands were held above her head on the bed. They were well above her head, but the distance wasn't so great as to cause any discomfort. They were far enough away to render her helpless, but not so far as to be hurtful.

He looked at her and spoke, while speaking he gave her one of his more formidable frowns. "I'm going to take off your gag. If you say anything, anything at all, I'll finish you off right here. Do you understand me?"

Susan nodded fearfully.

He reached behind her head. Before disconnecting the hasp that held the gag he looked down at her again. He gravely added, "Not one word. Not a sound."

She nodded.

The man released the catch holding the gag, and it fell free.

Susan sighed, and then looked up in absolute terror.

He spoke, "We'll let the sigh slide, but that's all we hear from you from now on."

Susan nodded vigorously in relief. She'd thought she'd killed herself with a sigh.

The man leaned back and continued to speak. He was smiling. "I like the way your put together. You've got a nice shape. I can see you've taken reasonably good care of yourself, and I like that in a woman, or anyone for that matter. I think you're kind of pretty. If you don't break the two rules I gave, I might keep you around awhile." He began to unbutton her pajama top.

Susan stared at him fearfully. He had something in mind. His tone of voice was knowing, and sarcastic. He was going to kill her. She knew it. Every muscle in her body tensed. She felt uncomfortably cold even though it was warm on the room. 

The man slowly undid her top. He pulled the sides away revealing her breasts, stomach and navel. He rubbed his hands over her chest. He was careful not to be rough, "I like your breasts. I can tell they're real. I like that. Nice tummy too. You have a nice navel. You have an innie. Not pierced either. I'm glad to see that." Smiling he continued, "A pierced navel or an outie would have been bad news for somebody."

Susan stared at him in absolute terror. He was talking about her body like every organ was part of a test. If one part didn't look just right he'd kill her right then and there. She wanted to scream. She did start to cry.

He looked down in disbelief. 'What's her problem' he thought? He'd just given her a compliment. Then he realized his fun was her terror. If he was going to have any fun with this one he might have to gentle her a little bit. He put the fingers of his hand over her mouth and spoke, "Look, if you don't stop crying, I'm going to count it as talking."

Susan couldn't help it, she talked. Through her tears she blurted out, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid. Please don't kill me. Don't hurt me. I didn't do anything. I don't even know why I'm here, or who you are, or where here is. I'm just so afraid." With that she started crying full steam.

The man gave her a few seconds, "Now if you've gotten that out of your system, you can promise to shut up or I'll just gag you again."

Susan had started shaking, but managed to get out, "I'll be quiet. I promise."

The man started to slowly stroke her breasts. He liked the way they felt in his hands. They had a good shape. They weren't hard like the silicon babes in the city. They were firm, supple even. He liked her aureoles and her nipples. They had a good color, a healthy look, and they were soft.

He leaned down and kissed each one. He liked women. He liked their breasts, and her breasts were nice, real nice. He was enjoying himself.

He looked up at her face. He could tell she was only pretending to be scared. Women liked to be touched. What she was putting on was an act. He was sure of it.

He reached down to her panties. He could see the hair around her most tender area through the panties. Unbuttoning them he pulled them down below her cheeks to her thighs. He leaned farther down and gradually pulled her panties all the way down off her legs.

He looked her lower body over. He commented. "You have attractive legs. I can see you exercise regularly. You have a nice pussy. It has nice color. The hair down there is light brown like the hair on your head. I see you keep yourself trimmed. I like that, but in all honesty, if I keep you around any length of time all that hair will all have to come off. I like the look of a clean clear puss. Yours looks nice now, but I bet if we cleaned it up it would look like a child's; all fresh, smooth, and pure. That's what I like."

Susan listened to everything he was saying, but she was mostly trying her damnedest to keep from crying again. Why was it so cold in here? She started shaking again.

He looked up at her. He could tell she was trying to put up a good front. He'd scared her more than he thought. The impression he'd gotten from the person who'd hired him, was that this was a nasty bitch, a surly wanton who deserved the worst possible treatment. He wasn't so sure now. She didn't know it yet, but her past life was probably gone. What kind of future she would have? Well he couldn't say, except that it might not be as bad as he originally thought. He wasn't going to kill her.

Susan looked at him. He scared her so! She was sure he was capable of anything, but she was determined to get through whatever it was he intended. 'Whatever it takes.' she thought to herself. 'That's what I'll do what ever it takes.' She was so nervous. If she didn't do something she'd hyperventilate and pass out. She tried to control her breathing. She was so God damned cold!

The man started softly rubbing her legs. He took the palms of his hands and lightly whiskered his fingers up her thighs, then on up to her puss. He carefully brushed his hand across her vaginal area. He rubbed down between the tops of her legs to her slit. He felt it was slightly moist. He was sure she wasn't really sexually aroused, at least not yet. He knew and understood what he was doing would have that effect. Her body was just naturally responding.

He was in no hurry. He took his hands and traveled back down to her feet. He slowly used his fingertips to cover the tops of her feet and her ankles. She squirmed and the manacles around her ankles moved slightly. The rings on each of the manacles that had been used to hold the padlock tinkled very slightly. He liked the sound. He used his hands to explore her lower legs and then her thighs. As he slowly covered the inside of her legs with his fingers, she squirmed.

Her skin was soft and sensitive. He was back at her pussy. He took his fingertips and retraced the area around her mound. He could tell she was becoming ever so slightly engorged. The cheeks of her labia were slowly swelling. 

It was a great feeling rubbing gently up and down her vaginal slit just beyond the places where hair still grew. He thought once all that hair was truly gone he would have a field day. As if to emphasize he leaned over and slowly used his tongue to lick up and down the little ravine between her labial lips. 

As he licked she squirmed a little more. He felt her shiver. Yes he told himself she was starting to respond. She was a little wanton.

Susan was losing control. She couldn't stop shivering. He frightened her. God she thought, 'He didn't think she was enjoying this?' She couldn't stop shaking. She was freezing. She wanted to cry, but was so afraid.

He could tell he was getting to her. He left her pussy and moved up to her head and face. He started to stroke her facial cheeks. He rubbed her facial lips and her chin. He tickled her just a little, and he could tell, though intellectually she was probably determined to resist, her natural inclination was to enjoy the attention.

If it were any other place, with any other man she thought she might like what was happening. But not here, not like this! Sure she was a woman she liked attention, just not under the current circumstances. She was thinking if this were another situation she might be having fun. Right now she was just trying to not panic. She had to hold on. She had to put this out of her mind or she'd literally go out of her mind.

Susan felt him rub her legs and her privates. Did he think it felt good? She was restrained. She was trapped, scared, and about to be raped! Sure she'd always liked sex. This wasn't sex! Did he think this was some kind of great thing? She started twisting her head to the left and the right. She felt the tears squeezing out of the sides of her eyes. She couldn't stop her arms from shaking! 

She wasn't the promiscuous type, but she'd never been a prude either. He thought he was making her feel good. She was beginning to feel light headed, like the top of her head was going to blow off. Did he think she liked this? Was he some kind of sadistic freak?

He started rubbing her face. She never much liked that. She pulled away. The way he was tracing his fingertips across her mouth was terrifying!

She started to panic. He might screw her and then kill her. She overcame the fear if only for a moment. If he was going to kill her, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. If he was going to screw her, well, she could at least survive that, as long as it felt good. But it didn't feel good! Her whole bode was shaking! She started to whimper. She was shivering, quivering. The room was like ice!

The man liked what he saw. She looked good all over. He liked the way she felt. Her skin was soft, even delicate. She had a creamy pink complexion, like a child's. 

Some men were into pain. He had no respect for man who liked hurting other people, especially women. He knew some women he'd had who thought he was too gentle. He wanted to be gentle with this one. He liked being gentle, but he thought he ought to be a little extra gentle today, with her. Looking at her looking at him he thought she's someone it would be awfully easy to be gentle with. Even if he decided to snuff her out later, he could still be nice now.

He continued lightly stroking her lips, her chin, around her neck, behind her ears. Using his fingers he lightly traced his way all around her cheeks, under her neck, and up around to her far ear. 

He leaned forward and lightly nibbled on her ear. It tasted good. He liked her smell. The women who had washed and dressed her had only used soap so her body's aroma was not occluded by perfume. What he was getting was her natural fragrance. It wasn't the musk smell of a prostitute. It wasn't the sickly sweet smell of someone who'd doused themselves with some over the counter product. No her smell, her natural odor was fresh, pure, and clean. 

He liked it. He liked it so much he nuzzled into that part of her neck just behind her ear. He noticed only one piercing, and that was on her earlobes. That was good. She probably reserved that spot for one solitaire diamond for each lobe, and he bet the studs she used were small. He bet no more than a half a carat.

Susan lay there trying to be like a zombie. If she could just dissociate herself from what was happening. Pretend she was someplace, anyplace other than where she was. What was he doing? She had no idea what he might eventually do. He could screw the shit out of her and then slice and dice her. He might treat her with delicacy and then cut her up with a chain saw. She was being fondled by a pervert. She started whimpering, caught herself and stopped. No noise. No noise she told herself. 

Then it happened. It started with soft weeping, but quickly escalated to real tears then outright blubbering, and last to screams of utter, absolute unrestrained terror! She was undone! She'd completely lost control. Panic! Terror! She was frozen with dread, convulsed with absolute, utter, stark, uncontrolled terror. She felt, she saw the water swirling and churning around her head. The white frothy sea foam was eddying around her head! It was freezing! She was freezing! She was drowning!

He heard the soft weeping, then the tears, suddenly the screams. Shit! She really was scared. She was hysterical! He would have liked to linger on her neck and enjoy her fragrance a little longer, but he suddenly came back to reality! He looked down at her face. She was completely zoned out! 

Like a bolt of lightening it hit him. She was on the verge of going into shock. He'd so terrorized her she was nearly a goner. He backed away as fast as her could. He reached for the bottom of the bed and found the covers. He yanked them up and over the both of them. He never though anything like this could happen! He wrapped his arms around her protectively. She wasn't really cold, but if she was headed into shock his warmth could only help.

He curled his arms and body around her. He started whispering to her, "OK. It's OK." He started to softly sing, to murmur in her ear. "Quiet now, calm down. It's all right. You're OK." 

He held her tightly. He started rocking her back and forth. She'd almost gone all the way over the edge. He cussed at himself. He wasn't that kind of person. He'd never hurt anyone like that before. Jesus he felt like a fool, a real bastard! He felt really guilty. 

He kept whispering and murmuring, and humming, "Come one now. It's all right. Take it easy." He was at it for at least ten minutes. Slowly he felt her begin to relax. Christ! He'd nearly scared her to death! 

After another ten minutes or so he slowly slipped out from under the blankets. She drifted off. He knew she wasn't asleep, but he guessed the worst was over. He wrapped her in the blanket, undid the manacles from the length of chain that held her hands over her head, and sat back in the chair at the foot of the bed. He watched her while she slowly recovered. 

He slipped down the hall and made tea for the both of them. He was too aroused to give up. He'd try another approach. 

He walked back to the bed with two cups of tea. Susan was lying under the covers on her side with her eyes slightly open and looking down at the bed sheets. 

The man walked around to the side of the bed and sat down, "Here Susan." He handed her a tea.

She leaned up on one arm and took the cup. She kept her eyes looking down and away.

The man watched her, "You can drink it. Look." He took a sip of his cup, and handed it to her, "You take this one, and I'll take yours."

Susan refused his offer, "No I'm OK." She sipped the tea cup he'd proffered her first. It was warm, not hot. She tasted its herbal flavor. She kept looking down and away.

The man spoke, "I'm sorry. I was led to believe you were a lot harder." He sipped some more of his tea, "I understand sex is sex, but rape and sex aren't necessarily the same things." He took another sip.

Susan nursed her tea. She felt better, but was still very scared. She kept her mouth shut.

The man continued to talk, "We're going to start this over, but in another way."

Susan looked up then, "You can't make me want to have sex with you." 

He reached over and took her still half full cup, "I know that, but I still intend to have you."

"You just want to rape me." She looked at him, "That's all it is, isn't it?"

He slowly pulled the covers away from her body, revealing the partially opened pajama top, "Call it what you want. I find you very desirable, beautiful. You're mine, and I intend to enjoy you."

Susan began to shake again, "Even if I don't want it?"

He slipped over closer so his left arm was nearly touching her right side, "It would be easier if you wanted it, but I'm willing to accept your unresponsive compliance."




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 01



"It's rape." She was upsetting herself again, "It's still just rape."

He took her still manacled hands and pulled them down so they were in her lap. "Close you eyes."

Susan closed her eyes, "Rape is rape. It's a dirty act only performed by filthy men who only want to hurt a weaker person."

He ignored her comment and slowly pushed her till she was lying on her back, "I want you to think back and remember when you were high school."

"You can't make me do this if I don't want to." 

He continued to ignore her, "Remember back when you were in high school. Try to remember the one boy you loved more than any other. Maybe he was the captain of the football team. Maybe he was your older sisters boyfriend. Maybe he was just the guy you liked so much you fantasized about him. Think about him. What was his name? Tell me his name Susan."

Susan wasn't ready to go along, but she decided to give him a name anyway, "His name was Gary."

Susan I want you to pretend. Pretend you're with Gary. You're in high school. You're alone in your parent's house. They won't be home for hours. It's just you and Gary. Pretend I'm Gary Susan." 

He spoke as softly and as tenderly as he could, "You can't make it not happen, but Susan you can pretend you're with Gary. I'm Gary, and I love you. I've been aware of you, and I've been thinking about you for a while." 

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, "Drift off Susan. You're with Gary." He pressed his face softly against her neck, "I love you Susan. It's me Gary."

Susan felt him hovering around her neck. She kept her eyes closed. She'd been trying not to think too much about what he was saying or doing. It wasn't easy. She knew he wasn't going to stop, but at least he was trying to make it easier for her. If she could pretend, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

She knew she couldn't pretend the way he wanted, but she could pretend. It couldn't be Gary, but she tried to pretend. She pretended it was her childhood fantasy, an imaginary person, a make believe hero. If she could play make believe she thought she'd be OK. 

She kept her eyes closed. He was being gentle. His hands were gentle on her skin. She lifted her hands up so they were at her cheeks. She felt his face, his cheeks. He wasn't hard or mean. She closed her eyes tighter. She had to make pretend.

She was in a castle, in a big canopied bed, the man on top of her was her new husband. She had to get through this.

The man softly caressed her cheeks. He kissed her eyes and her neck, "I love you Susan. I'm going to take care of you." He kept saying phony endearments, anything to keep her calm and passive. 

Susan lay in his grasp. She kept willing herself to be somewhere else, with someone else. She tried, she really tried. One thing she knew, this guy might be a murderous son of a gun, but she sensed he knew his way around women. She was no vamp, but she recognized a talented lover when one showed up, and this guy had talent. He was the best she'd ever been with, and he was probably going to kill her. No she thought to herself, don't think about that. 

He was leaned down. She knew it. She discreetly opened one eye. He was leaning down to kiss her. What should she do? She could bite him. She could bite his tongue. She could snap at his lips and cause some serious facial damage. Yes, she could do those things, but what advantage would she gain from doing something like that, no advantage at all. However, she could pretend to reciprocate his advances. She could act like she was trying to enjoy what was happening, even if she really wasn't.

As he kissed her, Susan kissed him back. She could tell he wasn't what one would call an avid or energetic kisser. No. His lips were compelling without being hard, urgent, or painful. Some of the men she'd known liked to think a really amorous kiss had to be like a punch. She thought a really amorous kiss was more like a hug. This man's kiss was like some kind of warm sweet hug. She liked it. She didn't have to pretend about that.

The man felt her response. He knew there was no sincerity in her behavior, but he enjoyed the physical presence. This girl knew how to kiss.

For several languorous minutes the two people remained entwined. He could wrap his arms around her. He could touch her in all the places he wanted. She had to lay there in his embrace. The woman had to accept whatever he doled out, and she was accepting it.

As they lay there, side by side, Susan did slowly begin to relax. She tried not to think, at least not too much. He was treating her better than any of the men she ever dated had treated her. In fact, if some of the men she had dated had given half this much attention to her feelings they might have still been around. 

Susan sighed to herself. Imagine. Here she was with a man who may end up murdering her, a man who certainly kidnapped her, and a man who, for all intents and purposes, could just as easily beat and rape her, but here she was being lavished with warmth and affection. She sighed to herself again. It just goes to show that one can never tell what could happen. 

She sighed again. Her mind kept crying out, don't be a monster, don't murder me.

The man heard her sigh. He knew then if she wasn't enjoying what he was doing at least she was accepting it. For some reason, he couldn't fathom why, this tiny moment of pleasure for her gave him pleasure. 

The man leaned up and looked down at her again. She had her eyes closed. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she still pretending she was somewhere else? With someone she wanted to be with, or was she just struggling to get through what she was certain was going to happen next? He hoped she was in a deep fantasy. Yes, it was a rape, but it didn't have to feel like it.

He kept kissing her. She'd stopped moving and twisting. If he was getting anything out of this it had to be soon.

This was it. He knew it. The time had finally come. He went to the step every man and woman takes when they are in intimate embrace. 

Pulling down his jeans the man reached down and found her private place. He rubbed gently over her upper surface. He took his fingers and slowly coursed up and down her mound. He could feel she was wet. He knew this was a natural phenomenon. Her will power, like any other person's, man or woman, was going to be superseded by nature. A person's biology always worked independently of a person's mental capacities. 

She was sexually excited, not by him, not by the moment, not by her unique circumstances, but by her natural femininity. She was a woman. He was a man. It was that simple. He was glad for her. Even if this was really a rape it might not completely feel one.

He could tell she was no virgin. She'd been with men before. How many he didn't know. To tell the truth, he didn't care. She wasn't his first woman either. But right now he felt this was their first time. He wanted it to be right for her, as well as right for him. He liked making women feel good, and this might be her very last time. He sensed she was feeling, or trying to feel good. 

He knew she was playing some kind of disassociation game. She wasn't where she was, she was somewhere else. That was OK.

Susan lay there, now at least partly beneath him. He was going to do her. She'd said fuck when she'd been with some other men. This didn't feel like a fuck. It didn't feel like sex either. She wasn't sure she could explain what it was feeling like. She was afraid. So there was fear. There was heat, and she was certainly hot. She could feel her skin becoming increasingly hot and dry, but she knew she was moist inside.

Overall, it wasn't a bad feeling. It wasn't a good feeling exactly either. She sensed that this was going to be real sex; not like he was just using her, even though that's what he was doing.

This man didn't behave like some fetishist or sadist. He was being careful with her. She'd cried, and he didn't get mad. He hadn't hit, or yelled at her. In fact it was like he had been almost sympathetic. He'd almost thrown in the towel when she'd panicked. He could have just thrown her on her back and knocked her off. He could have gotten his rocks off and gone to take a shower. She'd dated men who'd done that, and then acted like they'd done her a favor. It was as though he wanted her to have pleasure too.

This man was something. She wasn't at all sure what, but she was sure he was something, something outside her earlier experiences. God she only hoped when it was over he didn't warp into some horrid Leather Face character.

He slowly eased his way down on her. Keeping his stomach just above hers so their bodies were barely touching he let his hard shaft slide slowly up and down on the surface of her vagina. He slowly allowed himself to slide between her labia. Then he gently went into her. He took his time. 

He always liked the feeling of being inside a woman. He liked the physical penetration. Her womb was warm and damp. As he entered her she responded, but not in the phony lascivious way a whore would. Her response was more autonomic, natural, graceful, and womanly. He heard her sigh again.

Susan still lay there. He was rubbing on top of her. He was entering her. It felt good. It felt really good. His penis was hot and hard. He was moving deep inside her. Others, she could tell had probably gone deeper, but he knew how to get it done. This wasn't good, not even OK, not even anything. This was. This was what? This was what it was. 

If her hands had been free she might have wrapped them around him. She wanted to hug him closer. She wanted to kiss his neck, bite his ear. She wanted to snuggle her face against him. If she had her hands free she would have given in to the situation and maybe openly surrendered.

But her hands weren't free. She was a prisoner; a kidnapped prisoner, a victim, this man's potential murder victim. Still, right now at this moment she was alive, more alive than she'd been in a long time. Oh what a feeling. She let go. 

She quivered slightly. She climaxed. As orgasms went, it was relatively low on the Richter scale, but it was real. She made no loud hysterical outbursts. She'd seen the Meg Ryan movie, and she knew how men liked that nonsense. This climax was full and complete, even if it wasn't an earthquake. It belonged to her. It was hot, deep, real, and it was all hers.

As she reached her physical peak, he felt her. She jerked and quivered just a little. There wasn't any fakery in this. She'd had a real orgasm. Though it was largely against her will, or maybe in some fantasy, but it had happened without the baloney women sometimes tried to spew out. 

Within seconds he climaxed too. He didn't hold back. She got it all. Every drop of semen he had been storing for almost a month exploded into her vagina. It felt great. He felt terrific!

Just as she was coming down she felt him as he made one thrust that was harder than the others. She was overcome as his sperm poured out of him into her. She'd never really let any man do that to her before. She hadn't let this man. He did it because she couldn't stop him. It flooded into her. It was hot, really hot. It almost burned, and it went way inside. She felt his sperm, and it went way into her. 

God it was different! This was what sex was really supposed to be like, and she hadn't yelled, bucked, screamed, ranted or raved. She'd done none of the crazy fake things she'd done with other men. All she could think was wow! I'm still alive.

For several seconds neither of them moved. She felt him slowly get smaller inside her. She liked the feel of him inside her. It made her feel full.

The man sensed the end of a significant moment had arrived. He slowly reached down and pulled the coverlets up around them. He wrapped his arms around her body. Reaching up, he pulled her still cuffed hands down to the front of her stomach. She rolled over and curled up in a fetal position. He kissed the back of her neck.

Susan lay there, crumpled up like a rag doll; exhausted, not from the sex, more from the overall emotional trauma. He wrapped the two of them back in the silk sheets. He wrapped himself around her. She felt his strong muscled arms atop her. 

For her part she pressed back against him. She wanted to keep feeling his warmth. She wanted to feel his arms around her. He was breathing on her neck, and it felt more than good, it felt somehow comforting. She couldn't place the smell of his breath. It wasn't sweet, not tart like caffeine, but it was distinctive, not bad distinctive, good distinctive. She knew as long as they lay the way they were she might not get hurt.

She lay there numb and scared. She remembered talking to girl friends. She remembered some of the juvenile novels she'd read in high school. In those instances the women always talked about a sense of contentment they'd felt after sex. Now she knew what they meant. So this was what it meant to be contented, to feel satisfied, fulfilled, and complete. 

She started to cry a little. It bothered her that the one time she'd really felt fully satisfied as a sexual person, it had been with a man whose purposes could very well be totally antithetical to her well being. She thought, 'What the hell.'

She gave up. She fell asleep in the arms of a man who would probably end up killing her, but right now she was still alive. She'd had some decent sex. Maybe death wouldn't be quite so hard to face.

The man could tell by her smooth even breathing that the girl had fallen asleep. He would have liked nothing better than to stay right there and join her. He would have liked to have said something nice to her. But he felt fortunate he'd gotten as much as he did. She had let go a little bit, but he knew she was still terribly scared. Besides he had other things that needed his attention. He quietly got up and made the arrangements that would be necessary when she awakened. After a few more very quiet moments, he got up.



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 01b



Forward: This is a revision of the chapter one to this story. The original first chapter, which you can still read, makes the assumption that a woman could enjoy being raped. Actually we know better. Susan still gets raped in this revision, but it plays out differently. I hope you still enjoy it.

Introduction

Susan Slattery was proud of herself. Here she was, promising young attorney, out on her own, starting her own law firm, and about to conclude her biggest case. Smartly dressed in a beige business suit, white blouse, top three buttons opened providing the opportunity for judicious and certainly provocative glimpses at her healthy bosom. 

She had on a tailored A-line skirt dropping to just above her knees permitting just a slight voyeuristic glimpse of muscular thighs wrapped in dark brown nylons. Her feet were encased in dark brown high heeled shoes she used to click clack around the floor in front of an already enthralled judge. Hair done up in a tight bun with just a couple stray blond fronds drifting alluringly around her tortoise shell glasses. She looked every bit the young female professional about to win her case.

The case had involved another notorious womanizer who'd been leaping from bed to bed for years. However he'd committed one indiscretion too many, and his wife had brought down the hammer. The hammer came in a nasty legal battle, a massive settlement, and the man's reputation forever and irretrievably a shambles. Susan had to congratulate herself. She'd brought the mighty kingpin to his knees, and she'd acquired a hefty fee in the process. Her name would be broadcast far and wide; Susan Slattery the man killer had brought down another one. Her courtroom power would be every philanderer's nightmare. She would be enshrined in the hearts of every woman ever cheated or betrayed by a wayward husband. Her reputation had been established, her future bright.

Close to the rear of courtroom sat another professional; not in the back of the room, certainly that would have been too conspicuous, but about midway back from the middle sat a nondescript observer. He had a reputation also. His reputation was neither that of man or woman killer. His reputation was just killer. 

The crushed and defeated man currently at Susan Slattery's mercy had played his one last card. Believing his destruction at the hands of the pitiless Ms. Slattery was nothing better than an assassination he'd called some acquaintances from his past. Sitting in the courtroom was the fruition of that phone call. True, he may have overstepped himself. He may have seduced one woman too many, but he knew his wife never intended what the Slattery woman had done. The great Ms. Susan Slattery had become a marked woman.

Briefcase under her arm, Susan sauntered out of the courtroom. She thought, just a short trip to the office, clear off her desk, check the calendar for next week, and then a quick drink at the tavern before home, a shower and bed. Behind her in an undistinguished dark suit walked the engine of her destruction. He'd been paid and paid well to see the woman in front of him never saw another sunrise. 

His instructions had been simple. Get her, kill her, chop up the remains, and bury them. He thought about that. That was the kind of thing only a disgusting perverted mind would want. He thought it was too much trouble over a person who'd done nothing more than her job. In fact he'd watched some of the case. She was good. Besides the kind of garbage the client was asking had never been his style. He'd think about it. Maybe he'd kill her, maybe not. She was pretty. He liked the way she looked, the way she sauntered around the courtroom. She might be worth a lot more alive than in some plastic bag dead. 

He'd liked her looks. Besides, if he didn't punch her out, it wouldn't be the first time he'd let someone off the hook. He was his own man, his own boss. It didn't matter too much anyway, first he had to get her, and then he'd decide what to do. The easiest way was a shot of some drug, put her under, carry her out, and take her home. She was small. It wouldn't take much to knock her down.

As it turned out it was just that easy. The bar she habituated was dark, well served, but not especially crowded. It whispered that sense of pseudo familiarity so many places did; a place where patrons thought they were known, but in truth, were just as nondescript as he had been in the courtroom. As he watched her order a drink he could tell she had that comfortable feeling of being at home, relaxed, off her guard. It would be too easy. 

He tapped her arm, stealthily inserted a smallish needle; she dropped like a rock. He intimated to the bartender he was her date, helped her up, half carried half walked her to his car. He gently laid her on the back seat and drove home. She was light as a feather and soft too.

As he drove he watched for cars that might follow, and he watched for movement on the back seat. She was sound asleep, or, more accurately, soundly drugged. Her hair had come undone. It looked thick and soft. She had small delicate hands and equally tiny feet; all very feminine. 

Her dress was hiked up around her thighs, nearly to her waist. Watching her relaxed deep breathing, he much preferred the idea of having sex with her of than offing her. 

He'd checked into her background a little bit. She was one of those robot-like feminists; who, for want of a man of her own, preferred slicing and dicing men she didn't know. The man who'd hired her, he was told through intermediaries, had said as much. He believed it. Bitch she was, and bitch she'd die, unless...

Home was quite a distance, but after several hours of driving he was there. He carried her inside, and surrendered her to one of his friends, a woman in this case, who worked with him. She took the drugged woman upstairs, undressed her, cleaned her; put her in some pajamas, and into bed. Later he went upstairs and secured her so she wouldn't be able to get away. Then he went downstairs, showered and hit the sack. It would be hours before she awakened, plenty of time for a little shut eye.

A Rude Awakening:

Susan slowly awakened. She shifted her body, or tried to shift. Something was keeping her from freely moving her arms and legs. She felt warm, nice and cozy. She didn't really want to get out of bed, but something just didn't seem right. She tried to move her arms and stretch. She could move, but she couldn't separate her hands.

She stretched her arms out and up over her head, but without spreading her hands. She was awake now. Her hands were held together. Each wrist had some type of bracelet affixed to it. She saw the bracelets were held together by a small padlock.

She tried to sit up, but to her chagrin realized that whatever was keeping her hands together was also doing the same thing to her feet. She wriggled and rolled, and finally was able to sit. She looked down at her feet and found they each were circled by an anklet, and the anklets, like the bracelets were held together by a padlock. Eyes wide open now, she was frightened, she tried to speak, but something was in her mouth. What was going on? She reached for her mouth. In her mouth she felt a small rubber ball. Jesus! The reason she couldn't speak was because she was gagged!

Something uncomfortable was around her neck too. She reached there and found some kind of metal necklace, a collar! It was tight but not uncomfortably so and it was apparently locked on. She felt all around it. She couldn't find any locking mechanism, but there was some kind of attachment at the front. She fiddled with it and discovered a small ring with another tiny object, another ring, dangling from it.

Normally something small and delicate like this wouldn't have been offensive. Normally this might have been something she would have bought or welcomed from an admirer. But this collar and the attached ring was indeed offensive. Someone else, she didn't know who, had affixed it on her in a way she couldn't fathom. She didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. She didn't like anything about her current circumstances.

Fully awake Susan looked around. She was sitting on a bed, and it wasn't hers. It was a large, king sized, extremely comfortable bed, monstrous compared to the tiny bed she slept in. It had a massive headboard, and, peering toward the bottom, she could see a low foot board. The blankets, the cover sheet, and the bed spread had been pulled down. She was lying atop the under sheet. It was silk, the softest whitest silk she'd seen or felt. Behind her on the bed was a plethora of large soft pillows, they were all dressed out in white silk just like the sheets. Susan's mind started to race. This was crazy. 

This must be some kind of sick joke. How did she get here? Where was she last night? What happened? Who put her here? And why was she locked up like this?

She jumped to the side of the bed, but immediately fell backward. She tried again; the second time she was able to maintain her balance. Susan looked herself up and down. All her clothes had been replaced. She was wearing pajamas, white shorty pajamas, and they were silk, the same as the bed sheets. They were nice pajamas, expensive. There was a full-length mirror along the wall about three feet from the foot of the bed. Susan saw her reflection in it. The pajamas looked really pretty. The top had a nicely cut peter-pan collar, pearl buttons held the top of the blouse together down the front. The buttons were all white of course. The top didn't quite reach the panties; she could see just a trace of her midriff and her navel.

The panties were very short, coming only to the tops of her upper thighs. They were cinched at her waist by a silk belt. She could tell the front of the under pants, like the top, was also loosely held together by more pearl buttons, how unusual. These, she assumed, were to be unfastened on the off hand chance she needed to pee.

Someone had washed off her make up. In fact, someone had taken some serious freedoms with her body. She could tell someone must have given her a full body bath before dressing her and putting her in this bed. Honestly, she felt really fresh, really clean. Her skin felt particularly soft. She looked at her hair. That had been washed too. Someone had combed it out, and oh my God, it had been cut! She saw, for the first time since she was maybe fifteen, she had bangs, and her hair, which she had allowed to grow long, had been trimmed off to just above her shoulders.

Susan sat back down on the bed. She was getting scared. No scared was the wrong word. She was mad. No frightened. No she was terrified. Someone had taken her, bathed her, cut her hair, changed her clothes, tied her up, and put her in a bed in God knew where.

She looked more closely at the bracelets. Bracelets really weren't the right word. They looked liked bracelets, and nice ones too. They were gold, engraved with intricate patterns. They weren't heavy. They weren't thick. They were quite nice actually. They looked like something someone would buy at one of the better jewelry stores. They looked expensive, but no they weren't bracelets. A person could take bracelets off. These bracelets didn't seem to have a hasp or any connector. Looking closer it appeared there might be a very small place where someone might be able to insert a key. It would to be extremely small, tiny, but yes, now she could see it, there was a place for a key. They might look like bracelets, but they were really very expensive manacles held together by an equally expensive looking padlock that had been looped between two tiny rings, one on each manacle. Leaning back she pulled her feet up and looked at the anklets. It was the same story. Two beautifully engraved intricate manacles held together by another expensive looking padlock.

Oh Jesus, how had she gotten into this? She wasn't mad anymore. She was afraid. She was very afraid. No, she was scared out of her wits. She pulled her feet up under her, held her hands together and started to cry. How did she get here? She had to think. Think Susan. Think! For 

Christ's sake! What happened?

She started to remember. Yes, it was coming back. She had gotten off from work. It was Friday, and she was tired. She wanted to unwind. She'd slipped into the tavern at the end of the street. 

It was just down from her office, and people knew her there. She'd be able to relax, let her hair down. Hair she thought. She looked across at the mirror again and saw how her hair had been cut. Where was she? It had been a particularly grueling week. She had finally finished an especially nasty case wherein a husband had at last agreed to a very lucrative divorce settlement. The cad had deserved everything he'd gotten, and she was glad she'd been able to pin him to the wall. She'd gone into the tavern, ordered her favorite drink, a man's drink, bourbon over ice. Just as she finished tossing it off, someone who'd been sitting beside her had jostled her arm. That was the last thing she remembered.

Someone, she supposed, had drugged her. Whoever it was had put something pretty potent in her drink. Was it the bartender? No, she knew the bartender. But of course, everyone thinks they know the bartender. Then who was it? Oh wait! 

When she was finishing her drink, the same someone who'd jostled her had to have done something. It wasn't something in her drink. It was something else! She remembered feeling a faint pinch on her arm. Susan looked down. There it was! It was tiny, but she could clearly see it, a small but tell tale mark, like maybe the prick of a miniscule pin, or worse the prick of a needle. Someone had followed her into the tavern sat down beside her and just as she was finishing her drink they had jabbed her with a needle. It had to have been a potent chemical, because she couldn't remember anything after that.

Susan was really scared now. It wasn't like she'd gone out and gotten stone cold drunk or ridiculously high. It wasn't as though she'd shacked up with some man for a one-time roll in the hay. Yes, she'd done those things and thought nothing about it the next morning. Those were things she had every right to do. After all, she was a fully grown, well educated, kick ass, liberated woman, a lawyer, a divorce lawyer, an attorney with a string of male scalps figuratively hanging from her office lodge pole. No, this was something different. Someone had been out to get her, and by the looks of things, they'd gotten her.

She cried some more. Someone really wanted to hurt her. That was the only explanation for her particular predicament. It wasn't that she wasn't good looking, like she'd been kidnapped or something for sex. In fact, she was quite a looker, a babe. One might say she had a second lodge pole in her apartment where she kept the scalps of brokenhearted lovers. Not lovers in the carnal sense, more in the figurative sense.

She had a terrific body. She stood a tall well-conditioned five foot five. She had a membership at the hottest health spa in the city where she was a regular. She kept her weight down, her figure trim, and her men at arm's length. That was a joke she liked to share with some of her girl friends. Susan had nice breasts. They weren't big, she wore a thirty-four B, but they were well shaped, and they were all hers. No silicon implants for her. Not her! No Sir! These pear shaped babies sticking out on her chest were the result of training and exercise, and that went double for her flat stomach, her arms, and her legs.

She had a pretty good face too. She wasn't stunning, but she had always been able to hold her own. She had blue eyes, luxuriant lashes, light brown almost blond hair, a smallish aquiline nose, good cheekbones, a small dimpled chin, and luscious lips, even if only she thought so.

She knew one thing. She knew how to use her lips. Susan wasn't just a great kisser she knew how lips could manipulate men. She knew what men noticed, the insecure bite on the lower lip, the subtle nibble on the end of a pencil while thinking or talking. Men watched that stuff. They fantasized about something else being in her mouth. Ha! She might be a tarty tease, but no man's thing had ever even remotely close in that regard. Sure she'd put out once or twice to promote her career, but she had standards, no bare backing and, certainly no sodomy. If a man wanted her he worked for what he got, and what he got was straight sex, only missionary, if that. She was confident in her ability to control her surroundings. Well, maybe not right now, what with the gag and the cuffs. What was she thinking? This was certainly no time for casual reflection. She was in trouble.

She stopped crying. She wanted to keep on crying, but realized it wasn't doing any good. She didn't know where she was, and she had to find a way, some way, to get loose, get free, and get the hell out of wherever she was. Just then a door opened somewhere. 

Behind the bed was a long hallway, and at the end of the hallway a door opened. It was her captor; the owner of the house who'd opened the door. The owner was a tall, well built man, a person whose career was defined by murder, kidnapping, extortion, and, as Susan was about to find out, scaring young women . He stood just six feet tall. He was in his mid thirties, about six years older than the girl sitting on his bed. He had dark brown hair, flecked with the first signs of gray, brown eyes, a strong looking nose and chin, and a small scar on his right cheek.

He'd done nothing particularly brave or dangerous to acquire the scar. It had occurred when he was a teenager playing baseball. He was the team's catcher, and an errant pitch had jammed the catcher's mask into his face causing the scar. As scars went it wasn't much, but he knew it added to the somewhat sinister nature of some of his better facial expressions.

He was muscular though not muscle bound, and his military training had given him some, not much, skill in hand to hand combat. Right then as he entered the bedroom he was wearing a comfortably fitting pair of jeans, a short sleeved white T-shirt, black tennis shoes, white socks, and his old reliable Timex watch.

He had friends and associates who liked to go overboard on everything they owned. He was never one to do that. He used to joke how he always wore a precision wrist watch whose name brand was two syllables and ended in an X.

Since being separated from the army he'd gotten involved with some bad characters. He'd become what some would call a hired killer, a torpedo. For the right money he'd get rid of someone's problem, especially if the problem was a person. 

This girl had been one of those people someone wanted removed, and removed permanently. He'd watched her for some time, and realized she was a piece of cake. She had almost no social life. All she had was a career; a career, it seemed, aimed at making as many men unhappy as she could. He didn't really care what she did. He was in it for the money, and she set a good price. Now he had her. He could kill her, sell her, or even cut her up and put her in the dog food. But he thought she was pretty, so he decided he might keep her around a little while. If she was fun, he wouldn't get rid of her right away, so he'd brought her back to his house.

Actually his house was a substantial old farm property he'd converted into a very nice, large, home. He had outfitted it, though he'd never ridden, it with a horse barn, a salt-water swimming pool he never swam in, and the usual lawn fixtures. The whole thing sat on a two hundred eighty-acre tract of land well outside the city. It was mostly wooded, but there was ample pasturage for grazing.

He thought, well I guess it's time to decide what to do with this girl, his newest acquisition. He'd brought her here because all his employees were devotedly loyal. Though they were all fluent in English, he and they kept all their dialogue to the languages they spoke, mostly Asian dialects. He knew the girl on the bed was well educated, and she'd certainly try to manipulate the people around her. What she didn't know yet, and would certainly find out, was these people were not easily manipulated.




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 01b



He strode to the bed, and spoke, "Well it looks here like we've got someone who is in a bit of a bind."

Susan turned and saw the man. If she had been afraid before, she wasn't very much reassured by what she saw now. He looked like a cool one. She could tell he was appraising her, but his demeanor gave her no clue about what he was thinking. Since she was gagged she couldn't say anything. All she could do was sit silently and stare.

He came over and sat on a chair resting at the foot of the bed. He looked her up and down with nonchalant grace. She stared back diffidently.

He began to speak, "I have a few questions I need to ask. All you have to do is nod or shake. Do you understand?"

Susan nodded.

"Have you ever had, or do you have any sexually transmitted diseases?" He thought, 'If she did then, he knew, she was a goner.'

She shook her head no.

He felt relieved, "Do you have any special martial arts skills?" He held up a hand, "Now before you respond, remember, you don't know anything about me. A truthful answer is going to be in your best interest."

Susan thought in disgust of the many opportunities that she'd had to take up karate. Again she shook her head no.

He continued, "I know you're no virgin, but tell me if you're on any birth control."

Susan shook her head from side to side.

He said, "Does that mean you are?"

She shook her head from side to side again.

He said, "Then if you had sex you could get pregnant."

She nodded up and down.

Then he asked, "Do you have any allergies, or allergic reactions to any drugs, medicines, or chemicals I ought to know about?"

Susan thought, 'I'll bet he's going to drug me up, get me knocked up, and kill me.' She shook her head no.

He asked, "Do you want to stay alive?"

Susan nodded her head vigorously up and down.

He again spoke, "If you want to stay alive, then you're going to have to do just two things. Are you listening?"

Susan, eyes wide open, nodded.

He said, "All you have to do to stay alive is" and now he spoke slowly and deliberately, "All you have do to stay alive is listen and obey. Now can you do that?"

Susan nodded up and down furiously.

He spoke again, "Well we'll see. I have one more question for right now." He looked at her closely, "Do you have to go to the bathroom?" Suddenly Susan realized going to the bathroom was something she really wanted, and needed to do. She nodded enthusiastically.

Again he spoke, "Hold out your legs please. I'll unlock your ankles. You'll find a bathroom off to your left. Go ahead, take care of everything you need to do, and come back when you're finished." She extended her legs. He gently took her feet in one hand and using his other hand undid the padlock that confined her feet. "Now go scoot, and come back when you're done."

Susan jumped from the bed and headed to the left. She saw the bathroom door and went for it. Though her hands were still held together by the wrist manacles and padlock she was easily able to turn the door handle and go inside.

Inside the bathroom Susan found all she needed. She took her time at the toilet. It was a little tricky getting the toilet paper to wipe her privates, but she managed. She looked around and found there were several toothbrushes and toothpaste. She thought if she just didn't have the gag in her mouth, then she could brush away some of the awful taste she had. But with the gag in, there wasn't much she could do.

Finished in the bathroom Susan walked carefully across the marble tiled bathroom floor, then the soft bedroom rug to the bed. She didn't know what to after that, so she just stood there beside the bed.

The man gestured to the foot of the bed, "Come down here and sit on the bed." Susan wanted to run. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry out to let her go. She wanted to fight for her life, but she tremulously walked to the end of the bed and sat down.

When she reached her destination he spoke again, "I want you to lie down and wriggle backward until your head is on the pillows. Take your time. There's no hurry."

Susan thought, "This is it. He's going to rape me, then kill me. I've got to get away." Slowly she wriggled back until her head rested on one of the big pillows.

The man walked around the left side of the bed, and rolled on beside her. Reaching over he took her trapped hands and pulled them over her head. He continued to pull her hands up and over her head, while simultaneously reaching for something behind her. He pulled down a short length of chain and attached it to her manacled wrists. Now her hands were held above her head on the bed. They were well above her head, but the distance wasn't so great as to cause any discomfort. They were far enough away to render her helpless, but not so far as to be hurtful.

He looked at her and spoke, while speaking he gave her one of his more formidable frowns. "I'm going to take off your gag. If you say anything, anything at all, I'll finish you off right here. Do you understand me?"

Susan nodded fearfully.

He reached behind her head. Before disconnecting the hasp that held the gag he looked down at her again. He gravely added, "Not one word. Not a sound."

She nodded.

The man released the catch holding the gag, and it fell free.

Susan sighed, and then looked up in absolute terror.

He spoke, "We'll let the sigh slide, but that's all we hear from you from now on."

Susan nodded vigorously in relief. She'd thought she'd killed herself with a sigh.

The man leaned back and continued to speak. He was smiling. "I like the way your put together. You've got a nice shape. I can see you've taken reasonably good care of yourself, and I like that in a woman, or anyone for that matter. I think you're kind of pretty. If you don't break the two rules I gave, I might keep you around awhile." He began to unbutton her pajama top.

Susan stared at him fearfully. He had something in mind. His tone of voice was knowing, and sarcastic. He was going to kill her. She knew it. Every muscle in her body tensed. She felt uncomfortably cold even though it was warm on the room. 

The man slowly undid her top. He pulled the sides away revealing her breasts, stomach and navel. He rubbed his hands over her chest. He was careful not to be rough, "I like your breasts. I can tell they're real. I like that. Nice tummy too. You have a nice navel. You have an innie. Not pierced either. I'm glad to see that." Smiling he continued, "A pierced navel or an outie would have been bad news for somebody."

Susan stared at him in absolute terror. He was talking about her body like every organ was part of a test. If one part didn't look just right he'd kill her right then and there. She wanted to scream. She did start to cry.

He looked down in disbelief. 'What's her problem' he thought? He'd just given her a compliment. Then he realized his fun was her terror. If he was going to have any fun with this one he might have to gentle her a little bit. He put the fingers of his hand over her mouth and spoke, "Look, if you don't stop crying, I'm going to count it as talking."

Susan couldn't help it, she talked. Through her tears she blurted out, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid. Please don't kill me. Don't hurt me. I didn't do anything. I don't even know why I'm here, or who you are, or where here is. I'm just so afraid." With that she started crying full steam.

The man gave her a few seconds, "Now if you've gotten that out of your system, you can promise to shut up or I'll just gag you again."

Susan had started shaking, but managed to get out, "I'll be quiet. I promise."

The man started to slowly stroke her breasts. He liked the way they felt in his hands. They had a good shape. They weren't hard like the silicon babes in the city. They were firm, supple even. 

He liked her aureoles and her nipples. They had a good color, a healthy look, and they were soft. He leaned down and kissed each one. He liked women. He liked their breasts, and her breasts were nice, real nice. He was enjoying himself.

He looked up at her face. He could tell she was only pretending to be scared. Women liked to be touched. What she was putting on was an act. He was sure of it.

He reached down to her panties. He could see the hair around her most tender area through the panties. Unbuttoning them he pulled them down below her cheeks to her thighs. He leaned farther down and gradually pulled her panties all the way down off her legs.

He looked her lower body over. He commented. "You have attractive legs. I can see you exercise regularly. You have a nice pussy. It has nice color. The hair down there is light brown like the hair on your head. I see you keep yourself trimmed. I like that, but in all honesty, if I keep you around any length of time all that hair will all have to come off. I like the look of a clean clear puss. Yours looks nice now, but I bet if we cleaned it up it would look like a child's; all fresh, smooth, and pure. That's what I like." Susan listened to everything he was saying, but she was mostly trying her damnedest to keep from crying again. Why was it so cold in here? She started shaking again.

He looked up at her. He could tell she was trying to put up a good front. He'd scared her more than he thought. The impression he'd gotten from the person who'd hired him, was that this was a nasty bitch, a surly wanton who deserved the worst possible treatment. He wasn't so sure now. She didn't know it yet, but her past life was probably gone. What kind of future she would have? Well he couldn't say, except that it might not be as bad as he originally thought. He wasn't going to kill her.

Susan looked at him. He scared her so! She was sure he was capable of anything, but she was determined to get through whatever it was he intended. 'Whatever it takes.' she thought to herself. 'That's what I'll do what ever it takes.' She was so nervous. If she didn't do something she'd hyperventilate and pass out. She tried to control her breathing. She was so God damned cold!

The man started softly rubbing her legs. He took the palms of his hands and lightly whiskered his fingers up her thighs, then on up to her puss. He carefully brushed his hand across her vaginal area. He rubbed down between the tops of her legs to her slit. He felt it was slightly moist. He was sure she wasn't really sexually aroused, at least not yet. He knew and understood what he was doing would have that effect. Her body was just naturally responding.

He was in no hurry. He took his hands and traveled back down to her feet. He slowly used his fingertips to cover the tops of her feet and her ankles. She squirmed and the manacles around her ankles moved slightly. The rings on each of the manacles that had been used to hold the padlock tinkled very slightly. He liked the sound. He used his hands to explore her lower legs and then her thighs. As he slowly covered the inside of her legs with his fingers, she squirmed.

Her skin was soft and sensitive. He was back at her pussy. He took his fingertips and retraced the area around her mound. He could tell she was becoming ever so slightly engorged. The cheeks of her labia were slowly swelling. It was a great feeling rubbing gently up and down her vaginal slit just beyond the places where hair still grew. He thought once all that hair was truly gone he would have a field day. As if to emphasize he leaned over and slowly used his tongue to lick up and down the little ravine between her labial lips. 

As he licked she squirmed a little more. He felt her shiver. Yes he told himself she was starting to respond. She was a little wanton.

Susan was losing control. She couldn't stop shivering. He frightened her. God she thought, 'He didn't think she was enjoying this?' She couldn't stop shaking. She was freezing. She wanted to cry, but was so afraid.

He could tell he was getting to her. He left her pussy and moved up to her head and face. He started to stroke her facial cheeks. He rubbed her facial lips and her chin. He tickled her just a little, and he could tell, though intellectually she was probably determined to resist, her natural inclination was to enjoy the attention.

If it were any other place, with any other man she thought she might like what was happening. But not here, not like this! Sure she was a woman she liked attention, just not under the current circumstances. She was thinking if this were another situation she might be having fun. 

Right now she was just trying to not panic. She had to hold on. She had to put this out of her mind or she'd literally go out of her mind. Susan felt him rub her legs and her privates. Did he think it felt good? She was restrained. She was trapped, scared, and about to be raped! Sure she'd always liked sex. This wasn't sex! Did he think this was some kind of great thing? She started twisting her head to the left and the right. She felt the tears squeezing out of the sides of her eyes. She couldn't stop her arms from shaking! 

She wasn't the promiscuous type, but she'd never been a prude either. He thought he was making her feel good. She was beginning to feel light headed, like the top of her head was going to blow off. Did he think she liked this? Was he some kind of sadistic freak?

He started rubbing her face. She never much liked that. She pulled away. The way he was tracing his fingertips across her mouth was terrifying! She started to panic. He might screw her and then kill her. She overcame the fear if only for a moment. If he was going to kill her, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. If he was going to screw her, well, she could at least survive that, as long as it felt good. But it didn't feel good! Her whole bode was shaking! She started to whimper. She was shivering, quivering. The room was like ice!

The man liked what he saw. She looked good all over. He liked the way she felt. Her skin was soft, even delicate. She had a creamy pink complexion, like a child's. Some men were into pain. He had no respect for man who liked hurting other people, especially women. He knew some women he'd had who thought he was too gentle. He wanted to be gentle with this one. He liked being gentle, but he thought he ought to be a little extra gentle today, with her. Looking at her looking at him he thought she's someone it would be awfully easy to be gentle with. Even if he decided to snuff her out later, he could still be nice now.

He continued lightly stroking her lips, her chin, around her neck, behind her ears. Using his fingers he lightly traced his way all around her cheeks, under her neck, and up around to her far ear. He leaned forward and lightly nibbled on her ear. It tasted good. He liked her smell. The women who had washed and dressed her had only used soap so her body's aroma was not occluded by perfume. What he was getting was her natural fragrance. It wasn't the musk smell of a prostitute. It wasn't the sickly sweet smell of someone who'd doused themselves with some over the counter product. No her smell, her natural odor was fresh, pure, and clean. He liked it. He liked it so much he nuzzled into that part of her neck just behind her ear. He noticed only one piercing, and that was on her earlobes. That was good. She probably reserved that spot for one solitaire diamond for each lobe, and he bet the studs she used were small. He bet no more than a half a carat.

Susan lay there trying to be like a zombie. If she could just dissociate herself from what was happening. Pretend she was someplace, anyplace other than where she was. What was he doing? She had no idea what he might eventually do. He could screw the shit out of her and then slice and dice her. He might treat her with delicacy and then cut her up with a chain saw. She was being fondled by a pervert. She started whimpering, caught herself and stopped. No noise. No noise she told herself. 

Then it happened. It started with soft weeping, but quickly escalated to real tears then outright blubbering, and last to screams of utter, absolute unrestrained terror! She was undone! She'd completely lost control. Panic! Terror! She was frozen with dread, convulsed with absolute, utter, stark, uncontrolled terror. She felt, she saw the water swirling and churning around her head. The white frothy sea foam was eddying around her head! It was freezing! She was freezing! She was drowning!

He heard the soft weeping, then the tears, suddenly the screams. Shit! She really was scared. She was hysterical! He would have liked to linger on her neck and enjoy her fragrance a little longer, but he suddenly came back to reality! He looked down at her face. She was completely zoned out! 

Like a bolt of lightening it hit him. She was on the verge of going into shock. He'd so terrorized her she was nearly a goner. He backed away as fast as her could. He reached for the bottom of the bed and found the covers. He yanked them up and over the both of them. He never though anything like this could happen! He wrapped his arms around her protectively. She wasn't really cold, but if she was headed into shock his warmth could only help.

He curled his arms and body around her. He started whispering to her, "OK. It's OK." He started to softly sing, to murmur in her ear. "Quiet now, calm down. It's all right. You're OK." 

He held her tightly. He started rocking her back and forth. She'd almost gone all the way over the edge. He cussed at himself. He wasn't that kind of person. He'd never hurt anyone like that before. Jesus he felt like a fool, a real bastard! He felt really guilty. 

He kept whispering and murmuring, and humming, "Come one now. It's all right. Take it easy." He was at it for at least ten minutes. Slowly he felt her begin to relax. Christ! He'd nearly scared her to death! 

After another ten minutes or so he slowly slipped out from under the blankets. She drifted off. He knew she wasn't asleep, but he guessed the worst was over. He wrapped her in the blanket, undid the manacles from the length of chain that held her hands over her head, and sat back in the chair at the foot of the bed. He watched her while she slowly recovered. 

He slipped down the hall and made tea for the both of them. He was too aroused to give up. He'd try another approach. 

He walked back to the bed with two cups of tea. Susan was lying under the covers on her side with her eyes slightly open and looking down at the bed sheets. 

The man walked around to the side of the bed and sat down, "Here Susan." He handed her a tea.

She leaned up on one arm and took the cup. She kept her eyes looking down and away.

The man watched her, "You can drink it. Look." He took a sip of his cup, and handed it to her, "You take this one, and I'll take yours."

Susan refused his offer, "No I'm OK." She sipped the tea cup he'd proffered her first. It was warm, not hot. She tasted its herbal flavor. She kept looking down and away.

The man spoke, "I'm sorry. I was led to believe you were a lot harder." He sipped some more of his tea, "I understand sex is sex, but rape and sex aren't necessarily the same things." He took another sip.

Susan nursed her tea. She felt better, but was still very scared. She kept her mouth shut. The man continued to talk, "We're going to start this over, but in another way." Susan looked up then, "You can't make me want to have sex with you." 

He reached over and took her still half full cup, "I know that, but I still intend to have you."

"You just want to rape me." She looked at him, 

"That's all it is, isn't it?"

He slowly pulled the covers away from her body, revealing the partially opened pajama top, "Call it what you want. I find you very desirable, beautiful. You're mine, and I intend to enjoy you."

Susan began to shake again, "Even if I don't want it?"

He slipped over closer so his left arm was nearly touching her right side, "It would be easier if you wanted it, but I'm willing to accept your unresponsive compliance."




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 01b



"It's rape." She was upsetting herself again, "It's still just rape."

He took her still manacled hands and pulled them down so they were in her lap. "Close you eyes." Susan closed her eyes, "Rape is rape. It's a dirty act only performed by filthy men who only want to hurt a weaker person."

He ignored her comment and slowly pushed her till she was lying on her back, "I want you to think back and remember when you were high school." "You can't make me do this if I don't want to." 

He continued to ignore her, "Remember back when you were in high school. Try to remember the one boy you loved more than any other. Maybe he was the captain of the football team. Maybe he was your older sisters boyfriend. Maybe he was just the guy you liked so much you fantasized about him. Think about him. What was his name? Tell me his name Susan."

Susan wasn't ready to go along, but she decided to give him a name anyway, "His name was Gary."

Susan I want you to pretend. Pretend you're with Gary. You're in high school. You're alone in your parent's house. They won't be home for hours. It's just you and Gary. Pretend I'm Gary Susan." 

He spoke as softly and as tenderly as he could, "You can't make it not happen, but Susan you can pretend you're with Gary. I'm Gary, and I love you. I've been aware of you, and I've been thinking about you for a while." 

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, "Drift off Susan. You're with Gary." He pressed his face softly against her neck, "I love you Susan. It's me Gary."

Susan felt him hovering around her neck. She kept her eyes closed. She'd been trying not to think too much about what he was saying or doing. It wasn't easy. She knew he wasn't going to stop, but at least he was trying to make it easier for her. If she could pretend, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

She knew she couldn't pretend the way he wanted, but she could pretend. It couldn't be Gary, but she tried to pretend. She pretended it was her childhood fantasy, an imaginary person, a make believe hero. If she could play make believe she thought she'd be OK. 

She kept her eyes closed. He was being gentle. His hands were gentle on her skin. She lifted her hands up so they were at her cheeks. She felt his face, his cheeks. He wasn't hard or mean. She closed her eyes tighter. She had to make pretend. She was in a castle, in a big canopied bed, the man on top of her was her new husband. She had to get through this.

The man softly caressed her cheeks. He kissed her eyes and her neck, "I love you Susan. I'm going to take care of you." He kept saying phony endearments, anything to keep her calm and passive. 

Susan lay in his grasp. She kept willing herself to be somewhere else, with someone else. She tried, she really tried. One thing she knew, this guy might be a murderous son of a gun, but she sensed he knew his way around women. She was no vamp, but she recognized a talented lover when one showed up, and this guy had talent. He was the best she'd ever been with, and he was probably going to kill her. No she thought to herself, don't think about that. 

He was leaned down. She knew it. She discreetly opened one eye. He was leaning down to kiss her. What should she do? She could bite him. She could bite his tongue. She could snap at his lips and cause some serious facial damage. Yes, she could do those things, but what advantage would she gain from doing something like that, no advantage at all. However, she could pretend to reciprocate his advances. She could act like she was trying to enjoy what was happening, even if she really wasn't.

As he kissed her, Susan kissed him back. She could tell he wasn't what one would call an avid or energetic kisser. No. His lips were compelling without being hard, urgent, or painful. Some of the men she'd known liked to think a really amorous kiss had to be like a punch. She thought a really amorous kiss was more like a hug. This man's kiss was like some kind of warm sweet hug. She liked it. She didn't have to pretend about that.

The man felt her response. He knew there was no sincerity in her behavior, but he enjoyed the physical presence. This girl knew how to kiss. For several languorous minutes the two people remained entwined. He could wrap his arms around her. He could touch her in all the places he wanted. She had to lay there in his embrace. The woman had to accept whatever he doled out, and she was accepting it.

As they lay there, side by side, Susan did slowly begin to relax. She tried not to think, at least not too much. He was treating her better than any of the men she ever dated had treated her. In fact, if some of the men she had dated had given half this much attention to her feelings they might have still been around. Susan sighed to herself. Imagine. Here she was with a man who may end up murdering her, a man who certainly kidnapped her, and a man who, for all intents and purposes, could just as easily beat and rape her, but here she was being lavished with warmth and affection. She sighed to herself again. It just goes to show that one can never tell what could happen. 

She sighed again. Her mind kept crying out, don't be a monster, don't murder me.

The man heard her sigh. He knew then if she wasn't enjoying what he was doing at least she was accepting it. For some reason, he couldn't fathom why, this tiny moment of pleasure for her gave him pleasure. 

The man leaned up and looked down at her again. She had her eyes closed. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she still pretending she was somewhere else? With someone she wanted to be with, or was she just struggling to get through what she was certain was going to happen next? He hoped she was in a deep fantasy. Yes, it was a rape, but it didn't have to feel like it.

He kept kissing her. She'd stopped moving and twisting. If he was getting anything out of this it had to be soon.

This was it. He knew it. The time had finally come. He went to the step every man and woman takes when they are in intimate embrace. Pulling down his jeans the man reached down and found her private place. He rubbed gently over her upper surface. He took his fingers and slowly coursed up and down her mound. He could feel she was wet. He knew this was a natural phenomenon. Her will power, like any other person's, man or woman, was going to be superseded by nature. A person's biology always worked independently of a person's mental capacities. She was sexually excited, not by him, not by the moment, not by her unique circumstances, but by her natural femininity. She was a woman. He was a man. It was that simple. He was glad for her. Even if this was really a rape it might not completely feel one.

He could tell she was no virgin. She'd been with men before. How many he didn't know. To tell the truth, he didn't care. She wasn't his first woman either. But right now he felt this was their first time. He wanted it to be right for her, as well as right for him. He liked making women feel good, and this might be her very last time. He sensed she was feeling, or trying to feel good. 

He knew she was playing some kind of disassociation game. She wasn't where she was, she was somewhere else. That was OK. Susan lay there, now at least partly beneath him. 

He was going to do her. She'd said fuck when she'd been with some other men. This didn't feel like a fuck. It didn't feel like sex either. She wasn't sure she could explain what it was feeling like. She was afraid. So there was fear. There was heat, and she was certainly hot. She could feel her skin becoming increasingly hot and dry, but she knew she was moist inside.

Overall, it wasn't a bad feeling. It wasn't a good feeling exactly either. She sensed that this was going to be real sex; not like he was just using her, even though that's what he was doing. 

This man didn't behave like some fetishist or sadist. He was being careful with her. She'd cried, and he didn't get mad. He hadn't hit, or yelled at her. In fact it was like he had been almost sympathetic. He'd almost thrown in the towel when she'd panicked. He could have just thrown her on her back and knocked her off. He could have gotten his rocks off and gone to take a shower. She'd dated men who'd done that, and then acted like they'd done her a favor. It was as though he wanted her to have pleasure too. 

This man was something. She wasn't at all sure what, but she was sure he was something, something outside her earlier experiences. God she only hoped when it was over he didn't warp into some horrid Leather Face character.

