Very Bad Things

VERY BAD THINGS

This is dedicated to my BTB readers. I love you guys, but seriously Lighten up Francis....

The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Anderson, there is someone here to see you."

Mr. Anderson fidgeted. It was close to the end of the day and an important...'business' meeting had no showed.

Think of it as a business meeting.

The envelope in his inner suit jacket pocket felt heavier than the weight of its contents.

Into his office came a tall lean man, dressed in a leather jacket and khakis but carrying a briefcase. Mr. Anderson stood and extended his hand. "And you are?"

"I am your two o'clock." The man just looked at his extended hand curiously.

Abashed, Mr. Anderson withdrew it, anger starting to cross his face. "I waited at that dining room for an hour! Where the fuck were you? What are you doing here? Someone might see you."

"I was there, Mr. Anderson. I wanted to see who else was there. In my line of work, you can't be too careful...besides, it's two o'clock somewhere. And now I am here." He removed his leather jacket before he sat, folding it across the chair. "There is a little matter of my fee..."

Wordlessly, Mr. Anderson slid the envelope in his jacket across to the man across from the desk. The man grabbed it on the short edges and flipped the flap up with his thumbnails. He held it up to his nose and breathed in deeply. "Ah...wrath. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of anger, Mr. Anderson. And what do you want to buy today?"

Now that the moment had come, the businessman hesitated. "Didn't...um...didn't Jacob tell you?"

The man closed the envelope and slid it into one of the pockets in his briefcase. "I find it interesting that a man who hires criminals is suddenly so coy when it comes to actually asking for what he wants."

"You aren't wearing a wire...?" Anderson asked suspiciously.

"I am a

discrete

and

professional

sociopath, Mr. Anderson. I am not a cop. Think of me as the opposite of a priest. There is nothing you can say which will shock me or I am likely to disapprove of. Here..." he put his left hand on his chest and raised his right hand, "I swear that I shall not be first to reveal the topic of this conversation to anyone except my business partner. Does that satisfy you?"

"Um...not really. I expected someone more..."

"More?"

"I dunno."

"Do you meet many criminals, Mr. Anderson?" He started to light up a cigarette.

"There's no smoking in here." At the sardonic eyebrow, he quickly explained "It's a building ordinance."

The man took a long drag and exhaled it. "We are close to quitting time, your secretary gets off in 10 minutes, we're in a sealed office, you just paid me $10,000 dollars...and you are quibbling about me SMOKING?!? Take this as proof of my criminal

bona fides

Mr. Anderson." The man sighed.

"What is your name? Are you SURE Jacob sent you?"

"What is in a name? Would a rose by any...never mind that. I have many names. You can call me Curtis. And we are beating around the bush here, Mr. Anderson. What exactly do you want me to do?"

Mr. Anderson swallowed. "My...my wife...that whore...she cheated on me. And not just once...a lot! For the last three months! With that cocksucker from work...he moved away when I confronted her...I want to get even!"

While this recitation was going on, Curtis dug into his briefcase and started pulling out a number of manila folders. At the last phrase, he stopped. "Even? You are paying me $10,000 dollars to get EVEN with her?" He shrugged and flicked his ashes into the pen jar on Mr. Anderson's desk. The businessman bit his tongue. "I am not normally in the pandering business, but I know a few girls. Did you want to run away with someone or did you want to run through a number of escorts in front of her face? In my opinion, most women are hurt more by an emotional attachment if you pick up a girlfriend, but there is the fine sense of insecurity at her now having to compete with the imaginary sexual professionalism of your paid harem, particularly when you add the fact she knows you are spending so much money on it. Escorts can be pricey though...how is your 401k? Some men like to hide these expenses on their expense forms. Generally that doesn't work out too well when they audit the books..." Curtis seemed rather bored at the proceedings.

"What? Escorts? Run off? What are you talking about?"

Curtis' brow furrowed and he pursed his lips. "You DID say you wanted to get even...She fucked around for 3 months...you get to fuck around for three months. Though it seems a rather large fee to pay just to set you up on some dates. That is usually a 'do it yourself' sort of job. You have heard of Ashley Madison, haven't you?"

"Are you some kind of idiot? I don't want to fuck around on her...okay...I do want to fuck around on her, but I want her to PAY!"

