A Loathsome Man

THE POWERFUL EXACT WHAT THEY CAN;

THE WEAK SUFFER WHAT THEY MUST - Melian Dialogue, 416 BCE

Roscoe settled in behind his desk with a contented sigh. He had just returned from a profitable two-martini lunch with a customer. His buxom, dyed-blond secretary fussed over him as she provided coffee fixed just the way he liked. She laid out a stack of letters for his signature, messages, incoming mail, and several production reports for his review. She stood by the desk and waited anxiously to meet any further request Roscoe might have. He waved her off with a grunted thanks. She retreated quickly to her desk in the outer office.

Roscoe was a chemical engineering graduate from Texas A&M and started out with a single fertilizer plant in Houston. Now at a robust fifty, he owned plants manufacturing fertilizer, explosives, and industrial specialty chemicals that were scattered all across Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana.

The money just rolled in these days. He enjoyed his wealth and the power that came with money. He especially delighted in having the power to hire and fire indiscriminately and to absolutely terrorize his employees. His management style was not that of a Harvard MBA; it was more a fusion of bullying and terrifying--sort of a melding of Attila the Hun and Ivan the Terrible.

He smiled contemplatively. That hot secretary of his would lift her skirts on demand for him. He paid her an annual performance bonus that considerably exceeded her regular official salary and put her far above normal secretarial income. Her husband had long ago embraced the concept that his wife's bonuses were worthwhile swaps for her virtue.

Some executives drank too much, squeezed tension-relief balls, or went to yoga classes to cope with the stress of business. He just fucked his secretary or had her give him a blow job here in the office as needed. That seemed a much more satisfying way to deal with the daily grind and stress of this cutthroat business, sure superior to any other alternative he ever heard about.

Roscoe reflected that desperation and low birth held no monopoly on man's willingness to put a price on honor, whether his own or his wife's. Roscoe slept with most of his senior executives and plant manager's wives, the prettiest ones routinely and the others periodically. Both the cuckolded husband and blackmailed wife recognized the future of the husband's well-paid sinecure was entirely dependent on the wife's enthusiastic sexual performance in the boss' bed. The husband's on-the-job performance was secondary to his wife's lobbying efforts in bed.

Roscoe had his own wife at home so he screwed his executives' wives here at the office, just down the hall from where their husbands were working, in a Hilton hotel across the street, or at the unfortunate wife's home. Sometimes he even took these compliant wives along with him as sex toys on overnight trips. Anybody who didn't play along with him just went on along to a new career elsewhere. They also went with damning recommendations from Roscoe that would banish them from the industry.

Roscoe had a cruel streak and enjoyed the husbands knowing he was fucking their wives. He made a point to flaunt his sexual conquests in the husband's face as the opportunity presented itself. Sometimes when he finished enjoying one of the executives' wives in his spacious office, with its well-used, oversized leather couch, he would escort the just-laid and still flushed wife to her husband's office. There he would announce to the humiliated husband and any staff who might be within earshot that he had "thoroughly enjoyed a delightful visit" with the man's wife and leave the poor, shamefaced woman with her helpless cuckolded husband.

Roscoe's perverse cruel streak recognized the husband's agony over his wife's adultery would be magnified tenfold if the wife actually enjoyed the sex. Hence, Roscoe made a point to be a considerate and skillful lover.

He delighted in not just the physical conquest of another man's wife and the degradation of the husband, but he also gloried in the wife's howls of physical ecstasy as she shook with one orgasm after another. The wife's morals and emotions might be troubled by her behavior, but her body writhed delightedly under Roscoe's skilled ministrations. Some wives actually looked forward to the next call of duty to further their husbands' blossoming career.

Yep, he had worked hard to get here and crushed all who got in his way. But now he was sitting in the catbird seat. Life sure was sweet.

THE CRISIS

Two men bustled into his office without announcement dispelling his pleasant ruminations on the pleasures of the flesh and glories of power. Roscoe glanced up in irritation and saw the faces of both men were creased with tension and worry.

The man leading the way was Abraham, a half dozen years younger than he and known around the office as Abe. He was number two in the company and the financial guru of the business. He had been with Roscoe since the beginning and held a 30% stake in the firm. Abe had profited mightily in the success of the company.

Abe knew too much and was too valuable to the company for Roscoe to risk alienating him by bedding his wife, even cute as she was. Abe's wife was about the only executive or senior plant manager's wife in the company whose sexual joys Roscoe failed to taste at some point.