He slowly eased his way down on her. Keeping his stomach just above hers so their bodies were barely touching he let his hard shaft slide slowly up and down on the surface of her vagina. 

He slowly allowed himself to slide between her labia. Then he gently went into her. He took his time. He always liked the feeling of being inside a woman. He liked the physical penetration. Her womb was warm and damp. As he entered her she responded, but not in the phony lascivious way a whore would. Her response was more autonomic, natural, graceful, and womanly. He heard her sigh again.

Susan still lay there. He was rubbing on top of her. He was entering her. It felt good. It felt really good. His penis was hot and hard. He was moving deep inside her. Others, she could tell had probably gone deeper, but he knew how to get it done. This wasn't good, not even OK, not even anything. This was. This was what? This was what it was. If her hands had been free she might have wrapped them around him. She wanted to hug him closer. She wanted to kiss his neck, bite his ear. She wanted to snuggle her face against him. If she had her hands free she would have given in to the situation and maybe openly surrendered. But her hands weren't free. She was a prisoner; a kidnapped prisoner, a victim, this man's potential murder victim. Still, right now at this moment she was alive, more alive than she'd been in a long time. Oh what a feeling. She let go. 

She quivered slightly. She climaxed. As orgasms went, it was relatively low on the Richter scale, but it was real. She made no loud hysterical outbursts. She'd seen the Meg Ryan movie, and she knew how men liked that nonsense. This climax was full and complete, even if it wasn't an earthquake. It belonged to her. It was hot, deep, real, and it was all hers.

As she reached her physical peak, he felt her. She jerked and quivered just a little. There wasn't any fakery in this. She'd had a real orgasm. Though it was largely against her will, or maybe in some fantasy, but it had happened without the baloney women sometimes tried to spew out. Within seconds he climaxed too. He didn't hold back. She got it all. Every drop of semen he had been storing for almost a month exploded into her vagina. It felt great. He felt terrific! Just as she was coming down she felt him as he made one thrust that was harder than the others. 

She was overcome as his sperm poured out of him into her. She'd never really let any man do that to her before. She hadn't let this man. He did it because she couldn't stop him. It flooded into her. It was hot, really hot. It almost burned, and it went way inside. She felt his sperm, and it went way into her. God it was different! This was what sex was really supposed to be like, and she hadn't yelled, bucked, screamed, ranted or raved. She'd done none of the crazy fake things she'd done with other men. All she could think was wow! I'm still alive.

For several seconds neither of them moved. She felt him slowly get smaller inside her. She liked the feel of him inside her. It made her feel full. The man sensed the end of a significant moment had arrived. He slowly reached down and pulled the coverlets up around them. He wrapped his arms around her body. Reaching up, he pulled her still cuffed hands down to the front of her stomach. She rolled over and curled up in a fetal position. He kissed the back of her neck.

Susan lay there, crumpled up like a rag doll; exhausted, not from the sex, more from the overall emotional trauma. He wrapped the two of them back in the silk sheets. He wrapped himself around her. She felt his strong muscled arms atop her. For her part she pressed back against him. She wanted to keep feeling his warmth. She wanted to feel his arms around her. He was breathing on her neck, and it felt more than good, it felt somehow comforting. She couldn't place the smell of his breath. It wasn't sweet, not tart like caffeine, but it was distinctive, not bad distinctive, good distinctive. She knew as long as they lay the way they were she might not get hurt.

She lay there numb and scared. She remembered talking to girl friends. She remembered some of the juvenile novels she'd read in high school. In those instances the women always talked about a sense of contentment they'd felt after sex. Now she knew what they meant. So this was what it meant to be contented, to feel satisfied, fulfilled, and complete. She started to cry a little. It bothered her that the one time she'd really felt fully satisfied as a sexual person, it had been with a man whose purposes could very well be totally antithetical to her well being. She thought, 'What the hell.'

She gave up. She fell asleep in the arms of a man who would probably end up killing her, but right now she was still alive. She'd had some decent sex. Maybe death wouldn't be quite so hard to face.

The man could tell by her smooth even breathing that the girl had fallen asleep. He would have liked nothing better than to stay right there and join her. He would have liked to have said something nice to her. But he felt fortunate he'd gotten as much as he did. She had let go a little bit, but he knew she was still terribly scared. Besides he had other things that needed his attention. He quietly got up and made the arrangements that would be necessary when she awakened. After a few more very quiet moments, he got up. 



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 02



Susan reawakened in a strange bed for a second time. This time, however, it didn't take nearly as long to remember what had happened. She sat up. Her hands were still linked together by the manacles and the padlock. She remembered he had disconnected the chain that had held her arms above her head. The pajamas she'd been wearing were still on, or at least the top was still on. She looked around the room. He was gone, but she didn't expect that he would be here. 

Looking across the bed she saw a card table had been set up. On the table were several things she couldn't immediately make out, so she got up and went over. On the table there was a key, a sealed envelope, and some clothing. She assumed the key was to the padlock. She was right. Taking the key she was able to unlock the padlock that had been holding her hands together. She tried the key in one of the bracelets, but she didn't expect it would do anything, and it didn't. She guessed she'd still be wearing the bracelets, collar, and anklets for a while. She opened the envelope to find a brief message.

"Beneath this envelope you will find something to wear. Please get dressed. Downstairs you'll find rooms that are, quite honestly, retty messy. I had a party last evening while you were asleep. In one of the rooms you'll find some cleaning materials; a mop, vacuum cleaner, a bucket, and the rest of usual stuff. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but if you're inclined it would nice if you cleaned things up. I know you're probably ravenously hungry and dying of thirst. There are lots of scraps lying around on the party tables. Don't nibble on that junk. I'll see that you're well fed later. If you don't think you can resist the scraps, then I've left you your gag. If temptation becomes too much for you then put the gag on. Get yourself a healthy drink of water from the bathroom before going downstairs. I'm sure you know how to do that. "

She read the note again. She thought this one over. He's being sarcastic. Of course, she knew how to get a drink from a bathroom tap. He said she didn't have to do anything. Who was he kidding? She had no choice. If he said clean five rooms, she'd clean five rooms. If he said he had a bucket of fly shit mixed with pepper that he wanted separated, she would do that too. 

She looked at the outfit he'd left for her. Holding it up she recognized it for what it was, a maid's uniform, and a small one at that. It was a one-piece black maid's outfit. It had a pretty white peter-pan collar like the pajamas she'd worn earlier. She thought, maybe he's a little bit of a fetishist? The sleeves were short, capped, white, and lace trimmed. The collar was lace trimmed also. There was no apron, but the dress was bunched slightly at the waist, and then spilled outward in dozens of tiny pleats. It came down about mid thigh. It was made of silk, of course. She slipped it on. It was quite comfortable. 

Beneath the dress she found a pair of white socks and shoes. The shoes were low-heeled and black, like a child's Mary Jane's. She sat on the bed, pulled the socks on, slipped on the shoes and buckled the straps. The shoes were just her size, and though they seemed a little slippery on the marble floor, they still fit comfortably. She looked at herself in the mirror. There was no bra to hold her breasts up or in place. She had the appearance of a flat chested child. She looked like a little girl. 

Well there wasn't anything to do but get a drink of water and go downstairs. She left the gag behind. She thought to herself, if she had to starve first to keep from snacking on other peoples' garbage, she still would never voluntarily wear anything like that gag.

Downstairs Susan found everything the note said she would. There were five messy rooms, a main dining area, two lounge rooms, and two rest rooms. None of the mess was that substantial, and she believed that with a little determination she could get everything cleaned up in a couple hours. She went right to work. 

She cleared all the food scraps, dirty napkins, and other trash material off the tables and dumped it all in a garbage can. She found the kitchen not far off from one of the rooms. There was a dishwasher, and she started filling it with dirty dishes. As she worked on the dishes she saw it would probably only take two washings to get them all, plus the silverware, cups, and saucers. The wine glasses they had used were plastic so she dumped them in the garbage. There weren't any pots and pans. 

The affair had apparently been catered, since she saw there were several foil containers that still held some residual food. These she also threw in the garbage. Each table had a tablecloth, but she realized these cloths were made of an expensive paper. They couldn't be used again so they met the garbage can as well. No one had spilled anything on the floors so the vacuuming went fairly quickly. 

She'd been dreading the bathrooms. She knew what women could be like, and she'd heard enough about men to expect the worst. To her surprise both bathrooms required minimum work. The toilets all needed a light scrubbing, and sinks had some residual soap scum, but no one had thrown up or otherwise made any excessive messes. 

She looked around, and sure enough she had finished in just a little over two hours. She felt good. If this was what he expected of her until she found a way to escape, then this she could handle. She thought about that. She thought about escape, about discovery, rescue. Then she thought some more, after what had happened earlier, perhaps escape or rescue could wait until the absolute most opportune time. There were other ways to skin cat, and in that context, well, she was a woman and he was a man. 

Finished what she'd been assigned to do, she started to go back upstairs. Then the 'in house' intercom started to buzz. What should she do? What if someone from the outside was in the house and looking for her captor. This might be her chance to escape. She made for the intercom, and pressed the buzzer. It was his voice, "I can tell by the quiet you're probably finished. If you're hungry, why don't you come through the room you're in and meet me out on the back patio?"

She thought, no escape, but maybe a chance to get something to eat. She really was famished. With food on her mind Susan made a beeline for the outdoors.

When she got outside she saw him sitting back in a chaise lounge. Beside him was a table, and on the table there was food.

Hearing her come out the man spoke, "Please come over and sit down." He pointed to a chair near the table and near where he was sitting. She went straight for the chair and plopped herself down. 

He spoke again, "Don't forget your two rules. And don't forget no talking. I know you're hungry. I ordered out some fresh tuna, and some broiled crab. I also have salads here if you want any. I've got potato, macaroni, and a tossed salad here. There are some dressings if you want any. If you're thirsty there's sweetened and unsweetened iced tea. I have some sliced lemon in a container here too. I've already eaten, so I'll just sit here and watch you. When you're finished I'll give you a chance to ask some questions."

Susan looked at everything, took one of the plastic plates, and began to pile on the food. She preferred tuna, but she thought she ought to at least sample some of the crab. She was glad she did, it tasted quite good. Susan steered away from the potato and macaroni salads, but helped herself to the tossed salad. The lettuce was delicious, ivy cold the way she liked it. She had a healthy helping of tomatoes and carrots. She kept away from the peppers. Susan didn't realize how hungry she was. She felt like she was wolfing her food down. She felt like a hungry animal. She bet he probably thinks I'm a pig.

The man watched her eat. He knew she was hungry, so he was surprised at how carefully she picked through everything. He was glad she took both some tuna and crab. He thought anyone as hungry as she would suck this up quickly, but he found her to be very fastidious. As hungry as she was, her napkin was on her lap, she used the proper utensils avoiding using her fingers, even when the crab dish certainly allowed it. Twice, no three times, she very carefully wiped that delicious little mouth of hers. 

The man who had hired him had called her a pig, but watching her in action he knew this girl was certainly anything but that. If she was anything she was dainty, a dainty eater. Dainty, that was a good word for her. She had tiny little hands. Women often had hands that were more like claws. Once it looked like she might have burped. He didn't hear anything, but he saw her put the tips of her fingers to her mouth. Her hands and fingers were so small, delicate. He realized he liked this about her. In fact, he was realizing there wasn't too much about her he didn't' like. 

After she finished eating he leaned back and spoke, "I guess it's time we talked. This much you know. You've been taken against your will. Someone expects that I will kill you, and there is almost no chance you'll be able to go back to where or who you were. With that out of the way I'm going to let you ask me five questions, but I warn you, use your questions wisely. A thoughtless question cannot be retrieved. Go ahead, start."

Susan looked her captor over. This was ridiculous. Here she was sitting in front of the man hired to kill her and he gives her five questions. What was she supposed to ask? Are you going to cement my feet in concrete and throw me in the river? What, are you going to smother me with a pillow? Maybe you could stuff me in a barrel and throw me over Niagara Falls? She watched him watch her. He was reading her facial expressions. She guessed she better ask him something. She thought and then asked, "Who are you?"

He was quick with his answer, "I'm the man hired to kidnap, perhaps kill, maybe sell, or otherwise use you. Beyond that you have no need to know anything. Go on next question."

Susan was chagrined. Her first question was used in asking something pointless. Shit, this whole conversation was pointless. She should have asked his name. She corrected that with her second question, "What's your name?"

His answer came back, "As far as you're concerned I have no name. Look at it this way. A dog knows its owner, and might respond to certain sounds, but the dog doesn't really know its owner's name. Now understand I'm not your owner, master, or anything like that, and I'm certainly not inferring that you're anything like a dog. Along those lines please put any fear of degradation, disgrace or humiliation from your mind. I might still decide to end your life, but I won't debase you as a person. I'm just the man hired to kidnap, kill, sell, or otherwise use you. Beyond that you will find out nothing."

Susan could have kicked herself. Aside from the gnawing pain and fear his answers inspired she had two questions wasted. This wasn't fair. This was so stupid. What was he saying? Hey, I'm going to kill you anyway, but here's your chance to ask questions. If the whole situation wasn't so bizarre she'd cry. She thought for a moment. Let's give it another try, "Who hired you to hurt me?"

He answered, "Have I hurt you? I don't think so, not yet, and maybe not ever. No, you're not free to leave, and yes, I did take advantage of you sexually, but no one has harmed you beyond taking your freedom and a little carnal exploitation. As for the person who hired me, it's safe to say it's someone who doesn't like you and does want me to hurt you. Also, as you can tell, I haven't satisfied my end of the bargain, and may or may not. I haven't decided anything yet. I can't let you go, but I may never physically harm you beyond what has already been done. Then again, I might kill you once we're finished this conversation"

How consoling, she was down to two questions, and the only assurance she had was he might finish her off when they stopped talking. His last comment, the idea he might not do more to her than he'd already done offered little solace. She thought she would use a different tact. She knew she was well known as an attorney, but did he? If he knew he had a celebrity he might think twice about anything he had planned, "Do you know who I am," she asked.

Again his answer was immediate, forthright, and unsatisfactory, "I know who you were, but who you were isn't who you are now. Your previous identity no longer exists. That person is dead even if you aren't. As of the other day you ceased to be anything other than the person I acquired in a business transaction." 

You have no name, no identity, no property, no past, and no certain future. You have only the present. As for any name you might have? You have no name unless I give you one, and right now I don't' know if I want to name you."

Susan was struck dumb. She'd never thought things could have gone this far. It was true he hadn't used her name, not once. He was telling her she didn't exist. That wasn't true. She knew who she was, and she knew people would be looking for her. Her rescue was certainly imminent.

As though he was reading her thoughts he preempted her, "I know what you're probably thinking. You're thinking people will worry about you. People will want to find you. People will try to rescue you. I've already looked into your situation. You have parents, but you haven't had anything to do with them in years, and from what I found out I can understand why, and they certainly don't have a clue about you. You have no real friends, only employees and competitors. Most of them, if not all, will be glad you've disappeared. You have no societal connections. You've never been to any church. You donate to no charities. The only club you belong is a health club. In short, if anyone notices you're gone, they'll probably be glad of it. You'll be one less competitor in an already too competitive field. Now what's your last question?"

She clenched her fists together in front of her chest, her faced squeezing into an angry mask, lips and mouth quivering. Her first instinct was to leap at him. She saw he was prepared for that. 

Susan's poise collapsed in a maelstrom of uncontrollable tears. She'd held it in so well until now, but his succinct, cold blooded, even cruel appraisal of her life was undeniable and overwhelming. It launched an avalanche of stored up tears. He had her to a tee. She was nobody, only a legal machine, a machine who had been grinding out and grinding up the law. Her whole body shook as she held her head in her hands and cried. In desperation she looked at him. She was lost, trapped, in the hands of a mad man, a man whose singular purpose was her death. 

All she had left was one more question. Beyond that nothing seemed to count. She needed to get a grip. She believed there still might be one thing left. It wasn't much. Actually it wasn't anything at all, but it was all that was left. It would sound stupid. She was grasping at straws. It would sound like she was wasting her last precious question, but if her life was about to end it suddenly really mattered. Sometimes it was the most worthless things that ended up having the greatest value. She asked, "Since you seem to know everything about me, and you know no one gives a damn, you also must know I have a cat." 

She started crying again. This had been too much. He was so cruel. He intended to be cruel. Between the tears and the weeping she asked her last question, "I have a cat. Where's my cat? Can I at least have my cat? You've taken everything else. You know I'm nothing. You know no one really cares if I live or die. But can I have my cat? Please?" By the time she got to please she'd lost all control again. She held her head in her hands, broke down, sobbing, weeping, and crying uncontrollably. There was nothing but absolute desolation.

The man looked at her. Despite a career of waste and destruction he'd always thought himself to be a compassionate person. What he wanted to do was grab her in his arms, hold her, and somehow reassure her, but he knew he couldn't do that. She didn't know, but maybe, just maybe, there might be at least one more person who did care a little about her. He may be a fool, but he thought he might be that one person. Him of all people! 

He'd studied her past, her career, and the reason why someone wanted her dead. He'd never concerned himself with the right or wrong of what he'd ever done until now. He must be going soft. How stupid, the man hired to kill this woman wanted to protect her. What a joke that was. If he didn't get away from the table he might say something he'd regret.

He looked at her and brusquely said, "Get undressed. Do it over there in the bathhouse. You'll find a jumper or something you can put on. Don't try to go anywhere. I'll be right back." He got and left her.

Susan tried to pick up the pieces of her broken life, or what seemed to be a broken life. She thought, things couldn't be as bad as he said. I'll work this through. This is a tight spot. If he doesn't kill me I'll find a way out of this. She said these things to herself, promising herself she wouldn't quit, but at the same time she realized that everything he had said was true. She started toward the bathhouse. Let's see what he has in store this time?

The man went inside and found his cell phone. He called one of his crewmen. Someone picked up a phone on the other end of the line. The man asked, "Did you find a cat at the apartment I sent you to this morning?"

On the other end the man answered, "Yes, we have it here. What do you want us to do with it?"

The man responded, "Throw it in a shopping bag and bring it to me now please. I'm on the patio in the back of the house."

On the other end came the crisp reply, "Will do."

When he returned to the patio he found her waiting in the same chair he'd left her in. She'd been to the bathhouse, and had changed clothes. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She needed a lift, "Let me see what you have on? Stand up and show me." 

Susan felt like a fool, but she stood up. 

He said, "Turn around. Let me look at the whole show."

Susan stood and slowly turned a full three hundred sixty degrees. He got the full view.

What he saw only convinced him more completely that this girl was something special. The outfit she had on was a one-piece jumper or dress. It came about midway down her thighs. It had a scooped neck, again there were short sleeves trimmed in tiny ruffles. The neckline was also trimmed in ruffles as was the hem. It was a pale blue outfit made of soft cotton, and it matched her blue eyes almost perfectly. It was slightly bunched just below her breasts in what he thought they called an empire waist. He liked her in it. The slight tightening gave her breasts just enough support to lift and help shape them. 

Below her breasts the dress spread slightly in several large pleats. There were no stockings or socks, but she had on a pair of low-heeled white shoes. They were similar in shape to the shoes she'd worn while cleaning. The shoes and short dress without nylons or socks made her legs look that much more naked. Yes, he liked the look. It turned him on.

He reflected on what made him to not want to just kill her. She was pretty, but pretty women were a dime a dozen. 

She had a vulnerability that made her different, but that wasn't enough to keep her alive. 

He remembered watching her in court. She was good, and the man she skewered deserved everything he got. Maybe that was it. She was a good lawyer. She won her case. The man she beat deserved to be punished. He didn't like him from the start, too damn smug. But he'd killed lots of innocent people for money paid by some really nasty customers. 

They'd had some decent sex. He enjoyed the sex, but that hardly mattered. He remembered what a friend once said, 'stand them on their heads and they're all sisters.'




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 02



He recalled her courtroom performance. He remembered how he liked the way she sort of danced around the courtroom floor. Sometimes she'd do this little pirouette and her skirt would skim up around her knees. She had this impertinent precociousness, a pert sassy personable demeanor he liked. He remembered thinking how good she'd look on his arm if they were ever out someplace. But he'd met a lot of women. 

He reflected this would have been one he'd have been proud of. He brushed those thoughts of. That kind of silliness was no reason to keep her alive.

Face it. She really wasn't worth an extra moment's notice one way or the other. If she lived another hour, another day, another month it didn't matter much one way or the other. If he kept her alive no one would know. If he killed her, no one would know that either. That seemed to make sense. Hell that settled it. If it didn't matter one way or the other, it could just as easily be the other. He'd keep her around a while, or at least until he got bored.

He realized, though he'd been looking right at her, he'd been off in space. He could tell she was starting to feel self-conscious, "You look very nice. Follow me inside where I can discuss my plans for your immediate future." He turned and started inside. 

Not having much choice, she followed along behind.

After he left the patio Susan had gone to the bathhouse where she found what he expected her to put on. While she liked the outfit, it reminded her again of the seemingly childish nature of everything she'd been asked to wear so far. Not that she seriously minded. They were all nice clothes, and she might have selected some of these things on her own. It was just the idea that she had no control over what was happening to her. It was like he told her she was a thing, a thing he controlled. 

That stopped her. She thought about that. He hadn't used the word, thing. She just did. He never once called her anything but a person. 

Her next thought was not to find a way to get away, but to find a way to stay silent. She really wanted to scream. She wanted to yell, cuss. She wanted to argue. What she wanted was punch him in the nose. But she feared anything like that would only bring the gag, and padlocks back. She thought, just stay quiet. Keep your ears open. He'll slip up. Men always do.

She followed him into the house. They went through a broad expanse that had to be the main living room, and on into a somewhat smaller room where a television was mounted on the wall. 

He found the remote control and turned on the television. Then reclining on what she could only describe as a sinfully large and beautiful couch, he motioned for her to kneel on the floor in front of him. As she moved to sit facing him he said, "No face the television. Let's see what in the news, and then we'll see if we can't find a movie or something to watch. You sit here on the floor. I want to brush out your hair."

Susan obediently sat down in front of him, facing away and toward the television. 

The man took control of the remote and began to flick through the channels looking for something worth watching. He could see by the dial it was after 7:30 so all the regular national news programs were finished. He checked through the movie stations until he found something they both could watch. 

There was an older movie. The stars predated the both of them. It starred Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood, and the blurb said something about two young lovers, and an abortion. He, as was the case with most men, always liked Steve McQueen. 

The girl sitting at his feet had no say in what they were to watch. The fact of the matter was she wasn't supposed to have any say about anything. She just sat there, and assumed he had settled on the McQueen and Wood flick. 

Susan had seen this old movie at least two or three times before. It was one of those cult films young women sometimes got hooked on; something of a chick flick about the nice girl who had been wronged by some man, and now the man was trying to find a way to help her get out of the jam she was in. She was pregnant with his child. He didn't want to take any responsibility so she was being maneuvered into an abortion. The movie, like all the movies of that era, ended well. The rat McQueen would find out he really loved her, and would want to settle down, but not until they had gone through several tight spots. She liked the movie, and if she could have a say, she would tell him this was a good choice.

The man recalled after about five minutes that he'd seen this video before. He remembered liking it. He liked McQueen's character, and he remembered liking Natalie Wood as well. He thought she probably had never seen it. She was only a twenty something. It would be a good story for her. She might learn something from it.

Not long into the movie he leaned over and told her he needed to go get something. She wasn't to leave. Actually what he wanted to do was get a hairbrush and clear the knots out of her hair. That's what he told himself, what he really wanted was find an excuse to be able to touch her again.

As he stepped out of the room Susan took the time the look around. She had no intention of getting up or trying to run. Where would she go? Where could she go? She didn't have the slightest clue as to where here was yet. She liked this room. It was obviously set up to be a movie room, or some place where someone could curl up, relax, and watch an old movie or read an old novel. The furniture in this room had that rich comfortable look one might find in the home of some happily married older couple. She'd already taken note of the big, thick lazy looking couch. She also noticed there was a large inviting lazy boy. There was also a cool little love seat. 

She liked it in here. There was a coffee table that sat just in front of where she was kneeling. She thought he probably wouldn't mind if she let her legs slip out from under her. She was getting a little cramped. She pulled her legs out and allowed her bottom to plop itself on the carpet. The carpet had a rich thick pile. She didn't have any panties on. It was very comfortable. It rubbed up against her puss. She only hoped he wasn't one of those men who liked the submissive look. The kneeling she'd been doing was getting fatiguing. 

He came back in armed with a brush, comb, and some ribbon. He saw she'd changed her seat, "I see you've changed your seat."

She started to move back.

He said, "No, stay the way you are. That kneeling thing gets old after a while. I want you to relax. We'll watch this old movie together, and while we're watching it I want to do something about your hair. It's starting to look knotted."

He sat down and placed his hands on her shoulders. His hands weren't particularly big, but they engulfed her small shoulders. He let his thumbs press lightly against her neck. His fingers could reach down and touch her clavicles. 

He blew her hair to get a better glimpse of her neck. She either shivered or flinched, he wasn't sure. He didn't mean to scare her. She had a long swan like graceful neck. 

He began fiddling with her hair. He took the brush first and began stroking it slowly and carefully down the back. Every now and then he caught it on a knot. He never understood why, but he'd always liked fooling around with a woman's body, their hair, their skin, their breasts, and that warm crease between their legs. He thought it wasn't just about the sex. It was just fun to do. He remembered the old song that had the refrain that went, they may be stupid, but they sure are fun.

He was starting to warm up again. He used his fingers when he found a knot too big to pull the brush through. He took both hands and pulled her hair back toward the nape of her neck. He wished now he hadn't told the girls to cut it quite this short. A person could do more with longer hair. Still he could get a good grip on what she still had. He took the comb and started to make a part down the middle. Using his hands and the comb he organized it into two medium long pigtails. 

He had two rubber bands he used to hold each tail in place. He took the two pieces of ribbon, and tied them around the top in little bows. The ribbon was red. Each segment was about twelve inches long, and it was about a half inch wide. The extra ribbon cascaded down with the pony tails. When he finished he ordered her to turn around. She did. He liked his workmanship. She looked like a little girl. It was cute. She looked, for want of a better word, she looked kind of cuddly. Yes he thought he might keep her around for a while. Playing with her so far had been fun. 

Susan sat patiently while the man worked on her hair. Susan always liked going to the beauty shop. She liked being made over. She liked having someone else do all the primping. He was being very gentle. She'd never been around a man quite like this one. His was a soft touch. It felt good. He made it feel real good. 

She was wearing a dress, and she didn't have any under pants on. What she wanted to do while he was combing out her hair was touch herself. She was feeling warm down in her secret place, and she knew that she was getting moist. She hoped she didn't leave a spot on the rug. She knew she couldn't help how she was feeling. It wasn't him. It was just the natural way to feel when someone was making over her. She could feel her labia through the dress. They were beginning to swell. She liked the way he touched her. She wished he would do more than just comb out her hair.

He asked her to stand up so he could see her. She did. There was a smallish mirror on the wall on the side. She made a side wise glance toward it. She couldn't help but notice how she looked. She looked awfully childlike. Maybe that was his fetish? If it that was the case, then she'd use if she could. If that got him to lower his guard so she could find some advantage, then she was all for it. Meanwhile, whether he had a fetish for women dressed and acting like girls or whatever, she enjoyed the attention. Maybe he wouldn't kill her. She grimaced. Don't think about that.

He saw her grimace, "I didn't hurt you did I?"

"No. I was just thinking."

He took her hand and pulled her back to the floor, "Don't think so much."

Just then his cell phone rang. He'd forgotten he'd brought it into the television room with him. It was the man he'd talked to about the cat. He heard the man ask if he wanted the cat right now. He answered, "Yes, bring it in." He sat back. Her hair was done, so he decided to go back to the movie. It was the scene where Natalie Wood was trying to fix Steve McQueen a homemade dinner.

His man strode into the room carrying a paper bag. He handed it to his boss, "Here's the thing you wanted."

He thanked his employee, and handed the bag to the girl, "I think this is yours."

Susan took the bag. She felt something squirming inside. She knew right away that the thing in the bag was Tom, her cat. She opened the bag, and out jumped her big red tabby. He pounced on her and started to meow. He was purring and meowing. She knew he was hungry. It didn't matter. Her cat was here. This man whom she should loath, her kidnapper, her jailer, her potential murderer had gotten her cat for her. 

Susan jumped for joy. She let out a little yell, "Oh Tom," she cried. She squeezed the cat mercilessly, and then she turned to the man, "Thank you. Oh thank you so much. This means so much to me."

She climbed up on his lap. She was out of control. She reached around, took his head in her hands, and kissed him on his lips. She nestled her head in his shoulder, "I know I'm not supposed to talk, but I don't care. Thank you. Oh, thank you." That was all she was able to say. She was crying again.

For the man her gratitude was more than he expected. He thought she'd be pleased, but this was more than he could hope for. That is, if he hoped for anything from her. He was befuddled and somewhat taken aback, "Well I'm glad you're happy. Getting your cat wasn't anything." He really wanted to grab her and throw her back on the couch, but she'd gotten him out of sorts. 

He spoke again, "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to watch the rest of the movie." As he turned to the movie he saw it was the scene where the Natalie Wood's home cooked dinner plans had exploded in disaster. He thought, "And I'm turning this moment into a disaster as well." He didn't want that so he spoke again, "Let me see your cat. He looks like a tabby. Is that right?"

Susan had become frightened again. Her burst of gratitude hadn't turned out well. Now he wanted to talk about the cat. He'd asked her a question. She thought it over. She decided she should provide him with an answer of some sort. "This is Tom. I found him outside near the trash bin by my apartment complex a few years ago. He was a kitten then, and it looked like he wasn't going to make it. I brought him in, and well, he and I have been close buds ever since."

She looked like the type who would take in a stray. The man took the cat from her and hugged it in his arms, "He's a big healthy fellow isn't he? I'll bet he weighs twelve pounds. What does he like to eat? Is there any special cat food you use? If there is I'll see to it that we get some. I mean if that's all right with you?"

Susan was delighted. She was being asked to talk. He was asking mundane life giving questions. She answered, "Yes, He likes Fancy Feast, the canned, but he doesn't like it in the gravy. He usually eats about one can a day. He'll need some litter too, and he has to have a litter box. He likes the dried cat food also. I usually get him Meow Mix."

The man answered, "As far as the litter box is concerned I have yours in storage. So we can use the one he's used to. Regarding the cat food and the litter, we'll get somebody out first thing tomorrow morning to handle that. Meanwhile we'll see if he'll eat some of the left over crab meat we had earlier. You satisfied with that?"

Susan wondered to herself, he's letting me talk. He has my stuff in storage. Then, in a more composed manner, she spoke again, "That's very kind of you. Thank you very much. But there' just one more thing if you'll allow it?"

He responded gruffly, "What." 

Susan asked, "Could you tell me what's going to happen to me?"

The man stiffened and then responded, "Tonight, in a little while, I'm going to show you where you're going to sleep. As for your long-term future I've got some thinking to do. I'll give you a better idea sometime tomorrow. I will say this. You don't need to be afraid for your life." Then smiling he added, "That is as long as you remember to keep quiet."

Susan thought this was all good news. She thought, since she was already on the couch, thanks to her leap of gratitude, she decided to stay where she was until he told her to get back on the floor. She was feeling tired. She leaned against his right shoulder and curled up against him. She felt so sleepy. She could feel herself slipping off. Slowly but steadily she began to slip downward until her head was in his lap. Lying there, almost asleep, she could feel his hardness. That was the last thing she remembered that evening.

The man sat there like a wooden Indian. He thought this was about as crazy as things could get. How did this happen? I'm making promises to a girl I'm supposed to eliminate, or at least not keep around too long. He gave an involuntary shrug. Well, I guess that's the way it goes. He looked down at her. She was fast asleep. He'd have to carry her to bed. He decided he would put her in his bed this evening. It was larger, and had the nicest bathroom. That way when she awakened she'd have more ample facilities. He could go to sleep anywhere. 

Slowly he scooped her somnolent body up in his arms carried her down the hall and up the stairs. As he carried her he brushed an errant frond of hair from her face. He realized as he had her in his arms how small and light she was. 

His bedroom was on the eastern end of the house. He thought he would open the curtains so she would awaken to the rising sun. Meanwhile he'd keep the damn cat downstairs with him.

Once they reached his bedroom he gently laid her on the coverlet. He pulled back the sheets, the blanket, and the spread. He rolled her over. 

Carefully he took off the dress she was wearing. He thought she could sleep in the altogether this evening. Then, impulsively he took his hand and softly rubbed around each of her breasts. Boy he thought, she's really is a hottie. He watched her as she slept. She looked so innocent, so beautiful. She didn't need him to kill her; she needed someone to watch over her so she could enjoy playing lawyer. Covering her only with the sheet he quietly stepped away. 

As an afterthought he went to the desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, and wrote her another brief note. He thought she might become frightened again when she awakened. Once the note was completed he quietly left the bedroom, closed the door, but he locked it from the outside. He thought he might be a little on the maudlin side right now, but he wasn't a fool.

Hours later Susan awakened from a long and restful sleep. She wasn't confused when she woke up this time. She knew she didn't know where she was. Scratching her head and feeling the ribbons she looked around the room. This was the largest bedroom she'd ever slept in. 

The sun was pouring in from the big picture window, and she could see what could only be described as a magnificent view. She got up and went to the window. The weather hadn't turned cool yet, so she felt comfortable. Looking out she saw one of the most picturesque scenes Mother Nature could provide. There were gently rolling hills, a bubbly stream, and several small clumps of trees. She noticed several horses grazing in the distance. 

Everything was green and clean. It was beautiful and she loved it. 

She might have stayed and looked longer, but another aspect of nature was calling. Turning, she saw what most certainly must be the bathroom. She headed for it, opened the door, and took advantage of the facilities. While cleaning herself she felt like another kind of dark cloud was descending on her. It occurred to her that she'd been to the bathroom twice since they'd had sex, and neither time did she have a sense that she'd wiped away any semen. She thought he'd really shot it up there. What if? No she put that out of her mind. She mentally reassured herself that could never be. But what if it could be? She grew mildly concerned, yes, it certainly could be. She blew it off. Probably not!

She looked around the bathroom. It had a hot tub, a walk in shower, and sink with a counter that traversed the entire wall. She found the linen closet. There were several kinds of soaps, creams, moisturizers, and lotions. Some of them had been opened and seemed to have been used. She noted the ones that had been used were ingredients for men. She opened one of the bottles of cologne. It had a spicy smell. She liked the aroma. It was a manly scent, his scent. She wondered what his name was. 

There were also several substances intended for women. She noted none of them had ever been opened. That reassured her for some reason. Well she thought now's the time. Susan took a bottle of soap and a bottle of hair shampoo and went to the shower. She turned the water on, and let it heat up to a temperature she liked. She went to work, scrubbing, shampooing, cleaning, and just generally getting refreshed. She thought he might want to kill me today so she better be at her best. The thought of being killed did seem somewhat sobering, but Susan rationalized, she didn't think he was going to kill her. He could have done that a dozen times, instead they'd had sex, had lunch, watched a movie, he got her cat, and she was sure it had been him who put her to bed. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 02



Susan reflected, I'm going to be absolutely quiet today. I'm going to stay out of the way. I'll be cooperative. I'm going to make him want to keep me alive. I can do that. I know I can.

She stepped out of the shower and grabbed one of the massive towels folded in the linen closet. She went to the sink. Picked out a toothbrush, glopped a hunk of paste on it. She went to work. After she gave her choppers a good overhaul she found a hair dryer and started on her hair. Taking a hairbrush from under the sink and the dryer she brushed and blew until everything looked ship shape. There wasn't any make up nearby so the cosmetic piece couldn't happen. 

She did find some depilatory cream and remembered his comment about a hairless pussy. She thought she could do it, and maybe it would surprise him. Then she thought better of it. He might see that as a come on. She considered her situation, she was a prisoner, but she wasn't a cheap one, at least not yet. 

Feeling pretty, clean, scrubbed, and wide-awake Susan went back into the bedroom. Then she saw the note on the table. Oh, she thought, he'd left instructions. She better see what he wrote. She opened the note and read,' I hope you slept well. I sent someone into town to get the cat's food and his litter box. There's a shower in the bathroom. Please help yourself. Someone will be up to help you get dressed. Meanwhile, try to relax if you can. After breakfast I have some papers for you to sign, and we'll discuss your situation.' 

Susan read the note again, 'We'll discuss your situation.' Her first thought was to stiffen. 'We'll discuss her situation.' What's this? Then she thought we'll discuss it? Does that mean she might have a say? She was going to have a say? She thought again sarcastically, she get to have a say in whether she got to live. Wow! she was coming up in the world. Watch it girl she thought, he's the one with the power. Remember, your future is in his hands, at least right now.

A young woman entered the room. Susan saw she was Asian. She was dressed very casually, wearing a blouse, denim pants, and tennis shoes. She was carrying a parcel of some sort. Susan wondered if she could strike up a conversation. She said, "Hi, my name's Susan. What's yours?"

The woman simply smiled. She laid the parcel on the table where the note had been, and started to make the bed. 

Susan tried again, "I'll bet you're Vietnamese. Have you worked here long?"

The woman kept smiling and continued to make the bed.

Susan was no quitter, "You know I bet we could be friends. Hey guess what. Your employer never told me his name last night. Before he sees me again today I feel such a fool. I don't want to appear too dumb. Could you tell me his name?"

Again the young Asian woman smiled and went on with the bed.

Susan gave up. She turned to the parcel to see what she was supposed to wear. Opening the parcel she found a simple white bra. It had just a smattering of lace. There were matching panties, very functional, also trimmed in lace. She found a pair of white cotton socks. What looked like a pair of very comfortable tennis shoes, a crisp white V-neck blouse, and a pleated mini-skirt. Susan put everything on. The bra and blouse were snug but comfortable. The tennis shoes fit excellently. The mini-skirt was dark blue and came to just above her knees. All in all Susan thought it was quite a nice outfit. Casual, comfortable, and functional, what more could one ask for? Maybe her freedom?

As Susan finished dressing the Asian woman spoke for the first time, "If you're ready my employer is downstairs in the breakfast room waiting for you. Would you follow me please?"

Susan didn't need to be told twice. First she realized the woman heard and understood everything she had said. Second, she knew she wouldn't be getting any help or information from that direction, and third, she realized she was hungry.

Together she and the young woman entered the breakfast room. The man smiled at Susan and spoke to the woman in some language Susan had never heard before. The two of them held a brief conversation. It seemed quite amicable. The woman even chuckled.

The man spoke to Susan, "I'm going to break my own rule for a while and let you talk. Did you sleep well?"

Susan answered, "Yes. The bed was very comfortable."

He asked, "We have several things here to eat, there are fried and scrambled eggs, toast, and some Canadian bacon. There's coffee if you like, or tea as well. I also have some orange juice if you'd like. Please help your self."

Susan realized they were following the Continental tradition where the guests made their own selections. She got up, took a plate and helped herself to some scrambled eggs, toast, and one piece of bacon. Putting her plate down she went back for a small glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee.

The man took slightly larger portions of the same foods. Together they sat and ate in silence. 

He liked watching her eat. She was naturally graceful in everything she did. He knew from her history that she'd butchered several men in divorce court, but, judging from the little bit he knew about the men they probably had it coming. The one he'd watched certainly did.

As they finished eating he stood, "I have some papers for you to sign, and then I'd like to talk to you about your future. Would you come with me please? You can bring your coffee." 

Susan didn't hesitate. As he stood and walked from the breakfast room, she followed. 

They walked down another well accoutered hallway, made a right hand turn, where she found herself in a spacious office. The man offered her a chair beside a large mahogany desk.

He started, "I would like you to sign each of these documents in the spaces indicated." He handed her a sheaf of papers.

Susan took the papers and looked through them. She shuffled them back and forth. She looked to and fro from the papers to the man. She handed them back, "I can't sign any of this. All these papers are blank." 

He responded, "That's correct. Your signature is really only a formality. It would actually be easier to get someone to forge your name after the paperwork is done. That's what I would normally do, but in your case I thought this might be a little more forthright. What I'm saying is; it really doesn't matter what you do. I'll be disposing of you and all your property as I see fit." 

Susan looked him in disbelief. "You expect me to sign away everything I own without at least seeing what you're going to do with it?

He was trying to be as considerate as he could, "Yes, that's about it. However, you'll be signing over more than that. There will be some papers you'll sign that will be medical in nature. By this I mean, should I decide to sell you, a potential buyer might require that you undergo some forms of cosmetic surgery. There are many men who want women with much larger breasts. Some men like their women circumcised. Others like certain body parts pierced. Some like more grotesque forms of physical modification that I'd really rather not go into."

Susan was overwhelmed. "You want me to sign a blank paper that will let you have a surgeon cut me up?"

He sat perfectly still. He knew this was hard, even brutal. But he wanted to be honest. He wanted her, perhaps, to seriously consider what the alternatives to a life with him might be. He'd thought about this most of last evening. He had decided that he wanted to keep her with him, at least for now. It had also occurred to him while he lay in bed last evening that he didn't want her with any other men. Last, it occurred to him that she would soon begin to try to find ways to escape. He knew that. It was human nature to want to be free, and it was certainly in her nature to want what any other human being would want. If he kept her with him, he thought, anything, even something as terrifying as what he was proposing, might serve as a deterrent to any escape attempt. 

Susan turned to stone. As he began to reply to her comment, she got up, threw the papers at him, and fled from the room. She didn't know where to go, but she'd heard enough. He was going to cut her up! He would have her vagina sliced up so some man would never have to worry about her having an orgasm. God! She'd read about female circumcision. They did that stuff in Africa. Would he sell her to some monster living in Berkina-Fasso or Uganda? He would give her huge breast implants, and then sell her to someone who would use her like a whore. He might sell her to a pimp! No! No! 

She ran as fast as she could down the hallway that led away from the office. Into the breakfast room she ran. Out the back door! She ran as fast as she could go! Away! Away! She had to get away! She ran gulping down massive draughts of air. She hit something in the ground a metal post of some sort. It hurt! She lost her balance, and flew through the air smashing headfirst in the grass. She started crying hysterically. She had to get back up. She did. She ran as fast as she could, down the grassy slope, away from the big house, out toward the trees. 

After a stunned second the man was up and started to go after her. Then he stopped. He considered. This girl was running from the unknown into the unknown. She had no idea what's beyond the yard and the swimming pool. If she did she'd stop. He considered. I should let her run. There isn't anything within miles in any direction. Once she gets away from the cultivated areas surrounding the house there's nothing but desolate scrub forest, more like chaparral than woods. Dressed as she is in a short mini skirt and blouse she'll soon become entangled in the many thickets and briar patches. Then there are the low streams and ditches left behind from the long abandoned farms. He picked up his cell phone and dialed the garage. "Kim? Are you there?"

A man at the other end picked up the garage phone. "I'm here."

The man picked his tone and instructions carefully. "My little squirrel has flown the nest. She's headed in a westerly direction. I want you to track her. Don't let her see you, and keep me informed every ten or fifteen minutes."

The man in the garage named Kim answered, "Understood." 

Back in the house Susan's captor leaned back in an easy chair. He turned on the television and nestled in to watch the morning news. He wondered how long it would be before he would need to move.

--------------------------

So Susan is in full flight from a man she doesn't know, a man who might be planning to cut up her body. Where could she go? She knew she had to escape. She understood what she was running from. But what was she running to? He would come after her. If he did he would be angry. He might really hurt her now. There could be no turning back.

For the man it was a lot easier. She wasn't going anywhere. He knew the terrain like the back of his hand. Keeping track of her escape attempt would be fun. 

*

To be continued.

Any comment, suggestions or criticism are always welcome.



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 03



Susan the up and coming divorce lawyer, slotted for death by a vengeful man has been kidnapped by an assassin. Her unnamed captor and potential murderer has decided to spare her. The reasons for his strange behavior aren't clear. 

The reader can assume they are the product of accumulated factors that have been building for some time. What exactly these factors may be are like an amorphous cloud obscuring his reason. They are at least an increased sensitivity regarding the helpless circumstances of a woman he find himself attracted to. This attraction hasn't ameliorated an insensitivity that also has been the cumulative result of years of mayhem. He likes his victim, but is unable to communicate his sincere reluctance to do her harm. His attempts to influence her to resist escape through fear have backfired. His latest effort to discourage flight resulted in open defiance. Of course her defiance through flight is nothing more than her desperation in the face of what she sees as her absolute destruction.

Susan, refusing to sign blank documents authorizing body modifications, has run. She has no idea where she's going. She only knows she cannot survive in the current environment.

She ran from the monster's office, out the door, into the yard, and fell on a metal stake used when the men pitched horseshoes. It hurt but didn't stop her. She sped down the grassy knoll to the nearest clump of trees. Into the trees she ran. Though in excellent shape her latest tribulations had taken their toll, it wasn't long before she was exhausted. Still she pressed on, deeper into the forest. 

At first the path was wide and easy to follow. However, the further she ran the less well defined the trail became. More and more she found herself dodging small holes and roots. The trees at first were wide apart, then as they closed in they offered welcomed shade, but further along their branches began to impinge on her travel. Tough low hanging limbs slapped at her face and arms. Brambles and briers replaced open trail, and the sharp barbs of prickly stickers stung and scraped her legs. 

Shortly the path disappeared altogether. She was pushing into the habitat of small creatures, squirrels, rabbits, mice and innumerable insects. An occasional tree frog announced her passing. Once in a while a turtle retreated into its shell. A garter snake whisked by. She wasn't deterred. Susan pushed on. Her dead run was replaced by a rapid trot, then to a brisk gait, last to a tired walk, but still she kept moving. Somewhere up ahead she was sure she'd find a road, perhaps a house. She'd escape, get help, come back and get even.

She had no idea how long she'd been moving. She headed due east into the morning sun. She knew she was moving away from her torturer, moving toward freedom. She heard no sounds, saw not sights. Everything was a dark green interrupted only by the dark brown of oak, maple, and the occasional walnut tree. 

Her legs were tired, tormented by constant motion and the omnipresent thorns and stickers that scratched and tore her soft flesh without mercy. Her arms and face had been abused with equal ardor. Her clothing, the thin short sleeved blouse and filmy mini-skirt offered no protection. Her slippery leather shoes and short white socks offered no defense against the rocky root scarred soil.

Susan had no idea how long she'd been trudging along through the low brush and weeds that were always over shadowed by thick vine covered branches. She recognized most of the vines were harmless Virginia creeper, but every now and then she had to move to avoid the threatening strands of Poison Ivy. She knew she was probably covered in it, but that didn't deter her. She had to push on.

As well as she could tell, though the sun was high in the sky, she was still moving east. In order to maintain her easterly march she decided to find a place to rest. Later she'd continue east with the sun at her back. She was tired and sore, and her mouth was dry. 

In the distance she thought she heard moving water. Perhaps there was a stream? If that was the case she'd be able to slake her thirst and use some of the cooling water to wipe away the grime. She moved toward the sound. It was much closer than she thought. A broad fast moving little brook, perhaps fifteen to twenty feet wide, and in places it looked to maybe four feet deep. Deep and clean, just what she needed. But the banks were high and steep. It was going to take ingenuity to get to the water. 

Using a surface root from a large maple she slowly slid down to the water's edge. She washed her hands and cooled her feet in the wonderful liquid. Cupping her hands like she'd seen explorers do in the movies she drank her fill. It was cold, clean, and deliciously refreshing. A little further down there were numerous flattened rocks. It was just what she needed to rest her weary feet. She could sit on one of the dryer rocks and allow the restorative qualities of the swiftly flowing water to re-energize her aching muscles.

She clawed and crawled her way to the rocky outcropping. She sat and rested while the sun continued to drift further west. 

She must have dozed off, for when she next noticed the sun was a weak sentinel on the western horizon. She got up and started to the other side of the stream. Her plan was to climb the further bank and continue her eastward journey. She stepped gingerly across the rocks to the other side. It was slippery, but she managed the climb the eastern slope. Off she went on her eastward trek. 

As she traveled she heard voices not too far off. Perhaps she was approaching some farmhouse, a road, maybe a gas station. She moved more quickly. Help might be just minutes away. 

She stopped. The voices were speaking in a foreign tongue, an Asian language. Worse, they had the distinctive sound of people who were searching for someone. Her jailer, her would be vivisectionist must have sent out his henchmen. She decided to move faster but in a more southerly direction. She'd put herself well south of the hunting party, and then slip east again. 

The going was easier on the east side of the stream. There were fewer trees, and in places it looked like the low vegetation had been recently cleared. She kept moving. She still heard the voices. They were well to the east. 

The sun had nearly set. Susan decided she should keep going through the night, at a slower pace for sure, but it might give her an advantage. She kept moving. The night sky was clear. She adjusted her travels by the light from the North Star.

She had no idea how long or how far she'd gone since the sun had died, but up ahead she saw the glimmer of firelight. Perhaps, she hoped, it was someone out for an evening, someone who might rescue her. She inched her way toward the faint firelight. Before she could distinctly see anyone she heard their voices. It was that same Asian dialect. Her hunters had been way ahead of her, and had made camp directly in her path. 

Susan considered the best way to outfox her tormentors was to double back. She'd head back north, and then east. It was very dark. The only sound in the forest was the talking of the men at the camp, and the quiet scuffing sounds of her own haggard body. 

Tired to the point of tears, muscles crying out for respite she retreated north until she was out of ear shot, then she veered to her right back to the east. 

Later, much later she espied something glistening not far away. She approached it with caution. A man made obstacle, a high and practically new barbed wire fence. It must have been eight feet high, and trimmed at the top with concertina. It was both disheartening and encouraging. Wiring like this was typical of that found on the edges of Interstates. Had she reached a main thoroughfare? That was the good news. The bad news was she foresaw no easy way of overcoming it. 

Susan scouted north a few hundred feet and found no break in the fencing. However, there was a small gully. Perhaps she could crawl under the obstruction. She knelt to examine the situation. It didn't seem likely but was worth at least a gamble. She started to crawl under the wire. She squirmed forward slowly, but to her chagrin found the wire extended slightly below the surface. She never imagined that possibility.

Now nearly a quarter of the way through she decided to turn back. Her retreat was more difficult. The unforgiving wire scratched her already much abused skin, and part of the pitiful remains of her blouse was caught. She tugged frantically until she was able to pull herself free. The result was more scratches, a failed crossing, and the torn shreds of her blouse left in a place beyond her reach. She could only hope no one would see the results of her failed efforts. 

Susan withdrew deeper into the scrub forest and fell asleep. She hoped to continue her journey at sun up. She was tired, but she knew this. She was free, and nobody was going to cut her body up, nobody would do that to her.

The sun peaked through the trees. She rubbed her weary eyes. At almost the same time Susan heard the voices. They were shouting and they were close by. Susan gauged by their volume they were somewhere near the barbed wire fence that had halted her advance the night before. 

They were there, and judging by their tone they might have found where she attempted to cross. Susan didn't have any time to waste. Her easterly effort had to be modified. For the morning she'd keep the sun to her back. She figured she'd move west till noon, and then drop south again. She calculated her pursuers were also on a westward trajectory. She'd keep moving ahead, and as she dropped south they'd bypass her to the north. Somewhere out there, somewhere to the south she'd find help. 

This was her second day out. She was exhausted, and driven by thirst. Every step was an act of will. She'd lost a shoe somewhere in the night so she threw the other one into the brush. The soil was hard, but relatively free of stickers. If she stayed on her feet and trusted her instincts she'd make it.

An hour into her westward march she reached the stream again. Her best guess put her somewhere south of her first crossing. The bank was steeper, and the water looked deeper. Holding on to a vine she slid into the water. The cold felt good on her tired sore body, though the many scratches and abrasions she'd sustained shouted out in pain. She stopped and drank some more of the precious fluid. A black snake slithered by. 

She decided to follow the stream's southerly passage. That way she'd stay cool, and have easy access to water. Twice she nearly slipped on the slick moss covered rocks. She looked at her clothes. They bore little resemblance to the outfit she had on the day before. Her blouse was in complete tatters, and the skirt was ripped and torn. She'd given up on the socks. The only thing that had held up had been the bra. Twice she'd stopped to pee, and once she had to poop. The second time she'd used the panties to wipe her behind. She'd thrown the panties into the brush confident nobody would find them. 

She was pretty sure that soon she'd find help. The stream had broadened significantly, and there were signs of agricultural activity. Somewhere up ahead she'd find a farm, and then a friendly face.

------------

On a dirt road on the other side of the barbed wire fence Susan hadn't been able to cross sat the man, her tormentor, in a jeep talking on a cell phone. They'd found her shoes and socks, located where she reentered the stream, and were about two hundred yards behind her, following but not closing in. Everyone had known exactly where she was from the moment she entered the woods. The farmland she was approaching belonged to the man who'd kidnapped her. She didn't know it, but she was no closer to freedom than she'd been when she first stepped from the house to the lawn.

The man in the jeep had been awake all night. Her decision to flee had taken him by surprise but it shouldn't have. His comments regarding body modification had pushed her over the edge. Realizing too late the depths of her fear and the degree of his own attraction all he wanted to do now was get her back. 

Last night he thought they'd herd her back to the house. It would have been a simple proposition, and would have served her right. Now he reckoned she was too weak to go on much longer. She was a vigorous vivacious young lady, but she was no trained athlete. He figured she'd reached the limits of her endurance. Having gone as far as she had was a testament to her determination. In fact he was proud of her. Getting her back, cleaning her up, and restoring her health took priority now. He gunned the engine of his Cherokee. He knew where she would be coming out. He'd be there to greet her.

Susan reached a clearing. The stream was broad and flat, its banks sheared away to soft slopes. On either side was freshly tilled farmland. She did her best to crawl and scramble up the gentle slope. She was confident freedom was a short distance away. As she reached the edge of the embankment she saw him. Standing beside a jeep he was talking on a cell phone. She slid back down the bank. It was over. She crumpled into a heap. Defeated, desolate, in despair she lay on her side in the soft mud and wept. 

He saw her as she slid back down. He dropped his cell phone and made a dash over to the stream. He looked down at a tired, filthy, almost naked, but incredibly courageous young woman. He reached out his hand, "Susan. Susan, here take my hand."

She looked up. She wasn't done, not yet. She labored to get back to her feet. She started staggering down the stream. Every step was an agony. Every movement required a second to stop and lean against the muddy slope.

He watched her for perhaps half a minute. What fearlessness he thought. He jumped in the stream and ran the short distance to her location. He grabbed her and scooped her up in his arms. She feebly struggled against him. Even as she used her hands to try to beat him off she involuntarily rested her head on his chest. 

He held her tightly, "Susan it's all right. I won't hurt you. Stop fighting! No one's going to hurt you. I promise."

Tears flooded from her exhausted eyes. Her arms, legs, face, and chest, were ravaged by scratches, bruises, and abrasions. Too weak to fight, to proud to surrender she whimpered, "I hate you. I hate you. Kill me just kill me."

He sat down in the muck and mud, cradling her to his chest, "No one's going to harm you."

She finally surrendered. She erupted in a flood of tears, and then passed out.

------------

For a third time Susan awakened in a bed that wasn't hers in a place that was unfamiliar. Beside her was that nice young Asian woman who'd refused to talk to her days before. The woman smiled, and left.

Within moments the man who'd she'd grown to hate came in, "Good morning Susan. Have a good rest?" She looked wretched and weak.

It didn't curtail her undaunted spirit, "I find you reprehensible. You know that."

"Susan I'm sure you do. You have every reason to."

It occurred to her he was using her name, but her anger, born of a fatalistic belief she was already dead spilled forth, "I hate you. You're a monster!" 

His response was far different, "I find you sweet and beautiful." 

Susan wasn't about to be put off, "You're a hideous creature, you're vermin, and don't think you can try to be nice to me now."

"I was nice to you before."

She was feeling stiff and sore, "You think kidnapping someone, raping them, and telling them you're going to slice up their body is being nice?"

"You're a feisty one today aren't you?" He was smiling. 

"You think it's funny. Is that how you get your rocks off, terrorizing helpless women?"

"By the way Ms. Susan Slattery my name's Shawn McClellan."

He had a name! He'd told her his name. He was using her name, "Thanks for telling me your name. Now I'll know who to send the police after when I get out of here."

He laughed again, "Well I guess you do. When are you leaving?"

She spat out her defiance, "Just as soon as I'm well enough!"

"You'll need a car. Do you want to borrow mine?"

"I don't want anything of yours."

"How will you leave?"

"I'll walk!"

"You already tried that."

She felt tired, "I'll do it right the next time."

He kept smiling, "I'll give you a map next time."

She was pissed but oh so incredibly tired, "I can't stand your smug ass Shawn McClellan, if that's really your name." Even she knew she was too weak to do much, "Just as soon as I'm well enough to travel I'm out of here. This time you won't stop me."

He leaned forward and touched her forehead. She turned her head away. He held his hand on her head, "You still have a fever. I think it's because you drank some of the water from the stream. The water's not bad. You're body just isn't accustomed to it."

"You're funny, a funny man. I hate you. You better kill me because if you don't I'll get you. I promise I will."

He wasn't sure if she meant what she was saying or if it wasn't the fever. He reached over. He had something in his hand, "Look before you leave to get the police to throw me in prison can I have my jewelry back?" He reached forward and unclasped the manacle on her right wrist.

"You better let me loose." She shouted as he unclasped the left manacle. 

"You wait you'll be in prison and never see the light of day again." He unclasped her ankles. 

She leaned up so he could undo the collar. "You're one mean son of bitch!" 

He winked as he unclasped the collar, "Thanks Susan. I wouldn't want to go to prison without all my stuff."

She looked at him with wide eyes, "Is your name really Shawn McClellan?"

"Yes it is, and you're really free to leave any time you like. I'd prefer that you get well first. But once you're well, if you still feel that strongly I wish you'd let me drive you home." 

She had quieted down, "How long have I been asleep?"

"You haven't actually been asleep yet. I'd say you've just come to."

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"I'd say delirious with fever not unconscious. It's been three days since you tried to run away."

"Oh."

"Why don't you try to get some real sleep now? I'll send in Kia. That's the name of the lady who's been with you. She likes you very much. She thinks you're funny."

Susan, still feverish and overwrought had already started to drift off, "Funny my ass." She slipped back into somnolence.

------------

Another twenty-four hours later Susan reawakened. She remembered most of the things from her last period of consciousness. She remembered he used her name, and he'd told her his. She remembered she'd threatened to have him thrown in prison, and perhaps most importantly she remembered he said he'd let her go. She rolled over and sat up. Lying on a nearby couch was the young woman, Kia. 

Kia yawned and got up, "Good morning Susan."

"Good morning Kia."

"Shawn isn't here right now. He won't be back until later but I'm here. Do you think you're well enough to move around?"

Susan said, "Kia I'm starving."

Kia picked up the in house intercom and called downstairs asking for some breakfast for the two of them. A nice young man brought up a tray with milk, cereal, and some buttered toast.

Kia smiled at Susan, "Shawn didn't think you should start out with anything too rich."

Susan didn't say anything she was busy pouring milk in her cereal bowl. The two young women sat and quietly ate breakfast together. 

When Kia finished she stood, "I'll be going now. You know where the bathroom is, and I've placed some clothes over there." She pointed to a nearby chair. 

Susan tried to stop her, "Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

Kia answered, "Yes I do."

"I'm sorry", answered Susan," What is it? Is there something about me?"




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 03



"Yes there is." Kia added, "You threatened a very nice man yesterday."

"Do you think it's all right to kidnap someone and threaten to kill them?" Susan was a little put off by Kia's defensiveness.

Kia responded, "It's not my place to say what is or isn't right." She paused and added, "By the way I'm not Vietnamese. I'm Tibetan, and no one in your country seems to care too much about the genocide in mine."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Kia responded with her typically graceful smile, "Come downstairs when you feel like it." She quietly left Susan to her thoughts.

All right thought Susan, I was wrong about Kia, and I was out of line maybe saying what I said to her. But he kidnapped me, and he made a deal to murder me too. And he raped me to boot! Those things are wrong. I have every right to be angry and upset. She gave a little huff. I am angry and I am upset, and I'm still tired. She lay back down on the bed and went back to sleep.

------------

Shawn was more than just an occasional killer and fixer. He had a lucrative legitimate business, but even more than that, he was a gambler. The woman in his house wasn't stupid. He bet she'd give very serious thought to leaving before she made a decision. If she half believed what he told her about someone hiring him to kill her she'd want to track that mystery down first. Then if somebody had planned her murder wouldn't she be a little concerned about being seen in public? He also bet she was terribly curious about what he might be up to. He bet her thinking would be; why is he letting me go? What's in it for him? Shawn was gambling she wouldn't flee right away. In fact he bet her first order of business would be to check in at her office.

Downstairs, outside the house, Shawn saw to it his Jeep Cherokee was parked and ready to drive. He even left the registration in the glove compartment with his name on it. If she did decide to flee, she could do it in his car. 

According to his calculations by the time she was physically able to travel there would be little trace of any of the physical suffering she'd incurred in the woods. Let her run to the police and accuse him of kidnapping, what proof would she have? She'd be driving his car, leaving his house after saying goodbye to his employees, all of whom knew exactly what to say. He'd even taken her lap top and e-mailed her office the day she disappeared telling her employees she'd be away for a few weeks, and they should hold down the fort, and farm out any of the cases they couldn't immediately manage. He even mailed them each a bonus check. Of course his original purpose was to cloud her disappearance if he did decide to kill her. Now he was glad he did it because he didn't want to kill her. 

