Life as a New Hire Ch. 22

That still equated to a long period of pack-ratting. I'd put a minion on it right away! I'd pray that they didn't have plans for the weekend - later.

"It arrived this morning and you are only giving it to me now?" I grumbled. "That message was meant for me, not for any of the rest of you. Where is the rest of it? Oh, and you're on the list."

"It was consumed in its examination," Troika blatantly lied.

"You have a visual copy," Pamela sounded bored. "Give it to him."

"I do not carry such things around on a handheld device," Troika parried.

"Ah...that's theft," Pamela gave a slender grin. "Just so we are clear."

"If Cáel Ishara wished to put forth such an accusation to Hayden, I will be prepared to defend my actions," Troika gave a hostile glare right back.

"That won't be necessary," I snorted. "I'm good. Pamela, I'm out for the weekend. Have fun." I turned and walked away.

"Count the days, Troika," Pamela menaced.

"I'm not afraid," she countered.

"I don't care, but in 21 days, Cáel's ban on internal conflict will be at an end. Like me, he will not go to a corrupted Hayden for justice. We will be exacting it in our own way and in our own time. That you should worry about," Pamela gave a tilt of the head, a feral grin and joined me in departing.

[OKH] "A matron, 21 Runners and one archaic mistake," Troika joked.

[OKH] "But how many more 'Runners' can he recruit between now and then?" one of Troika's bodyguards worried.

"More than enough to raise your daughters after you are all gone and forgotten," Pamela shouted over her shoulder.

(Starting Friday Evening in the Wrong Damn Place)

Waiting outside for me were two beauties and a small car. I hefted my bike, detached the front wheel for easier storage and climbed into the Lilliputian backseat.

"Sorry," Libra in the passenger seat sounded embarrassed. "I'm not sure Brooke and I thought this through. Do you have a seat belt?" She was referring to the rear-mounted cup holder I was sitting in.

"This is not rated for human occupation," I grinned back. What that really meant was there were three conflicting emotions pulling events along. Wanting me to fuck them - the easy one. Loyalty to your social/sorority sister - the relationship under stress. Me being a 'suitable' human being - the one that they were both stumbling toward which made the second emotional force such a problem.

Had I solely been a fuck toy for either one, the other could have gracefully exited the field (with the occasional sharing). I was far from 'husband' material yet I was closing in on being the 'crossing a crowded club to greet me' kind of guy - already passed the 'not embarrassed to introduce me to their friends' phase.

"You can sit in my lap," Brooke offered. With her driving and our height differential...we'd be lucky to be pulled by the PD before we wrecked.

"How about you drive, I sit in Libra's seat and she sits in my lap?" I offered.

"That's no fun," Brooke shot me a pout.

"It sounds like fun for me," Libra giggled.

"Now Libra remember, for the seat belt to be effective, you will have to sit facing me..." I sighed.

"Facing you?" she winked.

"Yes...facing me naked," I assured her.

"Hey!" Brooke protested. "How come she gets to be naked in your lap?"

"Otherwise me being naked would be pretty pointless," I explained.

"Libra," Brooke demanded, "you get to drive."

Petty arguments and playful exchanges followed. I left a message for Timothy and Odette, letting them know I was heading out to some address on the far end of Long Island. I even shot myself in the foot with the Nerf gun and told Timothy so he'd feel better. Brooke and Libra were dressed similarly.

Red and khaki almost 'short-shorts', white/yellow bikini tops under white wife-beaters covered with a denim shirt (sleeves rolled up) and white cargo short-sleeved shirt, tennis socks and canvas shoes. In a way, I was a victim of my own success. Both ladies wanted to fuck me bad, but their desire to prove to me I was more than a fuck toy meant I didn't get sex at my place. If you are a girl, that will make much more sense.

The car ride out was an issue. If I drove, Brooke and Libra promised to put on a Sapphic display for the ages. If Libra drove, I promised to publically molest Brooke at every stop. The reverse went for Brooke driving. The solution was that the girls would take turns driving and I would be a truly diligent cunnilinguist, with a strong background as an anatomically astute Braille harpsichord player.

Our destination turned out to be the hamlet of Sagaponack, aka the most expensive place to live in the United States. Why was I doing this to myself? For starters, Brooke thought our host, Brennan Sulkanen, lived in one of those $50+ million homes...funny, I thought those were called estates. The girls laughed when I told them that.