Except for Abe, Roscoe only hired married men for senior positions in the company--and the wife's attractiveness and the couple's sexual malleability were clinching factors in Roscoe's final selection for his lucrative senior slots. He enjoyed a de-facto harem that rivaled the old Turkish pashas.

The second man, Jimmy, was a big, handsome bloke. He was Roscoe's chauffeur and also Roscoe's wife's distant cousin from Nebraska. Roscoe's wife, Emily, had finagled the job for Jimmy. Roscoe had a hard time refusing that beautiful seductress of a wife of his anything--well, anything that is except staying faithful.

Jimmy had played linebacker for the Cornhuskers until ACL injuries ended any prospects of a football career. He was no academic muse and went instead to work on a NASCAR pit crew for a few years. Then he drifted out west for a spell before being hired by Roscoe. Jimmy's formidable bulk made him useful as security, a prudent role given the number of pissed-off husbands around Roscoe. Jimmy had a permit and carried a handgun, just in case. He also knew how to keep his mouth shut and mind his own business.

Jimmy was also a skilled driver and a superb mechanic. This latter talent had been the clincher that convinced Roscoe to hire him. Jimmy took loving care of Roscoe's treasured five antique cars that were housed in the estate's barn.

The barn had been built for Roscoe's first wife's horses but now functioned as storage for the antique car collection. It also provided a mechanics shop and small apartment for Jimmy. Roscoe's current wife, Emily, was wife number four and had been with him a tad over a year now. Number one had lasted ten years. Numbers two and three had lasted four years and two years respectively.

Roscoe had a standard prenub for dealing with wives. The wife, if divorced for any reason, got a settlement of $100,000 plus $50,000 for each full year of the marriage. Collecting wives was an expensive hobby but, if truth be told, not that much worse than collecting antique cars, if one had a good prenub. With his income Roscoe could indulge himself in both hobbies.

Abe and Jimmy stopped in front of Roscoe's desk. Their faces were white with strain, and they were breathing heavily, as though they had run to his office. Abe held a messenger envelope clutched in his hands.

Roscoe sat up in his chair in mild alarm; Abe was never one to panic. He snapped gruffly, "What now?"

Abe looked him in the eye and said quietly, "Roscoe, we got a big problem. Someone kidnaped your wife. They are demanding a million dollars for her safe return."

Roscoe shot to his feet in disbelief. Nobody trifled with him. He had smashed all his opponents over the years. He neither backed down from trouble nor flinched from fighting fire with fire. Who would dare steal his wife and then hold him up for a million bucks? He would tear them limb from limb.

"What in the hell happened?" he roared, startling his secretary out front who uttered a startled squeak of surprise.

Abe was the cool head in a crisis and was long since inured to Roscoe's dramatics and tantrums. He just shook his head and said steadily. "We don't know. A man on a bike came by as Jimmy was parking in the garage after lunch and tossed this envelope addressed to you in the window."

Abe walked over and closed the office door to provide privacy.

Jimmy picked up the tale in an agitated voice, "He came out of nowhere. One moment nobody is around, and I am backing up into our parking slot. My window is open so I can watch my clearance on the side. Then this guy whizzes by on a bike and tosses that envelope in on top of me. He disappeared between cars and out of sight. I saw nothing except a gray hoody and jeans. I couldn't tell if the rider was male or female, or black or white, or anything."

Abe took over and continued, "The surveillance system in the garage is on the blink so we have nothing. Jimmy was on the way to bring the package to you and ran into me at the elevator downstairs. He told me the story, I looked in and saw the ransom note. We called your house and Emily's cell a minute ago; no answer on either one."

Roscoe sat down with a thump, muttering, "Oh, holy shit."

Abe shook the contents of the envelope onto Roscoe's desk while saying, "Here's what we got: a picture with the ransom demand written on it, a flash drive we have not looked at yet, and a cell phone."

Abe handed the picture to Roscoe. Roscoe examined the photo with a sense of escalating dread.

The picture was of his wife, Emily. She wore her typical running attire: short shorts that left nearly all of her shapely legs for public ogling, a tight t-shirt that failed to conceal nature's bountiful gift of boobs, and well worn running shoes. She was the neighborhood visual delight for the men and one of envy for the women as she ran her five miles every morning after Roscoe and Jimmy left for the office at 7:45.

In the picture, Emily was laying on a bed with one hand cuffed to the headboard. She was blindfolded and looked terrified.

A message was scrawled on the picture. "We have your wife. One million dollars cash to get her back alive. We know you have the cash. No negotiation. We know what we are doing and play for keeps. Watch the video on the flash drive before you do anything stupid like getting the cops or FBI involved. We will call you on the enclosed cell phone at three."

