We Need To Talk 9

We need to talk

Who is this?.

He was widely known as 'Mr Black'.

A ruthless, powerful lawyer with a reputation for influential power and totally crushing his opponents by using the corrupt legal system that he knew so well.

For him life was filled with privilege and the arrogant complacency of pompous self-entitlement as he took for granted the enjoyment of the very best in life, including vicarious pleasures of the flesh such as pursuing, seducing and conquering married women whilst their helpless husbands fumed in frustration and impotence as his institutional power stopped them from ever retaliating against him and their errant wives.

A tall man, with slicked back black hair touched with grey and a swarthy appearance, he was the embodiment of an oily, arrogant seducer and the stuff of nightmares for married men.

He was, by definition, the archetype for the underhanded corrupter of wives, everywhere!.

A habitual smirker by instinct, he smirked to himself in contemplation of his happy life as he lazily dressed beside the marital bed of his latest conquest.

After spending a pleasurable few hours with the beautiful married woman, he leisurely donned his expensive black pin striped suit as he listened to the shower running as the late afternoon sunlight cast warm light into the tastefully furnished bedroom.

He selfishly liked to clean up first after fucking a woman as it was a well-known fact that the female of the species always took longer in bathrooms and lavatories with their endless fussing about themselves.

'Let them, the silly empty-heads' he thought with contempt as the smirk on his face widened.

He by contrast was a predator and it pleased him to think of himself as strong and always ready to dominate others by using his power against lesser men and women.

He had been fucking his latest conquest for a while now and as he dressed, the ambience of the sunshine streaming through the windows made him pause for a moment as his mood became contemplative.

Ordinarily he paid little attention to the home life of his conquests and even less to their husbands, but even by his standards, this room and indeed the entire house and grounds was impressive.

After slipping on his black shoes, he glanced at the bedside dresser which was dominated by a photograph of the man of the house and his wife Lynd, who was now secretly fucking another man, him the eponymous 'Mr Black'.

Such a happy young couple, as a smiling well built man with sandy hair and blue eyes leaned against a sleek silver-grey car bonnet as his attractive wife Lynd touchingly rested her head on her husband's shoulder, her dark hair caught by the outside breeze as the pair shared the happy moment.

Looking more closely, 'Mr Black' spied the handwritten words emblazoned in the top right corner;

'To my wonderful wife Lynd, your loving husband Jaimes'.

'Mr Black' again smirked at the touching sentiment as he donned his jacket and straightened his expensive hand painted tie as he thought more about Lynd's husband, 'Jaimes' with his happy smile and his undeserving ownership of a house like this.

He reflected that he didn't know much about Lynd's husband, even his surname.

Lynd herself used her maiden name, 'Miss Venus' in daily life and that initially was a factor that drew him to her and ultimately seduce and pursue an affair with her.

Breaking with his standard practice and now curious, he suddenly moved to the opposite side of the bedroom and carefully opened the husband's wardrobe.

He noted with grudging approval the elegant three piece suits made by 'Pierre Cardin' and even the handmade leather shoes by the long standing cobblers 'Crockett and Jones'!.

Contemplating what he'd seen, he quietly closed the wardrobe door and still hearing the shower running in the en suite, quickly checked his demeanour in Lynd's vanity mirror and then stalked out of the bedroom, a little unsettled that Lynd's husband 'Jaimes' may actually be equal or even superior to his own standards and tastes!.

Wandering down the corridor, for the first time he looked hard at the tasteful artwork on the walls.

'The Swing' by Jean-Honare' Fragonard in 1767 took pride of place in an ornate alcove at the top of the stairs.

Pausing, he noted the depiction of the verdant garden, the delicate details of the young woman, with her billowing dress and the young man reaching from behind the bush toward the young lady.

He was unaware of the piece and what it signified, but it certainly looked impressive, even to his eyes.

Now descending the elegant wooden staircase, he suddenly noticed the ornate furniture in the room below, undoubtedly French he thought as each chair or tableau was positioned to make the most of the softly painted white walls and marble columns around the perimeter of the large room.

Why didn't he notice all this until now?.

Reaching the main hall at the bottom of the stairs, he noted the carefully positioned and lavish chandeliers as well as the tasteful 18

th

and 19

th

century art that added to the décor of this part of the house.

He felt annoyance at his ignorance of the various pieces.

Something about Comet Donati in 1858 painted by someone called Turner.

Other paintings were classic portraits that lined the walls between the elegant columns.

Now walking toward the imposing doors of the main entrance, he couldn't help glancing up at each of the portraits that seemed to glare down at him as he passed each in turn.

