Something Fishy — Shock and Awe

"How did he take it?" Cross asked Tracey.

"Not well, I think you need to explain the consequences of non-compliance," she said.

I heard him reply, "Then we'll go to plan B: Shock and awe."

Stan was an imposing man. I was 5 feet 11 inches; he was several inches taller and he was a bit overweight. I wondered why Tracey was so taken with his physique. I suppose his long, wavy, graying hair made him appear distinguished. He looked confident in his black three-piece suit and he had an overbearing air about him. His appearance and strident voice were well-suited for the courtroom. He walked right up to me, even entering my personal space.

"Mr. Ramsey, I guess we need to have a conversation."

"Conversation? I need to kick your ass."

"You could try and from the looks of you my might get a couple of good hits in before my driver would storm in here and kick your ass. By evening you would be in jail, so sit down."

I looked out the door to see a large man standing on my doorstep. I wasn't intimidated, but I wanted to hear what he had to say so, muttering, I sat down.

"Good, we can talk like civilized men now. When your wife agreed to become my personal assistant, she took on other duties. Yes, I'm talking about sex. I've been enjoying your wife for the last six months, but we grew tired of sneaking around. The two of you will have a new relationship. As my personal assistant, she will provide me with professional and personal services as I need them. Mr. Ramsey, you will continue to be Tracey's husband. Your role as husband and father will not change with one exception. I will take care of Tracey's sexual needs. Most of the time those needs will be taken care of at a hotel or at the office, but there will be sometimes, when you are out of the house, that we will need to use your bed."

"You motherfucker! What makes you think I will stand still for this? I will divorce her cheating ass before putting up with any of this crap."

"Mr. Ramsey, that kind of talk is not productive. Don't forget what business I'm in. I'm a big-time lawyer with the power of this city's largest law firm. If you try to divorce her, you will be punished. I don't just mean in the divorce. Of course, in the divorce, we will take everything from you and force you to pay her alimony and child support while she will keep fucking me. Your wonderful little son and the twin daughters you cherish so much... you won't be seeing them very much if at all. You see, you will be charged with child molestation. You will go to jail for some period of time and you will never visit with your children again. I'm sure your company will fire you on the spot. Further, you will be disowned by your family and friends."

I sat there stunned, not knowing what to say. I had no idea Tracey and this asshole were prepared to go so far to promote their open liaisons.

Stan continued, "Now, I know you are not going to do anything stupid. If you try to tell my wife, all the hell I just explained to you will come down on your head, plus a visit from my driver and his friends, after which you will probably be unable to walk, much less lie with a woman. If you try to just leave town; my private investigators will hunt you down. So be a good boy and just accept this new relationship. Your wife is a wonderful assistant." He moved in close to my ear. "And she gives the best blow jobs."

I turned to Tracey and asked, "Would you really do these things to me?"

She answered, "I wouldn't want to, Blake, and I won't have to as long as you play ball. After a while, you will see that it will become a new normal and you won't think twice about these arrangements."

Still stunned, I watched as my wife and the asshole walked towards the door. He picked up her overnight bag and was almost out of the door when I interrupted them.

"Before you go, I have a few things you should know."

Irritated and rolling his eyes in silent contempt, the asshole said, "What is it, and be quick."

I started, "After I have a stiff drink or two and mourn the death of my marriage, I'm going to call your wife and tell her everything you don't want her to hear."

Then, I addressed Tracey. "Next, I'm going to call your sister, Lucy, and tell her all the same things. I will let her tell your parents."

Stan wasn't certain he heard me correctly because it went counter to everything he was accustomed to when he tried to commit extortion. "What did you say?" he asked.

Without repeating myself, I continued. "Early Saturday morning, I'm going to call a locksmith and have all of the locks changed."

Now, Tracey was listening and trying to comprehend what was happening.

"After the locks are changed, I'm going to walk down the block to Kate's house and ask her out for a night of dinner, dancing and drinks. I never told you, but she has been flirting shamelessly with me, starting only a few months after her husband passed away. She may be a little older than me and she doesn't have the movie star face that you do, but she has a gangbuster body. She has even modeled one of her bikinis for me. Up to an hour ago, I wouldn't have considered stepping out on you, Tracey, but things have changed, haven't they?"

Tracey formed a hurt look on her face and stuttered, "Blake, you... you can't do that."

