Blackmail

After he fucked he always had to piss. Before he put his dick back in his pants he relived himself of some of the wine he had consumed that night and she stepped quickly out of the way so that he didn't splash her. Somewhere in the struggle she has lost one of her shoes and the quick motion unbalanced her and she fell against the car.

"Hey, stop that," he yelled, angry that she may scratch the paint. He finished urinating and stuffed his cock back in his pants, zipped up and walked over to inspect if there was any damage.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. It was ludicrous to think that she was apologizing to him but it just kind of came out before she could get a handle on it. Her whole world was jumbled up and words were coming out of her mouth and she was more than a little bit drunk and she was having trouble putting it all together.

"Come on, it's time to go," he said a little bit gruffly. "I have to be up early in the morning."

She hobbled around the car to the passenger's door as fast as she would on the old gravel driveway while wearing only one shoe. She had liked this pair of shoes, but didn't bother looking for the one she had lost. She knew instinctively that she would never wear anything she had on tonight, ever again.

Chuck had gotten off and was essentially done with the bitch. He was glad she had stopped crying and was not trying to make conversation. He had gone on to other things in his head and there was something bothering him. Driving her back home had been an unwanted chore, but he had done it anyway. She had been a good sport about everything.

When they got to her dorm, he pulled out his money clip and handed her another $200. She took it a bit skittishly and crumpled it in her hand. "You were great baby," he told her. "A real good sport. I'll call you some time. After all, I never even got to see those tits." He smiled at her and touched her chin with his knuckle like Humphrey Bogart. She hurried out the car and into the dorm. He was a little miffed she didn't say thank you. That's okay, he thought. Next time we go out, I'll teach her some manners.

He laughed a bit to himself and started home. He was anxious to get off campus before any cops pulled him over and asked him how much he had had to drink.

That night Chuck Ferguson slept like a log. He was exhausted, and on top of that the wine and the mind blowing sex had done him in. But the moment he woke up, there was one thought in his mind: It was too much money.

It had first come to him when Walter was showing off his new boat, and ever since then it has been tickling the back of his mind. He had never seen it before because in security the money flowed in like water over rocks. But this was just too much. The giant house, new boat, landscaping, private school, exotic vacations... It all adds up over time and none of the other executives of the company seemed to be living that large. Could it be that they just hid it better?

That was the thought that kept him awake for the next two nights. He stared at his celling and tried to work out the numbers. They just didn't add up. On the third morning he got up, went to work before anyone else was there and started pulling paperwork he was not supposed to have access to.

To understand how this was done, you have to understand my business. It's a business that thrives on a lack of paper trails and receipts. Customers frequently use couriers to pay large bills with cash. Numbered bank accounts and transfers that are routed through more than one country and holding company are not uncommon. Don't think of these things as attempts to hide criminal activity, which is what most people think, rather they are trying to hide wealth. For the truly wealthy of the world, the people that need the kind of protection we offer, their biggest fear is not the IRS but their competition knowing exactly how much they are worth. Money is power and their safety is tied directly to disguising that wealth. It keeps everyone guessing. It's even more true for major corporations.

And somewhere in all of the bank transfers, currency exchanges and cash deals, Walter Bingham had found a way not to so much divert a few drips into his bank account, but to funnel a whole revenue stream there.

Of course, just figuring it out wasn't enough. He also had to figure out where the money came from, how it was diverted and how much of it there was. Because of the nature of the business, there are usually strict checks and balances in place. But through a fluke of circumstance, one of the founding partners had died, and his replacement was never informed about all of the checks in place. The end result was a microscopic loophole that Walter had been exploiting to the tune of nearly $300,000. That, combined with his already inflated salary had allowed him to live the high life. But that was all coming to an end.

Chuck Ferguson checked his printed pages one last time before he left for his boss's office. He had far more than he needed, but he wanted to make sure that there was no way that Walter could argue with him. The wide sheets of lined paper had been printing in the computer room all afternoon, the tractor feed advancing one line at a time as the striker imprinted the pages with his future. It was all here. Now all he had to do was sell it.