He could have sworn that the eyes of one particularly imposing portrait actually seemed to move and follow his progress as he walked toward the door.

Unsettled now, he wondered why these old paintings always seemed to have eyes that appeared to follow you as you moved around?.

Reaching the elegantly carved green painted main door, he turned the heavy brass knob and pulled the door open and stepped outside to face a carefully tilled French-style garden beyond the cream coloured portico with its towering doric columns.,

Leaving the door open, he stalked away from the portico, through the garden and then beelined to his black coloured limousine parked outside the heritage outbuilding that now acted as a garage, located to the side of the cream painted three story Georgian Regency manor with its symmetric lines and surrounds.

Pausing momentarily, he couldn't resist looking inside the garage, just to see what resided within, but also to learn more about the absent husband by seeing what kind of car he drove, assuming of course that he had more than one car as his home suggested.

There was a green painted wooden door to the side with a brass knob which he turned and pushed open before entering the garage.

The building had an old world feel and smell to it, with chartreuse and rose coloured windows, overhead wooden beams and posters on the walls, encased in glass frames seemingly from the 1950's and 60's showing scantily clad ladies posing in front of classic cars or selling something called "Lady Petrol".

Again, he only had a vague awareness of the various quaint emblems such as "Le Mans", "Aston Martin", "Michelin" and "Shell Oil", but they denoted that the man who spend his time here certainly knew his subject!.

Seeing enough and increasingly perturbed, he walked toward the door and glanced at the car nearest to the main doors of the garage.

"Virage", was embossed on the rear of the sleek silver-grey coloured car.

It looked modern, powerful and fast.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he left the building, went to his car and drove away.

Passing the front of the impressive house nestled amongst the oak and pine trees, he drove down the long tree lined drive way, through the ornate open main gates and headed toward the city and away from this house and country estate.

Mentally kicking himself, he lambasted his sloppiness in not fully studying Lynd's husband and potential threat level before he embarked on his latest cuckolding venture with the man's wife!.

He allowed himself to be blinded by lust and in the many visits to that house, fuck another man's wife and enjoy desecrating the marital bed, he never until now took in the full details of his surrounds and completely overlooked what was staring at him in the face.

As he sped toward the city, he averred to restore his personal credibility by using his power to not only take away Lynd from her husband and destroy their marriage, but also take that luxurious house and grounds and add it to his personal property portfolio!.

Yes, destroy Lynd's husband and take away everything he values, just to send the message to him and everyone else that he, 'Mr Black' was supreme!.

He recalled that Lynd once mentioned that her little husband 'Jaimes' was some kind of "independent businessman", whatever that meant?.

It sounded like he was really a nobody and trying to sound more important and powerful than what he really was!.

No matter who or what 'Jaimes' was, he was clearly no match for the pervasive power of the eponymous 'Mr Black' he laughed aloud malevolently, amused at his own private joke regarding his reputation as he steadily drove onward and away from this rural idyll nestled here in the late afternoon sunshine, now with a fixed self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face!.

A few hours later, after a light meal at his favourite restaurant in town, the eponymous 'Mr Black' leisurely drove down the driveway of his own home in the country.

Located well away from the city as well as Lynd and 'Jaimes' country home, by contrast his house reeked of ostentation and poor taste decadence.

With excessively trimmed foliage lining the pebbled driveway, the lakeside multi-story mansion itself could only be described as an ornately garish monstrosity of Italianate design that reflected the decadent personality of its owner!.

Slowly parking his black limousine, he exited the car and straightening his black pin striped suit, he paused to take a few deep breaths of the still warm air that blew off the small lake in front of the house where he lived alone.

He always thought of his lavish home as the lair of a predator, an apex predator that was king of his legal empire.

He smirked in contentment at his lot in life, the lives he dominated and the power he wielded over lesser nobodies.

His reverie was suddenly interrupted by his pocket phone ringing.

Irritated now, he reached into his jacket and activated the answer function.

Listening, he immediately heard a man's voice before he could reply.

He sounded educated, well-spoken and decisive;

"Mr Black, we need to talk"!.

Surprised at the man's tone and words, he replied cautiously but with annoyance as he seldom experienced the outrage of lesser men speaking down to him with authority;

"Who is this"?.

Before he received an answer to his question and then berating his interlocutor, including threatening him with retaliation for his impudence, his left knee suddenly just seemed to explode as a brief 'whooshing' sound briefly filled the air around him, like a small bird flying at high speed just past his head.

