Vengeance a Flash Story

"No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)

Once again I find myself in the position of being a mere scribe, presenting a story which I purchased with three very expensive drinks at an airport bar.

I never met the protagonist before nor do I know his real name. There was something in his eye that said not to ask too many questions. I discretely hit the record button on my phone. When I was safely on an airplane flying in the opposite direction I opened my laptop and added structure and punctuation to words that were torn from his very soul. I am the omnipotent narrator, not the judge of morality. The protagonist swears the story is true. I will leave that to the reader to decide. All names and places have been changed.

Constructive criticism is always welcome. Ad hominem attacks will, of course, be deleted.

If you enjoy this missive I encourage you to read my earlier works. Thank you.

*****

I once heard a man describe his wife as "the moment I saw her I wanted to fuck her brains out. The moment she spoke I knew someone had beat me to it." That was my Samantha, as stupid as she was beautiful.

I met Sam when she was being fired for crashing my client's computer network by downloading a cute kitty video. Unfortunately said kitty was actually a vicious malware lioness in disguise.

She looked like she needed a friend so I offered to carry the box containing her personal property as the head of security escorted her off the premises. Okay, I admit I thought I would have no trouble getting into her panties if I befriended her. I soon learned she never wore any under her short skirts..

Fast forward six months. Her childlike simplicity and unquenchable appetite for sex won me over and I asked her to move in with me. Six months later we were married.

The night before our wedding I took her arms and said, "I will be your champion, slaying dragons and breaching castles for your amusement. I pledge my eternal love and devotion." All I asked, demanded, from her was absolute fidelity. "If you ever so much as kiss another man in a romantic way our marriage is over. You will not get a second chance. No, I will destroy you and whoever was foolish enough to incur my wrath."

"I love you and would never do that, " Sam swore.

The first two years of our marriage were so incredible all our friends were jealous. Sam excelled as a spoiled wife. She spent her days exercising or being pampered at the spa. We ate dinner out almost every night in Chicago's finest restaurants. I draped her magnificent body in designer clothes, suitably ornamented in the finest jewelry. I loved showing her off.

Then one day she announced she was bored and wanted to get a job. Try as I might I couldn't shake her determination. I even offered to stake her to her own business, a high end boutique...anything she wanted.

"No, I want to do this on my own."

Much later I learned two divorced "friends" from the health club had sowed the seeds of discontent in my wife. These bitter women had lost their husbands to younger women and took a perverted joy in ruining happy marriages. Week after week they worked on Sam until they convinced her she was not being appreciated by me and the key to her freedom was getting a job so she would have her own money.

So Sam set off into the workforce in search of a position that would "complete her." Now a beautiful woman wearing a $500 dress has no problem getting an interview. Her problem came when they asked her hard questions like, "What office skills do you possess?"

After three months she had been on dozens of interviews however no one had so much as called her back to say sorry, we don't have a position for your unique skill set. At least that's what the form letter I send out to unqualified losers says.

Then one afternoon she came home so excited she could barely speak. She had been hired as a personal assistant.

I asked her a few easy questions, like who hired you and what are your job responsibilities. Sam forgot the company's name but was sure she could find it again. The only thing she remembered was the position involved travel.

"With whom?" I asked.

She rummaged through her $1,000 Gucci bag and found a business card. "There," she announced, "I'll be working for Andrew V. Carter & Associates.

The card was a cheap rectangle of white card stock with black ink...no color, no graphic. Just Andrew V. Carter. President, CEO and a phone number.

What a cheap asshole, I thought.

"And what exactly does Andrew V. Carter & Associates do?"

"It has something to do with importing, or was it exporting, things."

I took my wife's in my arms and looked her square in the eyes, "Samantha, I have a bad feeling about this. Let me check him out."

That led to our first ever knockdown, drag out argument. "You don't want me to succeed. You only want me to hang on your arm like a Barbie doll."

Truth be told that was really all she was qualified to do.

