A Life Not My Own Ch. 03

"Why did you give me this?" the Major was now highly suspicious.

"Because it would be rude for me to give you the grenade it was attached to," I kept that smile frozen on my face.

My militia buddies were backing away rapidly; they knew I was nuts and they'd seen what happened when a Chinese-made Type 42 grenade goes off.

"What do you plan to do with that?" his tone was even and hostile.

"I'm going to throw it somewhere random," I gave a congenial nod. "I'll pay reparations on any men I kill and, of course, pay standard market price on any equipment damaged or destroyed."

"Unless," his eyes narrowed but burned with intensity. "There is always an 'unless'."

"Unless you stop treating this as a cultural lesson being handed down to someone who is pretending to care about you, your leader, your people or your culture," I related. "I know the fucking globe like the back of my hand but even I had to look up this place on a map to find it."

"I am not disrespecting you but I'm not going to kiss your ass either. I don't have a death wish; I am here to conduct business," I continued, "and my business doesn't include social niceties, or pretending to be culturally sensitive when we both know that I'm not. I'm not going to blow smoke up your ass; I want to conduct my business then depart to a place where I'm not in constant fear for my life."

"The grenade?" the Major directed his eyes to the instrument of pain and death.

"I had to get your attention and cut through this bullshit argument about taking my bodyguards' weapons away from them," I took a deep breath because the Major had ceased being the Enemy and has returned to being an enemy – he'd kill us if ordered to but not for shits and giggles.

"Where did you get the grenade from?" He inquired almost serene- like. I extend the grenade and he placed the pin back in carefully; we'd hate it if we suddenly ruined our burgeoning friendship over a little hand sweat.

"I am not going to help you nail the poor bastard I lifted this from," I shook my head.

"It was him," the Major pointed out the guy who has been doing such a fine imitation of a tree until now.

"I neither confirm nor deny," I stated.

"He is missing a grenade in his belt," the Major pointed out.

He handed the man back his grenade, calmly gave him an order in the native lingo and our boy departed. That he departed at a quick step and not as a condemned man spoke volumes for the Major over guys like Sarge – this fucker was dangerous.

"Your women will keep their side arms holster and latched down. All assault rifles and SMG's will be back slung and will not be touched unless your life – not theirs, only yours – is in danger," he ordered.

"Knives and bolos?" I clarified.

"If your women can take one of my men with a knife, so bit it. Same goes for the bolos," the Major conceded the issue in my favor. We proceeded up the steps and inside to a pedophiles playhouse – oh hell. Apparently the flavor of the week is 12 to 14 year old boys and girls.

"This disturbs you?" the Major tilted his head my way and questioned me.

"Yeah – yeah it does," I nodded. "Fuck explosive population growth, this is a huge waste of intellectual and economic potential. I assume you eventually off-load them to foreign markets because I don't think you could justify the waste of muscle power on killing them."

"Is that all, Mr. Umstead?" he persisted. He was not sounding me out for sympathy; he was profiling me as much as I was profiling him – as I said, a totally different kind of bad guy.

"Nope, I have a conscience and I find beating someone smaller and weaker than you to be a disease that should be eradicated from the human species," I responded.

"Failing that, if I had access to a small mercenary army, I'd come back here and round up every male over the age of 15 in this town and bring back impaling as a death sentence because I hear it is a long and horribly way to die, but still kinder than child slavers deserve," I detailed to him clinically. "As reality stands, Mr. Harrow holds the lives of those few people I care about over my head so I will behave – happy now?"

"You are lying, Mr. Umstead, but I can't tell about what?" The Major looked me over. "That tells me you are either very good at deception, or you, yourself, are conflicted about what you do?"

"What is your boss going to think about that?" I pushed things.

"Oh, there are things my Sultan does not need to be troubled with," the guy said, "The Sultan likes to be decisive but finds actually making a decision to be taxing, thus boring and unpleasant."

We entered the main open-air meeting area though I noted the Sultan had roll-out screens on the roof that will deflect most to the rain should it come while we are meeting. The place is a miss-mash of Mindanao, Spanish, and Arabic styles that works for his place. Michael Harrow and four ladies where off to the right.