I continued. "When you two return on Sunday afternoon, you will find all of Tracey's belongings in the middle of the front yard. That includes everything she owns: all of her clothes, shoes, personal articles, cosmetics, jewelry and even our wedding album. And they won't be in plastic trash bags, either. You should probably make arrangements to pick them up before Monday morning at 4AM, because that's when the automatic sprinklers go off."

Now, Stan was starting to boil. He turned red and clenched his fists because he couldn't believe that all the threats he made to me were worthless. Tracey's face took on a pained expression.

"One last thing," I was ready to conclude my repartee. "On Monday morning, I'm going to make an appointment with a divorce lawyer. Not only am I going to file for divorce for adultery, but I am going to name you, Stanley, as a co-respondent. Further, I'm going to file a lawsuit against you for alienation of affection and another lawsuit against your firm for violating your company's fraternization policy. I assume a company as large as yours has one. And even if these two lawsuits are dismissed, which is likely, they will publicly embarrass you and your firm and diminish you, Stanley, in the eyes of your peers."

The asshole was furious. He tossed the overnight bag against the wall and walked over to me purposely, again getting into my personal space. He poked my chest hard with two fingers. It took all the self-restraint I had not to retaliate.

"Listen, Cuckold," he started, "you obviously don't have the slightest idea who you are dealing with or how ruthless I can be with someone I want to crush. I am Stanley Cross. I run the biggest law firm in the county. I can legally eviscerate you in a day. By the time Tracey and I get to our hotel, you will be under arrest for any number of charges. You might believe that if you are innocent that you can fight me. You can't. I've been practicing law in this state for thirty years. I know most of the senior police officials personally, I am friends with many of the attorneys in the DA's office. In fact, I have even fucked a few of them. Most of the judges in this city either owe me favors or know that I have dirt on them. Even the politicians are on my side because I have often helped them get elected one way or another."

Stanley was on a roll and I didn't want to stop him.

"If you go out tomorrow evening with your friend Kate, you will be stopped by the police and they will find a reason to search your car. There is a good chance that they will find some illicit drugs. The vice unit is going to get a tip that you have child pornography on your computer. And that is just the beginning. How long and how expensive will it be for you to fight these charges? You won't be able find a lawyer anywhere that would want to go up against me. You will never recover. Meanwhile, I will still be fucking your wife. Do you understand, Cuckold?"

"I totally believe everything you say, Asshole."

Stanley addressed me again. "You need to show me a little more respect, Cuckold. You are to call me 'Sir' or 'Mr. Cross'. If you call me an asshole one more time, I will have Max teach you some manners."

When Cross said this, he slapped me twice with his right hand to drive home his point of omnipotence. The second time he did this, I grabbed his hand with my left hand and, in one quick motion, used my other hand to break all of his fingers. I bent them all the way back to where they were resting on the back of his wrist and I held them there.

Cross couldn't believe it. For a split second he was totally surprised and looked at his hand incredulously. Then the pain hit him and he screeched like an owl. I pushed him away and he tumbled onto the couch. Tracey came to help him. He unfolded his fingers and held his flattened hand against his chest. He rocked back and forth with pain.

"You fucking son of a bitch! You will pay for this! I'm going to kill you.

Remembering his bodyguard standing just outside the closed front door, he yelled, "Max, get in here!"

The front door opened immediately and in walked Max. He was big. He looked like a villain in some noir 1940's movie who didn't know his own strength.

"Yes, Mr. Cross," he said.

Cross pointed to me with his good hand and said, "Take care of him, Max."

"Yes, Mr. Cross," Max answered and he started across the living room toward me.

Tracey tried to protest but Cross was having none of it and brushed her aside.

I had anticipated an altercation like this when Tracey first mentioned that Cross would have his bodyguard with him. And I knew I might take some abuse from him. This was going to be bad, however.

Almost no one who knows me knows that I was a POW in Afghanistan. Although it was only for 17 days, it still counted and I was still awarded the POW Medal. During that time, my captors used me for a punching bag. I was the only American they could get their hands on and they intended to take out their hate on me. But I learned one thing, . . . I can take abuse. In fact, it is much easier to absorb a beating than it is to be tied up in a stress position for hours at a time. The real torture was the nights I spent hanging from a beam in the ceiling of my cell with my arms pulled so tightly behind me that my elbows touched. The pain was excruciating and unrelenting! So, by comparison, a beating was easy to take.

I stood my ground and without putting up any defense, watched Max cock his anvil like hand and unleash it toward my head. He hit me square in the nose. I fell against the coffee table, stunned. I touched my nose and looked at my hand; blood was everywhere. It was dripping onto my shirt and pants and onto the beige carpet. I absently thought, "Can this blood be washed out or will I have to get a new carpet?"

