Life Sentence

Just a quickie I like quickies.

Standard disclaimer: if you want to complain about the hackneyed unbelievable drivel I write about, lack of character development, or inflated breast sizes, be my guest. Just know I won't care. I sometimes enjoy reading the commentators that criticize my writing but if you're going to, remember, I already called it drivel. If you can't top that don't bother. Why people insist on displaying their own stupidity for the world to see always baffles me. Let's see the plot sucks, the characters aren't believable, I write like I didn't graduate high school (I didn't by the way), I barely know a noun from a verb, etc. Read at your own risk.

In other words, if you are the type to criticize poorly written stories stop here or you will lose five minutes of you life you will never get back.

All the rights to this drivel, such as it is, are reserved to me and any resemblance to any other real or fictional character is purely delusion on the readers part.

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I was just a young lawyer in those days trying to make a place for myself and work my way up to the almighty partnership. The meeting was unusual in that the client had requested me by name and scheduled an hour of my time between 1:00 and 2:00. Lately I have been specializing in corporate law; criminal law is where the publicity is, and personal injury can sometimes be lucrative but corporate is where the real money is found. But corporate is by itself not actually known for publicity and I was at this point still a minion, although an up and coming one, in a larger machine. Still for the firm to give him an hour up front there must have been some money, or favor, involved, and for me, at 26, to be requested was even more unusual.

The man himself, when shown into my office, was of medium height and build, around 30 or so, with a trim beard. He had a slightly dark complexion, either natural or tan, and a vaguely Arabic look to him, although he could have as easily had Italian or Spanish blood. He was wearing what I would term business casual, a black sports coat, white shirt, no tie, but not slovenly. Many people consulting a lawyer tend to be nervous, or unsure, but if anything, he projected an image of supreme confidence, both in himself and his surroundings.

We exchanged the typical pleasantries, and I showed him to a chair.

He sat studying me for several moments, neither of us speaking. I had no clue where to begin as all I had was his name but no idea of the nature of his business.

"How can we be of assistance today, Mr. Amjad" I asked him. "Maybe you can tell me why you're here and what the nature of your business is"?

"Let me tell you a story, Mr. Williams, to give you a little background. About 18 years ago my parents were killed in a car crash. A drunk driver crossed into our lane and they were instantly, both my parents and the driver of the other car. I was 14, my sister was 4, we were in the back and for the most part survived with minor bumps and bruises. My sister was sleeping; my thought is to this day she doesn't remember the event. On the other hand, I remember fairly clearly every part of that night. Both before and after the crash. From what I understand the driver of the other car was an illegal alien and had no insurance. My parents were working class and left more debts than assets and no immediate family so my sister and I were placed in foster care. As you can imagine a lovely, lively, and cheerful 4-year-old girl is a better candidate for adoption than a surly 14-year-old boy so while I was shuttled from one foster parent to another she was adopted fairly quickly."

"If you're looking for information on your sister I am sure our family law..." I started to say when he interrupted me.

"Please bear with me a few minutes, Mr. Williams, and I am sure all will become clear and why it is your special assistance I need" he said. "As I was saying I was shuttled from foster home to foster home until I turned 18 when I was basically set lose on my own with very little money and no skills. So, I simply did what many a young man with no money or prospects does, I enlisted in the marines, hoping they would teach me a skill I could transfer to my post military career. Oddly enough the marines found a skill uniquely suited for and very good at and that has actually turned into a lucrative career. They taught me how to kill."

"What race would you say I was, Mr. Williams" he asked me?

"Given your name and general appearance my first thought was Arabic or similar" I responded.

"Actually, I am of mostly Italian and Irish descent" he said, "But I have lived in the Middle East for most of the last 14 years. Along with my natural aptitude for killing I also have one for languages. Within my first year in country I spoke fluid Arabic, and was actually good at assuming regional dialects. Although they sound alike to Western ears Shia and Sunni Muslims from different areas have regional dialects and Kurds another variation. It is a bit like the Western or Southern accent in the United States before television began to homogenize the regional variances. I spent six years in uniform, although the final four I was out of it more than in it, and spent considerable time embedded in Iraqi units. After I left the service I remained in the Middle East as the need for my unique services makes it rather lucrative. Many agencies of the government prefer to work through private contractors in place of regular serviceman to provide a level of plausible deniability. In short, Mr. Williams, I have lived, eaten, pissed, and fornicated as an Arab almost as long as I have as an American. I have a Muslim wife and two children in Iraq today".

