Read Bad Luck Black Money Online
Authors: Dan Hendrix
"How often do these horses get exercised?" Esmerelda asked.
"Everyday, ma'am. They are walked or ridden around the course on a daily schedule. The main course is over a mile long, plus there are side roads, which zig and zag and there are little hills and valleys. We strive to keep the horses in peek condition.
Even the lighting systems were set up based on horses' biorhythms to keep them mentally healthy. At nighttime, the lights dim and a star map is projected on the ceiling. It's spectacular, if I may say so."
"How many of the members ride?"
"Not any on a regular basis, ma'am. You are the first guest we've had in over a year.... Is there a particular breed of horse, you prefer riding?"
"No, just make sure you have a stallion ready to ride, when I finish changing," ordered Esmerelda. She took the clothes from the stable boy and entered an attended changing room.
As the door was about to be closed behind her, the stable boy asked, "Are you sure about the stallion, ma'am? They tend to be very spirited. We wouldn't want you to get thrown off and possibly injured."
Looking over her shoulder, Esmerelda said, "I know how to ride a horse," and slammed the door shut.
The stable boy stood frozen in place. He worried that he had somehow insulted a NWO member. He worried that the stud horse might hurt her. And most of all, he worried that he would be blamed for all of it. Then he went to fetch and saddle the black stallion called, Wildfire.
The NWO armory looked like something out of a third-world despot's wet dreams. Karen Sculley was giving Boss a tour of the weapons vaults. While it was mildly interesting, Boss didn't see any reason why he needed so much information about selective fire modes on assault rifles and plastic explosives.
"Let the meathead, bullet blockers tote the guns", he thought to himself.
"Am I boring you, Boss?" Karen asked, after reading the apathy on his face.
"No."
"You can't lie to me. I know you far too well," Karen scolded, as she playfully slapped her tiny hand against Boss's chest.
"You don't know me. We just met today for the first time."
"As your, soon-to-be, new head of security, I've been briefed on everything about you, from your secretary's maiden name to your morning toilet habits. Go ahead, ask me anything."
"... OK, why did Duke Winterfield really assign you to my security detail?"
"Isn't it obvious? Just look at me. I'm your dream girl."
"You are?"
"Of course, the Duke said you're into pretty, white women with great butts," said Karen, as she hurriedly loosened her belt buckle and dropped her combat pants around her ankles.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Boss, looking around to see if anyone was watching. "What if my wife had seen that?"
"Relax, I'm not going to let you get caught. Esmerelda is riding horses, right now. But what I really want to know is, what do you think about this ass?" Karen asked, as she turned around and slapped her own butt, which made a hard 'smack' sound.
Boss stared at the red thong diving between her two perfectly shaped butt cheeks. He had to admit that she did have a perfect ass, and looking at her muscular legs, he knew how she got it.
"Very nice," said Boss. "Where you an Olympic gymnast?"
"Nah," said Karen, while pulling up her pants. "It's all freaking' politics. But I'm not bitter about it.
... I can cross my legs behind my neck. Just a little something for you to think about."
"... Um, great?"
"Come on," Karen said, grabbing Boss by his shirt and pulling him close to her. "Lets go teach you how to shoot."
Without money, life is one long, hard struggle and then you die. Take away the need for money and life becomes a carefree adventure with time to discover one's inner self. Boss had changed. He had sworn to himself that the ungodly amount of money, he had access to wouldn't change him. But it did.
In the past, Boss would be the first to arrive at his company and the last to leave. Lately, he would arrive an hour before lunch and leave an hour earlier than anyone else. It's not that he didn't enjoy running Pluto Moon Technologies and its subsidiary companies. He loved being in charge and making the tough decisions. But now, he saw business as more of a way to keep score than a game of survival of the fittest.
Sure, it was a hoot when he successfully made a hostile takeover of a rival company. A surge of adrenaline flowed through his veins when Pluto Moon Technologies thrived and innovated where others had tried and failed. But at the end of the day, he was only a child playing in a sandbox, while the New World Order made the world turn.
