Not Quite a White Night B. 02

"Whump... crash!"

6:47 Friday Morning.

The explosion signaled the expected visit of Senorita Aseina Sicaria (Miss Assassin Hitwoman), the deadly wind from the south, who cut off lives without warning. Notice, I did not say "innocent" lives; these were very successful lawyers.

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Recap: I start with a quick recap of the relevant material from Book 1. Go directly to Chapter 32 if you don't need it. Go directly to chapter 36 if you are looking for the sex.

Chapters 36, 37, and 39 below have sex involving the Prince and his various house guests. The first two involve group activities, while in 39 the action is serial.

The activities all take place on a single, but critical, day.

Chapter 32. Sicaria, The Wind Of Change

A deadly stealth weapon (Senorita Tormenta, Vientos De Cambio) strikes, but the targeting is not quite what was paid for.

Chapter 33. Preaching To A Visitor

The inevitable aftermath, the police are always minutes away. Lot [sic] to talk about.

Chapter 34. Escape Adventures

Avoiding some inevitable very embarrassing questions.

Chapter 35. Arrivals At The Mansion

Two whores for the weekend? It hardly seems like a balanced diet.

Chapter 36. Mattress Relay - Round 1

What some women need.

Chapter 37. Mattress Relay - Round 2

What more women need.

Chapter 38. Later Friday Evening

Touching base and making plans.

Chapter 39. Night Whores

Weary lies the head... but the pillows are very friendly. The Prince takes his rest in two beds.

The Future

The Prince will return next year. Book 3 centers on the trip to South America for Tango's wedding. Some other important events await the Prince before, during, and after his return to his two domains he was born to unite. In the interim there will be a few shorter stories focused on the origins of some people and places close to the Prince.

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Recap from Book 1

Darnel had set 4 Mexican Sicario - fanatic teenage boys who were successful killers - to assassinate me "rapido" on the streets of LA. Then, as insurance, the asshole paid a great deal of money to enlist a Sicaria - a deadly young female assassin with the visage of a poor child - who worked slowly to make sure the job was done.

I had captured the four. Two of them died horrible deaths necklaced Mandela-style at my hands; they shot at me and I take such things personally. But the poor-child female was much trickier; she was effectively invisible. Since I could not stop her attack the best I could do was give her a slight adjustment in her target. She didn't have a picture of me, she was hunting strictly based on incomplete license plate data, so I used my two surviving captives to send her "adjusted" target info, aiming her at the license plates of two asshole lawyers from my firm who were regular degrading ordeals for the mouth whores I favored.

From where I was sitting it worked like Fourth-of-July fireworks a week early. I underestimated how well it would work out.

The two partners I targeted for the Mexican Sicaria were "Reverend" Frank Church and Will Tyson. Both of them were real greedy assholes with poor personal hygiene (that's still a capital crime in LA, isn't it?) who were not in my corner in terms of my quick advance to partnership next year. Also, Abril was less interested in sleeping with these repulsive whales after I made partner. She considered them "too disgusting to get naked for." As the last straw, they both did terrible, disgusting things to Resha when she serviced them. Something needed to be done.

My "target adjustment" was to break into our Car Czar's office where the paperwork was waiting for both partners to each get a new car, and new plates for those cars. They both favored larger German sedans purchased at end-of-year prices. It was a moment's work to align the requested new plates to match the target data I had sent to the Sicaria. The little Mexican darling's weapon of choice is a pound of military-grade high explosive and a sophisticated detonator. She was slow, but very unlikely to miss. Anyone else in the car was just luck; good or bad luck depending on your viewpoint.

While Judge Stern was the firm's legitimate expert on lawyer responsibility and ethical standards, Frank Church was our self-proclaimed authority on righteous and virtuous conduct. This hypocrite somehow managed to find justification to routinely sleep with his daughters and exchange them so he could sleep with the wives of his partners. Perhaps he led a prayer or did a Bible reading with the daughters before poking them with the divine flesh scepter that made them. I knew he was the bastard inbred son/grandson of a firebrand fundamentalist preacher, and was a virulent anti-Catholic, so he was opposed to Abril based on her grievous crime of suspected guilt by association with papists. (She claimed to be from Spain.)