"My younger sister, Traci, was adopted by a very nice, very God fearing, very Catholic couple. They were a little older but not too old, unable to have children of their own, and a 4-year-old girl who was out of diapers yet still young enough to forget her real parents was ideal for them. They gave her a wonderful upbringing where she lacked for nothing, especially love. She attended Catholic school from kindergarten to when she left for college. Yes adoption papers are sealed but as you can imagine I had contacts that were able to pass me her name and location".

"Due to the nature of my business, I thought it best not to contact Traci, but I always watched over her. I am her older brother and with her being unmarried and her father dead she is my responsibility. Her adopted father is a good man, I will always be grateful for the love they have shown her, but he isn't blood. And in the culture I have adopted blood ties are the strongest. Anyway, Traci grew into a beautiful young woman and graduated college with a degree in human resources and gained employment as Turner industries. She had been there about three months when Prescott Turner, the younger son of Ryan Turner, the founder, invited her to a party. While there he spiked her drink several drugs and when she was under the influence he, and several other had sex with her".

"Are you sure of this, that he drugged her? I know Press, I wouldn't consider him a friend as he is a little slimy, but I didn't think he would drug a girl".

"I am completely sure of the facts. Mr. Turner confirmed them to me himself".

"Damn" I said, a little shocked, "did you go to the police".

"Traci didn't want to. She thought they would cover it up and blame her and she was probably correct. As you might surmise I have a different way of dealing with things. I once spent two weeks infiltrating an ISIS torture cell before we took them out. Let's just state that Mr. Turner became familiar with most of the techniques I learned over those two weeks. He died very slowly but before he died he told me everything".

I just looked at him. He had just confessed to torturing and murdering a man as casually as I would order lunch.

"Before he died Mr. Turner confessed two other men raped Traci that night. One was a Mr. Benjamin Jones who Mr. Turner said was aware of the drugs, the other man who we will discuss in a moment, wasn't. Before he dies Mr. Jones confirmed everything Mr. Turner said. Mr. Jones also died slowly".

"Before I get to the third participant there is one other part of this saga to impart. Traci is pregnant. As you can imagine, with twelve years of Catholic school, she can not have an abortion. She was raped but had never reported it. Her adopted parents will support her, she hasn't told them yet though. If she shows up pregnant, unwed, and unable to name the father it will hurt them. She doesn't want to hurt them so therefore I don't want to hurt them. According to both Mr. Turner and Mr. Jones the third man to have sex with Traci that night was you, Mr. Williams".

"No. I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't drug and rape a girl".

"I believe you, Mr. Williams. You were very drunk; it would appear your fiancé had cheated on you and left you. Mr. Turner and Mr. Jones saw you as the patsy. They used condoms to avoid leaving DNA and then steered you into bed. If Traci reported it and they ran a rape kit it would have been your DNA they found".

I threw up into the wastepaper basket. I was sick over what I had done, and what they had planned for me.

"Are you going to kill me now" I asked him?

"That depends, really, on you. On what you decide. I will tell you that I don't think you planned this so your death, if it comes to that, will be quick. You won't suffer for days on end like Mr. Turner and Mr. Jones did. What I am offering you is, instead, a life sentence".

"You want me to turn myself in to the police" I asked him?

"Nothing so dramatic, Mr. Williams. I want you to marry Traci. I want you to raise the child you have coming and any future ones you may have. I want her to go home to her parents married and happy. And it is a life sentence, Mr. Williams. I expect you to stay with her, as they say, till death do you part. So, the choice is yours, Mr. Williams, life, or death".

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Give a man a fish and it will feed him for a day

Teach him how to fish and it will feed him for life

Slap it across his face and he will leave you the fuck alone