To the top left was Aya Yen and three no-necks who looked happy enough to throw live baby chicks into a burning oven just to watch them pop. Three other independent groups of sleaze-bags are on the left beneath Aya. One group was made up of fanatics – over what, I did not know. The other two groups were soulless monsters who should be put down on general principle.

The Major bowed (guards don't bow, they guard) and thanks to the omniscient Winnie, we bowed too. I caught Harrow being mildly amused by the whole scene. Most likely he was the Sultan's special friend and didn't have to bow. A short argument went back and forth between the Major and the Sultan then the Sultan and Harrow shared a secret joke.

"Welcome to my country," the Sultan greeted us (me really), "Stand – stand," he allowed us. "How has your visit been so far?"

"I'm waiting for this place to grow on me," I conceded then I heard Winnie groan softly. I was not pretending to be the world's best diplomat. "I feel so under-dressed; all I brought with me was a nail clipper."

The Sultan regards me for an instant then fired off in his home lingo to the Major.

"I can sell you a gun if you like," the Sultan smiled once more.

"Thank you Sultan, but that won't be necessary. If the threat is at range, one of my ladies will kill it and if it is up-close, I'll break their necks myself," I grinned right back.

"Women are not allowed weapons in my land," the Sultan's smile grew brittle.

"Quaint custom but I didn't come here for your customs, I came to do business," I told him. "If you don't want to do business; my arrangement with Michael Harrow is voided, I will turn my ass around and leave, never looking back."

"I don't think I'm indispensable and there are a hundred money men who will stab their own mothers in the back to get into bed with you. I am the best man in the business for you, though, and I'm not going to go running to Interpol with some whiny little tale about how you threatened my sick little daughter, or my favorite Labrador named Fluffy," I kept at it.

"I don't want to be here but I am and deserting Mr. Harrow only makes the lives of my few friends worse – so I'm here. You are not going to yank my chain though because every damn person in this room, me included, deserves to die – painfully screaming out our last seconds. That said, do we start shooting, do my ladies get dispensation to carry their artillery, or do I get to go home?" I finished up.

"Even me Dominic?" Aya Yen purred but it is all velvet fur and nasty claws underneath.

"Especially you, Ms. Yen; you touched my friend so I'm only waiting for the change to choke you and watch the flickering flame that is your life go out," I promised – and lied.

She seems somewhat taken aback by my glacial anger.

"Are you sure your mind hasn't been poisoned by the FBI and the US State Department?" she taunted me. I could tell Jensen and Winnie were surprised that their 'covers' have been blown so fast. Since the conversation was in Spanish, I could tell only Harrow and the Sultan were also in on the gag.

"And?" I looked at Aya.

"And – and they are federal agent so you are either a total idiot – which you loudly claim not to be – or you are in with US law enforcement," she snarled triumphantly.

"Sure, you could see it that way, or you could see that Ms. Winifred Portsmouth, daughter of former ambassador to the Philippines and weapons expert was fired over sexual misconduct charges 8 months ago – the file was sealed for her father's sake," I snarled right back.

"She knows two dozen languages and dialects from South-East Asia alone and she was with DSS. If she wasn't a bi-sexual nymphomaniac, she'd still be with them today, but she's a sick little kitten that I like to pet, so she's with me now," I grinned toward Winnie who rubbed her panty line from hip to crotch. Now this was the cover story I planted – gritty and embarrassing.

"I figured that actually knowing what the fuck was being said around me was going to come in handy and it already has," I snorted. "Being smart isn't the issue – being smarter than you and your information source is. By the way, she has a brother named Peter who I went to a private academy with. Did your sources tell you I've known her for twelve years too?"

"Jensen Furst was an FBI agent and a good one. She made a bad call and three agents were wounded, two critically so she was marginalized, her career over and looking at early retirement. I recruited her because I need someone who knows criminals – like everyone in this room – but who wasn't a criminal themselves because I don't want someone on your side giving me advice," I stated.

"Do you want to ask her how happy she is working with me, doing this?" I offered the room.

"Well Ms. Furst, how do you feel about this? Won't you turn us in when given the chance?" Yen pressed.

"Lady, I couldn't get a trash bag changed in the FBI when I was shown the door," Jensen related with some real bitterness that was tough to fake.

