Special Service Rendered

Chapter 1

The security system was a good one, but turning off the alarm was easy when you knew the codes... the deadbolts were high quality and fitted out with anti pick pins... all of which became moot when the key was in your pocket.

The house was three stories, two up, one down, the master suite took up one wing on the ground floor, so for the moment I did not need to worry about squeaky stair treads. Pets were messy and this house was immaculate, so no large guard dogs or yippy small ones.

I was masked and had a voice distortion module against my throat... my dark cloths blended with the shadows cast by the low light night lights as I made my slow way through the house.

I slipped into the master bed room, waiting a few counts to make sure that I had not been noticed or that the occupants were already awake. They were not expecting me, so there was no telling what might have been going on... but they were quiet... their breathing patterns undisturbed by my intrusion.

It was a large room, several paces from the door to the large bed, separate walk in closets and powder/bathing rooms. The bedroom had a large screen t.v. on one wall, a couple of reading chairs in one corner situated by a small fire place and floor to ceiling book shelves... the fire place was real, but totally aesthetic in this dessert climate,

I set my black bag on the floor, I removed a set of stainless steel hand cuffs, two leather ball gags and a couple of precut lengths of rope, all of which found their place at the foot of the king size mattress on top of the overstuffed silk comforter. I upholstered my silenced.22 and then took an adjustable voltage cattle prod out of the bag before approaching the husband's side of the bed.

The cattle prod was set down momentarily on the end table as I found the switch for the bedside lamp. The.22 was pointed at the face of the husband, but they were both slow to wake up and I had pressed the prods electrodes against his cheek and pointed the pistol at her before either of them knew what was happening.

He was asleep on his back, she on her side facing him, so that even though the light was not bright, it caused them both to wake up. The adrenaline rush when they became cognizant made then jerk involuntarily.

The pistol was were they could both see it, the prod was felt by him and eventually recognized by her. The pistol did it its work, making them freeze before any kind of tussle could be initiated.

Both of them murmured a few "What..." and "Wait...!"

I looked at him, making direct eye contact, keeping her covered, well out of her reach.

"Have you ever been hit with a cattle prod before? Move your head, or speak..."

"No... " He both whispered and slowly moved his head in a negative response.

"Ummm... it might be educational for both of you if I were to demonstrate once or twice..."

"No please don't hurt him."

"Hush! I am not talking to you cunt!"

She shrank down into the plush mattress and pillows, her blonde hair framing her scared, but very attractive face.

Returning my attention to him... "Do you know guns?"

An affirmative nod.

"Then you know that they are messy and can be very permanent."

Again a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"Just so we are all on the same page... you have not been thinking about filing for divorce right?"

He shook his head...

"You are not going to try to get me to shoot her in the head to save you some money?"

Her eyes got big, his head continued it slow movement right and left.

"Good... hopefully we all survive our short time together."

"You don't have much time before security shows up... the police will be right behind them..."

I glared at her...

"Please, go now and we promise that we will tell them it was a false alarm..."

I considered triggering the prod, as I had already told her once to shut up,

"That's going to cost you bitch.! All I want from you is compliance, instant obedience! Not sass... not options. No one is coming to help you... no alarm has been triggered... Speak again without me asking you a question and you will both pay a price... do you understand me? Do I need to demonstrate?"

She cowed and stayed silent.

"That is called a question. I asked you a question... now is the time... "

"Yes." She interrupted me

"Yes WHAT!"

"Yes... I understand."

"YES, I UNDERSTAND WHAT!" I let my voice rise

She curled up and got as small as she could.

With the increased volume I pressed the prod harder into the husband... "Is your wife always this stupid or is she being coy because she wants me to abuse you? Tell me before I permanently burn an electric tattoo on your face, what do you think I want her to say!

"Sir! Yes I understand SIR!"

"Very Good! Do you think she does?" his head nodded up and down. "Do you think she can get it together enough to say it and save you some pain?"

"Darling... please... do what he says... please... "

"Yes... yes... sir. I... understand."

"Look at us... making progress... slowly, but progress. Ok..." I took the prod away from his face. "Roll over and put your face in the pillow."

"Butt..."

I knew it was only a matter of time. I probably waited to long...

I pushed the prod into his shoulder and trigger it. Just a short zap, but he stiffened like a board and shook... locked up hard. She shrieked and rolled out of bed, her silk pajamas offering no cushion on the hardwood floor. She started to crab backwards towards the door. I raised the gun in her direction and said "Don't!".

She stopped.

Several weeks before...

I have been a locksmith for a bit more than 15 years. I learned the trade from my Grandfather who made his living for 60 years as a locksmith. He was old school and made me apprentice just like anyone else. I started at 15, after school, sweeping the store and breaking down broken locks, sorting parts for use in repairing other locks.

Grandpa was a mechanical locksmith. And did not move to incorporate new electronic technology. I took my own time to learn it, creating a niche for me within his business that would make me more valuable. He was not impressed with the tech at first, he did not really trust it, but he trusted me and I made sure not to do anything to jeopardize his confidence.

Grandpa retired a couple of years ago and I have taken over as owner operator. He gets a supplemental off the books stipend.

