Blackmail!

BLACKMAIL!

By Aaron Majewski

Copyright 2010

Smashwords edition 2011

Prologue- At the beginning of the end

The full yellow moon, occluded occasionally by dark scudding clouds, shone beatifically down on the Florida Everglades; silent witness to the night-time proceedings. Soft sounds caressed the crisp October air, crickets chirruped, frogs croaked, slithering reptiles and small night animals rustled the grass and the branches of the forest. All was still, peaceful, unintruded upon by the evils of man.

'Let me tell you about the time, I almost died.'

Bitch! A hard slap, a woman's cry of pain.

The glade was softly lit by the warm pale moonlight, giving the short grass a golden tinge, and by the pair of hand held floodlights which had been set upon the soil. Half of the glade is firm ground, easy to walk upon; game trails led off into the enveloping darkness of the Everglades, calling for the unwary to follow them. The other half of the glade was a large mire of deep, slurping quicksand, calling for the unwary to fall into it.

A sigh. 'How did I get here? honestly, I’m asking. Because I’m not quite sure. I mean, my life was all in order, I was cruising, cool and easy. I had a good job with great pay, coworkers I liked and management who realized my worth, respected me and rewarded me with regular promotions and raises. A job where I could make a difference. '

Near the morass a stunning beauty lay upon her side, her femininely manicured hands bound behind her back and her slim ankles tied together. Truly beautiful, in her thirties with thick auburn hair perfectly coiffured and ruby red lips which naturally curved into a pouty smile as if asking for a kiss. Her expert makeup was mussed by a beating, her face wore a patina of fresh bruises traced by blood from her torn skin and cut lips. In an ankle length silky blue-black evening gown, her gold earrings and necklace winked invitingly in the light. She looked up at the man above her defiantly.

Fiftyish, a silver haired fox reeking of refinement, currently unable to masque the native brutality he seethed with. He was well dressed beneath his dark overcoat, which was open. A bright red ascot graced his pocket. Angrily he railed at the girl.

'I had friends, the respect of my peers. Even several casual lovers. A couple of whom I actually enjoyed doing things with, outside of the bedroom. The only bad spot in my life was my co-dependent older sister. I mean I love her, and I like her, really I do. But I’ve been basically running her life for the last half decade.'

In reply to his angry ranting the beauty opened her mouth and spoke contumaciously, clear rebellion to his will. Incensed, he screamed as he kicked her hard in the pit of her belly. The stunning example of the female form curled into a ball, retching. Savagely refined, the fox yelled at her some more, now that he had her enforced attention; then he gestured imperiously.

Responding to the call, the largest most muscular man ever to be seen approached. A big hairy brute, the fact not hidden by his own tailored clothing which rippled over his musculature. He reached down and grabbed the lovely woman, forcing her up to her knees as she drooled a little vomit down her décolletage, her eyes glazed with pain; face filled with misery, despair, and triumph.

The leader of this brute of a man gestured again. The brute's partner stepped forward. Tall, mid-thirties, with erudite features and tastefully tailored clothing which heightened the impression of gentility and breeding; he looked like he should be the one in charge. His thousand dollar sports coat was carefully cut to hang so it hid the gun he kept in a shoulder-rig. With the face of an angel, he stepped up behind the helpless lady, grabbed a fistful of her thick hair, and yanked. Forcing her to look up at the silver-haired devil.

'Still, I had her handled. Everything was fine and dandy-Jim. So how, exactly, did I reach this point? Look! Here I am at the gates of hell, and sinking slowly. From guardian angel of the community, to a whore hunted through the Everglades.'

The fox and the beauty exchanged words, arguing with each other as the men held her, forcing her to look up at the terrible aspect of her doom. But she refused to give in to despair, and he reached into his pocket. Slowly he pulled out a small bright silver-plated gun and put it to her temple, it flashed in the light, gleaming with the sleek promise of death despite its small caliber. She nodded, waiting.

