A Birthday Present - 001

A Birthday Present - 001

This is a continuation of my previous story, "A Birthday Fantasy." That story was very dark and intense and ended up in the non-consensual category. However, it ended with much closure. Hence, this story which ends up in the non-erotic category because there isn't any blatant sex. What this story does is provide a bit of closure. I hope you enjoy.

ErosSir

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Things had not been good since the incident almost a year ago. Chelsea had thought she was putting together a special birthday weekend by engaging a fantasy company to provide a weekend fantasy experience. What we got was a nightmare that continues to affect us. Chelsea is in a mental rehab facility still trying to deal with the aftermath. I spent a lot of days and nights trying to recover from my ordeal that weekend.

Now, with my birthday looming again, the memories are revived as are my fears and now, a sense of self-loathing that has been growing ever so slowly in the back of my mind. I think the root of this feeling is an underlying belief that I should have been able to prevent and mediate what happened that weekend. I know, on my logical side, that the circumstances were such that there was no way I could have prevailed. My masculine side rebels at my logical side, certain that I should have been able to prevent what happened.

I was struggling with this very issue one evening in my large cold and lonely house when the phone rang. In my semi-inebriated state, I started to just let the phone ring, but for some reason I have yet to explain, I thumbed the button to answer the call. I am afraid I was not the friendliest person in the world when I answered that call.

"Is this Dan Holloway?"

"Yeah? Who's this?"

"Mr. Holloway. My name is Richard Ferguson. We have something in common."

"What?"

"A man called Tig and some unpleasant memories."

Dan was silent for a few seconds and when he answered, his tone and voice were flat and very controlled.

"What do you want?"

"Revenge Mr. Holloway. I want revenge."

&&&&&

That word seemed to sober me up in a heartbeat. The calm and collected tone in the voice on the phone was certainly not what I expected to hear from someone who was talking about revenge. Now I was curious.

"Revenge for what?"

"Mr. Holloway, I would prefer to speak to you in person. Phones are notoriously easy to hack. Would you be amenable to meeting in person. Say, tomorrow evening?"

"I might."

"I will text you tomorrow. It will be public. I think you will be interested in what I have to discuss with you."

"Make it someplace with a bar."

There was a chuckle on the phone.

"Of course."

The next day was one of my new normal days. I got up, showered, left for my office, stopped for a bagel and coffee, and then tried to bury myself in work to keep my mind from wandering. I typically didn't want to see anyone. I would give my secretary a good morning and then hide behind my desk and a pile of work until lunch. Lunch was usually liquid and hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk. The afternoon was a repeat of the morning until it was time to leave. I tried to wait out my secretary but she had gotten in the habit of waiting for me to leave. I think she was afraid that I would sit in the office in the evenings and drink. It really didn't make me any difference whether I was in the office or at home.

I was just putting my stacks of paper into some reasonable semblance of disarray when my phone chirped. I looked to see a brief message.

8:30pm - Nathans - 12456 Peterson Road

There was not number or anything else to identify who sent the message. That was strange because there was almost always a number or name identifying the send of the message. I pocketed the phone and looked at the time. It was 5:30. Three hours to wait. I decided that Nathans was as good a place to wait as any. I punched in the address and let Google find the route. In minutes I was on my way.

I discovered that Nathan's was a roadhouse several miles outside the city limits. The building was a ramshackle collection of additions that seemed to have no rhyme or reason but there was already a sizable number of cars parked around the almost derelict looking establishment. As I entered the first portion of the building was dim, smoky, and a bit noisy. Music blared, several people turned to look at me, and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. I realized I was overdressed in my banker's three-piece suit. I quickly removed my tie and stuffed it in my coat pocket, unbuttoned the vest and let it hang open.

A waitress, somewhere between 25 and 55, approached me. She looked at me over as she approached. The tray tucked under her arm and the gum she was chewing were so stereotypical of the barmaid that I nearly laughed.

"You eatin' or drink in'."

"Both, and I am meeting someone later."

