Conversations 15

And now my friends, it's time for something a little darker; a dark conversation. I hope you like the darkness... It likes you..!

*****

I turned the van in towards the driveway of our new house and tut-tutted with annoyance to see a strange car where I usually parked. Annoyed, I pondered whether to leave a note on the stranger's windscreen, and then decided against it. No point in seeking trouble unnecessarily.

Parking at the kerb, I quickly did my normal check on the van's contents, noting that I needed to restock on bleach, and decided to take up the two-for-the-price-of-one offer on squeegee mops at the local supermarket. You could never have enough cleaning supplies – especially in my business.

I slid the side door of my white van closed and, as always, felt a smile on my lips as I looked at the sign on the side. "Arthur Smith – The Cleanest of Clean". That was me, Arthur Smith – and cleaning was my game. I was really good at it, and had references from a lot of people to back me up on that.

Wondering who was visiting Penny, I opened the door to find my wife of four months seated crossways on the lap of a big, dark-haired man dressed in jeans and what looked like a vest. I wasn't really up on the latest fashions, so it might be a cheap, beer-stained undershirt, or it might be a designer item from a top boutique. Who could know?

"Penny," I said, my heart beating faster than normal. "What's going on?"

She looked at me for a moment and a series of expressions crossed her beautiful face. Shame, fear, anger, contempt – they all appeared and disappeared again like a series of slides projected on a screen.

I'd spotted her at a charity ball, seen her face and honed in on her straight away. She was that pretty that there was a throng of chaps around her – all eager for her attention. Rich chestnut curls framed a gorgeous face with its pouting lips, small straight nose and huge blue eyes. A long neck descended to a generous chest on which perched two of the sweetest and most generous tits I'd ever seen. Below that, a pinched-in waist led further down to promisingly fecund hips and long, long legs that made every man in the room envision them wrapped around him.

Of course, I was punching way above my weight class with Penny. I was thirty-two, five foot eight, and weigh seventy-five kilos, with thinning brown hair and blue eyes and an average build. However, I did operate a very successful cleaning business, and had clients from all levels who loved the meticulous care I put into my practice. I like to think of it as a practice, rather than a business – a bit like a doctor. I am a professional, after all, and I'm proud of my work.

One of those clients had passed on an invite to the charity ball, and seeing Penny made up for the fact that I'd had to buy a tuxedo especially for the event. Somehow, I'd managed to make an impression on her. I know I'm almost perfectly average – and in fact if the stats of every white man of my age were averaged out, I think I'd fit into that description to a T. I liked to think that it actually made me unique, as almost nobody is, in fact, average. The US Airforce discovered that when they averaged out all their pilots in order to find a standard seat for the cockpits of their planes, only to discover that not one of their people actually fit into them perfectly.

I do have confidence and a winning way with words, and I managed to whisk Penny out of her group of admirers and onto the dance floor, where I showed her what a year at a dance studio could do. Before the night was over, I'd treated her to a meal at an above average restaurant, forked out a subtle bribe to the guy at the door of a top club, and bedded her, to the satisfaction of both of us.

Within a week, I'd been introduced to Mummy and Daddy, and managed to impress her father, at least with my bank balance and fleet of vans. His approval had put the seal on her acceptance of my proposal, and within a month we were married and living in my house in one of the leafy London suburbs.

And now this – some jerk sitting on my settee in my lounge with my wife ensconced on his lap!

"Penny?" I repeated, hearing the quiver in my voice. There were wine glasses at their feet and an empty bottle of a specific wine I'd been saving for a special occasion.

The jerk sneered at me, and reached around to cup one her breasts, while letting the other run idly over the rest of her body – a body that she had promised would be only mine. He squeezed the breast so hard she gasped.

"Penny! What the hell is going on?" I asked.

The jerk spoke, surprising me in the way he could string actual words together. I'd almost expected that he'd have to point at flash cards in order to communicate.

"What do you think is going on, you tosspot?"

"Your name is Penny as well?" I gasped.

He looked confused. "No. My name is Snake."

"But you don't hiss," I pointed out.

"Naw," he smiled. "I got my name 'cos of my cock."

"So your real name is Dong?" I asked, showing my confusion. "You don't look Vietnamese."

He gawped at me.

Penny looked venomous. "Ignore him, Cecil. He's just taking the piss."

"Ah, Cecil. That's your real name? Now I understand the need for a nickname. So why are you here, fondling my wife?"

"I'm not fondling her. I don't do that type of shit. I'm about to fuck her, 'cos you can't manage to do the job."

"And I'm guessing it's not the first time you're going to enjoy her caresses."

"We've been lovers for three months," Penny stated.

"Lovers? Wow. So you were faithful for a whole month?"

She looked away, so I guessed that a month had been an optimistic guess on my part.

"Why, Penny?" I asked, genuinely interested. "Why would you marry someone and then immediately cheat on them? Why bother with the wedding?"

She looked away, and I guessed that she didn't like looking at her actions too closely.