Roscoe plugged the flash drive into his computer. It autoexecuted and a video began to play. The first scene was of Roscoe and Emily's ornate Victorian home taken from the main road. Emily exited the house, did some preliminary stretches, and then jogged out of the picture. Roscoe expanded the picture to full screen and cut up the volume. Abe and Jimmy positioned themselves behind Roscoe where they could see the computer screen.

The screen shifted to show Emily on the bed as in the ransom note. Emily was a beautiful natural blonde, an absolute ten in anybody's book. She said in a low, tremulous voice, "Roscoe, they haven't hurt me, but they say they will if you don't pay. They came out of nowhere and grabbed me when I was running. They... Oh, please help me!" Emily could say no more and broke down sobbing.

The screen went dark, and a hard, cold, male voice began. "We are professionals at this game, and we don't waste time. If you want that beautiful girl back alive, you will pay the million dollar ransom. If you don't pay, a blonde woman like her has great value in the overseas sex slave trade. You can imagine her fate there." The man gave a cruel laugh, "Or maybe we shouldn't make you imagine; we will just show you instead."

The picture reappeared now showing a naked but still blindfolded Emily strapped face down on some kind of bench. Her arms and legs were pulled askew and pinioned by velcro straps. She was helpless and visibly shaking with fear.

A naked, masked man appeared at her head and grabbed either side of her face and held it still while he brought his erect penis to her lips. Emily groaned and twisted her head away breaking the man's grip. He laughed and stepped back crossing his arms.

A second masked, naked man appeared at Emily's side. She still wore her blindfold and was twisting her head wildly trying to fathom what was happening around her. The second man held a two foot long paddle covered in leather.

He suddenly swung it connecting with Emily's exposed buttocks with a resounding slap. Emily screamed in pain and surprise and bucked but could not escape. She groaned and was panting. She jerked her head from side to side trying to anticipate what was happening.

The second man waited for several beats and then struck Emily's exposed backside with another thunderous blow eliciting another squeal of pain and followed it immediately with a third blow. Emily was moaning pitifully as she sucked in great breathes of air. Her ass was a bright, cherry red from the paddle's impacts.

Emily moaned, "God stop! It hurts. What do you want?"

The man struck Emily a fourth time causing her to buck and strain at her restraints fruitlessly as she screeched again.

The second man said with quiet menace, "Are you going to be a good girl and behave? Cooperate and it will go smoothly. Fight us and it will be painful and so much worse."

Emily gasped sobbing, "Yes, yes, I'll do anything. Anything. Just stop. Please stop hurting me."

The man with the paddle nodded to the first man.

The first man returned to stand in front of Emily. He guided his erect penis into her mouth, murmuring, "Here you go, baby. I'm going to enjoy this."

The man with the paddle tapped Emily's ass lightly with the paddle, laughing, "With enthusiasm, my dear. Let's hear some enthusiasm!"

Emily began moaning in faked sexual arousal as she oscillated her head back and forth as the man's penis thrust in and out. The man wrapped his hands around her head and began thrusting vigorously muttering, "Oh yeah, baby I'm gonna come in your mouth, and you will love it."

A third masked naked man slipped between her spreadeagled legs and entered her roughly. Emily started to try to resist but another smart slap to her buttocks snuffed out her defiance. The man began thrusting vigorously, grunting with effort. Emily's faked moans of sexual delight and the men's bestial growls and snorts of lust accompanied by the unmistakable slap-salp of flesh on flesh during vigorous intercourse cascaded from the computer.

After what seemed an age, the first man at Emily's head cried out, "Oh yes, baby, I'm cumming. Oh God, this is sweet." He pushed his cock deep in Emily's mouth and stood rigidly purring, "Oh yes, oh yes," as he ejaculated in Emily's mouth. The third man gave a roar of delight as he too emptied himself in her.

The first and third man stepped back from Emily and out of camera range. Emily lay there panting and exhausted by the emotional and physical assaults.

The second man then positioned himself between Emily's spreadeagled legs, gave her a sharp slap on the butt with his hand, and said happily, "And baby, we are just getting warmed up. With enthusiasm, my dear." He began vigorously thrusting eliciting matching grunts and cries from Emily.

The video mercifully faded to black. The male voice from before came on; he sounded like the second man in the video.

His voice was harsh and mocking as he sneered, "And that delightful piece of ass of yours provided us over an hour of entertainment this morning. After that, she was plumb tuckered out and had to have a nap. Poor thing," he mocked.

