Family Tradition of Bondage Pt. 01

The story was edited by Vixen4770. I wanted to thank her publicly for her efforts and advice, it was gratefully appreciated.

This is a work of fiction, the names used are fictional. Any relation to any person, real or imagined, living or dead, is purely unintentional and accidental.

*

Sherri drove her bright yellow Kia Sportage home. It was after 9:30, earlier than she had expected, or perhaps hoped would be a better word, and she was depressed. She was also a little tipsy she admitted to herself. "You should have waited and sobered up before leaving the bar" said her little voice, which had the annoying habit of speaking in the voice of her Grandmother. The above two conditions would have been enough to make the night ripe for disaster, but it was also raining. One of those late spring downpours that Saint Louis and it's surrounding area are well known for. She had been in the bar, hoping to find Mr. Right, and unwilling to settle for Mr. Right Now. The usual collection of losers and Jackals included married men pretending to be single, single men trying to pretend to be cool or hip, or sensitive, or whatever they had read in Vogue this week. Sluts trying to play hard to get, mixed with middle aged desperation trying to find someone to address their own personal biological clock. Sherri knew something was missing, and she was searching for it, or more precisely, him.

She had tried online dating, and that was the most dismal of all failures. The six guys the computer decided she would match up with were in order; a wannabe Minister who was hoping to find a wife to help him spread the Gospel. Look, she believed in God, she just had trouble with the idea that God's messenger had no chin. The second one was a used car dealer, and he acted just like a used car dealer, even at the restaurant, guiding her carefully to the cheap and easy to pay for choices on the menu. Sherri rolled her eyes at that one. The others had been going downhill and gaining speed quickly. Where were the cowboys, and the John Wayne types. The men who would be men instead of some shallow imitation of Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible IV, addicted to mirrors.

She like to say she lived in Saint Louis, but the truth was, she was a small fish, in an even smaller pond. She lived in Wildwood Missouri, and worked in a slightly larger bedroom community called Clayton, which is just outside of Saint Louis. She was three years out of Law School, after graduating Cum Laude from the University of Illinois, with a dismal future ahead of her.

She had screwed up, in her Constitutional Law class by losing her temper. She had submitted a paper, well researched, referring to the Federalist Papers no less than 12 times. Letters to and from Hamilton and Adams were noted. Pointing out that the Supreme Court had, in Marbury V. Madison, violated the Constitution and all the activist decisions since had been based upon that improper decision, in which the US Congress had abdicated it's responsibility and done nothing.

Sherri regretted that paper more than she could have imagined. Granted, she believed it, but she knew the professor, and knew that he thought the sun rose and set on the collective asses of the Supreme Court, and how much he loved their glorious decisions to which there was supposedly no constitutional bias. That had buried her. She rubbed her eyes, hoping to get the inevitable tears to stop before they began. After that, she might have saved herself the time, and dropped out of law school. Except she was stubborn, and too stupid to quit. She graduated, not at the bottom of her class, but in the bottom ten percent. Her other professors had been scandalized to learn of her un-lawyerlike beliefs. Now, she was here, on the backside of Saint Louis.

Sherri wiped her eyes, and tried to ignore her future. All she now qualified for was twenty five or even thirty years of tax law, the most anal portion of the law. With luck, she might show enough promise at Whitman and Parker, the firm she worked at, to be trusted with corporate law or with Byzantine regulations that made real estate seem simple and concise. The only bright spot in her life was the fact she didn't have to resort to chasing ambulances. Personal injury, God what a nightmare.

Sherri sighed, she wanted to prosecute criminals, or defend the innocent. She wanted to help good and decent people with little or no hope, and here she was doing tax law for minor league corporations who were pretending to be mediocre. If she was going to do corporate law, she wanted to answer to one person, or one man perhaps. Anything but an endless chain of command.