Shawn chuckled, by the time she figured things out she'd be more his prisoner than before. She'd be his by choice.

------------

Susan awakened for the third time in several days. Shawn was standing at the far end of the room looking out the window. Of course, Susan had no way of knowing how long she'd been sleeping, or how much of the sleep had been the result of fatigue or the chemicals they'd been feeding her. 

Awake and alert she turned to her captor and asked, "I see the bastard's here to torture his victim."

Shawn turned, "You're awake."

Susan wasn't feeling very solicitous, "What happens today? Pins under the finger nails? You pull out a few teeth with pliers? Or is this the day you finally kill me?"

Shawn gave her a dumbfounded look, "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

Susan was irritated, "I mean I'm still your prisoner aren't I."

Shawn smiled, "You can leave whenever you like."

She smirked, "Sure."

Shawn pointed out the window, "If you'll look outside you'll see I've got my Cherokee outside for you. It's all gassed and ready. In case you forgot the route when we came in I've left you an electronic map in the console to help you get home."

Susan sat on the bed, sheets pulled up to hide herself, "You've got it all figured out haven't you?"

Shawn smiled, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Get out! Get out of here!" Susan yelled.

Shawn silently left the room.

Susan got up. She was dress in a short salmon colored pajama set, V-neck collar, short sleeves, and short cuffed panties. She walked to the window. Sure enough, out there on the driveway was the Cherokee she'd seen him standing beside so many days ago. Well he wasn't getting away with this. He'd kidnapped her, raped her, and threatened to kill or cut her up. She was getting cleaned up, dressed, and going straight back to the city. She'd turn him in, have him arrested and thrown in jail. She laughed to herself; he'd see what happens when an ass hole confronts the long arm of the law.

Downstairs Shawn curled up with the newspaper. Though it was the middle of the afternoon he still hadn't read it. The news was the same shit, just a different day, and nothing good in the sports section. He checked his and her horoscopes. He didn't believe in that sort of thing, but it was always fun just to look. Here again it was more of the same mind numbing mumbo jumbo. He checked his watch, his trusty Timex. He wondered what was taking Susan so long. He called out to Kia, "Kia would you be a dear and go up and check on our guest?"

Kia went upstairs. Moments later she came to the top of the stairs, "She's gone!"

Shawn walked out the front door and looked down the driveway. The Cherokee was gone. 

------------

Susan was barreling down the highway as fast as the law would allow. Listening on the radio she realized it was the middle of the week, and a cool three weeks since he'd kidnapped her, "Three weeks," she exclaimed into the radio, "My law practice could be ruined!" 

She took the cell phone her foolish kidnapper had left in the car and called her office. She got her secretary. Her secretary answered on the other end, "Hello, law offices of Susan Slattery."

Susan spoke rapidly, "What's going on? Have I missed much? She remembered a case she'd been working on, how about the Oglivie situation?"

Her secretary responded, "Oh Ms. Slattery. First let me thank you on behalf of all the people in the office for the generous bonus. Ms. Oglivie is being handled by the Marcus brothers as per your instructions. They'll be glad your back. Everything else is fine. How are you enjoying your holiday?"

For Susan her secretary's remarks were unbelievable. Bonuses? Marcus Brothers handling her cases? Everything's fine? Holiday? She responded once she caught her breath, "Yes I had a nice holiday. Sorry I didn't give everyone more warning. I'm glad you're all pleased with the bonuses. You all deserved them."

Her secretary continued, "Are you coming in today? We thought you'd be out the rest of the week, at least that's what your e-mail indicated."

Susan was having trouble catching her breath, "Oh yes. I won't be in until Monday. I just wanted to call and make sure everything was going smoothly."

Her secretary answered, "Everything is good here. Enjoy your holiday. We're all looking so much to seeing you back next week."

Susan thanked her and turned off the cell. She pulled to the side of the road. What the fuck is going on? For several minutes she stared straight ahead through the windshield. That son of a bitch has set this up. If I did claim I was kidnapped nobody would believe me. That bastard! That son of a bitch! She pulled the car back out on the road, made a U-turn and started back toward the bastard's house. He wasn't getting away with this!

Shawn was in the back yard looking at the flowers and just strolling around. He was wondering what Susan was going to do when he heard the Cherokee pull back in the driveway. He turned and waved.

Susan was out of the car and walking straight toward him.

He watched her as she approached. Her hair in a loose pony tail was bobbing up and down. She had on a thin short sleeved beige V-neck blouse. He could tell several buttons were undone. Her breasts were bouncing gaily as she walked. The blouse went beautifully with the dark brown slacks and dark brown high heeled shoes. He could see how mad she was, but she was so damned pretty he had to smile.

She exclaimed, "You God damned son of a bitch!"

"Hi! You look really pretty today."

Red faced with anger she yelled, "Don't give me that bull shit! You know what you've done."

Shawn gave her his most innocent smile, "No. What have I done?"

"Oh you're so fucking smart." She was close enough to hit him. She swung out and threw a punch at his head. 

He ducked and retreated, "Susan!"

"Don't you fucking Susan me!" She threw another punch and missed.

"Come on now," he tried to grab her arms.

She threw a third punch and landed it right on his chin.

"Wow! That hurt!"

She yelped with glee, "Damn right it hurt! Wait till I get you in court! You'll really holler in pain then!"

He grabbed her and held her in a bear hug. She tried to kick him in the groin but he kept his legs slightly crossed and she missed. He could feel her start to relax just a little so he stopped with the bear hug and settled in on more of man woman hug. He put his left hand up to the back of her neck and pressed her in close to his chest, "OK. OK. You win."

She relaxed, "Damn straight I win."

"I'm glad you came back. Did you call your office?"

"I did." She was trying to squirm out of his embrace but he wouldn't let go.

"Don't worry I paid the bonuses. Everybody else thinks you're on some kind of vacation."

She'd completely relaxed in his arms by then, "You're a strange one Shawn McClellan."

"No I'm not, not really. I wasn't sure about what I was going to do with you. I didn't want you to just disappear, but I did want the person who hired me to think I completed the deal."

"I called my office. They all think I'm on vacation, and now they know I am. I mean if you wanted me dead, and you wanted whoever it is who paid you to think I'm dead that's all over isn't it?"

Susan tried to push away again, but he wasn't letting her go, "Yes, he knows you're probably still alive."

"What makes you think so?" she asked.

He shrugged, "I haven't collected the money."

"Where does that leave me?"

"Susan. You're with me."

"No I mean where does that leave me as it relates to someone wanting to kill me?"

"Oh I suppose they still want to kill you."

"That's nice," she paused, "Look I'm not getting any answers here. Tell me. What happens next?"

Shawn had his hands on the back of her head. He pulled her head backward slightly so she had to look at him. He looked down and saw her vivid blue eyes, the loose blouse revealed her beautiful breasts as they pressed against his chest. He knew what he wanted to happen next, "What do you want to happen next?"

She wanted to go home. Go back to work, "I want my life back. I want to go home. I want to be able to go back to my office and not be afraid someone else like you might drug me and do something bad."

He understood all that, and he was willing to help her, but he wanted something too, "I can help you, but I expect some kind of quid pro quo."

"You'll do something for me, but I have to do something for you."

"More or less I guess."

"What do you want?"

Shawn scratched his chin. It was a phony expression. He knew what he wanted, "I can help you, but it won't be easy. The person, or people, who wanted, that is want you dead contacted another group who contacted me. I could easily defy the people who want you out of the way, but it isn't so easy to go against the people I deal with directly. Do you get my meaning?"

Susan listened and answered, "The man or men who want me dead called a syndicate, a syndicate you work for. If you don't kill me you're not just fucking over the people who are paying to kill me. You're going against the people you work for."

"Exactly right now everyone knows you're still alive, just on a vacation. Sooner or later they're going to want to know if I'm going to follow through. If they think I've bailed they'll be after me too."

"So what do you want me to do," Susan asked?

"Nothing, just stay here, no one knows where I live. Give me some time to work this out."

Susan was perplexed. Something wasn't adding up, "Why are you doing this? I mean wouldn't it be a whole easier to just kill me?"

"Yes it would."

"Why don't you just get it over with then?"

He stared at her, "I don't know why. If I knew that I suppose I would just kill you."

"So you want me to stay here until you decide whether I'm to live or die. What am I supposed to do while I wait for the big decision?"

He was still hugging her, "Let's go over this again. I said it would be the easiest thing to just kill you." He gave her a meaningful look. "But I also said I have no intention of doing that. Like I said I'm not going to hurt you, period end of story. Why am I not going to hurt you?" He reached over to touch her hair, but she backed her head away. "You're interesting. You're pretty. I think you're nice having around."

She grimaced, "You think I'm fun to have around. What you think I'm some kind of toy? A puppy you can play with?"

"If that's how you want to take it. I guess so."

She bristled, "Look Mr. Shawn McClellan, or whoever you are. I'm nobody's toy. I'm nobody's pet dog." 

He was quick to answer, "I never said that. You did."

"So what happens if I try to leave? You're going to stop me?"

He shrugged, "No. Leave whenever you like. But know this. If you leave they'll know I didn't pull the trigger. They'll get somebody else. You'll be killed and then they'll kill me too."

"So I'm a fucking hostage."

"No. You're my guest until I work something out."

"And if you don't work something out?"

"They'll find us and kill us both."

She spat out, "Great!" Susan stood there, in his arms and not in his arms; ready to leave and test the truth of what he was saying, but afraid to leave at the same time, "You won't hurt me?"

"I won't hurt you."

"You won't try to take advantage of me?"

"I won't try to take advantage of you."

"This is ridiculous isn't it?"

He smiled and tried to pull her closer, she still resisted, "Maybe, how about something to eat?"

She took his hand, "Yeah I could use a bottle of Mylanta."

He laughed, "I don't know if we have any. We'll get carry out."

She laughed too, and together they walked back toward the house.

She couldn't help thinking this was one hell of a mess. He must be crazy. He wants to work something out. He wants her to stay around. He's got to be out of his mind.

He kept thinking this was going to be so much fun. He'd figure things out eventually. Meanwhile she'd be here with him. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this good.

To be continued.

Any comments or suggestions are always welcome.



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 04



Susan, kidnapped, raped, and threatened with disfigurement, had discovered escape in the traditional sense wasn't an option. Her captor had maneuvered her into an unwilling acceptance of his hospitality. 

The man with whom she agreed to temporarily abide fascinated and frightened her, but she saw him mostly as an obstacle to her primary goal. All she really wanted was to return to her former life as a woman of the world and successful attorney.

Shawn, Susan's would be assassin, now host and though she wouldn't acknowledge it savior, wanted her to stay around, but he wasn't introspective enough to understand his own motives. He had rival careers one as an honest professional and the other as murderous criminal; the first he'd cultivated and enjoyed, the second had been a younger man's way to make money. 

Susan's entrance in his life had triggered a nascent dissatisfaction with his younger more reckless decisions. Now he knew he wanted more. He knew what it was too, and Susan figured in it. He was just uncertain how to communicate what he wanted. 

As they walked toward the house Shawn asked, "Are you hungry; how about something to eat?"

Susan replied, "I'm not hungry."

"What would you like to do?" he asked.

She answered tartly, "Nothing with you."

He sheepishly persisted, "I thought maybe we could sit on the porch and talk."

Susan answered savagely, "Not a chance."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he didn't have any clever replies or beguiling comments. He was being his usual stupid self. Crap, when there was something he didn't care about he could talk a mile a minute, but if it was something he wanted he was tongue tied. Some men always knew what to say. He knew men who would have been able to deflect Susan's anger and use it. He could never figure out how. Some men had this facility for smooth talk. They could be affable and clever. He knew some men who could talk an outhouse cleaner into buying a pile of manure. Him, he couldn't get a dehydrated man in the Sahara desert a thousand miles from the nearest oasis to accept a canteen full of fresh water. Shit! Where were his brains when he needed them? He needed to say something clever, something to knock this dreadful edginess off. Not him! He stood there and stammered, "Oh OK."

What a fool he was.

They walked back to the house in silence, neither looking at the other. Shawn would have talked. He felt so awkward. He wanted to invite her to do something, but she either wasn't in the mood or just wasn't interested in anything having to do with him. He hoped it was the first, but knew in his heart it was the second.

There were no constraints now. He'd promised her complete freedom. If he could just get her to talk? They could talk about real things like what they each liked, what they had in common, what they wanted, where they saw themselves in ten years. 

She only knew the one dimensional kidnapping scary rapist. He didn't buy the rapist thing. Well maybe a little. If he couldn't get her to talk to him how could he show her he wasn't all things she imagined? Unless he could talk to her, get her to listen, even a little, he was totally fucked.

Women in America were such a mystery. Of course he understood Susan's feelings, but women in general fascinated and confused him. Oh he liked sex. Had his share. He was a hard core heterosexual. 

He'd been to other countries, and he'd seen how foreign women were treated. Women in America were special. Men in America, for the most part, treated women differently, and that made them more alive and free. In other places the creative energies of the women were often stifled, but in America they were vibrant and full of energy. 

He thought about some of the countries he visited where women, half the population, was denied the most basic opportunities. What a waste. If they'd just loosened up a little bit their countries would be so much richer, so much more productive.

Even in Europe, where one would think the women would have access, they were too often stymied. He didn't like European women much. They were kind of haughty, and for no reason. 

Only in America could someone see the benefits of a truly free society. American women were the most beautiful, most alive, most vivacious, most God damn confusing, most exasperating creatures in the world. And going up the stairs right now was Susan; the most beautiful, most vivacious, most confusing, and most exasperating woman he'd ever met. This was indeed one mell of a hess!

Jesus! he wanted to run up there, grab her, turn her around and explain he wasn't just the bad things she'd seen. He wanted to tell her he wasn't all that bad a guy. He'd like to tell her he liked her, thought she was pretty, not just sexy pretty, but pretty inside too. 

When they reached the foyer Susan went immediately to the third floor room she'd occupied since her failed escape attempt. She didn't know it was his bedroom. She curled up with Tom and pretended she was home in her own apartment. She'd sit out the next few days, play with her cat, stay away from the son of a bitch downstairs, and plan ways to get even. 

Shawn remained downstairs. He watched her climb the steps. He could see the outline of her calf and thigh muscles through the thin material of her brown slacks. He watched her ass cheeks perambulate their way up the steps. 

He figured sooner or later she'd come out. He wanted to socialize, but he understood she had every reason to hate him. He'd never been very much with women even on a good day. He figured with her there probably wasn't much hope. If she decided to come down he'd do his best soften her feelings, meanwhile he'd have to content himself with working out their primary problem.

------------

They'd had their little round of fisticuffs on Wednesday. By Saturday she still hadn't come downstairs. She was taking all her meals and managing all her time in his bedroom. He'd gotten Kia to go up and gather most of his clothes. For the first night he stayed in one of the other third floor bedrooms.

Shawn had acquired the old farm house several years ago. When he bought it there was no central heating and the plumbing and electricity dated to the beginning of the Twentieth Century. He'd invested a tidy piece of change in making it habitable. He thought it had turned out well. 

There were four bedrooms on the third floor; one very large main bedroom, and three others of substantial size. There was a private bathroom for the main bedroom and another for any occupants of the other three. He envisioned one day having three or four children. He thought, if it worked out, two boys could always share one room. 

The second floor was the main area. There was a long foyer. Actually it had been a porch that he had enclosed. A long bank of windows ran the length of the exterior wall. One could sit in a chair and look out at fields and forest. In the summer he kept the agriculture to things like beans so visibility wouldn't be impaired. In the fall and winter there was always the lovely sight of the changing leaves and later the beauty of the winter snows. Other second floor rooms included a large kitchen-breakfast room, a dining room, living room, and two small sitting rooms each off of a utilitarian bathroom. 

The lowest level was largely unfinished. He had created what he called an apple room. That was where he stored things like toilet paper and paper towels. There wasn't much else down there. He thought about making a tool room. He thought about a lot of things like that.

When he originally bought the house he hoped to make it a place where he could start a family and raise kids. He wanted a real family with children of his own and a wife. 

Brought up mostly in foster homes as a kid he'd watched television shows that depicted the wonderful family life other people enjoyed. Someday he wanted to have that too. He never complained about his upbringing. He'd never been abused or neglected, but wherever he lived he always knew, no matter how nice the people were, he wasn't really theirs. He reflected how foster parents were extra nice in some ways, and totally ignorant in others. 

He never knew who his parents were. He knew his mother gave him up when he was born, but for some reason he wasn't adoptable. He remembered when he was little he'd fantasize how one day a beautiful woman would show up in a big limousine and claim him. She'd be dressed in beautiful clothes and have a mink coat. She'd bend down and call out his name with her arms outstretched. He'd run into her arms and shout mommy. Of course no such woman ever came. 

He was told by government people there were families who wanted him, but they never fully met the qualifications. He wondered what the qualifications must have been. There had been one couple who had two children of they're own, but they weren't qualified to have him. He recalled when the officials took him away. The man went out in the backyard. He thought at the time it was because he didn't care. Now he understood why the man left the room. 

Even now at thirty-four he couldn't understand what not being qualified meant. He just knew he'd missed something on the front end of life, and he wanted to become a parent and experience it on the back end. He knew he'd be a good father and a good husband. He bet someday Susan would have children. He bet they'd be beautiful.

Shawn just sat there, downstairs, while the woman stayed up in his bedroom. He had a lot on his mind. She knew almost nothing about him, about the real man. He admitted he was a bad man. He'd done bad things, things he was ashamed of. But he wasn't all bad. He had a legitimate life too, a real life. He'd been around the world. He'd seen how other people lived. He'd seen suffering and poverty, but he'd seen strong families. Even in the worst places parents loved their children, and husbands and wives cared for each other. He wished he could have something like that someday.

He wished he knew what to do about the woman upstairs. All his life he'd been awkward around women, always felt self-conscious, foolish. He liked Susan. At first he thought she might be a lesbian. He had nothing against lesbians, but if she had been he'd have killed her right away. 

He remembered watching her before he kidnapped her. She was pretty, vivacious and charming, but a little stand offish too, especially around men. Susan was sexy, not in a promiscuous way like a whore, more in a girlish innocent way. She had an innocence that frightened and disarmed him. It sort of stirred his protective instincts too. 

He saw she had an inner strength. He reflected about her fighting him off in the stream. But he'd seen that strength even before he'd kidnapped her. 

Susan had a past. He'd gotten curious and checked her out. She'd been an only child. He thought at first that must have made her life everything his wasn't; the center of attention, all spoiled and coddled, but he discovered that wasn't the case. Her parents were self-centered career types. She spent a lot of time, maybe too much time, in boarding schools and summer camps. 

Sometime when she was still very young her parents divorced. He wondered how many Thanksgivings and Christmases she'd spent alone, left behind at some boarding school. No, it wasn't all midnight and magnolias for her either. He bet with a little support she'd be a good mother, a loyal wife.

Loyalty, that was a tricky word, being willing to stick with people even when you were mad at them, especially when you were mad at them. Holding it together when things looked like they were all falling apart. He'd seen the power of familial loyalty around the world. It didn't take money, it took courage.

In some ways he thought her life wasn't too different from his. Her parents were rich but never around. He never had parents. Both of them were much like outsiders looking in. She was really wrapped up in herself, probably like her parents had been. They say the fruit never falls far from the tree.

He looked around the house he'd had fixed up. It was all here, ready to go, just nobody to share it with. He knew what he should do. He should go upstairs and talk. Go up and make friends. Show her he wasn't only the bad things she thought. That's what he should do. He knew he wouldn't. That took a kind of courage he didn't have. 

------------

Susan stayed upstairs through most of the week. After the talk she'd had with her secretary she decided to stay away from work till Monday, but on Monday she would go back. 

She couldn't stand the sight of the man downstairs. He was a murderer, a kidnapper, and a rapist. Though he hadn't paid out the money to have her killed he was the embodiment of all her problems. He'd drugged her and taken her away from her life. The only way he got her to have sex was to tie her to the bed. Yes she'd climaxed, and yes she'd enjoyed it, but she could have done that with a vibrator. 

He scared her. Sometimes he looked at her in ways she couldn't explain. 

She been around and dated a few men. Not a lot of men, but enough to draw some conclusions. She remembered her father. She loved him of course. All girls are supposed to love their fathers. But she never felt like she knew him. Whenever they were together it was like his mind was someplace else. 

The private high schools she attended were all single sex, usually with a partner all boys school nearby. She seldom dated in high school. In college she dated more. That's where she found out about men. 

She categorized men into three groups. There were the gropers, the dopers, and the studs. The worst were the studs. They thought they were God's gift to women. If a stud asked you out, or tried to feel you up you were supposed to act grateful. 

The man downstairs didn't fit any of her categories. Maybe that was why he scared her. When he looked at her he wasn't just thinking about sex, or sharing a joint, or showing her off like some deer on the hood of a truck. Sometimes when he looked at her it was like he wanted to eat her, just gobble her up. Well if she wasn't going to be somebody's whore, or their dope buddy, or trophy, she certainly wasn't going to be their cheeseburger. 

She wasn't taking any chances with the maniac downstairs. She was staying put.

------------

On Saturday she finally came downstairs. Looking around she didn't find Shawn so she spoke to Kia, "Where's Shawn?"

Kia was polite but knowing the truth, a little disingenuous too, "I think he's restoring your apartment today."

That's right she remembered when he'd brought her cat back he said they'd emptied her apartment. His decision to fix her apartment back was a good thing. He knew she wasn't staying, "Did he say anything before he left?"

"No, but he left a note."

Susan remembered this guy was good for notes, "May I have it please?"

"No." answered Kia, "I'm not to give it to you till Sunday."

Susan asked, "He won't be back before then?"

"No."

This wasn't satisfying, "Did he say why?"

"No, he just left and said to give you the note on Sunday."

Susan asked, "Nothing else?"

"No nothing."

Susan considered. Well that's good. He knows how things stand. But it made her mad a little too. He could have told her was leaving. He could have come upstairs and said something. She would've liked that; him coming upstairs to plead so she could tell him to fuck off. 

She hoped he'd figured out how to get her life back to normal. What happened to him afterward would be his problem. He deserved whatever he got. If they killed him it was no skin off her nose. Susan had her own life, a business to run. She looked at Kia, "How long has he been gone?"

Kia pretended to be doing something and didn't look up, "He left Thursday evening."

Susan wondered at that, "He's been gone three days? Why didn't he tell me he was going to be gone that long?"

Kia stopped and looked at her, no smiles this time, "He left a note." She walked away.

Susan went back upstairs. Shit she thought, one of the reasons she stayed in the damned room was to show the fucker up. Then she finds out he'd been gone the whole time. That sucked. 

------------

Shawn had left on Thursday. He'd figured it out. He didn't have to go upstairs. He wasn't pleading with any woman. Susan wanted out. What he might have had in mind, whatever imaginings he might have had were fantasies, will of the wisp. But there was still the real problem of providing for Susan's safety. He could do that.

Thursday night he took a flight to Zurich. Friday he was in one of their many banks withdrawing an enormous sum of money, $180,000.00 all told. That emptied his only foreign holding. He figured that would be more than enough to buy back Susan's life. Friday afternoon he was back in the United States, tired but ready for the next step. He located the primary investor in Susan's murder and Friday night followed him when he went out with his recently reconciled wife. He followed them into a restaurant.

While the man and his wife were at the table ordering their meals, Shawn arranged with the waiter to have the man come to a side room off from the main restaurant, ostensibly for some important personal matter. The man had agreed and excused himself from his wife. 

When the man got to the indicated location Shawn was there to greet him, "Good evening. You don't know me, but we have a mutual interest that could be of benefit to you."

The man was impatient, "Look I'm busy right now."

Shawn interrupted, "I'm the torpedo they hired kill Susan Slattery. That should mean something."

The man was no fool, "It doesn't mean anything to me, but if it did, and I'm not saying it does, how would that matter to me?"

Shawn could see the man was nervous. The bastard never expected his plans might boomerang. He never foresaw this, facing Susan's supposed killer. Shawn laid it out, "For reasons of no interest to you I decided not to kill her." He saw the man blush, and knew for sure he had the right guy. He continued, "But if I don't somebody else will do it," He saw the man was making as if to go, "Don't move yet." Shawn assumed a more menacing stance. "If she dies I'll be back for you."

The man was visibly shaken, "What do you want me for?"

Shawn handed him a briefcase filled with the money, "There's enough money in here to buy back her life and still leave enough for you to rake in a tidy profit." The man was shaking. Shawn was a little afraid he might collapse, "You take the money, call your contact and make an offer. I'm sure they'll agree if the price is right. Once they agree you call the phone number that's inside. Just leave a text message saying the deal was made. After that any money left is yours."

The man was scared but still had balls enough to ask a question. He said, "What if they don't agree?"

Shawn gave the man his meanest scar showing face and his lowest nastiest tone of voice, "I know what the original price was. If you make a valid offer they'll agree. If they don't then somebody will kill her. If she gets killed I'll be back for you." Shawn smiled evilly, "If she dies, you won't want to see me again. I promise you'll take a long time to die." He turned walked a few paces and turned back, "I'll be waiting for your call. You have until Sunday evening." Then he was gone.

The man returned to his table, "Honey we have to go home. There's something I have to do."

Later Sunday Shawn got a text message. The deal had been made. Susan was in the clear, but the messenger added that he, Shawn, had a problem. He figured that. All he felt he had to do from then on was to wait. He'd hang around in the city; get some sleep, and Monday morning watch to see if Susan got safely in to work.

------------

Susan stayed in her room the rest of the day Saturday and most of Sunday. She was a little stir crazy, but she waited till around 5:00 before she came down to see Kia, "Could I have the note now please?"




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 04



Kia handed her the note, but didn't stay.

Susan opened the note and read it.

Dear Ms. Slattery, if you haven't heard from me then the content of this note is valid. I believe I have secured your safety. You're completely free to return to your apartment and to work. No one will harm you. I've turned the title of the Cherokee over to you. It's you car. Keep it. Sell it. Do what you want. I'm glad I didn't complete the contract. I regret any inconvenience I may have caused. I'm glad you're safe. I wish you well in all you hope to do. Respectfully, Shawn McClellan

Susan read and reread the note. That was all? She didn't know what to expect, but she expected more than this. She thought maybe he'd ask her to see him again. Maybe he'd beg for forgiveness and ask her something, anything but this? It was like, Hey, I kidnapped you, raped you, scared the shit out of you, and nearly ruined your life, but now it's over so let's shake hands and forget anything happened. 

She was madder now than before! If he thought that was the end of it, he was in for a rude surprise! She didn't know what to do yet, but she wasn't through with Mr. Shawn McClellan, not by a long shot. He was going to pay for what he did.

Shawn had more unfinished business. He wrote a short letter to Kia and Kim. They'd been his trusted friends for years. He turned the house and all the surrounding property over to them, as well as a sizable amount of money in case there were taxes to pay. That out of the way he had no idea what to do, where he would go, he only knew his life was in great danger. He had some money, not a lot, but at least he had accomplished what he had to do. 

He thought he ought to quietly hang around the city for a while. Nobody knew who he was. No one in the syndicate had ever seen him. If any one of them got ideas about crawfishing on the agreement regarding Susan's safety he figured he need to be nearby to intervene. 

------------

For six weeks Shawn hung around. He moved from hotel to hotel, but kept a constant watch on Susan's movements. She was a child of habit so it was easy to track her activities; arriving at work early, long days in the courtroom or at the office, an occasional stop at the corner tavern, a stop over at the grocery store, and back to her apartment.

She always looked nice; well dressed, stylish, hair neatly done up. Somehow, in spite of her long days, she managed to maintain the healthy fresh look of a much younger woman. He wondered how the cat was doing. 

There were one or two aberrations. Some older gray haired man occupied a lot of her time for a few days. Shawn didn't like it. He knew men, and this guy was on the prowl. He could tell. It made him a little jealous, though he didn't know why. One time while they were eating lunch together Shawn was afraid he got too close. He inadvertently got in her field of vision. He thought she might have seen him, but she turned away so it was probably a false alarm. 

Once or twice he thought he recognized syndicate men hovering a little too close, but nothing came of it. That bothered him. If he had to kill a couple of their goons that would have meant open war. 

After six weeks Shawn figured Susan really was in the clear. He had to take of himself. That wasn't going to be easy.

On the Run! 

Susan wasn't going to let Shawn off the hook. She scouted around until she found what she considered the best detective agency in town. Financial arrangements were made, and she believed in a short while they'd turn something up. 

She planned on tracking him down and turning him over to the police. If he was a hired killer she was sure he had a record. A statement from her might be all they'd need. But that had been nearly two months ago. It was as though the person she'd known as Shawn McClellan never existed. 

The detectives had followed every conceivable lead. They'd gone over the Cherokee with a fine tooth comb looking for some kind of evidence, a fingerprint or some DNA evidence, anything. One problem was even if they had come up with something it wouldn't have mattered if their quarry had nothing on record. They visited and revisited the people who owned the farm. Of course, they knew the farm was new to them, a title search proved that, but the prior owner's true identity remained a mystery. They'd secretly returned to the farm and scoured the area looking for any kind of evidence that might have proven helpful. Everything drew a blank. Phone records turned up nothing. Still they pursued every conceivable angle. They knew the man existed, and they knew they'd find him.

It took a novice employee in the agency to run a second search of the Cherokee. He found a single thumb print on one of the connecting wires to the battery that the first check had overlooked. It was on the hot cable and a lousy print, but when they ran it through Interpol they hit pay dirt.

Susan read the report. It was a stunning story. The man who'd been her abductor did indeed have a legitimate career, and what a career it turned out to be. With a single print they'd been able to trace his past back to his college years.

He'd gone to a respected second tier state college on scholarship. From there he'd joined the army, served three years, and was honorably discharged. 

He disappeared for a couple years, but reappeared as an employee of an international aid organization loosely affiliated with the United Nations. He became something of a middle level manager of food and medical supplies in various places around the world. Records indicated he was facile when it came to languages so his was often sent as an on site person. 

His name turned up in Ethiopia and Berkina-Fasso in Africa. Susan recollected how she may have mentioned something about Berkina-Fasso to him, or maybe she only imagined it. He also turned up in Paraguay working indirectly with Habitat for Humanity. Susan wondered if he'd ever met Jimmy Carter. His last appearance had been in Asia. He'd been in Thailand involved with Cambodian refugees, and he's shown up briefly in Nepal, a country south of Tibet. Susan bet that's where he'd come across Kia, and maybe Kim, though she suspected Kim was Korean. 

A few days later the agency sent her a second report. They'd indirectly acquired access to information about a person named Shawn McClellan. They're informants on this second level were somewhat obscure and certainly shady. There had been a person named Shawn McClellan raised in several foster homes. It was a stroke of luck, if illegal, but they'd gained access to his records. It was amazing what a little money spread around in the right places could do. Using what they had they'd come across someone who'd briefly provided for a child named Shawn McClellan. The person even had a photograph. 

Susan stared at the faded picture in front of her. It was of a young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen. It was a sad little picture of a sad little boy. It was her Shawn.

Days after that a third report surfaced! It seemed to Susan it was as though when results did turn up they're arrival was torrential. 

The agency had uncovered information about the original initiative to have her killed. Someone had indeed paid out $10,000.00 to have her murdered, but a few weeks later the same client paid out $100,000.00 to buy back her life. Her life had appreciated ten fold literally in a matter of days. Even more dumbfounding, reports indicated the second purchase was made with money the buyer never had. Someone had given him $100,000.00 to buy back her life!

Susan wondered as she looked at the wrinkled faded photograph what it must have been like being shunted from home to home. Here was the boy who became the man who'd kidnapped her but couldn't follow through on her murder. Was this the man who'd paid out $100,000.00?

She reflected on the confusion these reports produced; an obviously discarded child, one of the thousands of forgotten children lost in her country's social fabric, then an aid worker, a humanitarian dedicated to saving lives around the world, and last, the ultimate irony, a paid killer hired to take her life but who then may have poured out thousands to save her. How could they all be the same person?

Susan stood up, walked over and looked out the window of her corner suite in the high rise office building where her business was headquartered. She was rich, famous. She had it all, designer clothes, the nicest cars, a summer condominium. She tapped her finely manicured fingers on the mahogany table in front of her. Somewhere out there was a man named Shawn McClellan. Who was he? And why should she even care? She turned around and picked up the cell phone she'd idly thrown on the luxurious sofa in her office. She was going to double the fee to the detective agency. They had to find him. 

------------

Shawn had used the last of his resources. From now on he'd have to find work or skip town. Knowing people were looking for him he realized most job opportunities in the city were out of his purview. He should have used the money he had to leave right away. If he'd been smart he'd left the country, but he'd hung around to make sure Susan was safe. After a month and a half he was reasonably sure not even the syndicate people had any interest in her. Regrettably he'd overstayed his financial capabilities. He went downtown and bought a ticket on a Greyhound bus. He'd head west. He'd start over. 

------------

The syndicate, like Susan, hadn't stopped looking either. They'd hired a man to do a job. He hadn't done it. The alternatives were always the same; stark and honest. Do the job and get the reward. Fuck up and die. The man they'd hired knew what the consequences would be. He also knew sooner or later they'd find him. They'd put out the word. He was a dead man. Everywhere the dregs of society, the scum, the bottom feeders, the nation's offal was on the lookout. They'd get their man. They always did.

------------

For several months Shawn drifted aimlessly from town to town. The economy was bad, and for people down on their luck things were worse. He managed to stay out of trouble; that meant out of jail. He had no special talents or skills, lousy pool player, no card skills, never hammered a nail what without first smashing a thumb. He made a little money washing dishes, did some detail work cleaning at a car wash. He knew the day his name appeared at the top of the page his number would be up. He kept to himself, moving from odd job to odd job. 

He'd started with a suitcase and several changes of clothes. Eventually he found himself down to his last clean pair of jeans, no money, and no prospects. Underwear was always a problem. He hated wearing dirty boxers. But he was no quitter. He'd seen too much suffering, had caused too much suffering. 

Every now and then he remembered a young woman struggling down a muddy stream, tattered blouse, exhausted but not beaten. He hoped she'd found everything she was looking for. The last time he saw her she was looking pretty good. It seemed like it had been a hundred years since then. He wondered if she ever thought of him. He doubted it. Even if she did, it was probably with revulsion.

------------

Susan insisted on weekly reports. He was out there somewhere. Finding him had become an obsession. The more she thought about him, and the greater the span of time between her abduction and his disappearance, the more important his discovery became. Something he'd said kept coming back. He'd said she'd mattered, and that was why she was still alive. Now she realized he mattered. 

She reflected on a day she was having lunch with her father. Her dad would come into town for a rare visit. They'd been sitting having lunch when she thought she saw Shawn. It was just for a second. She remembered turning her head. She thought; if it was him, he looked tired, haggard. 

For some reason, and she couldn't figure what, his survival, his freedom had become important. She was the only person in the world who knew what his situation was. He was in trouble and she knew it, she just knew it. He'd rescued her. He'd bought her life back. Now she was sure he needed help. He needed her. 

------------

The men in the syndicate weren't having any luck. It was becoming a point of honor. Someone had gotten one over on the system; some nobody had pulled a fast one. It was the principle of the thing. Why had he done it? Why had he let some nameless lawyer live? He hadn't done it for money. In fact, mathematically the whole operation had probably cost him everything he owned. It had certainly cost him the $5,000.00 for the job. Somebody had put up the $100,000.00 to buy the target's life back, they figured he'd never been all that well off. He hadn't turned up anyplace. That meant one thing; he was down on his luck, down and out. 

They wanted him. He'd bought the target's life. Why? Who cared why? If he wanted her alive, then what better way to solve their problem than to use her to lure him back. 

It took a low level thug to dream up the idea. To get at their renegade they needed to kidnap the woman again, put it on the street and wait. Sooner or later it would get back to him. He'd come running! In a meeting one of the operatives in the new scheme laughed, "They weren't just callous killers. They'd make a trade, his life for hers." Then they'd kill her later.

Abducted a Second Time!

Susan was tired but satisfied. It had been another busy day at court. She'd had another success; another scum bucket was being forced to pay up. Men were such trash. She laughed to herself, a good man was really hard to find. That reminded her of Shawn. He wasn't just hard to find, he was impossible. 

A man strode up to her in the underground parking lot. It was dark down there. It was always dark in these kinds of places. Some anonymous man was approaching her. He walked over and asked, "Pardon me ma'am. Do you have a set of jumper cables?"

He made her feel uncomfortable. Her little can of mace was deep inside her pocketbook, "No. I'm sorry." That's the last thing she remembered. He jammed a needle in her side. She dropped like a rock.

------------

Once again Susan woke up in strange surroundings. She knew she was in trouble right away. She could barely move. It was almost impossible to breathe. She felt the sticky duct tape over her mouth. It pressed against her nose partly blocking her breathing. They'd put duct tape over her eyes. Rummaging and nudging around she knew her hands were wrapped tightly in the stuff. More must have been wrapped around her body. She felt its sticky resistance holding her trapped hands against her stomach. 

She was cold. She knew most of her clothing had been ripped off. Furtively moving her hands as best she could she realized she was still wearing her panties, but her slacks, jacket, and blouse were certainly gone. They had taped her feet together, and it felt like they'd taped her legs together at her knees. She heard someone speak.

A man's voice sounded out, "She's awake."

Somebody came into the room, "Yeah she's awake."

She heard another voice, "Should we let her loose?"

One of the others said, "Are you kidding? Leave her." She heard more movement. She heard the door slam. She was alone, somewhere in the dark. The place smelled of old clothes, dirty men, stale food, and urine. Oh God! Where was she? They'd done it to her again. But it wasn't like the first time waking up in a comfortable king sized bed on silk sheets in pajamas. This time she knew they really meant it. This time she was in a really bad place. She thought of Shawn.

------------

Out on the street the word was out. Newspapers started carrying the story of the disappearance of a high profile lawyer. The police were stumped. No one knew what happened. Her car was found untouched still in the parking garage she used. 

The media considered it a case of foul play; a beautiful woman had been kidnapped in broad daylight. Everybody reported it was probably the work of some sexual predator. Safety groups started to agitate for better lighting in downtown garages. A member of the Bar Association decried the lack of respect for members of the legal profession. Her office employees did interviews and described her wonderful nature. Some expressed they're lack of understanding as to how anyone so kind could be so foully treated. Social groups denounced the media assumption that the perpetrator was some sex maniac. The police promised there would be a full investigation. No stone would be left unturned. 

Five days after her disappearance the football season began. The Ravens had beaten the Jets, the Giants were obliterated, and commentators said Dallas should fire their coach. Her story dropped to the back pages, a few days later it was gone. Unless her body floated ashore somewhere or she was found wrapped in a trash bag in some dumpster she ceased to exist. She had been just one more news flash, another flash in the pan in the twenty-four seven news cycle. 

Out in the boondocks, the eternal backwoods that was Middle America, someone heard her story. He had no illusions. They wanted him. This was their call. Her disappearance was intended to bring him back. They knew he'd come. 

Shawn had no money so he stole a car. He found one of those highly reliable, good mileage, easily broken into little foreign jobs. He cracked a corner of the window, got the door open and the alarm off before anyone could tell. Slipping under the dashboard he had the ignition wired and engine running in seconds. Off he went. Halfway home, low on gas he performed the same operation again. 

He knew not to drive straight into the city. They'd be looking for him. He pulled off and went to his old house. Kia and Kim were already tuned in. They read the papers and watched the news too. Kia was expecting him. Kim had already gone into town and was scouting the terrain. They'd worked together before, they'd work it again. 

When Shawn got to the house Kia had a cell phone, fresh clothes, a trusty knife and pistol equipped with silencer, and a wad of cash ready. He took a shower, shaved, and changed. On the phone Kim told him he'd narrowed the field down pretty good. He'd thrown a little money around and the information flowed back quickly. They were expecting him. Shawn got what he needed from Kim over the phone and called his friend off. This was something he had to do alone.

Shawn knew there was no turning back, no negotiation, no trade offs. They wanted him, and they wanted him dead. What was it they used to say? Never bet the Devil your head. The Devil was in the city. He drove in, parked the car and walked the rest of the way. It was dark, a moonless night. The kind of weather he needed. 

He'd worked alone like this before. He was no martial artist, but he knew his trade. Kim had seen three; that meant there were probably five men, maybe more. This wasn't going to be easy. It never was. It would be harder than ever this time. He was out of shape, and she was there. 

He knew they'd slit her throat just to watch her bleed. But he was there to save her, and this time, after he rescued her, they'd sit down and talk. He'd insist on it.

To be continued...

Any comments, suggestions or constructive criticism is most welcome



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 05



Susan was lying on a pile of filthy sheets in a creaky bed a some dingy room in an abandoned house in one of the grimier sections of town. This was her second experience at being kidnapped; the first had been at the hands of Shawn McClellan, a man she considered terrifying with his threatening scar and callous disregard of her apparent fear. He'd brought her to the edge of madness with his calculated indifference, cool logic, and gallows humor. 

Now she considered his behavior generous, even warm, compared to the stark terror her current captors inspired. Shawn had been a living recognizable entity, a real live person. He'd talked to her, shown her his face, asked her questions, even tried, after an awkward fashion to explain her predicament. These men, three she believed, were just gravelly surly voices, none distinguishable from another. They weren't merely indifferent to her plight; they seemed to relish her fear, her dread. 

These men had torn off her clothes, bound her with duct tape, and though short of outright rape, took liberal advantage of her helpless body, groping and pawing her like she was some stray animal. Their behavior was a far cry from the silk pajamas and delicate manacles of her first tormentor. She wondered how long it would take before these monsters actually did rape and kill her. 

Quite a paradox, a humorless conundrum, Shawn she had seen as a monster, but in the presence of these men she understood the true meaning of the word. 

------------

Shawn understood the reason for Susan's second abduction. She meant nothing to her captors. They wanted him. They knew he would come to her rescue, and indeed, that was the plan.

He had sped east in stolen cars to reach the new theater of action. He had no idea what the time frame was. He knew he had to move quickly before it was too late. He reasoned her life was on a short leash. His trusted friend and one time co-conspirator Kim had scoured the underworld landscape. Finding out where Susan was hidden was easy; they'd wanted him to know. 

Armed with rudimentary knowledge he secured as much additional information as possible. Borrowing a gentleman's work uniform and truck he posed as a coca cola vendor supplying the innumerable small businesses that populated the neighborhood street corners. The coke delivery man he left safely secured in the back of the truck while he pretended to serve an imaginary clientele. Up and down the streets he drove, watching, listening, and noting everything he could. 

The neighborhood, once an upscale Jewish community, was the perfect choice for would be assassins. It was overcrowded, forgotten, and now overwhelmingly minority. Shawn, a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, stood out in the largely black and Hispanic population. Easily seen, he would have been an easy target. 

The house where she was held couldn't have been more secure if it was Fort Knox. A large three storied dwelling, set in the middle of a substantial yard, it was surrounded by other equally decrepit structures. All had certainly been carved into several small rental units. Storming the house meant having to know which of the units was hers. It would have been incredibly difficult for an experienced invader, for a relative novice like Shawn the project was impossible. To succeed in saving Susan in these circumstances would have required perfect timing and a total understanding of the layout. Shawn simply lacked the ability. 

Worse, his survey of the street revealed at least two additional outposts, one on the front street, and another across the alley. If he could reach the house they'd pin him down and kill him before he'd gained the front or back door. 

He retreated from the neighborhood, released the coca cola man, thanked him, paid him some money, and drove off. He pounded the wheel of his car. He smashed his fist into the dashboard. He tore at his hair. Susan he mentally exclaimed, how am I ever going to get you out? 

The more he stubbornly refused to surrender, the more he reflected on the futility of the situation, the more he realized what he had to do. He remembered an old adage, 'If one wanted to kill a snake, one had to cut off its head.' If he couldn't rescue Susan by direct assault, he had to find and destroy the nerve center behind her, and now his, torment.

The men guarding Susan worked for someone. He had to find out who it was, and run a counter kidnapping. He slapped himself on the back, and then laughed. He might find out who the chief Fagin was, but running a successful counter kidnapping was as hare brained as openly charging the building of Susan's captivity in broad daylight. Neither alternative was realistic. However, if he found out who the primary malefactor was, and found out where he lived, he might be able to break in. Once inside he might be able to negotiate a new arrangement. That was a possibility. 

He needed time. Shawn considered the current situation. He'd make a couple threatening calls. They might deflect the enemy from his primary objective, for a little while anyway. 

Yes, make a call threatening to harm her immediate overseers. Make it sound like he hadn't discovered where they were holding her. They'd fall for it. They'd believe he was as stupid as they were; that he lacked the intelligence to ascertain her whereabouts. That might give him some additional time. 

Then he'd make a second threatening call to the original contractor; the man who'd been Susan's courtroom victim. He was a yellow son of a bitch, and he'd certainly light up the sky with calls for protection. The men in the syndicate would think Shawn was on a scavenger hunt; casting about for leads indiscriminately. 

With additional time Shawn could accomplish his next primary tasks. If he was to buy Susan back a second time, he'd need more money, a lot more than the original $100,000.00. He'd also need to find out who was at the epicenter of the current scheme, where he lived, and how he might break in without being caught.

Shawn went back to his old farm house, currently the property of Kia and Kim. If he could negotiate some kind of trade they might agree to mortgage the farm long enough for him to get enough money. It wasn't his anymore, and it wasn't really his place to ask, but they might help this once anyway.

Shawn pulled up the driveway to his old home, got out, and knocked on the front door. Kia was there immediately. She asked, "How is it going?"

He responded, "Not good Kia. They've got her sewn up tight. It would take a battalion of marines to get her out."

Kia asked another question, "Then what's our next plan?"

He liked the way she said 'our next plan', "Kia?" He paused and took a breath, "I need something."

Kia waited.

"I need money. I need lots of money." He dropped the big one on her, "All I had was what I gave you and Kim." He hated himself for this, "Could you?"

Kia stopped him, "Come inside."

He followed her in. They must have known he was coming. The whole crew, all twelve of them were there. Kia went first, "How much money do you think you'll need?"

Shawn looked around the room. These were the people he'd worked with, some in Africa, and all in Asia. He couldn't take advantage of them. They were his most trusted friends, "I'm up against it. I have to save her. I can't explain why. It's just that." He was stumbling, "Well."

Kia stopped him, "I think you love her."

Shawn stood in front of the assembled group, all his closest friends, his most trusted colleagues, his chin pressed against his chest, on the verge of tears, "Yes I think that's true, but it's more. She has to live. I can't let this one go." He looked up at Kim and one of the African men, "You know how it is."

Kim smiled, "Is $400,000.00 enough? That's about all we could get together this quickly."

Shawn was about to break down. They weren't going to abandon him. He remembered the time they were working in the muck and mud of one of the many rivers in Thailand just across from Cambodia. A little girl had slipped from Kia's grasp and disappeared in the brown morass. He'd jumped in, found the little girl, and together they'd gotten her out. An African friend who later died of one of the many fevers that plagued that region had resuscitated her. When they'd last seen that precious little girl she had been happily playing with some other children. That's what he thought when Susan came to mind; another drowning child. He didn't deserve this kind of loyalty. He bucked up his courage, "I still have to find out who's behind her kidnapping, and who the primary malefactor is."

Kia pulled out a chair and pointed, "Sit down Shawn."

Kia started, "We're about three days ahead of you. Now listen here. We saw what you were up against." She sat beside him. She took his hand, "We're your friends Shawn. You're not alone. But let's look at this realistically; she's being held in a neighborhood made up mostly of black and brown people. You'll march into that neighborhood like the 101st Airborne Division, and you'll be spotted right away. They're counting on that. Most of us are either ethnically Asian or African. We can get in and out without drawing nearly as much attention.

Here's what we propose to do. We'll keep an eye on the house. Follow the occupants as they come and go. Sooner or later some one of them will slip up. We'll follow them, collar them, and with your help, persuade them to tell us what we need to know. Then either you or one of us can go and negotiate whatever it is needs to be done."

Shawn knew these people. He'd always loved them. He just never realized how much till now, "You've got $400,000.00?"

Kim smiled, "We got a lot more if the need arises."

Shawn asked, "So you'll track the guards, pick one up, then using enhanced interrogation techniques I'll uncover their leader's name and location."

Kia finished his thought, "Then you can go and close the deal."

Shawn looked around the room, "I need a drink."

Kim smiled, "Jim Beam over ice?'

Shawn grinned fiercely, "Nice!"

Kia led Shawn upstairs and put him to bed in the same room he'd called home a few short months before, the same bed Susan had occupied, the same bed Shawn had used when taking advantage of her. As he laid there, his head on a soft clean fresh pillow he wondered what it was like for Susan. Did she know people were working on her behalf? Did she know he was desperately in love? He wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking about him? Did she ever think about him?

For the first time in years Shawn knelt beside a bed and prayed. He thanked God for friends. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for Susan. He prayed for help. He hadn't felt this helpless in years.

Not that many miles away a terribly frightened young woman was lying abed on dirty soiled sheets. She was oh so tired, but much too fearful to sleep. Every sound terrified her. She remembered from her private school days how water bugs made a distinctive sound as they scrabbled across the floor. She'd been told water bugs were just a genre of roach. It made her skin crawl as she heard them slither across the floor now. She was certain they were in the bed with her. She felt their awful light footed tread across her legs and arms. She tried to remember her science classes. Did roaches have feet? She squirmed and flinched as she felt an occasional bite. 

It was so humid in the room. Why was it so hot and humid so late in the year? She had to pee. She decided to hold it as long as she could. If one of the men came in and saw or smelled her urine they might get mad. 

She thought about Shawn. She'd been so afraid of him. She used to be afraid he'd hurt her. How silly and how ancient that all seemed now. She wondered what the IQ levels of the men outside her room might be. She bet at least one was functioning on a subhuman level. What if one of them was a crack baby? She'd read about them, their inability to empathize. The more she thought the more frightened she became. She had to get control of herself. If she didn't she'd soon be nonfunctional. 

Outside her dark sordid little prison she heard the men talk. The low steely sound of their voices grated on her partially covered ears. She tried to hear what they were saying, but was half afraid she actually might understand them. She wondered what could be worse, hearing as she was without understanding, or hearing and understanding. 

Susan had other things on her mind as well. She'd been living in a world of denial till two weeks ago. She'd never been particularly regular regarding her menstrual cycle, but after twelve weeks she couldn't deny it. The slow weight gain, the increasing tightness of her clothing, and the occasional nausea could only spell one thing. 

When she finally decided to go to the doctors he confirmed her worst fears. Imagine, having unprotected sex just once. Of course, a baby didn't fit into her career plans. At first she decided on an abortion. Then she reconsidered. Lots of women who weren't married had babies and were quite successful at managing a child and a career. It might even be an asset. People would admire her independence. 

It was Shawn's baby, but he'd never know. For sure, she was certain she'd never see him again anyway. Even if she did, even if he found out she had a child and correctly surmised it was his, it wouldn't matter. He had no claim on her, and he'd certainly have no claim on her child. He probably wouldn't care anyway. But what if he did? He might? The way the laws worked now he'd have every right to visit. What would she do about that? Would she fight him? 

She thought about the movie they'd watched together, the one with Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen. There was a chance he might want to be a part of her baby's life. She reflected on how he'd brushed her hair. He'd been nice to her that night. He'd been gentle. Why did he have to say that stuff about cutting her up? That was so out of character from everything else he'd done. 

Judging from what she'd found out, he'd probably be a pretty good Dad. He'd helped all those poor people in those backward places. Heck she thought. They might even be able to work something out where they could raise the child jointly. She had to get out of here!

She wondered where Shawn might be. She wondered if he had a clue about her terrible situation. She wondered of he'd even care if he did know. She desperately hoped he knew. She clung to the hope he might be out there somewhere. Working to get her free; trying to save her. She knew she was snatching at straws. She wished with all her might that he was out there, fighting to save her. She curled ever more tightly into a fetal position. Oh please Shawn. Shawn I need you.

Laying there in that dirty bed, in that awful room, surrounded by dirty bugs and dirty men Susan started to have feelings she hadn't had in a while. In fact the last time she'd had such feelings was when Shawn had burst her bubble about her life. She remembered that day vividly, the day he'd reduced her personal life to a damned cat. 

Poor Tom! He was alone in her apartment. He was probably hungry. She bet his litter was dirty. Had she put the toilet seat down? If she had, by now he'd have nothing to drink. She thought about Tom. She thought about Shawn. She wanted to cry, but considering the duct tape, tears would only make things worse. She felt so alone. She missed not being able to hold her cat. 

She thought about Shawn again. He'd spent $100,000.00 to keep her alive. He defied the syndicate. He looked like such a lonely little boy in that picture. She remembered some of the holidays she'd spent all alone. She made a promise to herself and to whoever it was growing inside her. They would never be lonely. She took her taped up hands and touched her stomach. She told herself, I'm not alone. Those evil men in the other room think I'm all alone. They don't know there's someone else in here with me. I have to be strong, I'm fighting for two now. From now on it's two, not just one. 

She almost broke down again. She whimpered to herself, 'Oh Shawn make it three. Make it be three.' In her mind in her heart she kept thinking there had been Steve and Natalie and a baby; Shawn and Susan, and oh please, please!

Susan prayed. It wasn't something she was accustomed to doing, but she did it. Oh please God help me get through this. Help me raise this baby. What was it Shawn had said that day? She'd never gone to church. She promised God, help me get out of this and I'll go to church every Sunday. I'll take my baby to church. She knew people weren't supposed to bargain with God, but she meant it. She really would.

------------

Shawn was back on the road the next morning. A decent meal a good night's sleep, and change of clothes had done a world of good. His next objective was to go after the cowardly adulterer whose phone call had originally started the whole mess. He tracked down the man's house, parked the car, went up the front sidewalk and knocked on the door. It was just after 6:00 a.m. Saturday morning. A groggy housewife answered the doorbell.

Shawn wedged his foot between the door and the frame, "Do you know who I am?"

The woman was taken aback, "No, and get your foot out of my doorway."

He didn't budge. "You better get a good look at me. I'm a friend of Susan Slattery's."

The woman blushed, "The lawyer?" She started fidgeting, "What do you want with me?"

Shawn didn't pull any punches, "I'm a professional killer." 

The woman tried to push the door closed. "You better get away from here. I'm going to call the police."

Shawn didn't budge, "I was hired by your husband to murder Susan Slattery. Did you know 

that?" 

She wanted to push him away, but she couldn't get his foot out of the door, "I'm calling the police." She left the door and started inside, presumably to find a phone.

Shawn followed, "Is you husband here? I have business with him." 

The woman had found a phone and had hit 911. Shawn wasn't deterred, "You know he paid 

people to hire me to kill Susan. I'm sure you've read the papers. She's gone missing."

The woman still held the phone in her hand, but had pushed the button turning the cell off. "I don't know who you are, or what you're talking about."

He repeated, "Your husband paid $10,000.00 to have Susan Slattery murdered. I was hired for the job, but didn't do it. I gave your husband $180,000.00 to pay his contact to leave her alone. He paid them $100,000.00 and kept the rest. That was months ago. Now Ms. Slattery is missing again. You see they don't want her, though she's probably already dead. They want me."

Both people heard a noise at the top of the stairs. They looked up. It was the woman's husband. He saw Shawn and ran for the back of the house. Shawn jumped up the steps two at a time, chased him down the hall caught him, grabbed him by the nape of the neck, and yanked him backwards till he fell on the floor. 

The man's wife followed Shawn up the steps.

The cowardly man called to his wife, "Get the police."

The woman stopped and stared at her husband, "No. I don't think so." She'd about had it with her husband anyway. She looked at Shawn, then at her frightened husband, "Tell me more."

Shawn gave her an abbreviated version of what the situation was with some modest embellishments. The crucial modifications to his story involved what he planned to do to her husband, her, and her children if they didn't cooperate. He explained what he wanted. He needed the names of her husband's contacts, and if at all possible some addresses. 

The whole time Shawn spoke only to the woman, not the man. He was polite and controlled. She was a handsome woman, and she was obviously better than the man squirming on the floor. She was an attentive listener. She had to be, her three children were involved. He could tell she was afraid, but she maintained her poise. The man on the other hand was a coward; something of a squirrel. Shawn kept him on his knees by crushing the fingers of his right hand with his left. Twice Shawn had to break a finger to keep him down. Each time a finger cracked the man cried out. The woman winced the first time, but the second time she seemed to enjoy what was happening to her husband. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 05



The whole meeting didn't take more than a few minutes. The woman assured him they'd find out all they could. Shawn gave her a cell phone number, not his own, and let the woman walk him to the front door. At the front door he asked, "The children, are they yours and his or just yours?"

She answered they were just hers.

Shawn made her a promise, "Look I won't kill your kids, but if this doesn't work out right he's a dead man."

She thanked him for the assurance.

He asked also, "How in the world did a smart woman like you end up with a man like that?"

She answered, "I'm not what you think. I was a whore when he found me. He married me anyway. I asked him why. He said he loved me. How could I go wrong with that? And he's always been good to my girls. They've been given things I could never have provided. He's never brought up my past, never humiliated me, and never done anything but good things for my kids. He might be a coward in some ways and he might be a philanderer, but we learn don't we. Nobody's all good or all bad."

Shawn thanked her again, said he'd be waiting for her call, and shaking his head as he walked back down the sidewalk waved good bye. As he turned to wave he heard her telling her husband to get his coat. She'd drive him to the doctors to get his hand looked after. 

In the car Shawn considered what just happened. He'd threatened a coward and a womanizer, but a man who'd married a prostitute and was helping raise her kids. Yes, he was a slimy son of a gun, and the bastard had gone overboard trying to have Susan murdered, but Shawn wondered if he really had to break two fingers. One probably would have been enough. 

------------

Back in the neighborhood where Susan was being held several black and brown men were busily working, cutting grass, clearing out brush, and sweeping streets. No one noticed them. No one noticed they were cutting and cleaning around vacant boarded up houses. But they saw everything. They watched every house, every movement, and every entry and exit to and from the house where Susan was. 

They identified five men, three on station in the house, and two others who periodically came and went. It was easy to figure out who the leaders were. By the end of the third day they had addresses, car licenses, names, and phone numbers, and thanks to the Internet even criminal records. 

------------

Things were starting to dovetail nicely. Kim's efforts had turned up two syndicate lieutenants and their higher level contact. On the other end the woman who he'd visited had gotten similar information. Between the two separate searches two names appeared on both lists. Shawn wondered if this was how the detectives did it, or if this was how genealogists tracked down ancestors. Maybe it was? Whatever, he knew the next step was certainly not what a policeman or a scholar would do.

Shawn wanted to instill a sense of uncertainty, maybe infuse a little fear, among the people he was after. The next step was simple, he'd grab one of the couriers, beat the living shit out of him, and find out anything else the guy might be willing to give up. Whether he got anything or not it didn't matter, it was intended to throw the syndicate crowd off the trail, especially if they thought anything was coming from the philanderer. 

Shawn was parked about six blocks from Susan's location, but across the street from the house was an African friend. When the courier they'd targeted pulled away in his spiffy new BMW Shawn got the word. He started to move. He'd intercept him just two blocks from his destination, one of the crime lord's homes; far enough away to avoid incidental contact with any of the scum he was stalking, but close enough to cause an alarm. 

Shawn had stolen a 1998 Chevy Silverado for the occasion. He chuckled to himself. Nothing would be more humiliating than to be intercepted and rammed by an old pickup truck. 

Shawn watched the BMW drive by. The asshole was talking on a cell phone, so much the better. He might be talking to his boss. Shawn followed, and just at the intersection he anticipated he pulled the truck ahead and in front. He slammed on his brakes. The man in the BMW slammed into the rear of the truck. 

It was too good to be true. The idiot couldn't wait to get out of his car. He even had his phone in his hand. Shawn jumped from his truck, can of mace ready.

The man swaggered toward him, "You stupid son of a bitch!"

Shawn splashed him with a shot of mace. Before he had time to react Shawn punched him in the stomach, and finished him off with a well placed shot to the back of the head. Kim was beside them in another stolen car, a Volvo. Into the back of the Volvo the thug was thrown. Shawn picked the cell phone up off the ground. He heard someone on the other end. It was a man. He heard the talker on the other end, "Ryan where are you? You all right?"

Shawn couldn't resist, "No Ryan's not well. He's not well at all." Shawn slipped in the passenger side of the front of the Volvo. Leaving the pickup and BMW in the street they drove away. They'd be out of the Volvo in a few minutes. Shawn took the cell phone, "Hello who's this?"

On the other end a man answered, "Where's Ryan?"

Shawn knew from the tone of the voice he had a thug on the other end. He couldn't resist, "Oh I'm sorry. Ryan's is being detained."

On the other end, "Who the fuck is this? What do you mean being detained?"

Shawn didn't want to drag this out, but he wanted to make a point, and he wanted to have some fun with these bastards, "Oh Ryan's busy. He's with the FOS."

From the other end, "What the fuck is the FOS?"

Shawn got real serious, "The FOS you ask? Why the FOS is the Friends of Susan!" Before he allowed anyone to answer he closed the phone. 

Now they knew. They knew he'd located Susan, and he'd located them too. It was a dangerous game he was playing. They might just cut bait and run. They might kill Susan, drop the whole thing, and try to disappear. He bet they wouldn't. He bet they were wondering where he was. They were wondering who he was. They were wondering how he'd gotten so close. He bet they were a little scared too. He bet they were wondering what kind of character they were dealing with. Were they dealing with some dumb schmuck who'd just gotten a little lucky, or were they dealing with some guy who they'd been paying to kill people for the past nine years, and who'd been pretty damn good at it. 