Sam was stubborn as a jack ass. She dug in her heels and refused to listen to anything I had to say. She squared her jaw and glared at me. I knew that look meant she would take a beating rather than admit she was wrong.It tore my heart but I said, "I hope it's not too late when you open your eyes to the truth."

I discretely had my investigators launch a full investigation of Carter. On Sunday evening I received an e-mail with a full dossier. Carter was a two bit importer of knock off products which they sold to dollar stores. A significant portion of their business was generated at regional trade shows which is where Sam came in. The present sales staff was all male, age fifty plus.

Sales were way down as Chinese manufactures were cutting out the middle men, jobbers as they were known in the trade, and selling direct. With a big trade show coming up in New York Cater had met with his sales staff to brainstorm a solution. The future of the company hung on this show.

The idea had been floated that the easiest way to increase sales was to have a beautiful woman is a short, make that very short skirt, and revealing blouse man the booth. Sam had a closet full of outfits which met the uniform requirements. It was obvious Carter didn't want a personal assistant, he wanted a cock magnet.

Things were pretty quiet Sunday. On Monday morning Sam was dressed to the nines. I complimented her and offered to drive her to work. She surprised me and said yes. I surprised her with an Italian leather briefcase. Sam accepted my gift with, "I'm going to do you proud."

Carter's warehouse had definitely seen it's better days. It was a rambling three story building which, if it ever knew paint, it was only a nodding acquaintance at best and a long time ago at that. Even the sign was faded.

Sam looked nervous as she surveyed the ramshackle building. After a couple minutes she leaned towards me and planted a kiss on my lips...an act which she had denied me since Friday.

"I guess this is it."

"I guess it is. I'll pick you up at five."

She kissed me again and said, "I love you."

"I love you too," I responded.

That day dragged on forever. I was waiting at the end of the block for the clock to flash 5:00. When it did I pulled up in front of the main entrance.

A score of men wearing cheap suits walked out in a gaggle. That must be the sales force I thought.

A few minutes later a handful of older women left. All were dressed for working in a warehouse.

I waited ten minutes before I entered the lobby. I could hear Sam laughing in the distance. I spied a bell on the receptionist's desk and rang it with vigor. My wife called out, "I'll be right out."

The moment I met her new boss I immediately recognized him as a lothario. The bastard didn't even extend his hand to shake mine; he just gave me a smarmy smile.

The moment we pulled away I warned my wife, "He watched you like a lion stalking a gazelle."

"Don't be silly, he's just a good salesman...always on."

"Good salesman my ass. The man wholesales knock-offs made by slave labor. He, like his products, appeals to the dregs of civilization."

Sam didn't speak again until I pulled up at one of our favorite restaurants.

Tuesday morning Sam again dressed like she was going to a dance. When I asked her why she was so dressed up to work in a dilapidated warehouse she announced she knew how to get to work and would be driving herself. She walked out without answering my question or kissing me goodbye. That evening she came home excited after a day learning their product line. She even had a bag full of junk. I did my best to feign interest as she described each.

Three bad things happened the second week. Sam, still overdressing, began going to lunch with Carter so they could discuss the product line. She also started to work late with him to prepare for the New York trade show. The last straw was she stopped answering my phone when he calls because they were too busy with work.

The shit hit the fan on Thursday when Sam came home a few minutes before ten. I gave her an ultimatum...quit the job or else.

"Don't be such a drama queen...it's just a training period. After the trade show things will settle down."

I begged her to quit and again offered to stake her to her own business...a store in the mall...anything she wanted.

Again she demanded I let her succeed on her own.

On Friday Sam ignored ten phone calls and didn't get home until after 11. I was waiting at the door when she came in. "Is there a problem with your phone?"

Sam instantly became a raging bitch because I doesn't trust her. "I would never stand in your way if you got a big career opportunity."

"Big career opportunity! You're making minimum wage...the jewelry you have on are worth more that his whole business."

Sam spit venom with her response, "Why don't you trust me!"

