An Afternoon On The Basin

Ricky was given very limited access to Hillager & Associates network, but he did make use of what files he was given.

"Allison, glad I ran into you; I'd like to show you what I'm working on," Ricky said as Allison was leaving Don's office.

It was obvious that she was unhappy, even a little angered, but Ricky pretended to not notice as he followed Allison to her office. He chattered about precious metals and a few 'safe' stocks until Allison slammed her hand on her desktop.

"Am I that ugly?" Allison asked Ricky.

"What?" Ricky stammered, pretending to be shocked at her question.

Allison stood five foot eleven and weighed two hundred and eighty nine pounds. Her blonde hair was styled exactly the same way it had been styled when she was in high school, and her make up skills were entrenched in the same time frame. Her taste in clothing, even limited by her physique, was frumpy, with dark, muted colors.

"Am I that ugly? It's a fairly easy question, Mr. Hansen," she repeated and dabbed at the tears that threatened to spill.

"No, no, I heard the question; I was just stunned that you would have to ask such a question," Ricky stammered, putting his high school drama club membership to full use.

"Mr. Hansen," Allison said tightly.

"Told you, it's 'Ricky,' and Allison, look, I'm glad we're not married, well, I mean, to each other. You are married, but if we were married, I can promise you, there'd have to be a couch in this office, or in mine," Ricky said.

"Oh bull shit," she snorted.

"Fine, its bull shit, don't believe me," Ricky shrugged. "Don't let me stop your silly little pity party."

"Then why the hell is Don such an ass hole?" Allison shrilled.

Ricky was glad he had shut the heavy door to her office.

"Think he's gay?" Ricky asked, smiling playfully.

Allison smiled and shook her head at that question.

He then showed her the profiles he was working on and praised her when she spotted the two 'dogs' he had slipped into the folder. He made sure to touch her again before leaving her office.

Over the next week, he found several excuses to be in her office, found several excuses to touch her, to compliment her.

After a week, he finally sat down in front of her desk, threw up his hands and sighed dramatically.

"So, Allison, what are we going to do about him elephant in the room?" he asked her.

"What elephant?" she asked, eyes narrowed, lips tight.

"My attraction to you," he said. "I mean, come on, Bradley's my immediate supervisor, but I haven't spent ten minutes in his office; I keep coming to you."

Don picked that exact moment to rap on her door and sticks his head into her office.

"Going to the Hyatt for that meeting with Schumaker," he informed her.

Don's tone of voice was curt; his facial expression was sneering. His lack of respect for her was overwhelmingly evident.

"Fine, whatever," she said, not even looking at her husband.

"Meeting, my fat ass," she spat when Don closed the door.

"Schumaker? The furniture people?" Ricky asked.

"No, you're thinking of Schumacher, with a 'ch' not a 'k.'" Allison smiled tightly. "No, this is the paper Schumakers."

She threw her pen across the room angrily.

"It's probably that God damned Kay Schumaker, if you want to know the truth," she snapped.

Several long moments of silence passed and Ricky finally got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" she snapped.

"Look, I want you, all right? I mean, I want to hold you, to make love to you, kiss every square inch of your body, but not like this, all right? I mean, right now, you're pretty pissed off at old what's-his-name and I can understand you wanting a quick fuck, a revenge fuck, but I'm not going to do that. You and I make love? It's going to mean a lot more than just you being all pissed off," Ricky said.

"Oh bull shit," Allison laughed mirthlessly.

"Uh huh, keep telling yourself that," Ricky moved to open the door.

"Fine, prove it," Allison ordered.

"No, what did I just tell you? I'm not going to be just some resentment fuck," Ricky said.

The next day, Allison did not bother to tell Don that she was going to a meeting. She just grabbed Ricky as he came in, told him that they were going to an important lunch, and to be ready at twelve thirty.

Ricky was grateful for small miracles; Allison Hillager, unlike Doris Dayton, did shave her pubic mound. She also kept her genitalia very clean, almost antiseptic.

And, unlike Doris, Allison was a very vocal lover. Ricky was happy to obey her orders, happy to pound her hard and fast, as she demanded.

Allison was thrilled that Ricky was able to recover very quickly and able to achieve a second and third erection.

XxXxX

"Seems to be hung up on something," Oscar said and reached over to give the chain a bit of a yank.

Ricky looked over and saw that the chain was no longer slipping into the water. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Nope, there it goes," Oscar said as the links again began to slowly pull off of the boat. "Yeah, Allison Hillager, right? Fucked her for a couple of months, and then emptied her and her husband's accounts? They got a divorce after that; did you know that? Of course, Hillager & Associates had to declare bankruptcy; who in the fuck's going to trust a company can't even keep its own accounts safe?"

