Topic: ab uno disce omnes (18+)

Dragomir Alexandrov

Date: 2011-03-07 05:27 EST
*Warning! Adult Themes, actions and settings. Language, and worse, you have been duly warned.*

"From One, Learn All."



May 15th, 2010. Malibu, California.

That was a day that I knew what I should have been doing. I should have been going to be sure that the caterers were doing their job. I should have been sliding into my tuxedo, and getting ready to stand at the end of the aisle, while my best friend got married. I should have made sure that the car I was loaning them was full of gas, and ready for their escape, their first taste or a life together, as a married couple. Instead I was too busy fucking the bride to be at her grandfather's house on the beach. I paid the Mexican that worked for the old man, a lot of money to insure our privacy, and we even took our time. She went so far as to wear the dress she was going to walk the final walk, any single woman took, when she thought that she found the right man.

Apparently, Rachael Lynn Williams was having second thoughts, all the while biting down on my belt to keep from screaming out in a heated passion.

I don't know if it was my looks, my skills, or the fact that I had more money than she could comprehend that excited her, or the excitement of one last fling on the day of that was helping take her over the edge. I don't know that I really cared.

It wasn't serious.

It wasn't love.

It was what I'd come to call a sport fuck and, it was the second one of the day. "Eric's a good guy, you know?" She asked me as I was busying with cleaning up.

"You telling me," I paused to look at her, "or yourself?"

"I don't know," her green eyes were filling with tears and I was trying not to roll mine.

"He loves you. Know that and you'll be fine," I sucked at trying to lie sometimes.

"What about us?" She asked, and I had to say I knew it was coming. "I mean..." I held up a hand to stop her.

"There is no," I motioned between her and I, "us. What happened here, happened. I don't know of anyone that's made a time machine, other than Doc Brown, and well, that's not life." She started to tear up again. "Seriously, did you think we were going to run out of here" Leave my best friend standing at an altar, alone?"

"I'll tell him," She said, lifting her chin in defiance.

"No, you won't." I said as I slid my arms into the jacket, and then tied my tie. "Get up, clean up. The guests are starting to arrive.?

I pulled open the door, and stepped out closing it behind me in time to hear a vase shatter against it. Apparently the Future Mrs. Eric Lewis was regretting her decision.

sibbie

Date: 2011-03-07 23:28 EST
Las Vegas, Nevada. September, 2009

It was dark in the room, the drapes pulled over the door leading out onto the balcony of the penthouse suite. Doors and windows locked, secured. The remnants of a dinner sat on the far table, half eaten and then forgotten. The floor was littered with evidence of the night's revelries. Champagne bottles, empty champagne flutes, rose petals, clothing, a flail, blindfold"

The evening had started out well for one Mr. Joseph Conlin, C.E.O. of Conlin Industry Financial. An awards ceremony at the Caesar's Palace, touting his efforts to build his business from the group up, wiping out the competition, bringing in sizeable profits. Rubbing elbows with the elite, being lauded and applauded. And then, the attractive brunette had come to him, her hand on his arm, a coy touch that hinted at much but appeared innocent to the guests and media hounds. Buxom, curvy figure, a winning smile. Her name was Annette, and she was offering her services for the evening.

Up to his room they had gone, when the party in his honor had started to die down. A late dinner, drinks, some idle chitchat. And then she'd descended on him like the embodied fury of some goddess. The clothes came off- underneath, leather and vinyl corset, garter, gloves, spiked and heeled boots. A dominatrix, just the kind he enjoyed- rough, powerful, making him pay. It had been so easy to submit, to say yes, to do as she commanded.

It was how he had come to be tied to the chair, naked, with only the weak light from the mini bar to illuminate the darkness about him. One moment she had been astride him, bouncing atop him, tearing at his lips with her teeth, and then she was gone, disappeared into the darkness of the suite. It had been a long time, his feet and hands bound to the legs and back of the chair, had lost feeling

"Annette??" he finally called, tentatively. No answer. The only sound in the entire place was the music playing from the stereo. It wasn't loud, but made it difficult to hear if she was moving about or not. Apprehension began to build in him. Something was wrong"