"Is it because you're a slut who can't keep her legs closed for more than a few hours, or because you're a whore who wants money from me while getting fucked by a series of cocks?"

"Or it could be," she spat. "That you told me you were a successful businessman, when in fact you're just a cleaner!"

"Just being a cleaner put both of us in this house free and clear," I pointed out with a shrug.

"And I'm supposed to be proud of that?" she shouted. "I'm supposed to brag to my friends that my ugly, balding little husband is a fucking cleaner?"

"It's good work!"

"You're just a labourer!"

"Anyone who works is a labourer, when you actually think about it. There's nothing wrong with working. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Her sneer matched that of the jerk. "My father would never see me having to work, and I have no intention of becoming a wage-slave.

"You might have to after the divorce," I suggested.

"There isn't going to be a divorce." Her smile was even more venomous than Snake's. "Because, if we split up, I'm going to end up with your business, your house and everything else, including your soul. I'm going to take every penny you have."

"Well, you're a Penny, so you'd have to take you, because you won't be able to live in this house."

"You have no idea of the power my father has. If we get divorced, his lawyers will shit all over you from such a height you'd think the heavens had opened up. You'll end up praying to find a decent-sized cardboard box to live in."

"I'm not sure the heavens are made of shit," I said.

"Oh shut up, you stupid little man!" She was getting her second wind now. "Wise up! Accept the inevitable."

"So, the inevitable is that I go out to work to support you while you stay at home and invite Snakey-Boy here to bring his slow-worm around to fuck you on a regular basis? Is that your plan?"

"Hey, don't call me Snakey-Boy!" protested Snakey-Boy. "And my cock ain't no worm either."

"A slow-worm is a type of lizard, Snakey-Boy," I explained.

"Yeah. Well, that's all right then. I ain't got no worm." He settled down again and went back to squeezing Penny's tits.

"No," said Penny, looking annoyed that her diatribe had been interrupted, even for important lessons on the correct nomenclature of crawly things, and was determined to bring the conversation back to the most important thing – her. "That's not how it's going to be."

My surprise must have been evident.

"In fact," she continued with a superior smile. "Snakey-B... Snake will be living here with me. You can move your things to the second bedroom."

"Ahh, I see. I'm the cuckolded husband in this scenario, serving his cock and your bull?"

"Yeah, cucky-man," laughed Snake. "You can lick my stuff out of her cunt when I'm finished with her."

"Classy guy you have here," I said. Snake sneered at me.

"Too right!"

"Shut up, Snake!" Penny hissed. "You're not helping."

Snake looked wounded. "What? You told me he'd have to. You said—"

"Shut up, Snake!" she repeated emphatically, slapping his hand as he tried to push it down into the neck of her blouse, although seeming not completely averse to the endeavours of the other hand, which had drawn her skirt up at the back and was apparently trying to mount a mining expedition upon her arse.

"Yes, shut up, Snake!" I agreed.

He seemed to take my words amiss and rose to his feet, causing Penny to slip off his lap and land ungraciously on her arse with her legs spread wide. A glance revealed that she wasn't wearing panties – which wasn't too much of a surprise in this situation.

Snake was a whole lot bigger than I'd thought, and towered over me by almost a foot. His shoulders, previously masked by Penny's lasciviously wriggling body, were a lot wider as well. All in all, he had muscles upon muscles, and not just between his ears as I'd imagined.

He reached out and grabbed the front of my overalls, lifting me until my feet were off the floor, kicking helplessly. My hands slapped ineffectually at him.

"Gonna fuck you up, cucky man! Then I'm going to fuck your wife, and I may even fuck you as well – for dessert."

I wasn't too taken with the concept that the top dog got all the ass, especially as that included mine. I cocked my wrist to the side and slapped at his chest and stomach some more.

Laughing, Snakey-Boy dropped me to the floor, stepped back and tripped over his own feet, toppling to the floor like a redwood tree. He groaned, turned onto his stomach and tried to push himself up, then gave up and lay there, grunting now and again.

"Snake!" Penny cried and painfully crawled to his side, pulling at him to try and get him to his feet again. He moaned and then lay still.

"You knocked him out!" Penny said, the astonishment in her voice very clear.

"No, he tripped," I said. "Snakey-Boy fell over his own feet. Or perhaps the necessity of walking and breathing at the same time has over-taxed his brain and he's gone into reboot mode."

She pulled at him again. He ignored both the pulling and her concerned entreaties.

"Snake! Get up! Snake, you fucking moron!"

Then she noticed the blood gathering around her legs as she knelt at his side. "What the..?"

She looked at me. I cocked my wrist again and the spring on the forearm sheath snapped the blade back into place. Certain types of slaps can be lethal.

Penny rose to her feet with a groan. I took a step towards her and she retreated, the backs of her knees hitting the settee and folding her down onto it. Horror bleached her features.

I rolled Snake onto his back to check him over. There were four small slits in his vest, each surrounded by a corona of red. A precise blade strike to the correct part of the heart stops it beating almost instantly, which means less chance of blood spatter.

