The Lawyer and the Killer Ch. 08

Todd was coming over that night. He'd been such a good sport, a real decent chap. She'd known for some time he wanted more than the platonic thing. Tonight she decided she'd give him what he wanted. She'd taken a warm shower, put on some new perfume, a nice fragrant aroma. She worked for twenty minutes tying her hair back in the perfect but casual looking ponytail. Make up was just so the right eye shadow, pink lip stick with a smidgen of gloss, a speck of cheek coloring.

The only jewelry she wore was the necklace and pendant Shawn had given her. The phrase on the back, 'Love is Eternal,' could have meant anybody. Todd hadn't noticed it yet, and she was sure if he did he wouldn't make a connection between her and any other man. She thought about Shawn. She thought about him a lot. But Shawn, she decided, was a part of her past from now on. It was time to move on.

She opted for a pair of relaxed fit silk slacks with a tie rather than a belt at the waist. They buttoned up in the front, and to add to the allure she decided to forgo underpants. She'd trimmed her pussy, leaving just a trace of hair above her clitoris. She decided on a slightly translucent camisole type top, held up with two scandalously thin spaghetti straps. She capped everything off with a pair of high heeled mules. She was sure he'd know what the score was as soon as he walked in.

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Todd Bitterman was on the telephone with Oscar Camulos, "I've been working very closely with our prospective assistant. I think you'll find she'll be very amenable to working with you that is, I mean for you, in the near future. I'm on my way over to see her again tonight."

On the other end of the line a dark and malevolent man smiled evilly. He'd make her his personal assistant.

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In a tiny dimly lit room in a small building on the edge of Omdurman a young Yemeni officer was adjusting some electrical wires, "I hear back in the days when the Shah ran Iran his secret service, SAVAK, used to attach electric wires to mens' penises. Maybe we'll try that later. Right now I think I prefer a nice electric enema. What do you think Mr. Shawn McClellan, United Nations Aid worker?"

Shawn sat in the big metal chair. His arms and legs duct taped to the chair's arms and legs, "I'm sorry if I don't oblige you in your humor. I'm sorry if I can't tell you anything. I am just a UN aid worker."

The Yemeni smiled, "Oh come on Shawn. You and I both know in a little while I'll have you confessing to everything I want. You'll be damn glad to sign your name to anything I put in front of you. That's why your people called it enhanced interrogation."

Shawn whispered, "I suppose you're right. But my confessing under torture won't make anything true."

The Yemeni laughed, "Maybe not, but it will be a hell of a lot of fun!"

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Susan was dressed for sex. She was going to give Todd what he'd been hinting at the last several days. Slinky silk slacks; tiny mother of pearl buttons up the pale blue front allowing for suggestive gaps that gave tiny peaks at an almost cleanly shaven pussy. Spaghetti strap camisole top, no bra, nipples pressing against soft almost sheer silk material; Susan was ready to deliver.

She checked her watch. Not long before Jeopardy. She adjusted the television to the station that carried her show. She rechecked her watch. It wouldn't be on for another twenty-five minutes. She didn't expect Todd till around 9:00. What the hell she thought. She'd watch a little news first. She sat back in the sofa holding little Shawna. Oh good it was Brian Williams on NBC.

Her doorbell rang. Todd was early. She put Shawna in her bassinet and went to the door. He greeted her with a dozen red roses, "How thoughtful, roses. My favorite," In the time she'd been with Shawn not one flower, not even a marigold. "Come sit on the sofa while I put these in water." She gave him a wink and peck on the cheek; promises of things to come.

News anchor Williams was covering the top news stories; the recent elections, political posturing, and the latest political scandals. Nothing much on after that she thought. She was bored with politics. She went to get Shawna another pamper, "Wait there Todd. I'll be right out."

Todd gave her a warm smile. Inside his thoughts were marching in a much more erotic direction. He watched her disappear into the bathroom, pants so tight he could see the crease between her ass cheeks.

Susan came back in. She re-diapered Shawna and sat down on the sofa beside Todd. She'd popped some popcorn, had it in a bowl. She plopped two Coors Lites down on the coffee table. Todd put his right arm around her shoulders.

She snuggled up close; adjusted the picture on the television a little. Checked the clock; twenty minutes till Jeopardy. She thought she and Todd could cuddle their way through the news, pet through Jeopardy, and then get down to the business of some real sex.