Snarling he smashed the butt down on her face. She sagged, a bright welt on her face as he turned away. The brute and the well bred gentleman caught her, bringing her to her feet. She hung in their grip as they dragged her to the quagmire and threw her in. She landed with a splash and immediately began to sink. The silver-haired predator turned back, talking to her as she continued to settle.

The beauty began to cry, clearly begging. He pointed the gun at her as he took a cigar out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. Then he looked at her questioningly. She nods, clearly asks 'please'.

'It’s my fault I guess. I’m just not sure how. I know when it started through. About six months ago. I should have just sucked him off, ignored the phone.'

Chapter one- To the rescue

The bedroom was messy, the living space of a meticulously organized (in her particular fashion) highly intelligent person, who neither had time nor cared to clean. It was softly lit, the curtains drawn tight, but the soft ceiling bulbs and lamps turned on. The open door to a bathroom threw more light, falling across the bed to light it clearly; a man's pair of checked boxers hung discarded on the doorknob.

The scattered clothing of a man and a woman led from the bedroom door to the bed itself, dropped where the pair undressed each other in between questing tongues and groping hands as they shuffled to their assignation. A woman's blouse was draped over the bedside table, crumpled against the lamp and over top the phone.

Handcuffed to the bedposts with two sets of cuffs, William Herod Macy the third, Esq, a clean cut and throughly naked man, lay on his back. A bright blue ball gag in his mouth turned his moans of pleasure to grunts of fun. Straddling him was Lisa Stannered, twenty-eight with soft brown hair and wide-set eyes above a thin mouth, open now to emit soft passionate cries. She fucked him slowly, a soft writhe, eyes tightly shut. She wore the man's shirt, buttoned up, the coverlet drawn over her thighs to hide the pair where they were connected almost decorously; as if unconsciously she wished to insure as little of her flesh as possible was presented to his gaze. Her small but heavy breasts, without a bra to help, strained hard against the fabric of the shirt.

William moaned in pleasure and bucked gently as she rode him. He rattled the cuffs as she panted. Don’t come yet, don’t come. Wait, don’t, not yet. Don’t come yet, I’ll reward you. Oh god yes!

Pleasure rode her like the demon alcohol, cresting in slow waves, reaching a plateau and retreating only to rise again, higher each time. Suddenly it reached a turning point, no longer retreating but flaring ever higher. Lisa stiffened, groaning in orgasm, an unladylike sound full of earthy enjoyment. Meanwhile as per her request, the lawyer clearly held off, awaiting whatever she would do to please him in return.

Sated, panting lightly, she climbed off to lie beside him, curling up with the sheets and shirt covering her as she stroked his neck tenderly. With a smile she reached under the sheets, to check.

She found his maleness and stroked it as she spoke. Mmmm, good boy.

Smiling under his gag he nodded, eyes crinkling with pleasure under the soft practiced ministrations of her rough hand, currently soft as velvet. His own pleasure rose slowly inside him. A pair of woman's slacks on the floor moved across the wood as a cell in the pocket vibrated loudly, a thrumming demand for connection. Immediately Macy shook his head and mumped 'no', through the gag.

That’s my cell. Teasing, You don’t want me to answer it?

He nodded and mumped 'yes'.

Smiling she petted his manhood. You just like me stroking it don’t you? Your big fat cock. Yeah, go to voice mail.

He nodded agreement to her questions, especially her last statement as the cell stopped ringing. She went on in the same playful tone, enjoying her mastery over him. Eyes twinkling with delight and a promise. Do you want me to suck it? Mmm, and put a condom on it? And maybe I’ll wear the cuffs for awhile and you can pound into me as hard as you want to. I do so know how you enjoy being, a pause, suggestive, rough.

He mumphes agreement to her statements, wiggling in an enticing manner in his restraints as she stroked him beneath the sheets, thoroughly enjoying having him helpless and at whatever small mercy she might choose to give. She laughed when he whined as, on the bedside table her land line rang loudly. A red light flashed on the phone.

Lisa spoke soothingly. Someone wants me, no hush, I’m not going to answer. I’ll let you be rough with your big cock, but you have to keep the gag on. You get loud, and my neighbors complain.