"We provide this little vignette to make the point that we are in absolute control and are ruthless. We have found that the husbands and parents of our, shall we say, guests sometimes don't take us seriously. They want to balk or negotiate, or maybe do something really stupid like call the police. Little videos like this tend to make them compliant.

"We will have the million dollars from you by six pm tonight. If not we will indulge ourselves with another entertainment session with your wife.

"We also have a page on the dark web where we do our business. We put your wife up for sale first thing this afternoon on that web page. She modeled a variety of delightful, sexy poses. Oh my, she produced a lovely portfolio that promises potential bidders unimaginable delectable delights of female flesh."

The voice laughed happily and went on mockingly, "We already have six inquiries; she's certainly a hot commodity. The leading bidder at the moment is a sheik from north Africa. He is a good customer and absolutely loves blondes. Alas, the Swedish girl we sold him a few months ago committed suicide after only a few weeks. He is anxious for a replacement and will bid quite aggressively.

"So there you have it. We get a million dollars by six, or we accept the top bid for her. If we see any hint of cops we will just sell her. We win regardless of what you do.. If you fail to produce the money on schedule or call the cops, your wife can be having a romantic adventure in mysterious Arabia or exotic Samarkand by tomorrow night!"

The video ended.

The three men in the office exhaled and looked at each other in shock. Abe muttered, "Oh my God." Jimmy's face was stark white. Roscoe was trembling with fury.

Abe stepped up and took control. "Okay, keep your wits about you, Roscoe. They have us in a box. We are going to have to meet their demands."

Roscoe looked at Abe thoughtfully. That was a lot of money, maybe they could cut a deal. He glanced at Jimmy. He was Emily's cousin, and they were close. Jimmy would probably shoot Roscoe if something happened to Emily.

Roscoe said slowly, "Can we even get a million dollars in cash by six?"

Abe nodded, "Yeah, I got the connections at the banks to do it. We can have it within a few hours. We will pull it out of corporate accounts, and those blood sucking lawyers and CPAs we spend so much money on will have to figure how to hide it."

Abe glanced at Jimmy. "I want you to go to the house and look around. Find anything out of the ordinary or that might give us a clue. Check the phone and home computers for messages. Then come straight back here. Leave Roscoe's car there and come back in your pickup. You are the best one to deliver the ransom, and I don't want you driving anything as ostentatious as Roscoe's Mercedes when you deliver the cash."

Jimmy nodded and left on his mission without speaking.

Abe turned his attention back to Roscoe and snarled, "Don't even think about it. There is no way we are not going to pay that ransom to free Emily, and we aren't even going to try to negotiate."

Roscoe started to argue, but Abe waved his hand to silence him. "When Emily is back safe, we will call the police and the FBI and get to the bottom of this. I have told you a million times to quit fucking other men's wives. You have made a lot of enemies. These may be sex slavers as they claim, or it might just as well be some pissed-off husbands and wives getting even."

Roscoe murmured, "Those cocksuckers wouldn't dare. All of them know I will ruin them if they mess with me. I will cut their balls off whoever orchestrated this rape of my wife. Then I will toss them in the Gulf for the sharks."

Abe shook his head angrily, "Goddam it, no! This is no time to get personal revenge. Stay cool. We will do as they say, pay the ransom, get Emily back alive, and then turn this whole disaster over to the law. It is way out of our league. Now, I have to go talk to the bank and get the money organized."

Abe turned to leave, but Roscoe stood and reached out grasping Abe's arm roughly. Roscoe enunciated carefully, "Abe, no cops. Not now, not later. Okay, we will do as you say and pay the ransom However, I am not going to have it get out that my wife was screwing other men while I sat on my ass in this office."

Abe replied hotly, "You idiot. She was raped. This is not her fault. Are you crazy?"

Roscoe answered truculently, "Doesn't matter. I am not going to stand for that getting out. We will do the ransom your way but this part mine."

Abe gave Roscoe a long disgusted look and then turned and left the office without further discussion.

Roscoe sat back down with a grunt. He mumbled angrily, "That damn Abe will never understand. I fuck other men's wives. Those men are garbage, mere dogs, offal. And I prove it every time I make those wimps' wives squeal. Nobody is going to be able to say my wife fucks other men. Emily will just have to go after that shameful orgy of hers. Doesn't matter whether it was her fault or not. I am not going to have a wife who has been fucked by other men after I married her. Nope, don't want any secondhand goods in my bed and people getting wrong ideas."

Roscoe's eyes drifted to the picture of Emily on which the ransom note was written. My God, that is one gorgeous woman. And she sure can make a bedroom zing. Hands down, she's the finest piece of ass ever.