Williams said something about a gun running base masquerading as an aid station in East Africa. Somebody had gotten their wires crossed. It hadn't been a gun running operation at all.

Todd took his right hand and gently rubbed the back of her neck. He felt her hackles rise.

Susan enjoyed the attention. Todd's hand felt soft. No one had touched her since Shawn. Forget that! Forget him! She watched a Little more Brian Williams. He was mumbling some nonsense about Africa.

Todd had his left hand on Susan's inner thigh. She felt warm. God he thought, this is going to be great. All the work, all the sentimental bullshit, the phony sensitivity, the faked understanding, he'd get her tonight. He leaned forward and around to kiss her.

Susan knew what Todd wanted. She was ready; his care, compassion, and genuine concern needed a reward. She turned to kiss him.

In the background Brian Williams was still mumbling something about Africa, and an arms depot. He said he'd be back after the break.

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Shawn, completely naked, was tied tightly in a metal chair. The room was small, hot, dark, and dirty. He could smell the old sweat, the stale urine odors of past victims. The humidity alone was almost unbearable.

His hands, feet, legs, and waist were all held firmly in place with rope and duct tape. His captors hadn't bothered to strap his head down. His tormentors enjoyed his futile twisting and turning.

They started by shoving a metal tube up his ass. They gave him short bursts of electricity; on and off, on and off, each time the voltage got a little stronger. Jesus thought Shawn, this really hurt!

Shawn tried to maintain some semblance of self control, some kind of equilibrium, but the pain was so bad. As the pain grew worse he tried disassociation. That didn't work. He tried to reason with them. He even begged a little. Nothing mattered.

The questions they asked him were all irrelevant, superfluous. When was he born, Where was he born, How old was he? How many letters were there in his first name? Each question was preceded with a jolt of electricity. They asked him who his parents were.

He tried to explain he was a foster child. When they refused to accept the truth he made up a story. He pretended he was Greg from the Brady Bunch. They'd juice him, and he'd tell them an episode. They especially liked the Marsha stories. It would have been funny if it wasn't so desperately crazy.

Eventually the man in charge, the Yemeni got bored. He extracted the metal tube from Shawn's butt, and washed his legs and crotch with warm soapy water. They attached several electrodes to his scrotum and his penis.

The Yemeni stood back, "Take a break Shawn. I think I'll have some coffee." He grinned, "Want some?" He laughed, "Oh never mind. You're sort of tied up at the moment." He went to the far end of the room and sat.

Shawn knew the fun stuff was over. The next time they started things were going to be a lot different. Different as in worse.

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Susan and Todd kissed.

Shit thought Susan. Todd was one of those aggressive kissers; one of those I've got to make a point with my kiss. Whatever happened to the old fashioned warm and tender 'I love you' kind of smooch? Crap, she thought damn, that was Shawn. Shawn was gone. He was nowhere, in the past. She did her best to kiss Todd back.

Todd let his left hand creep up to Susan's crotch. She was warm and wet. His lion, he called his penis his lion, was getting hard as a rock. Pretty soon he'd hammer it home. He pressed her right nipple between his thumb and index finger. Women liked that.

"Ouch." He pinched her. Susan didn't like it.

Todd recovered, "I'm sorry." He pressed her breast in his hand more gently. They kept kissing.

Susan kept working on Todd's mouth with hers, trying to improve his kissing skills. She took her right hand and placed it between his pants legs. She glimpsed down. He had a hard on. She wondered if he had a name for his thing. She didn't feel like finding out. She gently rubbed the inside of his legs.

Brian Williams was back on. He was still whining about some bullshit in Africa. Susan felt like turning the damn television off, and getting it on with the main event so she could send Todd home and play with her little girl.

Brian Williams wouldn't shut up. Susan reached for the remote. Her plan was clear, turn Brian off, get Todd off out and gone, and get back to Shawna.

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The Yemeni walked back to Shawn's end of the room, "Warm up time is over." He smiled at Shawn, "Ready?"

Shawn looked at the man, No bravado, no false courage, and no pretense, "I'm sorry. I'm just a poor dumb American aid worker."

The Yemeni shot Shawn a mild jolt. There was nothing mild about an electric shock to the balls, "You were in the army maybe?"

Shawn could answer that one, "Yes, I was in the army."

Another shot of electricity, and then the Yemeni asked, "An officer maybe?"

"No, I was just a sergeant."