He agreed as the phone stopped, nodding enthusiastically. However, also on the bedside table a cell phone rang, beneath her blouse. Its face lit up bright blue, the electric glow visible beneath the fabric. It rang only once as Lisa sighed irritably.

Her voice floated from the cell, which remained lit up. Seductive. Hi, you have reached the private line of William Herod Macy the third.

He groaned, then mumphed through the gag just well enough to be understood, 'you did change my message'.

Really seductive. Esquire. Councilor at law. This is his personal secretary speaking. He is unable to come to the phone right now. As I have handcuffed him to the bedposts, preparatory to ravaging him. All. Night. Long. A beat, brightly. Feel free to leave a message, bye!

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Rain washed the street in its enveloping patter, filling the night with the soothing sound of a hard fall. Rain drummed upon the roof of a parked police cruiser on the street across from the parking lot of a brightly lit up casino; whose winking flashing lights were a beacon in the downpour, calling for the faithful to come and worship unrepentantly. The driver's window was rolled down and within sat alone a single young officer with an earnest face. He was lit only by his VDT monitor, washing the side of his troubled expression in its pale green glow. He held a cell phone to his ear as he let the message reach its terminus.

Hi officer Stannered, nice message. Sorry to disturb your ravaging, but at least I know I do have the right number. He hesitated, wondering if he was wrong, if this was really his place. And if he was right, did he really want to chance bringing it down on himself. But he was young and talk of the thin blue line filled him with resolution.

Look, I may be wrong but I just saw something odd enough I thought you’d like to know. I was doing a routine drive-by around the Merion casino, and I saw your sister. She was being helped into an SUV in the employee parking lot, apparently willingly. But the guys with her were Mr. Merion’s private security, not security guards from the casino; I recognized them as part of his personal bodyguard. I didn’t want to do anything. I was at that intervention you had for her a few months ago, and I know the courts gave you control over her finances. I also know you had her arrested for, um, ah prostitution. None of my concern, I just thought you’d like to know.

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… orry, I’m so sorry. I have to go! Shit!

In the warm sanctuary of her bedroom, Lisa was filled with a not so vague fear, foreknowledge coursing through her. Clothed only in his shirt, Lisa hurriedly unlocked one of the cuffs holding him to the bed, little rear wagging side-to-side with her barely constrained impatience. She had to go she knew, she had to go right the fuck now. She had jumped out of bed almost immediately as the young patrol officer got to the point, and began gathering her clothing, fiery resolution driving her impetuously. The sheets still covered her lover, her clothing was piled atop his chest. Her thirty-eight sat atop them in its leather holster.

Filled with impatience she was unaware her tongue stuck out of her mouth in a cute manner as she freed the standard issue cuff from the bedpost and dropped it atop the pile of clothing before she tossed the key amongst the sheets. Still gagged William tried to protest, his other hand remained cuffed, she had no time to deal with him.

She grabbed her clothing and in his shirt she rushed for the door. Feel free to jerk off. Then you can let yourself out. In the living room now her voice floated back through the door into the bedroom. I have hand cream somewhere. His shirt came sailing through the door, rustling sounds of her hurriedly dressing he would have found sexy if he hadn't been so disappointed. His shirt landed on the floor as she finished. Sorry!

William was scrabbling among the sheets for the handcuff key, trying to protest through the gag. She left, closing the front door with a bang. She was gone, leaving him alone. Angry, he stopped trying to find the key, letting his head fall against the headboard with a thunk! Goddamn she was a fine piece of ass, but a little too fiery. Too quick to jump to conclusions. He hated that she acted without taking the time to think things through.

Alone in his pretty lover's bedroom, the youngest full partner in his father's law firm, William Herod Macy the third, Esquire, sighed in defeat through the gag she liked him to wear. Then slowly he brought his head up, and lifted the sheets to look at his turgid erection in despair.