The man on the back seat was groaning. Shawn reached over and punched him hard on the side to the head. It didn't knock him out, but it added to his confusion. Shawn shuffled around in the man's pockets and pulled out his wallet. He took the wallet and the cell phone, wiped them off, and stuffed them in the small mail pouch they'd picked up at the post office. It was already addressed. He sealed it, the car pulled over, and he dropped it in the mail chute of a street mailbox. Next he'd want to have a nice counseling session with the semi-conscious man in the back. He wondered if the man lying on the floor knew what water-boarding was. 

------------

Back at the house where Susan was being kept another cell phone rang. It was someone the three men in the house had never talked to before. He wanted to know if the woman was all right. Was she being treated decently? He told them to clean her up. Get her some new clothes, nice clothes. Find her something to eat, and be ready to move at a moment's notice, and above all not to hurt her.

The man who made the call to Susan's overseers was the very kingpin Shawn was closing in on. It had been him on the cell phone with Shawn, and he didn't like the way things had started to drift. He hadn't been all that hot on hunting down their errant torpedo in the first place. There was never any money in it. Now it looked like they had a wild man on their hands; someone who'd spent too much time in the deep end of the pool. 

He should have known this could easily end badly. First, the guy, the one who'd come up with the scheme, wasn't the brightest star in the constellation. The whole idea of kidnapping the same woman twice was stupid. She was just a lawyer for Christ's sake, a relative nobody, someone who'd been hired by a disgruntled former whore to embarrass a husband. Even if they'd had no involvement in the first kidnapping, though in fact they did, to commit a second felony to get at another nobody, this time a paid gunman, was like a bad dream. 

Worse, they risked spiking the political water. Pictures of good citizens, particularly an attractive young woman, even if she was just a lawyer; she had influential parents who were making phone calls that were making people nervous. Her pretty blond haired blue eyed face had been on the front pages of every newspaper in town, and it made the police and politicians jumpy. 

Then there was this stupid killer. He had some kind of ridiculous infatuation. They had a paid murderer to kill a woman. Now they had an angry lover on the loose, a man with a gun who'd already paid out $100,000.00 to buy back someone he liked. It was all just too messy. He should have blown it off at the start. There wasn't any money in it, and he might look stupid if they didn't put a lid on it. Christ! He couldn't afford to look stupid!

If he looked stupid; the syndicate looked stupid. If the syndicate looked stupid he'd end up dead. He had to make the whole mess disappear. 

------------

Shawn had Ryan locked away in a nice little motel room, "Tell me Ryan. Have you ever been water boarded?"

Ryan was blindfolded. He had no idea who his captor was, and he didn't have a clue what water-boarding was. "Yeah I've heard about it. We did it to a couple guys once. No big deal. Why?"

Shawn answered, "No reason I just thought it might be fun."

Ryan the thug answered, "Well you can't hurt me. I'm not talking. I don't know anything anyway."

Shawn whispered, "OK, we'll see."

Kim and one of the African men had already securely trussed their prisoner to a 10 foot long and 12 inch wide slab of wood. They leaned it backwards on a sixty degree angle. Shawn commented, "Well here goes." He took a towel, wet it down, covered the man's face, and started pouring water on the towel. 

The man couldn't move his head, and the water started running up and in his nose. He coughed and spluttered, but otherwise wasn't much the worse for wear.

Shawn stopped and pulled the wet towel away, "How was that?"

The thug responded with a half real half forced laugh, "When do I get to order my meal?"

Shawn answered, "OK, how about a nice bowl of soup?" This time he wrapped the towel all the way around the man's head. He poured more water on the cloth. After the first several seconds the last time he'd stopped. This time he kept pouring. The man under the towel didn't get a break. The water kept coming, and the towel prevented him from getting any air. It wasn't more than a half a minute before the man under the towel started seriously coughing and gagging. Another ten seconds and he was choking to death. Shawn didn't stop. He poured more water on the towel. He pushed the towel down hard on the man's nose and mouth. Shawn figured he'd drown the son of a bitch.

The man's hands, arms, and legs were tied firmly to the board. He couldn't get loose. The water that escaped down around his face and neck was constantly replaced by fresh torrents. He couldn't breathe. He coughed and wheezed. If somebody didn't do something he'd drown. He tried to yell out, but his mouth was held mostly shut. He tried to get his mouth open but that only let in more water. He thought if he could sit up he'd be all right, but the rope held him firmly to the board. It wasn't funny anymore.

Shawn kept pouring more and more water on the towel. They tightened the towel a little more. Kim, who was working the end of the board started lifting it. The man who'd been on a roughly sixty degree angle felt his head and body being forced back further. That wasn't right. He needed to go the other way! The water kept slopping down his windpipe. He was choking to death, but he wasn't able to do anything about it. He couldn't even offer to confess to anything. They were going to drown him right here on this board in this room! He tried to swing his hands and legs. Nothing worked.

Kim and Shawn saw the sure signs of panic. They could let him struggle another few seconds or let him up. Kim said, "We should let him up. He might know something."

Shawn was all for drowning the bastard, but knew Kim was right. They could simply keep doing what they were doing and drown the son of a bitch, or they could let him up and see if he had anything to say. Shawn said, "OK, let's let him up. I don't think he's has anything for us, but we owe it to Susan to make the bastard as miserable as possible."

They raised the board and pulled off the towel. Shawn asked, "How are we doing?"

The man wasn't able to talk. He lay there coughing and choking for several minutes. Finally he'd regained his aplomb enough to ask, "What do you want from me?"

Shawn answered, "Nothing really. We're just going to keep doing this until you eventually drown."

The thug Ryan panicked, "Look that's not right. There ought to be something."

Kim started to raise the board again. Shawn answered Ryan, "No. You don't know anything. It'd be a waste of time. Besides, this is kind of fun."

Ryan was desperate, "Look why don't you ask me something. You want to know who I work for. You want to know where the girl is. Look I know things. I can tell you all kinds of shit."

Shawn laughed, "We know who you work for. We know where the girl is. We know who's with you at the house. We know about the outposts. You don't have anything we need." He got the towel and re-wet it. 

Ryan was terrified, "No look! Wait a minute! Wait a minute. I've got money. I can pay you!"

Shawn laughed softly, "No, we figured we'd drown you, put you in a plastic bag, and dump you off at your boss's house. Kind of a warning, you know?" Kim brought over two fresh jugs of water.

Ryan started crying, "I've got a girlfriend. She's pregnant. I don't want to die. Not like this!"

Shawn ruffed through Ryan's wet hair. No, sorry buddy, you've got to look at it from our point of view. We drop you off nice and dead, no bullet holes, no knife marks, just a nice dead blue body. Your boss, Allyn, comes out, he sees you and starts to think."

Ryan interrupted, "No you don't mean Allyn. He's nobody. You mean Mr. Camulos, Oscar Camulos. He's the man pulling the strings."

Shawn laughed again, "Listen to this shit will you? The guy's already dead and still trying to bullshit. We know its Allyn Bucheister."

Ryan saw his chance. They didn't know everything, "No you've got it wrong; Bucheister's a nobody, just a gopher like me. The real brain is Oscar, Oscar Camulos. I swear! I mean it. You want Oscar Camulos."

Shawn smiled at Ryan. He looked back at Kim. This was the confirmation they needed. Shawn looked back down at Ryan. "Look we're going to do you again. This time it'll be just for fun OK? I mean mistakes happen. This is a tricky procedure. Guys like you have died of heart failure, not just from the water. We'll do it one, maybe two more times. You know for fun. If you live we'll wrap you up in a duffel bag and drop you at Oscar's." He paused, "You're sure its Oscar. I hate for you to be wrong and we have to find you again."

Ryan gulped, "No its Oscar, Really. Do you have to do it again?"

Shawn looked down, "Yeah, we have to do it again."

Ryan pleaded, "Please. No more?"

Shawn smiled at Ryan. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Now come on Ryan. We know you've been pretty mean to a nice young lady now haven't you?"

Ryan was petrified, "No honest. All we did was drug her and tie her up, we taped her mouth shut. Maybe we haven't been nice, but nobody's touched her. She's uncomfortable sure, but you'd think she was Mother Teresa. I swear. We're not a bunch of perverts. She's as pure as the driven snow. I swear!"

Shawn smiled again. This was better than he hoped. He believed they really hadn't harmed her, "OK then, we'll give you one more good shot. Let's say just to give you something to write home about."

He leaned down close to Ryan's face, "You will tell all the boys about the fun we've had?"

Ryan spluttered, "Oh yes, I'll tell them. I give them a blow by blow."

Shawn brought the towel over, "By the way. Do you know what I look like?"

Ryan was blindfolded anyway, but he crushed his eyes closed tightly, "Haven't got a clue. You're some big black guy. No you're Hispanic. I can't say, I never got a look."

Shawn covered his face with the towel and started to pour water on it, "You're a good boy Ryan. A smart boy."

Ryan coughed and sputtered. He thought this time he was going to drown for sure. He passed out. 

Kim looked down at the silent and still thug, "Did we go too far?"

Shawn stepped back, "No he passed out from fright this time. He'd be all right, and when he comes around he'll certainly have a lot to say."

------------

Before their captured crook fully recovered they'd wrapped him in a blanket, and stuffed him and the blanket in a duffel bag. Later that evening, while Ryan furtively squirmed in his cloth prison they pulled to the side of the road in front of a large colonial three storied house in one of the nicer sections of town. They pushed the bag out of the car and rolled it on the grass. Mr. Camulos, or better, maybe one of his children on their way to school in the morning would find the bag and the man trapped inside. They knew Ryan would have a lot to say, and old Oscar would have a lot to think about.

------------

In a back bedroom in a rundown house in a bad section of town two men were carefully pulling the duct off Susan's mouth. One spoke as he worked, "We're taking this off so you can eat and maybe get a drink. If you scream or try to cry out we'll have to hurt you."

With the tape off Susan started whimpering, "Look please don't hurt me."

The other man put a finger to his own lips, "Be quiet. You need to tell us your clothing sizes."

Susan had no idea they'd been ordered to get her cleaned up and ready to move, "You won't hurt me will you?"

The other man spoke, "No my girlfriend is on the phone." He handed Susan the cell phone.

Over the phone Susan told the woman the sizes of all her clothes. The woman even asked her if she had any clothing preferences. 

About two hours later the woman arrived with fresh clothes, soaps and shampoos. She helped Susan get out of the rest of the duct tape. Put her in the shower and helped wash her off. She helped her get dressed, and even helped her apply some make up. The woman kept telling her someone had made a mistake, but everything was being corrected. Susan wasn't to say anything to the police or talk to any reporters. The woman was very nice. She repeatedly tried to reassure Susan it was all a big mix up, but it had been worked out. 

Susan came out of the back bedroom dressed in a pair of one inch sling backed low heeled shoes, dark brown panty hose, a comfortably fitting translucent beige bra, an attractive light brown button up blouse, V-necked lapel collar with ruffled short sleeves. She had on a light brown pleated min-skirt made of some soft frothy material that billowed around her thighs as she walked. The woman combed out her hair, and tied it off with a piece of ribbon in a pony tail at the back. 

The woman explained they were in a very bad neighborhood, and she shouldn't try to run away. Someone would be by soon with a car to pick her up. They were taking her out in the country to be dropped off. The choice of a country road was made by Susan's friends who preferred a rural drop off so no one would be followed. 

Susan found the woman coarse and not particularly well educated, but not at all objectionable. In fact she sort of liked her. Had they met under different circumstance Susan would have found her charming in that awkward way those raised with fewer advantages often unintentionally revealed. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 05



Susan didn't feel superior, but she was feeling perhaps more fortunate. This woman and she were no different excepting for a thin crust of cultural polish. It occurred to Susan had they gone out to eat Susan would know which forks to use. The other woman would know each fork had a role, but wouldn't know the particulars. It would have made her self conscious and maybe a little insecure, but she'd know the important things like common courtesy, personal warmth, and kindness. Susan reflected those were the things expensive private schools couldn't teach. Susan thought they could go to a nice restaurant, enjoy a good meal, have a pleasant conversation, even become friends, and not once use the right fork. There were other women with whom Susan was acquainted who knew what forks to use, but were boorish self-centered shits. 

Susan asked, "Are you going with me later?"

The woman answered, "Me? I doubt it."

"What will they do? Leave you here?"

"Probably, but don't worry. My boyfriend will pick me up."

Susan was feeling like she was off her oats. It wasn't just the harrowing experiences she'd been going through again. She found the nub of a pencil on the kitchen counter and a scrap of paper. She wrote down her office phone number, "Maybe you'd like to call me in a week or two."

The woman took the paper, "What for?"

Susan didn't have a good answer, "I don't know. Maybe we could go to lunch."

The woman looked at Susan quizzically, "Look you don't want to go to lunch with me. I'm ham and cheese. You're a Rueben."

Susan smiled, "No, you're a Rueben."

The woman put the scrap of paper away. They both heard a car pull up. The woman gave Susan a smile. "I think you're ride is here."

Susan got up, "Call me?"

The woman walked her over to the front door, "We'll see."

Susan was feeling awfully foolish and she didn't know why. She quickly leaned forward and kissed the woman on the cheek, "Don't forget to call."

The woman turned her and smiled, "Get out of here."

Susan walked down the sidewalk to the waiting car. She was thinking. Someone had been working on her behalf. She hoped she knew who it was.

The woman in the dirty house watched Susan walk down the sidewalk. She thought, with a little luck, maybe? She stopped herself. No. Fuck. It is what it is.

------------

Shawn rolled Ryan the thug out of the car onto the grass and drove away. A little later one of Oscar's children ran inside yelling there was a man in a bag on the lawn. Oscar ran outside and opened the bag. He recognized the man. Gave him the keys to one of his cars and ordered him to go to a bar down the street and wait. A little over an hour later Oscar showed up at the bar. It was still early in the morning, and the bar technically wasn't open yet, but Oscar had called the proprietor and they'd gotten Ryan inside.

Ryan had a tale to tell. He told Oscar how he'd been water-boarded. How the men had been so matter of fact about the whole thing, and how he had to plead for his life. Oscar was genuinely bored by the whole state of affairs. This was exactly what he figured. They're erstwhile renegade killer was using every technique, every gimmick imaginable to get his point across. He'd succeeded. Now he had to kill Ryan and the other two men who'd been at the house. What a waste.

What Oscar really needed to do was meet the man behind the message. He'd either have to kill him or come to some kind of an arrangement. If there was to be an arrangement it had to be something firm and final. If he had to have him killed, he knew he probably would have to clean out a swath of people. 

Neither alternative was very palatable. He considered the arrangement idea the better choice for a couple of reasons. For one there was the lawyer. As long as she was alive it probably kept his backsliding killer at bay. For some reason his apostate assassin wanted her safe. If her safety leashed him, then that was that. The only downside, and it was a big downside, was the bad precedent it set. Other organizations would see it as a sign of weakness. He could have a war on his hands because he let one gunman go. 

The other alternative wasn't real. He couldn't kill this guy, and for some good reasons. The one obvious reason was he knew too much. He had been able to burrow way deep inside the organization. How deep Oscar didn't really know, but he was in way too deep for Oscar's comfort. The second reason was just as disquieting. He was too damn clever. No one knew who he was, what he looked like, where he lived, and for the most part how he worked.

But Oscar had it figured out. He'd treat his renegade gunman like he'd treat a tough computer virus. If you can't destroy it outright, quarantine it. For a guarantee, an unequivocal guarantee of the lawyer's safety the gunman would have to promise to disappear, and disappear for good. If Oscar could get that, everything else would work out; to get that he'd insist on a face to face meeting. He wanted to see the man; the man who'd been to source of so much aggravation.

-----------

A day and a half after they'd delivered Ryan Shawn got a call on his cell phone. He chuckled as he sat across the big table from Kim, "So Ryan had been alert enough to remember to pass along the phone number."

Kim wasn't happy about what Shawn proposed to do, "Are you sure you want to meet with the guy?"

Shawn pushed his chair back and frowned, "The only way this can be worked out is with a face to face meeting with the one man who might be able to put a lid on this."

"You might be having a meeting with the man who plans on closing the lid of your coffin."

Shawn shrugged, "That's a possibility, but I'm betting he's not so sure of himself to make that big a decision."

Kim shook his head, "These people are animals. The best of them can't see their noses for their cheeks. He'll kill you and blame any fall out on the Bosa Nova."

"You're a creative kidder Kim. I think he'll take the money, try to negotiate, but in the end let me walk away."

Kim disagreed, "You said the key was in cutting off the head of the snake. This guy Oscar isn't the head. We already know that. We're not dealing with a snake. It's more like a hydra; a monster with many heads." Shawn started to interrupt but Kim held him off, "We're the snake with the single head. If they kill you we'll fall apart. You remember, the only thing that holds our happy little band together is you, "If you're." He blushed, "If you're gone, we all drift off."

"Kim." He answered, "If I'm gone and Susan's safe, and you're all financially secure, then my death is irrelevant."

Kim smacked his knuckles on the table, "You know that's not true. We're not like other people. You're the glue that holds our immediate community together, but the real connection is what we do when we're not here." Kim stopped talking and looked off in the distance, like he was gazing into some crystal ball, "You hear it don't you?" 

Shawn was listening. He knew what was coming next. 

Kim put his hands on the table and rocked back in his chair. "You hear it; the sounds of starving children their sad eyes and swollen bellies. You hear the women, breasts dried up with no more milk for their babies. You hear it, the pitiless sounds of gunfire as the warlord is herding some hapless family into a truck. You hear it, the rasping scrapes of primitive tools digging out another tiny grave. That's the connection Shawn. That's the glue that holds this little troop together." He got up, walked around the table and put his arms on Shawn's shoulders, "We're already overdue."

Shawn whispered, "Let me talk to this Oscar first."

Kim nodded, "Go ahead, but don't get killed." 

----------

Camulos insisted they meet at one of his houses in the suburbs. Shawn was to go alone, unarmed, and fully prepared to speak for himself and anyone else he was affiliated with. Shawn's car pulled in the driveway late; it was well past 11:00 p.m. on Thursday night. 

Two men stepped from the shadows. One opened Shawn's door, while the other offered to help him to the front door. Shawn declined their help and walked to the house unassisted. Once inside he was frisked and ushered into a back room, a library.

Oscar Camulos stood from behind the big mahogany desk that dominated the room. He stretched out a huge hand, "Good evening. My name is Oscar Camulos."

Shawn took his hand and shook it. Shawn's hand disappeared in the outstretched maw, "A pleasure to meet you sir."

Camulos responded, "I don't believe I got your name."

Shawn replied, "No you didn't. You wanted to make a deal?"

The giant commented, "Not a deal, a covenant."

"So speak." said Shawn.

"I want you and your associates out of my life, out of my world, out of my business."

Shawn sat still, "I have something for you; it's here in my pocket."

Camulos looked at Shawn's coat with reasoned alarm. He knew he'd been frisked. No one found anything, "Go ahead."

Shawn reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope, opening it he extracted a veritable mountain of cash. Leaving the envelope on the table he handed the money to Camulos, "There's $400,000.00 there. Add that to the money you were paid before you have received in the neighborhood of $570,000.00 for Susan Slattery's life."

Camulos was immediately taken aback. He knew about $50,000.00. There seemed to be an accounting error. Someone had been skimming. He'd get to that later. He eyed his opponent from across the table, "That's a lot of money for just one person."

Shawn answered, "That's all I can get. I'm all tapped out. If you want more you won't get any."

The crime boss reached over and took the pile of cash. "Then I guess it'll have to do. Rest assured Susan Slattery is safe now, and will be released shortly. No one on my end will ever bother her again."

Shawn leaned back, visibly relieved.

The crime boss leaned into the vacated space, "But that still leaves you. What are we going to do with you?"

Shawn knew this was coming. He had no more cards to play, and he half suspected the man across the table knew it. Shawn had planned for this; it was the gamble of a lifetime. He reflected on his childhood and adolescence. When he was young he was smaller than a lot of the boys. They'd try to push him around. He learned fast, when it came to fighting you didn't have to win, only be willing to fight. By the time he was seventeen the older bigger boys had learned to leave him alone. Not because they were afraid they couldn't take him, but because they knew he wasn't afraid of getting whipped. They learned Shawn McClellan could be beaten, but he wasn't afraid. Shawn might not be able to fight, but he had balls. That was the gamble. Did the man across the table respect a man with balls?

Shawn picked up the envelope again and reached inside it. He pulled out a bullet, and handed it to the man, "This is yours. Do what you want with it. Keep it as an insurance policy on my life. Or you could use it now. Kill me now. Kill me later, don't kill me. If you say Susan is safe, and I believe you when you say she is, then what happens to me no longer matters." 

The big man took the bullet. It went to a 44 caliber Smith and Wesson, a good weapon, "You really don't care do you."

Shawn stared him down, "I want Susan to be safe and happy."

Camulos stared right back, "I can't guarantee the happiness. I can guarantee she'll never be bothered by people like me again. That still doesn't solve your problem."

Shawn shifted in his chair but said nothing.

Camulos explained where things stood, "If I let you live then there will be those who'll think either you've got something on me or that I'm weak. If they think the first they'll be looking for you. If they think the second they'll put a tag out on me. If you die my problem is solved, if you live you have to disappear, and disappear forever. Honestly, I think I'd rather have you alive but some place way out of the way. Someplace where I'd know where you were and could get a hold of you if I needed someone. Face it. You're good, very good. You still might have some utility."

Shawn stopped him, "I'll never kill for somebody else again."

Camulos shut him up, "You don't know what you'll want to do some day. Can you promise me that's you'll completely disappear, but stay in touch?"

"Why?"

Camulos was getting frustrated, "I don't know why. Don't be an asshole. I'm offering you your life. You didn't kill the Slattery girl. What made you decide to let her live? I mean at first, that first day. Don't give me any bullshit. I'll tell you something. You don't know why, but on that day, that girl, got a reprieve. You decided and that was that. 

Shawn was mute. He thought about her on that first day. He remembered. He remembered there had been no confusion. He had just decided not to decide. He liked her, and that was all. A day or two later she was as safe as the Pope in the Vatican. It just happened.

Camulos got up, "What do you want. I need to know now."

Shawn looked up from his chair, "I want to live."

The man tossed the bullet back. "I'm picking up the woman in a little while. I know you won't mind if I meet the girl. She's been at the center of a lot of mischief. It's worth it to me to see someone worth so much money. When I'm through I'll call you and tell you where you can pick her up. After that you'll only have a few days; then you disappear."

Shawn was amazed at the decisiveness of the man. They shook hands. 

Camulos looked at Shawn, "A covenant."

Shawn looked him in the eye, "A covenant."

Two of Camulos's men walked Shawn back to his car. He got in, cell phone at the ready, and drove away.

Camulos stepped out on his back porch. He had another car waiting, a small Japanese model, an older used car, his personal favorite. He put it in gear, popped the clutch, and spun out. He traveled along at a steady rate till his phone rang. The woman had been cleaned up and was waiting at the house. 

It was a half hour drive to where Susan was. He got there and honked the horn. A woman stepped to the porch. Camulos in his vehicle blinked his lights. Another woman, presumably Susan Slattery walked to the car,

Susan opened the door, got in, and sat down. She looked over at the man. His was a truly fearsome appearance. He was larger than she first thought he'd be. His face bore the scars of a harsh probably brutal life. He looked cruel, cynical, and mean. He terrified her.

Camulos looked over at the young woman. He could understand how a man like the one he'd been talking to could be turned by someone like this. She had a fresh clean appearance, a look that conferred an aura of chaste innocence. He liked what she had on. He half wished he hadn't agreed to leave her unharmed. She was the type he liked to humiliate and degrade. It would have been fun raping her and then turning her over to some of the men. He would have enjoyed stripping her clothes, then her purity, and then selling her into a life of prostitution. He'd keep an eye on her. Maybe he could get at her in some other way. Wouldn't that be a joke on the fool who'd spent so much money to keep her alive? 

He had to keep those thoughts out of his mind for now. There was a time and place for everything. Every man, every woman had a price. He bet he could find out hers; right now though he had to turn her over to the fish. He looked over and grinned evilly, "I'm taking you to your hero."

Susan was afraid of this man. If there was ever anyone who looked dangerous it was him. She had thought Shawn was a monster, she believed the men who held her in that shit hole bedroom were monsters, but now she knew what a monster really looked like. This man was the devil incarnate. Looking at this man was like looking into the face of pure unalloyed evil. She didn't say anything. He terrified her into silence. 

As they drove along he made an attempt at small talk, "I've been wondering who you were, what you might look like."

She kept to herself.

He went on, "People said you were beautiful. They weren't lying."

She didn't say anything. When he used the word beautiful it sounded dirty.

He added, "For half the money he paid for you I'd break the deal and take you right here."

She squeezed back against the door. Her palms were sweaty. He was frightening her. She was perspiring under her clothes.

He smiled at her again. His smile wasn't lascivious or dirty like some typically foul mouth crud. His smile was pure malevolence. In her mind's eye she could see him hurting her. She cringed back further against the door. His face had a wolfish, no more a rat like appearance. 

He leaned back. He put his arm on the back of his seat. His hand hung from the seat loosely.

She grimaced at the sight of his hand dangling from the cuff of his shirt. His nails were neatly manicured, too neatly manicured. There were no calluses, no indications of ever having done any real work. They were big hands, but they had an elfin claw like look. She fantasized blood dripping from those hands, the blood of innocent people. 

She reflected on Shawn, her first kidnapper. His hands had frightened her too, but they had a manly well used look, the look of hands that had been in the sun, that had worked, hands that had been used to build not just destroy. This man's hands had longish talon like fingers. Those fingers had a rapacious look; like they were designed to tear the flesh, rip muscle from bone. 

Susan had never seen anyone with so many marks of evil, so many evil expressions. 

He spoke once more, "I wanted to see what a $470,000.00 woman looked like." He smiled that awful evil smile again. "You're not worth it."

She clung to the side of the car and rode along in silence.

He made no effort to talk again. After another twenty minutes or so they reached a side road. He made a turn, and then another. He looked over at her, "This is where you get out."

She didn't hesitate. She almost jumped from the car. She watched as he sped away. 

Susan wasn't sure how long she'd stood on the edge of that dusty dark side road. It was a cold evening. Her clothes weren't designed for this type of weather. She felt the damp air filter up between her legs. There was a cold breath of night air that made her nipples press against the soft material of the brassiere and the blouse. She felt so tired. Tears welled up in her eyes. 

It couldn't have been long, it just seemed that way. Down the lane she saw the headlights of another vehicle. She wondered who it was. She hoped it was someone sent to pick her up and take her home. She wanted to go home, lie down in her bed, pull the covers over her head and sleep forever. 

Susan wondered who her rescuer would be. It might be one of her employees, perhaps another lawyer, maybe it was a policeman. Anybody would be welcome after riding with that awful man. The car pulled closer. She recognized the driver was a man. He stopped the car, whoever it was leaned forward and pushed open the door. Susan looked inside. She gave a little gasp. It was Shawn!

Susan felt totally numb, lightheaded. Everything was a blur. Was she supposed to run or stand and fight? Someone spoke her name, "Susan get in the car."

She stepped back just a little. She felt herself crumpling to the ground.

Shawn was out of the car in an instant. He jumped the hood of the car, and caught her just as she was about to hit the ground. He whispered, "Susan come on. I'm here to take you home."

She couldn't seem to move. Her arms were like lead, legs like anchors. She felt trapped; somewhere between joy and fear, "Why you?" She asked. "Why are you here?"

He was cradling her head in his arms. His hands wiped loose strands of hair from her face. She looked so tired, so haggard, so utterly and completely exhausted, "Who else? Susan, Susan, answer me, who else was going to come?" 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 06



Shawn was a man whose life was a convoluted mess. After his time in the service he'd gotten mixed up with a syndicate connected murder for hire operation. He remembered thinking, hell he'd been rewarded for killing people while in the army, why not just keep doing the same thing for money after he got out. At first the money was good, and the thrills were indescribable, but it got cold fast. Some people were so piteous. It took a cold blooded personality to want to perpetually do the sort of things he was expected to do. He tried making a clean break, but found out fast one didn't just walk away from that kind of set up.

He managed to cut back on his personal operations, and even found an honest alternative working with international aid groups indirectly through the United Nations. However, he was still a paid murderer, and could never completely make the separation. He realized later his last assignment had been thrust upon him by fellow agents who had an interest in his removal. Maybe they thought he'd balk at killing Susan Slattery? They turned out to be correct. For reasons he still couldn't explain her assassination turned out to be one hurdle too many. 

He'd broken ranks. That was something one didn't do and live, but Susan was someone special. He didn't know where things were going. He'd wanted to guarantee her safety, and perhaps his own. It was a perilous set of circumstances. He considered, though he had finally extricated her, his future was still occluded. He realized even some low level moron hoping to ingratiate himself with higher ups could easily turn his life into a nightmare. 

Shawn drove the car as Susan lay curled beside him. He glanced down at her. He wondered if she was asleep, "Susan, you awake?

Susan sighed, "I guess so, why sort of."

"Just wondered," He heard another quiet sigh and asked, "You hungry?"

Susan sat up and wiped her right eye with her right hand, 'What time is it?"

Shawn checked the clock on the dashboard, "It's a little after 2:00 a.m."

Susan leaned her head against his arm and held it with her right hand, "Maybe a little breakfast."

He kissed the top of her head, "A Denny's might be open."

She took her right hand and dropped it to his lap. She traced the line of his zipper, and thought she found where his penis was. She pressed her head a little harder against his arm. She wondered why she touched him down there it was so out of character, "I like Bob Evans."

Shawn liked the idea that she was touching him where she was, "Denny's gives out unlimited pancakes."

Susan was feeling Shawn's penis. He was getting an erection. All she had to do was touch him and he got hard. It was neat to do. Susan had heard men often gave their things names. She thought that's what she would do if she were a man. She couldn't imagine walking around all her life just calling it a dick or a penis, "What do you call this thing?"

Shawn was taken by surprise, "Call what?"

"Don't be coy. You know what I mean." She couldn't believe she was asking him this.

"Why does my." He didn't want to call it a penis, "My thing as you call it have to have a name?"

Susan thought she was being smart. She kept tickling his thingy, "It does have a name doesn't it?"

Shawn was feeling a little silly and a tad defensive about the direction of the conversation. He wanted to get something to eat, "You want to go to Denny's?"

"First tell me what you call your thingy."

Shawn wanted to stop the penis talk, "My thingy doesn't have a name."

Susan had him and she knew it, "Yes it does. What's it's name?"

Shawn was willing to do almost anything to get off the subject. He felt self conscious talking about it with her. With any other woman he didn't think it would matter, but with her it did. "If I told you, would you stop the badgering?"

"Maybe." was all she said.

"Hermie."

"Hermie?"

"Hermie."

"How did it get a name like Hermie?"

Shawn had shared a childhood secret he'd almost completely forgotten. He hoped she wouldn't use it make fun of him, "When I was real little at one of the foster homes the people were very German. Herman is a German name. I was a little boy so the lady called my little boy thing 'Little Hermie'. Is that good enough for you?"

Susan decided to lay her head in his lap. She puffed at the lump in his pants, "So that's 'Little Hermie'. As far as secrets went that was the first real childhood secret he'd ever agreed to share. She could tell by the tone of his voice the admission probably opened doors he'd rather leave closed. She decided she wouldn't make fun of him. "Bob Evans has better fried eggs."

Shawn felt his pants tighten and readjusted the way he was sitting. What with the admission about the name his 'thing' had been given he was feeling a little discomfited. He was glad she went back to the food, "Denny's has better omelets."

Susan kept rubbing his pants. 

'Hermie' she thought. She took her fingers and unzipped his trousers so she could get a better feel, "Who has the better sausage gravy?"

Shawn took his left hand, reached beside the seat, and pressed the lever that moved the seat further back. "OK, I'll try to find a Bob Evans," He was having trouble concentrating on his driving. 

Susan searched around through his boxer shorts until she found what she was looking for. She pulled it free of the cotton material and let it stand upright in front of her face. With her lying sideways it looked like a little tower. She wondered how big she could make it get. She took the fingertips of her hand and stroked up and down, "Did you ever see that Steve Martin movie called Parenthood?"

Shawn had seen that movie and had enjoyed it. He remembered the scene he thought she might be referring to. It was the scene where Mary Steenbergen leaned down to give Steve Martin a B.J. because her sister said that's what she did when she thought her husband was feeling tense when he was driving. He remembered the movie; Steve Martin had gotten so excited he'd had an accident. Shawn understood how easily that could happen. He knew he certainly wasn't feeling very relaxed, "Yes I remember that movie, enjoyed it too."

Susan did something she'd never done before. She licked a man's thing. She'd just leaned forward a little bit and licked up the side of Shawn's machine. It tasted salty, and it smelled. She was glad she wasn't a prostitute. This kind of smell and taste would never do. She took her tongue and touched the head of his thing. It jumped up and got bigger, "I have a surprise for you." 

Shawn felt a little silly, "I like it."

Susan took his thing in her fingers and wiggled it back and forth in front of her face, "Not this."

Shawn was a nervous wreck. He hadn't done anything since that day when he had her all tied up. He was a volcano waiting to erupt; a veritable Vesuvius he thought, ready to engulf the poor unsuspecting people of Pompeii. God this felt good. He started to squirm, "If not this then what?"

Susan took her tongue and licked the top of his thing again. She wondered what she should say next, "It's something really special."

For Shawn the something special was happening right then. If she didn't stop what she was doing she was going to get a big surprise too. It was all he could to keep the car on the road and not leap out of his seat, "Don't keep me in suspense any longer." 

OK she thought. He's got to find out some time, "We're having a baby."

Shawn went ballistic! It was like there were these simultaneous explosions. He saw a Bob Evans sign. He lost control of the car. He ejaculated. 

He swerved the car, and nearly ran off the shoulder into a ditch. 

It was too late for Hermie. He ejaculated all over her face. He didn't mean to, but he sure did. Nearly five months worth of semen came gushing up and out. She tried to back off, but it was just a little too late. He jumped and thrashed in his seat, "Oh God! That felt good! Oh no!" 

He'd made a mess all over her face and her blouse. He felt terrific and awful at the same time.

Susan jumped up, "You bastard!"

"I'm sorry Susan. It was an accident honest." He was all flustered, "No I don't mean it was an accident, I mean I just didn't expect what I heard." He wasn't handling this well, "The thing you said wasn't an accident, and what I just did wasn't an accident either, but I don't think either one was actually planned the way it came out." That didn't sound right.

Susan was sitting up with sperm all over her face, her hands, and down the front of her blouse. Her first reaction was to be pissed off, but that wasn't being fair, "Oh this shit tastes and smells like comet cleanser." 

Using her fingertips she was trying to hold her blouse away from from her skin, "It's all gooey. I hate this Yuk! Pull over to the side of the road I'm going to be sick."

Shawn dutifully pulled to the side of the road.

Susan leaned out her side of the car, but she wasn't really sick. She just had to say something to get him to stop and turn on some lights. With the door open she saw how bad it was, "This is terrible. I can't go anywhere now. I've got this gooey smelly stuff all over me. Look at me."

He was looking at her. Gooey smelly stuff aside he thought she looked beautiful. He already had his shirt off, "Look, take off your blouse and wipe your face and hands. I don't have any Kleenex, napkins, or anything. You can use your blouse to wipe with, and here." He'd slipped his Tee-shirt off, "It's a little large, but you won't have to wear that sticky blouse. 

He gave her his sincerest look, I'm sorry Susan, but what you said really was a surprise."

Susan did the best she could to get the gunk off her face. Some of it had gotten in her hair. She really hated that, but her bra didn't seem to have anything on it. She took his too large Tee-shirt and pulled it over her head. Yes it was certainly too large, and she felt clammy from where his underarms must have been sweating. That mollified her a little bit. She bet she was the cause of that, "Thank you for the shirt, but I can't go into a restaurant with this on."

Shawn smiled, "Don't worry its closed anyway." He had the car safely on the side of the road, "So tell me about the big surprise again."

Susan leaned back on her seat. She didn't try to touch him this time. "Well you remember the day you raped me?"

How could he forget? It had turned out to be just about the biggest day of his life, "No what happened?"

She swung around and punched him hard in the arm, "You bastard. I remember now what a sarcastic son of a bitch you really are."

He leaned forward, grabbed her arms and pulled her over close so she couldn't hit him again, "I'm sorry, but that was too good a line to let pass. Of course, I remember everything, every second, every touch, and every comment. Is that when it happened?"

Susan wasn't one bit appeased, "Can you name any other times you took advantage of me?"

He was squeezing her really close and feeling terribly sorry but really affectionate too. She'd been through one hell of a lot more than any woman; scratch that, any person deserved. She needed understanding not sarcasm, "What I suppose I should marry you now." He laughed. He had to say it.

To his chagrin he'd relaxed his hold. She plowed a good one right in his stomach, "Me! Marry you? What, I'm supposed to remember how I got raped and how you threatened me with dismemberment the rest of my life?"

Shawn gulped. He had to clear the dismemberment thing up, "About the body modification thing. I only said that to scare you. I would never have allowed anything like that. I would never have let anyone touch you in the ways I said. By the time I told you that story I'd already made up my mind about you."

Susan was leaning back again. She took her left hand and touched his right arm, "Tell me Shawn what you had already decided? And why did you tell me those awful things?"

Shawn turned so that he was facing her. God she was so pretty. She was so sweet. She was going to be a terrific mother he just knew it, "I told you those things to scare you so much you'd be afraid to run away." She started to say something but he held up his hand, "Wait, just wait. I goofed. I know a lot about women in some ways, like how to scare them I guess, but I'm stupid in other ways like in how to get them to not want to leave." He wasn't making any sense, "I'm not making any sense. Maybe if I explained the other thing first. I had decided not to hurt you. I mean I'd already hurt you by kidnapping you and then by taking advantage of you, but I wasn't going to hurt you anymore. I mean I wasn't going to let you go, and that was bad, but I wasn't letting you go because I knew they'd want to do something bad to you. 

She interrupted. She thought she understood, but she wanted him to explain it better, "You're not making any sense."

He tried again, "Susan I got started in life on the wrong track. I did bad things to people, but pretty soon I tried to stop. I started doing other things to compensate for the bad things. That's how I got involved in the hunger projects. I'm good at languages, and they needed people. I'd had brains enough to keep my identity secret from the syndicate so they couldn't easily track me down, but if they wanted to they could have found me. So I was stuck doing bad things for money, but doing what I think were good things almost for free. 

Then you came along. You were the most innocent victim I'd ever seen. You pranced around that courtroom like a little girl." He paused, "Don't get me wrong. You were a bad son of a bitch, but the guy you nailed, he'd had his chances. Well I decided I didn't want to hurt you. Then when I got you home, you took it. I mean you held it in; you didn't collapse or panic until I really scared you. Then when you did panic you were brave. Braver than a lot of people I've seen. When you were down in that ditch, beaten, worn out, dirty, exhausted, but still fighting, I was proud of you. I mean really proud of you!" 

He had to slow down. He was getting emotional, "I don't know what love is. Does anyone? But I knew then I wanted to keep you in my life. Does that make any sense?"

Susan only nodded. She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

He went on, "Then you made up your mind to skip out. You hated me, and rightfully so. I knew then, if I couldn't have you, I could try to protect you. I know there are some men who'd want to kill you if they couldn't have you, but not me. I wanted to fix things. You know, make it right." 

He knew he was running out of ways to say what he meant, "Look I tried. See. I bought them off. That didn't work. So I bought them off again. That's where it stands now. If that doesn't say anything about me then that's OK. You see you're free now. You don't need me. You don't need anybody. Not now. Not ever. You go on and have a good life. Find a good guy and marry him. Raise the child inside you with the right kind of guy. You don't need somebody like me. I'm just the trash somebody forgot to throw out when he was a kid. Get yourself a real guy."

Susan was in way over her head and she knew it; so many different and emotions kept swirling around inside. This was the guy she wanted. He had such low self esteem, but he had turned out to be a real hero, her hero. She hoped she never found out the other things he'd done. She only knew what she'd found out herself and what the detectives had told her. She needed a respite, "Look let's go feed Tom. There's still a lot we need to." She stopped, "Do you believe in angels?"

He didn't hesitate, "I'm sitting next to one."

"Come on." She said, "Let's go take care of Tom."

Shawn restarted the car. They drove on into the night.

As a last gestured Shawn offered, "I guess breakfast on the road is out."

Susan answered, "Very astute Einstein. You have a firm grasp of the obvious."

He grinned. It was a kind of self conscious grin, born of insecurity. Insecurity about himself, what he had to do, what he wanted to do, what he wanted her to do, and what he was afraid she would actually do. He put his arm around her as they drove on. At least he had right now. It was the moment; the moment was all that mattered. Tomorrow things would be different, things would change. 

He didn't want to think about tomorrow. The sun was his enemy. When the sun came up there were decisions to be made, plans to be acted on, promises, even promises to a creature like Camulos, which had to be kept.

As they drove Susan drifted in and out of sleep; she wanted to stay awake to talk, but was having trouble staying alert. For the past several days she'd been barely able to do anything but be afraid, "I've been really afraid."

He squeezed her closer, "You've been through a lot."

"You'd never hurt me." That was a stupid thing to say. He wasn't going to hurt her. She knew that.

"Susan I will never hurt you. Well I mean I might hurt you, but not on purpose. We all do and say things we're sorry for as soon as we say them, but I'm not going to, well you know."

She had to get away from that topic, "Did you really spend all that money?"

"When you find someone you care about. I mean really care about. Money doesn't matter."

She understood that. She understood him, but she wasn't sure what he intended to do. She thought there had to be a way to make any decisions he had to make easier, "I'm rich. My family's quite rich. I can pay you back."

The last thing he wanted to talk about was money. "I don't want your money. Let's not get into that."

Susan wasn't real sure what he meant, "Into what, into the idea that I'd like to pay you back?"

Shawn was getting mad, maybe a little fidgety. He didn't want to be paid back. Being paid cheapened everything he'd done. She needed to understand money was the last thing he wanted, "You can't pay me back. There's no discussion on that. Hear me, no discussion."

Susan wanted more, "Well I can't let you walk away without something. I mean. I feel obligated to do something."

Shawn knew what he wanted. He knew what his feelings were, but he couldn't articulate them. It wasn't gratitude he wanted, "Like I said, you don't owe me or anybody anything, except maybe the baby. You owe the baby a decent chance, a good home, a life." 

He wanted to tell her what he wanted the baby to have; attention, time and attention, not things, not toys, not expensive private schools, but a real home, with a real mom and real dad, people who would talk and listen and for someone to be there when they needed help or were lonely or scared. 

But most of all he wanted to be there. He wanted to be there for Susan and for the baby. That's what he couldn't say, for if he said that she'd feel obligated. She'd said she loved him sure, but that was right after her rescue, that was a relief thing. If she loved him, really loved him, and wanted him in her life it had to be more than some thank goodness that's over and oh yeah you too. 

Susan heard him, and thought she understood, but she wanted things for him. Did he understand what she wanted, "But what about you?"

Shawn was dead tired, "Hey let's go back to your apartment, feed the cat, get some sleep, and talk things through tomorrow."

Susan couldn't have agreed more. She was dead dog tired, "I'm going to rest my head on your shoulder, that OK?"

Shawn did better, "Here, you can lay your head on my lap, just don't touch anything."

She dropped her head down on his sticky trousers. She didn't mind. She was too tired to care.

They drove on into the early morning. She fell asleep while he drove. He watched the sky turn to a cold gray, then saw the sun peak through the shadows. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day; a beautiful day for a lot of people. He wondered how it would work out for the two of them. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 06



They reached Susan's apartment a little after 7:00 a.m. Incredibly after all the maneuvering no one had touched her purse. Her keys, credit cards, and other personal information hadn't been tampered with or filched. Susan opened her front door and the two of them walked in. 

It was the first time Shawn had been to her apartment. He'd been aware of it; even had men empty it and then reload it, but he had never actually been there. His first impression was how small it turned out to be. He'd have thought a high powered attorney would have had something more sumptuous. 

Her place was downright austere. There was a television, but no cable or satellite hook ups. The kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom were all small, and sparsely accoutered. The living room looked nice, but he could tell right away the furniture was more bargain basement than Macy's. The bedroom only had a twin bed. Imagine a rich super star like her sleeping in a tiny twin bed. He wondered what she might have been thinking when she picked a place like this, and then stocked with so much obviously low quality stuff. 

Shawn looked over at her, "This isn't exactly what I expected." 

Susan gave him a look he couldn't interpret. Then she answered almost defensively, "I know it's cheap, but I like it."

Shawn didn't offer much in the way of comfort, "Yeah it looks pretty dowdy. Not what I expected."

"You don't have to stay you know."

He got defensive, "I want to stay."

She got worse, "You can go anytime. I'll be fine now."

He wasn't leaving over a disagreement about the size of an apartment, and he certainly wasn't going to let her feel like he was some kind of superficial smart ass, "Where's the damn cat?"

Susan forgot the exchange about her scant dwelling and started calling, "Tom, Tom here kitty, here kitty." No cat emerged.

Shawn gave it a try, "Hey Tom." Then he immediately stopped. Not expecting the cat to respond to him anyway, he used a deep voice. He'd heard cats liked that soft little sing song sound of a woman's tone. He decided to use a deeper voice. The cat wouldn't come. Then in a minute it would come for her. It would make her happy, and deflect any anger she had toward him. 

Loud and deep he almost hollered, "Here kitty, here kitty, here kitty." Almost instantly the cat was out from under the bed and running toward him. He reached down and picked the little bastard up. The son of a bitch was already purring. Even the shit cat was against him.

That, of course, thoroughly pissed Susan off, "You can leave now."

Shawn was feeling tired and feisty, "What if I don't want to?"

Susan, arms akimbo, almost spitefully answered, "You can sleep on the couch then."

Shawn saw she was worn to a frazzle. He couldn't leave her, and didn't want to anyway, "No, I'm sleeping on that shitty little youth bed you've got. You can sleep on the couch. I'm sleeping in the bedroom."

Susan, sticky hair, over sized Tee-shirt, bags large enough to cart home a full grocery list hanging under her eyes sat down on the sofa and started to sob. She fell on the sofa sideways, curled her legs up and started to cry. She started whimpering through they tears, "I'm so sad. I feel awful. I wish I was dead."

Shawn didn't need a second invitation. This was a young woman who'd finally gone over the edge. He felt so sorry. Looking at her, all he saw was a lonely little girl. She needed some TLC, and lots of it. Putting Tom down he sped over and scooped her up, "I know what you need. You need a nice hot bath, then a massage, and then a nice warm bed."

She was crying, and offered no resistance. 

He carried her to the bathroom and turned on the spigot that filled the tub. Surprisingly, the tub was a lot larger than he thought an apartment like this would have. While the tub filled he undressed her. While he undressed her he kissed her. He kissed her cheeks, her neck, her throat, her shoulders and arms. He avoided her breasts or any other of her other more personal body parts. This wasn't about that sort of thing. This was about a lot of other things. He wanted to show her he cared about her, not her as a sexual being, but as a human being. He wanted to show her the sincerity of his feelings. 

He got her in the tub and dropped in a couple older used bars of soap. While he let one soften and discolor the water, he took the other and started washing her down. He got her hair, and though it was just soap he used it to clean all the spunk and other accumulated dirt away. He took his fingers and washed her face and upper body. He had to wash her breasts, and enjoyed doing it. They were soft and supple, well shaped, and real. He remembered liking them the first time he saw them. He took care to clean her all over, but gently, not sexually, not clinically either, but in a caring, and he hoped what she would think an honest loving manner. He noticed one thing for sure. She was letting him do it. 

He got her all cleaned and toweled her off, "Wait here. I'm going to find you some pajamas." He looked in her small bedroom bureau and found a little nightie. He brought it back in and slipped it over her head. It was a simple white semi-transparent linen piece. 

He took a brush and made several slow sweeps through her hair, working it dry with a towel at the same time. 

All dried, pajama clad, and ready for bed he carried her into the bedroom, laid her down, pulled down the sheets and tucked her in. She was still awake, but completely passive. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, "There you go." He said.

She looked up at him, eyes watering, the saddest damn expression he'd seen in years, and he'd seen some sadness, "Will you be here when I wake up?"

"I'll be here." He answered.

After Shawn got Susan safely in bed he decided to take a bath too. Walking in the bathroom he tested the water Susan had just used. It was still warm. He dropped his pants, pulled off his boxers, shoes, socks, and yanked himself out of his shirt. He plopped down in the same water she'd been in. 

It didn't bother him that it was used water. He'd been in parts of the world where he'd be happy to be the fourth or fifth person in the tub. That was as long as no one had anything contagious. He didn't think Susan was contagious. 

He enjoyed immersing himself in the water she'd used. It was only soap, but it was her soap, and her smell. There might have been a little left over spunk, but he didn't care about that. Yeah, he thought, he was stupid, but he couldn't imagine a cleaner tub full of water than the dirty water Susan used. 

He got out, dried off, and hit the sofa; naked, tired, but happy, incredibly happy. He found a comforter and curled up. 

It might only be for a few days before he had to leave, but he wanted them to be with her. He made a vow. He was going to make her happy. He was going to marry that girl, and make lots of beautiful little babies. They'd have lots of little girls. They'd dress them up, take them out, and show them off. One was already on the way. 

But what if they had boys? He smiled to himself, then he'd play catch, take them to ball games, enroll them in little league, and he'd go to every game. He remembered that one man, the one who'd left the room and gone out in the back yard when the state people had come. That was the man who'd enrolled him in little league. That was how he got his scar. It took him years to figure out why that man didn't stay in the house; he knew now it wasn't because he was bored or didn't care. Yeah Shawn thought, little boys would be good too; Susan's little boys. He drifted off to sleep.

Two people went to sleep; Shawn in the living room on a dingy little sofa, Susan in a tired old youth bed. For a few hours the future could be put on hold. Decisions didn't have to be made, but life was closing in. The clock was ticking.

Susan awakened the next morning in her very own bed. She remembered Shawn had tucked her in. She wondered if he was still there. She guessed he was because he said he'd stay. There was something about that man. When he said something he meant it. He'd be there. She lolled around a little. He had commented on the size of her bed. She wondered if he knew how close to the truth he'd been. This had been the bed she'd slept when she was a girl. If he'd looked in her bureau he would have found her Teddy. She was sure it was childish to some people, but she was the sentimental type when it came to some things. Silly yes, sentimental certainly, but that was a lot of who she was. 

But what about Shawn; what was she going to do about him? He was one tough hombre; a dangerous man, but he'd been good to her. He hadn't started out good; in fact he'd scared her. He wasn't real handsome, nothing to write home about. Yet he had this way about him. He wasn't charming or particularly personable like so many of the slick ones she worked with. Still, he had a way about him, a natural sort of specialness. 

He could be a sarcastic bastard, but she was sure that was more a function of low self esteem. She was convinced he could be recast to be more amenable; kind of like a beauty and the beast thing. In fact, getting him to be more mannerly could be fun.

She knew she was in love with him. She sure knew she liked kissing him, and she liked playing with his thingy, his Hermie. That was a silly notion, but his thing didn't bother her. It was kind of cute in an odd awkward sort of way.

She knew deep down he'd be a great father and a good husband. She also knew he had a lot of baggage. He was dangerous. He really was. Did she want love, passion, and that special something he had, or did she want security. Security had its advantages too; a good stable man, a career like hers, no surprises, and no outside problems. 

Shawn was everything and he was nothing. He fit all the first criteria, and she loved him, but Shawn would never be safe. She knew she sure loved him, but if he were killed tomorrow, a real possibility, then she'd be alone. If she found someone who was a good worker, a loyal husband, a decent lover, and offered security, even if there wasn't any excitement, then she'd probably be set for life. 

Susan reflected on the movie they'd watched with Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood. Did she want the bells and whistles or did she want safety and stability. God she thought, she really loved Shawn, but was he worth the risk. She'd been hassled enough already, enough for a lifetime. Did she want to go through the crap she'd already gone through all over again? With Shawn she bet there would be no guarantees. 

There would be no guarantees with any other man, but the odds were against Shawn. Still, there was the love thing. Love kept getting in the way. He loved her. He made that absolutely clear the night before. She hadn't heard such sincerity. She loved him. Oh how she loved him, but there was somebody else to think of too. Somebody was growing inside her. They were entitled to love and security. But it was Shawn's baby. She knew he'd love their baby, but he couldn't love the baby if he were dead. 

Susan decided. Whatever happened, the baby came first. If she thought there was a chance with Shawn she'd go for it, but if the odds were too long, then she'd have to take a pass. Sure she loved him. He loved her, but the baby had to come first. Now how did she convey that message to him?

Susan got up and went to the bathroom, performed her morning duties, wiped off, brushed her pearly whites, and went back to the bedroom to find something to wear. She settled on a simple white bra and panty set, a pair of black jeans, tennis shoes with black socks and a long sleeved white V-neck blouse. Using two rubber bands she tied her hair off in two tight little pig tails. She wanted to look petty, but not especially provocative. This could be, after all, a decisive morning. She quietly slipped into the living room.

For once she thought she'd gotten up and found him asleep. All she could remember from earlier occasions was waking up and finding notes. She knelt down beside him and softly breathed on his face. She did it once and he moved slightly. She breathed on his face again. He took his hand and thrashed like he was swatting a fly. She breathed on his face again. He opened one eye. He didn't move. He didn't say anything. She leaned forward and with her fingers pinched his nose. 

Shawn smiled at her. He took his right hand and placed it on her neck, "I wasn't sure. Was I waking up, or was I in Heaven. Now I find its both." He sat up on his left arm, leaned forward to kiss her, but she backed away.

Susan knelt back on her heels, "I'm hungry."

He was up and sitting on the side of the bed. Quickly, before she could react he scooped her up and had her on his lap, "My God you're beautiful. He spun around so she was lying flat on the sofa and he was kneeling beside her. He leaned down and kissed her fulsomely on the lips. He trapped her head between his hands, and kissed her again. He nuzzled his face against her neck. He climbed on the sofa beside her. He figured he had morning mouth but didn't care. This was too good to be true. He pulled her as close as he could. He got his left arm under her head, and with his right arm pressed the small of her back so she was even closer. He kissed her again.

Susan was taken by surprise. He moved so quickly. Suddenly she was on her back and he was next to her. He kissed her. It felt so good to be kissed by someone she loved. She kissed him right back. He didn't have anything on, and his body felt solid and strong against hers. She got her right hand around his head and returned every kiss with a kiss of her own. She rubbed her hand up and down his back. She inched backward a little and pulled him as she did so that he'd be further on the sofa.

Shawn took his right hand and started unbuttoning her blouse. 

Susan slid her feet out of her tennis shoes, and tried to slide her socks off.

Shawn had her blouse opened and was fiddling with the hasp of her bra which very inconveniently was behind her back.

Susan pushed his hand away and wriggled down the sofa so that her face was staring at his thing. It was just starting to get hard, and it looked kind of small. She wanted to do some more of what she had done the night before. It was kind of exciting watching the little fellow as it got bigger. 

She pushed his hands away and kissed the head of his cute little whacker. She watched as it got bigger. It fascinated her to watch it grow so big so fast. She licked all around it. The night before it had been stinky and salty; this morning it smelled like soap. She took the head of his thing and put it in her mouth. What was she thinking? She'd never done anything like this before. She swirled her tongue around the tip while it was still in her mouth. She kind of thought of Shawn's penis as a little soldier, and she could make stand at attention just by touching it. 

Shawn was having a tough time controlling himself. If she didn't stop he'd make another mess, and he didn't want to do that. He manhandled her back up the sofa so they were face to face. He kissed her again. Then he took his turn. He slipped down so he was facing her puss. He took his tongue and traced the outline of her labia. He licked up the middle between her pussy lips till he reached her clitoris. He took her clitoris in his mouth and gently sucked it out. She was already wet, and he could feel her heat. He kept nibbling on her.

Susan tried to pull him back up, but he refused to move. He kept pestering her vagina with his tongue and mouth. Finally she gave up, rolled completely over on her back, and wrapped her legs around his head. She felt him slathering all over her pussy. He had her whole puss in his mouth. She didn't feel any teeth but it was like he trying to bite her pussy right off. It was incredible.

Shawn enjoyed making Susan feel this way. She was squirming under him. Her labia were swollen, and her clitoris was engorged. He kept sucking, nibbling, and gently biting. 

Susan was totally traumatized. He had her in his clutches and wouldn't let go. She kept squirming and twisting trying to get free, but he wouldn't let her go. She was helpless. He was driving her wild. She felt increasingly sensitive. She wiggled and squiggled, but to no avail. Out of control she started to buck and grind. 

He was making her orgasm with his mouth and tongue. This had never happened to her before. It was totally unreal. He had his arms wrapped around her lower body, pressing her waist tightly, while his mouth and tongue were alternately inside and outside her pussy. She was completely out of control, "Shawn stop it! Stop it now it doesn't feel good anymore."

He heard her, but knew the truth. She'd climaxed and now it was all too sensitive. If he didn't stop he knew it would start to hurt. He leaned back and slowly climbed up on top.

Thankful he'd finally released her, she clutched his head as he climbed up, but her relief was temporary. Once he was back on top he slowly started to rub his member up against her vagina. His hot penis rubbing her labia was even more sensational than his mouth, tongue, and lips. She felt him slowly slide up against and then inside her.

Back on top Shawn took his hands and started rubbing and caressing her neck, shoulders, and breasts. How he loved the feel of her warm body. She was so delicate, soft, and cuddly. He maneuvered his penis against her vagina and started sliding up and down the seam between her labial lips. He felt how full, hot and big they were. It excited him.

Susan felt the friction as Shawn started penetrating her vaginal cavity. He was so big and hard. It felt so good. He was filling her up. Then he started sliding in and out. She tried to match his movements with her body. It was impossible. He moved much too slowly. She wanted to buck and ride.

Gradually they managed to match movements. He moved more quickly in and out, up and down, while she pressed and retreated. She was so wet, but he was so large. There was plenty of flesh against flesh. The friction of their two organs was causing cataclysmic emotional and biological overload. The friction, the heat, the pressure, the movement, the total presence of their two bodies pressing and touching was overwhelming. 

Both Shawn and Susan reached climactic organisms almost simultaneously. 

Shawn's was delayed by ever so few seconds, but as he felt her juices ejaculate inside he was completely out of control. He smashed in as hard as he could, and didn't release for several seconds as his semen rushed up inside her. Even as his last drops left his penis he kept the pressure high and tight. He just couldn't give it up. He used his right hand and arm to keep her lower body pressed tightly against him even after he finished. He felt so good being inside her. He felt so totally and completely satiated, he just couldn't let the moment pass. 

Susan lay beneath him pressing her body up against his. She wanted him to stay inside her forever. He was so hot, big, and it felt so wonderful. Her whole body was wracked by sensations of heat and nervous quivering. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and wouldn't let go.

They lay there together, wrapped in each others arms, neither willing to let the other go. Though he tried to will it to stay hard, his manhood slowly began to recede. He wanted to treasure this moment forever. It was as though he'd never been with another woman before in his life. Until this morning he'd been a virgin. Now he knew and understood how love and sex could be one and the same. 

He knew in his heart of hearts, down in his innermost being, there could never be another woman. There was Susan, Susan Slattery, Susan the lawyer, the lawyer he didn't kill. Now he knew why. 

He was fantasizing, he knew that. But the poets said for each man there was somewhere someplace that one and only woman. For each man and woman there was that one special person. He'd found his. She was lying beneath him. His mind, his heart, his soul, his total being knew he could never let her go. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 06



There were other women sure. He and Susan might be separated, they might never be together again, and she might even leave him. It didn't matter, for him there was only her. To be with any other woman would be like masturbating. 

Susan hugged Shawn to herself as tightly as she could. She kept thinking about Humphrey Bogart. How did he get into her mental conversation? What had he said, 'In all the gin joints in all the world she, in this case he, had to come back into hers?" Here she was, from among all the men in the world, this was the one who had to come into her life. This was the one. Here he was. This one, Shawn, he was the one. She started to cry.

Shawn took her chin and lifted her face, "Why are you crying?"

She answered, "You don't know?"

He was utterly and totally without a clue, "This is the happiest moment of my life, and you're crying."

She was crying full steam now, "It's the happiest moment of my life too. That's why I'm crying" The tears came out in a torrent. She reached up with her hands and pulled his face down to kiss him, "I'm in love with you, you shit bird."

He hugged her and kissed her face. He kissed the tears out of her eyes and off her cheeks. He squeezed her breath away. He held, caressed, cuddled, cooed, and whispered over and over, "I love you, I love you, I love you." He kept uncontrollably whispering her name again and again and again, "Susan, Susan, Susan." It was as though every part of his body that wasn't directly touching her was jealous of the parts that were. 

They lay there side by side in each others arms for fifteen, twenty, maybe thirty minutes. Slowly they both felt it; a resurrection. He was getting hard again. They hugged and squeezed, and kissed and cuddled, and cooed, and did it all over again. Then they both fell asleep.

Sometime later, perhaps it was an hour maybe two they both started to wake up. Shawn smiled at her, and she smiled back.

He looked at her and grinned, "Is it too late for pancakes?"

She smiled back, "With you, never"

They both got up and got dressed. She found a different blouse, a dark blue one this time. Shawn was stuck with the same clothes he'd been wearing the night before. They both agreed a trip to a department store was their first order of business. Get Shawn re-attired, and then off to a Bob Evans.