"I trust you...I don't trust Carter. I have seen far too many predators like him. Besides, what exactly are your qualifications for this job other than being beautiful? Is there a reason why you're dressing like a model to learn about a 99 cent piece of plastic in a filthy warehouse?"

The shit really hit the fan." We have a three day long trade convention in New York next week and I'm going whether you like it or not. Get used to it."

"Then get used to living alone because if I goes like I'm afraid it will I won't be here when you return. Our marriage will be over."

"I can't believe you said that...you and I should be planning how we'll spend my paycheck check...we could save it for a vacation to Europe...Hawaii. Anywhere you want."

"Europe! Hawaii! Are you high? You're making $13 an hour...before taxes! You couldn't even afford to buy us a steak dinner with your paycheck."

Sam stormed out of the room and locked herself in the bathroom. We did not speak all weekend.

On Monday morning a limousine picked her up. I kissed her one last time and said, "You've made your choice. I hope you can live with it." She didn't respond.

It took some doing but I had arranged for a private investigator to get the seat across from her and Carter on the flight east. The cheap bastard flew coach. My man guaranteed he would be able to provide audio and video of their entire trip.

I was foolish enough to have expected a phone call from Sam to say they had arrived safely instead I heard from my PI. "They were giddy as school girls who thought they were getting away with something. Carter kept putting his hand on her thigh. She protested the first few time but finally let him touch her." I damn near smashed my phone.

He then said he would be handing off surveillance to an associate so they don't recognize him.

I had a hell of a time not calling Sam and telling her I knew what they were doing. But that hadn't worked before. So I invested my time in planning phase two of my plan.

That evening I received a detailed text from my PI. They spent most of the day in business related functions. Unfortunately at six they went to their rooms and changed for dinner. I didn't recognized the little black dress Sam had on.

The detectives instructions were not to intervene unless it looked like Carter was forcing Sam to do something. They were to observe and document. It was killing me but she had to choose our marriage of her own free will. But that wouldn't stop me from giving it one last try.

I watched the video of them walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand in real time. I called my wife but it went straight to voice mail. So I called the restaurant and had Mrs. Samantha Weatherstone paged. She was none too happy I was checking up on her. "I worked hard all day and am having dinner in a snack shop. You have some nerve calling me to check up."

"Well maybe if you had answered any of my calls or texts I wouldn't have to track you down. Samantha, I love you more than life itself. That is why I'm giving you a last chance to save our marriage. I know you're not eating in a snack shop. This is the first time you've ever lied to me and I'm willing to forgive you if you tell Carter you quit. There will be a first class ticket waiting for you at the airport. Please, if you love me, if our marriage..."

The phone went dead. My wife had hung up on me...on us.

My PI streamed me video of Sam drinking with Carter. That bastard heard our conversation and I could tell he sensed he had picked right when he hired Sam. He acted like he owned her, pawing her as he plied her with liquor. An hour later my man sent a video of them going into his room. I had to turn my phone off because I couldn't bear to watch the feed from the cameras they planted in Carter's room

Later, after a couple of stiff drinks, I listened and heard him saying shit like what a shame it was her husband didn't want her to succeed. He said I was jealous of her success. "Stick with me and I'll make you the most successful saleswoman in the business." My idiot wife ate up his line of bullshit and ended our marriage.

My next call was to some associates at the convention center in New York.

Carter had already verified his truck had arrived that morning and was waiting to be unloaded. Inside was the booth-the largest and most lavish at the trade show- and thousands of catalogs and tens of thousands of free samples. The booth would occupy twice as much space as his largest competitor. It featured the finest in video and lighting effects.

Minutes later Carter's 40 foot intermodal container vanished from the loading dock. It would turn up empty a week later at a truck stop in New Jersey.

I spent the night sitting in my recliner hoping against hope Sam had come to her senses.

The next morning my PI confirmed they spent the night in his room and fucked."He treated your wife like a prostitute. The moment they got in the room he pulled her dress off. Then he pushed her on the bed, tore off her panties, and shoved his penis in. He didn't wear a condom. Thirty seconds later he climbed off of her, wiped off his penis on the bed sheet, brushed his teeth, and announced he was going to sleep."