Curtis bumped the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Silly me...you don't want to get EVEN...you want to get MORE!" He pointed at the man. "I like your thinking! Nothing succeeds like excess." Much more animatedly, he pulled out a new legal pad and a handful of manila folders from the side pockets. "So...it's a bit more complicated since you already confronted her, but that's easily dealt with during your move. I always advise my clients to not let go of plausible deniability, but why cry over spilt milk? Were we talking a disappearance, a mutilation, crippling? Just so you know...I don't do murders for hire, though I can put you in touch with some people."

"Now, since I'm a full service professional, we deal with some of the details that our...mmm...less knowledgeable employers may have overlooked. I tend to favor disappearances. I mean, why pay alimony when you don't have to? Cleaner and much more concise. I have some moving companies outlined here for your necessary relocation. Let me know about when Moving Day is, so I can book you as a 'favored client'" Curtis winked at him as he handed him some brochures and a manila folder. "While doing this across state lines is a federal crime, I have highlighted a few states which have the lowest clearance rates of kidnappings and murders cross indexed with both the FBI departments which are the least manned, which means they might be overworked and the ones with the most cases, which probably means they are overworked. Maybe one of them will appeal to you. I'd start posting your resume as quickly as possible so we can get rid of the garbage as quickly as possible. How are your acting skills? You might want to work on them, though sobbing kids tends to work on the heartstrings of even the most hardened officer. How about a shocked and dumbfounded look? Can you do that?" He looked at Mr. Anderson's current expression. "That's PERFECT!"

"Move...what? What move? I'm not going anywhere. That's why I called you. So YOU can take care of this. I have to be above suspicion." Mr. Anderson started blustering. "I have a house....my kids love their school...I might even get elected to town council..."

Curtis swung his head up from his note taking at that last to look at the businessman. "RE-A-LLY? So... you aren't planning on moving! I take back half the bad things I thought about you! That is a courageous choice. I admire your willpower and fortitude."

"What?"

"You thought this through, haven't you?" Shaking his head slightly, he muttered something that sounded like 'amateurs'. "Mr. Anderson...I can keep you LEGALLY clear. I can assure you that there will never be an arrest, much less a court case. Suspicions..." He started laying out another set of brochures and folders. "Suspicions are harder to deal with. It takes a lot of effort, read 'money', to quell suspicions. That is why I always suggest a move. Neighbors...former friends...constant police harassment...don't even get me started on the press and their frankly irresponsible insinuations...well...I guess they won't be irresponsible in your case.. They are like remoras. So...milk cartons are just SO 90's. We can start with the rest stop posters and some billboard presence for not too many thousands of dollars. We can also do an internet presence thing..."

"I am not spending another dime on that cunt! What the hell do I need milk cartons for?"

"Oh..." Curtis ran a line through something on his pad. "So you

don't

mind being suspected when she disappears. You truly are a stalwart...giving up your council seat, your kids affection, your dating prospects."

"What?"

Curtis sighed in a long suffering fashion. "If your wife disappears and you don't run a missing persons campaign, you'll be suspected. You won't get elected to town council. You probably can kiss any more promotions good bye as well. You will get harassed by your neighbors, friends and in-laws. Look what happened to the Ramseys. Look what happened to O.J. Granted...he didn't hire ME from the get go. I always hate do it yourselfers. Sloppy. Are you

sure

you won't reconsider a move? No?"

Curtis started laying out several business cards. "What's this?" Anderson asked.

The criminals face twisted into a moue of distaste. "This is a NEW service my partner INSISTED we add. These are local psychiatrists who have specialized in grief counseling, particularly among small children. Missing parents...well...I hear that is traumatic. Particularly if there is something called 'closure' missing." He put out a few more brochures. " Here are some tutoring academies for when their grades go off a cliff. Women do the majority of school help with kids. They won't have that anymore since you will be working and a bachelor for the foreseeable future."

"Why would I be a bachelor? And what do you mean giving up my dating prospects? I'm good looking. I have money. I'm a nice guy. There are a lot of girls out there looking for what I have to offer."

Curtis fought to not roll his eyes. "Yeah...you're a keeper. You are a nice guy who has a missing wife who also refuses to look for her. You know...after Henry the VIII lopped off a few heads, he found it rather hard to find any marriage prospects too. His last wife was a 40 year old widow who he had to force to wed him by threatening to execute and exiling her lover. Shipped him overseas for the rest of his life. YOU are NOT the King of England."