Roscoe laughed as he remembered how they met. Emily was the star attraction at a top line private gambling club in Vegas that provided extraordinary strippers for the patron's entertainment. A client had bought Roscoe a lap dance from Emily as a birthday present. Well, Emily certainly raised expectations for his birthday celebration. Roscoe made a cash offer she couldn't refuse, and Emily spent the rest of the night with him. One week later they were married in Vegas in front of a small crowd of well-wishers. He just had to have her for himself, a beautiful pearl of female flesh just for him! Well, not anymore.

Roscoe drummed his fingers on the desk as he fidgeted. It was over an hour before the phone call. He couldn't concentrate on any work at a time like this. He felt restless and fretful.

He smiled as he had an idea. He clicked on the intercom to his secretary, who popped on right away, "Yes Sir, what can I do for you?"

Roscoe chuckled and began untying his tie as he said cheerfully, "Come on back here, honey. Be sure to close and lock the door as you come in."

Forty minutes later a somewhat disheveled secretary exited Roscoe's office. She blushed as she glanced at Abe and Jimmy. They were sitting with ill-disguised impatience in the chairs in front of Roscoe's office. She mumbled, "Go right in, gentlemen; he will see you now."

It was an unwritten rule of the company that you didn't disturb Roscoe when his office door was closed, especially if his secretary was MIA at the same time. This was a not uncommon situation at the company executive office and not worth commenting on. The secretary hurried down the hall to the lady's room as Abe and Jimmy rose and entered Roscoe's office.

Roscoe was standing by the office window looking out and tying his tie as Abe and Jimmy entered. He turned around, walked to his desk, slipped his suit coat back on, and sat down. He barked out impatiently, "Okay, where are we? Have a seat and bring me up to speed. The call should be coming in shortly."

Abe replied in a cool dispassionate voice, "The money will be here by four and will be delivered by a courier with an armed guard. There will be 10,000 banded hundred-dollar bills in two satchels. Each satchel has a tracking device sewn into the seam. This is standard bank procedure with large sums of cash. We can track the kidnappers when they take the money. The bank security officer put the app on my phone. However, I suspect the kidnappers will expect a tracker and will transfer the money and ditch the satchels right away."

Roscoe nodded, "Okay. You said this was all company money so if they return Emily, we are going to let it go at that. No police."

Roscoe looked at Jimmy, "You find anything at the house?"

Jimmy shook his head saying cooly, "No. Her purse is at the house. Nothing appears out of the ordinary. I took a walk down towards the lake where she likes to start her runs. About one hundred yards down that way, I found her phone next to the road. It was smashed." Jimmy held up a plastic bag displaying a crushed cell phone.

He continued, 'They must have grabbed her right away. It couldn't have been long after we left.

Roscoe nodded, "That sounds right. You ready to go and deliver the money when we get directions?"

Jimmy answered with a steady hard voice, "Of course. Emily is my cousin and we have been close as far back as I can remember. I'll get her back, or there will be bloodshed."

Abe turned to look at Jimmy, "Stay calm. We will cooperate and that should get Emily back, alive, even if a little battered. That is our one and only objective. Take your gun but that is for your own protection, only if absolutely needed. You are not to play Marshall Dillon and get in a shootout. They will have you outgunned and will have the drop on you."

Abe shifted his gaze back to Roscoe, "They blindfolded Emily so she can't identify them. They wore masks while they raped her. They are making an effort to conceal their identity so that provides some hope they will release Emily in exchange for the money."

Jimmy muttered, "They damn well better, or I will hunt them down whatever it takes."

The office reverberated with the shrill ringing of the cell phone provided by the kidnappers. After two rings, Abe picked it up and put it on speaker saying, "Yes."

The same voice as in the video replied coldly, "You got the money?"

Abe answered with an equally cool, nonchalance, "The money will be here at four. We will deliver it, but before we surrender the money, we want the woman safely in our hands."

A chilling laugh emanated from the phone, "Oh, get serious. We are in control, and any bickering from you will just result in us selling her to the highest bidder. We have three active bidders pushing the price higher and higher right now. It is great!"

Abe continued in a reasonable tone, "What is to stop you from taking the money and then selling the girl anyway."

The voice came back in a normal conversational tone, "Man, we do this as a business. If we stiff you on the ransom, word gets around, and nobody will pay the ransom. Then all we get for our trouble is cops hot on our trail looking for blood."

The man on the other end of the phone sighed audibly and continued in a more conciliatory voice, "Look, we make more on the ransom than by selling the women, though that is a good, backup plan B. We are not going to screw up this sweet deal."