They spent the rest of the day shopping, eating, and just wandering from mall to mall looking in windows and talking. Mostly they talked about nonsense. They talked about their favorite movies, favorite movie stars, best television shows, special childhood memories, favorite foods. They drove around and looked at houses. They talked about silly things like carpeting, furniture, china, silverware, weddings, honeymoons, names for children, and all sorts of really dumb things that two people deeply in love thought were important. 

Later that evening they went back to Susan's apartment and made love again. They showered together and went out to eat. They both agreed, since this was like they're first real dinner as a couple they'd pick a place where they could each get a favorite dish. It was a wonderful sensation to realize neither had pretentious tastes. They settled on an Italian eatery, an Olive Garden. Shawn ordered lasagna. Susan got shrimp scampi. They got a third plate and split their meals. They both drank red wine. They got cannoli, and ate every one. Then when they were finished they went back home to Susan's and made love again.

The next two days were a whirlwind of shopping trips, mall adventures, long rides in the country, short hikes in the parks, visits to tourist sites, making love, and just being totally completely, and absolutely happy. 

It had to end though. They both knew it would. On the after noon of the third day they stopped at a ticket outlet and Shawn bought a one way ticket to New York It would be there where he'd meet up with the group he was with that was bound for somewhere outside the country. 

Shawn knew where he was headed, but refused to tell Susan. He explained if she didn't know she wouldn't worry. She disagreed; her argument being she'd worry about everything everywhere. Shawn wouldn't budge. He had an underlying fear Camulos and his ilk might try something, and if Susan didn't know they couldn't hurt her. 

On that evening of their third day Susan and Shawn agreed to go shopping one more time. They didn't want to overdo things so they chose a nice neighborhood mall. The plan was to split up for an hour or so to have some separate time to buy each other two gifts. They agreed to get one gift to share that night, and another gift that each would agree to open after they said good bye at the airport in the morning.

They both shopped and met at the food section where they each got a piece of pizza. They deferred going home as long as they could. They went to a movie, and then went to a second later movie. Neither talked very much; the drama they chose was sad, and the comedy they watched wasn't very funny. They went home to Susan's and made love one more time. Comparatively speaking it would have been more fun to have gone to a viewing at a funeral parlor. 

The next morning they got up and exchanged gifts. Neither felt very sexy. Susan bought Shawn a new Timex watch with his and her names engraved on the back. She remembered the clerk at the counter was a little surprised at the idea of an engraved $20.00 watch. 

He gave Susan a music box. It was a poor choice; the song it played was 'Playmate'. He didn't have much contact with that stiff when he was a kid, and had no idea there was a melancholy aspect to the lyrics. When Susan sang the lyrics for him he'd wished he'd chosen something else.

They drove to the airport in silence. He went to the desk, got his ticket and together they waited. They both had a coffee, but neither had much to say. Then Shawn broke the silence, "I'm afraid I'm leaving you with a terrible problem." 

Susan responded, "I'm going to miss you. I won't know what to do."

"That's not what I mean." 

Susan looked perplexed, "What else could there be?"

Shawn took her two hands in his, "You've been taken against your will two times. The first time was short, and I was able to patch together something that made your disappearance plausible. This time it's different. There were video cameras in the basement garage. Your name was splashed all over the television, the newspapers, and the Internet. Now you'll be showing up again. There will be no plausible explanation for your disappearance and reappearance."

Susan looked into his eyes, "People will think it was a hoax, a stunt, a publicity stunt."

Shawn answered, "I think so. You're young, beautiful. The tabloids will use you. You'll be another Brittany Spears and another Lindsay Lohan."

"My career could be ruined."

"You'll be made to look like a fool."

"What am I going to do Shawn?"

Shawn pulled her into his arms, "I don't know. I haven't figured that one out." He cupped her head in his hands, "I'm going to be out of the country but not necessarily out of your life. I want you to go back to work. When the police come to see you tell the truth. Don't leave out anything. Tell the police everything. Use my name if you're asked."

Susan leaned back, "If I use your name you'll be in trouble."

Shawn told her, "I'm already in trouble. You just tell the truth. Tell everything you know. Kidnapping's a Federal crime; the FBI will be involved. There's an agent. Mark Miller. When the FBI comes ask to speak to him, if I know my Mounties, he'll take everything you say very seriously."

Susan asked, "You know this Mark Miller?"

Shawn hesitated, "I know who he is."

Susan looked off at the sky through the big glass windows of the airport, "What has he to do you?"

Shawn watched her and waited until she looked back at him before he said anything, "When the FBI comes and questions you they'll probably be looking for an opportunity to accuse you of something fraudulent. You ask to speak to Mark Miller. When you speak to him tell him you know who Ophay is."

"Ophay? Who's that? "

Shawn took her arm, "The FBI has known about me personally for almost two years, but they haven't been able to place me with my real name. They've given me the code name Ophay. It's a bad word black people once used when they referred to white people. As soon as you give Miller that name he'll put the pieces together. He'll know who I am, and he'll know where to look. You tell him everything you can. Leave nothing out. He'll cover your story. You'll be vindicated. Your career will be safe

Susan replied, "I won't hurt you Shawn."

"You can't. You won't"

Susan wasn't so sure, "He'll have your name and he'll tie you to things you've done in the past."

Shawn squeezed her arm, "You do as I say. I'll be all right. Understand?"

Susan pulled her arm free, "I love you Shawn. I won't do it."

They announced his flight; she started to cry. He wanted to cry but held it in. 

As they stood there side by side holding hands for what both believed might be their last time to ever be together Shawn made Susan promise not to wait for him. If she hadn't heard anything in six months she was to assume the worst. She swore she'd wait forever. He made her promise to give the baby a good name, and if he didn't get back, she should find a decent man and marry him. He begged her to talk to the FBI agent. They kissed one last time and said their good byes.

Susan went up to the observation deck where she watched the plane taxi out to the runway and take off. Shawn, for his part, sat as close to a window as he could. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was there. He knew the next plane he took would land him somewhere in Africa, and from there he, Kia, Kim, and two others were headed for the Sudan. Darfur was their final destination.

As the plane flew toward New York Shawn opened the package Susan had gotten for him. He made her promise not to buy anything expensive, flashy, or anything that might attract attention. She'd bought him a simple leather belt. It was his size. On the inside she'd had something engraved; it read 'Susan and Shawn, Forever.' He cracked. Squeezing the belt tightly in his two hands he broke down and cried. The stewardess came back and asked if he was all right. He wiped his face and said he was OK.

Susan waited till she got in her car to open his gift. It was small. She knew it was jewelry. Her hands shook as she got it open. Inside was a small gold necklace, and hanging from the necklace was a heart shaped pendant. On the back of the pendant was engraved the phrase, 'Love is Eternal'. She put it on right away and cried all the way home.

*

This isn't over! Chapter Seven is in the box.

Of course, your comments, criticism, and suggestions are most welcome. Sincerely, carvohi



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 07



An Introductory Note: A special thanks and note of appreciation goes out to Miss.elf1 for her tireless editing of the last several chapters of this story. Thank you so much. 

*

Susan Slattery, prominent lawyer, a successful divorce specialist, had been twice abducted. First she'd been grabbed by Shawn McClellan, a man hired to murder and dispose of her body. Instead he raped, humiliated, and terrorized her. Then he baffled her when he ransomed her life so he could allow her to go free. 

Syndicate insiders had never been allowed to change course and live so Susan was abducted a second time. Kidnapping her was the lure that brought the heretical McClellan back, but instead of charging in to rescue her like a crazed Chuck Norris he applied a different strategy. Shawn burrowed into the depths of the syndicate hierarchy, evidenced his frightful unpredictability by waterboarding a syndicate underling, and then offered a second bribe for the woman's life. The bribe was accepted on the condition McClellan promised to disappear never to darken the shady activities of the syndicate again. 

During the course of these frenetic events Susan and Shawn found themselves an unlikely match. They fell in love, but their tribulations had only begun. Shawn long having sought escape from his criminal past and always a facile linguist, had become first a participant then a linchpin within several international aid agencies. He opted to leave the country to participate in relief activities in distant Africa. Susan at long last freed from the dangers of abduction and murder returned to her law offices hoping to restore her practice and get on with her life.

Yet the problems of these two lovers had not abated. In fact their difficulties had been exacerbated by the milieu of conflicting events swirling around them. 

Susan's rape resulted in an unexpected pregnancy; a pregnancy both she and Shawn agreed they wanted. She couldn't explain why she wanted the baby, the father being her rapist, but she treasured the life growing inside her. No matter what the future held, the child in her womb was a part of her; it belonged to her, and would always be hers. 

Shawn's reasons for wanting the baby were less esoteric. He loved Susan, and saw the pregnancy as a bond that might lend what he thought they had more permanence. Second Shawn had been neglected as a child, and despite the statistical research to the contrary he yearned for the chance to give what he'd never received. Then there were his experiences in Africa and Asia; the suffering he'd seen, the loss, but also the love. 

Susan had other problems. Her two abductions had never been satisfactorily explained. Was she ever really abducted, or were her disappearances proofs of an erratic perhaps disheveled brain, and what might be the outcomes for a law practice already in disarray? How had the police, the FBI, responded to her well publicized second disappearance? How had her clients reacted to her inexplicable behavior? 

Added to the mix syndicate Fagan Oscar Camulos had taken a perverse interest in the woman. Susan met him only one time and found him terrifyingly distasteful. Camulos had come to see her seduction, if not carnal, than professionally, as a personal goal, a singular mark of his supremacy.

Shawn's difficulties had also grown exponentially. The syndicate had neither forgotten nor forgiven his apostasy. He had become a man marked for death. Meanwhile the FBI had a special agent tracking his activities for two years. The agent, Martin Miller, had come to see himself as something akin to Victor Hugo's Javert to Shawn's Jean Valjean. For Miller 

Shawn's past as syndicate hireling had distinguished him for special, even obsessive, consideration. Worse, the region of Africa about to receive Shawn had been a focal point for the worst crimes against humanity for decades. Dozens of aid workers had met ignominious ends in a region where justice was been traditionally meted out at the end of an AK 47. 

------------

Shawn sat back in his seat as the plane took off. Down below was the farm, his home for a long time, and the girl. Who would have believed that at thirty-four, a world traveler, army veteran, college grad, and one time killer he would have found the great love of his life as a result of a planned homicide? She was down there. God he prayed things worked out for her. 

If he could hold on for a year, one year, and she could hold out as long he'd be back. He'd come back; claim his Susan, his child, and God willing, claim a chance to remake his life. He understood she wasn't his Susan any more than the baby inside her was his either. The baby belonged to her, and she belonged to herself. Still, for the first time ever, he felt like he had something to come home to. 

The plane reached New York right on time. He took a taxi into Manhattan, settled in at the hotel where the international organization he'd signed on with had arranged a room, called their offices, and got caught up on what had been going on. His group, 'World Aid' had taken on some big jobs in East Africa. This was going to be another big one. He and several colleagues were destined for the Sudan.

The next morning, after a good night's sleep, he got a call. There was to be a reception and briefing that very afternoon. Circumstances in the western Sudan called for a new team as soon as possible. Shawn cleaned up, put on his only good suit, went downstairs, hailed a cab, and was whisked off to the United Nations building.

The reception was well attended. All the team members were on hand, some diplomats, a few U.N. officials, several reporters, a number of businessmen, and a few hangers on. He knew most of the team members. Kia and Kim were there. Amin from Uganda was going. A Spanish man who had connections with some of the Sudanese warlords was there, and an Ethiopian doctor, Idra Shai Selassie.

They started the meeting with the usual introductions, and then went right to the meat of the matter. Their team was headed to the hottest of all the hot spots in Africa. Christian and Muslim warlords had been butchering each other and as many of the noncombatant population as got in their way for the better part of a decade. Hatreds had become deeply entrenched. Provisions, medical supplies, tents, cloth, and of course weapons were constantly being stolen. U.N. representatives said they could handle the material losses, but the human costs from disease, malnutrition, murder, and slave raiding was unconscionable. 

The new team they were sending had the dual role of not just helping the other aid workers, but they were also expected to find ways to buy off or fend off the militant threats in the region. Off the record they were warned the Sudanese government was at least as dangerous as any of the local despots. 

The official aspects of the conference ended on the sobering note that most of the current crop of aid workers had been killed. It was a risky assignment. Nobody was being ordered to go. None of the team backed out. 

After the briefing there was a short reception. Old friends needed to get reacquainted, and new friends had to be met. It wasn't long before Shawn found himself the center of attention.

When it came to aid work Shawn had a past. His past had caught up with him. 

The doctor Idra Shai Selassie approached him first, "Are you the Shawn McClellan who was in Thailand?"

Shawn replied, "Your Doctor Selassie?"

She smiled, held out her hand and answered, "Please just Shai. So tell me are you he?"

Shawn shook her hand. She was taller than he was. He supposed it was her Nilotic ethnicity. She was dark, so dark as to be definably black. Her hair was crisped. She had it in a tight bun. She would have been called pretty if it stopped there, but it didn't stop there. She had the most vividly flashing black eyes, and her long graceful form gave her a lithe look that seemed to combine both strength and fragility. Stunning, no stunningly beautiful was the best way to describe her. He smiled back, "Yes I guess that's me."

On his left arm he found Kia pressing against him. "What is she asking you about Nepal?"

Shai looked at Kia, "Nepal? No, I wanted to hear about what he did in Thailand."

Kia stepped forward, "Oh that. What he did. Not much actually. A boat load of perhaps fifty people was being fired upon by Cambodian guerrillas. The boat capsized. Dozens of people fell in the water. Among them were perhaps a score of children. This man, or should I say this fool, swam out and found a way to gather enough driftwood and flotsam to fashion a small raft. He got close to twenty people, mostly children on it. Then he kept swimming around in crocodile infested water, dodging machine gun fire from the far shore until he managed to rescue another twelve children pulling them ashore as he swam. 

It wasn't a perfect afternoon. Some people did die, but this man managed to save nearly thirty people. By the time he was finished people on both sides of the bank were cheering. Even the guerrillas on the far bank had stopped shooting and were cheering!"

Shawn stood there, embarrassed and silent, cheeks red as a McIntosh apple.

By the time Kia had finished perhaps seven other people had joined Kia, Shai and Shawn. Everyone had heard the story, but most had never met the man.

Shai asked, "What happened in Nepal?"

Kia put her hand on Shawn's arm warning him to silence, "I was there for that one too. We were all in Nepal helping flood survivors. Across the border in Chinese controlled Tibet there were gangs of warring men. Some were Tibetan citizens trying to protect their villages. Some were Tibetan rebels. Others were Chinese Communist soldiers, and still others included groups of Chinese deserters. It was a group of the last sort that sneaked into one of the relief camps we'd set up. As a relief station it wasn't much, only two workers, a small quantity of medicines, a dozen or so local people there to help maybe a hundred or so refugees. 

In the middle of the night perhaps twenty of these Chinese deserters broke into the camp, killed an aid worker, stole all the medicines, and kidnapped three of the youngest women. The girls were just unlucky, three young and pretty innocents caught up in the middle of a tumultuous situation. However, the medical supplies were critical. Without them dozens, perhaps as many as a hundred people might have died."

Kia paused for emphasis, and then went on. Everyone was listening to the story, "One foolish man decided to go off into the hills alone to retrieve the medicines. That foolish man was this one." She pointed to Shawn, "He disappeared into the foothills of the Himalaya Mountains; a foreigner, no compass, no supplies, and no weapon. He was gone for two weeks; everyone assumed he'd been killed. Then one afternoon from out of nowhere this ragged disheveled man appeared with four oxen loaded with medical supplies and three very tired but very happy young women."

Kia looked over at Shawn, and then went on, "He never explained how he did it, but somehow he got those hapless deserters to give back the medicines and the three girls." 

Kia's eyes had started to mist, "I know how he did it. I watched him. I was there. You see I was one of the three young women. I've been with him ever since." She recovered, "If you want to know how he did it you'll have to get him to tell you." She squeezed his arm extra hard, "All I know is he's a mighty big man in my eyes."

In the room there was a hushed silence. Everyone had heard the tale of the boat, and most had heard of the miracle of the mountains, but until then no one, except a few, had ever seen the man.

Shawn squirmed, "We have a big task ahead of us in Africa. Let's just hope nobody gets caught doing something stupid."

His comment broke the silence and the ice. Everyone laughed. Everyone looked at the man in the old looking improperly fitting suit a little differently too.

The next several days were given over to inventorying the supplies, and getting ready for the next leg of the trip. Their next flight would take them to Scotland for a second orientation session, then to Germany for shots and some language instruction.

------------

Susan watched as the plane faded into the sky. It was a tall sky with high stratus clouds. She felt gloomy, sad. Shawn had complicated her life. Not long before she was a clear minded competent totally self-actualized young woman. In a few months he had climbed in her life, her body and in her heart. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. 

After a good night's rest Susan plowed through her wardrobe, picked out one her favorite suits, and took off for her offices. She knew there was probably a mountain of work to catch up on, but she was confident, with the staff she had, most things would have been held together, and with her leadership everything would be running smoothly in no time.

She drove in to town and parked in a garage with valet services. She'd learned her lesson about underground garages.

She took the elevator to her suite of offices and strode in. As she expected nearly everyone was there. 

First to greet her was Abigail the receptionist, "Oh Ms. Slattery we're so glad to see you back."

Within a few minutes everyone in the office was crowding around her. Where had she been? What happened? Did she know everyone thought she'd been kidnapped? 

She stopped the wave of questions and explained what happened; how she had been abducted, and had been rescued by a mysterious man who'd paid $400,000.00 for her freedom. She described in detail the squalid conditions of her captive cell, and the gross vulgarity of the men who held her. Everyone listened in fascinated awe.

Happily she returned to her office to check the mail, the Internet, and her schedule. As expected several clients had called and changed attorneys. Others had called and hoped to stay on until something definite was determined one way or the other. She spent most of the rest of the afternoon calling other lawyers assuring them of her safe return, and in calling absconded clients and clients on hold with the good news. She had no way of knowing, but it was the best day she was going to have for some time. 

The next morning her paralegal gave notice, and over the next several hours she lost four of her five secretaries as well as Abigail. They all had the same story. When reports of Susan's abduction made the news everyone feared the worst. Out of self preservation they began to scout around for new places to work. Most found opportunities within a few days. It didn't hurt that most knew in intimate detail most of the facts about Susan's client base. 

Everyone had the same story. They all loved Susan. They all loved working for her, but two disappearances within a few months were too disquieting. They had to think of their own families, their own careers, and the bills they all had to pay. They were sorry she'd been abducted, they were glad she'd been rescued, but it didn't change any minds.

Susan decided, after the morning she'd had, a trip to the tavern for a light nonalcoholic lunch was in order. Everyone at the bar, just as at work, was glad to see her. There were few secrets in the legal community, and the story she related about a mystery man coming to her rescue had crossed the courtroom prairie like a wild fire. Everyone wanted to hear the story. 

Susan was only too glad to retell it; she had little else to do until she restocked her office. She spent most of her lunch at the counter explaining and re-explaining the details of her capture and her rescue. After every retelling she was greeted with compassion and empathy. If it had been an Irish pub there wouldn't have been a dry eye in the place.

She returned to her office to another interesting surprise. Waiting for her in the outer office were two city policemen. Her reappearance had reached police headquarters. They had some questions and some concerns.

The lead policeman, Seamus O'Hara, a twenty year veteran of the squad that handled strange cases had some questions. As he put it, her kidnapping and subsequent tale of rescue, based on what they'd been told, needed a little more clarity. 

Susan reiterated her tale to the police.

After listening Officer O'Hara asked, "Ms. Slattery we believe your story, but it sounds a little odd. Could you tell us a little more about your rescuer?"

Susan told the officer as much as she dared without revealing Shawn's true identity or too much about the events that followed.

The officer continued, "Your rescue was accomplished by a mystery man. Do you understand how far-fetched that sounds?"

Susan answered, "It may sound far-fetched but that's what happened."

The officer looked at his notes, "You were kidnapped from the parking garage, taken to a dirty hideaway, but a few days later you were cleaned up and turned over to a man who you allege paid out $400,000.00 for your safe return"

Susan nodded, "That's correct."

O'Hara tilted his head, "And you never met the man who picked you up."

Susan, "Not before that evening."

The policeman asked, "Didn't you have an earlier unexplained disappearance a few months earlier?"

Susan, "That wasn't unexplained. I took a few days off."

O'Hara put his notebook down, "How have you been doing? Financially I mean."

Susan, "Not that's its any of your business, but I lost a few clients after my earlier vacation."

O'Hara, "I'll say. We checked into your client listings while you were missing. You understand. We weren't snooping. You had obviously been grabbed. Every client, every contact became suspect. Between the time of your, let's say unannounced vacation, and your abduction you lost close to ten percent of your original customer base."

Susan, "I know I lost a few people early on, but I more than made up for it later."

O'Hara, "You mention a man named Camulos. Do you know who he is?"

Susan, "Yes, he was the awful man who drove me to the meeting site where I was released."

O'Hara, "You consider him one of your kidnappers."

Susan, "I certainly do."

O'Hara, "Did you know Oscar Camulos is a leading citizen. He may have contributed to your release."

Susan's jaw hit the floor, "No. Not true. My rescuer told me he was a syndicate man."

Policeman O'Hara put his notebook away, clicked his pen shut and dropped it in his coat pocket, "Ms. Slattery everything you've told us is certainly interesting, but nothing adds up. We have the footage of your abduction, but nothing else until you amazingly reappear at your office."

Susan responded apologetically, "Well I'm sorry, but that's the way it happened."

Officer O'Hara asked, "Ms. Slattery have you ever heard of Aimie Semple McPherson?"

Susan pushed herself back in her chair. She certainly had heard about McPherson. She had been a 1920's evangelist who mysteriously disappeared only to reappear with a confused and highly improbable story, "Yes I know who she was."

Officer O'Hara asked, "Do you understand what fraud is?"

Susan was getting angry, "I'm a lawyer Officer O'Hara. I know what fraud is."

O'Hara asked, "You know what a hoax is."

Susan saw where he was headed, "Of course I do. I'm not trying to perpetrate a hoax."

Officer O'Hara smiled, "Of course not, but just the same, if you wouldn't mind, maybe you'd like to stop in at headquarters tomorrow and answer a few more questions."

Susan, put off and angry answered, "I've a business to run, maybe if I have time."

Officer O'Hara, "Make it say 9:00 a.m."

Susan just looked at him, stunned, "We'll see."

Officer O'Hara smiled and got up to go. He started for the door, but then he turned around, "Oh by the way. You wouldn't mind a lie detector would you?"

Susan thumped her fist on her desk, "Good day Officer O'Hara."




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 07



After the policemen left, Susan sat back at her desk; Camulos an honest citizen? She didn't believe that. They think she planned the whole thing; a lie detector test? They are crazy. She told them what they needed to know. There wasn't any more to say. She closed up early. There wasn't much to do anyway. She'd put some ads in the paper about jobs. She wanted to get home, take a hot bath, and play with Tom. She knew the law. There wasn't much chance of any legal proceedings against her. The only thing that would accomplish would be to further erode her client base and add a tiny blemish on an otherwise sterling reputation.

Susan went home, took her bath, played with her cat, and lay awake all night worrying. Shawn had been right. Her abduction, coupled with her earlier disappearance which had also been a kidnapping, placed her in an unenviable position. But she was confident. She'd work it out.

The next morning Susan found her concerns from the day before had escalated. Calls from two of the local televisions stations resurrected her worst nighttime fears. They wanted to do interviews, but the interview requests weren't coming from the news departments, the entertainment divisions wanted to do 'human interest' stories. The by lines from each station were almost identical; 'Abduction or Illusion, Where is Susan Slattery?' They wanted to scoop a story about a young attorney who may have gone off the deep end. If they had their way her career would crash and burn. 

Susan rejected their requests, and pursued her quest for replacements for her lost staff and for the recovery of her lost clientele. 

There were dozens of interesting people ready to go to work, but none had the qualifications she was looking for. As far as lost clientele they'd all found new sources of legal representation. She hadn't been back to work more than a week, and already she saw her career was on a downward spiral. She needed a break, and needed one fast.

That evening the break came; a break in the worst possible direction. She made the nightly news on all three the big local news networks. Susan Slattery, one time prominent local lawyer, had become queen of the tabloids. One nightly edition started a story about her with references to Brittany Spears. 'Had another young woman gone too far too fast?' Another station introduced her situation with references to Los Angeles; 'Susan Slattery Kidnap Victim or Our Very Own Lindsay Lohan.' The third station hit the hardest; 'A New Way to Spell Fraud- Susan Slattery!' She wondered how long it would take before she got a call from Oprah. 

------------

The relief team's plane landed in Cairo, Egypt. It was the last leg of a three flight trip. First they'd traveled from New York to Heathrow, from there to Frankfurt, Germany, and last a bird took them to Egypt. From Cairo they traveled by bus to southern Egypt where they hooked up with another team who'd brought the supplies they'd need when they got to Darfur. 

The supply lists were simple if varied. There were several tons of items such as tents, sleeping bags, bolts of cloth, rope, safety pins, sewing kits, two old manual sewing machines, hammers, nails, shovels, picks, a few axes, several rakes, and an assortment of smaller tools. 

Additional supplies included the vitally important medical provisions; antiseptics, band aids, hundreds of feet of gauze, cotton, scalpels, utility knives, dozens of pairs of scissors, lengths of rubber presumably for tourniquets and similar uses, mosquito netting, alcohol, antibiotics of all types, injection needles, sundry boxes filled with an array of types of vaccines, and what seemed like an endless supply of washes, soaps, mouth cleansers, plasters and pastes, lotions and balms, insecticides, and scrubs. 

By far the largest inventory included food supplies; dehydrated this, dried that, bags of salt, canned items of all types, box after box of dried beans, wheat, dehydrated milk, and sack after sack of wheat, barley, corn, and rice. There were dozens of bottles of distilled water for specific medical purposes, and drum after drum of low grade petroleum products to be used to boil contaminated water or sterilize equipment. 

Last on the inventory, but not carried on any invoice was a much smaller cache of highly specialized items. This last list included boxes of ammunition, small arms, a crate of AK 47s, and last there were twelve shoeboxes filled with American money. 

It took the crew several days to organize everything and get it all loaded in twenty different trucks. They weren't sure yet exactly where they were going, but they knew there weren't any airports or landing strips close by. Once they reached their destination they'd be pretty much on their own. 

The trip out was slow. The roads were bad. The trucks were all old and tired, and the heat was absolutely unbearable. The air was so arid it was impossible to sweat, and water, being scarce, made any physical exertion beyond the minimum foolhardy.

On the fourth day out they confronted their first crisis. It was more a crisis of conscience than anything else. Off to the side of the road someone espied a group of vultures, three actually, squatting in a circle around something barely moving on the rocky soil. 

Shawn remembered reading how African vultures were different from the typical North American buzzard he'd grown up with. The modern African vulture was much larger and more aggressive. Shawn also remembered how the modern vulture, regardless of where in the world it might be found had become a more highly evolved creature. Scientists long believed these animals, and some of their aviary kindred such as the crow, magpie, and raven, had developed a more sophisticated pineal gland that had enabled them to adapt, to think as it were. With wingspans sometimes approaching eighteen feet these grotesque animals had learned over the centuries to solve rudimentary problems and to work in groups.

For Shawn it wasn't just the vultures that had caught his eye. They were all apparently encircling something, waiting for it to die. Shawn had no love for carrion animals, but he didn't despise them either. They served a purpose in life's continuum. 

It was what he thought they were waiting on that caught his eye. He persuaded his driver to stop, meaning the whole caravan came to a screeching halt while he hiked over to the scene of the disturbance. There kneeling in the midst of the birds was a small child, a feeble little toddler. The child had been abandoned, left alone, left to die. The child was certainly going to die regardless of anything anybody did, but he couldn't bear the thought of the scene that would follow once the caravan left.  

He drove off the birds and picked up the pathetic little person. He'd found a little girl, perhaps three or four years old and weighing scarcely more than fifteen perhaps twenty pounds. He wrapped her frail wrinkled body in his shirt. Her withered dehydrated little black hand fit easily in his pink and healthy palm. 

He understood death was a daily part of life in these parts of the world. He'd seen it in Berkina-Fasso, in Uganda, in Thailand, and in Nepal. He understood the futility of most of what he and his comrades tried to accomplish, but he'd never been able to accept any death without a fight. He carried the little girl back to the truck. He was sure she'd be dead before the sun went down, but she wasn't going to die out here, alone, out in the desert, under a scorching sun, only to be a meal for vultures, her delicate flesh shredded by cruel talons and sharp jagged beaks. 

Yes she was going to die, but she'd die with one last cool cloth on that sweet little brow. It was the least he could do. Back in the truck he curled her close to his chest. The man driving the truck looked at him, at the little girl, and then looked away. 

Shawn took a rag and poured some water on it. He touched the rag to her parched lips, and watched her mouth move to get at it. He squeezed a little of the water on her forehead, and allowed it to trickle down over her eyebrows. She opened her eyes, those innocent little black orbs. It had been wrong to stop the caravan, just a waste of time, but it was right for her, right for him. 

The little girl lasted all that first night, but she died shortly after sunrise the next day. He named her Lauren. Susan's middle name was Lauren. He made a note of her passing in his diary. He decided to bury her in the road so the trucks would pack down the soil hopefully guaranteeing no animal would burrow into the ground to pull out her little body. He thought about leaving some kind of marker, but decided against it. Some human scavenger might see it and start digging. The caravan reached its destination two days later. 

The site of their base camp was overflowing. There were hundreds of people. The team they were relieving looked like they'd aged a hundred years in the few months they'd been there. It wasn't a promising beginning. 

The typical problems were apparent; hunger, overcrowding, and a stark shortage of able bodied men. But there were other disquieting signs. The passive behavior of so many of the adult refugees was deeply disturbing, fires off in the distance were a clear sign of active militant groups, and the omnipresence of certain insects, especially flies, were sure signs of disease. 

The situation was puzzling to some, but Shawn and Shai put the pieces together. The flies in the immediate area were big and brown, a particularly dangerous species. They were Tsetse flies, carriers of a dreaded microbe that caused Trypanosomiasis. 

Trypanosomiasis was the scientific term for African Sleeping Sickness. The fly itself was infected. When it bit into the flesh of a human it injected a parasite with a pathogen that attacked the nervous system. 

Any person afflicted with the 'sickness' usually lost all verve all energy. Slowly but surely they'd lose so much energy they were incapable of doing anything. They'd then fall victim to some other disease or to malnutrition. They'd be so severely afflicted they'd lose the energy even to eat. In the last days of the illness the victim typically lost control of all basic functions, even the ability to control their own facial muscles. The image on the face of a victim was always the same, one of utter and total despondency. Africans called the visage 'silent grief'. 

Shawn, Shai, Kia, Kim and the others had walked into a cauldron of misery and death. The next weeks were going to challenge all their emotional and intellectual resources.

Kim was the unofficial head of the team. Before they unloaded the trucks they worked out a strategy to attack the Sleeping Sickness, or Souma as it was called in that part of the Sudan. DDT was a pesticide outlawed in many parts of the world, but was still available where they were. In fact they'd brought a large quantity of it with them. They're first order of business over the next several days was to deluge the camp area and its surroundings with the pesticide. Hopefully that would drive off the fly. 

They needed medicine for those already ill. That very night Kia used her cell phone and called back to Omdurman; the main supply center for all aid camps like theirs. She put in a special order for Eflornithine, a medicine that had proved effective against the early onset of the disease in Uganda just a few years before. The team agreed if they could wipe out or reduce the fly population and get the medicine they needed quickly enough they could avert a medical catastrophe.

Within a week the needed medicine had arrived. Injections began for the least ill. The DDT had been spread and the fly population had been cut down dramatically. Disaster had been averted!

Shawn had never considered himself a particularly religious man. He remembered reading once; religion was for women, God was for men. There was a time he believed that, not anymore. His experiences around the world had taught him God was a gift to all people. Religion was the property of fanatics. Regardless, since the little girl on the road, little Lauren, he'd been praying every night. 

During those early days Shawn marveled at Shai's strength, her determination, her optimism. She was always first to be roused in the morning and last to bed at night. She spoke the dialects of the people fluently. Her bedside manner was one of warmth and kindness. The people, long accustomed to abuse and manipulation came to trust her; from that, their feelings evolved into genuine love. 

He admired her. She was more than just a beautiful woman. She was beautiful on the inside as well as out. He found himself, more and more, working close, often beside her. If there wasn't another woman's name etched on the inside of his belt, it would have been easy to fall in love with her.

During their first weeks the team worked tirelessly with the small indigenous male population digging slit trenches for latrines, laying out an organized network of walkways and roads, finding areas well away from the main camp for the disposal of all other waste, setting up a substantial tent city, finding the few existing water resources, constructing a water purification and filtration station, building a central headquarters for the distribution of food, and setting up two small aid stations and one main field hospital. 

The more they worked the larger their refugee population grew. But success was as much a problem as a reward. The distant gunfire, the fires on the horizon at night, the sporadic radio reports of gun battles, and the occasional appearance of small groups of irregular soldiers were persistent reminders they were in the midst of a turbulent part of the world. It was their fondest hope the battles going on without would not spill over into their tiny enclave of safety and sanity.

------------

Susan's life was degenerating into a parody of what it had once been. No one wanted her services. She couldn't find reliable people to work for her. The local police had insisted she meet with them twice at their headquarters, and both times her arrival and departure was punctuated by television cameras and a sea of local reporters looking for something, anything, to report. It was all a big farce.

Susan had refused to take a lie detector test. She wasn't afraid the test would prove her claims of abduction untrue. She was afraid they might ask questions about her rescuer, and she was determined to keep Shawn's name out of the limelight.

On a more positive note her pregnancy was fine. The doctors estimated she had perhaps another six weeks before she'd deliver. That was the one bright spot in an otherwise pretty discouraging time. They asked if she'd like to get a preview regarding the baby's sex, but she declined. She knew one thing; this baby knew how to kick. Feeling the movement, the unexpected kicks; it was all so new. It was a splendid thing. She enjoyed the queasy feeling she got every time the baby moved. It excited her. 

------------

Shai was at Shawn's tent whispering intently, "Shawn. Wake up."

It was close to sunrise, much too early for anything to be happening. Shawn rolled off his grimy cot, pulled the mosquito netting away, "What is it?"

Shai answered, "We have visitors."

Before Shawn stepped from his tent he asked, "Who?"

Shai answered, "I'm not sure. They're in a uniform of sorts. Most look to be about fourteen or fifteen. They're all dirty and bedraggled. Local bandits I think."

Shawn was wide awake and alert, "Go wake up Kim. Tell him what you just told me. Get Kia, Jesus, and Amin. I'll go and talk with them."

While Shai hurried off Shawn slipped on his trousers and boots, and went to find their visitors. He found them snooping into some of the supplies, "Good morning. I'm Shawn McClellan one of the aid workers here."

They responded in a dialect he recognized, so he shifted his speech, "I'm Shawn McClellan. Can I help you?"

An older man stepped from the shadows, "You have medicines?"

Shawn answered, "We're here to help the people. Yes we have some medicines."

"You have medicine for Souma?" the older man asked.

Shawn answered his question with a question, "You have people with Souma?"

The man responded, "We need your medicine."

Shawn replied, "Bring your people here and we'll help them."

The older man replied, "No, you give us the medicine."

Shawn realized he was talking to some warlord's lieutenant, "We can help you if you come in for treatment, but we can't give away the medicine."

"We need the medicine. You must give it to us."

Shawn held his hands out, palms upward as a sign of non-belligerence, "We want to do that, but we have to record how we give it out, and to whom it is given. If we don't the people who command us will think we sold it or it was stolen and they won't give us anymore."

Some of our soldiers are sick. You will give us the medicine."

By then Kim had arrived, "Greetings. I recognize you're dialect. You're a northern people and at war with the Dinka, the peaceful people who live near here. What do you want?"

The old man looked at Kim, "We need medicine for Souma. You must give it to us."

Kim looked at Shawn and then back at the soldier, "How much do you want?"

"All of it."

Kim held his hands out to his sides, "We can't do that. We all have to share."

By then the older man was well accompanied. Nearly twenty other very young men had stepped out of the shadows and stood behind him. Some of them were well armed with AK 47s, but most had more primitive weapons. Some carried nothing more than a stick. The older man rephrased his first comment, "We are here to get all your medical supplies. You must give us everything you have."

Kim stepped away from Shawn, Kia, Amin, and Kia, "We want to help you. Bring in your sick people, and we will help them."

The older man looked over the small group of five. He turned to one of the boys and spoke to him in a dialect Shawn didn't recognize. Shai spoke up immediately, "Step away Kia."

The younger boy stepped toward Kia and made as if to grab her. She stepped backward and away.

The boy reached into his trousers and pulled a large knife.

Kim flipped a Smith and Wesson from the holster he had strapped to his back and aimed the weapon at the boy.

The boy disregarded Kim's threat and grabbed Kia's arm.

One shot rang out and the boy dropped to the ground, a bullet was lodged in his forehead. He dropped like a rock, instantly dead.

Shawn saw the spot where the bullet penetrated the boy's head. He knew it would be a fatal wound the second Kim fired. Kim was ROK, a former member of the Army of the Republic of Korea. They were the toughest of the tough, the very best. 

The older man made as if to raise his rifle, but Kim pulled back the hammer of his pistol. It made an ominous clicking sound. He took aim at the man's stomach, "Drop your rifle to the ground, and tell your comrades to do the same." Kim was using a dialect Shawn didn't clearly recognize, but understood its meaning clearly.

All the boys in the man's company dropped their weapons.

Kim kept his pistol trained on the older man's belly, "You are welcome to bring any of your sick or hungry to our camp. We will be glad to help them, but we cannot give away what doesn't belong to us." He gave the older man a look of genuine entreaty, "We're only here to help the people; nothing more nothing less. If you come here for help, we will help you. We ask no questions, we keep no records other than how many come and how many we help." 

The older man offered no comment. He turned to his comrades and signaled for them to follow. They disappeared as quietly as they had come.

As soon as the group of men disappeared everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Shawn asked, "Was that what I think it was?"




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 07



Kim smiled, "Kia is Asian. She has a different look. They wanted to take her with them."

Shai spoke up, "They'll be back won't they?"

Kim answered, "I think not right away." He looked down at the dead boy, "We made an impression. I think they'll be back, but right now they have no weapons. We must destroy what we took from them, and hide our own. That is all our own weapons except for this one pistol."

Jesus spoke up, "These were irregulars probably supported by the Sudanese authorities I'm sure. I wouldn't be surprised if our next visitors won't be Sudanese soldiers. They'll disarm us. Take any money they find, and leave us vulnerable for our first friends' next visit."

Kim added, "The next time they come they'll take everything, medicine, supplies, equipment, and probably several of the women." He looked at Kia and Shai. "They probably won't kill anybody if no one resists, but the young women, and the pretty ones like you two are in great danger. To them you're booty to be used and then sold."

Shawn spoke, "No one's taking anybody."

Kim smiled and agreed, "Not while we're alive."

The rest of the day was given over to helping the people who needed care, but also in hiding most of the money, and all their weaponry except the pistol. Everyone was on the alert, tensions were high, but outwardly they pretended all things were normal.

They buried the boy Kim shot. They estimated he was not more than fifteen. They buried him outside the perimeter, and placed a marker on his grave. If he had any close friends or relatives in the region, and they were interested enough to take him home they'd know where to find him. Shawn doubted if anyone would ever come. He was just another orphaned child caught up in a world he didn't create.

Shai had gotten some of the refugee women together and they'd set up a little nursery center. Kia got the youngest children together and taught them little games. Shai found what little extra paper and pencils they had and started a little school for the older ones. She worked with the refugee women, most of whom were talented people. Someday this part of the world would be restored to sanity. Perhaps a future scientist or doctor was among these refugee children? Shawn watched all these things. They restored hope, not only for the people, but for him as well. 

Three days later six truckloads of soldiers were seen driving up the road. About two hundred yards outside the camp they dismounted and took up positions in a circle around the site; a captain followed by two younger officers approached the main tent.

Kim saw them coming, and ordered all the women to hide. Then he, Amin, Shawn and Jesus went part way down the road to greet them.

The captain spoke first, "It has come to our attention this is an armed encampment."

Kim replied, "We have no weapons except for a few knives and a pistol I keep should a hyena or jackal approach too close."

The captain took a deep breath and stuck out his chest, "You're supposed to be a peaceful United Nations Aid Station. You're not supposed to an armed camp. We're here to confiscate any military contraband."

Kim responded by raising his hands above his head, "I have my pistol in a holster strapped to my back. Will you allow me to give it to you?"

The captain turned to one of his lieutenants and ordered him to disarm Kim. With the pistol in the Captains right hand he said, "You have no other firearms?"

Kim replied, "No sir."

The Captain asked, "You wouldn't mind then if we searched your camp?"

Kim answered, "We welcome it, but I have two requests."

The Captain smiled, "Yes?"

Kim, holding his hands palms upward, eyes slightly cast down implored, "After you leave would you leave behind four or five of your soldiers for our protection. We were accosted by some armed rebels a few days back. We managed to disarm them. Their broken weapons are in a pile on the edge of the camp. Your soldiers would make our lives a lot easier."

The Captain shook his head, "This is a United Nations camp. We're not supposed to interfere in what you do. Our presence here would give the wrong impression. What was your second request?"

Kim answered, "We have medicines here. As you investigate our camp, may we accompany you just to guarantee none of the more delicate containers are accidentally damaged or any of the rarer medicines by chance be contaminated."

"You think we're here to interfere with your work?"

Kim held up his hands in supplication, "No sir. We just know some of our medical supplies are very expensive and very rare." He hesitated, "Maybe we could pay you."

The Captain raised an eyebrow, "A bribe?"

Kim answered, "No sir, a gift, a payment for your hard work."

The Captain's face exploded into a broad grin, "American money?"

Kim smiled back, "Of course."

For about fifteen minutes the soldiers made a cursory search of the camp area. They spent little time checking the many containers and packages. Mostly they eyed the young women. The whole time the Captain and Kim sat in the main tent where Kim counted out several thousand dollars in American currency. 

Armed with one pistol, a few boxes of bandages, and a shoebox filled with $100.00 bills the Captain and his soldiers left.

Shawn, Kim, and the others gathered after they left. Shai asked, "Will we see them again?"

Kim answered, "No. The next people we'll see will be the irregulars we drove off the other day."

Shawn commented, "Sounds ominous."

Kim smiled, "Shawn you know what's coming. We have to get everyone else ready."

-----------

Susan sat quietly in the restaurant at her table despondently punching a piece of lettuce with her fork. If she had been a smoker she would have said she was down to her last cigarette. All her help had abandoned her, and all her moneyed clients had found other people. She knew she'd been raided by her competitors; first they'd hired away her staff, then her former employees shared out all her clients. 

She met one former employee and offered to mail her what remained of her files just in case they'd missed someone. Her former employee laughed. That was a good one she said.

The tabloids had enjoyed their moment. She supposed their ratings had jumped a notch, but since she was no longer being mentioned she guessed someone else's misfortune had claimed their attention. One of the tabloids wondered why she hadn't gone the libel suit route. They were daring her to sue. Susan knew better. She remembered her Alger Hiss stories, the one-time New Deal Democrat who'd sued to protect his good name back in the early 1950's. The newspapers had used it to sell copy. In the end Alger Hiss had been ruined. 

That still hadn't stopped the Bar Association. Somebody had put a bug in their ear, and she'd been served notice there was some concern about her professionalism. They were looking into her situation, and there might be repercussions. Repercussions; she wondered what they had in mind. She doubted if it was the ABA. She had a hunch somebody else was pressuring them.

The local police certainly hadn't let up. That Seamus O'Hara; he had the tenacity of a Gila monster. The way he kept badgering her, one would have thought he was hot on the trail of Jimmy Hoffa or John Dillinger. He didn't get it. She was just some poor woman who'd been kidnapped and then rescued by a man whose identity no one knew.

Aside from the life growing inside her the only other redeeming event in her life lately had been her unexpected meeting with Todd Bitterman. Todd was a lawyer like herself, a nice guy. She'd run into him at a job fair. She was looking for a secretary, and he said he was looking for an experienced lawyer. As it turned out he was in need of a legal mind to work on a project that required an understanding of several European countries. 

He and she had gotten on quite well, and in no time he was explaining the kind of person he needed. Several businesses in Lithuania, Latvia, Poland, and the Czech Republic were in the process of dovetailing their economic efforts in an attempt to become more competitive with bigger firms in Western Europe. All he needed was someone who could coordinate several businesses for him, while he concentrated his efforts on some other countries trying to do the same thing in the Middle East.

What Todd proposed sounded like a piece of cake; if nothing else, it might tide her over till her current difficulties abated. She and Todd exchanged information, and he agreed to get back to her within a week or two. The whole project didn't sound especially glamorous, but it might pay the bills for a while. At least it was an opening. 

To Susan Todd was like a cool drink of reassuring water in a barren desert. With Shawn gone, her business in ruins, the police and ABA breathing down her neck he offered a glimmer of hope. They hit it off right away.

Todd wasn't married. He'd said, till recently, he'd been married to his career. He'd made a lot of money, but soon found money, though it was good to have, offered little In terms of peace of mind. The way he put it, money was a poor substitute for a warm smile or a gentle kiss.

Todd was lonely. She was lonely. They started dating.

Susan couldn't help comparing Todd with Shawn. Though she tried to deny it at first, Todd was the better choice. Todd was taller, more handsome, athletic looking, naturally commanding. Shawn was a poor second.

Todd had all the social graces. Shawn had a sarcastic mouth. Todd was polite, warm, gentle, and he was a good listener. Shawn she remembered, was cold blooded, not particularly sensitive. He had a ruthless streak.

Todd was caring. Todd was safe. Shawn had frightened her. Everything about him had oozed danger. Todd was considerate; he held doors, pulled her seat out in restaurants. He offered security. All she remembered about Shawn was handcuffs, duct tape, dark rooms, danger, and indifference. Todd loved putting his hands on her belly to feel the baby move. She doubted if Shawn really, she meant really, cared about children at all.

Susan could tell Todd was enamored of her. She knew he wanted her. She was convinced the only reason he hadn't suggested something was because of her condition. 

She still had strong feelings for Shawn, but she had these nagging doubts. Had they really had that one night of true sexual love or had it been just an emotional release, some fantastic kind of post abduction infatuation. 

Susan felt the pendant around her neck. Sure she missed him; she told herself that every morning. But she had no idea where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, or who he might even be thinking about. For all she knew he might be in some European discotheque whooping it up with some East European beauty. Did he even think about her any more? She felt the baby kick. 

-----------

Early morning in the Sudan was always cold. There was no vegetation or bodies of water to retain the daytime heat. Kim looked out toward the eastern skyline. He tugged Shawn's arm, "They're coming. I hear them."

Shawn heard Shai in background singing to a child. She was always the first one up. He blinked as he tried to peer into the harsh early morning light, "You think it's the same irregulars as bfore?"

Kim replied, "More I think."

Shawn looked at his friend, "The army?"

Kim, "No but I hear an APC."

Shawn, "Armored Personnel Carrier?"

Kim, "It'll have a forty millimeter cannon and probably some kind of rocket launcher. We better get everybody up."

Shawn turned to go awaken Jesus, Amin, and Kia. He'd say something to Shai on the way. He checked his Timex. He bet Susan was still asleep back in the States. He'd been thinking about her constantly. He'd left her in a bad way; a baby, a confused abduction story, and God knew how many people trying to take advantage of her. He should have stayed back in America; gone public about himself, told the whole story, and then let them kill him. If he really wanted to rescue her that's what he should have done, that's what a man would have done. He'd taken the coward's way out. That's all he was, just a coward.

He tapped Shai on the arm. They'd been very close for weeks. She was so lovely. He knew she had feelings for him. It would have been easy to fall in love with her, sleep with her. Easy yes, possible no; his heart, his true love was thousands of miles away. He'd let Susan down. He was so sorry. God he prayed she was all right.

------------

Susan sat there, feeling the baby and twirling her fork through a half eaten salad when another man in a dark ill fitting suit approached her. She'd come to dread those slightly misshapen suits. It almost always meant a policeman.

The man walked over and stood at her table, "You're Susan Slattery?"

She gave him her best glazed over look, "So what."

He asked, "May I sit down?"

She gave him a less than friendly glare, "Why?"

He asked, "Have you ever heard the name Ophay?"

Susan's facial expression must have given her away because his next comment and action completely caught her off guard. He displayed a badge. It read Federal Bureau of Investigation.

The man turned to a dark corner and waved his hand. Three other men appeared from the shadows. The first man spoke, "Stand up please. Put your hands behind your back." He had a pair of plastic handcuffs, "You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and may be used against you." He went on with the Miranda statement, while he wrenched her hands behind her back and unceremoniously handcuffed her. 

Dressed in a tightly fitting dark blue pin striped business suit with high heeled shoes, and a 

soft white ruffled blouse Susan, excepting for the cuffs, was the epitome of femininity as she was jostled out of the restaurant. She was herded down the aisle as several newspaper people with cameras descended upon her. She was bombarded with a hail of questions, "Ms. Slattery do you have links to organized crime? Are you connected with the syndicate? Can you explain your disappearance now Ms. Slattery?" 

Susan had been set up!

They walked her to a one of those vehicles into which they usually loaded large numbers of people after a raid. While one man guided her head another made as if he were going to attach shackles to her ankles. My God she thought. She was being treated like a common criminal, and she didn't have the slightest notion why, at least that's what she kept telling herself.

The man who had originally approached her got in the vehicle and sat down, "I'm Agent Mark Miller. I work for the FBI. You can make it a lot easier on yourself if you tell us what you know about Ophay."

Susan was surprised, but knew who he was, and she knew all about the code name Ophay, "Ophay? Ophay," she said. "Isn't that some bad word black people once used when they talked about white people?"

Agent Miller wasn't impressed, "You know who Ophay is. It will make everything a lot easier if you just tell us what you know."

Susan wasn't about to rat out the one man she loved, "I just told you what Ophay means. Now would you mind telling me what I'm being arrested for?"

Miller answered, "You've made claims that you were kidnapped. When approached by the local police you fraudulently misrepresented what happened. Then you lied when they questioned you further. You've made direct references to known syndicate operatives, but have refused to clarify what you know. That we call obstruction of justice."

Susan acted like she was totally confused, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Agent Miller reminded her, "I want to remind you, everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. We know you know a great deal, so don't compound your crimes by lying to us."

Susan wasn't going to be intimidated by this man. She'd been scared, raped, and terrorized by tougher guys than him, "I want a lawyer."

Agent Miller smiled, "Of course, you'll be able to make your telephone call when we get you to our destination."

Susan asked, "What's our destination?" She one upped him, "Guantanimo?"

Agent Miller smiled, "We're taking you to FBI headquarters."

Susan had nothing else to say. She didn't have anywhere to go. She had no clients, only a cat and an unborn baby. She knew where the FBI building in her city was, and she knew they'd be there in a few minutes. She'd get loose, make her call, and be home before Tom even knew she'd been gone. She held up her feet, "Well go ahead and chain me up good."

Agent Miller was taken aback. He thought for sure she'd crumble if he put a little jack boot to her. She wasn't a bit scared. He smiled, "I don't think they'll be necessary do you?"

Susan punched back, "I don't know. I'm a pretty tough hombre; a real modern day Bonnie Parker."

Agent Miller didn't take the bait. 

The vehicle trundled along the road for what seemed like hours. It didn't take her long to realize they weren't taking her anywhere she was familiar with. It still didn't scare her. These were government officials. They weren't into hurting citizens, and she knew the accusations the idiot sitting beside her had made were a sham. He was an ass hole of the first degree. 

She figured he was trying to scare the shit out of her, guessing she'd buckle under the pressure. She laughed to herself quietly; it didn't work with Shawn and certainly wouldn't work with this jackass. Once she got out and made her phone call she'd be home free.

Agent Miller had been tracking the killer Ophay for quite some time. He knew he'd been close just a few months earlier, but then things started to unravel. He picked up on this woman's circumstances almost by luck. He had little else to do so he peaked around in her file. There had been an unexplained disappearance, then reappearance, and then the garage abduction. 

Slattery's unusual behavior corresponded almost exactly with the disruptions he'd experienced. He didn't think she'd committed any crimes, but he did think what had been happening to her was linked to the man he was after. He thought he knew how to handle this. Women like her were best managed by scaring the shit out of them. If he came up with enough really terrifying threats she'd wilt like a flower on a hot dry day. At least that's what he originally thought, but she wasn't complying.

Susan wasn't letting the asshole beside her get away with anything, "Hey!" She said.

Agent Miller looked up, "Hey what?"

She gave him what she hoped was the shittiest smile she could muster, "Before you load me into one of your black helicopters to haul me off to Egypt for some enhanced interrogation." She watched his facial expression change. She had him, and he knew it, "I think my water just broke."

Agent Miller looked at the floor of the vehicle, "Shit!"

------------

Oscar Camulos was on the phone, "You say you've made contact with our girl friend the other day."

Someone on the end of the line said something.

Camulos went on, "Good. Persuade her to believe all she'll have to do is coordinate some simple activities. We'll get her to sign a few benign looking documents, and she'll be mine, I mean ours."

Someone on the other end of the line continued to speak.

Camulos ended the conversation, "No you can't have her. Not right away anyway." He put down the receiver and chuckled.



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 08



Susan sat smugly in the back of the FBI vehicle. Mr. Asshole Mark Miller, big time FBI creep couldn't tell the difference between amniotic fluid and piss. She looked over and leered, "If I lose my baby I'll see that you're screwed; screwed but good."

Agent Miller silently gnashed his teeth. 

The vehicle sped on into the night. It was a huge SUV, but had no siren so it was touch and go all the way. 

Susan grimaced, "I'm uncomfortable."

The vehicle rolled into the hospital parking area and up to the emergency room doors. Two orderlies with a stretcher raced out to the back of the vehicle.

Susan leaned forward and stood up, "Oh hell. It was just me having to take a piss." She looked back at Agent Miller, "Oops. I'm sorry."

Miller was furious. He hailed the driver, "Get started again. We're taking this young lady in for interrogation."

Susan gave him a phony befuddled smile, "Look. We're right here at a hospital. Why can't I make a call to my lawyer from right here?"

Miller smacked his fists together. He turned back to the driver, "Hold up." He looked at Susan, "Let's go inside for a minute." He gave her a look of what he hoped was genuine apology; could I please have an informal talk with you?"

Susan, feeling completely in control, smiled even more broadly, "What kind of informal talk?"

Agent Miller held up his hands, "Please, just for a few minutes."

Susan stood there, a little tired, looking a little haggard, clothes a little ratty, and belly distended, "You want to ask me out?"

Miller responded, "Please?"

Susan relented, "I'm tired. My back is killing me. I ache all over, but if you need a minute, I'll go 

along."

Agent Miller nodded as if in relief, "Thank you." He took her arm and helped her inside the hospital.

Once inside Agent Miller turned to his driver, "Call a limousine so we can see Ms. Slattery gets home comfortably." He looked at the doctor on call, a man who'd been standing in the rotunda in disbelief, "Do you have a nice comfortable private lounge where she and I could sit down for a few minutes?"

The doctor stood to the side a little. He started to walk as he pointed he spoke, "Sure follow me."

The doctor led Susan and Agent Miller to a quiet and comfortable facility. Once they were inside Agent 

Miller looked at Susan, "Would you like a coffee or anything?"

She responded, "A coffee, cream only, that would be nice."

Agent Miller looked at the doctor, "Could you please get us two coffees with cream?"

As the doctor walked away Agent Miller and Susan both sat down, each in one of the plush comfortable chairs available. Agent Miller spoke first, "I'm sorry for all the trouble. No one's going to arrest you."

Susan stiffly responded, "Well thank you Sir Galahad."

Agent Miller started talking, "I know you've been through a lot, and I'm responsible for at least tonight, though I know I've done nothing wrong."

Susan sternly commented, "Then I can go home?"

Agent Miller answered, "You said you'd give me a couple minutes."

Susan was tired and she wasn't at her best, "Look I've had it." She wasn't thinking. "I've been kidnapped twice, ransomed twice. I've had my career ruined, and my private life turned upside down. Then you come along and accuse me of things you and I both know won't stand up, and now you want to talk."

Agent Miller was tired too, but not that tired, "You said you were kidnapped twice? Ransomed twice?"

Susan realized her mistake, "Did I say that? I meant once."

Agent Miller had some information he needed even if he didn't have her, "You said twice, and you meant it. The truth be known you have been kidnapped and ransomed twice, and both times by the same man."

Susan had slipped up, but knew he still didn't have anything, "I said twice, but meant once. It was just a slip of the tongue."

Agent Miller waved his hand, "I don't want to fight about it. You and I know the truth. I can't and won't press it, but I want to tell you some things. Let me do that, and I'll see you get home safely."

An orderly came in and dropped off two coffees. Susan opened her lid and smelled it, "Just checking for drugs."

Agent Miller didn't laugh, "No drugs. Will you let me talk?"

Susan sipped her coffee, "Sure. I've got time."

Miller took out a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote the name Ophay on it, and handed it to her, "This is the code name of a killer I've been tracking for two years. He's the man who has kidnapped and saved you two separate times."

Susan listened but offered no comment.

Agent Miller went on, "I've positively connected him with six different homicidal occurrences." He looked at Susan, "Eight years ago he murdered a twenty-six year old woman for $5,000.00 simply because she was alleged to be cutting out on an unhappy boyfriend."

Susan sat stiffly.

Miller continued, "Five years ago he murdered a forty-two year old industrialist, a man with a wife and two children. Five years ago he murdered three black jack dealers in Las Vegas. He got $5,000.00 and $25,000.00 respectively." Miller tried to appreciate any expression on the woman's face, but so far got no response. 

He kept at it, "Four years ago he murdered a twenty-four year old secretary. He got $25,000.00 for that. Three years ago he scored $100,000.00 when he drowned a sports celebrity while the guy was scuba diving."

Susan looked up. She remembered reading something about that.

Miller hit her with the coupe de grace, "Two years ago he got $125,000.00 for butchering an entire family.

Susan was listening.

"That's right." Miller said, "He murdered a father, mother, and all three of their children." He paused for emphasis, "I'm not lying to you." He waited, "Susan that man you've been protecting is a bad one. These are only the cases we can prove. There are half a dozen others we think he was involved in."

Susan was holding her coffee cup in both hands, "You're lying."

"I'm not lying. The man's a murderer. Why you're alive is a mystery."

She took another sip, "I don't believe you."

"Believe me. Look I know you were kidnapped twice. I think I know why the second time."

Susan looked at him, "Yeah? Why?"

"You're alive. That's why." He pushed the only button he had, "Look, no recriminations, no threats, no charges. We'll even help you get your business started again. Just give me a name. Just a name, that's all."

Susan was tired. She wanted to go home. She needed to rest. All he wanted was a name. Shawn said it would be OK. She looked over, "Shawn McClellan."

Agent Miller wrote down the name. He stepped to the door and spoke to the agent who'd been the driver, "See Ms. Slattery to the vehicle we ordered for her. See that she gets home." He turned back to Susan, "Thank you Ms. Slattery."

------------

On the other side of the world; in the arid Sahara a handful of aid workers watched as a caravan of vehicles approached from the east. It was the irregular forces who'd been to their camp several days before. This time Shawn, Kim and the others knew things wouldn't be nearly as cordial.

Kim looked around, "Everybody has what they need?"

Everyone nodded.

"Then let's take up positions."

------------

Susan sat in the back seat of the black limousine as it hurtled its way across town. She realized what she'd done. She betrayed the man who loved her. Sure it was probably the right thing to do. If he'd committed all those crimes; if he killed all those people; then he should be brought to justice. There was no reason to believe Agent Miller had lied. She knew Shawn had been a hired killer from the first day. She knew he was bad luck for her. She knew there was no future being in love with a man like him. She knew there were other men, better men. There was Todd. 

Still, if all the bad things he'd said about Shawn were true, then why did she feel so horrible? She sat quietly in the darkened back seat of the limousine. She whispered, Hermie. She put her head in her hands and started to weep. What was wrong with her she wondered?

------------

Agent Mark Miller rode along in the FBI vehicle with his current partner. Pulling out his hand held computer, blackberry, blueberry, hand pad, or whatever it was, and typed in Shawn McClellan. The name rang a bell; he just couldn't get a fix on it. The dashboard screen of the vehicle started to vomit up information, a military picture, military records, childhood records, college information. He studied what emerged. Everything on the screen fit neatly with what he'd hoped. With all McClellan's known past activities on the screen there was nothing that conflicted with any of the murders Miller's Ophay had been aligned with. There was strong circumstantial evidence to put McClellan in all the right places at all the right times. But there were problems too. This man McClellan had a career working with international aid organizations. The two didn't make sense. They weren't congruent. Syndicate murderers weren't do gooders. 

There were inconsistencies pertaining to his military record as well. He'd volunteered for three years service, he'd seen action; he must have. Yet there were no references to the expected places, nothing about Iraq, Afghanistan, not even Korea, but he had two Bronze Stars. Something else was suspicious. There was an official letter of commendation indicating an honorable record of service and dismissal as an E-5. But it came after only two years. He'd signed on for three. At the end of two years he was an E-6. His commendation letter that mentioned 'honorable service' was not a military discharge. Mark Miller was puzzled. What happened to the higher ranking? What happened to the third year? Where was the Honorable Discharge? 