My utter lack of forethought, underutilized intelligence gathering capabilities, and even not acting my age were coming back to chew a huge hunk off my heine now. Brennan was a fraternity brother of Trent - warning indicator #1. Brennan didn't actually do anything, but his father was loaded...situation getting worse.

Brennan was the youngest of the three sons from the first marriage with three other children from two other marriages waiting in the wings. A quick search revealed that the third and current Mrs. Sulkanen, was very elegant for a thirty-two year old lady. His current Mom being the same age as his oldest brother could be an issue. I was living proof how good parenting could help build up a child. Improper parenting...could do the opposite. Nothing was guaranteed though.

"So, why are we going to Brennan's?" I hazarded to inquire as we cruised down Highway 27 through East Patchogue. In the back of my mind, I realized I was due south of scenic Doebridge and their frisky policewomen/Stasi law enforcers.

"Oh, we met in college when I came up for one of Trent's - that loser - frat functions," she told us.

"He was very drunk and tried to hit on me," the tale continued.

"How and where did he 'hit' on you?" I prodded.

"He stumbled into the Ladies' room, knocked my drink over and tried to give me his, but I was insulted by his inebriated pawing and left," Brooke said.

Lone drunk men DO stumble into Ladies' rooms - usually to vomit. Frat brothers hit on each other's girls - men are pigs. Greeks are pigs with tie pins and secret handshakes. Drunk people do not demolish another person's drink then offer up their own. The spilling of alcohol is a drink-worthy event which you can't do if you have given your drink away.

Man math = Brennan stalked Brooke, ambushed her in the bathroom and tried to roofie her with his drink because our host was a dirt bag and a total ass-bandit. How had I failed to do some basic 4-1-1 on this bastard? Oh yeah, brought an extinct First House to life, multiple threats to my well-being, treated like crap by most of my co-workers and then my father was murdered.

"I repeat; why are we going to this guy's house?" I asked.

"He's been persistent ever since Trent bailed and he sounds so worried about me," she answered. "OH, I don't want you to think I'm using you as Brennan-deterrent, Cáel," she added. "I wanted to get out of the city and be with you...and Libra." I was more than Brennan-deterrent alright. I was a 'Highway Closed Indefinitely' sign for his edification. This was okay with Brooke (and me) because of all the sex we were going to have.

"Thanks," Libra teased her pal. My dilemma was that despite all the positive emotions wafting my way, I wasn't one of 'them' yet. I couldn't simply say 'this dude is a scumbag. Let's go somewhere else.' This was going to take some tact and pretty much annihilated my hopes for a weekend to unwind.

I had to play nice and at the first opportunity pull our host aside and politely inform him that I was going to floss his teeth with his still functioning intestines if any of us partook of something we hadn't asked for, ended up in some spot we hadn't wanted to go to, and/or doing something we didn't want to do. My diplomatic approach was from some movie that was way before CGI. It was ('you' meaning 'me': 'I want you to be nice...until it is time...to not be nice.')

I was going to give Brennan's survival instincts the benefit of the doubt. I felt certain he wasn't enchanted with the idea of personal pain and I was going to let him know there wasn't a bank account deep enough to protect him from my wrath. If there was ever any doubt - I'm an idiot. We pulled up to the gate right before eight. Yes - one of those nice wrought-iron, automatic opening double gates. Brooke answered the security screen and in we went.

Two people, definitely staff, met us as we parked. There was six cars present already, all variations of the high-performance, turbo-charged, 'Daddy/Mommy don't love me so they gave me this deathtrap instead' ideal. Cargo space? Fuel efficiency? Excessive safety features? Not a concern for this crowd. There was a momentary bout of confusion as the male staffer came for my baggage. I thanked him. He looked at me funny.

Brooke insisted the female staffer give directions to where her/Libra's luggage was going so I did the same with the guy. My stuff was not only not heading to Brooke's room, I was being banished to another branch of this sprawling villa.

"Take my stuff to their room," I directed the man.

"Sir, a different room has been set aside for the gentleman," he insisted.

"Oh...okay," I nodded. I took my bags from him, much to his surprise, and followed the 'maid'. Brooke and Libra laughed at my obstinacy and tagged along. Our introduction to the 'pack' was delayed and, by his look, Brennan wasn't happy with my detour. I wasn't happy either, but for a different reason.

"Brooke...Libra, right? Cecil?" he clearly was disrespecting me straight out of the gates.