Frank Church justified screwing his daughters by quoting an example in the Bible. (Lot's daughters made sons with their drunken father after Sodom, after his wife got salty. The sons/grandsons of Lot founded nations.) He justified whoring the daughters out to his partners during the wife exchange with an earlier passage. (When two beautiful men visited Lot's house in Sodom the crowd demanded that he send them out so those in the crowd might "know" the men Sodom-style. Lot offered to send out his virgin daughters instead, but it was not that type of crowd.) Lot was a prophet and a man of God.

A bad lawyer can justify ANY act based on something in the Bible.

Frank Church's behavior was accepted by the partners because he made them money, plus the daughters were hot. His current wife was by far the least attractive in the group, so substituting the hot daughters was judged to be a good deed by his fellows.

The other partners who brought their "daughters" to social events to stand in for their older, less attractive wives sleeping with other partners, were either 1) using the grown daughters of their second wife, or 2) a daughter-in-law who was VERY ambitious and extremely bad, or 3) an "adopted" daughter/surrogate, or 4) in the very few cases where a biological daughter was involved, the daughter did not sleep with her father, she just enjoyed her father's law partners like blind dates with an automatic "score" overnight. Managing partner David Barnes fit this fourth category - until very recently.

However, only the bastard Church was open about sleeping with both girls he had fathered, and with whoring them out by sending his darlings to bed games with other partners. I suppose much worse behavior ran in his family. Church's value to the firm was his expertise on faith-based issues plus a lot of very profitable contacts among our religious clients. Also, I must say it again, his naughty daughters are hot. For top-tier greedy lawyers, the most personal profit trumps any and all moral or ethical distinctions.

The other target I designated was Will Tyson; at over 300 pounds (Church was 250) Will was the "big guy" in the firm. He had a reputation as a real pig in bed. He was a worthy target purely for Abril's benefit, so she would not have to suffer under his weighty attentions. In terms of my partnership, he was in favor of it, his only concerns were about the speed of my advancement. Plus he thought the firm should have fewer partners with each getting a bigger slice of the pie. Will was always pre-disposed toward larger slices of pie. No doubt, now his wish of fewer partners would come to pass.

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Chapter 32. Sicaria, The Wind Of Change

June 27, 2008.

"Whump... crash!"

6:47 Friday Morning.

The explosion signaled the expected visit of Senorita Aseina Sicaria, the deadly wind from the south, who cut off lives without warning. Notice, I did not say "innocent" lives; these were very successful lawyers.

It was a memorable sound so I replayed it in my mind.

"Whump... crash!"

There were actually two bombs at the same instant, which distorted the sound. Hearing it from my office it did not sound that terrible.

I suspect that I was the only one in the building who recognized the sound from personal experience; the distinctive sound of a plastique explosive launching a car off the ground - usually with a half roll, since the explosive is rarely on the centerline - then dropping it on concrete. Secondaries like the gas tank exploding and screams of the soon-to-be-dead would follow, but they would not be so loud, so in my office I might not hear my least-favorite colleagues burn. Still, I am sure the TV helicopter fleet was en-route already, dead lawyers meant film at 11, they had to feed the TV News beast. Hurry! Coverage would go national if they caught another explosion on film!

The two distinct explosions took place at the same instant. One was right next to the building while the other was some distance away, at the end of the parking lot so there was a micro-delay. The sound waves overlapped and distorted, making them slightly harder to read.

That plastique was bought and paid for by Darnel specifically to kill me. The fool did not know who I was or what I looked like, but he was mad and he paid. He paid plenty to an assassin who was rumored to look like a poor, underaged, underfed, underdressed Mexican female, somebody who could go anywhere without being noticed by authorities. Perverts would lock in on her with their perv-radar and offer to help, hoping for a fun time - that was her plan. Those who made the mistake of picking her up would take her to their squalid shack, to feed her, and then plan to do terrible things to her helpless body in the dark of night, once they had worked up what was necessary. The joke was on them when they woke up from an unexpected post-meal nap to find things cut... above and below. Before dawn the girl moved on to her next entertainment.