Liberated from having any monetary responsibilities, Boss found himself focusing more on his artistic side. He'd redesigned the headquarters of his company in a style all his own. Every visitor commented on how the building looked and felt like a people beehive. The hallways and widows were changed from boring rectangles and squares into honeycomb-like, octagonal shapes.
Boss had the grounds of Pluto Moon Technologies drastically altered. Ordinary trees were replaced with rare specimens from the Amazon rainforest. Boring grass and shrubs were removed to make way for unusual plants from around the world. And nature was complemented with works of art, which were animated, lit up, and changed colors.
Feeling thirty years younger, from eating healthy food grown in his own aquaponics system, Boss had the energy of a horny teenager. Gone were the sex pills to get it up and keep it up. He didn't need them anymore. Boss's libido had grown so strong that the very thought of having sex, got him raring to go.
Boss and Esmerelda's sex life was on the verge of being out of control. They were like sex-addicted bunnies on ecstasy. Because they were both so energetic, their lovemaking sessions resembled rough, steamy, wrestling matches with winner on top, sometimes winner on bottom.
Esmerelda was still invaluable to the R&D division of the company, but she spent lots of her time in Boss's office. They had knocked down some walls and made it into a love nest. They exchanged Boss's desk for a double desk where they could work and play footsie with each other at the same time. In the rear of the room were a king-sized bed, king-size waterbed, a doctor's gynecological chair, and various harnesses and sex swings hung from the ceiling.
Rumor around the water cooler was that the boss and his wife had joined some kind of sex cult. Boss was aware of the gossip, but he laughed it off. Why should he care what they thought? Those average, working riffraff were destined to die horribly or live the rest of their lives as slaves in chains. Let the monkeys sling their own poo, while they still could.
Following instructions from the Duke Winterfield, Boss had doubled his security force. It wasn't easy to find qualified people, who were trustworthy. But with assistance from Sarge, he had managed to recruit the best mercenaries from around the world. With his larger combined security team, Boss was confident that he could invade and conquer any third-world country, if he wanted to.
Word had come from the top that Karen Sculley would arrive in two weeks to personally oversee Boss's security team. Although he kept a stiff upper lip like a good soldier, Sarge was shaken up by being replaced with a woman... a really tiny woman.
It was Esmerelda who suggested that Sarge could head up her personal security detail. Technically, it would be the same position; only he would be responsible for Esmerelda's safety instead of the whole family.
Sarge looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, inside the men's bathroom across from the Pluto Moon Technologies conference room. He had never been comfortable in a suit and tie, but he wanted to look good for his interview with Esmerelda. Perhaps, interview was too strong of a word; it was more of a formality. He'd always gotten along splendidly with the Hopenhammer family, and he didn't see any reason why Esmerelda would give him any grief.
While combing his moustache, Sarge thought about the girl who was taking his job as chief of Boss's personal security force. "What a joke," he thought. "I could tear the little bitch apart with my bare hands." But what did it matter? He was an old dog in a young puppy world.
When Sarge entered the conference room, Esmerelda was already sitting at the conference table, waiting for him.
"Am I late?" asked Sarge, while looking at his watch.
"No, I just thought I'd get some work done in peace and quite. Please, sit down and we'll get started."
"Oh, great," thought Sarge. "She's going to make me work for it."
"I know you're a capable man, Sarge. You wouldn't have lasted so long with the company if you weren't. The only question in my mind is if you'll be able to switch your allegiance from my husband to me?"
"In what way, ma'am?"
"You want me to spell it out for you? OK then, Milton doesn't need to know my every move. If I decide to go to a bachelorette party with the gals and watch male strippers shake their bananas obscenely, that's my business. Boss doesn't need to know about it."
"Absolutely, ma'am. Discretion is my middle name. Actually, it's Charles, but you know what I mean."
"What if I need to have some human garbage taken out, permanently? Can you help me, without snitching to Milton?"
"I didn't realize that was still going to be a part of the job. I kinda' figured those days were over. Protecting you would be more mellow... but yeah, I don't mind getting my hands dirty."
"What if I decide to fly down to Brazil for Carnival? And while I'm dancing in the streets, a Latin love machine wants me to come back to his tin shack in the barrio and 'do it'. I've had a few cocktails. My judgment might not be the best in the world at that moment, but I want to go with him.... And I'm going. What do you do?"