"All my friends have retired or been rotated to desk jobs. The only people I can tell would use this to make their careers – the career that should have been mine," she growled. "If you start chopping up some baby in front of me I'll probably kill everyone I can; I'm not some animal damn it. Beyond that, some of the perks of this job are looking worthwhile."

"An FBI agent," the first of three fanatics glared our way.

"Yeah, and I was in air rescue Ali (random name), which means I took helicopters into rough places and rescued downed pilots. I also got to jump out of my Pave Hawk with my M-4 and pop some Jonny-jihad ragheads in Afghanistan," Jensen met his gaze. "Anyone you knew?"

"Your woman is insolent," 'Ali' snapped at me. Apparently being killed by Jen was not in his day planner because Vegas wouldn't take odds on him outdrawing Jensen, so he just stopped.

"Hmm...you are right Sir, - I'd ask your name but it doesn't really matter - Jensen, come here," I demand. Jensen took a deep breath and came from the back of the group to my side.

I turned and faced her, took the bottom of her tank top and roll it up to her neck. Her sweat-soaked white sports bra went up next. I could tell Jensen wanted to nut me so bad but she wanted to live more and being so close to Harrow had made her aroused enough for me to get the scent. I licked each nipple then squeezed her breasts together so I could lick them both at the same time.

"You are a pathetic deviant," Ali mocked me angrily. I raised a 'hold on' finger up for him.

"Okay Jensen, you have been suitably punished," I smiled at her. Her smile was a bit subdued; I'm guessing open displays of nudity weren't in her normal sexual handbook. "Now Jensen, if you think Ali here is going to – not says something, but is ABOUT to say something, I want you to blow his brains out, are we clear?"

"As crystal, Sir," she nodded. Here we went with the Sirs again. Lydia was never going to let me live this down. "Now Ali," I turned on the fanatic asshat, "do you want to press your belief in something you cannot see, hear, touch, smell or taste against a very close proximity mixture of flesh and metal?"

"He is a guest in my house and under my protection," the Sultan intervened.

"Oh, sorry about that," I apologized. "Lydia? Do you know Jensen here all that well?" I questioned.

"Two days Boss," she grinned.

No Sir from her.

"If she kills Ali, I want you to shoot her; can you do that?" I inquired.

"Right as rain, Boss," Lydia chimed off.

"Jensen, are you still ready to shoot Ali if he speaks?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely Sir," Jensen sounded pretty pleased actually.

"Problem solved," I addressed the Sultan and it looked like I'd amused the psycho – yay me!

"Muhammad Omar, would you answer me a question," the Sultan taunted his guest – the one we knew as Ali. Muhammad Omar jumps up and stormed from the room. One buddy rushed after him while the third fanatic looked around confused before following along.

"That still doesn't resolve the matter of you having two former government servants in your employ," Michael Harrow brought up. I couldn't bring up his background – sort of.

"We have many corrupt politicians and policemen in our organizations," the Sultan ameliorated.

"These two are not corrupt, they are disenchanted which is much more useful for us all," I stated.

"Being in government service doesn't make you a good guy or a bad guy; being a criminal doesn't make you loyal or venial," I continue. "If I thought they were active agents, why would I be sending myself away to a prison forever – be it concrete and steel or Witness Protection? If you really are such a bunch of gutless babies, I'll just leave and all your worries are over."

"I haven't seen anything illegal, former work-product is still covered under contract, and I already don't trust any of you because you ARE criminals. Robbing, stealing and cheating is what you do to pay the bills – along with drug smuggling, arms dealing, human trafficking, murder, extortion and terrorism. You guys do not have a glowing resume and I can make less money elsewhere that would be a lot safer," I sigh.

"Fine," Harrow said, "kill one of the girls and the matter will be settled."

"Would that make you happy, Michael?"

"Yes it would, Dominic," he sneered. Oh, he's crossed the line.

"Echo, do you still have that stress ball?" I hoped. She nodded and tossed it to me and I immediately threw it at Michael's face. He caught it but the reactions around the room were telling. Many hands went to their guns.

"You don't get to call me Dominic yet, Mike," I snarled. "We aren't at that stage of our relationship. Now the Sultan can because he's an out-in-the-open bloody tyrant. You and I still have unresolved trust issues."

"Eloise," he gives me the bone I'm looking for, Eloise having her name acknowledged.