And then the light came, in the form of what seemed like a thousand tiny bursts of fireworks, imploding so brightly on his field of vision that he was forced to turn his head away. It took him a minute, blinking and grimacing to clear his eyes of the splotches dancing across it. His head turned back in time to see three very large men standing in a line before him, typical bodyguard stock, mute and glaring. "I demand to know what this is about!" he said, voice strong, the one he used in dealings with those lesser than himself. "Who sent you?" "No one 'sent' me," came a new voice, a feminine voice, the owner of which was nowhere to be seen. Annette?" But, no. The men stepped apart, opening a space in their mountain of muscle. From in between it came a woman, and it was most certainly not the dominatrix. She was of medium height, slender, white-blonde, beautiful. Dressed head to toe in black Gucci; dress, suit jacket, patent leather spike heels. She smiled at him, a camera held aloft in one hand, and the smile was at once coy, hard, and triumphant.

sibbie

Date: 2011-03-07 23:56 EST
Las Vegas, Nevada. September, 2009

"Who the hell are you?!" he growled.

The woman's smile only widened. "You know," she said, leaning on one leg, jutting her hip out slightly in a catty pose. "Your big, bad C.E.O voice isn't going to work with me, Conlin. And it doesn't sound very convincing, coming from a man tied naked to a chair." She smirked, eyes running down his form. "And believe me, you've nothing to be proud of." To their left was movement, and Annette stepped forward, moving over toward the woman. The blonde passed the camera off to one of the men with her, then held her other hand out. A roll of hundred dollar bills was deposited into her waiting palm. These she gave to Annette, then gave a head nod toward the door. "Thank you for the assistance, now get out." The woman took the cash and shoved it into her cleavage, preparing to depart.

On an afterthought, the blonde grasped her wrist, holding it tightly, pulling the whore closer. "And I don't want you opening your mouth unless it's work related. If you do, I'll find you. Understood?" The woman, eyes widened, nodded, and beat a hasty retreat. That finished, the blonde turned back to the man.

"Tell me what the **** this is about!" he finally lost his temper, even in the situation he was in. "You have no idea who you're dealing wi-"

"Correction," came her voice, sharp as a whip, stalking forward. "You have no idea who you are dealing with." She stopped before him, lowering her hands to either arm of the chair, face near his. "You know my father, Conlin. Padraig Callahan. You screwed him over and out of money that was his, when he helped your sorry *** cover up that little tax fraud venture of yours."

His eyes widened, and something like fear entered his eyes. "Callahan?" "Yes, and I'm here to collect on his behalf." She smiled again and straightened. "You can do that, can't you, Conlin?" "I don't have to do anything," he glared up at her, incensed at that mocking, superior look on her face. "That is business between your father and I, and I demand-"

Her hand suddenly struck out, sank into his hair, jerked his head back, and she was above him, and no longer smiling. "I don't think you're in any sort of position to be demanding anything from me," she intoned, voice hard, harsh. "We're playing by my rules, Conlin, and you're going to play nice. You got that?"

sibbie

Date: 2011-03-08 00:11 EST
Las Vegas, Nevada. September, 2009

"What do you want?" he asked, tone no longer commanding.

"It's simple," she said, not loosening her hold. "I'm going to untie one of your hands. You are going to write me a check for the full amount of what you stole from my father, plus interest. And you're going to add a thousand to it, because the money that just paid Annette to keep her mouth shut was out of my own pocket, and I need reimbursement. And then, I'm going to receive a check each month from you, for ten-thousand dollars, made out to Luxe Events. And you're going to give it gladly, with a ****ing smile." "You can't-"

"Oh, I can," she said, giving his head another yank hard enough to make a sound come from his mouth. "You're going to do it, because all those pretty lights were camera flashes. And I know one of the tenants of your business module is toward a wholesome image. I don't think your stockholders or investors would appreciate knowing you like to hire whores to beat you. And I'm sure as hell your wife wouldn't appreciate it. And I hear you have quite the prenuptial agreement. Half of your assets?" she clucked her tongue. "Bold move there, Johnny. You must really love her." "No! No, don't' don't." He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "I'll do whatever you want." "Thought you might," she said, releasing his hair with a shove to his head. She snapped her fingers and one of the men with her came forward, moving behind the chair and freeing one of Conlin's arms. He sucked in a breath as the blood rushed forward, raising said arm and flexing the hand. The big man stayed beside him, watching carefully.

Siobhan turned and went over to his discarded clothing, rifling through it until she came up with his checkbook. She brought it over and opened it to a fresh check. She offered him a pen and then held the checkbook out to him in her hands, like it was some expensive Rolex for him to inspect. Glaring, Conlin set pen to paper, and it looked like it hurt. He signed his name with an angry flourish. "There, damn it. Now let me go."