"And there it is," Sarge thought. "Esmerelda is the same as every other broad in the world. She doesn't want a bodyguard. She wants an alibi.
She's going to screw around behind Boss's back, and she thinks I'm dumb enough to go along with it for a paycheck. I've taken people to Boss's Bolivian torture ranch; I've seen the kind of twisted revenge that man is capable of.
No way in hell! I'm out!"
Sarge started for the door and said, "Thank, you, for your time, ma'am."
"Where are you going?" Esmerelda asked loudly.
"I'm sure a woman of your intelligence can figure it out. Good day, ma'am."
Walking at a brisk pace and wondering where he was going to find a new job, Sarge was already at the elevator when Esmerelda came running up behind him. The elevator doors opened. Sarge stepped inside followed by Boss's wife. The doors closed behind them.
"Listen, you walking sack of muscle with a moustache," ordered Esmerelda. "You've got the job.
Now, I need you in Fairplay, Colorado. You'll have to travel incognito. There's to be no linking you with P.M.T. or myself. Got it?"
"Uh, yes, ma'am," Sarge answered as his mind was trying to wrap itself around having just quit and then being rehired within the span of one minute.
The elevator 'dinged', the doors opened, and a plump man in a bright blue suit was about to enter when Esmerelda blocked his path. She told him, "This elevator is full. Go use the stairs, fatso. You could use the exercise."
Esmerelda pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator doors closed. And the overweight man was left standing there, with his ears not believing what they just heard and his jaw refusing to close.
"Find a place in the middle of nowhere," instructed Esmerelda. "A house or cabin with a basement, where a man can scream his head off and no one will hear."
"... I'm not the man who's going to be screaming, am I?" asked Sarge, only half jokingly.
"Oh, grow up," said Esmerelda shaking her head.
"Don't call anyone on the phone, no email, no voice mail, no snail mail. Don't go to a club and make it rain. Be inconspicuous.
When you get it done, come back here and tell me in person.
Do you have enough money to set this up or could you use some cash?"
"Well, I'm not poor, but I'm not exactly fluid at the moment. That's the correct term, right? Fluid? No, wait. Liquid. I'm not LIQUID at the moment."
"Come to the house tonight at seven. Have dinner with the family. Like it or not, you're a part of this family.
Afterward, I'll give you a bag full of cash. Then go get on a bus headed for Colorado. Use cash. No paper trail."
The elevator stopped on the top floor. Esmerelda stepped out and walked away. Without looking back she said, "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
Sarge watched his new boss walk down the hallway and thought, "Never a dull moment around the Hopenhammer clan." He then thought about the tasty food served down in the cafeteria and decided it was time for a snack. Seven o'clock was several hours away.
Two weeks later, mission complete, Sarge came back and returned Esmerelda's sack of money, half empty. To his astonishment, she said that he could keep it. Later that night, when he spread it out on the floor of his apartment, it totaled a little over one hundred thousand dollars. Sarge was beginning to like his new boss a whole lot better than the old boss.
Esmerelda had used the previous weeks to stock up on antique medical devices and implements of torture. She bought reusable syringes made in the former U.S.S.R., which would be brutal to insert into human flesh. The first rubber catheters ever produced were bought from the curator, who snuck them out of a medical museum. Death might have been more preferable than having the cracked, jagged, rubber tube shoved up one's urethra. And the metal fabricator, who brought Esmerelda's torture creations to life, had nightmares for weeks afterward.
Then, out of the blue, Thomas Ridge called Esmerelda to arrange a meeting. The rendezvous point was inside the stadium of a Pac-12 Conference football team. Her driver was given instructions to drive onto the field and park on the fifty-yard line.
Uniformed guards with holstered Glocks waved Esmerelda's car through temporary concrete barricades. She was mildly surprised to see a black, stretch Hummer idling in the middle of the field. On closer inspection, she spotted a long, mahogany table upon which a feast had been set, directly in front of the Hummer. Chefs were hurriedly putting the finishing touches on their specialty dishes, as Esmerelda stepped out of her limousine onto the playing field.