She nodded and motioned for me to follow. She led me deep into the maze of rooms that made up Nathan's until she stopped at a table in what passed for a dining room. Somewhere along the way she had picked up some silverware wrapped tightly in a paper napkin and a plastic-coated menu. She laid them all down on the table. As I sat, she took out a pencil and an order pad. No electronic devices in this establishment.

"What 'cha want to drink?"

"Single malt scotch on the rocks. Make it a double."

She looked at me a little askew. I guessed that not many of the patrons were scotch drinkers. He turned and headed away. I looked at the menu and found it was what I would have expected from the looks of the place. Most of the offerings were fried in some way, there was a collection of burgers, appetizers, and entrees. When the waitress, who I ascertained from her name tag to be Alice, returned, she sat down a glass of the amber liquid that kept me going most days, a glass of water, and another question.

"How many and who are you waiting on?"

"I don't know, and I don't know."

She looked at me like I was speaking Hindi.

"I don't know how many people are coming. I have never met them other than on the phone and I couldn't point them out if they were standing there with you. I am sure they will let you know when they get here."

She rolled her eyes and left. I picked up the scotch and sipped it. I wrinkled my nose. It might have been a single malt, but it was obviously not a brand name and certainly not a Glen Morange. I had seated myself facing the door into the dining room. I sat, alone, in the dining area.

I had opted for the roadhouse burger and fries. When Alice set it down on the table, I was pleasantly surprised. The burger was huge, piled onto a massive bun that was toasted on a griddle with what looked like butter. There was fresh cut lettuce, tomatoes and onion. The meat patty was handmade, thick and oozing juices. A thick slab of cheese was slowly melting over the patty. A huge pile of hand cut French fries sat next to the burger. From her apron, Alice pulled a bottle of ketchup, mustard and tabasco sauce.

I was sure that this was one of the best burgers I had ever eaten. I took my time with it. When I finally completed my meal, I was ready for another drink. I checked my phone. There were no calls or messages. The time was a little after seven. I had an hour and a half to kill. Allice had brought me another drink. I switched from scotch to something I could depend on. A bottle of a local dark ale hit the table.

"Is it okay if I wander around a bit until the rest of my party shows up?"

She looked at me like I was an idiot.

"Of course. Just don't try to skip out on your tab. Richard takes a dim view of that short of shit."

I assured her I was not going to skip. I pushed back from the table and grabbed my beer. Following Alice back toward the front of the place, I found several rooms with bar size pool tables surrounded by some rather rough looking characters who gave me a rather intense look. I quickly moved on. The main part of the bar was huge, with a dancefloor to one end. A DJ was playing a mix of 70s classic rock and some old country western. A few tired looking couples moved around the dancefloor lackadaisically. I found a place at the bar to stand to watch the others in the room.

I noticed that about 8pm, more people, singles and couples began to arrive. I assumed that 8PM was the hour when things would begin to liven up. There still wasn't much of a crowd. I guessed, with the people in the back, there were 25 or 30 people in the bar. It was nearing the time that my mysterious visitor was supposed to make an appearance. I caught the bartender's attention. He came toward me.

"Can I get another one of these, please."

"Sure."

My eyes came up to look at the bartender. I recognized that voice. I saw the face split into a grin.

"Hello Mr. Holloway. I am Richard Fergerson."

He stuck out a beefy hand and I took it. His handshake was firm, but I got the sense that had he wanted to turn my hand into hamburger it would not have been a problem. He was at least 6' 3", broad shoulders and trim. His hair was cut short, much like I had seen on many military members, but he sported a thick full beard streaked with gray. His eyes twinkled. There was an air of confidence about him. He wasn't built like a weightlifter, but it was apparent to me, based on how the AC/DC t-shirt he wore conformed to his shape, that he was lean, strong, and fit.

I sipped the beer as we sized each other up.

"Why didn't you just come and find me when I got here?"

"I was waiting on some other people."

I looked around and noticed that almost everyone in the bar was watching us. I had a sudden sense of dread. Richard saw my unease.

"Don't worry. Everyone here has something in common with us."

I looked at him with questions written all over my face.