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The gated parking lot of Lisa's apartment building insured privacy, requiring a remote with a four digit code to get in. It was well lit but due to bad placement of the bulbs, still left shadowy pockets here and there which could be filled with anything. The high fence made it quiet and secluded, allowing Lisa to know she was alone and unobserved. Fear roiled through her compact muscled frame, not for herself, but for her loved ones. Family was the most important thing to her, and that was what was threatened now. She knew lives would be irrevocably changed in the next few hours. She simply had no idea how very much.

Fully dressed Lisa vented a steady stream of invective as she hurried to her bush truck. Yes her bush truck dammit, she thought with pride. It was indeed her truck, she had slowly learned to believe that. It was hers, all hers, she had earned it, deserved it, and she would keep it safe until he returned to claim it. The rain lightly pattered upon her leather jacket, it wasn't too big for her, just roomy. The jacket reminded her of her father. He had taken her to the store and helped her pick it out, one just like his. It had been a great afternoon together, she remembered fondly. As she stepped quickly to her vehicle she checked her police issue thirty-eight. It was fully loaded. A round in the chamber which sat under the hammer, even though she wasn't supposed to have one there. She insured the safety was on and slid the tool, weapon, into its holster strapped to her belt beside her badge, not shiny but stained with the sweat of regular use and no polishing.

Her crowning joy, obsessively maintained just as her father had kept it, was road legal but meant for tooling around the swamps. Where her father had often broken up so many nefarious activities, from drug or slave smuggling, to KKK hangings and everything in between. So many times he had been both decorated...and investigated by I.A. who wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was a plant a-la some bad movie; because his exploits (legendary in his own time) were just too good to be true, perhaps. The bush truck's all metal body was mat black and perfectly clean (she paid a young teenager who lived in the building to wash it thrice a week). It had huge tires with deep, thick treads, a rack of lights across the roof equaled more than a thousand candle power. She had left the vanity plate, unwilling to change it even though it gave the wrong impression. Dark blue letters proclaimed: TOUGH COP

Unlocking the door she disarmed the alarm at the same time, so it didn't wail and wake the building. Small, she had to use the chrome runner to step into her father's truck, her truck. She was lost behind the huge steering wheel.

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Hard rainfall washed the windshield, hiding the street for seconds at a time before the wipers cleared it. Inside everything was plush gray upholstery, not the most expensive but the most comfortable you could have custom installed. Her father believed in having the best where it mattered, the most expensive everywhere else. Of course, everything was clean and neat. A CB and police scanner mounted under the dash, other esoteric equipment built right in. A more recent job, done herself, an expensive (but utilitarian) GPS unit was currently inserted into the bracket she had heat glued to the dash. The work looked like it was done by an expert, she had carefully taken an entire day off to do the job right.

An eight round tactical pump shotgun and a thirty-thirty hunting rifle were mounted across the back window in a locked gun rack. The lock was open, Lisa having released it even before she started the engine. She had a hunch she would need the firepower, just not enough of a hunch to call in friends. She would handle this herself, come what may; hell, high water, or a troop of knife wielding elves (as her father would say.)

She drove down the street, angry and frightened, paying only minimal attention to the occasional light, just enough to slow if it was red. With one hand she rapidly punched keys on the GPS. Stupid, ditzy, bint! Thank God she believed me when I told her I’d report it stolen and have her arrested if she tried to pawn the cellphone I gave her.

The GPS beeped as she raced through the menu commands, finding the map she wanted, and the preset options which came with it. A city map appeared on the screen, the heading across the top read: Orlando. It showed about half the city, also showing the very edge of the city and the country roads beyond. A winking green dot marked: Daddy's truck, moved along a street. At the edge of town a red dot marked: Liza, moved away from the city.

Lisa cursed and gunned the engine, nervous terror of what might happen clung to her armpits under her leather jacket. The bush truck's powerful headlights cut the rain as the monster vehicle plowed like a whale down the rain washed street. The heavy downpour was slackening however.