More juice, the Yemeni, "Combat?"

"Yes."

Another shock, "Medals?"

"Bronze Stars."

More electricity, "More than one?"

"Two."

The Yemeni turned the voltage up another notch, "Ever kill any Muslims?"

Shawn answered, "The other day at the aid station."

More juice, the Yemeni asked, "Nowhere else?"

Shawn was suffering, but this time he had to get in a wisecrack, "I never inquired about anyone's religious affiliations. I've always been an equal opportunity butcher."

The Yemeni didn't appreciate the comment. He flicked the control switch higher, turned it on, and left it on for several seconds.

Shawn screamed.

The Yemeni said, "You shouldn't be rude."

Shawn was out of breath from the last shock. He was barely able to answer so he didn't. He just rolled his head in pain. Finally, "I've told you everything. I'm a nobody."

The Yemeni gave Shawn a little shock, just a nudge, "Oh no. That's not true. You're very important. You're very important to us."

Shawn answered, "Believe me. I'm nobody."

The Yemeni turned off the electricity, "I'm hungry. I think I'll have lunch now." He leaned in very close, so close Shawn could smell the coffee on his breath, "When I come back we'll get serious." He got up and left the room.

Shawn rolled his head back and forth in the chair and cried.

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Susan was just about to turn off the television. The news was boring. What happened in Africa stayed in Africa! What were their problems to her? She put her finger on the power button. But she hesitated for just a second.

Williams kept droning on, "According to our latest reports. The claimed arms depot really had been a UN aid station, and it had been overrun by Muslim guerrillas. Hundreds of people were dead. Counted among the dead were several European aid workers."

Susan put off shutting down the television for one more second. She didn't recognize any of the names. She looked back down to the remote. She figured she'd return to her main plan, get Todd off, and out, and then she'd play with Shawna Lauren. But she hesitated again.

What was Williams saying?

Williams mentioned some additional names, " Among the missing, and perhaps dead was a Nepali woman named Kia Monisha Chalise the daughter of the former Nepali ambassador to the United States, a Dr. Idra Shai Selassie from Ethiopia was also missing, one Kim Il Sun from Korea, and then there may be a missing American, a man named Shawn McClellan.

Susan sat up, "No!"

Todd, who had been busy trying to squeeze a finger in her cleft asked, "No what?"

"No! Shawn! No!" She listened in utter disbelief, "In Africa?" She doubled over and wretched on the rug. An aid worker in the Sudan! Shawn missing! Possibly dead! She cried out, "No! That can't be! No! Shawn! No!" She burst into tears!

Todd didn't have a clue, "What's wrong honey?"

She pushed Todd away, "You've got to leave."

He was totally confused, "Why? What's wrong?"

Susan was already up. "Sorry Todd. I can't."

"Why not? What happened?"

"Just leave. I'll call you tomorrow." He tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him off again. "No, you have to go." She gave herself over to tears, "Todd I'm sorry. I want you to go."

Todd thoroughly pissed, "OK. Call me tomorrow." He was out the door.

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The Yemeni came back into the room. Shawn still tied and taped was in a stupor. The Yemeni didn't say anything. He just flicked the switch and gave Shawn a heavy jolt, "Wake up time."

Shawn jumped and looked up. No courage, no pride, no stamina, just fear, raw unconcealed terror.

The Yemeni hit the switch, "Tell me about the CIA."

"I wasn't in the CIA."

Another really strong surge of electricity, "What branch of the secret service are you in?"

Shawn was done, fried, and beaten. He was ready to admit to anything, "The CID."

The Yemeni had never heard of it, "The what?"

Shawn didn't want another jolt. He'd do anything, say anything. He talked, "I'm in the CID. It's a branch of the army. Its purpose is mainly internal, and when not internal to the army usually only domestic. I did domestic surveillance; then I got involved with a syndicate operation. Killed a few people, rescued a few."

The Yemeni seemed pleased. There was no follow up electric shock, "What are you doing in Africa?"

Shawn looked over at him, "I'm not lying. I'm here for personal reasons, just being a do gooder."

The Yemeni believed him, but it wasn't important anymore, "You were part of a secret American organization sent here to distribute guns among the enemies of the legal Sudanese government. You will confess to that."

Shawn figured he was dead anyway, and he couldn't bear the thought of any more electricity. "You give me the document. I'll sign it."