The man now shifted to a crisp tone and shot out staccato instruction. "One man in the car with the money and the cell phone we provided. No tails, no cops, no anything. Drive northwest on I-45. Stop in the Walker rest area at mile 124. We will call him with directions. We will be watching for tails. He will drop the money when and where we say, and we will tell him where to pick up the girl. If it goes smoothly, you get the girl; if not we sell her."

The phone went dead.

Abe muttered, " We have to play by their rules."

The men took seats and waited without further discussion.

The bank courier with the money in two satchels arrived with an armed guard a few minutes before four. Abe signed the requisite paperwork and took possession of the satchels. The courier and guard departed without a word..

Abe turned to Jimmy and handed him that satchels and asked, "Ready?"

Jimmy nodded and replied, "Yep. Got the phone in my pocket. I'm on the way." He turned and left.

Abe settled down in a chair beside Roscoe's desk and set his phone down between the two men. "Here's the ap that tracks the money satchels."

The men stared at the map of Houston on the phone and the blinking cursor marking Jimmy's progress with the satchels as he wended his way through Houston and out I-45 toward the rest area. Both men stared at the phone without speaking.

Abe mused angrily to himself, "That idiot Roscoe, he's got the most beautiful girl in Texas as a wife and he still screws around like a stupid frat boy. Somebody's gonna shoot him one day."

If truth be told, Emily had charmed both Abe and his wife. The pretty, saucy, irrepressible girl was like a niece or something of the sort to them now. Abe was sick at heart over what had happened and prayed fervently for her safe return.

RANSOM AND RESCUE

Jimmy drove his battered old pickup to the rest area as directed. Almost as soon as he pulled in, the phone rang with the final directions. Jimmy went another five miles down the interstate, got off at an exit in the middle of nowhere, and pulled to the rear of a burned out filling station.

He took one satchel of money and tossed it inside the ruin of the filling station. He glanced around carefully and then emptied the cash from the other satchel into another bag that he concealed in a hidden compartment in the floor of the truck cab. He tossed the now empty satchel next to the other one in the ruin of the filling station. He dropped the phone on the pavement, smashed it with his heel and kicked the fragment into the ruined building's doorway.

Jimmy then drove quickly further down the rural road to a state park and followed a winding road to a deserted picnic area. There was Emily, right where she was supposed to be. She was perched on the picnic table, swinging her legs, and sipping an RC Cola.

Jimmy pulled up by the table and hopped out. Emily ran to him laughing and then planted a passionate kiss on him. Breaking the kiss, she giggled, "God this is great; best scam we have ever run."

Jimmy laughed, "Yeah, it is." Then with a rueful grin, he added, "Of course I did hate to let that old goat Roscoe fuck my wife for the last year."

Emily gave him a sardonic grin, "Well baby, your wife is not exactly virginal. Anyway, while old Roscoe was busy screwing other wives, you were certainly taking advantage of his wife! What did you think of our porno movie clip we made! It was great to be working with the old gang again."

Jimmy grinned, "Awesome. I thought old Roscoe was going to blow a gasket."

Emily laughed, "Good, serves him right! Anyway, Charlie, Sandy, and Jeff said to tell you hi. They are going to grab their half of the money at the filling station and drive straight back to California pronto. Make sure they disappear from here. They invited us to come back to California to visit; porno is bursting at the seams with all of the internet work. They would love to do another production with us." She added thoughtfully, "We oughta do that; it would be fun."

Emily had grown up on a farm in Nebraska and headed to California when she was eighteen--there had to be something out there better than driving a damn tractor through cornfields. Short on money, she soon found lucrative employment in the porno industry where she met Jimmy and the other three conspirators.

One thing led to another, Emily married Jimmy, and the two of them moved on to Las Vegas with Sam Parker, an Olympic quality con artist. They learned the tricks of the trade from the master, but when he was sent to prison, they laid low to avoid the law. Emily began stripping for their spending money and functioned as a very expensive and exclusive courtesan when the money was right. That was how Emily met Roscoe, and there was no sense letting a litle thing like bigamy interfere with a lucrative sting opportunity with a rich mark like Roscoe.

As they left the picnic area and headed back to Houston, Jimmy called Roscoe's office where Roscoe and Abe waited impatiently. Jimmy winked at Emily and said with feigned excitement, "I got her! Went off without a hitch. Dropped the money like they said, and she was not far off just waiting.... Yeah, pretty upset, you know.,,, I understand. I'll take her on home, and we'll sort it out there."