Sherri looked away from the road and down, trying to find a CD to listen to, to get her mind off her worries. She never saw him, she never looked up in time. She felt the bump as her wheels drove over him. First the front tires, then the back, at thirty three miles an hour. Sherri jammed her foot on the brake, and the Kia skidded to a stop. She jumped out, and ran back, and saw immediately that the man was dead. His chest was caved in, he was an old man, wearing a dark jacket and dark gray pants. He was laid out on the street where her rolling car had hit him and shoved him along. She stared in shock, unable to move.

"Shit I'm drunk, I'll blow positive, and get a DUI, coupled with Vehicular Manslaughter, that would equal Murder Two, 20 years in prison." she screamed in her head. "I killed that man, and now I'm really screwed."

She had just decided to run, to try and save her life, pathetic as it was, when headlights came around the corner from the rear. Bright ones, but it was a quarter mile or more. She could do it, she could run and get away.

Sherri fled to her car some 60 feet away, and rammed it into gear, flooring the accelerator, she sped away as fast as the car would go.

The mini-van was driven by Robert Louis Mason, and it was the worst possibility for Sherri, or best depending on your point of view. Robert Louis Mason was among a number of other things, a Private Detective, who was cursing his luck and searching in vain for a target he was tailing. It was an insurance scam which wasn't really his style, but he was bored and looking for something to tempt his intellect. He knew this wasn't it, but it might fill a few hours. He had left the digital mounted surveillance camera on and if he found the scamming son of a bitch he was looking for, he could easily edit out the past hour of driving blindly around looking for him. If he didn't find his target, the digital camera storage system would erase with the click of a couple buttons.

Robert saw the man, and saw the girl run. "Shit!" he thought, "She hit him, and now she's running." He saw the car accelerate away, and he stopped by the man in the street. One glance to Roberts experienced eye let him know it was too late, the man was dead. What was he doing out here? Robert killed his lights and raced after the fleeing car.

Sherri saw the lights stop, and then vanish. "He must have automatic lights, and he turned the engine off." she thought. She turned another corner, and headed for home. "Another ten miles", she told herself, "Another ten miles and I'll be safe." She could hide, and think it through.

Robert was behind her, invisible in the dark. If a cop saw him, he would have a hell of a time explaining why he was driving with no lights. He followed her to a house, and slowed with the emergency brake to keep his tail lights from flashing on. He made a mental note to have a switch installed to kill that feature, then he noted that it wasn't the first time he had made that note.

He turned the camera and watched the woman rush into her house. "Shit!" he groaned, "She's in a blind fucking panic." He saw Sherri stumble, "No, she is in a blind, drunk fucking panic!"

Robert shook his head and almost called the police. He had dialed the first digit of 911 on his phone, and then hesitated. Robert then wondered if he should consider ignoring this night. He checked the video to see if it was something they could use. He downloaded the video onto his laptop, and then scrolled through most of it. It would be in the last 15 minutes or so. There he was going around the corner, and there. He grabbed the frame and put it into a photo editing program. He increased the zoom and the light, enhanced the picture and there she was, Miss Drunken Runner. Not a great pose for her he decided, with her eyes bugging out of her head, blind panic on her face.

Robert looked at her, Who was she he wondered?

Well no problem there. Robert connected to the wireless internet network. He then brought up one of his bookmarked sites, county tax information. "Let's see if this house is resided in by the owner." he thought. He brought up the address, and yes, resided in by owner. One Sherri Samantha Chenowith. Sounds like an old money family where the money ran out a couple of generations ago. Robert smiled, he was nouveau riche, with emphasis on the riche as far as he was concerned.

He had won the Lottery some ten years ago, one of those gigantic jackpots, and had more money and thus influence than he could easily manage himself, but he didn't trust anyone else to manage it for him. He invested it by buying businesses, and then put a person that he did trust not to steal from him, in charge of the new company. He owned several companies now, and their CEO's answered to him. He was a PI for one reason, he owned a security company. You were supposed to be a PI if you owned a security company, at least that seemed to be the wisdom. Hey he liked to joke to himself, who couldn't use a couple hundred million. September 11th had really increased his security business. Everyone was worried about terrorism, even third rate companies in a dying business. They paid him well to put people on gates, install security systems, and then run checks on employees.