I began to cry.

"After a few minutes your wife rolled onto the other side of the bed." The PI said it didn't look like she had a moments sleep. "I could hear her crying most of the night."

I tried to control my anger as I placed two more calls, this time local. I said exactly one word to each, "Go."

The next morning I had the concierge slip a note under Carter's door addressed to my wife. "I called your room all night but there was no answer. I guess that means good bye forever."

The PI said she screamed and started crying hysterically about how she made a huge mistake and Carter had better stay far away from her or else.

"What do I care...I've fucked a lot better than you. Now get your clothes on you've got a job to do." He picked up her dress off the floor and threw it at her.

Sam begged him to give her return ticket. He laughed in her face and called her a stupid whore. "If you want to get back home you better get your ass ready to tease my customers. Sam ramped up the volume, "You got me drunk and raped me!"

"I didn't force you to do anything. If you call the police they'll take one look at how you were dressed and know you're a whore."

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door; it was one of the salesmen. Sam grabbed her dress and scurried into the bathroom. Carter opened the door butt naked holding Sam's lace bra. He wanted to make sure Angelo knew he had scored. "Boss, we've got a big problem. I was in the convention hall checking out our space but nothing was there."

"What do you mean nothing was there?"

"I mean nothing. The booth isn't there...none of the boxes. No samples; nothing. I talked to a guy at the dock and he said the truck wasn't there.

Carter turned pure white. All he could manage to say was "Fuck."

It took a while for Sam to compose herself enough to call me. She evidently decided to play it stupid, a frame of mind at which she excelled. I didn't answer but let it go straight to voice mail. Even though I knew it wouldn't change anything I had to know if Sam was going to own up to her actions. I was sorry I listened because all she did was lie. "I'm sorry honey, I took a sleeping pill and didn't hear the phone." With her boss's cum in her cunt she had the nerve to say, "I love you. Please call me when you get this message."

She called every ten minutes after that.

I ignored every one. Instead I called my lawyer and told him to prepare the divorce papers.

Carter meanwhile was melting down. The trade show opened in thirty minutes and he had nothing. He began making frantic phone calls. The police were no help. Cameras covering the truck dock showed a white truck without any license plates or name had driven away with it last night. They said a detective would be by in an hour or so to investigate.

Carter called the warehouse and told them to get together all the catalogs and brochures they had and get them on the next flight to New York. There were pretty slim pickings. Carter ended up spending the day sitting on a borrowed bar stool in front of a cardboard sign he had made at a office supply store. His sales staff looked awkward trying to sell invisible products. Sam looked like hell as she stood by herself in a corner crying softly.

Andrew Carter & Associates quickly became the butt of jokes amongst the attendees. His Chinese competitors, whose booth was right across the aisle, smiled politely and bowed towards him every time they passed out one of their endless bags of swag.

A pallet full of boxes finally showed up late on the second day of the show. Their contents, however, were outdated catalogs and last year's no longer hot products.

My man said a few people stopped by to talk to Carter but no one wanted to place an order with a jobber who most agreed wouldn't be in business in three months. Instead his competition sucked up all the orders.

By the end of the second day Carter was a broken man. He finally acquiesced to Sam's demand that he let her go home. He was filled with rage as he screamed, "When we get back to Chicago I never want to see you again."

Carter gathered his sales staff and told them to soldier on even as he beat a hasty retreat. He directed one of them to trade in their tickets and get them a flight home as soon as possible. Sam wasn't very happy when she learned the flight didn't leave until 10 the next morning and spent the night locked in her room.

She dutifully texted me her flight information; Flight 901 arriving at O'hare Field tomorrow morning at noon. Then she added, "I miss you."

Even though they sat next to each other neither spoke. Carter was too busy trying to figure out how to restructure his line of credit since he no longer had any receivables to collateralize it. Sam stared straight ahead and prayed the whole flight that she would be able to salvage her marriage.