The Helicopter
by BeBopper99
Author's Forward:
This is my second story. There are no American Football references to mystify our European readers. However, there are Franco-American characters who have to deal with serious issues. Be forewarned, there are burnings and violence. This story contains no cucks, man-crying, vomiting, running away, and other LW stereotypical behavior. Story rights are reserved to the author.
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Aimee was upstairs listening to rap music as she got ready for her date. Of course, there two things wrong with with that sentence.
First, rap is crap from my view point. I believe that rap crap was invented so that people with no musical talent whatsoever could become music stars. Obviously, a sign of poor parenting. Just give me Classics anytime.
Second, the young woman upstairs is married and going on her first late night date with Remington Silversmith, her coworker and boss's son. She seemed to be blissfully unaware of who was waiting for her downstairs.
How did I know what she was up to? Very simple actually.
My clan is very rich. We started as middle income minor nobility in France. The Crusades and the Silk Road made us quite wealthy. We have been bankers, businessmen, mercenaries, and soldiers. The main family fortune was stored in Switzerland alongside those soldier-priests with the red cross on a white field. There are smaller amounts in the Caymans, America, and Argentina. Being rich attracts leeches and con-men, hence the two paid informants at Aimee's workplace.
When I heard her turn-off that damn crap, I stood up to turn off the lights in the living room and the front porch. I moved a few feet away from the corner of the stairs. The door bell rang which caused her to descend the stairs quickly indicative of Aimee's enthusiasm. She is a joyous, fun, peppy person which made her a natural for cheerleading in high school and college.
Aimee turned the corner and came to abrupt halt. Her luminous smile disappeared to be replaced by looks of astonishment followed by fear. The 24-year old, 5'4" girl was dressed in very expensive and revealing black dress, black nylons, 5" ankle-strap high heels, and very well-done styled hair. Total cost of her outfit was $1,839. She had paid for it with her trust fund.
She stood there with her mouth agape while I sprayed the 'Scarlet A' on her black dress. That was a waste of over a thousand dollars. I am sure she understood the gesture as she did love classical literature. She graduated from university with majors in Business and Literature. There was knock on the door.
"Your date Remington Silversmith is here, Mrs. Aimee Decorentin. Aren't you going to get the door?"
Aimee turned around and ran back up the stairs while saying "NOOO!" in a loud shriek.
Now it was time to deal with the pretentious, lying, narcissistic garbage at the door. My grandfather's M1911A1 pistol from his WW2 days was tucked into my belt. I pulled my leather gloves on. Time for this former Legion Etrangere member and sometime mercenary to go to work.
I yanked the door open. My left grabbed the scumbag by his tie, and my right fist shattered his nose. Another punch darkened his left eye, while the third and fourth punches took out a tooth and inflicted a hairline fracture of his jaw. My knee impacted his crotch, and he slumped to the ground moaning in pain.
I knelt down and grabbed him by his puffy hairdo. I pulled a family heirloom which was a 10" Bowie knife. It has been in use since 1918 when my grandfather's brother carried it as a Devil Dog. I moved the tip to within an inch of his good eye.
"Okay Monsieur Shit Bird, let me enlighten you as what just happened. I have known about your despicable seduction of Aimee since the beginning. The hand-holding and kisses during lunches and dinners. At the nightclub last Saturday during the so-called Girl's Night Out, you and Aimee were observed kissing, feeling each other up, and dirty-dancing. The only reason why you two didn't have sex was because of that inconvenient phone call from her sick mother. Are you following me so far, Petit Remy the douche-bag?"
I know he insisted everyone call Remington, so it must have been humiliating for him to nod and moan out a yes answer.
"Too bad for you that you unwittingly wandered into a family of businessmen, mercenaries, and soldiers that go back a thousand years. So here's how this is going to go down. I am afraid that the air around here could have a fatal effect on your health. I mean look at you now, all bleeding and pissing on Aimee's doorstep. So, you are going to tell daddy that you want a transfer out of the Continental United States. I want you out-of-town in 48 hours. If you go to the cops, you won't prove a thing, and plus our clan will come looking for you to finish the job. Oh, and as you know, we're 22 times wealthier than your family, so we can make it happen."
I moved the Bowie Knife closer.
"Remy, if you ever come near Aimee ever again, I will gut you like a fish. You understand what I'm telling you, little boy? Be sure you address me as Sir or Count Andre!"