Siobhan straightened, inspecting the check to make sure all was in order. Finally satisfied, she ripped the check out and slid it into the pocket of her suit jacket, then tossed the checkbook aside like garbage. She had what she wanted.

"Come on, boys, let's clear out, " she said to her companions. They did as she said, preparing to depart, although they waited for her, in case she needed assistance. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Conlin," she said, nice and pleasant and professional, like a business lunch had just come to an end. "You can't just leave me here, like this!" he gasped, his face paled. "If I was found?"

Reaching into her other suit jacket, she pulled out a phone. She brought it over to him and sat it down on the arm of his chair. "This is a prepaid phone, untraceable. It has ten minutes on it. Call someone you trust." "W-wait!" he called, as she started to turn away. "How-" "Now, Mr. Conlin. You've built up an impressive business. I think you know how to work a cell phone. And I even helped, I freed one of your hands." She smiled. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you. I will look for your check in the mail next month. Don't be late." With one last self-satisfied look, she turned and disappeared into the gloom of the darkened room. Business, as usual, was booming.

Dragomir Alexandrov

Date: 2011-03-12 05:09 EST
Los Angeles, Ca. July, '10

Eric Lewis was my right hand man. Anything I needed, chances are he knew I needed it long before I did. I looked out the window at the pouring rain and my mood soured. The black car rolling up into the parking space in front of my club made it worse.

"He's here, Drago," Eric said, looking out the same window.

"Am I blind?" I asked, looking over at him, "Are we not at the same damned window?" I wasn't always this cranky, usually I was calmer, and more collected before a deal, and for some reason I was snapping at Eric in frustration.

He looked at me and sighed. "Why's he here anyway, Drago?"

"He's got to eat a yard of his own sh!t in public, before his respect falters. I want his business, I want his money. Then, I want to see him run through with a f*cking pike." I said, frowning.

I looked back at the box near me on the table. Simple, wooden, scarred and unlocked. I popped the lid open and there was an age worn, small onyx handled .41 Colt Thunderer looking back at me. Single action, pitted steel, in a word, beautiful. It was the whole reason this meeting was going down, as Andre hated me as much as I hated him. But the pistol, owned by someone he idolized, that shouldn't be out of it's resting place at the museum, made us friends for a couple of drinks, and a large sum of money.

Andre walked through the door of Twisted Dreams, looking like he owned my place. Tailored suit, high shine on his shoes, long hair tied neatly back and with two men. My bouncers met him, and stopped the pair, instructing them to wait at the bar, while Andre was to go to my office.

"Says here that his Father has a substantial collection of Pat Garrett's things, and even a Buntline from Kansas City." Eric was going through a folder of papers. "His own collection is smaller."

"Buntline" As in Ned?" I asked, that got my attention.

"The same," Eric nodded.

"Wyatt's?"

"No clue, but both collections have been obtained through illegal means."

The knock at the door cut us both off, and I pointed to the window. Eric walked to the door, after putting on his serious face, and tried to look intimidating.

For Eric, that was easy. He stood Six Foot Five, and was close to Three Hundred Pounds of Solid Muscle. If I hadn't grown up with him, even I might have found him intimidating.

Andre stepped in, and looked up at Eric, who stopped him for the pat down. Eric was thorough, as most guys wouldn't pat down another's junk, but he's saved me by doing that very thing to guys that wanted what I had.

"Drago," Andre said curtly, looking at me briefly before his eyes fell to the box. "Is that it?"

"William H. Bonney's .41," I nodded. "I would say it's nice to see you again, but I'd be lying."

"Still pissed at me for the thing in Atlantic City?" Andre was smiling, and looking at the box.

"You cheated me." I said.

"How else would I have won?" His smile never faded, and I wanted to knock his f*cking teeth down his throat. "Can I see it?" He gestured at the box.

"You have my deed?" I put my hand on the box, keeping it closed.

"You don't trust me, Drago?" He was still smiling, and it took all I had to keep my self control.

"No.? Simple word. Powerful, and commanding. Andre's face fell, and for the first time all day, I found myself smiling.

sibbie

Date: 2011-04-02 03:34 EST
March 14, 2011

High Desert Prison. Indian Springs, Nevada

I waited as the officer fiddled with the locks, arms folded against my chest tightly. I wasn't cold, but it was a habit, something I did when I was uncomfortable. Eventually the alarm-like sound of the electric powered doors sounded, and they opened, admitting us through. I walked behind the officer, my heels echoing on the hard surface. If it weren't necessary for him to escort me, I wouldn't have needed him, as often as I'd been here.