Brooke and Libra said 'hi'. I was a little less diplomatic and I was staring down the barrels of a serious crimp in my main battle plan. There were two dissipated young ladies, three men of the same caliber and two guys I identified hangers-on. Most likely rich; just not rich enough to be treated as equals by the majority.

Then there was this one girl who was certainly the unsuspecting party favor. You can learn all kinds of thing about the darker side of male-female relationships at Spring Break if you pay attention. The vacation can be wonderful, but seeing fuck-head bottom-feeders getting girls wasted for the eternal glory of Girls Gone Wild and the ability to stick their prick into someplace it doesn't belong, and they haven't earned the right to be in, truly sucks. For the moment, I had to look past her.

The focus of my anxiety was a couple, both African-American and from a different mold than everyone else there. I knew the guy because he was somewhat famous.

"Hey Bitch," I replied in an off-handed manner.

"What?" Brennan hammed up his confusion. The 'Home Alone' gasp. What had he done wrong?

"What?" I responded.

"Did you just call me a 'bitch'?" he clarified.

"No," I lied. "I didn't even know you were talking to me. Hi, I'm Cáel Nyilas. Who are you again?"

"I think you called me a bitch," Brennan watched his whole weekend plan to dispose of me coming gift wrapped here in the opening round. He looked to the 'famous' guy. I am an idiot.

"Well, with your family money, I'm sure you can hire top notch Otolaryngologist to handle that hearing problem of yours," I grinned.

"Orlando, what do you think Kibble here said?" Brennan indicated the guy.

"Orlando Keyes," I smiled. "Man, you are one mean son of a bitch. That fighter from Ecuador...missed his name...you broke his left cheek with one hit during that MMA bout in New Orleans last Thanksgiving. The only thing almost as impressive was that guy managed to stand up afterwards."

No, I wasn't buttering this guy up. There was no point. I only knew about him because the whole 'martial ardor' doesn't have to be yours to get some tail. Girls who like watching physical combat - MMA, Kick-boxing, Boxing, and the NHL (WWE if they are somewhat gullible) - will jump on your bones at the completion of that match.

"I think this pussy called you his bitch," Orlando came my way. I gently pushed Brooke and Libra aside to give me space.

"You are mistaken," I kept smiling at Orlando. "I was calling that lady over there," I pointed at the lady he had been talking to, "my bitch for tonight. The acoustics in this place must suck."

Outdoor pool...the Atlantic Ocean crashing less than 100 meters away...this place rocked.

"You are going to die," Brennan laughed at me. Keyes kept coming.

"Right, or left?" I asked him in a pleasant tone. He glared yet hesitated.

"What does it matter?" Orlando studied me. He had stopped being a hired thug and returned to being a modern day gladiator.

"I'm packing so I wanted to know which knee you can live without," I stated.

"He's got a gun?" one of the other males mumbled.

"Gun?" Orlando's eyes narrowed.

"Knife," I corrected.

At this point, everyone but Orlando and I felt better. In that snippet, Orlando and I exchanged a vital piece of information - I was going to hurt him. No matter what he did, I was going to put a knife into him. How did he know? I had warned him and I laughed at Death. I wasn't bluffing and Orlando made his life's work piercing his opponent's deceptions.

"That's my fiancé," Orlando grumbled. I extended my hand.

"I apologize then," I said as he shook my hand. "That was rude of me and uncalled for. Not only is she one of the classiest ladies here, she was hanging out with you, a man not known for accepting anything short of the perfect match. Besides," I whispered, "we both know who I was truly talking about."

Orlando wasn't happy with me, or forgiven me. What he did accept was that I'd given him an out. I had backed down and apologized. Brennan was frowning. Orlando and I didn't care; we were both fighters and we'd both ponied up on the promise of pain. If there was to be a conflict, he wasn't going to do it for Brennan. He was going to do it because he always wanted to know how tough the other guy really was.

Names floated around. The only people that mattered to me were Anima and Casper. Anima was Brennan's 'girlfriend' which I translated as a debauchery enabler. She was under the delusion that life was boring and pointless, so she should punish the world for her ennui. Her life's cup had been emptied at twenty-three? Bitch, I worked with real women who couldn't even consider such nonsense.