Agent Miller looked at McClellan's military record. It didn't make any sense. What happened to that third year? He tried to pull up more information. The computer stopped him cold. Any further information about Sergeant E-6 or E-5 McClellan was blocked. Not even his FBI password could penetrate the military firewall. Agent Miller could come to only one conclusion. The name Susan Slattery gave him was a phony. This man Shawn McClellan could never have been the man she claimed had kidnapped and then ransomed her. This man was still actively engaged in the United States Armed Forces. That bitch he thought. She pulled not one, but two tricks on him this night. He wasn't going to let her get away with it. 

------------

Kim strode out to greet the oncoming convoy. He could tell they were the irregulars from several days before. They looked pretty confident too. As they pulled closer the A.P.C. slipped to the side of the road. 

The other vehicles stopped and started to disgorge their passengers. Aside from the Armored Personnel Carrier there were four trucks, what looked like an old Russian APC, and a tow vehicle hauling an open trailer. 

Out of the trucks, the Russian vehicle and the trailer emerged several dozen young men, mostly boys actually. Some had automatic rifles; a few had pistols, but most still carried sticks or large knives. They made no attempt to approach him. They were all making straight for the encampment, and from what Kim could tell they were headed for the womens' quarters.

Kim realized there would be no negotiation this morning. He waved his arm, the signal to prepare to fire. As they drew closer he dropped his arm.

Shawn, Jesus, Amin, two trustworthy male refugees, and Kim all opened fired. Within seconds the front rank of irregulars crumpled to the ground. Some died instantly, but most lay writhing on the ground. The rest fled back to the trucks.

Kim saw the commander step from behind the APC. He started giving orders to the young men, and they began to fan out around the perimeter of the camp. Obviously they intended to attack it from several sides. 

Looking over at his comrades he could tell they'd all come to the same conclusion. Amin and Jesus were retreating to the main hospital. Shawn had collected two trustworthy refugees and retreated to the womens' area. Kim took up a position directly athwart the opposing commander. If he could kill him, that would end the affair.

The young irregulars rushed the camp from several directions. As they crossed the perimeter's outer edges all the armed aid personnel opened fire. Most of the irregulars found themselves in a crossfire between Shawn and his group and Amin and Jesus. It was a devastating display of the effectiveness of the AK 47. What a remarkable weapon. Another score of young, or youngish, boys lay splayed all over the ground. 

Kim opened fire on the APC hoping to hit the enemy commander. He was sure it was a waste of time. If there was one man among the opposing forces who took care to keep safe it was him. 

All around the camp the youthful enemy retreated. Everywhere was the pitiful sound of dying or desperately wounded adolescents. A few minutes earlier most of them probably envisioned themselves proud conquerors. Seconds later they were just another flock of dying boys. 

Kim, Shawn, and all the others held their breath. They hoped they'd succeeded in beating back their attackers. Such was not the case.

The commander in the APC ordered its occupants to open up with the forty millimeter. Over the next several minutes cannon fire blazed through the aid camp like a firestorm. Each shot swept through two, sometimes three tents. Hundreds of refugees started to flee westward, away from the cannon fire. 

The Sudanese commandant wasn't finished. He sat upon the top of the APC and released the safety catch on the fifty caliber machine gun. Slowly, irresistibly, the APC started moving toward and then through the camp. The man atop the vehicle fired into every tent, at everything and anything that appeared to move. He even raked bullet fire across his own wounded.

What had taken three groups of aid personnel months to organize was being annihilated in minutes. Dozens of women lay dead in the dirt. Perhaps a hundred children had been machine gunned. Hundreds had fled. Dozens more lay amid the ruins crying, some in pain due to their own wounds, many others in bitter anguish over the loss of some child or parent. 

Shawn scanned the area. He saw Jesus among the dead. Amin was holding his intestines in his hands. He couldn't see anyone else. Kim, Kia, and Shai, had all either escaped, or were lying unseen among the heaps of dead. Shawn turned to the surviving men among his small group. In a dialect he knew they all understood he led them away. There was nothing left here but death and failure. Shawn's primary duty from then on was to the men still with him, and to those who'd been killed. He had to escape. He had to report what happened here. He vowed this massacre mustn't go unpunished.

------------

By the time the limousine dropped Susan dropped off it was late. She undressed, rinsed off, and went to bed. 

Susan dropped off to sleep almost immediately, but didn't remain so. Something awakened her. It awakened her with a start! She peered over at the electric dial on her alarm clock. It read 3:30 a.m. She hurt.

She lay there for another ten minutes. The time slowly clicked by. There! She felt it again! It was hard to say exactly what it felt like; maybe like a watery wave rolling into shore, except this was in her abdomen. It hurt, but not profoundly, sort of like being constipated. She figured either her baby was moving, or she was starting to have contractions.

Susan lay beside the clock and watched the minutes tick away. After another fifteen minutes she decided it had been a false alarm. She rolled back on her right side, and closed her eyes. She should get back to sleep. There wasn't anything to do at the office, but she ought to get in early just in case. Oh! There it was again! 

Yes, this could be the beginning of her time. She rolled back over to look at the clock again. It was 4:15 a.m. Gee, she thought, if that's all it was going to be it wouldn't hurt much at all. All the books and all the people she'd talked to described agonizing pain. She sort of figured all along they were only trying to scare her. No big deal! Hell, she'd put up with Shawn, she could put up with this. It was his anyway. His and hers she thought.

------------

The commandant of the irregulars picked up the APC phone. He called the Captain of the regular forces who'd loaned him the APC, the very Captain who's visited the aid camp just days earlier, "Sir, we've just broken up a major gun running operation disguised as a UN aid station. We must have killed fifty terrorists! The rest have fled. Unfortunately few usable firearms have been found. Most have been destroyed in combat, or were taken off by the fleeing terrorists. This was a great victory. Our casualties have been high."

The Captain on the other end replied, "Did you capture any of their leaders?"

The Irregular commander responded, "Not sure. We're still looking through the debris." 

The Captain ordered, "Any male leaders must be killed instantly. Hold any women."

"Yes sir!"

The Captain continued, "Collect all the medical supplies and any other useful paraphernalia you find and load it on the trucks. Did you find any money?"

The Irregular commander was standing in a partially damaged tent staring at an open box filled with $100.00 bills. "No sir. No money." He had no way of knowing he'd just put a bullet in his own head.

The Captain concluded the conversation, "Gather in what you can. Burn all the bodies. I'll be there soon." He turned to one of his lieutenants, his primary aide, "Call out Mustafa's squad." Mustafa was a sergeant among his battalion, and an integral part of his personal operations. Most of the Sudanese army had been corrupted by years of civil conflict. Mustafa's group was no less corrupt, but they were all elite troops, his elite, and they were all battle hardened veterans.

The Captain turned back to another telephone. This one connected him to his commander. He hit the necessary button and waited. Seconds later an adjutant on the other end responded, "General Ibn al Suleiman's headquarters."

The Captain spoke, "Sir. This is Captain Kemal al Raspar, 351st Mobile Infantry reporting on the disruption of a terrorist base camp."

The adjutant answered, "Sir. Hold on."

Second later, "This is General Suleiman."

The Captain gave his report, "After weeks of surveillance we've uncovered and disposed of a secret Christian terrorist base. Thanks to our planning casualties have been modest. Though few tangible resources have been collected a major disruption to the Christian anti-government movement has been achieved."

The General listened in bored frustration, "Any money found?"

The Captain responded, "None yet sir."

Suleiman closed the conversation, "Bring me any worthy female prisoners, all the money, and any other worthwhile supplies you've been able to salvage." He paused for emphasis then added, "This was a job well done Raspar. It will go on your record."

On the other end there was a delighted, "Yes Sir!"

Captain Raspar turned to his aide, "The men ready?"

His aide responded, "Yes sir."

"Good. Let's go clean up the mess."

------------

Back at the wreckage of what had a few hours earlier been a working aid station the Commander of the irregular forces felt insanely rich. Sitting on a bloody chair, he was holding a shoebox that contained $80,000 American dollars, while languidly watching two luscious upper class women pretending to care about a bunch of worthless Dinka refugees.

Kia and Shai had decided not to run. They tried to gather as many of the surviving camp inhabitants as they could. Finding what was left of the medical supplies had proved a daunting task. The few surviving irregulars had collected most of the medicines and turned them over to their leader. The women worked feverishly trying to bandage horrid bullet wounds and vicious shrapnel lacerations, while a dozen callow irregulars stared at them lasciviously. Kia, owing to her exotic appearance, was the recipient of significant ogling.




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 08



Two or three of the remaining older irregulars approached the young women. Shai saw them. She barked out several commands in the dialect of the Selassie Royal Family, "This woman and me are under the protection of the Lion of Judah." 

It was an empty statement. The last emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie had been gone since the early 1970's, yet she knew the name, the language, and most of all the history still carried significant mystical power. 

The Commander heard her. He ordered his few men to stop, "Bring those two," pointing to Kia and Shai, "to me."

One of the men grabbed them by the arm and unceremoniously pulled them before the Commander. 

The Commander asked, "You're related to the ill famed Selassie family?"

Shai stood erect. Imperiously she answered, I am Idra Shai Selassie, granddaughter to his imperial majesty, the Lion of Judah, Lord of Ethiopia, Emperor of all Africa, the most excellent and perfect Haile Selassie, Guardian of the Ark of the Covenant, who himself was direct descendant of Menelik II, the Ras Tafari, who himself was a descended from Menelik I, first son of the Empress Sheba, consort of Solomon the Great of the Empire of Israel and grandmother to Memnon the Great, the great and courageous hero who perished in the defense of Troy 3,000 years before your miserable Muhammad was even born.

"Watch your words Ethiopian." The Commander said, "You're among the followers of the faithful now."

Shai stuck out her right shoulder, reached inside her bodice and pulled out a necklace from which hung two pendants. She waved it in front of the Commander. On it was a small Star of David and a Chi Rho, "You mean I am among the Heathen."

The Commander reached for his sidearm. He fully intended to splash Shai's brains out on the dusty soil, "In the holy name of." He didn't finish his sentence. He turned. He heard noises from two directions. Off on the eastern horizon he saw what had to be the convoy led by Captain Raspar, but there was another sound, a clicking sound, like the safety on a? 

A single shot rang out. The Commander dropped to the earth, dead. In another instant the harsh rattle of an AK 47 swept away the remaining irregulars standing near the women. The last motley handful of Sudanese irregulars had seen enough. Most of their number were dead anyway, and their leader lay dead in a heap, they fled. 

To the surprise of no one who knew Kim, he had fought courageously until he saw the pointlessness of continued combat. Then he drifted off, disappearing in the dust. However, he'd had no intention of abandoning the encampment. He had good reasons. Ever since Nepal he and Kia had a special relationship, a love relationship like no other. 

Out from an outcropping of low rocks he strode, Smith and Wesson hanging loosely from a string, smoking AK 47 in his right hand, "That was quite a spiel Shai."

Shai swung around. Her imperial hackles were up, "Every word was true!"

Kim graced the ladies with one of his rare smiles, "No disrespect Shai. It was your eloquence that transfixed me." He pointed to the east, "Look!"

All three looked off to the east. 

Shai spoke first, "This is not good."

Kim followed, "That's going to be the regular army. They'll come in and clean up what's left."

Kia looked at Kim, "What should we do?"

"Here's what I think." He continued to stare at the onrushing column, "The three of us won't be able to move fast enough. I'm guessing the commander of that group will see the two of you as prime meat for ransom, especially you Shai." He was scared, and unhappy about the decision he was about to make, 

"I've got to disappear again. They'll kill me out of hand. I'm sure of that. The two of you go on about caring for the survivors. When they get here Shai you tell them who you are, and you expect yourself and Kia to be treated with respect. Don't hesitate to tell them how much the two of you are worth."

Shai was losing respect for Kim fast, "And you? What will you do?"

He looked at Kia with pleading eyes, "I'm not deserting you," glancing at Shai, "either of you." He walked over and stood close to Kia, He reached out and held her left hand in his right. He whispered, "I won't let you down."

Kia pulled Kim close and hugged him. She had started to cry, "I know."

Kim made ready to leave, "Tell them one of the irregulars got angry and went berserk. It's a plausible line. They're probably aware of me. That is they are if they have a pair of binoculars, but I don't think they'll care. This country is in the midst of civil war. One loose foreigner more or less won't matter to them." He kissed Kia on the cheek He repeated himself, "I won't let you down Kia. I promise. I won't let you down." He jumped up, and in a second he'd disappeared.

Shai looked at Kia, "Well at least we're no worse off than we were an hour ago."

Kia reprimanded her friend, "Oh no. Things are much better."

Shai looked at her incredulously, "I'd like to know where you've gotten that piece of information."

Kia smiled, "We have Kim now." She added, "Plus Shawn's still on the loose."

Shai blinked back a tear. She was certain Shawn was dead, and that Kim would be just as dead in a few days, "OK. We'll see."

------------

By 4:30 a.m. Susan knew it was time to go. Several days earlier she'd decided she didn't want to have her baby alone. She and Todd had talked it over, and he'd agreed when the time came he'd drive her to wherever she wanted to go. The time had come. She called, and he was at her door inside forty minutes. 

Susan slipped a coat on over her pajamas, and together they went to the hospital. Todd said and did all the right things at all the right times. He had everything planned. He was completely in charge. He was wonderful. Susan discovered her health policy had lapsed for reasons she hadn't quite understood, but Todd had fixed it. She remembered filling out the paperwork. She barely read it. She trusted Todd completely. 

As they pulled into the hospital parking lot she was glad she had Todd to lean on. She knew everything was taken care of; her delivery, health care for her baby and herself, even protections in the event there were complications. 

Her delivery proved to be every bit as long and painful as all the medical manuals and personal informants had warned. She was eleven hours in delivery, but in the end it was all well worth it. She was the proud mother of a darling baby girl. She'd thought about names, and had talked to Shawn early on and Todd later. Todd had no preferences, but Shawn, fearing perhaps his inability to ever return, had wanted something of his own in the name. Susan decided to name the little girl after herself and after Shawn. She named the little six pound four ounce baby Shawna Lauren Slattery; giving the baby Shawn's first name and her middle name. 

She loved the name, and so did Todd. After her Todd was the first person, other than the nurses of course, who held little Shawna Lauren. She watched as Todd held her baby in his arms, slowly rocking her back and forth, and whispering endearments. When he handed her back he kissed both mother and little girl. He'd said his only problem with the baby's name was her surname. He hoped someday he might have the good fortune to change it to something else. 

Susan felt blessed. She had a beautiful baby, and a man who cared, really cared, about both of them. She wasn't ready to give up on Shawn yet, but Todd was looking better and better every day.

As she lay there holding her little girl, with Todd pressing a caring hand gently against her shoulder she paid no attention to the action on the television screen at the darkened end of her private room. Todd, ever the gentleman, had turned the sound off. She did notice Brian Williams of the nightly news pointing to something in Africa, but exactly what it was simply didn't concern her. She had everything she needed, everything she really cared about was right there with her.

------------

The regular army convoy pulled into the debris of the enclosure. Captain Raspar jumped from the top of his APC. Feigning complete ignorance, "What goes on here?"

Shai approached, "We were attacked by some of your men."

The Captain stepped back, "My men!" he looked around in artificial disbelief, "These aren't my men. This looks like a Dinka raiding party."

Shai interrupted, "They weren't Christian Dinkas they were Muslim irregular soldiers, guerrillas, and I think they were paid or put up to it by you."

The Captain glowered at the woman, "Who are you?"

"I am, or was, one of the doctors sent here to help these people. My name is Dr. Idra Shai Selassie, and this is my very close personal friend, associate and colleague," pointing to Kia, "Kia Monisha Chalise."

Captain Raspar had never seen anyone quite like Kia. Being an Arab middle easterner, women were generally concealed from the public eye. The few other women he'd seen, that is live and in the flesh, were black people like Shai or white Northwest Europeans. This woman was startling and different. Looking at Kia he asked, "Where are you from?"

"I am from Nepal. My home city is Kathmandu."

The Captain was mesmerized. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. She was short of stature, perhaps five feet two inches, and diminutive in overall shape. Not tiny or flat chested like some Asian women he'd been told about, but not big and buxom like so many African and European women. She was wearing a khaki colored shirt, tucked in a pair of khaki shorts that revealed very shapely legs. The shirt was partly unbuttoned, probably because of the heat, but the result revealed two smallish but beautifully shaped breasts. 

However, it was her face and hair that overwhelmed him. She had incredibly long thick straight black hair, which she had wrapped in two beautiful braids. Her complexion wasn't black like an African's, white like a Europeans, or dark like someone from India. Her complexion was tawnier, light brown with hints of red. Her eyes were huge, neither round nor slanted, but an almost perfect almond shape. Her nose was long straight and perfect, and her mouth, her lips, looked absolutely succulent. 

She was the kind of woman men dreamed about, killed for, died for. He had to have her. 

He commented, "Nepal you say."

"Yes," was her reply. "My father is a diplomat. He was until recently the Nepali Ambassador to the United States. More recently he has been serving as my country's representative to the United Nations."

Shai stood next to her friend dumbfounded. Until just this moment she'd had no idea who Kia really was. It helped explain a lot. Like maybe how Shawn had been able to rescue the three women and get the medical supplies back. Or like why so many people had treated her with such deference. 

The Captain had been staring. He caught himself, "There was another person here just moments ago, a man. Who was he?"

Shai and Kia feigned ignorance. Shai spoke up, "There was an African man here, one of the raiders, but he fled when he saw your convoy."

"Why didn't you flee as well?"

Kia answered, "We're here to help these people. We have no enemies. Why would anyone want to harm us?"

The Captain answered evasively, "We were told this camp had become a staging area for the sale of arms and ammunition to the warlike Dinka in the region."

"That's preposterous," was Shai's response, "These people are harmless. Look around. You don't see any guns. All you see are poor helpless people; I mean that is those who are still alive."

The Captain looked around pretending to assess a situation he knew far more about that than he cared to admit, "That may be the case, but we were told this was an arms depot. That's the message that was sent out, and has become the message sent to my government, and I presume the world press."

Kia piped in, "You'll have to correct that misrepresentation."

The Captain gave her a sympathetic look, "I'm sorry. I wish I could, but the source was a reliable one. And now I'm going to have to take you two into custody." He gave the two women a sly look, "I'll do the best I can to make you're confinement as comfortable as possible."

Shai interrupted, "Do you know who I am?"

Captain Raspar looked at her with disdain. "With a name like Selassie; you're certainly Ethiopian, maybe from the old regime? At the least you're probably a Christian, but certainly no one of any real importance." He turned to Kia, "I hope your background is better, but I can't guarantee better treatment." He looked over at his lieutenant; Put these two women under guard. Watch them closely. See they come to no harm. Do not let them escape."

"Yes sir," was the lieutenant's reply.

Captain Raspar considered what he had. Certainly both of these women had great value. Most significantly for any ransom they might bring, but secondarily, well." He smiled.

For the next few hours Raspar's men scoured the camp, collecting supplies, equipment, and anything else that might be either used or sold. Raspar found the box with the money close by the dead irregular commandant's body. He stowed that away where no one but he would ever find it. After one more cursory walk through the Sudanese troops regrouped, re-boarded their vehicles, and started back to their base camp outside Omdurman. 

------------

Shawn escaped after the attack. He felt like a coward. He'd abandoned Kia, Shai, Kim and the others. He knew a real man would have stayed and fought it out. He just wasn't a real man. He lacked the moral fiber. What John Wayne had called 'True Grit'. 

He first escaped with three African comrades, but by the end of the second night he found himself alone. He knew turning up at Omdurman or any other Sudanese town would have been a mistake if not suicidal. He was a West European, an American; they had a dim opinion of Americans among the political and military circles in the Sudan. His best chance of survival, and hopefully a chance to return to rescue his friends was to sneak across the Sudan by some southerly route and get to Ethiopia. 

Omdurman really was out of the question. It was too far to the northeast and through the heartland of some of the most aggressive Muslim warring factions. If he had a chance at all it was by going southeast toward Nyata, then east to the White Nile. He knew this was across hundreds of miles of arid land with no supplies and no help. All he had was a knife, an AK 47, and a pistol. He believed if he traveled at night, avoided the main stopovers, and trusted in his luck he just might make it.

He thought about Susan, and how she'd tried to escape from him. She had been so brave. He hoped he had her courage. He wondered if she'd had the baby yet. Was he the father of a little boy or a little girl? He wished he could go back and rewrite history. He imagined being with her. Cuddling up with Susan and his baby would be nice.

Regrettably for Shawn his luck did not hold out. He'd managed the water problem by eying the terrain for places most likely to have wells. Food was less a problem. Using his pistol and AK 47 he was able to bring down an occasional small animal. Cooking was a problem, and he found himself forced to consume some meat raw. Vegetation was scarce, and he lacked any knowledge regarding the edibility of most Sudanese plants. He was hungry, tired, thirsty, and literally running out of shoe leather. None of those things proved to be his undoing.

To Shawn's chagrin one of the men he'd started out with had seen an opportunity. At his first chance he told the authorities about a lone white man trying to get to Ethiopia by trying to cross the arid wastes of the southern Sudan. Within sight of the White Nile, and near complete exhaustion he was picked up by a Sudanese military patrol. They'd been expecting him. 

After the expected preliminary beating the soldiers threw him in the back of a truck and hauled in him north to their base camp. From there he was transported to a field base of about two thousand men. After a few days there in solitary confinement he was taken to Omdurman for interrogation.

In Omdurman a young Arab officer, who Shawn thought looked Yemeni, introduced himself, "Good afternoon my Christian terrorist friend. My name is Akbar Bin Battutta. Would you please tell me yours?"

Shawn replied, "My name is Shawn McClellan. I'm a United Nations aid worker from a medical site west of here that was attacked by armed guerrillas a few days ago."

The Arab Battutta slapped him, "There are no guerrillas in the Sudan. Only honest Muslims defending their country and Christian terrorists like you."

Shawn knew he was in deep trouble, "I'm an American by birth, a Christian by faith, and an aid worker by profession."

Battutta answered, "We'll see. We know you Americans like to water board. You understand we live in a dryer part of the world. Water is something of a luxury here so we have to resort to other interrogation techniques."

Shawn gave the only answer he could, "I assure you I'm nobody important, just an American aid worker employed by the United Nations. I'm sure, if you contact the UN agency located in Omdurman they'll tell you about me."

Battutta laughed, "We're in Omdurman. There are no UN agencies located here; only Sudanese national agencies. By the way Shawn McClellan did you know, even for a backward people like ourselves, we have discovered electricity. Do you like electricity Shawn McClellan?"

Shawn knew now it didn't matter what he said. This man wanted a confession of some sort. Sooner or later he'd get it.

------------

After just one full day in the hospital Susan was discharged. Todd had taken a week off from work just so he could stay at Susan's side. He said he wanted to look after her and the baby. He took her home settled her in, went to the store, bought groceries, even offered to bathe her, something she declined, and was just everything a woman could have wanted. He was a wonderful man. She felt blessed.

Susan had decided to breast feed. She wanted to do it all, have the whole rodeo. This was her baby, her chance.

Todd insisted she stay home and rest. He said he didn't want anything to happen to the two most important people in his world. He slept on the sofa. She stayed mostly in bed or just padded around the apartment. Though her delivery had gone smoothly her doctors had suggested a few days of down time was best. Sometimes women returned to work or to a fast life style too soon and then they hemorrhaged. Susan took everyone's advice and just hung out. 

She had lots of free time so she started prowling the Internet looking for things to get in to. The first week drifted into a second, and then a third. She wasn't lazy. She just loved being a mother. 

Of course there was the usual television news, the typical gossip, and occasional interesting sports story, but she spent most of her time drifting through the e-book offerings. She'd always been a big reader, but had eschewed some of the heavier stuff. She thought what the hell she'd tinker with some of Will Shakespeare's plays. It started as a lark, but pretty soon she was in quite deep. Othello was a nasty little story. She learned to hate Iago right away. She read Henry IV, and Richard III, then another play caught her eye. It was a genre of Shakespeare she'd never considered. The play was the theatrical portrayal of events surrounding two lovers during the Trojan War. It was about Troilus and Cressida; two star crossed lovers if ever two such people existed. She hunkered down one afternoon and started reading. 

For several weeks Susan played with the Internet reading old plays. Her life slowly narrowed in focus. First there was the baby. Then there was Todd. Always there was the television rumbling on and on in the background droning on and on about this or that, mostly nothing. After a while she completely forgot the television was playing, except when Jeopardy was on. It came right after the nightly news so she usually stopped her reading or babying to close in on the questions. She was pretty good at it. She wondered how good she'd be if she had to do it on a stage, but sitting in her living room she was damn good.




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 08



Todd was coming over that night. He'd been such a good sport, a real decent chap. She'd known for some time he wanted more than the platonic thing. Tonight she decided she'd give him what he wanted. She'd taken a warm shower, put on some new perfume, a nice fragrant aroma. She worked for twenty minutes tying her hair back in the perfect but casual looking ponytail. Make up was just so the right eye shadow, pink lip stick with a smidgen of gloss, a speck of cheek coloring. 

The only jewelry she wore was the necklace and pendant Shawn had given her. The phrase on the back, 'Love is Eternal,' could have meant anybody. Todd hadn't noticed it yet, and she was sure if he did he wouldn't make a connection between her and any other man. She thought about Shawn. She thought about him a lot. But Shawn, she decided, was a part of her past from now on. It was time to move on.

She opted for a pair of relaxed fit silk slacks with a tie rather than a belt at the waist. They buttoned up in the front, and to add to the allure she decided to forgo underpants. She'd trimmed her pussy, leaving just a trace of hair above her clitoris. She decided on a slightly translucent camisole type top, held up with two scandalously thin spaghetti straps. She capped everything off with a pair of high heeled mules. She was sure he'd know what the score was as soon as he walked in. 

------------

Todd Bitterman was on the telephone with Oscar Camulos, "I've been working very closely with our prospective assistant. I think you'll find she'll be very amenable to working with you that is, I mean for you, in the near future. I'm on my way over to see her again tonight."

On the other end of the line a dark and malevolent man smiled evilly. He'd make her his personal assistant.

------------

In a tiny dimly lit room in a small building on the edge of Omdurman a young Yemeni officer was adjusting some electrical wires, "I hear back in the days when the Shah ran Iran his secret service, SAVAK, used to attach electric wires to mens' penises. Maybe we'll try that later. Right now I think I prefer a nice electric enema. What do you think Mr. Shawn McClellan, United Nations Aid worker?"

Shawn sat in the big metal chair. His arms and legs duct taped to the chair's arms and legs, "I'm sorry if I don't oblige you in your humor. I'm sorry if I can't tell you anything. I am just a UN aid worker."

The Yemeni smiled, "Oh come on Shawn. You and I both know in a little while I'll have you confessing to everything I want. You'll be damn glad to sign your name to anything I put in front of you. That's why your people called it enhanced interrogation."

Shawn whispered, "I suppose you're right. But my confessing under torture won't make anything true."

The Yemeni laughed, "Maybe not, but it will be a hell of a lot of fun!"

------------

Susan was dressed for sex. She was going to give Todd what he'd been hinting at the last several days. Slinky silk slacks; tiny mother of pearl buttons up the pale blue front allowing for suggestive gaps that gave tiny peaks at an almost cleanly shaven pussy. Spaghetti strap camisole top, no bra, nipples pressing against soft almost sheer silk material; Susan was ready to deliver.

She checked her watch. Not long before Jeopardy. She adjusted the television to the station that carried her show. She rechecked her watch. It wouldn't be on for another twenty-five minutes. She didn't expect Todd till around 9:00. What the hell she thought. She'd watch a little news first. She sat back in the sofa holding little Shawna. Oh good it was Brian Williams on NBC. 

Her doorbell rang. Todd was early. She put Shawna in her bassinet and went to the door. He greeted her with a dozen red roses, "How thoughtful, roses. My favorite," In the time she'd been with Shawn not one flower, not even a marigold. "Come sit on the sofa while I put these in water." She gave him a wink and peck on the cheek; promises of things to come.

News anchor Williams was covering the top news stories; the recent elections, political posturing, and the latest political scandals. Nothing much on after that she thought. She was bored with politics. She went to get Shawna another pamper, "Wait there Todd. I'll be right out."

Todd gave her a warm smile. Inside his thoughts were marching in a much more erotic direction. He watched her disappear into the bathroom, pants so tight he could see the crease between her ass cheeks.

Susan came back in. She re-diapered Shawna and sat down on the sofa beside Todd. She'd popped some popcorn, had it in a bowl. She plopped two Coors Lites down on the coffee table. Todd put his right arm around her shoulders.

She snuggled up close; adjusted the picture on the television a little. Checked the clock; twenty minutes till Jeopardy. She thought she and Todd could cuddle their way through the news, pet through Jeopardy, and then get down to the business of some real sex. 

Williams said something about a gun running base masquerading as an aid station in East Africa. Somebody had gotten their wires crossed. It hadn't been a gun running operation at all. 

Todd took his right hand and gently rubbed the back of her neck. He felt her hackles rise. 

Susan enjoyed the attention. Todd's hand felt soft. No one had touched her since Shawn. Forget that! Forget him! She watched a Little more Brian Williams. He was mumbling some nonsense about Africa. 

Todd had his left hand on Susan's inner thigh. She felt warm. God he thought, this is going to be great. All the work, all the sentimental bullshit, the phony sensitivity, the faked understanding, he'd get her tonight. He leaned forward and around to kiss her.

Susan knew what Todd wanted. She was ready; his care, compassion, and genuine concern needed a reward. She turned to kiss him. 

In the background Brian Williams was still mumbling something about Africa, and an arms depot. He said he'd be back after the break.

------------

Shawn, completely naked, was tied tightly in a metal chair. The room was small, hot, dark, and dirty. He could smell the old sweat, the stale urine odors of past victims. The humidity alone was almost unbearable.

His hands, feet, legs, and waist were all held firmly in place with rope and duct tape. His captors hadn't bothered to strap his head down. His tormentors enjoyed his futile twisting and turning.

They started by shoving a metal tube up his ass. They gave him short bursts of electricity; on and off, on and off, each time the voltage got a little stronger. Jesus thought Shawn, this really hurt!

Shawn tried to maintain some semblance of self control, some kind of equilibrium, but the pain was so bad. As the pain grew worse he tried disassociation. That didn't work. He tried to reason with them. He even begged a little. Nothing mattered.

The questions they asked him were all irrelevant, superfluous. When was he born, Where was he born, How old was he? How many letters were there in his first name? Each question was preceded with a jolt of electricity. They asked him who his parents were. 

He tried to explain he was a foster child. When they refused to accept the truth he made up a story. He pretended he was Greg from the Brady Bunch. They'd juice him, and he'd tell them an episode. They especially liked the Marsha stories. It would have been funny if it wasn't so desperately crazy.

Eventually the man in charge, the Yemeni got bored. He extracted the metal tube from Shawn's butt, and washed his legs and crotch with warm soapy water. They attached several electrodes to his scrotum and his penis.

The Yemeni stood back, "Take a break Shawn. I think I'll have some coffee." He grinned, "Want some?" He laughed, "Oh never mind. You're sort of tied up at the moment." He went to the far end of the room and sat. 

Shawn knew the fun stuff was over. The next time they started things were going to be a lot different. Different as in worse.

------------

Susan and Todd kissed.

Shit thought Susan. Todd was one of those aggressive kissers; one of those I've got to make a point with my kiss. Whatever happened to the old fashioned warm and tender 'I love you' kind of smooch? Crap, she thought damn, that was Shawn. Shawn was gone. He was nowhere, in the past. She did her best to kiss Todd back.

Todd let his left hand creep up to Susan's crotch. She was warm and wet. His lion, he called his penis his lion, was getting hard as a rock. Pretty soon he'd hammer it home. He pressed her right nipple between his thumb and index finger. Women liked that. 

"Ouch." He pinched her. Susan didn't like it.

Todd recovered, "I'm sorry." He pressed her breast in his hand more gently. They kept kissing.

Susan kept working on Todd's mouth with hers, trying to improve his kissing skills. She took her right hand and placed it between his pants legs. She glimpsed down. He had a hard on. She wondered if he had a name for his thing. She didn't feel like finding out. She gently rubbed the inside of his legs.

Brian Williams was back on. He was still whining about some bullshit in Africa. Susan felt like turning the damn television off, and getting it on with the main event so she could send Todd home and play with her little girl. 

Brian Williams wouldn't shut up. Susan reached for the remote. Her plan was clear, turn Brian off, get Todd off out and gone, and get back to Shawna.

------------

The Yemeni walked back to Shawn's end of the room, "Warm up time is over." He smiled at Shawn, "Ready?"

Shawn looked at the man, No bravado, no false courage, and no pretense, "I'm sorry. I'm just a poor dumb American aid worker."

The Yemeni shot Shawn a mild jolt. There was nothing mild about an electric shock to the balls, "You were in the army maybe?"

Shawn could answer that one, "Yes, I was in the army."

Another shot of electricity, and then the Yemeni asked, "An officer maybe?"

"No, I was just a sergeant."

More juice, the Yemeni, "Combat?"

"Yes."

Another shock, "Medals?"

"Bronze Stars."

More electricity, "More than one?"

"Two."

The Yemeni turned the voltage up another notch, "Ever kill any Muslims?"

Shawn answered, "The other day at the aid station."

More juice, the Yemeni asked, "Nowhere else?"

Shawn was suffering, but this time he had to get in a wisecrack, "I never inquired about anyone's religious affiliations. I've always been an equal opportunity butcher."

The Yemeni didn't appreciate the comment. He flicked the control switch higher, turned it on, and left it on for several seconds.

Shawn screamed.

The Yemeni said, "You shouldn't be rude."

Shawn was out of breath from the last shock. He was barely able to answer so he didn't. He just rolled his head in pain. Finally, "I've told you everything. I'm a nobody."

The Yemeni gave Shawn a little shock, just a nudge, "Oh no. That's not true. You're very important. You're very important to us."

Shawn answered, "Believe me. I'm nobody."

The Yemeni turned off the electricity, "I'm hungry. I think I'll have lunch now." He leaned in very close, so close Shawn could smell the coffee on his breath, "When I come back we'll get serious." He got up and left the room.

Shawn rolled his head back and forth in the chair and cried. 

------------

Susan was just about to turn off the television. The news was boring. What happened in Africa stayed in Africa! What were their problems to her? She put her finger on the power button. But she hesitated for just a second.

Williams kept droning on, "According to our latest reports. The claimed arms depot really had been a UN aid station, and it had been overrun by Muslim guerrillas. Hundreds of people were dead. Counted among the dead were several European aid workers." 

Susan put off shutting down the television for one more second. She didn't recognize any of the names. She looked back down to the remote. She figured she'd return to her main plan, get Todd off, and out, and then she'd play with Shawna Lauren. But she hesitated again.

What was Williams saying?

Williams mentioned some additional names, " Among the missing, and perhaps dead was a Nepali woman named Kia Monisha Chalise the daughter of the former Nepali ambassador to the United States, a Dr. Idra Shai Selassie from Ethiopia was also missing, one Kim Il Sun from Korea, and then there may be a missing American, a man named Shawn McClellan. 

Susan sat up, "No!"

Todd, who had been busy trying to squeeze a finger in her cleft asked, "No what?"

"No! Shawn! No!" She listened in utter disbelief, "In Africa?" She doubled over and wretched on the rug. An aid worker in the Sudan! Shawn missing! Possibly dead! She cried out, "No! That can't be! No! Shawn! No!" She burst into tears!

Todd didn't have a clue, "What's wrong honey?"

She pushed Todd away, "You've got to leave."

He was totally confused, "Why? What's wrong?"

Susan was already up. "Sorry Todd. I can't."

"Why not? What happened?"

"Just leave. I'll call you tomorrow." He tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him off again. "No, you have to go." She gave herself over to tears, "Todd I'm sorry. I want you to go."

Todd thoroughly pissed, "OK. Call me tomorrow." He was out the door.

------------

The Yemeni came back into the room. Shawn still tied and taped was in a stupor. The Yemeni didn't say anything. He just flicked the switch and gave Shawn a heavy jolt, "Wake up time."

Shawn jumped and looked up. No courage, no pride, no stamina, just fear, raw unconcealed terror.

The Yemeni hit the switch, "Tell me about the CIA."

"I wasn't in the CIA."

Another really strong surge of electricity, "What branch of the secret service are you in?"

Shawn was done, fried, and beaten. He was ready to admit to anything, "The CID."

The Yemeni had never heard of it, "The what?"

Shawn didn't want another jolt. He'd do anything, say anything. He talked, "I'm in the CID. It's a branch of the army. Its purpose is mainly internal, and when not internal to the army usually only domestic. I did domestic surveillance; then I got involved with a syndicate operation. Killed a few people, rescued a few."

The Yemeni seemed pleased. There was no follow up electric shock, "What are you doing in Africa?"

Shawn looked over at him, "I'm not lying. I'm here for personal reasons, just being a do gooder."

The Yemeni believed him, but it wasn't important anymore, "You were part of a secret American organization sent here to distribute guns among the enemies of the legal Sudanese government. You will confess to that."

Shawn figured he was dead anyway, and he couldn't bear the thought of any more electricity. "You give me the document. I'll sign it."

------------

Susan's head was in a whirl. Shawn! No! Not Shawn. But then she recovered. He was missing, only missing. This wasn't just anybody. This was Shawn; her Shawn. He was tough, tough as nails. She'd been through this with him before. He was missing; but she bet he was all right. She knew it. He was all right.

Susan reconsidered. If he wasn't dead, he'd come back. They could reunite, work out their problems, maybe even get married, raise little Shawna Lauren together, and have a half dozen more. Then again, what if he was dead? It would be a clean break, a final break. He'd be gone. Sure she'd miss him, at least for a while. But Susan realized little Shawna would never know him; never have that sense of loss, or any bad uncomfortable memories. Susan would be able to talk to her about the UN hero, the aid worker, not the hired killer, rapist, and hoodlum kidnapper he really was. 

Susan reconciled her feelings. Either way it was all right. If he's dead she'd go on, but if he was alive they'd work things out. She had it made. It was a winning situation no matter how they rolled the dice. 

She burst into tears again, this time it was an unending torrent, a torrent not of grief, nor fear; a torrent of guilt. How could she conceive the death of the father of her baby as being a good thing? What kind of person would think that way; her thinking that way made her no better than the worst in Shawn. She cried even harder. How could she ever imagine the death of another human being, any human being, especially someone like Shawn, as being good? She loved him. Honest! She really did!

Susan got down on her knees. She prayed, "Oh God. Please God. Don't let Shawn be dead. I'm sorry I even thought about it. Please I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please make him not be dead."

It didn't matter. She'd let the cat of self interest out of the bag. Being selfish was the worst human trait, and she was one of the most selfish people she knew. She promised, if he was alive, if he came home, she'd marry him, she'd be the best, the most loyal, the most loving wife any man ever had. She kept praying, "Please God. I know I'm nothing in your eyes, but at least get Shawn safely back home."

------------

Mark Miller sat at his desk. That bitch Slattery wasn't getting away with it. Twice she'd made a fool of him. All the guys, and gals, around the office knew about it. Mark knew she was into things she shouldn't be. Bitterman was a shill for mobsters, and she'd started working with him. Mark decided he'd snoop around a little. He bet he'd catch her up in something. Damn shame he thought. Under different circumstances she'd be just the gal. Oh well, tough shit.

------------

The Yemeni had finished his job. He held a blank sheet of paper in his hand with a signature at the bottom. He went in to see the General, "General Suleiman I have the confession you requested. The man in there, Shawn McClellan, is through."

The General looked at his prime torturer, "We kill him now?"

The Yemeni looked at the General. No he thought, the man in the other room still had value, "No I think not. I suggest we clean him up. It won't take much now to get him to say and do anything we want. He'll be a spokesperson for freedom loving Muslims everywhere."

The General was bored, "OK. Clean him up. Take him out of the city someplace. Keep him safe till I call you."

The Yemeni saluted, "Yes sir."

Back in the darkened room there wasn't much left of the man who'd saved lives in Thailand, rescued girls in Nepal, and kidnapped and saved Susan Slattery two times. Shawn McClellan was a shell, a husk, a beaten, degraded, and ruined man.

------------

A little further up town in the same city two young women were resting in an air conditioned apartment. Omdurman wasn't one of the world's pleasure spots. Luxurious accommodations weren't like Manhattan or Dubai, but by Sudanese standards the ladies were doing quite well.

General Suleiman smiled at the women, "I hope you've found our hospitality to your liking?"

Shai spoke for both, "Things would be even more pleasant if we could communicate with our superiors at the UN."

The General gave her a bland smile, "Good things always come to people who know how to play by the rules. Both of you lovely ladies certainly understand the old Latin phrase. How does it go? Quid pro quo I think." He looked at Kia, "Isn't that the phrase I want?"

Kia looked at the general diffidently, but made no comment.

------------

It was a bleak Thursday morning, and somewhere deep within the bowels of that historic five sided building known as the Pentagon a Chief Warrant Officer was checking his incoming reports. For the second time in seven months the same maverick CID agent had mysteriously disappeared. 

The warrant officer leaned back in his chair. He lit his overlarge corn cob pipe. He reflected on the asshole he'd been so instrumental in bringing into their service. He leaned forward and turned on his intercom, "Alice! Call everyone in here, pronto!"

Rocking back in his chair he looked across the room at the portrait of his childhood hero, General Douglass MacArthur. He chuckled to himself, and then to no one in particular he commented, "Houston! We've got a problem."




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 09



Part Nine

Cleaning Up the Mess

Two Sudanese soldiers untied and cut the duct tape from his arms, legs, and torso. Battutta, Shawn's sadistic torturer, looked at the men, "Turn him around."

They turned him around. To say they turned him was a misnomer. He was so exhausted they had to hold him up.

Battutta looked over his handiwork; the exhaustion, the fear, the degradation, "Hold him still." He took a small wooden rod and smashed it into Shawn's nose, flattening it, "There. That should send a message to anyone he meets to stay out of the Sudan."

The two soldiers lifted the bloodied crippled remains of what had been a vibrant fearless man, and carried him out to a waiting truck.

Considering Shawn's potential as a poster child for the Islamic Revolutionary Movement he was to be kept alive till such time they needed him to make a thorough public confession, rescind his heretical religious beliefs, and adopt Islam. Shawn was to be used not just as an example warning foreigners to stay out of the Sudan; he was also to be used as an international advertisement for the legitimacy of the Islamic faith, and the supposed legality of the terrorist forces opposing western intrusion.

He was thrown in the back of an SUV to be taken southwest through the central heartland of the Sudan to a southern military installation. He was to be kept there, just outside the town of al Ubbayid where he would be rehabilitated, nourished and completely brainwashed. It was a smallish Muslim stronghold, but well away from potential interference by Christian Dinkas or anybody else with an interest in causing trouble. 

As the SUV rolled along the rutted roads the two soldiers commented to each other about the ultimate bad end their passenger was to face. They had no idea that, even in his distressed condition, Shawn was still alert enough to hear and understand everything they said.

------------

Kim had watched as the two women, Kia and Shai, had been carted off. He knew there was no hope of rescue if he tried any form of direct intervention. His best and probably only hope was to escape south and west. 

He'd considered a move to the east toward Ethiopia, but trashed the notion figuring that's where they'd be expecting him. However, to the southwest was the Central African Republic. Economically that country was a basket case; relying very heavily on foreign aid. Luckily almost all the foreign sustenance that went to the C.A.R. came through the United Nations. Even better, the C.A.R. had been a French colony. 

He knew, in spite of the popular notion, nearly all the former French colonies had very cordial relations with France, and that meant good relations with the West in general. Better still was the fact that Kim had a passable understanding of French, and French was generally the second language of nearly everyone in that country. 

Best of all, the majority of the Central African population was Christian, and those that weren't retained their original religious beliefs. Islam was a distant third in the religious hierarchy of the country. 

So off to the southwest Kim started. It wasn't long before he was able to latch on to a truck convoy loaded with merchandise headed west. He kept his mouth closed and his eyes open. He was lucky. The truck driver was a member of the Gbaya tribe, the C.A.R.'s largest ethnic group. The Gbaya and the other largest group, the Banda both had low opinions of the Muslim Sudanese. Kim had found safety. 

After a four day trip across the arid southern Sahara Kim started to note an increase in vegetation. He knew he was getting close to his destination. There were no official border crossing points. The region was too lightly populated, but he knew when they crossed into the C.A.R. 

They rolled into a small town. The change of scenery, and the greener environment was most welcome. His host, the driver, announced this was where he should get off. He pointed out a nearby residence where he would be welcomed, fed, and be given some fresh clothing. Kim was glad he'd scooped up a healthy portion of the money that had been lying loose at their lost campground. It seemed everyone everywhere recognized American money. 

After a two day rest Kim found a ride into the main city of the C.A.R. and its capital, Bangui. He got there and located a UN station. From the UN site he was directed to a covert American military station. He got the officer in charge to listen, and pretty soon his story was relayed back to the United States. 

Kim knew it wouldn't be long before the place would be crawling with U.S. military personnel. Kim, being a member of the R.O.K. secret service, had known for some time about Shawn's military connections. Kim also knew that old American credo, 'no man left behind' was the clincher that was going to save Shawn, Kia, and Shai. 

------------

Back in the United States, in Washington D.C., the news of Shawn McClellan's survival shot through the tangled winding halls of the Pentagon like a bolt of lightning. CID headquarters contacted Delta, Delta made arrangements with air and naval forces. Seven days after Kim's first arrival in the Central African Republic two hundred elite U.S. shock troops had boots on the ground outside Bangui. 

Maps were studied, intelligence reports were electronically transmitted back and forth between the USA and Bangui. By the eighth day the helicopters were already in the air. 

------------

Shawn stumbled about in the hot, cramped, dirty cell. His nose had been partially repaired, and some medical attention had been given his other wounds. His genitalia were sore, but otherwise there were no side affects down there. He had no idea where he was, or whether he would last another day, but at least he knew he was still intact.

Suddenly all hell broke loose. From Shawn's tiny domicile all he knew was that thick clouds of dust whirled around outside. His small prison quickly became an unbreathable crypt. He heard the crackling sound of gunfire outside. He was instantly alert. Those weren't the deathly rattle of Russian manufactured AK47s . He was listening to the joyous rat-tat of American M16s. To his great joy he heard the shouts of orders and counter orders; all in English!

On the outside the two Delta teams assigned to rescue McClellan had already broken through the poorly guarded outer perimeter. Inside the main compound almost immediately the hired gunmen of the Sudanese military were either laying down their weapons in surrender, writhing on the ground in pain, slumped or lying on the soil dead, or in full flight. 

The magical power of the United States had swept in and rescued an errant warrior. Seconds later Shawn found himself surrounded by American combat and medical personnel. Long festering wounds, savage torture scars, and the ravages of deliberate neglect were being ameliorated by the best hands in the world. 

Alive! Shawn couldn't cry. His body was too dehydrated, but he could salute. He could hold an arm out and acknowledge the unmatched dedication and professionalism of the best troops from the best military in the world. Shawn McClellan had been saved.

As the helicopter carrying Shawn lifted off a smiling friendly face looked down on him, "You knew we couldn't let them have you."

Shawn reached up with his hand, "Kim!"

"We got you out. You're on your way home. I'm sure you'll have a lot to confide."

"What about Kia and Shai?' asked Shawn.

Kim wrapped a comforting arm about his best friend's shoulder, "We know where they are, and we know who has them. Their rescue is being handled through the United Nations. I expect they'll be in New York in a matter of days."

------------

Kim wasn't far off. His report to CID had been transmitted to world health organizations in New York, and the Ethiopian, Nepali, and the Republic of Korea's embassies. 

The Sudanese government had been put on the spot. More than a score of nations, including leading Arab republics, were suddenly after them. Even more meaningful, the Sudanese military had to secretly admit to the rescue of the American. The Sudanese army had no idea where or how many US military units were already operating in the southern Sudan. 

Just as scary secret intelligence reports had revealed that elite assault units of French Foreign Legion had quietly gone on maneuvers. Scarier still, reports had come in that pro-western Hindu Gurkha forces normally located in eastern Asia had disappeared. Intelligence reports from the Saudi government gave every indication they were somewhere in flight between southeastern Asia and Addis Ababa, capital of Ethiopia.

The Sudanese high command was rightfully correct to be afraid of the destabilizing impact of US Special Forces on the loose somewhere in their country. They had every reason to be genuinely alarmed about the unexpected disappearance of elite French Foreign Legion forces perhaps headed their way, but the movement of Hindu Gurkhas brought real terror. American troops were always tightly disciplined. They'd get what they were after and get out. French Foreign Legion forces were disciplined but distinctly anti-Arab. They'd get in and out with malice. But Hindu Gurkhas were not only highly disciplined, anti-Arab and anti-Muslim, but they were absolutely lethal. A handful of Nepali Gurkhas on the loose in the trackless wastes of the Sudan, Indo-Aryans all, could be devastating. 

Out of Khartoum messages were sent to military personnel in Omdurman. General Suleiman had been ordered to personally bring the two women to the capital. Upon their arrival in Khartoum Kia and Shai were treated and feted as though they were distinguished foreign dignitaries, which was in fact what they actually were. They were personally welcomed to the Presidential Palace by the President and leaders of the National Congress, that country's ruling party. They were asked to tell their story for the foreign press. 

Outside the halls of the Presidential Palace certain other ranking Sudanese leaders, as well as selected foreign military attaches' had mysteriously disappeared. Captain Raspar had been summarily shot, as had the entire membership of the ill famed Mustafa Squadron. General Suleiman, after signing off on the details of a secret investigation that had uncovered the misdeeds of Raspar, had disappeared. A certain Yemeni terrorist, Ibn Battutta or somebody answering to his description, had been caught and strangled. 

By the time the ladies had been rescued, cleaned up, and given their fifteen minutes of spotlight before the press in the Sudan all the responsible people had either been killed or had vanished. With the profound love and gratitude of the Sudanese people they were put on a plane for Germany; there to receive a little well deserved rest and recuperation. Any claims they might make of Sudanese misbehavior would be met with respectful audiences everywhere, but no concrete evidence, other than the disruption of a small aid station would ever be proved. 

------------

Shai and Kia got their rest in Germany and were whisked off to New York to be given the opportunity to testify before key world aid specialists about the need for continuing efforts to help the struggling Dinka, but already their story was stale news, explosive combat between the Koreas, flooding in Pakistan, and the threat of nuclear proliferation had all already overshadowed their story. Thanks to the ever present, always active, 24-7, news cycle, Sudanese perfidy would forever remain only a rumor. 

------------

The Bugler Sounds Recall:

Shawn's and Susan's problems were two entirely different, totally irrelevant, matters. What happened to a 'has been' divorce lawyer or an erratic aid worker, perhaps CID agent and suspected syndicate killer were hardly worthy news stories. Beyond the man and woman, the only people with any ongoing interest included Mark Miller, a befuddled FBI agent, Todd Bitterman, a smarmy syndicate shill, Oscar Camulos a middle level syndicate operative, and one old semi-retired Douglass MacArthur devotee Warrant Officer. 

------------

Can Susan and Shawn Get Their Lives Back?

Susan had Todd Bitterman on the telephone, "Todd we need to talk."

"Susan I've missed you so much. You know how I feel about you." Todd wanted to see her again. He'd left her apartment in a huff some weeks before. His underworld boss, Oscar Camulos, still had an interest in the woman, and was determined to get what he wanted. That meant putting the screws to his trained monkey Todd Bitterman. 

"Todd I do like you, but things have changed. You know there was someone else before I met you. I think he's still alive. He might even be back in the United States, and I need to see him."

"I'll do all I can." Was Todd's response, "But if it's the man I think it is, he's wanted by the FBI. I'm sorry Susan, but I don't think there's much future in that one."

Susan didn't want to hurt Todd, but she needed to see Shawn before she made any decisions. Besides it was Shawn. Just the mention of his name, now that she knew he was alive, sent magical shivers up her spine, "Todd where can we meet to straighten things out?"

Todd thought it over and suggested a popular restaurant in Georgetown. Susan agreed in principle, and a day and time was set up. 

Of course Bitterman's phone was electronically monitored, not only by the FBI but by the CID as well. 

------------

The evening of the Bitterman Slattery dinner date arrived. Susan had selected the location within the restaurant. She'd picked a table almost dead center in the main dining room; she wanted no scenes. The restaurant he'd chosen was suitably called the Embers.

Shawn, accompanied by a fellow CID agent, a warrant officer of some reputation, made their arrangements for the same evening. The warrant officer knew everything. He knew who was going to be there, where they were sitting, and he'd had the site wired. 

The warrant officer had chosen a table just a few spaces distant from the Slattery Bitterman table. He had his reasons for his involvement in whatever happened; reasons only he knew.

The least well informed person regarding the evening's activities was Shawn. He'd been ordered to appear at the restaurant, and appear in dress uniform. The warrant officer had set their reservations for a slightly earlier time. He placed Shawn in a seat with his back facing the Bitterman Slattery location. Shawn was in an excellent place to hear much of what went on at Susan's table, but he would be unable to see or interpret any body language. By the same token it was the warrant officer's hope that the Slattery woman wouldn't hear anything Shawn might say. 

Dinnertime:

The warrant officer chuckled as he drove to the restaurant. Not only was he going to get an excellent meal, but with luck, a terrific show might follow. It would be fun to see who was who and what was what. He chuckled again. How did that old country song go? 'Who's cheatin who, and who's bein true, who don't even care anymore, and who's car is parked next door?' 

Really he wanted it to work out. The FBI agent he'd been tracking was nobody. It had been easy to get his superiors to redirect Agent Miller for a few days. Bitterman on the other hand was a hunk of worthless shit; a real piece of work, totally one of Oscar Camulos's creatures. The evening was really all about Shawn. What a great guy. He deserved a break. And the girl? She was still a mystery. He knew Shawn loved her. He believed in Shawn. If he loved her, then she was probably worth it.

Todd Bitterman was angry and he was under the gun. He'd long since stopped having any real feelings for Susan. After all she'd jilted him for some shit faced foreign aid worker. 

Camulos wanted the girl for his own sick reasons, reasons that had little to do with real sex. But Todd still wanted the girl. He wanted to have her, and then turn her over to the pig Camulos. He'd been thinking about it all week. How could he get the girl in the sack with him; then get her professionally under the thumb of his boss. 

Todd laughed out loud, "Wouldn't it be fun, he'd nail Susan, and then turn her over to Camulos. She'd be become Princess Leah to Camulos's Jabba the Hut! Beauty and the Beast! And her hero, the stupid aid worker, he'd be forever on the outside looking in. Ha!" He turned up the car radio, "Oh what a night!"

Bitterman was in his Lexus. He was dressed in a black three piece pin striped suit; white shirt, dark tie, sharply tailored vest. He had on black wing tipped shoes, with matching black socks. This was a special occasion so he wore his richest looking Rolex watch, Tiger's eye pinky ring, and his favorite musk aroma cologne. He'd trimmed his narrow black mustache so that it sat closely just above his upper lip. Fully clothed, dripping with cologne, and mustache well trimmed he looked and felt rich. 

The CID Chief Warrant Officer was attired in his dress blue uniform. Short hair cut, white walls on the side. No cologne or perfume, openly old fashioned he preferred the manly smell of Dial soap. He wasn't going anywhere, and there was nobody he wanted to impress. He intended to stay as unobtrusive as possible and just watch and hear what went on.

Shawn arrived early and saw his superior, the damned old warrant officer who'd given him more breaks and chances than any man ever deserved. Shawn loved the bastard. If he had ever known or met his father, he hoped he was half the man this old son of a bitch was, ram rod straight in posture and in character. The old fart was everything Shawn had ever hoped to be. He knew he'd let the old man down.

Shawn was garbed as ordered, in his dress blues. He hadn't done much in life, was at best only a sergeant, but he had his jewelry on. Aside from his dearest personal possession, the Timex watch Susan had bought him, he was wearing his military decorations. Most of it was the usual stuff, but sandwiched in between the crap were two Bronze Stars. He knew he'd failed the man he saw at the table, but he still had his stars; the marks of a real man, a man who maybe at least twice had done the best things a man could do; shown courage in the face of danger. He was proud of that. He wanted that old man at the table to be proud of them too. 

As far as his overall appearance, well, Shawn wasn't anything particularly great. Only average in height, just barely six feet, a little stooped since his time in the Sudan. He still had his catcher's mitt scar, but now he carried a slightly off center nose thanks to his Yemeni torturer. For a military man he'd always kept his hair a little on the shaggy side; perhaps as a mark of defiance, and he had a mustache, that was a little shaggy too. If he were on the parade ground tonight he knew it wouldn't pass inspection. 

He'd cleaned up, shaved, and splashed on a little Old Spice. He'd always liked the spicy smell. The man who'd enrolled him in little league so long ago had used Old Spice too. 

Shawn was proud but a little ashamed. He wished he was as good as the man he was meeting tonight. 

Todd Bitterman was seated at the table Susan had chosen. The restaurant was perhaps three quarters full. He was feeling like a million bucks. He glanced around. There weren't many men in his league. There were a couple of soldiers nearby; boy scouts he liked to call them. A man in the corner looked like he belonged at a MacDonald's. There were a few others scattered about, but he was confident. He was the only real man in the place.

Susan walked in. Todd saw her. It was like the parting of the Red Sea. She was magnificent. She had on a rich heavy cotton black dress. The hem came just above her knees. 

She had to be wearing flesh toned nylons. The dress was an open shouldered piece; had a slightly raised ruffled collar that wrapped comfortably around her long delicate neck. The collar seemed to slowly cross over her smallish but shapely breasts. He wondered if anything in front held the dress together, or did it gap open to allow a look at that delicious décolletage. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 09



The dress had a tight waist, but not so tight as to be considered wanton or sexy, maybe just a little suggestive. She carried a small black clutch purse. Draped over each forearm and wrapped loosely around her back was a black velvet shawl. Everything matched perfectly! She was stunning. Absolutely stunning!

She had added some jewelry to her attire at the last moment. She had two small bangle bracelets, and tiny hooped earrings. Around her neck she was still wore her little pendant. 

Todd saw the jewelry. He liked the earrings and bracelets. He wondered where she got the stupid necklace; why she persisted in wearing it. It was so out of place on anyone so elegant. 

Todd couldn't help but ogle her legs. They were shaped so perfectly. Her black closed toe high heeled shoes accentuated her muscular calves and upper thighs. He guessed maybe two inched spiked heels.

She was everything a man might want. He had to have her. He stood up, waved, and cheerfully called out, "Susan, over here."

Shawn heard someone call out a familiar name. He was tempted to turn around and look up but knew that would have been incredibly gauche. He stared back in his menu, quietly considering what he'd like to eat. He usually selected seafood, and this close to Maryland that meant only one thing, crab meat. 

The Warrant Officer saw Susan come in. He'd never gotten a good look at her before. Beautiful was the only word he could use to describe her. It was no wonder Shawn was so smitten. If she was the reason for all the trouble, and he presumed she was, then they'd have to do something. Shawn had been a good trooper, a good agent. He wasn't going to let him down on this. The warrant officer wondered if the girl understood the kind of trouble she was in.

Susan and Todd sat across from one another and engaged in small talk. He complimented her stylish appearance. She praised his suave attire. They then reconciled themselves to an examination of the menu.

Todd ordered a bottle of wine, what he thought was a tasty Riesling. Susan agreed to go with the wine, but she preferred hard liquor. The wine came, and after a tasting, they sipped a little. 

Todd proposed a toast to their future. Susan drank and proposed a counter toast to her daughter's future. 

Sitting together the warrant officer ordered a beer, while Shawn ordered a Jim Beam and coke. He laughed to himself; reflecting on his love of bourbon, but his soft nature always compelled him to wrap it in something sugary.

Shawn noticed his partner was wearing an ear plug, "That's not a hearing aid. Mind telling me what you're up to?"

The warrant officer replied, "I'm spying on some people sitting at a table behind you."

"Should I turn around?" Shawn asked. 

The warrant officer frowned, "Don't you dare. You'll ruin all my fun."

This was a little much for Shawn, "I thought we were here to talk about my future, not listen in on other people's private conversations."

The warrant officer decided to lay it on the line, "We are here to talk about your future. The people I'm listening to are a part of it." He smiled and gave Shawn a fatherly nod, "By the way, after tonight, you're no longer with the CID."

Shawn looked up in surprise, "Not with CID?"

"That's correct sergeant. Starting tomorrow you're out. I've got some civilian opportunities for you, but your military career is over."

Shawn blinked back the disbelief, "Look I know I've been a little off the wall lately, but I'm still a good soldier. I don't want to leave."

The warrant officer gave Shawn a stern manly look, "You've been everything anybody's wanted. We're pleased with you. I'm pleased with you." He hesitated, "I'm proud of you Shawn. You're a damn good man, but its time for you to move on."

"What if I don't want to move on?"

"That's not your call." He held his hand up slightly, "Be quiet." He was listening to another conversation. He made a decision. He got out another ear phone, "You want to listen in?"

Shawn looked at him, "Why? He blinked back a tear, "Will it change anything?"

The warrant officer handed him the tiny phone piece, "No it won't change anything. Then again, it might change everything. I don't know. Just listen, but whatever you hear, whoever you hear. Don't move."

Shawn took the ear piece and put it to his ear, "This had better be good."

Just three tables away Todd Bitterman was beginning his spiel, "Susan you know how I feel about you."

"I know Todd, and I have strong feelings about you too."

Three tables back Shawn jerkily sat up in his chair. Putting the ear piece down he spoke to the warrant officer, "What's this about?"