"Despite what you might think," I said conversationally, noting with satisfaction that his eyes were half-closed and were looking in two completely different directions. He was dead. "The universe doesn't revolve around you. This was never about you."

She stared at me.

"I'm a cleaner," I continued. "But I don't clean houses. I clean up situations."

She blinked at me, those eyes so wide. I crouched down in front of her, bringing my eyes level with hers.

"This wasn't the situation I was hired to clean up. Snakey-Boy is your fault. You brought him here, and expected me to simply submit to your super-privileged view of the world and happily be a cuckold? You should have waited a little longer and got to know me. I'm just not that type of guy.

"And you would have been a lot safer as well. Like I said, you weren't the situation here."

"You're going to kill me?" she whispered, her voice shaking with terror.

"No, I'm not. Not me. Do try and keep up. I know how difficult it must be for you at the moment, all your precious plans going up in smoke so quickly, but try and understand what I'm saying.

"I didn't come here to kill you. You weren't the target, but you just ... well, to use your words, you just shat all over everything from a great height and created a mess, which I'll have to clean up.

"I knew all about you and your propensity for strong and stupid cock-carriers right from the start, way back before we ever met. I didn't care. I don't respect you or your promises. I don't care what you swore to do when we married. I certainly don't love you and by tomorrow our marriage will no longer officially exist."

"But, but... I don't understand," she wailed.

I sighed. "Okay. Your good old daddy has been a very naughty boy. When he was content to run AK-47s, grenades and ammunition to Africa and South America, that was one thing. When he decided that arranging to sell shoulder-mounted heat-seeking missiles to the Middle East would be a promising career move, he raised his head above the parapet and wouldn't listen to those who tried to warn him.

"The problem was that his paranoia rose at the same rate as his ambitions, which meant very competent bodyguards."

Her eyes flicked down to Snake's cooling body. I laughed.

"God no, not him! He's too stupid to ever be a bullet catcher, even by accident. It takes brains and skill to try and keep someone alive, and your father has a team of very competent bodyguards. All of which meant that the odds of a foreign power getting away with an assassination on British soil were prohibitively high. At the same time, Her Majesty definitely disapproves of doing away with her own citizens, especially the very rich and very powerful ones. It couldn't be official. So what to do? And that's where I come into the picture. I'm a private cleaner and I clean up situations. I needed to get close to your father and you were the entrance."

"But you use mops! You have a van. It has cleaning stuff inside it." She was in deep shock by this point, panting each breath through an open mouth.

"I know," I said. "A fast car with machine guns behind the headlights isn't completely appropriate in the real world. I don't look like James Bond, I look like Mr. Average, which makes my job a lot easier. For the past five months, I've been working my way closer to Daddy, and today I managed to complete the job. The plan was that I would then disappear and you could get your hands on my bank account which would give you a lot of tax-payer money as silent recompense for your orphan-status.

"But then you pulled this shit, today of all days, and decided to celebrate your new status as a thoroughly modern woman by sharing a very expensive bottle of wine – which I very specifically told you not to touch – with a caveman who wouldn't know a fantastic Liber Pater from a bottle of 7UP.

"I imagine your joints are aching a bit at the moment, and breathing might be getting a little difficult, is that right? A head-ache starting up?"

She nodded and tears flowed over her beautiful cheeks.

"That'll be the poison. You really shouldn't have tasted the wine. If it's any consolation, I really am sorry it came to this, but I have to get to work now, so you lean back and rest, and it'll soon be over. There won't be any pain."

I patted her hand. I didn't dislike her. She was an over-privileged ass with some weird ideas of what a marriage actually meant – which offended me to some degree – but I couldn't hate her.

She mumbled something and I drew close to try and hear.

"...Sorry."

I felt an unexpected deep pang of sympathy and sat next to her, took her in my arms and held her for a long time until her breathing finally slowed and stopped.

With a sigh, I texted on my phone. "Done."

There was no reply. I didn't need one. A very adequate addition to my bank account was all the reply I hoped for. I made a call.

"Hi honey. The contract's finished and I should be home by tomorrow."

A drawling voice that seemed to epitomise the infamous Southern Belle of magnolias, mint juleps and half the civil war movies of Hollywood sounded in my ear. "Good to hear, honey. I don't want you taking any more of these long assignments, ya hear me, James Kirby? The baby's about due and as my husband, your place is at my side."

"I can't wait to get there, Mrs Kirby. I've missed you so badly. Hug the kids for me, all right? And all my love to you!"

Sometimes when a young Englishman civil servant, of a sort, takes a trip and gets lost in the Southern states of the USA, he might meet a woman who puts the heat of the South into his heart and soul, and he marries her – and when she understands his work and is fine with him doing it, it's even better.

I pictured her in my mind, then sighed and went out to the van, going over all the disposal work I was going to have to do, starting with carrying all those gallon bottles of acid up to fill the bath.

A cleaner's work is never done.