"OK, Sherri, who are you?" He punched her name into another search program and found three hits. One lived here, so that was her. A lawyer, shit she should know better. "Whitman and Parker, tax and corporate guys" he read, and there was her headshot for the company. He brought that picture up, and saw she was cute, young at 26, but cute. He focused on her eyes, then turned and looked at her house which was still dark. She was probably laying on the floor and crying, trying to sober up enough to think.

Robert considered the eyes, they were the same eyes he had drawn in the hospital fifteen years ago. The same eyes he had seen in the fevered delusion in the jungle. The little green spot under the pupil of the right eye. Sherri had the eyes he had seen in that vision. The decision was already made he realized, and he needed to move now. He had to act to protect her, or he might miss the moment that destiny had given him.

Robert started his car, and drove away quietly with the lights off, until he got down the street. He drove home. He needed more information, and he needed time to consider. He didn't have much time to do either task well, but perhaps just well enough.

Sherri was doing just as Robert thought, laying on the floor and crying. She was weeping at the loss of her pathetic existence for an even more dismal future existence unless the police didn't find her. She had to hide to keep from talking to them. She tried to tell herself "Volunteer nothing, give up nothing, if you don't talk, then they can't use it against you. Let them try and prove the case."

Sherri got up and went to her room, where she cried herself to a short and troubled sleep. Emotionally drained, she slept fully clothed, still wet from the rain, and woke at 6am with a hangover from hell. Her head pounded, and it actually took 10 minutes to remember the night. Her eyes popped open and color drained from her. Had she really run like that? Oh my God, what had she done?

Robert had a full night, and used every minute of it. He grabbed for every piece of information on Sherri he could get. Her thesis at college was in a searchable database, but her law school ones would need to be mailed. No problem there, wait and see if you want it.

He read her credit report, her payments were mostly minimums, but all on time. She graduated top of the class from the university, why is she here? This is a small pond for someone like that. Student loans, lots of them, so no old money even with the name. He saw that she wasn't drowning in debt, but she wasn't getting very far above it either.

He brought up banking records, and on the fifth try, figures. He found her balances. She didn't have much, just over $2,600 in combined checking and savings accounts.

Phone records. OK, DSL, the low one, and not much long distance. Looking at the other databases, she has a sister in Portland, married. Phone bill, no Portland numbers. Cell phone, fourth try this time, and there she is, no Portland calls. Check back, three months ago Sherri had called Portland, now back to the page for the database, her sisters birthday.

Robert was liking what he saw, a loner, isolated, out on Friday Night, drunk, DUI, and hit and run. Lawyer with mediocre future, despite a high start from the University of Illinois. That bothered him, normally the Laude folks ended up in Law School, and then on Wall Street or the Chicago version. What happened, how did she plummet like this?

Robert filled out the online forms, and asked for Sherri Chenowith's writings, and any transcripts. OK, now burn the DVD with the incriminating footage, get the player, and make the contract. By 6am, he was almost ready. He shaved, and changed to a shirt and tie with a great jacket, he needed to look very successful, and very capable to pull this off.

He placed a call to Bobby, his part timer. He answered with his customary "Yes" no wasted words that Bobby.

"I need you, get the pickup, and the white panel trailer, the big one, we're grabbing a car."

"OK, where?" Bobby said.

Robert gave the address, and then told Bobby where to take the car at 8:12 exactly.

Robert then planned out the morning, and at 7:20 got into his Audi and drove to Sherri's house.

He saw Bobby parked on the next street as he drove by. His plan was to be there no more than 10 minutes before Bobby pulled up and backed in.

He grabbed his prepared briefcase, and walked to the front door. He rang the bell, when no one answered in the first minute, he knocked...hard. The door opened, and the silly girl was wearing sweat pants and a sweat shirt. Not matching. Robert shook his head, and then introduced himself.

"Hi Sherri, today is your lucky day, I am Robert Mason, and I am your fairy fucking Godfather, here to keep you out of prison."

Sherri went pale with shock. Robert hesitated, wondering if he could pull this off. She wasn't thinking yet. Damn, she was still in hide and deny mode.