"Not to worry. We will get to all of that in a few minutes. Let me take care of a few things first."

I watched as Richard Fergerson spoke to Alice. She headed to the front door, and I saw her lock it and turn the sign in the window to say CLOSED. Richard came back to where I was standing.

"Come on back to the dining room. All will be revealed."

I followed him and as we headed back to the dining room, everyone in the bar trailed along behind. Once there, Richard motioned to a table and sat down. I joined him and the others spread out among the other tables.

I waited, assuming that since Richard had called this little meeting, he would take the lead. He did.

"Dan. I told you that you and I shared some things.

"Yeah. A man called Tig."

Richard nodded.

"I crossed paths with him in San Diego almost 10 years ago. I was in the Navy, married to a beautiful woman who was a kindergarten teacher. We were happy, content, and living a good life. Then we crossed paths with Tig. My wife, Shirley, saw an ad in one of the local tabloid style magazines. She loved to read the personal ads. The ad that caught her attention was advertising an adventure weekend. The weekend was to be a three-day charter out of San Diego on a luxury yacht for 5 couples. It would be all inclusive. There would be fine dining, drinking, social times, fishing, scuba diving and other water sports. It was a little expensive for a Petty Officer in the Navy, but we had a little in savings. I had been deployed for almost a year and was just back. It sounded like a great way for Shirly and I to reconnect and rebond after a long separation.

To cut the story short, we had an experience much like you and your wife. We were kidnapped and suffered an intolerable three days in which I was physically restrained and forced to watch my wife being raped, humiliated, and tortured. Shirley contracted several STDs including an aggressive form of AIDS. She lasted about 2 years. I left the Navy shortly, thereafter, found this place for sale and have been here ever since."

I listened, somewhat stunned to his revelations. So, I was sitting with someone else who had experienced the same emotional and physical trauma. It did, indeed, seem that we had a lot in common. Richard took a drink of the water he had brought from the bar.

"Everyone else here has been involved in a similar situation."

I looked around in shock.

"How... I mean.... Who?"

"I had a lot of time on my hands. Nathan's has a solid clientele and basically runs itself. I tend to keep myself involved by tending bar. That gave me a lot of time to spend on the internet doing research. Over the next few years, I began to collect stories and news articles about similar occurrences around the country. I began to contact a few people. The same sorts of stories with the same sorts of nightmarish aftermaths kept coming up. What seemed like utter incompetence or lack of interest by the authorities to stop this person called Tig was the feeling I got from everyone I contacted.

Over time, those of us who connected decided that we were going to do what the authorities seemingly couldn't or wouldn't do. We are going to exact some revenge. When I saw the local newspaper articles about your situation, I knew in my soul that you needed to be a part of this. You need closure. That is what we are after. That, and to put a stop to this whole fucking evil operation."

I downed the last of my beer and looked at him and then around the room. I saw vacant eyes. Eyes that were slits filled with hatred, and some that glowed with the prospect of gaining back a little of what had been taken from them. I looked back at Richard and stuck out my hand.

"I'm in. What's next?"

&&&&&

I really never did get an answer to that question. As soon as I said I was in, Richard grinned, and the rest of the room was crowded around the table. Introductions were made, many of which I didn't remember and only put names with faces weeks later. I heard stories that were much like my own. They were all tragic. Much later, close to midnight, most of the others were gone. I sat at the table, working on my fourth or fifth beer, with Richard, and two other men. I know them now as John Spondel, and Abe Horowith.

I was to learn in time that John's wife had died with breast cancer not long ago. Abe's wife had suffered some sort of mental collapse. She would no longer have anything to do with him or any man for that fact. They were still married but she didn't live with him. He blamed himself but, I knew from my own experiences, that it was probably not all his fault. It was after the majority of the crowd had disappeared that I was able to again ask my question.

"What now?"

Richard had looked at me eye to eye and spoke without any emotion in his voice.

"Revenge."

"Ok. What kind? Are you going to go after him in court? A class action lawsuit? What?"

Richard shook his head. His gaze never left mind.