Grudgingly, he added. "Now...I suppose you COULD find some company." He put his hand to his head as he focused. "Write this down." Anderson complied. "Enchanted Acres, Courtyard Estates, Westbrook Court, By Way Trailer Park..."

"Trailer park?" Anderson stopped writing.

"Yes. We're a full service professional outfit. You said you wanted female companionship after the...." He made a slashing motion across his throat. "So you need a local girl who has the traits you are looking for which play to your strengths: uneducated, low standards, poor...so...trailer parks. Any quality educated girl who googles your name is going to run into your sordid background and...well...." He frowned again. "And we're back to escorts again...though truth be told, escorts tend to have bodyguards, so they feel a lot safer. Though..." he scribbled on his pad. "Thank you. I need to add name changes to the service package. Not that that will make a difference to the press or the police. Give me a few weeks on that. Since you aren't moving, we have the time. Oh...mail order brides...long distance relationships...though that is a hell of a conversation when you two ask about prior relationships. My advice? Lie! Get the relationship off to a good start."

"I don't believe things are as bad as you say they are."

Curtis gave a gallic shrug. "I am not responsible for your beliefs. So...is that a yes or a no to a disappearance?"

Glaring at him, Anderson shook his head. Curtis put a line through something on his pad and started to collect the associated paperwork back into his case. "That's a shame. I had this Bolivian whore house lined up. There goes half my income stream..." Anderson's face paled a bit.

"O-kay. So...mutilation maybe? I do some very good work here. You have your standard acids, burns, abrasion scars. Honestly, acid is one of my favorites. A specialized squirt gun and squish!" He made a gun with his fingers. "You can choose to hit the eyes or not. A little custody insurance. Very popular with dads who want to avoid child support. One of the details my clients often miss is neglecting to divorce her FIRST. Do you have Long Term Care Insurance as part of your work package?" At the shake of his head, Curtis crossed out something else on his pad. "Are you

sure

you don't want to move? Well, moving or not, you can't divorce your kids...though you might as well."

"Pardon?"

Curtis gave him another look. "She's ALIVE...do you think that she's an idiot? Do you think she's not going to share her suspicions with the kids if she's crippled or has a disfiguring mutilation? Really? How does that play to them? These things fester, Mr. Anderson." He started to lay out several more brochures.

"What's this?"

"Oh...standard stuff for a mutilation. Kevlar vest pricing, a list of websites on security. Alarm systems. Bars on the windows. Some recommendations for guard dogs, firearm training...boilerplate really. How deeply do you sleep?"

"What the hell do I need that for?"

Curtis blinked. "If you do this, you HAVE to divorce her! I mean...come on...are you going to SLEEP next to a person you just ordered mutilated? Do you think she's going to take being roughed up like that lying down? She's going to come looking for you...or her family will. Just like you. "He glanced at the diplomas on the wall. "I have to ask...do your parents think all that money for your education was well spent?"

"Now just a minute!"

Curtis raised his hands in a mollifying gesture. "Sorry...that was

probably

uncalled for. It's not really your fault if you don't fully understand the reality of the situation. It's just people get angry if they lose things they hold dear like their spouse...or their looks. Look at that." He languidly pointed at the picture of the Andersons on his credenza. It had been taken at a company Christmas party. The pair of them were dressed well. She wore a crushed purple velvet dress, the ruffles on her bodice not quite hiding the ample swell of her breasts. It was clingy enough to show her trim figure without being tight enough to be slutty and of an enticing, though respectable length. A nice three string set of pearls accentuated the outfit.

"She spent a lot of time on those curls. It's a nice hair color. She has some pretty good skin. Obviously SHE doesn't smoke. Clear grey eyes...dick sucking lips." He saw Anderson bristle. "Excuse me. A Norwegian term I heard. She has some nice cheekbones. Not a bad little package. A solid 7." Anderson bristled again "Eight?" Bristle "Eight and a half?"

"She's gorgeous!"

"Of course she is. Any man would be proud to have her on his arm like that." He removed another manila folder. "Any hooo," he gestured again to the picture of his wife and Anderson again followed his finger, "we can go from that" his finger transitioned to the folder and flipped it open "to this."