"For the love of God, please!" Ritchie screamed for help, but the swamp was eerily quiet.

"Right after the divorce, she turned on her gas oven and lay down and went to sleep, forever. Him? He moved in with some Ken Schumaker, turns out they were lovers," Oscar said and watched the links slowly, steadily pull off of the boat.

"God please!" Ritchie screamed, sobbing again. "Please! I'm sorry, all right?"

"Omaha's pretty flipping cold, ain't it, Andy Harrington?" Oscar asked.

Ritchie stared at him, unbelieving. No one knew about Omaha.

"And here we go, Mrs. Lavert," Andy smiled as he brought the valued client a cup of coffee. "Plenty of cream, two Sweet N Low, let me know if there is anything else I can get you."

"You can get that Mr. Whittaker off his fat ass; I've got other things to do," Mrs. Lavert snapped.

"Of course, Mrs. Lavert," Andy smiled.

"God damned miserable bitch," Tom Whittaker muttered as Andy relayed the message.

Tom finished the work he was doing and nodded to Andy. Then an idea came to him.

"Andy, I want you to sit in on this meeting," Tom smiled.

Mrs. Penelope Lavert, a sixty two year old widow, did object to Andy Harrington sitting in on their meeting, but Tom assured her that, since Andy was the brightest, up and coming broker in their firm, her interests would be best served.

"I'm not stupid, Mr. Whittaker," she snapped. "You just palming me off on some flunky and I just won't stand for it."

"Mrs. Lavert, I fully understand your feelings; if it's all the same to you, I think I'll excuse myself. Your business is far too important for this firm to lose. Since I'm the cause of your displeasure, I'll take myself out of this equation," Andy smoothly said, making eye contact with Tom.

Andy had just sat down at his desk when Tom paged him back to his office.

"I didn't realize that you had graduated from Emory University," Mrs. Lavert said as Andy again sat down at the large table.

"Harvard of the South?" Andy smiled. "Yes ma'am; a fine university it is. Thank God for scholarships; I would never have been able to afford it otherwise."

"I grew up in Atlanta, Stone Mountain," Mrs. Lavert said, smiling at the memories of her childhood.

"Loved walking the trails around that area; got to go early in the morning though. Gets too hot, and oh my God! The mosquitoes will eat you alive!" Andy offered.

Andy listened, made some notes on his laptop, and then, when he was asked for his input, threw out a few suggestions.

"Why does everyone always push gold and silver?" Mrs. Lavert snapped.

"More readily accessible; there fore, more easily unloaded," Andy offered. "Platinum is more desirable, but is not as easily sold should the market again begin to drop."

"Fine," she snapped, signifying that Andy had scored a few points with her.

A few weeks later. Amy put together a packet, informed Tom that he planned to drop in on Mrs. Lavert and see if he could generate more movement on Mrs. Lavert's portfolio.

"Want movement out of that dried up old bitch? Try an enema," Tom suggested.

The large home was impressive, as was the Bentley automobile parked out front. Andy knew that the car did not belong to Mrs. Lavert; he knew the four separate insurance policies she carried and none were for a Bentley.

He parked behind the luxury automobile and ran up the marble steps to the massive door.

After a few moments, he decided that no one was going to answer his knocks and turned to leave. The door cracked open.

"Oh, it's you," Mrs. Lavert snapped, obviously displeased by his presence.

"Uh, yes ma'am," Andy put on his best smile. "Was out here, happened to have some suggestions for your portfolio, thought I'd swing by and get your input on them."

"Call next time," she snapped and opened the door for him. "Can't expect people to just drop everything just because you feel like popping up."

"Yes ma'am, I'll make sure to do that next time," Andy said, following her.

He fought down his revulsion; she had obviously been out by the large swimming pool, as she was dressed in a two piece bathing suit, covered by a short poncho. Her legs were wrinkled sticks and her rear end sagged mightily.

She opened the rear atrium doors and led him onto a concrete pad. Mrs. Lavert sat on a chaise lounge and nodded curtly to a chair nearby.

Andy heard a splash and turned to look at a stunning blonde that swam energetically toward the edge of the pool.

"Janice, I told you..." Mrs. Lavert spat as the blonde climbed the ladder.

"I put my bottom on," Janice snapped back. "I'm sure this kid's seen boobs before."