"Shut up and listen, but don't make a move or a sound." He wondered if giving Shawn an ear piece had been such a smart decision.

Shawn held the ear piece in his hand, "Do you know who this is?"

"I know everything. You can listen in or not, just don't move." The warrant officer gave Shawn another stern fatherly glare.

Shawn put the ear piece back in, "I don't know if I can handle this."

"Shut up stupid. You've handled tougher stuff than this. You can certainly handle listening in on the woman who loves you." The warrant officer was trying to give Shawn the determination he was certain he would need.

Together Shawn and the warrant officer listened to Bitterman's and Susan's conversation.

"You sort of ran me out the other night." Started Todd

"Todd there's this other man. He's not like you. He's unreliable, dangerous, and he scares me. I don't even know for sure if he's alive." Susan was trying to be gentle.

Three tables down Shawn thought. 'She's here! She's right here! Right now! She's talking about me to another man'. He felt miserable, tense, his heart screamed out, 'I can't do this'.

The warrant officer saw the emotional war being waged across the table, "Hold it together son."

Shawn cringed. He bit his lower lip. He tried to squint the tears from his eyes, "I got it."

Three tables up the other conversation continued. Todd had never listened to Susan when she'd talked about Shawn. He still didn't know who his competition was, even now. He knew he thought Susan was hot, and he wanted to get into her pants, "I understand this. You have a child, a beautiful child. She needs a father. Let me be Shawna's father?"

Three tables away all Shawn heard was the name, Shawna! He had a little girl! He looked at the warrant officer, and made to get up.

Whispered the warrant officer, "No, sit still." 

Shawn's eyes were welling up with tears, but he sat still.

Up three tables he heard Todd, "Susan I love you. I want to take care of you. What do you care about some man who ran off?"

"It's not that simple Todd."

Todd replied, "It is that simple. No man, no real man would ever leave the woman he loved. I mean leave her pregnant and run off like he did."

Susan's eyes were tearing up, "You don't understand. It wasn't like that."

Todd was growing impatient, "I can't fight a ghost. I only know I love you. I don't know what he has. I only know what I have. I'm rich. I'm well known. I can restore your law practice. I'd be a good father to Shawna. We'd have more children. Susan I can make you happy."

Susan listened to everything Todd was saying. She wanted to be happy. She wanted happiness and security for her daughter. She had no inkling of the insidious side of the man across from her, "Todd I do love you. Please don't try to talk me out of this. I know the man who made my baby is a monster. He can't be trusted. He's a killer. He's no good."

Shawn, three tables away, listened as the woman who was the great love of his life condemned him to another man. He started crying. God he wished he could do something, anything. He had to pee. He was going to have an accident right here at the table. He felt like he was going to throw up. Suddenly he realized everything he ever wanted, ever dreamed of, was being washed away over a set of earphones. He had to do something!

The warrant officer reached across the table, and put his hand on Shawn's arm, "It's only talk. Just listen. We're here for more than just this. Control yourself. Think of the suffering you've seen. You can handle this"

Shawn reached over and gripped the warrant officer's arm, "Help me Sam."

The warrant officer had read Shawn's full report. He'd even read the portions about some little African girl rescued from a bunch of buzzards, "Be a man Shawn. Think of a little girl named Lauren buried in a road in the Sudan." That was all the warrant officer needed to say.

Shawn's resolve stiffened. They continued listening to Susan and Todd.

Todd kept pressing, "I hate having to fight someone I can't see. Susan I'm here to offer you security, safety, love."

"Todd listen, I need time. I need to think things through." 

Susan was almost ready to give in. Todd sensed it. He wasn't going to let up, "Susan it's not just about you and Shawna per say. I'm afraid you might have gotten yourself into a little trouble."

Susan blinked, "How could I be in trouble?"

"Well we, you, signed some documents. Some of things we, you, signed weren't entirely legal. You could go to jail." Todd was about to put the shaft to Susan.

Susan looked at Todd suspiciously, "You let me sign off on things you knew were illegal."

Todd backtracked, "I didn't think they were exactly illegal when you signed them. I thought we could get away with it. Well, as it turns out we, I mean you, might not be able to pull it off."

Susan was angry, and so was Shawn as he listened in. Susan replied, "You set me up?"

"Susan listen to me." Todd was talking faster. He knew he had to convince Susan she was in trouble, but could get out of it easily, "I work for a very influential man, a man who's helped you before."

"Who?" was Susan's reply.

"You remember Oscar Camulos?"

Shawn, listening in on the ear piece gasped. 

Susan heard Todd in disbelief, her eyes wide. Certainly she remembered him. He was terrifying. "Yes."

"You recall someone had to put up $400,000.00 for your life not long ago." Todd gave her his most reassuring smile.

Susan remembered the figure, and she remembered never getting a precise answer as to where the money had come from. She'd assumed Shawn had dug it up, "I remember."

"It was Mr. Camulos." Todd lied.

Three tables away if Shawn had been just a little stronger his grip would have broken the older man's forearm. He whispered harshly, "That's a lie."

"I know." Was the warrant officer's response, "You just hang in there."

Back at Susan's table Todd continued with the charade, "Mr. Camulos has taken a personal interest in you. He's studied your career. He's impressed. He wants to bring you into his business. He thinks he can find a way to clear up your, our, legal problems."

Susan wasn't at all pleased with the current turn of events, "I'd like to see what it is I've done that's so illegal first."

"There isn't time Susan." Todd had to keep up the pressure, "I think the FBI is on to us. For all I know they might be watching us right now." He had no idea who Mark Miller was, or that he was investigating some of the very things he was threatening Susan with.

Susan glanced around the restaurant. She saw mostly families, a few singles, a couple soldiers. She glanced around the room again. Nothing else unusual, families, couples, some singles, two soldiers. 

The soldiers were in their best uniforms; nothing unusual about that. This was Washington D.C. One was looking at her. Actually he was pretending not to be looking at her, but she'd felt his presence all night. She looked away briefly. She looked back. Yes! He'd been staring at her. The ladies room was at the other end of the restaurant. She could get up and walk by their table, maybe see a little more, no one would be the wiser, "Todd I have to excuse myself."

Three tables away Shawn and the warrant heard her comment. It was a starting turn of events. 

The warrant officer spoke quickly, "Go to the bathroom. It's right behind me. Go straight to the latrine, as you walk look neither to the right nor the left. Don't look back. Don't come back out until I get you. She mustn't see you."

Shawn instantly replied, "Yes sir." He dropped his napkin on the table and made straight for the restaurant latrine. 

Susan got up to go to the ladies room. She was careful to pick up her clutch purse. She had a kerchief and her make up inside. She'd put a little cool water to her face, reapply some make up, and consider what she should do. As she walked toward the ladies room she noticed the soldier who'd had his back to her was ahead of her. No matter. She needed some time. It was odd; she thought the soldier in front of her had a familiar gait.

Susan stepped through the portal that led to the privacy rooms. From out of the shadows a silhouette emerged, a hand wrapped itself around her mouth, "Say nothing."

She nearly panicked but kept her cool, "What do you want?"

The man pulled her back into the shadows; still keeping his hand over her mouth, "Susan. Do you recognize my voice?"

She recognized the Old Spice before she recognized his voice. It was Shawn! She nodded her head.

He let go of her mouth and turned her around. Their faces were inches apart. He whispered, "Susan I'm back."

Susan couldn't believe she was looking at the man she loved, the father of her child, the man she'd been holding out for. She couldn't think of anything to say, "Shawn."

He spoke quickly, "There's not much time. You're in trouble, but don't worry."

She nodded her head.

He whispered quickly and urgently, "Don't be afraid. I'm back. Back to stay. I promise. Tonight get on the Internet. Go on e-mail and type your middle name and add the number 353. Got it?"

Susan responded, "Lauren 353."

Shawn leaned down. She leaned up. Their lips touched; her warm wet rose petals, his firm malleable not hard or demanding man chops. They kissed. 

Shawn's right hand caressed her neck lightly. Her hair still had that fresh smell of honeysuckle. It felt soft as it brushed against his face. What was that perfume she wore? He'd never smelt it on any other woman. Was it perfume or just her naturally beautiful fragrance? He knew he had stop or they'd never leave the shadowed hall. He gave her a reassuring smile, "Everything's going to be all right." He disappeared back into the restaurant.

Susan went ahead into the ladies area. Now she really had a reason to freshen her make up. While she refreshed her face, she touched her lips with her fingers. She smiled into her reflection. He still used Old Spice. She liked it before, and she still liked it. 

She reflected on his breath. He didn't smoke, and she'd never seen him chewing gum or anything like that, but he had some kind of breath smell, like maybe cloves, or something sort of, but not especially spicy. It had sort of an odd, but distinctly masculine taste. She'd forgotten it, but remembered it now. She liked that too. 

She watched the light reflect off the little pendant dangling from her neck. It felt good to be alive. She looked in the mirror and whispered, "Susan, Shawna, Shawn." It all sounded so good, so real, so beautiful, complete, and so perfect.

Back at the table Shawn and the warrant officer went ahead and ordered dinner. Shawn took the ear piece and handed it back over, "I'm all right now. I won't be in need of this now."

The warrant officer had it right. He never had to go get Shawn. The younger man had done just what he expected him to do, "Good! Let' eat."

A few seconds later the young woman returned from the bathroom. She walked past the table with the two soldiers; at first giving no indication she'd ever seen either of them before. For his part Shawn pretended not to notice her. At the last moment as she walked by she smiled at the older man. She wondered who he was. He must be somebody special.

From the corner of his eye the warrant officer caught her pensive half smile, 'Yeah', he thought, 'she's worth it'.

At Susan's table Todd continued to prod and press Susan for some kind of answer. But from somewhere, and he couldn't figure out where, she'd discovered a new source of strength. Their dinner was a stiff stilted affair from then on. He paid the check, and she left. Both agreed to meet again for lunch in two days. By then she assured him she'd have something to say. 

Susan went home, paid off the babysitter, and got out a nice thick blanket and a big pillow. She folded the blanket over a few times and put it on the bed. The baby had awakened when she got home so she knew there would be some crying, at least at first. They lay down together on the blanket. 

Susan opened the front of her expensive black dress, unclasped the bra, and pressed her breast to Shawna's waiting mouth. They lay down together; Shawna sucking, while Susan quietly sang to her, 'Play mate, Come out and play with me...' Susan lay there, cherishing her baby, feeling warm, comfortable and almost complete. Side by side they lay there; one eating, the other singing until the little one had gotten her fill of milk and drifted off to sleep. 

While she watched little Shawna, she opened her laptop and logged on. She hit her e-mail and typed in Lauren353.net. It took a few seconds but there it was! Shawn had a web page. She typed in a quick message about how happy she was to see him tonight. She left him her on line e-mail address. She knew it was unnecessary, but she wanted to do it anyway. She closed up the laptop. And lay back down beside her little girl. She softly whispered, "Daddy's home."



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 10



 Chapter Ten 
In the Belly of the Beast:

Outside the old central business district of a city not too distant from Washington D.C. there was a large late Nineteenth Century hotel. The actual name of the city or its precise location is irrelevant to the reader. It could have been northeast, north, or even south of the nation's capital. But the hotel itself, by the standards of its day, was on the cutting edge of architectural excellence. Even one hundred ten years later it was still the object of artistic and creative envy. 

On one of the middle floors of this magical old structure were a handful of luxury suites that had been partially converted. Their owner could accomplish a multiplicity of tasks in his customized little world. There was a magnificent residential suite, close by was a lavishly accoutered suite specifically set up to entertain female guests, and last was a sumptuous dining area meeting room with its concomitant massive oaken table. 

There were other lesser, smaller, even more specialized rooms. There was a secret business office. In this office the central authority conspired with selected cohorts, received obeisance from devoted followers, and meted out justice to those whose failures required retribution.

It was to this last room that Todd Bitterman was summoned. His employer, his overlord, Oscar Camulos, was displeased. 

Bitterman was seated in a small antechamber adjoining the main room waiting for an audience.

Camulos, seated in a large leather upholstered swivel chair, sent a lieutenant, a trigger man, out to fetch the frightened and nervous flunky. Camulos stared down at the overlarge onyx ring he wore on his left pinkie He reflected on the days when he personally smashed jaws ands broke noses. Though older and more beefy these days, he was still a powerful man with big hands that could be balled into huge fists. He still sometimes preferred the 'personal touch' to the younger hired guns he employed.  

He reflected not long ago in this very room he'd made a powerful point with a fist. A young man with his girl friend had failed to succeed on a specific job. The botched job was irrelevant, a minor thing, the punishment was what mattered. 

After a few moments of desultory discussion he stealthily extracted a pair of brass knuckles from his desk and smashed the young girl in the nose. He flattened her nose against her face, blood spewed out all over the carpet. When her boyfriend rose to her defense he pounded him down with a dozen hammer-like blows. When it was over it was difficult to tell who'd left the most teeth and blood on the plush carpet, the girl or the boy friend. 

Breaking up that beautiful girl's face had been the highlight of his day. Sure he had her nose fixed later, but everyone got the message. She was too pretty, and by the way she looked at him she'd found him too ugly. With one swift swipe of the hand he'd made them equals. For a while she was as ugly as he was; a valuable lesson for those he employed.

Camulos remembered the look of repugnance on the Slattery woman's face when she was sitting beside him in the car. He reached over and fiddled with a large marble paperweight on his desk. He picked it up; it had a nice heft. He bet it could do a lot of damage. He dropped it back his desk; yes, a lot of damage. 

Bitterman entered the room and was proffered a chair. The trigger man stood behind.

"We have a problem, you and I." growled an irritated Oscar Camulos.

"I know. I know, and I'm on it." replied the visibly shaking Bitterman.



Camulos leaned forward, folding his hands in front of his face just under his chin, "You do know do you? Tell me what you know."

"The Slattery woman's back with her killer boyfriend, and we haven't been able to track him down."

Camulos gave Bitterman a cold blooded, predatory, stare, "Is that all?"

Todd Bitterman knew he'd failed to bring Susan Slattery into Oscar Camulos's orbit. This had been his first priority, and he's failed at it miserably. He knew the costs of failure, and he was terrified, "If McClellan hadn't resurfaced she'd be in your bedroom right now. But he showed up again. He screwed up all my plans."

Camulos twisted around slightly in his chair. He looked beyond Bitterman to the hired assassin behind the quaking man. The unspoken message he was sending the frightened businessman was clear, "I wanted her Bitterman. I wanted her as a legal counselor and I wanted her for personal reasons. What do you think we should do about this?"

"Give me another opportunity Mr. Camulos. We've already got the documentation we need to draw her in. She'd signed off on several things while she was first home from the hospital." Bitterman tried to lighten the conversation, "She was so moonstruck over the baby and me I was able to get her signature on quite a few things." 

He saw his effort at deflecting his failure wasn't working, "I can get her Mr. Camulos. I'll get her for you, if you give me another chance."

Camulos leaned back in his chair. He lit a large expensive foreign manufactured cigar, "I'm disappointed, very disappointed."

He looked beyond Bitterman to the man behind him, "Tell me Myron. Do you think Mr. Bitterman here deserves another chance?"

From the back of the room Todd Bitterman heard the man pass sentence, "No, this guy's a piece of shit. Let me take him out, dump him in a fifty gallon drum, and blow several dozens holes in it."

Myron was a psychopath. He lived to kill people, that's why Camulos kept him around, "No I think we can afford to give our friend Todd here one more chance." He looked at Todd, "You still want another chance?"

"Oh yes sir."

"Good, but you understand your failure has complicated things. That means you'll have to do more to stay even."

"Anything Mr. Camulos. I'll do anything."

"That's my boy." said Camulos, "Here's what you need to do. First you must bring Susan Slattery to me. Not by force. I want her to come to me of her own free will."

Bitterman nodded his head vigorously. He knew better than to interrupt.

Acknowledging the nod, "Good, that done I want you and Myron here to personally find Mr. Shawn McClellan, and I want you." Oscar Camulos pointed directly at Todd Bitterman, "I want you to be the one who puts a bullet in his brain."

Bitterman thought he was going to wet his pants. He was no killer. He'd never ever fired a gun, "Mr. Camulos."

Camulos cut him off, "You aren't going to say anything to let me down now are you Todd?"

Bitterman backed off, "No sir."

"Very good. Then here's what you do. You and Myron will find McClellan and kill him. Leave his body out someplace. In an alley say, or in the park; someplace where people will find it. When I read about it in the newspapers, how this United Nations hero was found dead; then I'll know you did your part."

Bitterman was still scared, but he'd gotten a reprieve, "Yes sir. Bring you Susan Slattery, and kill Shawn McClellan. I'll do that. Yes sir."

Camulos got out of his big chair and walked around the big mahogany desk, "That's what I want to hear. Get the jib done Todd, and there will be something special in it for you. I promise."

Todd smiled and shook the outstretched hand of the psychotic Oscar Camulos.

"One last thing though Todd."

He turned around, "Sir?"

"You fail; Myron here will find you that fifty gallon barrel."

Todd looked askance at Myron, "Yes sir. I mean no sir. I won't fail. Consider it all done."

Camulos waved him off, "Now get out of here." 

Of course Camulos had already made plans. Todd Bitterman had long ago outlived his usefulness. Once he finished his two jobs, that special reward would be a new pair of shoes, nice ones, custom made of concrete.



Across the River From the Capital:



Across the Potomac River from the nation's capital there sat an older man in a moderately comfortable chair preparing for the first of several meetings. A history buff, his code name was Sam Houston. He was one of the key figures in charge of operations at CID headquarters. The first person on his list of contacts was his personal favorite, a protégé, and a man he'd grown to love and respect, Shawn McClellan. The message he had for McClellan was important, though Shawn wouldn't appreciate it.

Warrant Officer Sam Houston switched on his intercom, "Alice I need to see Mr. McClellan now."

Outside the warrant officer's private room his secretary pointed to McClellan and pointed to the door. Shawn knew it was time.

Shawn walked in, the warrant officer pointed to a chair, and he sat down.

"Did you enjoy our dinner the other evening?"

Shawn answered, "Yes sir, very much."

"You understand I meant it when I said you're out of CID."

"Yes sir I understood, but I still don't know why." Shawn wanted to stay in the service. He believed he still had a lot to contribute.

The warrant officer wasn't holding a termination interview. This was something different, more important, "You're not being retired or cashiered. You're simply being reassigned to another government agency; an agency where there will be a lot less danger but a lot more paperwork."

"I like it here sir, said Shawn.

"I'm glad you do. I'd be disappointed if you didn't, but it's my call not yours. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Now Shawn here's what I want, I need, you to do." Warrant Officer Houston started to digress, "You're to go to New York to the United Nations. You have a lot of testifying to do. There are people there who'll be glad to see you. I want you to renew those acquaintances. I want you to get back into your world health activities. 

Socialize, get out; be seen. I want you to have a much higher profile. But I don't want you to go off on any expeditions. Stay in New York. I'll see to it you have lots of money. When the time comes I'll contact you." 

"Yes sir. Would it be possible if I had a few days off before I went north?"

The Warrant Officer pierced him with a sharp stare, "There's another thing. The woman Susan Slattery; beautiful girl, smart. She's in a lot of trouble, doesn't know it yet, but she could go to jail. I know how you feel. Believe me I want what's best for you and for her. Her situation is a tough one, but I want you to trust me. If you must see her, and I believe you will regardless of anything I say, be discreet, keep it short. Can I trust you on this?"

"Sam you know I'm head over heels in love with her. She has my baby. I've put my neck out for her twice before. She's my life."

"Listen to me Shawn. I know how you feel. I know most everything there is to know about the two of you. I'm not trying to hurt you. Neither am I going to leave her out to dry. But I am telling you there's nothing you can do that will help. You try to help her it'll only make things more complicated." 

He stood up and walked over to where Shawn was sitting, "Shawn I know I can trust you. But do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

"Good. Then let me handle this. If you have to see her, keep it well below the radar. Then get to New York, and let me do my job." The Warrant Officer pulled Shawn to his feet, "Now get out of here."

Shawn stood up, "Yes sir."

As soon as Shawn left his office Warrant Officer Houston got up, put his coat on, and left. He had two more conferences; one with an FBI agent, and one with a woman.



Somewhere in Western Maryland:



Western Maryland was one of those regions of the country known for its picturesque, not breath taking scenery. There was nothing in the Blue Ridge or Appalachian Mountains reminiscent of what the Great Western States had, but Western Maryland had its appeal. Richard Nixon's political career had been jump started by a pumpkin patch in Western Maryland. Camp David was there, as were close to a dozen top secret military installations. 

Just outside one of those highly secret installations four South Korean men were sitting in a car on the side of a road. They chose the car over any of the many hotels, motels and Bed and Breakfasts in the area to insure greater secrecy. One never knew this close to Washington, hard by NSA, and the whole Washington D.C. Route 95 corridor who might try to listen in. 

Central to the conversation was Kim, special ROK agent, friend and confidant of Shawn McClellan. Kim hadn't started as a ROK agent. He'd been recruited when they discovered his involvement with the UN, and his personal proximity to several CID and CIA operatives hadn't hurt. From his first recruitment had emerged a superlative underground player. Kim was among their very best agents; a valued commodity. 

It wasn't that the government of South Korea mistrusted the United States. More to the point they had the same kind of vested interest in American activity as did Israel and Taiwan. They were dependent upon American goodwill and support. It never hurt to be well informed as to what one's friend's intentions were; especially when those intentions might affect the very survival of ones own country.

The head agent in the group, sitting in the rear passenger seat behind the driver spoke first, "Kim we're proud of the work you've done for us. You're success in Africa was extraordinary."

"Thank you sir." Was Kim's only reply. Being the laconic sort Kim wasn't prone to lengthy comments or replies.

"We have another job for you." The head man asserted.

"Yes sir," said Kim.

"It's a tough one."

"I'm ready."

"You know McClellan is back in the United States. He's about to be reassigned out of CID."

Kim looked surprised, "Really?"

"We don't know where he's going, but we do know wherever it is there will be something going on."

"You want me to keep an eye on him, and report back."

"It's more than that. We're comfortable he's an agent friendly to Korea, not someone we'd have to remove, but we know there are others, people of no interest to us who want him out of the way."

"You want me to protect him?" was Kim's comment.

"Keep an eye on him. Follow him. Watch who's watching him. If you have to protect him do so. Keep us well informed as to whom you think is watching or stalking him." The head man turned and pointed to the man beside him, "You know Lee here."

Kim nodded.

"He'll be your contact. He'll be available if you need him. He'll also be watching you, covering your back as it were. You have something to report, share it with Lee, and he'll get it back to us. If he thinks you're in danger, he'll handle it. Understand?"

"Yes sir. Does Shawn Know I'm going to be around?"

The head agent leaned forward to the man in the shotgun seat, "No he won't know, and you're not to inform him. He has his hands full as it is. If he thought you were around, he might start worrying about you. We don't want that. We want him as free and as unfettered as possible." The head agent paused, "One more thing, off the record, Kia's family has accepted your proposal. Once this is all over we'll see to it the two of you both get a well deserved honeymoon and rest."

Kim, not given to outward displays of emotion still managed a smile, "Thank you sir."

"Now we'll drop you off. Stay safe."

Off they drove. Kim had his orders and his future in his hands. 

Back on the Street:



Officer Houston got out of his car and walked to the MacDonald's. He ordered a large coke, small bag of fries, and a hamburger. He'd sworn off the cheese the last several weeks and had lost three pounds. He knew it was always the little things that made the difference.

He took his bag and walked over to the steel grey sedan where another man was sitting eating what looked like a Big Mac. 'Too bad,' thought the Warrant Officer.' He'll be overweight and out of shape in a few years. He got in the passenger's seat, and opened his bag of food.

"You're FBI Agent Miller?"

"You're Warrant Officer Sam Houston?"

They shook hands.

Houston spoke first, "You work for me now."

"That's what they tell me."

"I'm not going to sit here and beat around the bush." He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, "Read what's in here, and then burn it."

"Like Mission Impossible?"

"Like Mission Impossible."

Agent Miller didn't want to end the meeting right away, "You have anything else for me, any extra news, an added tidbit maybe?"

Houston knew about Miller, and liked him, but had to be careful, "Don't pull any of that cute FBI crap with me. We know over at CID how you guys feel about us. All you smart ass lawyer types with your superior airs. You read what I gave you. Destroy it, and don't try to get fancy. And remember. You report to me now, not your FBI boss. Got it?"

Miller hadn't planned on a lecture. He certainly never had any airs regarding CID, and he knew not to report to anyone but the warrant Officer, "Don't worry. We're all on the same page."

The Warrant Officer had one more admonition, "Make sure, after you read the report, you stay there." He didn't wait. He got out of the car and walked back to his own vehicle. He had another visit to make, and that was the one he wasn't looking forward to. 



Sam had to talk to Susan. He drove on most of the afternoon. His appointment was at 4:30, but with the traffic, and a couple brief stops he had to make he was just barely on time. Sam wished he hadn't gotten such a large coke. He pulled onto the parking lot, parked his car, and walked up the three flights to the woman's apartment.

It was a newer apartment complex, maybe ten or fifteen years old, with concrete stairs protected by a glassed in wall. Along each landing there were four apartments, two on each side. Susan lived on the third floor, apartment 3C. It was easy to locate. He rang the bell and waited.

After perhaps three minutes the door opened. Susan asked, "May I help you?" She knew right away because of the man's uniform who it was and certainly who it was about. Cutting the polite remarks off she said, "Won't you come in?"

Sam walked in the apartment. He looked around. It was small and sparsely furnished, not what he expected at all, "I'm here about a mutual friend of ours." He heard crying in the background.

"Excuse me. I'll only be a second." As she turned she asked, "Won't you sit down?" She went back to get her baby.

Seconds later she was out with Shawna on her arm, "It's her time. You won't mind if she nurses while we talk?"

Sam answered, "Not at all." He sat down. "I suppose you know why I'm here."

Susan responded, "Sort of. Maybe you'd like to fill me in?"

Sam sat back and began to speak, "What I have to say won't take too long, but I do have a few things to clear up. I'm not holding you up am I?"

"If this is about Shawn you're not holding me up."

"It is." He leaned forward resting his forearms on his thighs, "You're in love with Shawn."

"This is his baby. Yes he and I are in love."

"You understand what line of work he's in."

Susan moved to give Shawna a better shot at her breast, "I'm not sure of anything about Shawn. I can tell you this much. He's a kidnapper, a murderer, an aid worker, he probably has something to do with the army, and he's the man I love and intend to marry."

"Well you got some of it," Sam said, "But there's more to it than meets the eye. Would you like to hear a little of it?"

"I Didn't get your name. What's your name?"

She'd caught him off guard. " I'm sorry, my code name is Sam Houston. I'm Shawn's superior in the government agency where he used to work. Now do you want me tell you anything?"

"Tell me everything you can."

"I can do that. First, I know he loves you, and second that makes everything else twice as complicated."

Susan smiled, "Go ahead. I've got time."

"Well Shawn works for an information gathering agency that's a part of the army."

Susan interrupted, "That would be CID."

"You said it, not me. He's worked for us for several years. In that capacity he's been involved in a great deal, some of it unsavory. Is he a murderer, no. Has he killed anyone, yes. Remember the Ten Commandments?"




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 10



"Of course," replied Susan.

"There's the Commandment, 'Thou Shalt Not Kill.' Actually the real interpretation is 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Murder.' Shawn has killed people for his country, but he's actually murdered no one."

"What about all those people the FBI told me about?"

"I don't know what the FBI's been saying. Shawn has killed this many people." He held up one finger. "No more."

"What about those young women, and that family with all the children, and those card dealers?"

Sam sat back, "My, my, they have filled your head with nonsense. He killed one man who was posing as a dealer. There were two young women someone sent him out to kill. They're both still alive, and from what I've heard doing well. Both are waiting for the chance to tell their families they're all right. The stuff about a family, or other card dealers? It sounds like somebody's either got their facts wrong, or was trying to scare you."

"Shawn told me he was a hired assassin." Susan was genuinely confused.

"He is. He works for my government agency. Is he a syndicate killer? They think he is, but like I said, he's got only one notch working for them."

Then Shawn, my Shawn isn't this dangerous killer on the loose."

"Oh, no I didn't say that! He's a very dangerous man. He's a killer. He just doesn't work for people in any syndicates. They think he does, or did, but he works, or worked, for me."

Susan had lost all patience, "Come on. Tell me who he is."

"OK. First, he's a man who's in love with you, and I can see why. Second, he's a government employee who used to be a CID agent. He doesn't do that anymore, not after today. He also has worked for various UN agencies. Right now that's where he's supposed to be headed. 

Susan was disturbed. She was expecting a call from Shawn sometime later that night, "Is that all?"

"No that's not all, if that was all I wouldn't have come here. Here's the rest, or at least the rest of what I can tell you." Sam got out of his seat and walked over to the sofa, "I know you love him. I know, after I finish what I've got to say I'll know I can count on you."

Susan sat very still. The only sound between them was the sound of her daughter suckling.

"Shawn is in great danger. Greater danger than he's ever been in before. The people who thought they used him to kill you know who he is, what he looks like, and where he travels now. He has no cover, and they intend to kill him. If you'll pardon the use of a hackneyed phrase, he's a sitting duck."

"You said he was going to New York, to the UN. Won't that be the end of him?" 

Sam saw she was scared, "That's the best place for him. He'll be in the public eye. It'll be harder to kill him. Don't forget, my guess is a couple countries, the least of which is the Sudan, will want to keep him safe. If he were killed, people might look at them. New York, the UN, that's the best place for him."

"I'm going to New York!" Susan had made up her mind.

Sam put a hand on hers, "No you can't. You have another job."

"He's going to need me. I'm going to New York."

Sam squeezed her hand. He hated to do this, "No you're staying here, and going to work for me."

"For you!" Susan was incredulous.

"Listen to me. The man who most wants your Shawn, our Shawn dead, is the one man who has the most to lose if he remains alive. That man will be contacting you, if he hasn't already." He paused for effect, "You are listening."

"Yes. But I'm not working for you."

Sam was doing his best, but it looked like he was going to have to tell her more than he'd planned, "The man who wants Shawn so dead is the same man who thought he was using him to kill the people who really aren't dead. The two young women I mentioned are connected to syndicate higher ups. Higher ups who have no idea what happened to the girls. The only man, other than me, who knows who and where they are, happens to be Shawn McClellan. 

If Shawn is dead the bigger boys will never know one of their own arranged the deaths of two of their own people. But here's the rub, another man has found out the girls are alive. You see, why he wants Shawn dead? It's not that he didn't kill you; it's because he didn't kill them."

Susan shifted Shawna to her other arm, "Go on."

"Now our dangerous syndicate boss is close to finding out where the two girls are. The deal for him is simple, get rid of Shawn, the two girls, and go on."

"What has that got to do with me, and wouldn't it be better just to relocate the girls and find a safe place for Shawn and I?" asked Susan.

"No we want the main man, and that's where you come in."

"Me where?"

"The main villain is Oscar Camulos!"

"Oscar Camulos! That can't be. He's a prominent citizen. I know for a fact he's the man who found the $400,000.00 that got me free." Susan was convinced someone was pulling something on her.

Sam exclaimed, "No Susan. Shawn raised the money. Oscar Camulos is man who got the $400,000.00! Camulos is the man we're after!"

"No, no. Todd told me!"

Sam stopped her, "Todd Bitterman is one of Camulos's stooges. He's being paid to get you to work for Camulos. Why exactly I don't know. You don't have any special legal skills he could use. You're only value to Camulos is as bait, the same value that led to your second kidnapping."

Susan started to speak.

"Yes we know about that. Don't forget Shawn works, or worked, for us." He held up a hand before she could speak, "That goes to my first statement, "You said you loved Shawn."

"Yes."

"Then you must be the bait, but not for his trap, for ours. Camulos wants an inside track with the inner forces of the syndicate he's involved with. Thus far he's only been sort of a dispatcher for murder. He wants to get inside where the real power is. We want him inside too, but we want someone to go inside with him. That person is you!"

"Me!" Responded Susan.

Sam laid out the frightening details, "Camulos, or probably Bitterman, is going to contact you. We're sure of it. They want you for some reasons we understand, and for other reasons no one can fathom. What I want you to do is cooperate with him. Get inside, gain his trust, his confidence, then when he gets what he wants with the bigger ones, we get them all through you."

Susan thought it over, "So I join Oscar Camulos as your spy. I keep you informed, and when the time is ripe we trap them all."

Sam sat back, "Right!"

"What about Shawn and me?



Sam sat there looking at her. She was a beautiful girl, and that was a beautiful baby in her arms. He could see the three of them together, her and the baby and Shawn. They'd make a perfect family, a happy family. He knew it would fulfill most of Shawn's personal fantasies, probably a lot of hers too. Yes, under normal circumstances, in a normal world, they'd be on their way to a happily ever after, "You have to tell him good bye."

"No."

"Let me explain."

She wasn't listening. "I won't do it. I can't I'm not going to do it. He and I love each other. I've been through too God Damn much bullshit for this! He's my man! He's going to be my husband." She was yelling, and every time she said my man, my husband, there was special emphasis on the word my. 

Sam tried to stop her, "Wait a minute."

"No I won't wait a minute! Your wait a minute! I'm not waiting one single second! Not one fucking second! Hear me! Not one F.U.C.K.I.N.G. second! There I've spelled it out for you. Is that clear enough? He's mine!" She pointed to the little girl, who'd started crying, "She's mine! They belong to me!"

Sam was in way over his head and he knew it, "Just wait a minute." She wasn't listening, he could tell, "Wait a minute!"

She looked at him. She calmed down a little, not much, but just a little, "We'll run away. You'll never find us."

"You don't have to run away. I said say good bye. But not forever!

She stopped perseverating. "OK what then?"

"You two need to stay apart for a while. Just until we get this thing worked through. We can't have you two together. It would be too easy for Camulos. You two stay apart for a while, just a while until we nail the real culprits. Once we get that done, why the two of you will be safe, free, home clear! Shawn will start his new job, a new safe, boring, uncomplicated bureaucrats job pushing papers, stapling packages, watching the clock, and waiting for the time when he can get home to his wife and kids." He watched her for some response. He thought he was starting to get through.

"You're talking about something temporary."

"Only till we get this done."

"Then we can get on with our lives?"

"I'll attend every Christening, bring presents every Christmas. Maybe you'll let my wife and I be God Parents?"

Susan broke down. She started to cry, "Mr. Houston, Sam, I love him so. I want him so much. She was shaking all over."

He knew now he had her, "Susan what you'll be doing will be very difficult. Your life will be in great danger. Not just from possible exposure, but from Camulos generally. He's a psychotic. We don't know what he's capable of. You'll have to be on guard all the time. You'll have to careful about everything you say, everything you do, even every nonverbal act. You don't have to do it."

"Will it save Shawn?"

"I believe so."

"Will we be allowed to live our lives afterward?"

"Absolutely."

"Then it's a no brainer. What am I supposed to do?"

Warrant Officer Houston had just finished the most difficult part of his job, "Do nothing. Just wait. Somebody will call. Probably Bitterman. When he calls that will start the ball rolling." He looked at her one last time, "When it starts you'll be the one person we can't protect."

"And Shawn?'



"Well Shawn is Shawn; he is what he is. We'll have him under constant surveillance. But you must break the news to him. Keep him at arms length after you do. We don't want him sneaking back to see you. That will be his death and very likely yours too. Understand?"

She was still sobbing, "Yes."

Warrant Office Sam Houston got up. 

Susan got up. 

They walked to her apartment door together. He turned around and kissed her on the cheek, "It will be tough sledding for a while, but this time, when it's over it'll really be over."

Susan had nothing to say to the man, "Good afternoon Mr. Houston." She closed the door, while he descended the steps.

At 7:00 sharp that same evening Susan got a phone call, "Susan, this is Shawn."

"Shawn, where can we meet?"

"Anywhere you want. Bring Shawna with you." 

"Let's meet downtown at the Galleria." Susan was

thinking they shouldn't try to get together that 

night there was too much to do with Shawna.

"When?"

Susan responded, "How about tomorrow, say 11:00?" 

Shawn answered, "We'll meet in the dining area. I'll get a room."

They both hung up at the same time, but neither 

knew why the other had closed the conversation 

so fast. In fact they both independently sensed 

someone might be listening in. Shawn didn't know it for sure, but he correctly guessed Sam had her 

phone wired. Susan didn't know who, she was just 

being extra careful.

The next morning both were at the Galleria early.

So was an unidentified CID agent, but the couple

had no idea who or where he or she was located.

Shawn came in and watched as he saw Susan enter from the elevators. She looked lovelier than ever wearing a pale green cashmere V-necked sweater over a vividly white long sleeved silk blouse. It looked like a slightly ruffled peter pan collar unbuttoned at the top. 

She had on very dark green slacks, and high heels, an overlarge purse of one shoulder and very large something that looked like a big shopping bag hanging off the back of a baby carriage. She was wearing glasses. He thought she always looked extra sexy when she wore glasses; sexy and smart. 

Her hair was in its typical French braid. It looked like she had something in it, maybe some ribbon. He noted it was green, the same color as her sweater, and it seemed to curl around and hang loosely beside and little below the braid. He thought that was one woman who knew how to dress. 

He watched her as she crossed through the crowded floor. He watched other men as they watched her. He bet they were wondering who the lucky guy was who belonged to her. He would have thought 'the woman who belonged to the man once' but not anymore. She owned him. Boy did she own him, and was he ever happy about it; slave for life and glad of it, even proud of it.

Shawn made his way across his half of the eatery. She espied him as he moved forward. She wanted to wave but hesitated. She watched him as he lithely worked his way through the tables. She laughed to herself, not real long on looks but he made up for it in personality.' 

She laughed to herself, 'he might not be Johnny Depp or George Clooney, but he walked on water as far as she was concerned. Besides,' she thought,' who would want all that garnish and grease when they could have real steak?'

They met in the middle of the tables. He picked up her scent, that wonderful aroma that was distinctly her. He didn't know what kind of perfume it was, if it was perfume, but if he did he'd buy a thousand shares in the company. 

She was smiling, talk about a face launching a thousand ships; she was Helen of Troy, Aphrodite, and Lily Langtry all rolled into one. What a beautiful face!

They closed in and gave each other a peck on the lips. She thought, yeah still wearing Old Spice, and still as rugged as ever. My kind of man.

He asked, "Do you want to get something to eat, or go upstairs and order in?"

She responded, "Did you get a room?"

"Of course." Was his answer.

"Let's go upstairs. I want to be alone with you. And, yes, I want Shawna to be alone with her Daddy too."

He looked down into the baby carriage. There she was. His daughter. His baby. The great wonder that he and this woman created together, "Can I hold her?"

"She's yours, I don't know why not."

Shawn leaned down and picked up his daughter, "She's beautiful. Can I carry her upstairs?"

Susan suppressed a happy giggle, "I don't know why not?"

They got on one of the elevators. He hit the button for the sixth floor, "How Is she getting along with Tom?"

"Tom's scared of her. I thought there might be a problem at first. I heard how cats like to get in baby's faces and lick the milk. He hasn't done anything. He avoids her. When I put her on a blanky on the floor, he runs into another room."

Shawn was cooing at his daughter, not seeming to be paying much attention to what Susan was saying. He turned around and winked, "Good then Tom will get along well with the puppy we're going to get."

Susan's eyes widened, "Puppy?"

"My little girl's going to need a puppy." He got real close and wriggled his nose on Shawna's.

"I'm glad you let me in on it. What kind of dog did you have in mind?"

Shawn grinned at Susan, "Any kind you want as long as it's a yellow lab."

Susan laughed, "Good, I was afraid you'd want to get a big dog."

Shawn answered, "Labs are big dogs."

Susan laughed openly, "I know that."

The two of them leaned over and kissed right there in the elevator. The elevator door opened, and Shawn stepped out first. He bowed and proffered his free hand, "My lady?"

Together they walked down the hall to the room Shawn had acquired. He opened the door for her, but she hung back, "What's the matter?"

She smiled coyly, walked over and put her arms around his shoulders, "You're holding our baby." 

"Why yes I guess I am."

She reached up and kissed him, "And I'm holding you."

He smiled, "Yes I guess you are."

She kept smiling, but pulled him closer, "So tell me Shawn McClellan. Who is kidnapping who today?"

Holding the baby, being held by Susan, standing awkwardly at the door, "Susan Slattery I want to tell you this is not a kidnapping. This is a rescue. If I didn't have you," he looked down at their baby, "and little Shawna here there wouldn't be a reason for me to even get out of bed. All I want is right here. This isn't a kidnapping. This is a rescue."

"I love you Shawn McClellan."

"I love you Susan Slattery."

They went inside together. Shawn put their baby back down in the carriage and turned again to the great light of his life. Unfettered by convention, by fear, or by the immediate constraints of time they embraced again.

He wrapped his arms around the woman he loved. He snuggled his face in her neck and in her hair. He loved her smell, the way she felt, her warmth, her soft texture, the exquisite shape of her shoulders, her ears, her temples. 

He pressed a kiss against the side of her face, not a wet messy kiss, not a hard rocky kiss, a hungry forceful kiss. He took his right hand and cupped the left side of her head against his face. He couldn't get enough of her. 

Yes he wanted the sex. Yes he was starved for the heat and the pressure of her firm woman's body the inner recesses of her feminine being, but he wanted hold her as much as anything, to cherish her, feel her face against his, her breasts pressing against his chest, to feel her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He kept saying over and over and over again, "Oh I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you so much!"

Susan was as desperate as he was. She'd had their child. She'd been holding the proof of the beauty of their existence in her arms for weeks. She wanted to share Shawna, but she wanted him too, just him.  

She wanted him just this way; wrapped in her arms, entwined with her flesh, pressing against her body. She wanted to rub her hands up and down his strong arms, press her hands along his chest, to squeeze his firm backside. She wanted to touch, to hold, to kiss, and enjoy his manhood. All this she had been dreaming about, telling her darling baby about, whispering about in her nightly prayers. Now he was here. In her arms. 

Nothing would tear them apart, at least not today. Tomorrow would come soon enough. They had today, tonight. Tomorrow there would be a reckoning. Tomorrow's morning sun was her enemy.

Tomorrow she had to begin her last and most desperate labor; a labor that would dwarf the pain of Shawna's birth, for tomorrow she'd have to push Shawn away, away for a short time, long enough to face their common foe and defeat him.  

Because she loved this man she'd have to hurt him a little. But in hurting him a little she'd be able to save him, really rescue him. She'd secure him, and her, from the clutches of the evil one whose lackey had called that afternoon. But they still had today, now, this minute, this time, "Shawn I love you. I love you so much. Make love to me. Help me today. I want to make Shawna's first little brother or little sister. I want to do it now." 

He lifted her precious body in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her on the coverlet. He whispered in her ear, "With you I'm everything, without you, nothing."

They lay down together. It was their time.

------------

No it's not over. We couldn't possibly leave them now. But we need to step away for a moment. Next 

time we'll play the voyeur. Next time we'll see how they grapple with the dangers ahead. 

Please don't hesitate to contact me. Any and all comments and suggestions are most welcome. 



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 11



Irene Donovan was just one of a dozen or so CID agents directly answerable to Warrant Officer Sam Houston. She knew Sam, or thought she did. When he told an agent to do one thing he was often expecting something else. That was Sam; always cagey, always coy, never clear. He'd told her to keep an eye on Susan Slattery, and that's what she'd been doing. 

Sam had given her the low down on Shawn, a man she knew and liked; that's when she figured it out, she wasn't to just keep an eye on the girl; she was to play mother hen. So when Shawn rented a room at the Galleria she got in and wired the place. 

She had no idea Shawn had a love life. He was OK looking; for the most part she thought he was fairly personable in an awkward sort of way, but he was no hottie. Shawn being with the Slattery woman made no sense; she as the genuine article, beautiful, graceful, poised, and elegant; Shawn was a clumsy dunder-headed fumbler. 

Listening to the woman and Shawn upstairs gave her an entirely different perspective on the kind of man he was. With women he was still a bumbling oaf, for sure, but he was so sincere, he stopped being some two dimensional nondescript CID robot, and emerged as a real person with warmth and feeling, even tenderness. She was glad she wasn't recording anything. If she had, the two people upstairs could have been arrested on a dozen different morals charges. After all, this was Maryland; a southern state.

The more she listened the more she felt like she wanted to go and get a room someplace just to relieve her own tension. She didn't; she just continued to listen.

To Irene it sounded like they were on a bed or perhaps a sofa. He kept whispering warm remarks while probably undressing her. She imagined what the two of them were doing as they cuddled and cooed. She could only imagine, pretend, what the woman must have been saying to him. Irene surreptitiously touched herself under her mini-skirt as she listened and fantasized. 

Shawn and Susan lay down on top of the coverlets that protected the king sized bed; "I suppose we should pull down the spread and get under the covers." Shawn said that out of concern for the possibility of picking something up.

Susan, busy kissing him replied, "Sure."

"I mean I've been told, even at the nicest places these cover spreads aren't cleaned all that often and we could end up laying on something that has some other person's germs."

Susan kept kissing his face and his neck, "Yeah OK."

"Well let's get up then," He pulled back and away to get up.

She followed him across the bedspread and stood beside him, still leaning up kissing and fondling while he pulled the bed spread down, "Mm. What's that you use, Old Spice?"

He kept pulling the coverlet, "Most of the time, but there are some other after shaves that I like too."

"Write them down so I can buy them for you at Christmas," She gulped at the thought of Christmas. She hoped there would be a Christmas for the three, hopefully four, or almost four of them. She thought four because she wanted to make a baby before they left the hotel; considering it took only one time, 'one shot', she mentally giggled; to make Shawna, making another little boy or girl in one day wasn't out of the realm of possibility. 

"Susan? What perfume do you use?"

Susan asked, "Does it bother you?"

He looked at her incredulously, "I can't get it off my mind. I recognize it whenever I'm near you, but I don't know if it's a fragrance or just the way you smell."

She giggled, "Oh now I smell."

"No. I mean yes. I mean you smell really good." Shawn was feeling high schoolish and getting tongued tied.

------------

Irene listening in, laughed, "This is Shawn McClellan?"

------------

Susan leaned around and got the large purse she was using. She pulled out a plastic packet, "Here's what I wear. I don't know if it makes any sense. When I was a teenager I fiercely resented anything my mother did, and that went all the way to the kind of perfume she wore, but now I wear what she wears. Go figure."

Shawn looked at the brand name. He'd seen it before with one or another of the foster parents he'd stayed with, but never remembered smelling it, at least the way it smelled on Susan, "I'll remember the name."

He pulled her over closer, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. He stroked the back of her head down to her neck and back, "I love you so much." He kept kissing her moist lips. 

Susan leaned up and returned his kisses with more of her own. She held her hands lightly on the nape of his neck. She felt his hackles rise as she touched him, "I'm no wanton, but you know I've been with other men."

Shawn kept kissing her, "Neither of us was a virgin the night I knocked you up."

"Don't interrupt. I wanted to say; while I've been with other men, I've never been with anyone like you. I mean you're no wimp, but you've never been this aggressive macho tough guy."

"In other words I am a wimp."

"No, not at all, it's just, like you know you're strong and you don't try top prove it when you kiss or when we're in bed," Susan was trying to be sensitive.

"I know; wimp. That's OK," Shawn was smiling.

------------

Irene was listening like it was the first time she'd ever really known McClellan. She had her hand under her panties and was using her fingernails, rubbing up and down her own private place. She was getting moist.

------------

Susan and Shawn lay back down on the bed. He pulled the covers up slightly, but she kicked them back down. 

Shawn undid the clasp on her bra, and it slipped away. He could tell her breasts were larger, and figured it had to do with her pregnancy and the breast feeding. 'Wasn't it wonderful,' he thought, 'the idea of breast feeding; giving one's own life's fluids to one's own child.' He guessed the closest a man could ever come to that was when he gave his sperm to a woman; then it was his life's fluid going to the creation of another. 

He wanted to do Susan right away, but he had a couple questions, "Darling; what's it like to breast feed."

She'd been kissing his neck. She looked up, "What?"

"I was just wondering, well about when you and Shawna?"

Susan gave him a special kiss on the end of his nose "It's kind of hard to explain, but it's easy to explain too."

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

She kissed him again, "When I haven't done any feeding, and my breasts are engorged, they get hard, and that can sort of hurt, but," peering over at their sleeping baby, "she doesn't hurt me."

He posed, "I mean all that sucking."

"That's a misnomer sugar bun. Babies don't actually suck. She sort of like latches on, and not just my nipple, she gets my whole aureole, and tugs. Once she does that the milk just flows out, no pain at all." Susan had been asked a question she hadn't expected, and she liked the idea of telling him about it.

He asked, "Do you like it? I mean, how does it make you feel emotionally?"

"What is there some kind of big emotional rush, like all this love and affection, not really." She wanted to tell the truth without a lot of romantic nonsense, "Let me see Shawn", kissing him again, "how do I get through all that testosterone?" She poked his chest with her hand when she said testosterone. 

She went on, "Does it feel good having your baby snuggled against you, yes, but I wouldn't have to breast feed to get that. It is nice though, especially at 3:00 a.m. when she wakes up. I don't have to get out of bed and warm a bottle. All I do is reach over, get her, and press my breast in her mouth. I can almost go back to sleep."

"Nothing special then," Shawn said a little disappointed.

"No it's special, but it's not like I hear the 'Hallelujah Chorus'. You know, the 'Battle Hymn of the Republic' doesn't start rumbling through my head." She wanted to be forthright but not syrupy, it was special, but not in the way some novelist might say in a pulpy paperback, "Look, the other evening she was feeding, and she started to hum. She does that frequently; it's almost always the same three little notes. It's very cute, sweet. Well she was humming and then stopped. I looked down and hummed the same three bars. I could see her eyes. I could tell she was thinking. Then she hummed the three bars back at me. I really enjoyed that. It was a gleeful little interlude." 

Shawn looked at Susan. He felt a little better, "So there's no great epiphany."

"No," Susan said, "just an easy peaceful kind of feeling."

------------

Downstairs Irene was still listening. She'd stopped doing what she'd been doing, and just listened, thinking, 'It was a kind of emotional high wasn't it.'

------------

Susan looked up dreamily at Shawn and considered, 'any other man would only be interested in one thing right now,' "You wanted to know something else?"

Shawn kept her in the corner of his eye, but still tried to make an attempt at being forthright, "I know you're not a virgin."

She interrupted, pointing at Shawna, "No kidding."

He blustered, "I mean when we did it the first time."

She responded, "No, you weren't my first."

"That's OK," He made no attempt to look at her. 

She interrupted him so it didn't matter, "Well thanks a lot."

He bumbled around some more, "No I didn't mean that. What I wanted to say was..."

She interrupted him again, "Don't worry; no matter what, you'll be my last."

Shawn kissed her and tried to start over again, still stammering, "I, well," He got it out, "How did I do? I mean. I was just wondering."

Susan tried to get a peak at his face, but he was doing a good job of hiding it, "What do you mean, 'how did I do'"?

"You know."

"No I don't know."

Shawn wished he hadn't gone in this direction, but he was in now, that was for sure, "How do I stack up?"

Susan got it. She knew she couldn't laugh or even smile about this one. It was a stupid thing he was asking, but it made her feel good. He wouldn't have asked if he wasn't in it with her all the way. He was really opening up. She knew he was asking something men never talked about, at least not seriously. This was something that had to be handled delicately, "Shawn, sweetheart;" She pulled herself over a little closer, "I haven't been with all that many men, and in spite of the television ads, you're asking about something that doesn't matter to most women, not to me anyway."

He wanted to get out of the jam he'd put himself in, "I was just wondering."

"See here," she started. "You drive ten different cars, each one a week at a time. Then a week after you've been in all ten someone asks you which car had the most comfortable seat. Can you really answer that?"

He looked surprised, "You've been with ten different men?"

Susan stopped him, grabbed his chin and shook it back and forth, "No, not half that many. I was just making a point." Then she remembered something her father once said when he was arguing with her mother; a common occurrence when she was young, "My father once said something about women, 'stand them on their heads and their all sisters.' I think it's about the same for men." 

That last comment got his attention; it made sense. He supposed it could go both ways. He didn't say anything though; he just lay there feeling and acting stupid.

Susan wanted to bring this discussion to an end, "Shawn, all men are dicks. It's not about size or shape of the tool; it's about the asshole connected to it." She laughed, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him in close, and kissed him fulsomely on the lips, "And you're the asshole for me Shawn McClellan! You're my perfect asshole." 

He fell back on the bed with her in his arms. He slid his hand down her side, found her panties and pulled them down around her knees. Taking his fingers he started to massage her abdomen down to the fatty tissue just above her cleft. He cupped it in his fingers. Nearly hairless owing to Susan's decision to keep it neatly trimmed it felt warm and soft. 

He thought about O.J. Simpson, a repugnant man if there ever was one, a man who'd murdered a beautiful woman, his own wife. But even Simpson, in one his stupider moments was alleged to have said and done something he could relate to. He'd once grabbed his wife's crotch while at a restaurant and proclaimed, 'this is mine.' 

Shawn would never have done anything as stupid or blatantly degrading, but he had the thought. He kissed Susan fervently; while continuing to grip her womb; he thought; this is mine, she's mine, all mine!'

Susan sensed his mind was wandering, "Penny for your thoughts?"

He answered, "I was thinking about how much I loved you, and how much you've become a part of me."

"Like terra and cotta?"

"Like pop and tart."

"Like bacon and eggs?"

He squeezed her down low with one hand and held the back of her head with the other, "like forever and ever."

------------

Irene was still downstairs. What she heard had long since stopped being sexual. It was embarrassing; she felt like a peeping Tom. She kept listening though.

------------

Susan reached down and touched Hermie, his thing. It was large and hard. She used her fingers to lightly touch and fondle the tip. She felt it get even bigger.

Shawn couldn't wait, He slowly slid inside her. She felt as warm, moist, and tight as he'd remembered. 

Susan pressed upward against him. She wanted him inside her, as deep as possible. She wanted lots of children, as many as possible, but only with Shawn. If things went south, and he was killed, she might never get another chance. Sure she loved the feeling, the sense of fullness, the incomparable heat and throbbing, the pulsating power, but she wanted his seed most of all.

Together they kissed, re-explored, whispered, and undulated. She loved him. He loved her. There was this feeling of completeness; a totality, a unity to these moments that could never be expressed. The English language, any language, lacked the power to relate what two people in love, really, totally completely, in love felt in moments like this. 

Two hot dry bodies, four searching hands, two sets of moist lips, and the ever present surge and resurgent force of one man and one woman. His time came, and so did hers. He expressed himself with one more last powerful thrust that sent his manhood deep within her womb. She received him; she welcomed him, fully and completely. 

They lay together, side by side, in harmony, in the comforting confidence of what they had together. His manly force slowly receded, but not his passion for her presence. 

Her woman's body told the same story; a time of fulfillment but not completion. They were destined to share moments like this twice more before the afternoon ebbed into evening, and then yet again late that night they'd cherish that same joy of unity a fourth time. 

Shawn lay with his arms around the woman he loved; the woman whose heart, body and soul were his 'raison detre'. Tomorrow they'd board a plane and travel to New York; he and she and little Shawna.

Susan's afternoon and evening had been a time of blissful rest coupled with the full exercise of passions energy, interrupted occasionally by the timely need to feed their mutual claim to life's immortality. The other thing; the time to make the break, albeit only a temporary interlude in what she knew would their great love song, could wait till the morning. 

------------

Downstairs Irene felt more than a little guilty. That was when she understood the problem Sam had seen she could solve. The baby was going to need reliable care while Susan did what she had to do. 

She knew Sam wouldn't officially approve, but she decided later tomorrow, after Shawn went north, she'd reveal herself to Susan. She'd set Susan at ease about day care. Irene knew what Susan was expected to do. She knew who Camulos was, and she knew the best way to help Susan, other than keeping as good a watch as she could, was to guarantee day care came from a secure source.

In the Big Apple:

Kia was getting ready for her second presentation. She and Shai had been forewarned about being too condemning of the Sudan. Keep that country's perfidy off the page. Her job was to get more aid for Darfur. 

She was horribly deeply depressed. Early in the week her father, who was also in New York, had spoken to her about Kim. Kia was pleased, her mother and father had agreed to accept Kim into the family, but it was very much a conditional acceptance. If they married they had to live in Nepal and Kim, a follower of the teachings of Lao Tze, might have to adopt some faith closer to her own Hindu beliefs. 

Her parents doubted, considering his foreign birth, if he'd be acceptable in Nepal as a Hindu. He'd be at the bottom of the cultural hierarchy, and that would undermine the whole family; maybe as a Buddhist, or if he remained a Taoist, at worst a Christian, absolutely never a Muslim, he'd be tolerated.

Kia's mind wandered in a different direction. She reflected on the two other men, beside her father, who'd figured so large in her life the last several years; there was Shawn, and, of course, there was Kim. Shawn and Kim were so different.

Shawn was everything his name inferred; a wild, erratic Celtic type. Shawn was quick to anger, but just as quick to forget. She'd watched him in action; diving into crocodile infested waters, chasing after kidnapped young women in Nepal, and buying the life of a woman based almost exclusively on an emotional attachment. 

He was high strung, wild, free thinking, and in some ways totally unreliable. The French were like that too; flamboyant and too casual when it came to caution. In history they called it the French style. She remembered it had been Kim, though Shawn would have certainly denied it later, who'd dissuaded him from charging headlong into the trap they'd set for him the second time Susan had been abducted. 

Then there was Kim; the South Korean. He was the thinker, the planner, the man who saw danger, and always found a safer, saner, alternative. Kim was a classic stoical Taoist. For him there was order in everything, even when a reason couldn't be discerned; for every Yin there was a Yang. He was reliable, stable, dependable, and above all loyal. She knew he loved her; he'd be devoted all his life, they'd have good children, and she'd go to her grave knowing he'd been pure in his heart and pure in deed.

Yes, Shawn and Kim were two fascinating men.; One, Shawn, the eternal Hot Spur, ready to dash into danger, the classic French Medieval Roland; willing to fight no matter the danger, no matter the cost. 

Kim was very much the opposite; the mature Harry. Ha, she thought; a little Harry in the night! Stand and fight, but choose your ground to best advantage! Kim was Caesar to Shawn's Vercingetorix; one the meticulous planner, the other brave but foolhardy. She prayed that Kim was still alive.

Separation:

Not having worked in a while Susan hadn't worried about getting Shawna on a schedule so she was up twice during the night. Each time she looked over at Shawn; he was snoozing, completely unaware of the crisis ahead.

When Shawn awakened he saw Susan was already up. She had finished Shawna's morning feeding. He stretched, "Good morning sweetheart. What's up for today?" He'd decided to ignore Sam's instructions, and take Susan north with him to New York.

"Not a lot right now love muffin."

"Love muffin! Hey, I don't have any love handles yet. Let's give it a few years."

Susan chirped out a gleeful chortle, "OK, my big wonderful man, my heroic manly man; do you want to order up some breakfast, my big powerful masculine man?"

Shawn laughed, "That's more like it; breakfast, sure, how about some bacon and eggs?"

She asked, "Why bacon and eggs?"

He countered, "Didn't you say bacon and eggs last night?"

"All right; bacon and eggs it is." She picked up the house phone and called down to room service.




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 11



They curled up together on the bed. Shawna lay nearby in the carriage, fast asleep.

Shawn leaned into Susan and kissed the left side of her face just behind the ear, "You've got great ears."

Susan wasn't thinking about her ears. She knew it was time to share the pain, "Shawn there's something I've got to tell you." 

"Can't it wait? I want some more nookie." He started rubbing those rounded heart shaped ass cheeks of hers.

"No it can't wait. It's important." 

Shawn teased her neck and the under part of her chin with his index finger, "Look let's eat, make love, and you can tell me on the way to New York."

"I'm not going to New York. You know that."

"I thought it over. I've changed my mind. I think we should both go to New York together. I'll tell my supervisor. It'll be all right."

Shawn was nervous and had said everything so fast Susan had trouble keeping up, but it didn't matter, she knew the gist of it, "No I'm staying here. You're going to New York."

"Look," said Shawn, "It'll be all right. I'll call my boss, and he'll OK it, no problem."

Susan answered him, "No it won't be all right. You're to go to New York. You're to testify at the UN. There's something I have to do here first."

"Yeah, what do you have to do that's so important it would keep us apart?"

"I have a new job. I go for my entry interview this afternoon." Susan had to be careful.

"A Job, you don't need to work anymore. I'll take care of everything." Shawn didn't like the sound of things. He was suspicious.

"Yes I have a job. It's an important one; the opportunity of a lifetime."

Shawn was really put off, "I'm your opportunity of a lifetime, not any job."

Susan wouldn't, couldn't, relent, "In a manner of speaking this job is about you, me, Shawna, and everything we want." 

Shawn smelled a rat, "Whose been talking to you?"

"If I tell you, promise you won't get mad."

"I won't get mad, I promise." He was lying.

Susan decided to tell him, "I've been talking to Sam Houston." 

Shawn was caught completely off guard, and it made him absolutely furious. He resorted to the tried and; sarcasm, "Hell Susan, he's been dead over one hundred and fifty years. Nobody talks to him anymore." 

Inside he was digesting what she said. If she'd been talking to Sam, then something was brewing, it was probably serious, certainly dangerous, and he was certain it had everything to do with him. "Who does he want you to go to work for?"

Susan could answer that without tricking anybody, "The government."

Shawn knew she was sidestepping the truth, "Don't play any of your lawyer's tricks," He grabbed her arms, pushed her down on the bed, and forced her to look at him, "Who are you really going to work for?"