HOUSTON POLICE BUILDING, VEHICULAR CRIMES DIVISION,

8:00 AM, WEDNESDAY, TWO MONTHS LATER

The two detectives ambled into their lieutenant's office with their coffees and took a seat. One was tall and lanky, the other short and round. Despite their Mutt and Jeff appearance, both projected a keen, analytical air of business.

The lieutenant sat back in his chair, sipped his coffee, and said quietly. "Okay, it's been three days; bring me up to speed."

The lanky detective consulted his notebook and began a slow spiel of facts. "The victim was Roscoe Clements, owner of a large chemical company headquartered on Fifth Street. He was walking across the street from the Hilton to his office at 3:15 pm Sunday afternoon. A car comes out of nowhere and bam... dead as a doorbell. EMTs said he was dead on impact."

The lanky detective looked up at the lieutenant and continued, "That district is quiet as a tomb on Sundays. No cameras. The doorman at the Hiltonn heard the impact, but by the time he looked out, the victim was squashed flat, and the car was disappearing around a corner. Maybe a dark colored sedan, that's all we got."

The lieutenant sighed, "Of course. We have a hundred pedestrian fatalities a year in Houston and only solve one or two percent of them. Without witnesses, a description, tag number, or something, odds are we are just chasing our tail on this one."

The lieutennt shook his head in disgust, "Okay, what was the victim doing at the Hilton on a Sunday afternoon?"

The dumpy detective piped up, "I checked the victim's activities that day. Played golf with his company's Chief of Logistics in the morning and had lunch with him at the Country Club. Then he spent the afternoon screwing the man's wife in the Hilton."

The lieutenant laughed mirthlessly, "Well, there is a motive for the husband whacking the guy with a car if I ever heard one."

The dumpy detective shook his head, "No luck. The husband was with their three kids at a birthday party at some pizza and arcade party place. Dozen people were with him all afternoon.

The lanky detective added, "When we checked his room at the Hilton, we found the wife naked as a jaybird snoozing off the afternoon exertions. She was pretty embarrassed but said her husband knew about the affair. He didn't care so it was no big deal; he actually encouraged it as career enhancing."

The lieutenant shook his head and murmured, "Well even so, those two sure have motive. Anybody else look promising?"

The lanky one blew out a breath, "Well... Yeah. Roscoe's secretary broke down and filled us in on the office dirt. She's Roscoe's office sex toy and is well compensated for it. So her husband, or her for that matter, have to be considered as suspects. But then turns out Roscoe screws the wives of all his executives. We have a list of half-dozen so far, and there are probably more. At Roscoe's company, the wife's ass is the chip the husband pays to play.

"The husbands and wives all have motive to kill the bastard, but all have alibis or don't fit time schedule So far nobody is coming up on the radar as the likely perp. Hell, a couple or all of them could have banded together to hire a hit man. We are never going to sort all of this out."

"Good grief," the lieutenant groaned. "Who profits from this guy being dead?"

The lanky detective said thoughtfully, "That's interesting. The Chief Financial Officer, Abe, is the most squared away guy we spoke to. Everyone says he is the key to the company's success. He has a 30% interest in the company, but with Roscoe's death he becomes the sole owner and CEO. That succession was set up many years ago, nothing too fishy there. Even so, he sounded promising until we found out his wife is the only one Roscoe wasn't screwing. Abe's too valuable to piss off, everyone says. Also, he was at a convention in Corpus Christi last weekend, and his wife was at their grandson's soccer game when this all transpired. We checked it all out, and their alibis are solid."

The lieutenant muttered, "We are not making much headway here. Roscoe have a wife in all of this mess?"

The dumpy detective picked up the narrative. "There are three ex-wives who hate his guts to add to the list of suspects. Roscoe is in the process of divorcing wife number four, but the divorce won't be final for another six weeks or so. He has not drawn up a new will so his almost ex-wife, Emily, stands to inherit the house, antique car collection, bank accounts and the like to a tune of five million dollars or so. That young lady is certainly sitting in the catbird seat now."

The lieutenant looked at his detectives in confusion. "Who is this Emily and where is she now? Have you talked to her?"

The lanky detective replied, "Abe says she was a stripper out in Vegas. Roscoe was impressed and married her on the spot. Abe says she is smart and very likeable, a looker to boot."

"Did she know about the extracurricular career investments being provided by the other wives?"

The lanky detective shrugged, "Abe says yeah. Says she was a stripper and pretty open-minded about sex. Didn't faze her long as she was doted on and well funded. Abe says she is actually a nice girl."