Janice's breasts were magnificent; Andy judged they were Double D cup size, with almost no sag at all. They were capped with light brown nipples, both crinkled and pointing from the cold water. They swayed enticingly as she walked.

Her face was very nearly flawless, heart shaped, with wide, blue eyes, small nose, and pouting lips.

Janice's shoulders were slightly broad, leading to slightly muscled arms, impressive breasts, flat stomach, and long, well muscled legs.

When she turned to saunter back to the elevated diving board, Andy could see that her rear was as beautiful, as sexy as her front.

"Think you could put your eyes back in your head and show me what was so God damned important you just had to come out here?" Mrs. Lavert shrilled, still glaring at Janice.

"Uh, yes ma'am, certainly," Andy stammered and pulled a few sheets out of his briefcase.

She reached over to a table, picked up a pair of reading glasses, and looked at the two sheets of paper. Andy heard another splash, but did not turn to watch Janice.

"This?" Mrs. Lavert asked, lips twisted in scorn. "You couldn't have just e-mailed this to me?"

"E-mail is so impersonal; I kind of like a more personal..." Andy said, smiling easily.

"It's also convenient," she snapped. "In the future, Mr. Harrington, e-mail me, or call me. I do not have time for such foolishness."

She got to her feet and pulled the cover-up off, exposing more of her wrinkled darkly tanned flesh to his eyes.

"You can show yourself out," she snapped and sauntered toward the pool.

"Yes ma'am," he mumbled and got to his feet.

"And you, when I tell you to put your suit on, I mean the whole suit," Mrs. Lavert snapped at a smirking Janice.

"Oh, eat me, bitch," Janice said.

Andy closed the door on their argument, but watched for a moment longer, hoping that Janice would drop the bottom half of her suit. Janice did begin to push the bottom down, but then looked directly at the glass doors.

She obviously said something to Mrs. Lavert; the old woman turned and glared at Andy. Andy waved, and then hurried through the house and out the front door.

So, he was surprised, a week later, when he was summoned to Mrs. Lavert's home.

"Well, young man, I'm sure you were a little surprised when I called," she said as she peered out at him over her reading glasses.

"Uh, yes ma'am, I have to admit, I was," Andy smiled nervously.

He was hoping to catch another glimpse of Janice; the Bentley was out front again.

As if on cue, the young woman entered the library.

Andy looked at her long legs, displayed very well in a short blue miniskirt. Her large breasts were unencumbered as they wiggled and wobbled in the snug tank top. She smiled briefly at Andy, then bent over and gave Mrs. Lavert a passionate kiss.

"Be home by...?" she asked.

"Janice, you're a grown woman. I really shouldn't have to tell a twenty three year old what time to come home," Mrs. Lavert snapped.

"Just for that, you miserable old bitch..." Janice smirked. "I think I'll be home for lunch. How you like that?"

"Fine, do whatever you want," Mrs. Lavert snarled.

Janice waited. Finally, Mrs. Lavert huffed, pulled a fat wallet from her purse and counted out five one hundred dollar bills and slapped them into Janice's hand. Janice didn't move and Mrs. Lavert pulled two more one hundred dollar bills out and slapped them into Janice's hand.

"Thank you, Baby," Janice whispered, gave Mrs. Lavert another passionate kiss, then skipped out of the room, her five inch heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floors.

"Your um, your friend is a lovely young woman," Andy complimented.

"She's a pain in the ass; if she wasn't such a good lover, I'd kick her ass out of here," Mrs. Lavert snapped.

She reached into a desk drawer and pulled a file folder out. She tapped it on the desk, smiling tightly at Andy.

"So, Mr. Harrington?" Mrs. Lavert asked.

"Yes ma'am?" Andy asked.

"Or, would you prefer Mr. Harrisen?" she smiled, showing all of her teeth.

"I um, I don't know what you mean," he said, sitting up straight.

"Richard Andrew Harrisen, born April ninth, Nineteen eighty five in Cook County General to Patricia Harrisen, father one Mr. Albert Michael Johnson. Couldn't marry your mother because, surprise surprise, he was already married to one Cheryl Johnson," she read aloud.

Andy sat as she read the pertinent facts of his miserable, poverty stricken childhood.

"Oh my, seems your mother was busy, wasn't she?" she smiled maliciously. "Four brothers and one sister? And none of them from the same father? Before you were even eight years old, huh? Golly gosh, guess your mommy didn't know the meaning of the word 'no' huh?"

"What do you want, you miserable old dyke?" he spat.