"Thank you Michael – back to where we were – does everyone know who Santa Claus is," I'm clearly wearing the patience of the room thin but most nod. "Do I fucking look like Santa Claus? I don't think so, which makes me wonder why anyone here thinks that their happiness means anything to me."

"All I care about is making you rich – rich enough that you will put up with my eccentricities and rich enough so that one day, when a bonded courier service shows up with all your records you won't come looking for me because I've vanished. I am not going to be the richest, certainly not the deadliest and hopefully not the most wanted. I am going to hit my happy point and then I'm out," I spoke plainly.

"Always that lack of ambition," Michael sneered (he'd earned that right now), "to see the next challenge and even that final struggle, Dominic."

"I have a family to lead," the Sultan regaled me. All I knew was the Filipino Government used a car bomb to kill the Sultan's father; the police chief he hired, the local magistrate he paid for, and the local judge he owned all said so.

The local Muslim population already distrusted the central government so they were convenient fall guys and a few months later the indigenous terrorist network moved in and Harrow started supplying both with weapons. Since the regions autonomous status means that federal and international police agencies can only investigate with the Sultan's approval, you can guess how lawless things had become.

Somewhere along the line the Sultan was going to remember he had his own father killed and his sons were going to look awful suspicious. Lucky for the World this guy's has over forty kids.

"Good for you," I told the Sultan. "I'm building a gilded tomb full of death traps and taking it all with me. No one gets anything from me when I'm gone." That earned me some laughter – we were all selfish bastards after all.

"When will you conclude our relationship, Dominic?" Aya Yen teased me in a way that was not teasing at all.

"You are mine when I want you, Aya. You weren't that difficult to figure out at all," I glared back at her. "From the moment you dragged Brad Pierce down to your level, I came gunning for you and you were too stupid to realize it."

"You are still a joker," Aya's eyes shuttered.

"If it is a joke, why don't you share it Dom; I'm sure Ms. Yen won't mind," Harrow got all predatory. I looked his way then move around the central fountain to the setae that Aya was reclining on. She's had a great poker face. Sadly she was great at reading people and she knew I'd gotten her more than dead to rights.

"Got a Yuan to spare?" I said softly. She couldn't press the Chinese bank note into my hand fast enough.

"Why?" she whispered, as in why was I not killing her right then.

"She (we both know I'm talking about Aya's lover) doesn't deserve to die because you are a contemptible piece of filth, Ms. Yen," I replied before walking back to my ladies.

I see that look of love and warmth that reminded me that I'd left the protective circle that they normally kept around me. The girls were going to take turns kicking my ass when we got to our rooms for that dumb stunt.

"What was all that about?" the Sultan was displease on not getting leverage on Yen.

"When Dominic takes your contract," Harrow related, "his work product, both before and during your contract, are your property and he can't share it with anyone, or so he claims."

"Odd," the Sultan sulked. "Mr. Umstead, can't I outbid you for Ms. Yen's secret?"

"Of course you can Sir," I turn and face him now that I'm back with my girls. "But it is one more Yuan than you've got."

"You don't know all the treasures at my disposal," the Sultan tempted me. He must have really wanted Yen on her knees.

"Sir, it will ALWAYS be one more Yuan than you have," I waved the single note Yen gave me. "Speaking of treasures, I do have a gift for you, as per your traditions of respect and hospitality," I motioned to Echo to get 'the box' plus if he took it, he was loosely bound to protect us; deviant mongoose that he was.

The box was polished oak, nothing special. I didn't take it all the way to the Sultan before I was relieved of the item but it didn't blow up in the henchman's face so he seemed happy. The henchman pulled out the five plastic casings, read the titles but didn't know what to make of them. I could assume there wasn't much of an intellect test for the position of bomb-sniffing human.

The Sultan ripped the box away and studied the contents.

"They are your five favorite movies on Blue-Ray all in your native tongue – none of that lousy dubbing in Spanish. I found fourteen voice actors to do the roles and the Blue-Rays are in pressed gold sheeting created from the original masters."

The Sultan looked floored, Harrow looked floored and even the Major looked impressed. Sure he was a multimillionaire with his own kingdom and a private army that enforced his will; he was a pariah outside of the Southern Philippines and wanted but not in the good way. I'd brought him a piece of civilized recognition for him, his culture and his people and that was worth more than dollars right then.