A few minutes of silence and I came to stop before the door of the room where they allowed inmates to receive visitors. It looked more like an interrogation room more than anything, stark, hospital hygienic. They most likely shouldn't have allowed me in at all, but the man I was there to visit was afforded certain luxuries that others were denied. Which went to show that jail didn't necessarily mean total loss of choice or comfort. It just depended on who you were.

The officer let me in and shut the door behind himself. I knew from experience that he would be taking up his position by the door, on the outside, instead of inside to observe the conversation like he should have done.

Seated behind the metal desk, on a matching metal chair, hands cuffed but resting folded atop the table, was a man in his mid-fifties. Tall, trim, with dark brown hair gone grey at the temples, and blue eyes. He wore a grey jumpsuit, but bathed, clean-shaven. He smiled at me, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Siobhan, my dear," he said, gesturing toward the free seat before him, chain clanking with the motion. "Sit."

"I'm fine, I'll stand," I said, remaining about two feet away from the table.

His eyes narrowed, that demanding look that could lead to violence, a look I was familiar with, filling them. "I said sit."

I sat.

His smile returned, so charming, so well meaning. So fake. "It was sweet of you to come visit me, your old, lonely father."

I stared at him a moment. Not too long, or he would be suspicious, and the last thing I needed was more difficulty from him. "I didn't really have a choice, Padraig."

It had been years since I'd called him "father". I might say "my father? when referring to him during conversation with someone else, but he had ceased to be a father figure a long, long while ago.

sibbie

Date: 2011-04-02 03:38 EST
March 14, 2011

High Desert Prison. Indian Springs, Nevada

"You always have choices," he corrected, watching me. "But you're a smart girl. You know which choices to make, which ones will keep you in the lifestyle you like, which ones will keep certain" unpleasantness from visiting you." Which meant I had to continue to do as he said in some capacity, or risk repercussions- and with him, that could mean a whole slew of different things. Some of which I'd had happen to me before, and I didn't fancy encountering them again. "Fine, I chose to come here, but I didn't want to. Is that better?" He nodded. "Much more clear. That's my girl." "Don't," I started, shaking my head. "Don't sta-"

"How is your mother?" he interrupted me, knowing how that would divert my attention, how unwelcome the question would be. My eyes narrowed, although I fought to keep my face blank. "You know I don't talk to her," I replied as evenly as I could. "That hasn't changed in the past eleven years. Grace does, but I-" Damn it. I hadn't meant to mention her, if I could have avoided it. Damn, damn, damn. He smiled widely at that. "And how is Gracie?" he queried, like this was normal. "Still the wallflower she always was, I bet." "No. Uh-uh. We're not doing this." I shook my head rapidly now. "You know the rules. I come here, I do what I can to help." I do what you want" "But no Grace." "What?" he gave me wide eyes that tried for innocent, and failed so hard they crashed and burned. "Can't I be concerned for my own daughter's welfare?" "Yeah, if you were a normal, decent father. But you're not. So shut up about her." "Well, I don't know if it's fair to spend time with you and not ask about your twin at all. She is family, after all. In fact, if you'd just allow contact, Gracie could join us, help-" "That's it," I said, getting to my feet. "I told you already, countless times. No. If you can't even do this one thing, I'm out of here-"

His hand, manacled as it was, shot out, closed about my wrist, tightly, jerked me forward so that I almost fell across the table. As it was I had to put my other hand flat on the cold surface to catch myself. "You will go when I say we are done," he said, voice low, almost a growl. I just stared at him for a moment. He was the only man who could have done this, treated me like this, and gotten away with it. I hated it. I hated him. "Don't mention her again," I finally said, slow, deliberate. His being in jail made me slightly more brave. I knew he couldn't really do anything. Plus, he needed me. It was his turn to be silent for a moment, but then spoke. "Fine. No more Grace." He released me then, pushing back to make me stumble, but I was ready this time, had planted my heels. So I was able to sit down without embarrassment, which is what he had been intending. "I don't have all day, Padraig. I've got to take care of some things in Vegas and get back to where I'm staying. And despite your infamy here in jail, they're not going to allow this audience to go on forever." "You're my daughter," he said, grinning in a manner I didn't much care for. "They won't begrudge me my time." "Well, then, let's try this," I said, leaning back, folding my hands in my lap. "I don't want to be here for any longer than I have to. So let's get this finished so I can go on about my life." "So defensive," he tsked, but then his serious, brisk, business demeanor was suddenly in place. "I need you to take care of a little task for me. Which by happenstance is to take place in Vegas." I sighed, just a touch. "Which casino do I get to go to?" It seemed clich", but it was surprising how much s**t went down in those places.