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The gibbous new moon shone balefully upon the dark, omnipresent Everglades, washing them in its cold pale light. Giving everything just enough illumination to seem dark, ominously waiting. Trees took the misshapen shapes of twisted men, bushes were crouching beasts ready to spring, small scurrying animals, the injured and dying forms of innocent victims begging piteously for aid. The rain had stopped now, and the bush truck was spattered in soft mud as it powered down somewhat washed out back roads, which were maintained only by the constant use of poachers, foolish backpackers, a few nature lovers (both nudists and 'genuine') and the occasional game warden or search party.

Low lying mist rose from the grass, obscuring everything beneath its enshrouding blanket, made silvery by the pale moon light. Making everything harder to see.

Within, hunched tense over the wheel, Lisa's eyes strained for any sign, anything to mark the recent passage of human beings. Her body strung tight with tension and fear, knuckles white and quivering, she fought the urge to scream. She glanced alternately at the road deep in the woods, and her GPS, which promised she was close.

Come on, come on! Where are you? she whispered to herself as she fought to ignore the menacing shapes gliding past her windows, scraping her mirrors. Quieter. Oh please, don’t let me be too late. Suddenly she saw it. There!

It was a shout of triumph, elation filled her as she punched her roof, stinging her knuckles; which assured her all was as it should be: Pain was Truth. Through the windscreen, dappled with the past rain, she could see her headlights had picked out a black SUV parked at the side of the road. I've found them, this is it, I just hope I'm in time. She thought as she hit the gas.

As the bush truck passed the SUV she saw an even smaller dirt track, overgrown with recently broken foliage, just past it. The truck roared down this, its rack of top mounted lights flicked on, filling the area with a powerful glow.

Engine rumbling fit to wake the dead, the truck rushed down the small track, throwing up mud as bushes whipped past, slithering against the metal body and windows like the cold fingernails of death trying to slow her headlong rush, so it could claim another victim. The swamp itself seemed intent on slowing her, but she refused to allow it to do so. I'm going to make it if it's the last thing I do, Lisa decided grimly, mouth set in a thin hard line.

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There was no sign of quicksand in this glade, it's all firm ground, if somewhat damp; just full of tall grass softly lit by the moon so the blades seem to glow with an eldritch light. Liza Stannered was older than her sister by five years, but except for the age difference and the years of hard living, they bore a marked resemblance. Not twins, not nearly close enough for anyone to actually mistake one for another, still they could use each other to remember what they had looked like in the past, or imagine what the future might hold for them. Liza wore heavy makeup which coarsened her features, already hardened by the life she led. Dressed in a too short cheap red dress, her tawdry jewelry did nothing to enhance her appearance.

Liza knelt fearfully in the middle of the glade. The huge beast of a man who used his cruelty at his boss's behest and the almost scholarly well bred gentleman stood over her. Bruno and Steven hovered ominously above their victim, hands thrust deep into the pockets of their damp overcoats against the chill. Liza, under-dressed, bare knees pressed into the moist earth, shivered in the dampness.

All three turn, looking very surprised as Lisa's truck roared out of the undergrowth, churning the earth as it left the dirt track and entered the glade; pinning the three in its light. The engine gunned as the mob heavies turn, the smaller more dangerous one already reacting as the truck raced across the damp earth towards them. Tires digging in and throwing up clods of earth as it came ominously.

Not sure what's going on, Steven had his hands out in a calming gesture. Bruno had one inside his overcoat, heavy face inscrutable. The truck slewed to a halt a dozen feet from the damp trio, throwing up a spray of mud.

Lisa flung her door open and jumped out pointing her shotgun, her voice an authoritative scream. Hands motherfucker! Hands where I can see ‘em now, or I blow you away!

Leaving her door open, headlights on to keep them jacklit, she aimed her gun at the bigger one. Quickly she moved to cover them while half circling so she could anxiously look at her older sister, hoping against hope she was still unharmed. Liza shivered where she knelt on the ground, a cheap red purse in her lap. Lisa looked for blood but couldn't see any, no sign of bruises either. Although Liza had clearly cried sometime earlier, the makeup had been applied after; probably without the aid of a mirror.