Partially obscured by the gigantic SUV, Esmerelda hadn't noticed a tall, old man sitting at a round picnic table underneath a big, red umbrella. The Duke of Winterfield was reading an old, leather-bound book from the Royal Explorers Society.
"Good to see you again, my dear," greeted the Duke, as he jumped up and hugged his guest.
"Always a pleasure, Duke Winterfield," said Esmerelda.
"The buffet is for you. I was told several of your favorite dishes were prepared."
"Thank, you, Duke Winterfield."
Although she wasn't hungry, Esmerelda picked at the food on offer until her plate was properly full. Lots of effort had gone into the preparation and presentation of the feast. It would have been rude to not eat anything.
Esmerelda ate, while the Duke read his book. The lunch was so delicious that she briefly considered going back for seconds. A waiter poured steaming cups of green tea from a silver teapot for the both of them. With a single wave of the Duke's hand, all the servants hurried off of the football field.
"I trust the food was satisfactory," said the Duke.
"Splendid, Duke Winterfield. Absolutely splendid."
"... Look around you. And tell me what you see."
Esmerelda took a long, slow look all around her but didn't see anything special. "I see an empty football stadium."
"Exactly, empty space. If there is one word, which sums up what the New World Order is all about. That word is space.
Saturdays come and these stands get packed with human sardines. They sit ass to ass, above asses and below other asses. Drinking beer and stuffing their fat faces with... nachos and... doughnuts, which make their already bloated asses even bigger.
And what for? So they can watch steroid fueled Neanderthals play a meaningless game that never ends, year after year, until they're all dead. And then a new generation of mouth breathers takes their place in a never-ending cycle of stupidity....
Imagine a world with elbowroom where you can travel over a hundred miles in any direction without seeing another living human. Imagine our world were we squeeze the last foot-pound of work out of the useful idiots, then slaughter them before they get old enough to become a burden upon our society.
Imagine the New World Order were mankind is bred like prized swine to produce even better future slaves, harder working and sexier in their masters' beds.... Soon, there will be no need to imagine because it will become reality."
Not knowing what to say, Esmerelda twirled a silver spoon inside of her steaming cup of green tea. She would alternate between watching the greenish liquid swirl in the cup and the silver hair upon the Duke's head. His eyes burned with intensity; therefore she avoided staring directly into them.
"I've come here to give you a warning, Esmerelda, my dear. Take heed of it, because there won't be a second. You're traveling down a dangerous road. It doesn't lead to anywhere you want to be."
"What road are you speaking of, Duke Winterfield?"
"Well, it's not the road to vengeance. That is a road, which I've traveled down many times. Contrary to what the mass hypnotized, groupthink imbeciles say, vengeance is good. Nothing heals old wounds like having the inflictor of those wounds, beg for your mercy. Only to be denied, of course.
The road to sadism is also all right. Many of my pod enjoy the occasional, woeful screams of pain. As long as you're the torturer and not the tortured then I'll look the other way when you kidnap, bind, and torture any of the sheeple. But that's not the real purpose behind the machinations you put into motion. Is it?
No you have something totally different in mind.... Don't you?
You are running down the pathway, at full stride, towards the big cock."
"I've never been so insulted!" Esmerelda exclaimed, her face turning bright red. "And right to my face!"
"Don't play games with me, girl," growled the Duke, his voice stirring fear in her very soul. "Do you think me a fool?"
"No, sir, Duke Winterfield," Esmerelda managed to squeak out, while looking down into her teacup.
"I've known of your perversion since Milton first made a bleep on my radar. I make it a point to know everything there is to know about prospective NWO members. Why would Milton overlook your skankiness? Nothing in his profile would indicate he'd marry an absolute whore. You were a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. Unless,... he didn't know about the real Esmerelda.
In the future, you should remember that it's hard to keep secrets when you've slept with eighty-seven men. And spilling your guts to your dead professor friend was stupid. She wrote an academic paper, which contained thinly veiled references your affliction and its origins. It's out there for anyone to discover.
"Please, don't tell him, Duke Winterfield! I'll do anything for you. ANYTHING!"
"Don't worry. I have no plans to let the pussy out of the bag. And by all accounts, it's a rather large pussy, at that."
