My twist on a classic tale.
No BTB.
Sorry, all the sex is off stage.
Somewhere, in Europe, in a mountainous region, there is a small sovereign country that calls itself "The Village." It is a haven for spies, assassins, pornographers, international criminals, financiers that aren't criminal, but some think should be and anybody with money and enemies.
It is very European.
There is government, law enforcement, and courts that mostly follow the Napoleonic code. It has its own international bank, which is very convenient. You can receive the fruits of your illegal activities through the bank, but no money laundering is allowed. In fact, the bank runs the place. Although it is administratively convenient to enable the government, law, and courts to function independently, no one crosses the bank.
Even though the citizens are all rogues of one type or another, everyone is very polite. Everyone behaves. There is no crime. You can plan criminal activities. You can run your illegal empire. You can contract murder for hire. But none of the action can be within the borders of the village. You can do what you want outside the boundaries, save this one exception. There can be no revenge outside the village for anything that occur inside the village.
There is no infidelity.
It is too disruptive. The punishment for infidelity is expulsion from the village. However, there are swinging, swapping, threesomes, foursomes, more-some, mistresses, and lovers. How?
By getting a writ of privacy from your spouse. Essentially, anything that happens under cover of a writ of privacy didn't happen. There was no infidelity, no insult, and no offense. Typically, spouses issue each other a writ of privacy. Writs can be general or very specific. They can be limited by time, place, or participants. The writs are kept on file at the ministry of records.
It is all viewable online with the proper credentials. You never enter into relations with a married person without reading the applicable writ. You never take anyone's word on the matter.
So, let me tell you a little bit about myself, Robert Mackenzie. I have tetrachromacy, an extra set of cone cells in my eyes that are sensitive to colors between red and the near-infrared. No one knows, not even my wife. Heck, I didn't know for years. I can see deeper reds than most people. I can distinguish many hues that others see as just red. It gives me many abilities. I can see people's blood pulsing in their skin. I can spot all types of counterfeit objects, from wine to money to art. It makes me into a human lie detector, or at least a human anxiety detector. I get a lot of work as a consultant in negotiations.
I can tell when the other side is confident or worried. It also gives me an edge at poker. I try to be sure and not win too much and also to have an occasional losing night. I don't really have to worry because my ability isn't perfect, and sometimes, I lose when I don't expect it.
My wife is Catherine, a voluptuous beauty. She is absolutely reliable and a little bi-adventurous.
We were attending a Friday night party at the residence of Sir John Unclear. We never knew who gave him his title, but we all called him Sir John.
Jason Rewzeau and his wife, Rene, were also there. Jason is a sort of financial finder who puts people needing money for indiscrete purposes with people wanting to lend money for any purpose as long as there is plenty of profit. We had been on the opposite side of negotiations a couple of times. My team always came out ahead, but Jason never knew my function on the team.
Jason was always arrogant. Not totally insufferable, but tonight he was an irritant. He was paying excessive attention to my wife and had suggested that maybe they could meet in London later in the year. My wife deflected his advances. I wasn't worried or even angry, but I was irritated.
There is always a poker game that gets started around 10 pm. Jason fancies himself as an expert player. I resolved that tonight I would do my best to clean him out. Sir John likes to keep the game friendly, so the house rules are that you cannot bring more than 50,000 Euros to the game. That is the most Jason could lose, but with six to eight players and others coming and going, the stakes can get high.
I was slowly taking money from everyone, especially Jason. He was getting frustrated and perhaps careless. Towards midnight, we agreed to play a final round. The pot had gotten rich, a little over 240,000 Euros.
Jason was short 60,000 to cover the bet.
By all rights, the money was mine.
I was waiting for him to fold. I could see the anger. I could also see the anxiety. My read was that he had a good but not great hand. It could go either way. He frowned and called his wife over. She was already a little peeved at him.
"Rene, honey. Come sit here on the table."
I think that she started to tell him to go to hell but then smirked and sat on the table.
"Yes, honey. I would be glad to sit on the table. Am I your marker? How much am I worth?"
"60,000 Euros."
"Ooo. What's that in real terms? All night for 30 nights? Full service? --- What do I get if you win?"
"Half of this pot, 120,000, will be yours."
"Two to one. Nice odds. Do you have the cards?"
"Yeah."
He waited a moment to see if she was going to say more and then said to me, "Will that cover it?"
I laid my cards faced down and said, "Jason, put your cards down for a moment. This requires clarification, and I need to ask permissions."
I looked at our host and said, "Sir John. This is your house, your table, and your rules. I'm inclined to take this bet, but I think that first I want to see if you will allow it."
"I like to keep the game friendly, and I don't want to start anything scandalous. But I also like to keep my parties interesting. Since this is the last round, I will allow once, today, and probably not ever again."
Jason started to pick up his cards and indicated for him to wait.
I addressed his wife, "Mrs. Rewzeau, do you stand for 60,000 Euros?"