Mr. Anderson was barely able to reach his wastebin in time before his steak sandwich from lunch came lurching out of his mouth and nose. Unfortunately, his office was equipped with one of those modern wire mesh bins, so it was only able to mitigate the mess, not contain it completely. There was a roaring in his ears as he felt a larger bit of sandwich wedge somewhere and he had to blow it out.

He was gasping for oxygen, trying to vent the acidic fumes in his nostrils as this Monster was going on about how they had a nice line of veils, newly acquired to avoid psychologically damaging the kids for maternal visits.

When he finally was able to look up, his eyes reflexively shying away from the closed manila folder, he found Curtis staring at him dispassionately. "How...how could you...?"

"Me? Mr. Anderson,

you

summoned

me

. You want very bad things done to your wife. Here I am. Would you prefer another example?" He tugged another folder out with a questioning look.

"NO! That...that's too far! That's too much!"

"I see...what is enough, Mr. Anderson? Just removing her nose? How about all her fingers? What exactly will make you feel good about all this?"

"Nothing, okay! NOTHING is going to make me feel alright about this!"

Curtis watched him with reptilian eyes. "I can do nothing." He folded his leather jacket and pulled out of his briefcase a light colored blazer with elbow patches. He clipped on a set of white suspenders and put on a set of glasses and changed jackets. A swipe of a comb changed his hairstyle. "Well...while an amusing waste of time, the night has still been pretty profitable. Keep in touch."

"Hey...HEY! Where are you going with my money?"

"Mr. Anderson, it's MY money. My job is to do unsavory things for bad people, much like an escort or an attorney. And like either profession, there are no refunds if you 'can't get it up'." He turned and headed for the door.

Anderson raced across the room and slammed the door as Curtis tried to open it. "No way. That came out of my children's education fund."

"I think that it was money well spent. You've learned a lot about yourself today, Mr. Anderson." The man pressed forward, glaring at Curtis.

Slowly, Curtis reached up and rubbed his forehead.

Deadbeats

. "Exactly what happens next? Do you attack me? The person you hired to commit violence...you are planning on attacking? Good luck with that. Maybe I let you beat me up and have you charged with assault and theft. How do you explain to your work why you were engaged in fisticuffs in your office? How do you explain who I am? Okay...I can see your little hamster wheel whirling in there. You call the cops. They come in...and then what? They are going to arrest me for... having money? You say I stole it and I say you gave it to me. So they will want to know why a person of your stature and position has ten thousand dollars in cash. They will want to know how I know you, how I know you have the money...and how we came to be meeting here. Do you think they might be curious about that? Do you think your WIFE might be curious about that? And that is the GOOD outcome."

"Good?"

"Yes...good. Because Mr. Anderson...if I am answering...excuse me...being asked questions by the authorities, I might miss dinner. If my warm body isn't at my place at the table...well...my partner has

views

about people messing with her relationship, Mr. Anderson. She knows where you live." He reached into his pocket. "Maybe I should leave you those psychiatrist cards after all. For when they find your personal effects. There are no good outcomes for you here."

"I just want my money back and you out of my life!"

"I'm sure your wife wants her virtue back and you back in her life. Funny how these things go..."

"You are stealing my money!"

"That is exactly what I am NOT doing. I am

retained

. In your service, might I add. You willingly paid me. I have outlined several ways in which I can give you the satisfaction YOU are seeking. You...are conflicted. This is not my fault."

Curtis could see he was still dissatisfied. He frowned. "Mr. Anderson...would you say that I am bad?"

Recalling the picture, he shuddered. "Yes."

"So as a professional, let me tell you: what she did to you was bad. She betrayed your trust. She made you feel inadequate. She maybe even risked your life...a little. A very little but a little." He drew a long breath through his nostrils next to the business man. "She hurt your soul. I can smell it." It was Curtis' turn to shudder, but it wasn't in disgust.

"Bad. But as an expert...there are a lot

worse

people in this world than some woman violating her vows and illegally subletting 'your' pussy." He leaned forward toward the man and held up his left hand between their faces, finger and thumb a mere inch apart. "Today...you were this close to becoming one of them. You are squandering your children's future to destroy someone you love. You wanted to

crush

her body and spirit and you even lacked the courage to do it yourself. Even if I gave you back your blood money, and I'm not,...that choice has been made. You are changed forever...stained just like your rug over there. There are no 'take backs' from this."