"Hell no. The courts are useless. The authorities are useless. I intend to mount a full-scale war on this asshole. A take no prisoners, scorched earth, no mercy fucking war."

I listened. I could hear the unmitigated hatred in Richard's voice now. There was no doubt in my mind what he was thinking and wanting.

"I don't know how much help I will be. I certainly am no fighter."

"Yeah. But you know banking and money. We are talking about millions of dollars that this gang is generating. Of course I want to sting them there. I want to take everything they have accumulated and ratholed to help all of these people you saw here tonight. I want revenge on that scum Tig, his family and his associates. I want to destroy the international network that supports this level of evil."

"That's a tall order."

"Hell, yeah it is. It's taken me 5 years to get to this point. You are, I think, the last piece to the puzzle."

"How so?"

"I see this as a three-prong operation. One is to take down TIG, hard. I can handle that part. One is to take down the internet portion of this gang. I have one of the best internet security guys in the world and a world class hacker. They can handle the internet part. That leaves the financial part. That's where you come in. You know banking and finance. Your part of this operation will be to get whatever money we find safely into the banking system and distribute it to the others in this cabal."

"That gets into some activities that can be considered highly illegal."

Richard looked at me and then chuckled.

"Tig and his group didn't seem to mind the legalities. The legal authorities don't seem to be interested in pursuing their illegal activities. Are you worried about tweaking a few laws to get back what you have lost?"

I considered what Richard was saying. It didn't take me long to decide that revenge was a dish that I would love to drop on Tig. If it meant some legal risk, so be it."

"You know we will have to work this tightly and together. I will need the internet to move funds around internationally. Your guys will need my insight in where to find and retrieve this money. We will also have to locate the servers around the world distributing the videos and take them all down at once. If you mean to take down Tig and his crew, that will have to happen almost simultaneously or they will spook and go deep."

Richard's face slowly spread into a wide grin.

"I knew that you would be an asset. You think like a strategic planner. Timing is everything."

I nodded. Any business deal depended on precise timing.

"What about TIg and his crew? They are slippery, wary, and dangerous."

RIchard's eyes went to slits and I saw what I took to be a murderous rage behind them.

"Tig is no different than a hundred other terrorists that my SEAL team and I I hunted down and executed."

"I want in on that."

His eyes opened in surprise.

"You? I didn't think you were a fighter.

"I'm not. But that doesn't mean I don't want to exact my pound of flesh from that son of a bitch. I want to look in his face when he realizes he is going to die."

RIchard looked at me with what I took to be a new level of respect.

"We can probably manage that."

&&&&&

That night I learned that John Spondel and Abe Horowith were two of the very first men that Richard had approached. John now lived in upstate Vermont. He was retired. He had built a vast fortune in mining rare earth metals when the techno boom happened. His wealth just continued to grow as he saw the future and got involved in several overseas ventures that purchased mining rights in some rather sketchy African countries. John was a big man also. He was in his mid 70s but still looked formidable. Not too long ago I learned that he had stood shoulder to shoulder with a large group of his workers when a local African warlord decided to become a partner in one of his mining operations. Rumor had it that John personally tossed the warlord over the edge of an 850 foot open pit mine.

John's run in with TIG started out as an opportunity for his wife to experience a fantasy she had always talked about. His wife, June, had a fantasy about being a centerfold spread for a man's magazine. Her idea was to be photographed and have a one-off magazine published that would only be given to her husband. Like me and Chelsea, the whole thing was a setup and they suffered at the hands of Tig and his family just as the rest of us had. June had died just a few months previous from breast cancer.

Abe Horowith, on the other hand, was a small round man. He was almost totally bald and continually wore a smile. Behind the smile was a tale of heartbreak.

Abe had married a beautiful young woman. It wasn't really an arranged marriage. He had been introduced by his family to his future wife Rachel in a very traditional way. She was strikingly beautiful, but had been raised traditionally and wanted nothing more than to become a traditional wife in a traditional household. The fact that Abe's family was one of three that controlled most of the diamond trade in New York City was just happenstance. His money and position didn't mean anything to her. It was his traditional values and upbringing that attracted her.