He had called Walter right before 5:00 and asked him to stay and meet with him around 6:00, when the rest of the office had cleared out.

"Walter, I need to talk to you in private," he said. "I was reviewing one of our client's and I think I spotted some irregularities in the accounting. I want to show it to you, but I want to make sure no one else is around. This is some serious shit."

"What kind of irregularities," he asked a bit too quickly.

"I think someone may be stealing money from the company. Look, I don't want to say any more now. I'll come to your office at 6:00."

At 6:05 he knocked on Walter's office door and walked in before he was asked. For just a moment, before he made his stand, he looked around at the large, plush office all decked out in wood and leather and allowed himself to know this would be his office shortly. Then he got right too it.

"Alright, Chuck, let's hear it. Though I'm sure you simply made a mistake. There is no way someone in this company would be stealing. We're a security company, for Christ's sake."

Chuck dropped the stack of impressive looking papers on the desk and said "Walter, over the last year you have embezzled a minimum of $288K from 16 different client accounts and moved the money though Limassol, Cypress. I have detailed bank transactions proving this, as well as all five of your bank accounts that you are hiding it in. "

Now here was the surprise. Chuck expected Walter to rant and rave. To scream bloody murder and fire him and have to be convinced of how much trouble he was in, but he didn't. He simply deflated like a hot air balloon with a hole in it and sank into his chair.

"How did you find out," he asked, in a quiet voice.

"At your house the other night. It was too good to be true. There was too much money there. Too many toys. It sure wasn't coming from this place, and your wife grew up comfortable, but not rich. It had to be coming from somewhere, and I wanted to know where."

At the mention of Karen, Walter flinched a bit.

"I guess I knew it was only a matter of time. Who else have you told?"

"No one. Not yet, anyway," he said. Then he braced himself and launched into the trickiest part of this. "And I don't have to."

Walter looked up, startled but with hope in his voice. "You want a cut?" he asked.

"No, I want your job. Here is the way it is. You resign at the end of the week. Contact your connections at Lockley and Lockleys in London. They are looking for a new director of operations. The reason you are leaving this job is because you have always wanted to move to England. The pay will be lower there, but when you sell off all of your assets here you should come out of it ahead. They are going to think they won the lottery when you call and tell them you are interested in the job.

"You will then make it clear to anyone and everyone here that I am the only choice for your successor. You better sell it too, because if I don't get the job, you're fucked. And I mean that very literally. You're only other alternative is to go to jail for the rest of your life while thugs pass you around and shit in your mouth for fun."

There was a long silence while both men stared at each other, one broken, weighing his options, and the other triumphant. Finally Walter started nodding. "Karen always did love the English countryside. She would never even have to know. I could tell her it was a growing company... stake in our future..." he said quietly to himself.

"Two things," Chuck said. "First, it should go without saying, but there are two more copies of this information. One is with a friend, one is with my lawyer. If anything happens to me, they are instructed to deliver this information to the FBI. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said dismissively.

"Second, I better see confirmation of your end of this plan by the end of the week or the deal is off. I understand the transition will take a few weeks, but I better know my end is covered by the weekend, or we are going to have a problem."

"I get it. I'll find a way to make it happen. You don't have the experience, but I'll figure out a way."

"That's your problem, deal with it".

"You're a real son of a bitch," Walter said, not so much with anger or defiance in his voice, but with resignation. A powerful man, brought low in a matter of seconds. It wasn't enough. It didn't feel enough like victory. It was all too easy.

Chuck turned back around and stared at Walter for a very long moment. He thought about what Walter had said about his wife never having to know.

"There is one more thing that I want from you."

"I guess you want what's left of the money? I expected you to say that earlier."

"Tempting, but no. You can keep the money. I want your wife."