"Sherri, we have work to do, and it may look suspicious if someone drives by and sees me standing here talking." Robert glanced around as if checking. "Please invite me in if you don't want to go to prison."

Sherri finally found her voice and it wasn't much "Are you the police?" She realized it was stupid, that was a Brooks Brothers suit or better. Custom tailored to fit at that, which meant way more than a cop could afford. Think she demanded of herself.

Robert sighed, "I am not the police, I'm a man with the means and capability to keep you out of prison. Or guarantee you go, your choice. Make it now."

Sherri stood back and let Robert in. He acted very confident, which didn't help Sherri's frame of mind. She was scared, terrified really, and she didn't know what to do. This man was confusing the hell out of her.

Robert sat on the couch and opened his briefcase. "I am a private investigator, and the driver of the van who you saw last night." he began. He opened the DVD player and pushed play on it when the screen lit. "As you can see, the camera I had was on trying to find my target to tail, so I have video of you running to your car, and leaving the scene. I cut the next several minutes for our purposes, but please believe me, I have video of your car the whole way. Here you can see you running into your house, and stumbling, apparently drunk, or otherwise impaired. That would be the conclusion considering you spent $56.34 at the bar last night." Robert closed the DVD player and turned to Sherri who was sitting in a chair pale as a ghost.

"Do you want to go to prison?" Robert asked slowly and without a bit of preamble.

"No, I, No I don't" Sherri finally managed to get out. He had it all, she was screwed, she was going to prison, she had to think, but there was nothing to think. No attorney could fight that, no jury would believe it was all faked, too much, there was too much. She started to tear up and fought it demanding herself to be strong.

"Sherri what would you do to remain free from Prison?" asked Robert.

What Sherri thought, and then gave voice to the thought. "What?"

"What would you do to stay out of Prison?" asked Robert one more time more slowly.

"What, anything, please I have some money, please." she begged, she saw a glimpse of light at the end of an impossibly long and dark tunnel.

"Here is what we are going to do, you are going to sign a confession, read it for the camera and sign an agreement, simply stating that you will do what I ask when asked." Robert said giving her the papers.

The first, the agreement was all of two sentences. The second, a full confession with too much detail to be a bluff. She thought for a few seconds, her mind scrambling. She looked up and Robert was setting up a small video camera.

"I can't sign this, it's a confession."

"Sherri, if you sign that, your car will vanish, I will make it vanish. Additionally I will give you an alibi for last night." he paused, hearing the sound of the pickup backing, Bobby was here.

"Sherri we don't have time for this, the police probably have broken glass at the scene, they are tracing it now. They will then start to trace it to owners of that particular type of car, there is undoubtedly other trace evidence, something to link the car to the scene. The crime lab is very good, and methodical. The only way to beat them is to move fast, and deny them the evidence to link." Robert had the camera powered up. "one of my people is outside right now, in ten minutes if I haven't given him the sign, he will drive away, and I leave right behind him. You can hear the truck, look out the window. The car vanishes, we arrived at your home, and call the police to report the car missing. You were with me last night, I swear to it, and you are home free, so long as I don't spill the beans, and I am not going to do that if you cooperate. Now Sherri, either read that for the camera, and sign it, or I leave. Decide, and decide now." Robert told her.

Sherri knew all he said was true, no evidence, no crime. The police would think some kids had stolen her car, and run the old man over. She could get away with it. But to sign the confession, she would be committing suicide. "If we change the wording some." She tried to negotiate.

Robert closed the camera, and put the DVD player in the briefcase. "Have a good time in Prison Sherri" he said as he started to close the briefcase.

Sherri felt the panic rising again and cried "No please, I'll do it, but please, don't leave." Sherri admitted to herself, she was panicked, she was desperate, and she had no choice.

She sat and waited for the camera, and then read the document out loud, and then signed both documents on camera. She raged at herself but she didn't see a way out. It was do what he wanted, however vague that was, or go to jail.

She handed over the documents with a trembling hand. Tears filled her eyes, she was terrified, and prayed he was right, she would get out of this.