Susan had an out, "Let go. You're hurting me."

He let go, "I'm sorry; tell me what this is all about, and don't try and fool me, I'll know right away."

She put her hands up and around his neck. She tickled his right ear, "you're still in some danger.' She'd almost slipped and said 'great danger'. "Warrant Officer Houston knows I can use my legal skills and connections in various law offices to dig up certain information that will free you, and me, from any possibility of danger, especially as it relates to certain kinds of criminal behavior."

"What are you talking about? What criminal behavior? What kind of danger are you referring to?" Shawn wasn't as sure as he'd been just a few seconds earlier. Susan might actually have something.

Susan had started lying; no sense in stopping now, "You're alleged to have killed certain people. The CID," She paused for effect, "Don't tell me you didn't work for the government. You know I know that now."

Shawn replied, "OK."

"People in CID know who you killed and who you didn't, but they can't tell the FBI directly. That would blow peoples covers and unravel active investigations." She thought she had him, "Warrant Officer Houston wants to use my skills since I'm an outsider regarding CID, but an insider when it comes to what you did and didn't do. I can do the research, ask the questions, and put the pieces together so you'll be off the hook, the FBI will be happy, and CID will be protected." 

Shawn was actually starting to believe her, "It sort of makes a little sense, but I still don't know why somebody else couldn't do it."

Susan leaned up and kissed him, "I think Mr. Houston wants to punish you a little bit."

"Me? Why?"

"Come on Shawn," Susan pretended to scoff, "Even I know you've been something of a loose cannon these past few months. Give Mr. Houston his due. He wants to put you in your place before he sends you off again."

Shawn asked, "Are you lying to me?"

"No Shawn, I'm not lying to you. Mr. Houston called me in, and we had a long talk. He's worried about your state of mind. He wants to keep you out of the way in New York: you know with a UN clearance so the FBI can't touch you, while I save your scrawny ass."

"There's no chance of you getting hurt?"

"Not a chance."

"And you're working for?"

Susan kissed him, "You first, then Officer Houston, and last the government." 

"You can't get hurt?"

"Well I could go cross eyed reading the computer."

"How long will you be doing this?"

"Maybe four weeks, five tops."

Shawn smiled, "Can we see each other on weekends?"

Susan turned serious, "Nobody must see us together. If the FBI thought I knew you then my cover would be blown."

Shawn listened, and was processing; it all seemed to make sense. Using Susan, she's smart, knows a lot already. Sam could be punishing him, and be putting Susan in a more dominant position in their relationship. He'd be able to testify at the UN free from FBI interference. That only left Camulos, but Shawn didn't think he was a problem anymore.

Shawn kissed her neck, "I can't see you or talk to your for four maybe five weeks?"

Susan one upped him, "Hell Shawn you were in Africa, how many months?"

"OK, how about a quickie before you leave for your interview."

Susan looked at the clock, "OK."

They hopped back in the sack and did another number. Shawn wanted it to be a good one. It looked like he'd be having another dry spell. Susan wanted it too. Just in case all they'd done the night before didn't take hold, one more shot might be the one. They rolled over, kissed and hugged, and he sowed some more seed.

------------

Later that afternoon Susan walked Shawn to the railway station and saw him off. For all the bravado and all his past heroics, he did a lousy job saying good bye. She hated watching his eyes well up, knowing how he was suffering, but she had to take care of business. 

Her next move was to meet with Todd Bitterman. According to Bitterman she was to see Camulos later that afternoon where they would discuss her responsibilities and status in his business. They were cutting the time pretty close. It looked like she'd have to take Shawna with her. She wasn't excited about it, but she didn't have day care yet.

------------

Kim watched quietly as Susan put Shawn on the train. Knowing where he was headed Kim opted for the next train. He'd catch back up later. In New York he'd get a chance to secretly see Kia. He had to be careful about that, since Kia might tell Shawn his was around. Maybe he better not. 

------------

Irene left the Galleria for her mother's; who better to take care of Slattery's little girl? She figured Houston knew what he was doing selecting a local to keep watch; all the perks of local residence were in place.

------------

Todd Bitterman was waiting in his master's office complex. Had he known Shawn had been a scant six blocks from where he was nervously pacing he might have gotten Myron and the two of them could have taken McClellan down that very day. Though this wasn't New York, he was sure it would have caused a big enough splash to appease Camulos.

------------

Back in the nation's capital FBI agent Mark Miller had gotten clearance to root through all the CID files related to Shawn McClellan, alias Ophay. All this time he'd been chasing a government agent with a record that would have shamed a James Bond; McClellan was a legitimate American hero. He didn't know whether to feel honored to be included in the man's network, pissed that he'd been allowed to chase a willow the wisp for so long, or foolish for not figuring it out himself.

From now on his job was to be Susan Slattery's link with CID, and when the shit finally hit the fan, he'd be the one to close the deal. He was to get in touch and stay in touch with Slattery, but offer no support beyond information, and provide no shelter or safety if she got in over her head.

The way the memo from Houston read, the Slattery woman was probably going to wind up dead. He wasn't to get involved with her work or offer any succor until the final showdown, if then. He felt sorry for her. It looked like she was the sacrificial lamb they were using to trap Camulos and any other bigger fish they might be able to reel in. He thought about it. He'd hate to be a scapegoat, a stalking horse, somebody used as bait, that was what she'd become.

------------

In the Pentagon Houston read the text from Irene. Hers was one of the most important jobs in the whole operation. If they could get Camulos and keep Susan alive; what with she and Shawn, the CID would have the best one two punch they'd had in years. He'd planned on putting Shawn out to pasture, still would if Susan was killed, but if they got what they wanted and got her out alive that would be great, not very likely, but really great. 

He remembered what Joseph Stalin, one time dictator of the Soviet Union had said when asked about all the murders he'd ordred, "If you want to make an omelet, you have to break some eggs." It would be too bad if Susan turned out to be one of the broken eggs.

------------

Susan took a taxi north to the hotel where she was to meet with Bitterman and Camulos. She got there a little early, and found Todd waiting for her, "Susan, you're early."

"Yes, I had an errand to run in the neighborhood so I thought I'd just come straight up." She shifted Shawna from one arm to another, "I had to bring my baby."

Todd looked at the little girl, "I'm sure it won't make any difference. This is only an entry interview. The boss will want to explain your responsibilities, and then probably let you go."

"I hope so. I need to find some day care, and I want to do some shopping."

Todd took Susan's arm and walked her to the elevator, "Come on, let's go ahead and see if we can get in now."

Together they rode the elevator to the appropriate floor. The door opened and they stepped into a dimly lighted anteroom. There was a wall phone. Todd picked it up and punched in a three digit code. Someone on the other end must have said something because Todd started to speak, "Hello, this is Todd Bitterman here with Ms. Slattery to see Mr. Camulos." He turned to Susan, "He's busy, but he'll only be a minute."

They stood, waiting expectantly for about ten minutes before the door that opposed the elevator opened and they were met by a tall grim looking middle aged man. 

Susan was taken aback by the man who greeted them. She could tell right away he was older looking than his actual years. His face was pock marked with ancient acne scars, and he was scarred under his left eye. 

She reflected on Shawn's scar; his lent his face an aura of mystery, and the hint of danger. This man's scar was different; where he might have been handsome once it made him look ugly. She thought it must be a painful reminder of something terribly unpleasant. 

The man made no effort to be polite. Ignoring Todd he looked at Susan, "This way." He turned, and without looking back started down another dark hallway. 

Susan, ambivalent about the meeting already, followed in silence.

The grim faced man led her to another door and opened it. He pointed, "In there."

Susan walked through the door, carrying her baby, and feeling just a little frightened until she came upon another door. From behind this last door she heard someone, "Come in."

She walked in and saw seated at a big oak desk, smoking a huge cigar the man who'd been the source of all her and Shawn's difficulties. She walked forward, baby on one arm, hand outstretched from the other, "Good afternoon. Do you remember me? I'm Susan Slattery. We met one evening in your car."

Camulos stood and reached out to accept her greeting. He shook her hand and steered her toward a chair, "Here, sit down."

She took the proffered seat and made an opening remark, "I want to thank you for agreeing to see me, and offering me this opportunity." Before she allowed him to respond she continued, "I believe you were my savior the last time we met."

He thought, 'she's smooth', "I'm glad I could help." He went right to the chase, "Has anyone told you what I'm interested in?"

"Todd, I mean Mr. Bitterman suggested you were looking for someone with some legal skills who might serve as a kind of personal adviser."

Camulos, sitting in his big chair, more comfortable, and feeling more in control, "Yes, yes, that's about right." He glanced over at the baby, "Who's this?"

Susan held up Shawna, "This is my baby. Her name is Shawna. She's the child of my being raped by Shawn McClellan."

"May I hold her?" Camulos asked.

Susan hid her fears and handed him her child.

"I find it unusual that you would name your child after the man who raped you." 

Susan was quick to respond, "I don't at all. The man was unnecessarily cruel, but, as you can see, the outcome was a perfect child. She might carry his name, but she's my baby."

Camulos held the baby gently. He had four children of his own, and though he'd never spent any real time with them he valued them. He looked at this baby. It had no such special charm for him. He thought how fragile it was. It would be so easy to take its head and crush it between his two hands, or he could swing it around by its heels smashing its brains out on the desk. He looked over at the woman. 

He detected the well hidden revulsion all women felt for him. He wondered what her reaction would be if he did break this child apart in front of her.

He handed the baby back, "Beautiful little girl."

Susan watched him with trepidation. He looked like the type who wouldn't hesitate to kill an infant if he thought it would be to his advantage. She still felt the same fear she had the first time she'd met him. He wasn't altogether without charm. It was just the way he looked at her, the way he looked at her child, the sort of threatening way he held her baby, the way he carried himself, his demeanor, the underlying evil he tried so hard to conceal that initiated the loathing. 

She replied, "Thank you." The she asked, "Is there anything I should do to prepare or perhaps research?"

"Not right away," Camulos answered, "I've arranged a dinner party for tomorrow night. Though strictly speaking you're only my adviser, I'd like you to go as my guest. You could get to know some of the people you'll be working with; get the lay of the land as it were."

Susan had been forewarned he'd want her as a kind of show piece; a trophy perhaps, "Is there anything in particular I should wear?"

"Something colorful, and something; how shall I say, something that will attract attention," he said.

"I see," said Susan, "something red and perhaps a little revealing."

"Precisely" was his only response.

"What time, and where?" she asked.

"I believe I have your address. A car will pick you up at 9:00. Expect to be out most of the night." He turned away, "I think that covers everything for now."

Susan knew she'd been dismissed, "Thank you," She didn't offer a hand, "Till tomorrow night."

He'd already gone on to some other project so she got up and made her way out.

As she left he continued to pretend to be involved with something else. He considered, 'I'll show her off a little at first, maybe later I'll get her in bed." He emitted a crooked little chuckle, "I wonder how she handles pain?"

Susan couldn't get out of that trap they called offices fast enough. She had to go shopping, but first she had to find day care. She started down the street toward the taxi stand. She'd get a cab home, and start to call around. As she walked along a car pulled over, the automatic window rolled down, and a woman leaned over from the driver's side, "Get a cab and take it to 2587 Maple Grove Road. Wait for me there."

Susan peered in, "Who are you?"

"I work for Sam Houston."

Susan got a cab and told him where to take her. She reflected, 'I might not be completely alone after all.'

Back in New York:

Kia and Shai were told Shawn was coming in that very afternoon. He'd be staying at the same hotel, a really posh facility right off Central Park. UN officials were setting them up nicely. Kia and Shai had already testified once, and they expected their next round of discussions and questions would include Shawn. Both had missed him terribly; first not knowing if he were alive; then discovering he'd been tortured horribly, and most recently having discovered he'd fully recovered and was on his way. 

The three met at a small restaurant just a few blocks west of Times Square. Seated together at the table for the first time in weeks was both pleasurable and melancholy.

"I'm so glad you're back home Shawn. We were worried about you." Kia was glad to see Shawn. Only one other person would have made her more pleased.

Shawn held her hand, "Have you heard from Kim?"

"No! No one has!" was Kia's response.

"Don't you know what he's done?"

Shai asked, "No what?"

"Don't you know the role he's played in all our rescues?"

"We were told the International Red Crescent got wind of our disappearance, and found us through the Sudanese government," was Kia's answer.

Shawn laughed, "You've got to be kidding. Let me fill you in." For the next twenty minutes Shawn told and retold the tale of Kim's escape west to the Central African Republic, his contacts with the US military, and through them UN notification of the ladies kidnapping and confinement. Kim, in short, had been responsible for the survival of all three of them.

Kia asked, "Do you know where he is now?"

"No," started Shawn, "but I know he's safe and in good spirits. Tell the truth Kia, he might be here in New York. In fact, I'd be surprised if he wasn't."

Shai offered, "He's undercover."

Shawn gave her the high sign, "Kim's been undercover ever since I've known him," he smiled at Kia, "wouldn't you agree?"

"I love you Shawn. You've made me so happy, just talking to you; she paused then went on, "I haven't felt safe since we've been back. Now you're here, and I know Kim's nearby, I know nothing can touch us."

Shai held up her glass, "A toast."

Shawn held up his, "To Kim."

Kia responded, "To help for Darfur."

Shai piped in, "To Darfur; to the four of us."

They drank and ate till the wee hours of the morning. They swapped old stories, rehashed past experiences, and shared their immediate plans. 

The small restaurant closed up, but the proprietor, accustomed to the nature of New York customers, allowed them to stay. Sometime around sun up they packed up, thanked the manager, left a shamefully large gratuity, and left. 

As Shawn stepped into the morning sunlight he thanked God for his many blessings; good friends, a promising career, and a beautiful woman not far away tidying up a few minor loose ends. In a couple weeks he Susan and Shawna could settle down in some suburb, gain weight, watch football, baseball, and lacrosse, and just generally get started on the American dream. Things were almost perfect.

In Another World:

In another city, a city not so pretty or as prosperous as New York; in fact by urban standards a mosquito compared to New York, Susan Slattery was about to embark on the most dangerous mission of her life. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 11



The actions she was about to undertake were more dangerous than anything the three UN veterans in the Big Apple had ever faced. Her future, her life, was hanging by a thread, twisting over a ferociously hot fire, and the man who held the string was a sadistic beast.

Susan had met Irene, and she'd been introduced to her mother. Susan's greatest first fear had been in finding a responsible person, someone having nothing to do either directly or indirectly with her problem. Someone she could trust to take care of her baby. She'd found what she needed; it also afforded her sanctuary in the event things went south, and she had to flee for her life.

At the moment she was seated in a long black limousine headed for her first conference with Camulos and the cabal of his fellow hoodlums. She was attired in a dark red dress. It was tight, and the hem was a vulgar four inches above her knees. 

A sleeveless wrap around, it revealed far too much cleavage; but she knew it was what Camulos was looking for, something to distract his colleagues and competitors. She'd had to put extras padding in the tight brassiere fearful of leakage.

The dress wasn't the only difference. The high heels, garish open toed black patent leather things with a high narrow three inch heel were companioned by equally dark black nylons accoutered with garters. She wore black panties that finished off what she considered a lurid below the waist ensemble. 

Tonight she applied more make up than was customary; cheeks redder than normal, extra dark eye liner, vivid red lipstick with a high powered gloss, and dark red fingernail polish. The extra make up, especially the eye liner, gave her an exotic feline trashy sort of look.

Her hair she continued to wear in her traditional tight bun, but this time instead of just a tight braid she allowed it to fall loosely in a ponytail. She affixed several strands of thin red ribbon in the tail. 

Before leaving she remembered staring at the mirror in her small apartment. Tonight she felt the way she looked, whorish. But if dressing like a tramp was part of the price, then that was part of the price. She had a man and a baby to think of, to take care of.

The jewelry she chose was expensive, but tasteless. She wore a thick black gold tennis bracelet, and long dangling black earrings. The only piece of apparel she held back on was her necklace. Riding in the back of the long Cadillac she clung tightly to the small gold pendant hanging from her neck. She prayed, 'Please let me get through this.' 

She was determined to survive this awful night; she was equally determined she was going to survive with her dignity, among other things, in tact. She might look like trash, she might feel like trash, but no one was going to treat her like trash. 

The vehicle pulled in front of that same hotel; the one with its horrid hidden office complex. As she stepped out to the curb she noticed the chauffeur eying her up and down. She wondered; is this what it felt like to be a whore? 

Then she told herself, 'This in no time to be afraid; this is no time for self pity. I'm no whore. I'm a lioness protecting her pride. Camulos and his slavering hyenas had better watch out!' 

-----------

Susan is in great danger! On her own, out of her element, not knowing what to expect, or what is expected of her. 

If you have any remarks or comments please send them either in the comments section or by e-mail via the CONTACT tab on my profile.

An addendum: This story has rightly received criticism for its first chapter. I am reworking chapter one, and will put into place when all the other chapters are finished.  



The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 12



Shawn was having the time of his life. Testifying and participating in discussions all day, and out partying all night. With Kia and Shai by his side they kept the taverns open and the impresarios up all night long. The CID, thanks to the beneficence of Warrant Officer Sam Houston, had provided him with a splendid expense account, and Shawn spent his country's money as though deficits didn't matter. 

The three ate, drank, danced, and made the rounds of the hottest hot spots in the hottest city in the world. Shawn wolfed down rich grain fed two inch slabs of rare Angus steak accompanied by baked potatoes rich with butter or sour cream, and accompanied with bacon sloshed string beans. Kia joined him; enjoying well cooked lamb, chicken and sometimes buffalo suffused with various curry sauces all on heaps of rice cooked in fresh eggs, and an unending array of vegetables from spring peas to bamboo shoots. Shai, never outdone plied herself with kitfo; a dish of extremely rare, almost raw, beef customarily drowning in some spicy tangy and always delicious chili sauce. 

Alcohol was always one of the great treats of the evening. Shawn loved his Jack Daniels over ice in coca cola followed by an equally tall iced water chaser. Kia had her home grown millet drink, a rich heavy Nepalese beer. But Shai had the best of all; hers was Tangha wine, a rich honeyed wine, more mead than wine; a centuries old drink of the people of the Amhara Plateau. 

Prohibitions regarding shared utensils may have been technically upheld, and Shai may have pretended to eat in the traditional way using her right hand dipping up her scrumptious entrées with morsels of rice cake like everything was finger food, but the food, the drink, and most of all the company made all but the most rigorous cultural taboos irrelevant. They were a team, a group of companions whose experiences and love for one another superseded old folkways. 

More than once Shawn awakened with a hang over; the fall out from a previous evening he knew he shared with his beloved comrades in arms. He didn't care. They didn't care. They'd come through it together, and together they were reawakening the conscience of the world. He did it for Lauren, a little girl buried in a road on some rocky stretch of a barren land. Kia did it for a mother who'd lost three babies to Souma, and Shai did it for all the babies, all the children, and the lost and hungry whether it was in Darfur, Cambodia, Rwanda, or Paraguay.  

They had been on hand to see the suffering, the misery, and the tragedy, but they been there to see the perseverance, the determination, and humanity's indomitable will; a will born of mankind's faith in Divine Providence. They'd been there, seen it all and wherever they were, no matter how difficult the circumstance they'd seen the hand of God. Be it a Hindu in Nepal, a Buddhist in Thailand, a Christian or Muslim in the Sudan, or an Orthodox Christian in Ethiopia there was always man's ever present faith.  

Shawn was a Catholic; a conservative Irish Catholic. How he got that way was a mystery, for he'd never had much religious schooling growing up. Yeah, he was put off by the current scandals in the Church, but all faiths were shallow and weak when one looked at the people who ran them. He'd seen Jews cry at the 'Wall' in Jerusalem even while Israeli soldiers shoved helpless Palestinian woman and children into pestilential ghettoes. He'd heard self righteous imams tout the nobility of Allah even as fanatical men cut away the faces of innocent beautiful young girls. He'd watched wealthy Hindu Brahmins ignore the starving poor, while the most upright Buddhists found ways to justify other peoples' misery. 

Shawn loved God, but he'd come to love humanity more, and in his world humanity had come to increasingly mean just two people. They were somewhere in the south, in a gritty old southern city, a city that was both beautiful and ugly; a city where social injustice and the divisions between rich and poor were almost stark as in the Sudan. He despised the city, but loved its content. 

She was still 'down there'. But he knew, once she was finished she'd join him in the Big Apple, and together, with all his friends, they'd have the biggest splashiest wedding this side of Charles and Diana. He even considered making Houston his best man; that was, if Kim wasn't available. Yes the world had become his oyster, he was reveling in it, but the pearls were down in the south, still in the shell.

------------

Kim steered clear of the nonsense he saw with Shawn, Kia, and Shai. They could play. He still had his job to do. Keeping track of Shawn was easy. In fact it was as though Shawn was supposed to be out and about; being playful, being the giddy gadfly. 

What hadn't made sense were the two men following him. Kim knew right away it was Shawn and not the women who were being followed. There was an incongruity to the men tailing Shawn and it concerned him; one was clearly some kind of low class thug, but the other looked out of place. One was ready to shoot, the other ready to run.

Using his cell phone Kim got pictures of the two and had the photos forwarded to his contacts. They looked them up and came back with an interesting observation; one was indeed a hired killer, and the other was just another in a long line of corrupt businessmen. What was disturbing was both these men were connected to Camulos, and through Camulos to Shawn. 

It was clear Camulos wasn't finished with Shawn, and by the look of the two men on his tail Shawn's life was still in some danger. Kim made the decision he'd knock off the killer, and collect the businessman; a little well applied pain was certain to reap all the information he wanted. Who knew, considered Kim, something big might be in the offing?

------------

Irene kept close watch on Susan. She didn't like was she was seeing. The demure young damsel was dressing and behaving more and more like the tramps going in and out of hotel office complex. She was afraid Susan was moving too quickly; moving too rapidly into the role Camulos expected of her; the result might not be favorable. 

Meanwhile Irene kept her own mother as well informed as possible. At some time soon she, the baby, Susan, and her mother were bound to go north. When the time came Irene had to have everything in place.

The First Dinner Party:

The elevator took Susan up to the floors where she knew the all too familiar offices were, but instead of getting off at the same gloomy level she was disgorged in a brightly lit receiving area. A tarty looking hostess obtained her shawl, while a smartly dressed man directed her into the main chamber.

It was in poor taste to describe the young hostess's attire as tarty. She was terribly young and was only wearing what was expected of her, but it did still look a shade on the tacky side; with a thinly woven, tightly fitting white silk blouse, its deeply plunging frilly neckline tightly shirred in a way that emphasized her small but prominent breasts. 

Susan couldn't say much for the girl's extremely short black skirt either. It was way too skimpy, and there was nothing to conceal her bright white frilly panties and thigh high stockings with their accompanying high heeled black patent leather shoes. 

Her hair was tied up in two tight pig tails held in place with somewhat overlarge red ribbons tied off in small but prominent bows at just about ear level. The hostess looked much too youthful but still very pretty. 

Susan wondered if someone might try to take advantage of the girl sometime during the evening. They probably would, and Susan thought that was too bad, since she was sure the girl was under age. 

The man, dare she say butler, who directed her to the main chamber was certainly well dressed in a black two piece suit, but otherwise his appearance was very disquieting. He may have been someone assigned a butler's duties, but he clearly wasn't a butler; a servant certainly, but one more likely to yoke and strangle or perhaps plunge a stiletto into someone's throat. He was absolutely polite and deferential, but she got the impression he was only polite and deferential until someone ordered him to be brutal and murderous. 

The proof of his actual responsibilities she thought were more in the size and shape of his hands, and in the ill concealed calculating stare that followed her around the room. No he wasn't a real butler, not by a long shot.

The setting was sumptuous if a little garish. Arranged as a buffet, there was too much food, but it all looked appetizing. There was roast beef, Beluga caviar, crab dip, oysters on the half shell, and the delicious and omnipresent crab cakes always found in this city.

A small band was playing softly in the corner; only six musicians, but they made some delightful music. She especially liked the gentle melodious sounds of some of the older Broadway tunes. 

As far as alcohol was concerned; she'd never seen so much in one place at any one time. There must have been two dozen bottles of different kinds of wine; all expensive, and she was sure all tasteful. As for the really good stuff there was the usual Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, and other hard liquors she didn't care for like types of Scotch, Gin, and Vodka. There were three quarter kegs of beer, one domestic, one clearly European, and one quarter of Guinness. 

She was a Jim Beam person, but on occasion she'd settle for the bitterer Jack Daniels. None of the other stuff interested her.

The room was well lighted, and she could see it was set out with some very expensive furniture. Beautiful, but mostly stuff she thought a little heavy, that would be to say too bulky, for her tastes. 

Simpering around the room were four young women dressed in much the same costume as the girl who first greeted her. If there were whore ingénues, these girls fit the bill.

The party; if one had the nerve to call it that, included eight women, counting herself, and close to twenty men. It looked like only seven of the men were what she'd consider legitimate male guests; the rest appeared to be bodyguards or some other kind of atypical creature. 

Regardless of what she thought of them, most of the rank and file paid little attention to her except perhaps as some slice of meat they might like to carve up. She, like the other women, was certainly considered nothing more than just several pieces of ass to be ignored, scorned, or perhaps used later. Excepting for the remote possibility of being used, that was fine with her; none of them had anything she was interested in.

The women were a largely uninteresting lot. They were all overdressed, and dressed in outfits that revealed too much skin. They all looked like cheap whores. Thinking about it; she realized she fit right in.

There was the group of seven men, that was Camulos and the six others, who got her attention. Camulos was, by far, the most sinister of the group, but a couple more had that same predatory look. To her surprise she figured at least three looked completely out of place.

Something was up. She could tell. Just what it was she deduced was her primary objective. She squirmed in with the seven central figures, and using Camulos's good graces, finagled introductions. She recognized none of the names, but tried to memorize their faces; At least one looked vaguely familiar.

For nearly an hour the seven men, tolerating her, talked about nothing in particular. Then, as if after someone gave a signal, they all stepped from the main area to a side room. Camulos allowed her to come along, but stealthily warned her to keep her mouth shut. He said, he'd ask her for opinions when everything was done. She nodded her understanding. None of the men seemed concerned that she was allowed admittance.

The men all sat around a large oaken table. For the first time she noticed all seven men had been accompanied by one other man; bodyguards she presumed. These additional men all took up positions as if each was standing behind their particular sovereign. The key figures all sat down; Camulos provided her a chair beside and a little behind his. This was a stunning turn of events. She had no clue what was about to happen, and she certainly had never had anything to do with any of the men present before. 

Camulos opened the discussions by making direct reference to Susan, "This is my girl. It's been through her all the paperwork's been completed. She answers only to me, and to the law if she gets caught." He looked over at her, "She won't get caught."

One of the other six asked, "You mean no one in this room but her is mentioned?"

Camulos grinned, "What ever we decide to do tonight will be handled by us, but everything will carry her signature." He guffawed, "You might say she's our bottom line, our insurance policy." 

Susan understood why she was there. Todd had told her she'd signed things, things that might not be legal. Whatever these men were all up to, she was their fall guy. If things went south, she would go south with it. None of them, regardless of what it was would be implicated. Susan wanted to cry, cuss, scream out her anger, but she kept her head.

Susan did make one remark, "My neck may be on the block, but the way things are arranged, if I do get caught, I'll get off lightly, and if things work out I'll be very rich, as rich as all of you."

Her comment was met by a wall of blank faces. She took a chance, thinking she sort of recognized one of the swarthier looking men. She added, "So don't cry for me Argentina."

The man she looked at blinked. She knew who he was, and he knew too!

The other men all cast surreptitious looks at her target, and then glanced back at her. Susan wondered if she'd made a mistake, or of she'd done the right thing. If they thought she knew more than they'd been led to believe would they kill her, or would they treated her more carefully?

The answer to that question came quickly. One of the other men spoke, "Don't worry Susan Slattery. If anything goes wrong you'll be the first to know."

Susan was afraid, and she had every right to be. These were all dangerous men, even the ones who didn't look dangerous. The threat the man made was real, but she also recognized the conditionality of the threat. If she didn't screw up she stayed alive.

With her out of the way the men went about debating the odds and ends of their plans. As they talked she pretended to understand. She did understand, and that was what really scared her. 

The plans these men were making didn't involve narcotics, though narcotics were mentioned, there was a lot of illegal, unlaundered, money, that had to be scrubbed, and there were certain foreign dignitaries who needed to be coddled. None of that scared her.





What terrified her was the content of the primary deals. Someone had gotten their hands on an old disgruntled Soviet nuclear physicist, and somewhere someone had a stockpile of heavy water, and another one of these people had gotten his hands on some uranium 235. 

Sure uranium 232 hearkened back to 1945 and guys like Robert Oppenheimer, and Enrico Fermi, but even primitive stuff like that had killed a quarter million people.

She remembered reading John Hersey's book about Hiroshima in high school. 

These men were discussing the sale and delivery of nuclear weapons, not stolen from some old Soviet arsenal, or something manufactured by some legitimate, attackable, renegade state, they were in a position to make and sell weapons of mass destruction, privately and secretly manufactured. If they could make the stuff, they could sell it to anyone! The money they'd make would be unbelievable, the costs could be astronomical!

While the men at the table bantered about words like photons, isotopes, and radiation around as though they were ping pong balls; Susan reflected on something else she'd once heard. The old German rocket scientist Werner Von Braun was once alleged to have said something about his V-1 and V-2 rockets that had killed so many innocent people in World War Two. What had he said? 'Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down? That's not my department.' 

As Susan sat there at the table; she understood the importance of what she heard. She understood why CID was interested, why Sam Houston knew he had to use her, why Shawn had to stay away. If a street thug like Camulos got something like this? She couldn't consider the consequences. She needed to get out of the meeting, find Mark Miller, or get him to find her; they had to shut this terrible thing down.

Back in New York:

Kim had seen enough. He had to take direct action. Shawn had just left another late night party. He had Shai and Kia on his arms. A block away the two men were skulking around. Kim figured tonight either one or both of the stalkers or Shawn would die. 

Kim left Shawn and dropped south. Creeping up behind the two men he pulled out a stiletto. Swiftly, like a cobra, he moved. In a split second the knife was under one of the men's chins, through his mouth, beyond his sinuses, and deep in his brain. 

It happened so fast Myron never knew what hit him. He was down and dead, blood spewing out on the dark recently rain soaked sidewalk. 

Kim moved decisively. He thrust the base of his hand under the other mans chin while his right leg curled around the other man's legs. Todd Bitterman was down, staring into the blazing brown eyes of a ROK agent, an agent with a bloodied knife already inching its way into his chin.

Kim whispered, "Don't say a word. Get up, and walk with me into the alley."

Bitterman's pants were soaked with fresh urine. He looked over at the lifeless body of his would be fellow assassin. He vomited. Then with the help of the stranger with the knife he made his way into the alley.

Kim thrust him against a wall, drew his right arm into a half nelson and whispered again, "If you value your life you will do exactly as I say." He hesitated, "Do you understand?"

Bitterman nodded in understanding.

Kim continued, "Walk down the alley, make a left, and walk to the nearest hotel. Smile when you enter the lobby. I'll make a comment, and then together we're going upstairs. Understand?"

Bitterman nodded again, but added, "Please don't kill me. I'm not like the other guy."

Kim whispered harshly, "You're not like the other guy because I haven't killed you. If you want to stay, not like the other guy, keep doing what I say."

Bitterman was crying, "Please, I don't want to die."

Kim whipped him around and shook him, "I've just saved your life. You think he was going to let you live after you killed McClellan?"

Bitterman looked surprised, "You. You know?"

Kim smiled, "Todd Bitterman, one time employee of Oscar Camulos, I'm your guardian angel. Now turn around and start walking."

Todd was still scared shit-less, but somehow he felt better. He followed Kim's directions, and shortly they were in a private room, in a nice quiet Manhattan hotel. 

For a few brief seconds Kim thought he'd have to apply some pressure on Bitterman, but the other man was so grateful not to be dead he willingly told Kim everything he knew. In a few minutes, though he didn't know what the specifics of the sales meetings were about, Kim got the whole deal on Susan, Camulos, and the others.

Kim placated Bitterman with a nice chemical cocktail, and six yards of rope; he called his people, and left word where they could obtain the package. He had Bitterman's cell phone. He leaned back against the wall. Maybe later tonight he'd make a phone call. It would be fun letting Camulos know McClellan was still alive, and that his people were out of circulation.

But at the moment he had to find Shawn. Having been in touch with his own people he'd been fully apprised of the situation with Camulos and where Susan fit, or more likely didn't fit, in the picture. Kim knew he shouldn't, but he wanted to let Shawn in on what was happening. Of course it was contrary to his convictions, his training, and his better judgment, but if anything happened to Susan and Shawn was left out of any effort to help her it would be too unbearable to accept. 




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 12



------------

The meeting among the hoodlums at the hotel finally broke up. Everyone of the central conspirators agreed to continue their efforts without regard for the consequences, and they set a date for their next meeting to be held in New York, as near United Nations headquarters as they dared, and as close to the date of the next general assembly meeting as possible. 

Why they selected that location and that time was a mystery to Susan. It didn't matter. She needed to reach Miller who in turn would get to Houston. Susan slipped out quietly and took the elevator downstairs. 

Camulos pretended not to notice Susan's departure, but she had been on his mind. The little fairy tale as to why she named her daughter after the man who'd raped her was a joke. They were an item, she and McClellan, but McClellan was going to be dead soon, and he had her signature on documents that could put her away for years, that is if he ever decided to use them. He had other plans. He'd turn her into his personal whore, and her spongy headed kid would become a star in the kiddie porn industry. 

Camulos smiled smugly to himself. He looked over at his primary minion, the man Susan referred to as Scarface, "Get over here."

Scarface dutifully responded to his master's command, "Yeah?"

"I want you to take Slattery to her day care. If you see any men, or any women who look too healthy, kill them, kill them."

Scarface looked laconically at Camulos, "The woman and her baby too?"

Camulos answered, "All of them."



------------

As Susan stepped to the sidewalk to hail a taxi she was grabbed at the elbow by the scar faced man, "Mr. Camulos wants me to take care of you."

Susan was shaken. The man scared her. She didn't want to be near him. Besides her breasts were engorged and had started to leak. She was sure Shawna was out of saved milk and would be wailing to beat the band, "Look, I'm in a hurry. I need to get to my baby?"

"Yeah, I know."

Susan tried to pull free from the man's grip, "I'll be OK. I can get there by myself."

Scarface blandly responded, "No, I'm supposed to take you."

Susan felt his grip, saw his almost reptilian countenance. He gave her the creeps, "OK."

Taking her arm he walked her to a nearby BMW. He opened the passenger side door and held it for her while she got in. He walked around to the driver's side, got in, started the car, and pulled from the curb. He reached in his pocket, pulled out an index card, and handed it to her, "This is the place isn't it?"

Susan saw the address, "Yes."

Scarface looked at Susan's dress and saw a dark spot where she was leaking through. He turned on the windshield wipers to clear away the evening moisture, "It's not far. We won't be long."

Susan squeezed a surreptitious glance at the man. From her seat the scar wasn't visible. The old acne scars were there, but not that pronounced in the dim light. His nose was slightly misshapen; she guessed from some brawl.

She was careful not to be too obvious, but she studied his face. He might have been handsome once. Not anymore, she thought he was ugly; not an evil ugly like Camulos, more like a sad, even pathetic, kind of ugly.

As they drove along she got more brazen, and stared more closely. There wasn't any life there, just a kind of stilted, zombie, robotic behavior. He seemed more dead than alive. She surmised his mind was probably as twisted as his terribly damaged face. 

She reflected on the scar. It was long, deep, and jagged. It started above his left eye, partially closing it, and trailed down his cheek under his chin. It wasn't a clean scar like something a sharp knife might have made; it was cruder, more like something a broken bottle might make.

He glanced over at her.

She looked away. He wasn't so much ugly as he was morose; morose and sad in a pathetic dead sort of way, like some near fatal wound had sapped the life out of him leaving only a hollow shell. Thinking like that made her even more afraid; monstrous on the outside, dead inside, there was probably nothing of empathy or compassion left. He could be capable of anything. He and Camulos made a gruesome tandem; a conniving sadist followed by an undead enforcer.

------------

Back at the hotel Camulos heard the telephone. He picked it up, "Yeah?"

On the other end of the line a richly accented voice could be heard asking the identity of the person on the other end of the receiver, "Is this Oscar Camulos?"

"Yeah", was the reply.

"Thought I'd let you know about your two boys, Myron and Todd." There was a moment of silence.

Camulos spoke, "Yeah?"

The distant voice responded, "They're gone."

"Gone, what do you mean, gone?"

The voice over the phone whispered, "Myron is lying dead in a pool of blood in an alley, and Todd. Well Todd's pretty much knocked out."

Camulos was shaken, "Who is this?"

Kim, the man on the other end, had an answer, an answer he knew Camulos would understand, "Just a friend of Susan's. You remember her!" He hung up.

Camulos stared at the dead receiver. That hadn't been McClellan. Who was it then? He slammed the phone down, "Shit!"

------------

Irene saw Susan get in the BMW with the hoodlum. She followed at a safe distance until their destination was clear. She realized there was no need to hurry. She pulled over. She better call Houston. She punched in the numbers but the line was busy. In frustration she spoke into the dead phone, "How could a Pentagon line be busy?"

------------

Agent Miller had seen Susan too, and he'd watched the CID agent follow them. That wasn't part of his job. He got on his cell phone and hit the button to get Houston. Someone picked it up right away. Miller knew who it had to be, "Houston this is Agent Miller."

Sam Huston hadn't been home in days. He'd taken a sentinel's post at the Pentagon. He'd just popped a couple pills and felt pretty alert, "What have you got for me?"

Miller replied, "Something seems a little awry. Susan left the meeting, but was taken away in another car by one of Camulos's people. Considering Susan's situation I guess they're headed for the day care." 

Houston replied, "Don't worry about that. Tell me what did the man who took Susan look like?"

Miller, tired and put off by the lack of respect he felt he was getting, got sarcastic, "What do you mean? They're all alike, big, mean, ugly, and stupid."

Houston ignored the remark, "Does this one have any distinguishing features, a scar, a limp, anything that might set him apart?"

Miller, having recovered his professional poise, answered, "Yes sir. This is a bad one, a real bad one; he's got a savage scar down the side of his face. He's uglier than hell."

Houston listened intently, "Get out to Susan's day care as fast as you can. Keep an eye out, but don't do anything. The man who's got her has a history. Don't get in his way." He added, "Watch out. This one's dangerous, I mean extremely dangerous, but I think we might be able to get to him. Just stay out of his way." 

Houston kept talking, "Miller be very careful. If it's the man I think it is he's like a stick of dynamite. Don't do anything to set him off."

Miller answered, "I understand."

------------

Scarface took his time driving to Susan's day care. He had his orders, and didn't want to follow through. He'd never killed a child, never killed a baby. It didn't seem right, not that it really mattered.

Susan looked over, "Can I ask you a question?"

He answered, "No."

She asked anyway, "How did you get the scar?"

He replied, "In a fight."

Susan felt like she needed to connect with this man, "It's a bad scar. It's really bad. I'm sorry you got it."

Scarface didn't know whether to hate her or what. He knew he was ugly. He didn't need to be reminded, "I know I'm ugly. So shut up."

Susan was sorry for what she said, "I didn't mean it that way. It's just the scar; I think it changed you in other ways too."

He growled, "I know, ugly on the inside and the outside. So you can shut up OK?" He refocused on his driving. 

Scarface gripped the steering wheel tightly. She didn't get it. Since it happened no one even looked at him, let alone spoke. Only a stupid whore, Gretel, but she was dead now anyway, so nothing mattered.

Susan sensed something. Her lawyer's skills were working overtime, "You never had a girlfriend?"

He flushed, "I said you could shut up."

Susan shut up. Even in the dark she could feel the pain from across the car. There had been someone. She wondered if the scar had driven her off. She didn't think he was ugly anymore, only sad, and all torn up inside. It was time for her to give it up. His was a tormented soul, and people suffering like that were capable of anything.

She looked up. They'd reached their destination.

Scarface slowly pulled the car into the small driveway, "Wait here while I get your door. I'd better walk you up."

Susan waited, a little surprised. Was he being a gentleman or just being careful?

Scarface got her door, and walked her up the sidewalk. He felt relieved. He didn't see or sense anything unusual, "Go ahead. Ring the doorbell."

Susan rang the bell and knocked on the door. She heard Shawna crying inside. The door swung open; an older woman stood under the lintel, "Finally you're here! I ran out of stored milk hours ago. She's been driving me crazy."

The older woman noticed Scarface. She paled but quickly recovered, "Who are you?"

Susan caught the facial expression, and the woman's resilient reaction, "This is my friend. He drove me out."

The older woman held out her hand, "Hi, my names Vonja Gomulka."

Scarface looked at Susan incredulously. Dumbfounded he held out his hand to the older woman, "Larry Hrabosky."

The older woman looked past his scar and smiled, "You're Polish!" She stepped back and away, "Come in you two, Susan take care of Shawna. Larry you need a cup of coffee."

Scarface, now Larry Hrabosky answered, "No."

The older woman knew this was a dangerous man, but ignored his curt response, "You take cream in your coffee?"

Hrabosky didn't know how to react, "No just a little sugar." He gave no hint of emotion, but internally he was joyous. Nobody had to die tonight.

"Good, I'll be right back." The older woman scurried into the kitchen.

Susan had lifted her breast out for Shawna who took it greedily. She looked over at the man she'd only known as Scarface. He was watching her. For a split second, while she started to nurse her baby, she detected a glimmer of emotion. Was it warmth? It disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. She leaned her baby forward for him to see, "This is my baby."

Hrabosky looked at the baby, and then at Susan, "I know. I saw her the other day." He got up and started for the door, "I have to go." Without another comment he disappeared out the door. She heard the car start and watched the headlights as he pulled away.

The elderly woman came in carrying a cup of coffee, "Where did Mr. Hrabosky go?"

"He had to leave." Susan didn't look up. Somehow she thought something important had happened. She just didn't know what it was.

The elderly woman commented, "He's one of those killers you've gotten hooked up with isn't he?"

Susan answered, "After Camulos, he's the worst of the bunch. Absolutely merciless."

The elderly woman half speaking to Susan half to herself, "Anyone can see why."

For the next few minutes neither said anything. They both sat quietly listening to the soft gurgling and humming of a baby enjoying a good meal. Susan started singing a soft lullaby, "Playmate, come out and play with me..."

------------

Up in New York Kim found Shawn and told him about the recently removed stalkers. Together they decided to take a plane south to see what was going on with Susan. On their way to the airport Shawn's cell phone chirped. It was Houston.

Shawn wondered if that man ever slept, "Hello, what do you need?"

Houston didn't waste any time, "You're still in New York, right?"

Shawn answered, "Actually a friend and I are on our way to La Guardia to take a flight south."

Houston cut him off. He gruffly asserted, "Tell your friend Kim you and he are to stay in New York. I don't want you down here."

Shawn interrupted, "No I want to see Susan. I think she might need me."

Houston followed sharply, "Look stupid! You stay in New York. Stay out of the way, and keep your ROK buddy up there too. Everything's moving forward as planned. You come down here you'll be in the way. I need you up there. That's not negotiable!"

A much humbler Shawn answered, "Yes sir." He turned to Kim, "We have to stay in New York."

Kim gave him the usual noncommittal shrug, "OK."

Houston closed his cell and looked back at his computer screen. He pulled up old documents, old pictures, and old orders. He checked and rechecked everything. He wasn't a religious man, but he believed in an active intervening God. He shrugged away some tears. He started jabbering to himself, "Jesus H. Christ! Who would have believed it?" 

It was truly an amazing turn of events. A few years earlier Camulos had paid McClellan for the murder of a worthless whore. Houston had seen who her connections were, and always overly sentimental anyway, he intervened and ordered Shawn not to kill her. Now, thanks to that, the lives of countless millions of people might be saved; all because once he'd ordered Shawn not to kill some little Polish hooker.

He retrieved his cell phone. He had to reach Agent Miller. Gleefully he thought; time was running out for Oscar Camulos.

The Eve of Armageddon:

Susan got another call from Camulos. He had required her presence every single day since the big meeting. He had little for her to do. He only wanted her around so he could look at her. 

Since that first meeting when she'd acceded to his interest with the tarty look she'd gone back to her old wardrobe; softer colors, conservative business suits, white or pale blue blouses, cable stitched wool sweaters, dark nylons, and more comfortable lower heeled shoes. She felt better, and she thought he was more careful around her maybe it was because she'd refused to knuckle under.

Mr. Hrabosky seemed to have changed too. He asked about her baby every day. He even smiled once. 

For her part Susan forced herself to look past the scar; she forced herself to try to find the man hidden behind that deadened stare. 

She thought about the past year. It was amazing; it had only been a year since Shawn had kidnapped and carted her off. He'd been unnecessarily cruel at first; raping her, threatening her with disfigurement, controlling everything she did. She'd tried to escape by running away, but he and his henchmen, now her friends Kim and Kia, had gotten her back. Then he'd let her go. He'd bought her life for $100,000.00. 

She'd gone back to work, or tried anyway. He dropped out of sight. Then Camulos had her kidnapped a second time. Shawn reappeared, the second time with $400,000.00 to buy back her life. Then he disappeared again only to reappear after months in Africa. Her life had been turned upside down. Her career had been ruined, she was head over heels in debt, tricked into signing shady papers, and she was pregnant.

That's when things started to turn around again. Shawn resurfaced. They fell back in love. He had to go to New York. She had to stay in the south to help save the world. Houston, his boss, now hers too, had made it clear, they were approaching the end game. Time was running out for the evil doers, and her role was going to be important. The clock was ticking.

------------

Houston was already in New York as were Irene and Miller. Miller had the main job. When the shit hit the fan he'd close in with the FBI. Irene would go along for the ride. Susan would be on the inside. If things worked the way Sam planned she just might turn out to be the safest one in the group. 

-----------

Meanwhile, the whole crew, Susan, Shawna, Irene's mother, Hrabosky, Camulos, and two other hoodlums had taken a flight out of National Airport from D.C. to New York. Once in the Big Apple, there was to be an afternoon respite, then a big dinner, followed by the final meeting. Camulos was so confident he was even going to let Shawna stay back at the hotel rather than be forced along as a kind of pseudo-hostage. 

Susan had noticed a subtle change in the way Camulos had treated her. He still watched her like he wanted to tear her clothes off, but his demeanor had changed. If she didn't know better, he behaved like he was just a little afraid of her. Had something happened she didn't know about? 

Showdown!

Dinner was set for 7:00 p.m., early by most New York standards. Susan had everything she needed, her cell phone with all the ancillaries, and her evening attire.

Tonight she had decided on a pale blue cashmere V-necked sweater over a brilliantly white silk blouse. The blouse had a gently ruffled peter-pan collar and full length sleeves with tight white cuffs. She left the two top buttons of the collar open for effect. She slipped on a knee length tan skirt that had a discreet slit that traveled just a few inches up the left side. 

She carried her personals in a small clutch, and wore a pair of dark brown high heeled shoes. For jewelry she sported a diamond tennis bracelet, diamond ear studs, and her treasured little pendant.

Make up, as usual, was minimal, just a hint of eye shadow, a smidgen of pale pink lip gloss, a tad of mascara, and a wisp of pink on the cheeks. The look was a far cry from the one she sported the last time this group had convened. She kept her hair in its typical tight bun; no trailing strands or ribbon tonight, just straight Susan the gorgeous.

Camulos sent Harbosky to fetch her. Was it was a significant stroke of luck, or maybe Divine Intervention?

Hrabosky stood at the door in a black suit, like he was dressed to carry a casket. He didn't know it yet, but figuratively that might be his role this night. In his inimitable deadpan he said, "I'm here to take you downstairs."

Susan gave him her most radiant smile, "I'm glad Oscar sent you rather than come himself. I have something for you."

Hrabosky looked a little put off, "It'll have to wait?"

Susan insisted, "No it can't. You must come inside."

Hrabosky walked in and stood woodenly by the door, "OK, what?"

Susan reached over and touched his hand, "What I'm gong to share with you right now must stay between us. Understand?"

Hraboisky looked at his watch, "Yeah sure."

It was time, "Did you ever know a girl named Gretel Walinsky?"

His eyed widened, "Yeah, so what?"

"You love her don't you?"

For the first time Susan saw real pain in the countenance of the man she'd known as Scarface, "She's dead. Come on." He turned and made for the door.

Susan tugged at his sleeve, "She's not dead." She watched as his face flashed from surprise, to pain, to anger.

"What's with you?" he asked.

"Will you sit down please? Larry, what I have to tell you will hurt at first, but I think it will change things for you in ways you can't imagine."

Hrabosky had loved a girl named Gretel Walinsky. She was nothing but a cheap whore. She'd started out in child pornography, an insidious racket if there was one, and had graduated to grown up prostitution. She'd even contracted Herpes. He'd loved her though, and for some reason he couldn't fathom she'd loved him, or at least she said she did. Someone said she had run off with some guy. Others said she'd been murdered. All he knew was that she had disappeared. For the first time since he could remember his stomach was in knots. He sat down, "OK, I'm sitting. Make it quick."

Susan started again, "You've got to listen, and then you've got to promise not to do anything, OK?"

He sat there, white knuckled, "I'm listening."




The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 12



Susan started, "Two years ago your boss, Oscar Camulos, paid my boyfriend, Shawn McClellan, $10,000.00 to kill Gretel." She saw his reaction and didn't like it, but went on, "He wasn't my boyfriend then, but he was, and still is, working for the Federal Government. He's a CID agent. His boss told him not to kill Gretel. They picked her up, explained the situation, and hid her away with a new identity, in the witness protection system."

Susan pulled out her cell phone, opened the lid and handed it to Hrabosky.

He looked at the phone. He looked at her. He looked back at the phone. Turmoil was written all over his face, "She's alive?" He started to react, but stuffed it back inside.

Susan told him, "Why don't you ask her yourself. Hit my contact list and find Gretel. She's waiting for you right now."

Hrabosky's hands were shaking so much he couldn't seem to get his big fingers to touch the right buttons.

Susan took the phone, "Let me." She hit the number and handed the phone back. 

It rang one time, and even Susan could hear her voice, "Larry, is that you?"

"Gretel?"

"Larry I've missed you. Do you still remember me? Do you still care at all?"

"Gretel is that you?"

"Yes it's me. Do you still love me?"

Susan watched as Scarface died and Larry Hrabosky returned from the dead.

He said, "Oh God! Oh Jesus Christ! Gretel! You're alive! It's you. It's really you. Of my God! Of course I care. Where are you? Can you still stand me?"

Gretel had been prepped for the phone call, "Larry you mustn't know where I am, not yet. You have a job to do. You see the woman next to you."

He was crying, sobbing, blubbering, and he was alive! "Yes, I see her."

Gretel for her part, was being brave for the both of them, "You have to protect her tonight. Don't worry about Camulos. Don't think about revenge, not anything, except taking care of that woman. Are you listening?"

He kept whimpering and sobbing, "Uh huh."

Gretel talked, "The government's got Camulos. He's not for you, not tonight. You're going to testify against him. Later, you're going to be the biggest rat of the year. You're going to get immunity. They'll arrest him tonight, and you'll be one of the one's who'll pull the plug on him, but you've got to protect that woman. When things happen tonight you get out and get her out right away. Understand?"

Hrabosky was dizzied by events. Gretel was alive. She was there for him. All he had to do was take care of Susan Slattery, and then later testify against the man they said wanted the one and only person who ever cared about him dead. He looked at Susan, big tears were dribbling down his face, "Oscar wanted Gretel dead, why?" 

Susan had the answer, "Oscar Camulos doesn't like to share. If she was alive and you cared enough you might have abandoned him. With her dead he was all you had."

He spoke back into the cell phone, "I love you Gretel. Say you love me."

Susan heard the woman's voice, "I love you Larry. Now go do what you have to do."

Hrabosky closed the cell phone, "When will I get to see her?" 

Susan held his hand, "She's in the hotel."

He burst into tears again, "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh God." He stiffened, "Hold on. I've got to get it together." 

He stood up, "I know I'm ugly, but can I hug you?"

Susan jumped up and wrapped her arms around him. She caressed his cheek, the side with the awful scar, "That can be fixed you know."

He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, "Let's go downstairs."

By the time they reached the hallway Larry Hrabosky, visually disfigured broken hearted lover, had turned back into Scarface. He was a man with a mission.

------------

In the main dining room most of the people had already arrived. Hrabosky showed Susan to her seat next to the beast Camulos, and then he stood back and away from the table. He was one of several invisible hoodlums there simply to watch out for their overlords. Only in this one instance Hrabosky wasn't watching out for Camulos anymore. He was there to protect a girl.

By and large the dinner was pleasant. Susan ordered fish and enjoyed it. Camulos, her 'date', had ordered steak, and managed to spill his water, lose his napkin, pick his nose, get steak sauce on his shirt cuffs, and generally be the swine he customarily was.

Most of the dinner discussion involved old jokes, and comments about betting, sex, making money, more sex, and how good they were in bed. Susan bet most of them were probably too old to do more than fantasize. 

For dessert, Susan got a small piece of cheesecake. Mot of the others got some kind of pie. Then someone gave the signal, and the party began to disband so it could reconvene upstairs.

Susan and Camulos stood side by side on the elevator as it went up. Standing behind her was Hrabosky. She felt his hand softly touch her elbow. A few days ago that same hand was a source of fear; tonight it meant reassurance.

About twenty minutes later the seven men, with their small entourage, all reconvened in one of the larger suites. A tray with finger foods sat along a side wall, but, having just eaten, no one was interested. Two of the men made a few opening remarks. Camulos made a stupid statement about all the money they'd make, and then something extraordinary occurred. One of the men stood up.

The man once had a daughter, a real innocent. She'd disappeared. He'd been frantic. He'd hired private investigators, badgered the FBI, and used his own men to try and find her. No one turned up anything. He never found out anything. Had she been kidnapped by some deviant? Had some old enemy used her to settle a score? He never knew.

Agent Miller had paid him a visit that afternoon. His daughter had been safe all along. The government never told him out of concern for her safety. Camulos had arranged her murder; a murder that was to be completed by McClellan, but Houston had intervened

That very afternoon the man at the table had been able to talk with the one great treasure of his life. Tonight he stood at the long end of the table ready to pass judgment. Camulos, just four chairs away, was oblivious of what was about to occur.

The man threw a picture of his daughter on the table, "Do any of you know who this is?"

The men all looked at the picture. Camulos looked at the picture and turned a ghostly white.

The man standing looked at Oscar Camulos, "Who is that girl Oscar?"

Camulos looked up innocently, "I don't know. Never saw her before."

The man started moving toward Camulos, "She's my daughter, and until this afternoon I thought she was dead. She's not dead. He swung his arms around at all the other men, "She's not dead because that man," he pointed to Camulos, "that man didn't succeed in killing her." He jumped toward Camulos with a fork in his hand, intent on jamming it into his throat, "You murderous bastard. You tried to kill my little girl. I've got you now!"

Normally, under circumstances like this it would have Hrabosky's job to step up and defend his boss, but not on this night! He reached around and pulled Susan's chair back, grabbing her arm he pulled her out of harms way. 

Camulos yelled, "Larry!"

Larry Hrabosky, with Susan neatly tucked on his left side away from the table was already halfway toward the door.

Camulos, no longer the fearsome monster yelled again, "Larry!"

Larry Hrabosky turned back. He didn't yell. Like a serpent he hissed, "Fuck you Oscar."

Camulos jumped backward to avoid the upward thrust of the fork, "Isn't someone going to help me?" His voice was quivering. Like the coward he'd always been, he couldn't stand and fight on equal terms.

The man with the fork had lunged and missed. He gathered for a second strike.

Camulos was on the floor, on his knees, "No please! Don't hurt me!"

The front door burst open! A dozen FBI agents flooded the room! Led by Mark Miller, followed by Irene, they closed on the men at the table. Guns out, badges flashing Agent Miller shouted, "You're all under arrest!"

The man who'd thrown the picture was grabbed by Irene and pulled back and away. As quickly as the agents had arrived she had him halfway out the door.

One of the thugs along the wall pulled a pistol. A hail of bullets dropped him like a rock. All around the room other hands reached for the ceiling.

All the others were forced against the wall, frisked, and disarmed. As Susan and Hrabosky moved toward the door, accompanied by FBI agents and the accusing hoodlum they could hear Agent Miller solemnly begin the litany, "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will..."

Just like that the plotters were caught, herded together, and arrested. Susan was ecstatic! Camulos, at last, was out of their lives. Larry Hrabosky herded her out of the room and into the hallway.

As Susan and Larry traveled down the hall a short in stature, very pretty, little blond haired woman stepped from the shadows. Hrabosky shouted, "Gretel!"

Susan watched as they rushed into each others arms. She was amazed as the man who'd been so ugly simply disappeared, just the change of his expression; he'd been transformed into a handsome, even heroic, human being.

She was able to watch another reunion as the hoodlum who'd thought he'd lost his daughter almost collapsed when she stepped into the hallway. His daughter, the girl he'd thought had been killed was alive!

Susan was overwhelmed, she'd been a part of a great event; a serious criminal conspiracy had been detected and unraveled, and she'd seen the happy reunion of four people. 

Then she saw him. It was her turn. Shawn was standing in the hall waiting for her, but he wasn't alone. Wrapped in his big strong manly arms was their little girl, the child of a forced coupling. She ran down the hall. He held out his free arm. She fell into it; felt it wrap around her shoulders. She was home! They were together, forever, at last!



An Epilogue:

It was a late fall; a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The leaves had mostly fallen from the trees in and around the Washington suburban community where Susan and Shawn lived. 

Kim and Kia were sitting on the sofa, bored nigh on to tears. They were watching everyone clatter and bang around the room, while concurrently trying to make some sense of the North American Football on the television. It had been difficult for the two of them. Neither set of parents were overly excited about the marital settlement they'd agreed on. They'd each agreed to hold to their own personal religious beliefs, and had opted for civil nuptials. Shawn and Susan stood as witnesses. That was back in early August. Kia was three months along now.

Shawn and Susan might have had problems too. Susan's parents, though separated, were both still die hard Presbyterians. They had insisted on a church more on the high socio-economic end of the Protestant denominations; preferable Presbyterian, Episcopal, or at the least the Lutherans. Susan and Shawn aggravated both by settling for a classic middle of the road Methodist Church. 

Though Susan's parents hadn't been married for years, her mother had kept her rings. She insisted Susan take both engagement and wedding rings. Her father had heartily agreed. Shawn thought it added special significance to their union. 

It had been a beautiful wedding; a perfect wedding. Nearly everyone had been there. Kia, Kim, Shai, Sam, even Mark Miller was there. Susan looked radiant dressed in white. It wasn't a formal wedding dress, though Shawn had wanted her to wear one. She was already several months along with number two, and thought it was a mistake to even wear white. Shawn had been adamant about the color. Hers he said was a purity of the soul, and white was appropriate.

So there they were; a fall afternoon. It was Shawna's christening party, and the house was full. Susan had slipped upstairs and gotten into her new, home style, uniform; baggy, shapeless, sweat pants and shirt. Shawn didn't care. He had everything he ever wanted. 

Was it going to be a happily ever after? It was shaping up that way. Nearly eight months along, Susan was radiant, Shawn was beaming, Shawna, a toddler now, was scrabbling around on the floor with her two doting grandparents.

Susan wrapped her arms around her husband's broad shoulders, "So what do you think?"

Shawn looked down at Susan, his wife, his dream come true. He thought about the snappy little lawyer he'd once watched. He thought about a kidnapping. He reflected on a misguided rape turned love affair. He flicked his hand through her hair; he thought about the love, the quiet times they'd already shared, he thought about the perfect baby on the floor and the second one on the way, he thought about their future; a future to be complicated with tap and ballet lessons, Santa Claus, birthdays, pony rides, bed time stories, first days of school, PTA, vacations at the beach, camping trips, church socials, and all the things he'd missed on the front end that were his and Susan's now to share. 

He looked at his beautiful wife in her floppy sweat pants. He thought about how beautiful life had become. He kissed the nape of his wife's neck, "What do I think? I think I'm a pretty smart fellow."

She smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck. Susan leaned up to kiss her man, then suddenly, "Damn it Shawn!"

From out of nowhere a big clumsy lumbering yellow Labrador puppy crashed across the dining chasing an angry disgruntled tabby cat.

Susan angrily shouted in her husband's ear, "I told you to crate the damn dog!"

Shawn held his wife closely. Laughing, "Awe come on Susan Annie only wants to be with the rest of us."

"But Shawn!" Susan rejoined, "Tom's old and he's irritable."

Shawn held her tightly, "Susan?"

Susan fell into his embrace, "Oh the hell with it, kiss me."

They kissed.

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Down the street, about a half a block from the happy scene at Susan and Shawn's a man sat in a late model Chevrolet. His face was partly bandaged, the result of the first of what was going to be several cosmetic surgeries. He'd never met Shawn McClellan, so he had decided to slip away just this once to take another look at the man. The man in the car and his wife were in the government's protection program; safe from people like Camulos, safe from the evil that had enveloped them for so long. He put the car in gear, sharply turned the wheel, and slowly drove away. As he drove off he thought, yes, it was good to be alive.

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Two Notes:

First, for those of you who stuck it out to the end, thanks, and any comments, suggestion or ideas are most welcome.

Second, I have rewritten chapter one in the hope of making it more realistic, especially about the rape.