"What," Walter roared, as he rocketed from his chair. "You must be out of your fucking mind".

"Or your daughter. Honestly I don't care. Its 6:15 now. I'm going home. You will send one of them too me by 11:00 tonight or your life as you know it is over."

"You'll never lay a hand on my daughter!"

"Fine, your wife then. Explain it to her. Tell her how you will go to prison for the rest of your life. Explain how she and Karenna will be left with nothing after the lawyers and the FBI are done. No more tennis lessons, no more country club, no more fancy cars. She'll have to get a real job like the rest of us and she and your daughter will be living in some second rate apartment in a bad section of town, working shitty jobs and wondering what they ever did to deserve this. Or she can give up one night of her dignity and go back to living the life of a princess. Just over the pond."

"She'll never go for it," he said, shaking his head.

"Eleven o'clock. Tell her to dress pretty."

With that, chuck walked out of his soon to be new office and went home. That last part of the bargain he had never planned on, but it was such a good idea he was amazed he hadn't thought of it earlier. He stopped on the way to pick up some party favors, and decided to take a nap before company arrived.

By 10:45 that night Chuck Ferguson was dressed in his finest suit. It was white, and he had the sleeves pushed up like that guy from Miami Vice. He liked that show. He had stopped at a friend's house and purchased some coke. He had it cut and scraped into 8 lines on the glass and chrome coffee table. He took his first bump of the night and let the feeling wash over him. He shook a martini for himself and poured it out thinking "Just like James Bond" as he always did when he made this drink.

He turned off all the lights in the back of the house and watched the street. He wanted to make sure it was Walter's wife that showed up, and not Walter himself with a gun and a cute little plan. That's what he would do if it was him.

Eleven o'clock came and passed and no one showed. He was beginning to get nervous, and then he saw the headlights of a hunter green BMW 325s turn onto his street and knew he had won. He waited until he saw enough to know Karen was alone in the car, and then he turned on some music and adjusted the lighting. He wanted it mellow, not too bright and not too dark. Eric Carmen's Hungry Eyes played on his Hi Fi and he made a point of slowing his heart rate before he heard her knock on the door.

The knock came, faint, but somehow it also sounded proud to his ears. The line of coke must have started messing with him. Sometimes it made his thoughts come across as overly analytical, like books he read in a Russian literature class years ago.

He held the beat in his head. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand... he counted to let the suspense build. At twelve one thousand he opened the door and stared Karen Ferguson right in the eyes as she was moving to knock a second time.

And he was right; there was pride in her eyes. He could see it immediately. She was not the marshmallow southern belle he thought she was. This woman had some steel in her.

Interesting, he thought.

He looked her over from head to toe. The very first thing he noticed is that she has been crying. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks had streaked a little bit. She had obviously been crying on the way over here since she applied her makeup.

She was a stunning woman though. In her early 40s she was in impeccable physical shape. To his knowledge she had never had a job, which meant her real job had been raising their daughter and keeping herself pretty for her beloved husband. She had done a good job of both.

Walter must have told her what he said about dressing pretty. She was in a matching two piece top and skirt combination. It was white with large purple flowers on it. An inch of her tanned midsection was visible where they didn't quite meet. It looked more like something her daughter might wear, and maybe it was. Maybe she took it out of her closet. The skirt stopped at mid-thigh and her legs were bare. Most women didn't go around without stockings back then and it added to the look of hastiness in her appearance. Her long cascades of black curls were styled, but not well. Her makeup applied, but without a touch of sincerity. Their talk had obviously lasted long and she barely had enough time to get dressed and make it before the deadline.

There is really nothing to say in a situation like that, so he just stepped out of the way and let her walk in. He could see that her hands were shaking at her sides. The high heels she was wearing were just a little too high and she was stepping awkwardly. She didn't know what to say either, but looked around the space like it was going to be her doom.

"I'm having a drink. Do you want one?"

"No," she answered and laughed like it was the most preposterous question she had ever been asked. "Where do you want me to, you know, be?"