The dumpy detective picked up the tale. "About two months ago, something happened. Abe was very close mouthed about it. Just says there was a permanent marital riff. Emily took off for Nebraska and went back home to her folks on the farm."

The lanky detective added, "The chauffeur who also doubled as security for Roscoe left and went back to Nebraska with her. Some kind of fifth cousin twice removed or some such--never could keep the genealogy stuff straight.

Dumpy continued, "I have a buddy from the academy who works for the Omaha police department now. The farm is about an hour out of town so he agreed to interview them for us."

The lanky detective snorted, "He said he rode up to find her on a tractor plowing a field. The Vegas stripper who is going to inherit five million is a farm girl, imagine that. She told our buddy that she had enough of the flashing lights and was glad to be back on the farm helping her folks. Beautiful gal, he said, and really down to earth."

"What about the chauffeur?"

He's there too, living in the house with her and her folks. Problem is on Sunday when Roscoe got flattened, she and the chauffeur were at church with the folks for a dinner on the grounds. Hundreds of folks saw them there."

The lieutenant groaned and said slowly, "You mean we have a dozen wives and husbands with ample motive to slit his throat, the secretary sex toy and her husband who might want the same, plus three ex-wives who would love to carve him to pieces. The current and soon to be ex-wife inherits a fortune because he died before the divorce was final but was nine hundred miles away when he got run over. The partner who inherits the business was out of town at a convention. That's all before we start looking at corporate enemies and competitors that he has screwed financially if not in the flesh."

The lanky detective nodded sagely and commented, "Yeah, that's about it."

The dumpy detective shrugged and offered, "Hey, you know Houston traffic. Maybe it was just your average everyday hit-and-run by a stranger."

The Lieutenant stood up and grumbled, "Gotta get to a meeting. Okay, keep this open as a hit-and-run. Put it on the back burner unless we get a workable tip. We got better things to do."

THAT EVENING, 6:30 PM

Abe and his comely wife, Jean, rocked contentedly in their chairs on the back porch as they sipped Martinis before supper. Jean asked, "Well dear, are the police any closer to figuring out what happened to Roscoe?"

Abe sighed, "No, not really. I talked with them again today. It's going on the back burner for now as just another Houston hit-and-run."

"Well, Roscoe certainly went over the line with those other wives. I would not be surprised if a husband or one of the wives ran him down."

"Yep, that's what a lot of folks are saying. He also went way over the line in the way he treated Emily after the kidnaping."

Abe's face contorted with disgust, "Absolutely shameful, the way he treated Emily! His momma should have taught him to treat women properly. There is no excuse for him. Most say he got what he deserved."

Jean turned to look at Abe with a charming smile, "Years ago, that louse came on to me and threatened your job if I didn't play along. I explained, in no uncertain terms, that I was a West Texas cowgirl and had been shooting rattlesnakes from horseback since I was six. He got the message and treated me with decorum ever after."

Abe laughed, saying, "I figured something like that had gone down. By the way, I talked to Emily today as executor of Roscoe's will and told her about the inheritance. She was flabbergasted. Said to sell everything except the antique car collection; she was sure Jimmy would want that.

"The farm life is agreeing with them both, and they are going to stay on and run the farm for her folks. The folks are getting too old to keep up with it. She spent most of the $150,000 pre-nub money on a new tractor for her Dad. Since it arrived last week, she has been out plowing every day and loving it. Jimmy is playing barnyard mechanic and fixing everything else on the farm."

Jean exclaimed, "Oh good. I certainly did like that girl and am so glad she is settling down and things are working out." Smiling ruefully, Jean remarked thoughtfully, "She is a spunky little thing though, and I expect her past is best left unexplored."

"Agreed!"

Jean laughed, "You don't know the half of it, Abe! While old Roscoe was tom catting with those other wives, Emily and that so-called cousin of hers were smoking the sheets back at the barn. Old Roscoe has been wearing the cuckold horns the whole time."

Jean winked at Abe and murmured, "By the way, honey, the police talked to me on Tuesday, and they said they had already verified I was at the soccer game when Roscoe's accident occurred and you were registered and seen repeatedly at the convention.... Come to think of it though, I might have failed to mention to them that you have an identical twin brother who lives in San Antonio just 150 miles up the interstate from Corpus Christi."

Abe smiled at his doting wife, "Oh, that is just a minor detail, my dear, one with which we don't need to trouble the police."

CUNNING AND TREACHERY WILL DEFEAT COMPLACENT ARROGANCE AND ENTRENCHED POWER - Melian Dialogue Corollary