The key to this assassin dealing with perverts was the ceramic inlays - like the stuff used in ceramic knives - applied to her teeth and nails. How does the song by Bush go: "nothing hurts like your mouth... mouth... mouth." Add to that a knowledge of blood vessels near the surface she was always armed and lethal.

The explosions marked another expensive failure for Darnel and a big win-win for me.

It gave me something to think about. Not the big questions, about life and what came after, but the little personal details. I had to wonder, did the killer split her original pound of explosive in half, or did she get a second pound someplace? Also, had any debris gotten my car dirty? I made a point to park well away from the targets, but an explosion under the car that powerful might send some debris far enough to dirty my wheels. These are the type of questions a heartless criminal psychopath wonders about.

I did not wonder who got caught in the blasts because I thought that was all on me. In part I considered myself as an avenging angel on Resha's behalf. Some of my fellows at the firm were too disgusting for my taste, taking unseemly advantage of our poorest, the lowest pleasure on the totem pole, the dark-skinned service girl. When I diverted the explosives intended for me I had to send them someplace, so I did Resha the favor of targeting her two least favorite partners. Also Abril's. Actually I didn't like them either.

I owed Sara, our former Israeli interrogator who was essential to the re-targeting, a big reward for her part.

Car alarms and sirens followed, I hoped Chako got away clean. He was supposed to beat feet as soon as he heard the boom, with no looking back; seeing was the camera's job.

I was tempted to leave, but that would be noted, so I figured I was stuck for at least another hour. I had the newly re-engined Marauder today, my car alarm was silent as it was set to ignore earthquakes and nearby explosions.

If I was stuck in my office the two choices I had were to put on headphones or walk down to the lobby, any other action would draw extra questions when the flatfoots arrived. So I slipped on headphones, dialed playlist with a large dose of Fleetwood Mac - starting with the sweet song that goes "Tell me lies..." and went back to work.

They say there is always work - billable hours in lawyer talk - for the wicked.

After a few minutes I remembered something really important. I sent a quick email telling the auto shop guys that Vicky was going dark blue again. Vamos! Thanks to the lawyers going to pieces and now being bar-b-cued in plastic and gasoline outside I could go back to my favorite color for my favorite car. Yes! Life was good.

About seventy minutes later I was rocking to the Thompson Twins song "Lies" when the cop walked in. Do you see the theme for this playlist? Given my profession, I had to be in the correct state of mind for this talk.

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Chapter 33. Preaching To A Visitor

8:16 Friday Morning

About 15 minutes after the explosion there was a building-wide announcement (intercom and a scroll on the computer) that the police had arrived; they were asking us to make ourselves available to them. That was code, all the lawyers and their PA's knew to conceal confidential data while the snoopy cops were around; "in plain sight" you know. However, I wondered about the service girls, so I shot a text to Barnes. He texted back "good catch, in the excitement I forgot them." He put Judge Stern on hiding our pet whores.

Having a cop walk in while a service girl was doing her job would be very bad.

Per standard procedure the cops went through the building, starting at the bottom and working upward (to cut off escape), asking questions and being nosy because it is their job and their natural inclination. (Good nosy people = cop;, bad nosy people = Hollywood reporter.) The detectives were each accompanied by a senior partner, so beyond the details of confirming who was where, when, it was really an exercise in frustration for them.

When they got to me I claimed I had not heard the explosion because my headphones, Sennheiser 290 "Silverbacks," had great noise isolation; they are used by professional DJs you know. The cop declined my offer to try them with some nasty Billy Idol - you can even hear the sneer.

I recalled that the building shook, but this is Southern California so really, who notices? When the "big one" comes it will be too late, and before then it really does not matter.

I said, "If the Lord in His Wisdom decides His earth should swallow the latter day Sodom," (I pointed to Hollywood - there is a big sign so all know where the End will Start), "there is not much I could do about it, is there? Look out the window? I don't think so, I really don't look good as a pillar of salt. No thank you. Nightly prayer has my destination penciled in as long as I don't screw it up at the last minute. You should consider it. Do you have a Bible by your bed? Can I give you one?" I held up a copy I keep in my desk, you'd be surprised at how often I use the line. "We could both be saved. You know, anything short of His Big Finale is just selling ads on the news and chat shows. Look, there are Satan's agents now." I pointed to a helicopter with my Bible, then had a sudden inspiration. "Care to read with me? What applies... How about..."