Her eyes were liquid, filled with hate and resignation and fear. Even though her lip quivered and her voice cracked, he would have bet anything she had promised herself she wouldn't let him see her cry. He would see about that.

"There's no need for that," he said with some warmth in his voice. "I have you all night. I don't intend to rush this."

A look of revulsion washed over her face.

"Have you ever done coke before," he asked pleasantly.

"Yes," she said in just over a whisper.

"What does it do to you?"

"It makes me talkative. More outgoing." She was practically speaking through clenched teeth.

"Good. I have some there on the coffee table. I want you to do two lines for me." He said this as he was in the process of shaking two more drinks. One for him and one for her.

"I don't think so, fella," she said defiantly. "I know what I have to do here tonight, but that doesn't mean you get to treat this like it's some fancy party. I'm not your date. Let's just get it over with."

He walked over to her and held out the drink he had made for her. She didn't take it, but he kept it outstretched staring at her, letting the tension build. Eventually she stomped her foot on the ground and took it from him. He smiled and retreated a step or two.

"Just getting it over with wouldn't be any fun for me. What did Walter tell you to get you over here?"

"He told me all of it," she said fiercely.

"Oh I doubt that very much."

"Why? He told me about the money he stole, and he told me he is going to go to prison if you turn him in. I have to come here and..." she hesitated "Fuck you if I want him to stay out of prison." She said it too loud and looked away. She was not used to cursing.

"Did you know about this before tonight?"

"No!" she said emphatically.

"Did he tell you about the affair?"

"What?" she asked genuinely shocked.

"So he didn't tell you everything, did he? So before you do anything with me, before you fuck me, as you said, you may as well sit down, have a drink and a snort of coke and listen to what I have to say."

"I'm not doing coke."

"I'm not telling you the story if you don't."

The two of them stood like that for a while and stared at each other, both resigned not to give in. Finally she looked part of the way away and asked "What affair?"

"Coke first," Chuck said in a frank voice that left no room for equivocation.

She gave in. She kneeled down in front of the coffee table and smoothed her skirt around her ass so she didn't show too much. She bent over the lines, took the little straw he had laid out for her and snorted a line. "Another," he said flatly. She looked at him and then back at the table, and did a second line. At most she weighed 115 pounds. She would be buzzed out of her mind in a few minutes.

"Now sit down on the couch, and have your drink and I will tell you what he didn't." He let her find her space on the couch, all the way to one side. He came to sit right next to her. Facing her he put his arm over the back of the sofa and she leaned to get as far away from him as propriety would allow. She took a sip of chilled vodka from her glass to cover her discomfort.

Then, without an ounce of remorse, he spun his web of bullshit.

"You know that actress he has been so happy we landed? Well the reason he is so happy is about it is not that she brought on a bunch of business, but that he has been sleeping with her every chance he gets. Why do you think he's been flying out to California so often?"

"Dana," she asked shocked. After the last few hours she was ready to believe anything about her husband. "I... I thought we were becoming friends."

"Karen, that's not the worst of it." She finished the drink and he could tell her eyes were looking a little glassy. He handed her his drink and took her empty glass and set it on the coffee table. "Did he tell you that he would be the only one that went to jail if you didn't come here?"

"Yes," she said.

"He lied to you. He worked the papers out to make it look like you were in on it the whole time. If the two of you are prosecuted together, it would mean a lesser sentence for him. Not much, but it would save him a few years. All of your assets would be seized and you would both be in prison."

"That bastard," she screamed. Genuine rage was written clearly on her face. "I can't believe he would do that to me!"

Her face was flushing from the coke, booze and the emotional roller coaster. Her top didn't show a lot of cleavage, but her flush was creeping down her neck and chest to be cut off by the shirt.

"When I confronted him with this tonight, he offered to send me Karenna. He told me she was mine for the taking. He said I could do whatever I wanted to her."