Bruno looked at Steven, who nodded slightly, an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, his hands still up as if calling for sanity. Bruno slowly withdrew his hand from his coat, it came out empty and he held his hands out to the side. As non threatening as a seven foot, three hundred pounder, almost all of it muscle, can be. Lisa wasn't worried, she had the drop on these two. There was nothing they could do she couldn't counter. Permanently.

Worried by the sight of her shivering sister, whom she had sworn to herself to protect, Lisa spoke tersely. Liza! Are you all right?

Liza knew things could become very ugly very quickly. Both of the mob boys were tough, cold, and hard. Neither would balk at killing a cop, not when she was threatening their life. She had to calm the situation if she could. Yes. Sis, I’m fine. She spoke soothingly, trying to reassure her younger sibling, as she had done so often in their youth.

This time however, Lisa knew she was lying. Steven smiled as comprehension dawned. Quick on the uptake, he reassessed the situation, and saw how it could be used to everyone's advantage. Instead of a simple killing to send a message through the underworld, he could instead add to his employer's repertoire of tricks. Yes, a bad heartless night, had just turned into potentially, something wonderful. Bruno, as ever, remained inscrutable, waiting to see what his smaller companion would do.

Smoothly he slid into the conversation. Fortunately he kept a file on debtors as large as this, and knew everything there was to know about her, and thus, her family. Ahh, Lisa isn’t it? Miss Lisa Stannered, of the Orlando police organization? He kept his hands up in plain view, every line of his body, limned in the light from the truck, subtly proclaiming that there should be no violence here, tonight.

Coldly. It’s officer Stannered to you, and you’re in a lot of trouble. Did you really think you could get away with this?

He smothered a half laugh. But you are Lisa Stannered, Liza’s sister?

Yes. Liza, get up, Lisa demanded shortly, finger tense alongside the trigger guard of her shotgun. Cautious despite what most thought of her, she hadn't even pumped a round into the sleeve yet. It would add an extra tenth of a second if she had to blow them away, but neither of them could know that. And she could pump very fast.

Liza looked at the men, whom busy, ignore her, keeping their eyes on her younger sister. She remained as she was, it was safer. No need to let a rustle of cloth or a half seen movement set things off. And this way they couldn't backhand her back to the ground.

Easily Steven went on. Well it’s very nice to meet you Lisa. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Steven Ballered, and I work for Howard Merion, of the Merion hotels and casinos, as well as various other business enterprises. And I believe you, miss Stannered,

Coldly the cop interrupted. Officer. And I know all about Mr. Merion. The local headman for the mob, isn’t he?

Bravo, he applauded her silently. Then he went on as if not interrupted, the epitome of smooth gentility. Officer Stannered, are laboring under a misapprehension. And none of the allegations against my employer have ever been proven, or even tried.

Really? You do realize killing a cop’s sister is somewhat of a bad idea? You mean you aren’t planning to shoot her in the back of the head and leave her body for the alligators which inhabit this area? She was contemptuous, not about to be fooled.

Oh, that wasn’t our intention at all. He paused, his tone had made it clear that wasn't how they planned to kill her. He was fully prepared to talk plainly if that was what she wanted, he did after all, hold all the important cards. Knowledge was power, and power was power, he had the important bits of both. Steven finished, Among my many responsibilities for Mr. Merion, I head the financial reclamation consultation division of Howard Lending Incorporated.

You mean, debt collection. Goes well with his gambling enterprises I’m sure. Lisa kept her gun leveled on the bigger guy, pointed vaguely at his middle. He'd be the one to start any play, and she wasn't wholly sure a single round would drop him unless it was point blank. He was big.

Steven permitted himself a small smile. He kept his tone light and even. "Actually, I specialize in consulting with the debtors. Helping them to realize the funds they need to make their payments. Plus extra to pay down their debts. As you know, Liza has incurred a significant liability with us. Due we believe, to her gambling problem. I applaud you for getting her into treatment.

We are aware you have taken oversight of her fiscal conservertership; and you have been made aware by our lawyers