"The Wynn," was his response. "You remember Ethan Majors, don't you?"

Well, duh. I'd dated him. "Yeah, I remember him." "He's been helping me with a few?" he searched for the word he wanted. "Issues that have been occurring while I'm stuck in here." "Ok" You need me to relay a message?" "Yes, but not like you might be assuming. You see, he has been seeing a woman. Goes by the name of Sugar. Real name Jessalyn Borden." I snorted. Sugar. Really"

He ignored the snort, continued. "I have evidence that she's been running information of my doings to Jonathan Powers. I need that stopped.?

sibbie

Date: 2011-04-02 03:42 EST
March 14, 2011

High Desert Prison. Indian Springs, Nevada

Powers, Powers" My mind cataloged back through the myriad mobsters and gangsters, and I came up with a mental image quickly. Music producer, mogul, turned now to casino investment, but always involved in shifty s**t. Padraig had his hands in a lot of different avenues, so he was always trying to defend it, keep tabs on what machinations were going on around him. If Powers was being fed information, that was very bad for business indeed. "What sort of evidence do you have on her?"

"Recordings, pictures, testimony from a trusted source. Plenty. When you get to your condo, they will be waiting. I want you to take it when you go to see Ethan, if he needs some proof as to what Sugar has been up to." "You think he'll look at it?"

"He will," he nodded, clearly sure of it. "Ethan has a good thing going, working with me. He is safe, he has back up. He has grown in wealth, in power. He will want to protect that. And he plays by my rules, knows he has to, to keep his current prestige. He will not take the betrayal by Sugar well. It should be an easy task." "And if he doesn't listen" What then?"

He smiled, not pleasantly. "Take care of her."

I met the smile with a frown. "I don't want it to come to that." I really didn't. He meant I should harm her, or kill her, and although I'd played a part in that sort of thing before, I didn't particularly enjoy it. At times it was necessary, in this realm, and there had even been certain situations where I hadn't been sad to see the person die. But in general, it wasn't pleasant, and left feelings behind I didn't feel like dealing with. More s**t to shovel. I hadn't met Sugar, I didn't have an opinion on her, but I doubted she deserved death. She was doing what a lot of young people involved in the lifestyle did. Try to get more, gain the upper hand. She was undoubtedly idiotic for trying to sneak around someone like Padraig, but stupidity shouldn't necessarily be a death sentence. It could get you killed, but everyone made stupid decisions. Mine was half a mile long at this point. "You may not want it to "go there", but she has to be silenced. And if that is what it takes, you will do it." I pursed my lips, glaring, but he was right. I would do it. Even if I didn't physically commit the act, I'd orchestrate it. "Are we done?" His turn to purse lips, but he finally nodded. "Yes. For now." As soon as he spoke, I rose to my feet, ready to get the hell out. "I know you'll find out what happens, so I won't bother coming back until I have to." "Not even for a simple visit?" I just stared. "Goodbye, Padraig." I turned, moved toward the door, rapping on it with my knuckles. The guard opened it. "I love you, Siobhan," he called, tone dripping with mean-spirited mirth, sarcasm.

"F**k you," was my flat reply. I should have just ignored the comment, just walked out, but I couldn't help it. He didn't love anything or anyone except money, power, and his own comfort and welfare.

I was just another pawn, another person to do his bidding. Just another whore.

His mocking laughter followed me out of the door and down the hall.

Dragomir Alexandrov

Date: 2012-11-13 00:37 EST
I couldn't have been happier, as I watched Andre with a cold stare. "What do you mean no?" "I mean, I know what you've been doing, Andre."

Andre had been running guns to supply Mexican Militia, against a friend of mine named Jorge Garcia. Jorge had been losing money and men in the process, and as he was a friend, I intended to stop Andre's new, lucrative business.