"Why can't the ground open up and swallow me alive or a lightning bolt strike me dead and end this humiliation?" thought Esmerelda. Her shoulders slouched like a man who'd lost the will to live.
"For all his attention to detail, Milton failed to do a proper background check on you," said the Duke. "It's a smudge on an otherwise sterling life."
The Duke made a 180-degree turn while remaining on his backside. He leaned his back and elbows against the table and stretched out his long legs. He stared out at the empty stadium as if he were looking over an endless ocean. Esmerelda was relieved that the old man had turned his back to her. She no longer had to feel his judging eyes boring through her.
"Unfortunately, my wife the Duchess had a detective dig up dirt on you behind my back. She's a sneaky, deceitful creature. Normally, I would have put a stop to her shenanigans before any harm could be done. But recently I've been totally consumed with NWO business.
At your first NWO meeting, the Duchess sent you horseback riding. It was a psychological ploy to reawaken your inner slut. And it seems to have worked."
"With the utmost of respect, Duke Winterfield... I have not touched a man's penis that wasn't my husband's in over twenty years."
"Then tell me this. How were you going to insert that rotten catheter into Saladino without touching his dick?"
"That's not fair. It wasn't going to be sexual. It's a medical procedure. Nurses do it all the time. And I would have worn latex gloves."
"Condoms are made out of latex, and you're not a desensitized medical professional.... You're a sperm dumpster with a big dick fetish."
Esmerelda didn't react. No matter what she said or did, it wouldn't change the Duke's opinion of her.
"What am I to do with Sarge?" asked the Duke.
"Whatever you like, Duke Winterfield," Esmerelda responded. "But please don't do it on my account. I don't find him the least bit attractive."
"Odd, considering how much you hunger for the big anaconda. I was told, Sarge brags about his big member to anyone who'll listen."
"It's not that big," Esmerelda said. "From the bulge in his pants, I estimate he's only swinging eight and a half inches, max."
"And that's not big enough for you?" asked the Duke, mildly amused.
"No, your Dukedom. Like you said, I'm a skank. I need at least a niner to get me there. Sarge is a half of an inch too small. At best, he would only be able to mildly irritate me."
"Damn," cursed the Duke at her candor. He was a little shocked but not mad. "I'm happy to hear that. It would be such a waste if he had to be eliminated. Sarge is the perfect soldier ant. He's loyal and motivated by money.
I've taken the liberty of solving your Saladino problem. He's been transferred to one of my insane asylums. Only three days left on his prison sentence before becoming eligible for parole. So close to freedom, yet so far away.
Beauford will freak out once he realizes his predicament. Indefinite detainment until he's deemed psychologically fit. After a week or so, spent in a straitjacket, screaming, cursing, and crying like a frightened child, he'll be taken out of his padded room. That's when the fun begins.
My doctors will start him on a regimen of directed, psychedelic drugs. Saladino will be trapped in a hell of our making, within his twisted mind. I expect him to see devils, melting corpses, and rabid wild animals, all trying to do him harm.
Your amateur torture sessions might have lasted four days, IF you were careful. But where's the fun in that? My professionals can keep him in horrific agony for months, maybe years. Slowly upping the dosages over time and switching drug concoctions will keep Beauford's trauma, vivid and intense.
Every so often, they will allow him to detoxify, in order to break down any tolerances that he might be building up. Going cold turkey is hell for a junkie. The few days, when the bastard has a clear mind, will be his worst days. Then he will beg for freedom, knowing deep down that it's all in vain. Pain is coming. As long as he breathes, pain will always be coming.
Enough of that, you are going away for a while. You should take your daughter, Ruby with you. It can be a mother/daughter bonding experience. I'll fly you out to my island in the South Pacific. Superstars from the movies and world famous singers will entertain you. Chefs from my personal staff will prepare sumptuous feasts. The health spas down there, actually improve your health."
"Thank, you, Duke Winterfield," Esmerelda said as she got up.
The Duke didn't stand or even bother to turn around and look at her. He said, "Go home. A car will pick you and Ruby up, shortly."
Esmerelda did as she was told, and the Duke of Winterfield stayed there for over an hour, thinking deep thoughts.