Bad Luck Black Money Page 25

  Judy's last scream had drawn the attention of the two hunters, who happened to be trekking close by at that moment. Beauford was standing over his victim, splattered with droplets of her blood. He'd literally, been caught, red-handed.

  One of the hunters wanted to blow Beauford's head off with his 10-gauge shotgun then walk away. The other wanted to turn Beauford over to the cops. Beauford Saladino dropped to his knees, begging and crying for his life, like a little bitch.

  A game of 'rock, paper, scissors' decided his fate. The 'kill him now' guy went rock, and the 'turn him over to cops' guy threw paper. Beauford got lucky.

  Beauford Saladino's grandmother was a wealthy woman, who'd made her fortune through shrewd investments in the stock market. She hired the best defense attorneys available, and Beauford got lucky once more. They made a plea-bargain for sixty years in prison with the possibility of parole. With good behavior, he'd be out in less than half of that.

  When Esmerelda learned the details of her friend's demise, it shook her to the core. She wouldn't leave her childhood bedroom inside of her parents' house for a month. And when she finally did leave, she swore to herself that she would never again be a slave to the big dick.

  The rickshaw came to a stop, and Esmerelda awakened from her self-reflection. They had arrived at the stables. A stable boy greeted them and held a riding suit in his arms for Esmerelda.

  "You have my size?" asked Esmerelda.

  "Yes, ma'am," said the stable boy. "Please, allow me to show you to the changing room, ma'am."

  The Duchess's maid spoke up, "If you no longer need me, I'll return to my mistress."

  "Go," ordered Esmerelda, who was becoming accustomed to having every whim, catered to.

  As she followed the wiry, young lad, she noted how the place didn't smell of horseshit. Every stable she'd ever been to, smelled like horseshit, but not this one. Then she spotted the reason why. Each horse had its own spacious stall with live, green grass growing out of the ground and a human attendant, who rushed to pick up any droppings as soon as they fell out of the horse. It was luxury, which had to look in the rearview mirror for mere decadence.

  "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.

  Chapter 36

  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."

  Chapter 37

  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.<
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  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.

  Chapter 38

  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.