"Oh, come now, Richard!" she cackled. "I haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet! Like a little thing called murder? And of course, there's the nearly two million you managed to siphon out of Hillager & Associates..."

"I asked what you want?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Not to mention that not only have you not attended Emory, you've not graduated from any of the three community colleges you did attend," she smiled, and then looked hard at him.

"This is how it's going to be," she hissed back, eyes blazing. "That little bitch is bleeding me dry; you have any idea how much it costs to keep a twenty three year old whore happy?"

"Dump her," Andy suggested.

"Dump... Have you seen the ass on that girl? Oh, and those tits are unbelievable," she shook her head no. "Dump her? Not on your life, sonny."

"I'm sure you were planning on helping yourself to my accounts and even had your eyes on this house, am I right" Mrs. Lavert asked, pulling more papers from her desk drawer.

Andy didn't answer her. She looked up, shrugged, and then pushed the pages toward him.

She then outlined what he was to do, and where he was to deposit the monies.

"You're willing to commit..." Andy asked, almost snarling.

She laughed a harsh grating sound.

"I'm not willing to commit anything, my dear boy. You. You're the one that will be committing these crimes," she smiled and got to her feet. "There is no way in the world this could ever be traced back to me; even if you were to let it slip."

She opened a cabinet, and then looked over her shoulder at him.

"Would you like something to drink before you go? I do happen to have a decanter of Napoleon Brandy; Janice doesn't like it; that's the only reason it's not gone by now," she asked, almost in a friendly tone of voice.

"I must admit, I've never had Napoleon Brandy before; I'd like to try it, please," he grudgingly admitted.

XxXxX

A screech from a nearby bird brought Ritchie back to the present. Slowly, the chain dropped over the side of the boat. Less than half the length of the chain was still on the deck of the small boat.

"Pretty handy, how you made it look like she dove into the pool and broke her neck," Oscar smiled and blew out a stream of cigar smoke. "Damn, I love a good cigar. Elizabeth doesn't let me smoke at home; it's my house, but she runs the place. I can see her point, though. See, we got her son, Eddy, staying with us and second had smoke just isn't good for his little lungs. And you know Deonia spends a whole lot of time there too; I really love that little girl. She calls me Uncle Oscar."

Oscar took one more puff of the cigar, and then tossed it into the water. The sizzle was a loud one and Oscar pushed his thick glasses up his hose and smiled at Ritchie.

"Of course, Janice let the police know there was no way Mrs. Lavert willingly dove into the pool; she couldn't swim. Of course, how would you know that, huh?" Oscar smiled.

He looked at his watch and gave a little shrug.

"Damn, that engine, I really thought we'd be done by now, but oh well. Guess the mud's a little thicker than I thought," Oscar said.

Oscar looked around at the scenery, then at his watch again.

"You do know that your fiancé (he said 'fiancé' with a sneer) and Nadia are lovers, right?" Ritchie smirked.

"No shit? You do know they let me join them, right?" Oscar laughed.

Oscar smiled as a few more links slipped off the boat.

"Topeka, Kansas must have been one boring ass place, huh? I mean, other than Angie Bennett, what the fuck was out there?" Oscar asked.

Ritchie watched as yet another couple of links slid off the boat.

"I've seen her pictures, though. I guess a couple of months in Topeka might be worth it," Oscar admitted.

Ritchie remembered Angela Bennett and her husband, Henry Bennett.

"And here's our newest hot-shot, comes to us all the way from Chicago," Robert Claymore said proudly, ushering the long legged red head and her squat, balding husband into Richie Harrison's office.

"Chicago? Been there once; too God damned dirty for me," Henry growled, glaring at Richie.

"And why you think I moved here, huh?" Richie smiled, shaking the man's limp, sweaty hand. "Richie Harrison."

"Angie Bennett," Angie said, letting her eyes wander up and down Richie's physique, not bothering to hide her interest.

"And as I was telling you, he comes very highly recommended; we had to snap him up before Bill got word of him coming into town," Robert continued.

"Bill Johnson? Mother Fucker's a crook," Henry snarled.

"We all are; the good ones just don't get caught," Richie smiled and gestured for the couple to take a seat.

"Henry, great to see you again, Angie, always a pleasure," Robert took his leave and left the office.

Angie made sure to cross her legs slowly. Richie did not miss the fact that Angie Bennett did not wear panties, and that she was indeed a natural red head.

After a long fifty minutes, made long only by Henry's scowling, negative comments and disapproval of every idea Richie pitched to him, they agreed to meet again in three days. Without him, the time would have flown by; Angie also made Richie aware of her lack of a bra.