After a few accelerated heartbeats, the excruciating pain enveloped him as he simultaneously reached for his knee just as his strength left him and he staggered down onto the hard ground with a jarring impact.

His well-tailored trousers were now tinged with his red blood as was his left hand which was similarly tainted as the blood smeared his fingers and palm as he desperately tried to arrest the flow of his life's fluid in vain.

His phone was immediately forgotten, dropped unceremoniously onto the ground.

Also gone was the smug, arrogant man of power, replaced instead with irrational confusion as primeval survival totally overwhelmed his being as he sought shelter and sanctuary by trying to drag himself across the pebbled parking area in front of his home.

Unable to understand what had happened to him, he struggled to awkwardly pull himself forward, his expensive suit and shoes scuffed and dirtied by the ground as he slowly and painfully moved toward the front door of his house as the effects of shock engulfed him, as did the indescribable pain which now seemed to consume his entire body and being!.

In growing desperation, increasingly his vision began to blur and darken as panic took hold of him more and more as his manic, guttural gasping and dragging on the slippery pebbles were now the only sounds that filled the nearby air as his world closed in upon him and time itself seemed to slow to an eternity as a bloody trail marked his painful progress on the ground.

He had no experience with these terrifying visceral sensations as the rational part of him was completely overtaken by the primitive instinct to flee and survive above all else!.

In his driving panic and survivalist insularity he completely failed to hear or sense the presence and increasingly loud footfalls of a man striding behind and toward him.

The man moved carefully with cat-like deliberation as he focussed his attention on his prey before him whilst simultaneously remaining alert for any new threats that may appear.

Steadily, he overtook his quarry and just as his victim reached the base of the dark slate front steps and attempted to painfully haul himself upwards in obvious agony, his pursuer caught him and without pausing, simply stepped over the prone man as if he were distasteful looking animal excrement in the street that one avoids stepping on!.

By contrast with his hapless victim, the interloper energetically and deftly climbed the steps to the top until he stopped and then turned to look down at the now defeated man panting below him.

Surrendering to his pain and failure, 'Mr Black' finally, wearily looked up to see a man, well dressed in tailored black 'Crockett and Jones' shoes and a well-cut grey three-piece suit by 'Pierre Cardin'.

The man above looked fit, confident yet leisurely with his sandy brown hair and blue eyes displaying no emotion as he disdainfully regarded his breathless, subdued opponent below.

Alarmingly, he brandished in one arm a black 9mm calibre Heckler and Koch MP-5 sub machine gun with an attached suppressor as comfortably as an experienced tennis player would wield a racquet!.

With the other hand he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pocket phone which he deactivated with a brief glance and thumb depression, his eyes never leaving his victim.

Remaining silent, he quickly pocketed the device and then casually reached into his trouser pocket and produced two thin items which he immediately threw onto the steps just above his injured, bleeding victim below.

Dizzy, struggling to focus his eyes and totally immobile, 'Mr Black', peered through his failing, red swirling vision and saw one of the dropped items was a seemingly familiar photograph of woman and a man together, sharing a moment in the outdoors beside a sleek silver-grey car;

'To my wonderful wife Lynd, you loving husband Jaimes', read the caption as the injured man slowly craned his neck upwards and finally recognised his assailant as the same man that was in the photograph who now stared impassively at the crippled man below him.

With laboured breath, 'Mr Black', through red, spinning vision then focussed on the second item.

It was a simple business card, naming an organisation;

"Universal Imports" and a name of a man on the card, printed in simple lettering that finally told him who and why!.

He again looked up at the looming armed man with a final mix of emotions; hatred, pain and the humiliation that he had been defeated by an opponent who didn't fight by his contrived rules of legalism and derived power.

But he also felt another emotion, one that he was completely unfamiliar with and which he utterly hated himself for experiencing; fear, as despite his befuddled mind struggling to overcome the shock and pain he felt, now at some level, in staring up at his opponent's cold blue eyes, he knew that he had lost everything and that sense of dread coupled with impending doom finally consumed him as his fear filled eyes remained locked in expectation on the armed, dangerous man looming above him.

Looking down at his vanquished opponent, the man with the gun ever so briefly, suddenly changed his facial expression as a faint ghost of a smile flitted across his face before resuming its initial hardness.

With a quiet, cultured yet cold voice he then answered the question his injured, hopeless victim below had asked him when he answered his phone, mere minutes before;

"The name's Bonde", he said, before pausing briefly and finally articulating his name in full to his defeated adversary;

"Jaimes Bonde"!.

(Fade to darkness to the accompaniment of a well-known theme tune composed by Monty Norman)