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Susan's head was in a whirl. Shawn! No! Not Shawn. But then she recovered. He was missing, only missing. This wasn't just anybody. This was Shawn; her Shawn. He was tough, tough as nails. She'd been through this with him before. He was missing; but she bet he was all right. She knew it. He was all right.

Susan reconsidered. If he wasn't dead, he'd come back. They could reunite, work out their problems, maybe even get married, raise little Shawna Lauren together, and have a half dozen more. Then again, what if he was dead? It would be a clean break, a final break. He'd be gone. Sure she'd miss him, at least for a while. But Susan realized little Shawna would never know him; never have that sense of loss, or any bad uncomfortable memories. Susan would be able to talk to her about the UN hero, the aid worker, not the hired killer, rapist, and hoodlum kidnapper he really was.

Susan reconciled her feelings. Either way it was all right. If he's dead she'd go on, but if he was alive they'd work things out. She had it made. It was a winning situation no matter how they rolled the dice.

She burst into tears again, this time it was an unending torrent, a torrent not of grief, nor fear; a torrent of guilt. How could she conceive the death of the father of her baby as being a good thing? What kind of person would think that way; her thinking that way made her no better than the worst in Shawn. She cried even harder. How could she ever imagine the death of another human being, any human being, especially someone like Shawn, as being good? She loved him. Honest! She really did!

Susan got down on her knees. She prayed, "Oh God. Please God. Don't let Shawn be dead. I'm sorry I even thought about it. Please I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please make him not be dead."

It didn't matter. She'd let the cat of self interest out of the bag. Being selfish was the worst human trait, and she was one of the most selfish people she knew. She promised, if he was alive, if he came home, she'd marry him, she'd be the best, the most loyal, the most loving wife any man ever had. She kept praying, "Please God. I know I'm nothing in your eyes, but at least get Shawn safely back home."

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Mark Miller sat at his desk. That bitch Slattery wasn't getting away with it. Twice she'd made a fool of him. All the guys, and gals, around the office knew about it. Mark knew she was into things she shouldn't be. Bitterman was a shill for mobsters, and she'd started working with him. Mark decided he'd snoop around a little. He bet he'd catch her up in something. Damn shame he thought. Under different circumstances she'd be just the gal. Oh well, tough shit.

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The Yemeni had finished his job. He held a blank sheet of paper in his hand with a signature at the bottom. He went in to see the General, "General Suleiman I have the confession you requested. The man in there, Shawn McClellan, is through."

The General looked at his prime torturer, "We kill him now?"

The Yemeni looked at the General. No he thought, the man in the other room still had value, "No I think not. I suggest we clean him up. It won't take much now to get him to say and do anything we want. He'll be a spokesperson for freedom loving Muslims everywhere."

The General was bored, "OK. Clean him up. Take him out of the city someplace. Keep him safe till I call you."

The Yemeni saluted, "Yes sir."

Back in the darkened room there wasn't much left of the man who'd saved lives in Thailand, rescued girls in Nepal, and kidnapped and saved Susan Slattery two times. Shawn McClellan was a shell, a husk, a beaten, degraded, and ruined man.

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A little further up town in the same city two young women were resting in an air conditioned apartment. Omdurman wasn't one of the world's pleasure spots. Luxurious accommodations weren't like Manhattan or Dubai, but by Sudanese standards the ladies were doing quite well.

General Suleiman smiled at the women, "I hope you've found our hospitality to your liking?"

Shai spoke for both, "Things would be even more pleasant if we could communicate with our superiors at the UN."

The General gave her a bland smile, "Good things always come to people who know how to play by the rules. Both of you lovely ladies certainly understand the old Latin phrase. How does it go? Quid pro quo I think." He looked at Kia, "Isn't that the phrase I want?"

Kia looked at the general diffidently, but made no comment.

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It was a bleak Thursday morning, and somewhere deep within the bowels of that historic five sided building known as the Pentagon a Chief Warrant Officer was checking his incoming reports. For the second time in seven months the same maverick CID agent had mysteriously disappeared.

The warrant officer leaned back in his chair. He lit his overlarge corn cob pipe. He reflected on the asshole he'd been so instrumental in bringing into their service. He leaned forward and turned on his intercom, "Alice! Call everyone in here, pronto!"

Rocking back in his chair he looked across the room at the portrait of his childhood hero, General Douglass MacArthur. He chuckled to himself, and then to no one in particular he commented, "Houston! We've got a problem."