Casper...Casper was going to be a problem. For starters, Anima had taken Casper under her wing - was going to show Casper the 'ropes'. Casper proudly proclaimed that. Casper was also not as rich as the 'in crowd' and not a hanger-on - she was the weekend's amusement, or would have been if Brooke hadn't shown up. And, of course, she couldn't see the danger, she was so eager to be with the super-rich.

After the name game came the initial party shuffle. Who was aiming for whose bedroom tonight and how would they get what they wanted. Brennan sent two backup boys cruising for Libra while he angled in for Brooke. Anima and Casper were supposed to keep me busy. Libra promptly showed she'd thumbed through my Book of Social Fugliness.

"I only date real men," she shredded the 'second-stringers' to pieces. The blast socially staggered them. "If you have to think about it, boys, you are not a man. Don't strain yourself trying to be something you can't even comprehend. Now one of you go get me a drink while I think about what Cáel and I are going to do to Brooke tonight."

In social parlance, that was shooting someone with both barrels of a shotgun then using the stock to tenderize the remains.

That was one flank secure. Next, Casper and Anima. Anima had the feeling I didn't like her - good for her.

"Would you really have cut Orlando?" Casper asked me softly while she ran a fingernail over my right forearm.

"Casper, to begin with, call him Mr. Keyes. There will come a time when you can freely use his first name, but you ain't there yet," I cautioned her. "To answer your question: yes, I would have sliced down and across, cutting his right hamstring." Keyes heard me, as I had intended.

"Brennan says you are a co-worker of Trent," Anima cooed.

"Kind of," I shrugged. "Trent is a big-shot with the Far East Unit while I remain in Personnel in the city (Manhattan)." They both looked disappointed then Casper handed me a plum. She wasn't stupid, just willfully blind.

"Where did you learn to use a knife then?" Casper tried to 'salvage' me. She was doing herself a favor by trying to make me look better to the rest - doing me a favor. Nice.

"I'm with the Records Redaction Unit of Havenstone's Executive Services," I lied. Blink.

"That doesn't make any sense," Casper's brow furrowed. "You delete records?"

"No Casper," I returned her arm rub, "someone creates a list with names on it. I am part of the team that reduces the number of those names on that list to zero." Blink.

"You fire people?" she remained uncertain. She had to believe I was playing with her, which I was.

"No," I shook my head. "That implies extra paperwork. We take a more ergonomic approach. No termination rigmarole - no traceable termination at all."

"That sounds vaguely like you murder people," Anima murmured.

"Murder is a crime. Converting all the data of a given person into one, misplaced file is a way of circumventing the whole 'exit interview/providing references for other jobs/pension' process." If you believed that this nation, nay, the whole world, was run by soulless corporate monsters that made scary sense.

"What do you do with the people?" Anime was showing the tiniest bit of enthusiasm for this conversation.

"What people? People have names," I smiled. "Bodies with no records are normally handled as John and Jane Does and are buried in Potter's Field, or used at medical schools."

"Do you enjoy sex with multiple partners?" Anima smiled - veering the conversation off in a different direction for reasons I couldn't fathom.

"Yes. Do you always use protection?" I bantered back. Casper was heady with the hedonistic direction this weekend seemed to be taking.

"I do," Anima gave me a droopy, somewhat sexy smile.

"I don't believe you," I chuckled. "That's okay because I don't find you all that interesting anyway. Casper here is a peach...you...you would pay for the experience of using a stick to push a dying person's head beneath the quicksand - the more they trusted you, the happier you would be. Casper doesn't believe it, but you and I know it's true." The blazing necrophiliac wasn't put off in the least.

Anime found me attractive because she wouldn't have to hide her evil around me. My understanding meant she could be as creepy, callous and vindictive for no damn good reason. By now, Brennan bored her to tears as did all people after a random amount of time. I was new.

"I'm going to have fun with you," Anima purred. Even Casper was unsettled by that.

"You are having a blast being a terribly miserable person, Anima," I began.

"If something happens to Brooke, Libra, or Casper, you are going to discover that you haven't a clue about what real misery and suffering are. I don't know those depths either, but I know some people who do and once I relate the tale of this weekend, they are going to proactively beautify the human species," I smiled. "We clear?"

No answer. Again, Anima's pampered existence had given her false certainty about what happened in the dark, neglected recesses of the world and how she was untouchable. I had to shift fronts, as Brennan was using every sleazy, oily, subliminal physical contract trick in his arsenal to maneuver between Brooke and me. Moron.