So at 30 years old I work my own hours... taking the jobs I want... the business is set up to run hands free with just a minimum of oversight. I drive a nice car, live alone in a nice house and have money to spend on the things I want to spend money on.

Wednesday morning I took a call to a golf course community out in the desert suburbs. Houses are on big lots, have 3,000 to 10,000 sq foot and nothing less than 2 million dollars.

The lady of the house answered the door. Good looking, mid forties, well dressed but "at home" casual. You could see at a glance, that when she went all out, she was stunning.

She invited me in, explained that they had recently changed property management companies, and that meant new maid service, lawn service and maintenance services, which in turn meant new keys for all the locks, new codes in the security system.

She gave me a tour, showing me the security panel, the cameras, the doors with locks, theater, the vault for valuables and the one for "weapons" (meaning not just guns), wine cellar, out buildings, garages, both attached and detached... everything that they wanted me to "secure". Her voice was musical, her walk was mesmerizing without being obvious... her presence itself was pleasant... it made you want to be in the same room as her.

I followed her, asking questions, making sure I knew what it was they wanted to achieve, so I could give them what they needed, rather than what they thought they needed.

The house, the cars, the décor all spoke, softly, of deep pockets and multi millions. The house alone could not be less than 12 million

We ended the walk through at the front door.

"If you could work up a bid and let us know your costs... "

"I am close now, if you could give me a few minutes to double check, I can give you a solid price in about ten minutes... I kind of kept a running tally as we went and just need to double check a couple of numbers..."

"Oh... well... that would be fine. I will let my husband know."

She showed me out the door and I sat in the van for a few minutes, jotting down a few notes. I knew how much it would cost before I walked out the door, but I have found that people have a little more confidence if they think you have to work harder at "their" job. Grandpa taught me well, that we set a price for everyone, rich and poor. We don't lower our rate for poor, though we may give it away from time to time, and we don't jack it up for the rich. We give good service at reasonable cost. Some jobs turned out easier, some turned into shit piles... but the price stayed consistent... the easy one making up for the hard ones.

The front door was unlocked so I let myself in, ringing the bell as I did to let them know.

Mrs. Lawson met me in the foyer and, after silently noting my lack of paperwork, invited me to followed her. She would have a hard time making a living at cards with her lack of a poker face.

Mr. Lawson was sitting at a desk in an office/library, a spacious room that allowed for both functions separately or a melding of both, depending on how they set the lighting.

"Darling, the locksmith, Mr. Becket, with a bid to do the work you wanted." She motioned for me to take a seat in the chair facing the desk, and her husband. He looked up from the paperwork in front of him, as I sat. He began to extend a hand to receive my written estimate, paused and then withdrew it and sat back, when he saw I did not have one.

Mrs. Lawson left the room.

I quoted him a price.

"And what does that include?"

"Everything that Mrs. Lawson showed me."

"Everything...?"

"Everything that she outlined on our walk through."

"Hummm..."

"If you decide to go ahead with me, I can provide you with an itemized list of work to be performed... but the price is solid and I won't break it down by pennies. The price is for all of the work."

He thought for a moment. "My reservation is that you are, by about 30%, lower than your next competitor and 75% less than the highest bid I received."

"There is a school of thought that says you throw out the highest and the lowest bid, but that does not always work in this industry. I do not change my rates because you drive a nice car or live in a nice house. Everyone gets the same level of service from me, single mom on welfare or billionaire CEO... so everyone pays the same price as well. I will be happy to do this work for you and your wife... it will be just as easy for me to walk away and do the next job. I just hate to see people spend money that they don't need to spend."

"Done. When can you do the work?"

I had everything I needed and so got started right away. They left me alone as I wondered from point to point, did the necessary work, either right there or back at the truck.

Mrs. Lawson showed up several times, to make sure I was not lacking anything and to offer me a beverage... Mr. Larson left me alone completely.

I knew, from my visit to the server room/theater hub, that the whole house was wired for sight and sound, so I kept my curiosity in check when doing the vaults and other nooks and crannies throughout the house. Even when I saw the elevator door disguised as a closet door in the master bedroom, I did not give it any attention as it had not been part of my tour

3 hrs. saw me finished. I presented my bill as estimated.

"I am impressed." He told me as he counted out the payment in cash. "I watched your progress and there were a couple of, what looked like glitches, but you solved them and I do not see them reflected in the final bill."

"Errors, once the job is accepted, are on me. The price is the price... no excuses. I don't expect you to try and renegotiate after the work is done... I don't do it either."

"Well, you will have to excuse me for being cynical, having been in business as long as I have. It is refreshing to see someone who is honest and does what he says."

"Grandpa taught me that if the customer can't trust their locksmith... they are in a world of hurt."

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out another stack of bills. He slid it across the desk. "Here is to trust then... this is for your honesty... it bumps you 50%. Take it with my thanks."

I have never been against a good tip. I said my "thank you's" and bid him call if he ever had another need. I left a card with him at his desk and another with his wife at the door.

"I feel much more safe now, thank you very much." She said as she walked me to the entryway.

"You have a top of the line system, well integrated between mechanical and electronic. Nothing is foolproof, but what you have is good quality and does what it is designed to do."

She smiled a beautiful smile, shook my hand with a feminine, not effeminate, grip, and said good by.