"Pull your mules out of Jorge's territory." Andre shook his head. "I can't do that. I'm making a lot of money Drago. You of all people should appreciate that." He opened the box and pulled the .41 from within the dark confines and inspected it carefully. "Do you know of Mister Fisher?" "Never heard of him. Is he new in town?" Andre's attention was on the pistol, until I placed a larger box on my desk. "What is this?" Andre's attention shifted as easily as I thought it would. "This, actually these, are Mister King Fisher's pearl handled revolvers."

The silver shined brightly and the colors danced across the handles. I held one up to offer a side view of the Peacemaker in all it's etched glory, and Andre's attention held fast. "Mister Fisher was flamboyant, and notoriously violent. Some historians say he was deadlier than Wild Bill, and John Henry." "That's a bold claim." "Indeed." I picked up the second pistol before I spoke again. The silver plating was cool to the touch, the pearl only slightly less. "Mister Fisher even shot some of his own gang during a fight over money from robbing a stage." I pointed the pistol at Andre's driver who had joined us a few moments later after a thorough pat down by Eric. "Just pulled the trigger."

I squeezed the trigger and fired the old pistol, which sent lead into the chest of his hired man, and blood onto Andre's coat and face.

"What the fxck did you just do?" Andre knocked the chair he was in backward into the floor as he stood up. "You shot an unarmed man! He had a son!" "He had a son, you are right. He's only unarmed because Eric patted him down, just like he did with you." "You son of a bitch, you will pay." Andre pointed the .41 at my head and pulled the trigger. The look on his face went from cold, to confused.

"You study history about the weapons but don't know if one is loaded or not?" It was hard not to laugh. I moved the .45 over to point at Andre's chest. "Sit down." "Go to hell." "Sit down, now." My voice was cold. "What if I don't' What are you going to do' Buy yourself another sh!thole club and hide in it?" He started to laugh until my hand dropped with the pistol and I squeezed the trigger again, firing a round that punched through his knee cap and out the back of his leg. The laughter was cut into cries of pain, as he fell to the floor and clutched the ruined leg. "You just started a fxcking war, Russian!" "Actually, I've just ended one." I smiled and placed the .45 on the desk, next to its twin. "I've got the deed to the other spot, now you can still have the pistol, but I hope it keeps you happy." "I've got more than the pistol, I've got men that will own your ass!" Andre was angry and in pain. I knew if he wasn't injured, he would have been trying to fight both Eric and myself. "Eric?" I glance to my friend, and he nodded. Eric stepped closer to Andre, mindful of the pooled blood that spread across my floor, and held a small video camera toward him, before he opened the view screen and pressed play.

"The first scene you should recognize as your home, yes?" Andre nodded mutely. "And your young wife, or is that the mistress" I get them confused." The video was of a dark haired, woman who would have been beautiful if she hadn't put up such a fight. Her mouth was covered with duct tape, and her left eye was swollen shut. "I heard she was a fighter, so which is she?" "Clarissa, my accountant." He answered me with the first sound of defeat. "Oh that's right, because Angela is in the Bahamas." I snapped my fingers as if I just remembered. "Well, that isn't water being poured over Clarissa, it is aviation fuel, from your hangar." "What do you want?" "This video is about an hour old." "What do you want?" His voice was weak as he stared at the screen. Grey eyes full of anger, watched my guy with the road flare as he waved it back and forth. "All of it." I stated. "All of what?" His eyes darted to my face. "Your properties, your connections, and whatever guys don't want to work for me can walk. No harm, no foul." I smiled at him as the scowl spread, then placed my cell phone next to the pistols. "One call saves her life, if you agree to my terms." "My wife and daughter are due back tonight...they will find out everything." "I suppose they will want to move out, and take half of your assets then." "Don't kill her, call your man...please." I picked up the phone and spoke in Russian, explaining to my man the situation. "There it is done. You will be on a commercial flight tonight, I've got it recorded that all of your holdings are now mine. The bank will take care of stocks, and I've already retrieved your account information from your home for the Swiss bank, and the one in Grand Cayman." "You cheated me," He smiled through the pain. "How else would I have won?" I smiled when his face fell again. "Eric, box up the pistol and show Mister Cross to a cab."

Eric nodded and helped Andre to his feet. I watched them, as I knew it would be the last time I ever saw him again. Andre glanced at me, then leaned on Eric as they left my office. I picked up my cell phone again, and actually made the call.

"His wife and daughter are due back in town tonight, on the Six Fifteen from Newark. Wait until they are home, plant the evidence, and burn it down. No one ever cheats me.?