The offer to read got the usual response, the cop said "I'm on duty," like I was pouring him a scotch, then gave up on the rest of his questions. I have noticed that LA's finest detectives do that as soon as you bring religion shaded with a touch of zeal and/or insanity into your answers. Asking if he has a Bible is the kicker.

Once I encountered a cop who actually carried around a pocket edition Bible, so naturally I had to ask about his favorite reading. That worked too; after we trading readings for a half hour (his captain called twice) he decided I was his sort of inspired soul. So I didn't need a ticket for running a red light at 80 MPH. I was 15 at the time.

People can surprise you.

In general, a cop might actually agree with some of what is written, but that would not do for the department built on Joe Friday's "just the facts" example.

I did learn some things in the visit. In addition to the late lawyers Church and Tyson, Bill Everson and Tom Harding were also killed while sitting in the cars, and Jimmy Buckmeister was in critical condition at the hospital; he was getting into the car next to the building when Church started the car. The cops were confused about why two cars went up so close together; law enforcement's current working theory was that Bill Everson, who was formerly a member of the DA's office, was the target.

The 5 lawyers were going to a breakfast meeting with a client. It was a last minute thing, nobody knew ahead of time about it or who would travel. That made it easy for the cops to figure it was targeted at law enforcement, even if the theory was wildly improbably and impractical. Cops think that way.

The guys were taking the two new cars so they had somebody to talk to during the drive. This is an ethical point: driving time is not billable, but time spent consulting with other lawyers, whether in a car or eating a $200 breakfast with a client, must be billed by all concerned. Rich lawyers think that way, poor lawyers don't. See the connection?

By the time they got to me most of the cars left in the parking lot were inspected and cleared. I was free to go home once the Marauder was checked. Soon.

Samantha had arrived on site, weaving her spell talking to the cops about video. Barnes was right at her shoulder every moment. The cops could not have any tapes of the actual explosion or events leading up to them because the law firm didn't have any - the firm had no cameras in the lot, they had turned down Sam's proposals for cameras twice. Barnes had to show he felt bad about that.

Less than a week after Sam was hired, she presented a request for complete outside video coverage. As expected, the penny-pinching assholes partners twice rejected the proposal on the grounds of "too expense" and "a potential violation of client privacy" because there would be pictures of the clients, potential clients, witnesses and experts that might be subpoenaed, even if we do no trial work. I knew that would happen, but I wanted to cement Sam's reputation for foresight and judgement because I knew this moment was coming. Thanks Darnel.

Today, with 4.5 senior partners blown into small pieces on their own property, the partners who rejected the camera proposal all stained their tightie whities, so they smelled as bad as they felt. Plus they looked like fools who could not smell their own shit in front of the cops.

Meanwhile, Sam looked like a seeress-witch, a female Noah trying to lead the perpetually obstinate to safety and salvation. It was not an image the partners liked, but it strongly reinforced what I said about how lawyers were unsuited to deciding things outside of their narrow expertise.

I would view my private tapes of the lot later, hopefully to get a private look up Senorita Calamity's skirt.

The removal of all five partners was good news for me, I was sure to be elevated as a partner next January 2, or earlier if they speeded the process up. However, since I was not yet married, even on an emergency basis they were unlikely to do anything before my marriage ceremony to Abril in September or October. So I would still be free to travel to South America in mid-July.

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Chapter 34. Escape Adventures

9:05 Friday Morning

When I checked back after my cop interview I learned that Judge Stern had secured all the service girls (there were 5 on duty) in the top floor meeting room where he questioned them... well, like a Judge. None of them saw anything, so Stern could justify keeping them from the police. After all, the cops would ask silly questions the firm would not want answered, starting with "What do you do here?" and "Whose knees were you kneeling between?" Their contracts said that they modeled but since they worked naked, from their knees, with lawyer cocks in their mouths, by law they were prostitutes.