I was obviously hurt and Max didn't know whether or not he was to go on hitting me. He looked to Cross for guidance.

"Hurt him, Max. Hurt him bad," was what he was told.

Max reached for me and grabbed my hair. He stood me up in front of him and hit me again. This time in my left eye. I went down again. When I looked up, all I could see out of my left eye was shadows.

I knew I couldn't take any more abuse like this and remain conscious and reasonably alert. Max looked down at me and wondered if I could get up. I looked up at him and said, "You hit like a girl."

Now, his ego was bruised in front of his employer. He grabbed me by the hair again and stood me in front of him. I watched as his right hand cocked for another strike. You should have been there to see the surprised expression on Max's face when I shot him in the foot.

The blast of the 9mm semi-automatic did not surprise just Max. the report of the gun sounded like a thunderbolt in the enclosed room. It was quickly followed by the smell of gunpowder—similar to the smell of fireworks on the 4^th of July.

Max dropped me immediately, grabbed his foot and started hopping backwards until he fell into my favorite leather Laz-Z-Boy chair. I fell to the ground again, gun in hand. I saw the expression change on Max's face when he realized that he was in a gunfight. He looked at me with a scowl and started to reach inside his coat pocket for his gun.

I shouted, "Don't do it, Max!" and leveled my gun at him.

When his gun cleared his holster and I could see it, I shot Max again. Another thunderbolt and more smoke. If Max had been twenty-five feet away from me, I would have aimed for his midsection and fired two or three times. As it was, Max was only eight feet away from me so I could pick my target. I shot him in his right shoulder. He dropped his gun in his lap and screamed.

I quickly crawled over to him, picked up his gun and put it in my pocket. Then, I put the barrel of my gun hard against his temple and said, "How many men have you killed, Max?"

Max could feel the hot barrel at his temple and he was afraid. He shook his head left and right, indicating that he had never killed anyone. "You should know, then, Max, that I've killed 27 men. All of them were soldiers fighting for their religion and their country so I had some respect for them. How much respect do you think I have for you?"

Max shook his head left and right again.

"That's right, Max, none," I said. "So, there isn't much reason I shouldn't kill you is there?"

Max moaned, "I have a family."

I replied, "Well, Max, I have a family, too, and you didn't seem to have much regard for mine. I wouldn't doubt that your family wouldn't be better off in the long run if you died today."

"Please," he begged.

I looked at Max's shoulder and said, "I shot you right through the ball of your shoulder, Max. You're going to bleed out if I don't get you to a doctor within an hour or so. And if I do, well, don't worry, those orthopedic doctors can fix anything with all the plastic and ceramic replacement bones they make. Hopefully, you won't have to learn to eat, write and shoot your gun with your left hand."

"However, you're probably going to have some mobility problems with that arm for the rest of your life. If you ever feel a twinge of pain in that arm in the future, I want you to think of me. Further, if I ever see you again, I will assume you want to hurt me, and I will kill you first. Do you understand?"

Max nodded that he understood.

I pulled his right shoulder forward roughly to see the back of the wound. Max cringed with pain.

"Jeez, Max," I lamented, "the bullet went clean through your shoulder and through my favorite easy chair. And you're bleeding all over it. I don't know if I can clean it all up or even fix the hole in my chair. If I have to get a new chair, I'm going to be even more pissed off than I am right now."

I should not have toyed with Max as long as I did, but he hurt me and I wanted him to sweat blood. The mistake I made was leaving an enemy at my back. The first thing that reminded me of that error was a warning from Tracey. "Blake, look out!"

I turned with my gun hand raised to see Cross bringing a fireplace poker down on my head. Without a doubt, he would have killed me if my arm had not protected my head. However, the poker struck my right forearm and, from the pain, I knew it was broken.

The force of the blow caused me to release my gun and it dropped onto the floor. Cross's attention became focused on the gun, now laying a few feet away from him. Before he could make a move toward it, I brought my left closed fist straight up into his groin. It was a forceful blow and lifted him two inches off of the ground. He fell to the floor in great pain with his hands holding his privates. I retrieved my gun with my left hand and was on him like a stink bug on shit. I straddled his chest and put my gun to his mouth.

"Open your mouth," I commanded.

Cross wouldn't do it. He kept his lips shut tightly and moved his head back and forth to say he was not going to do it. So, I hit him in the mouth very hard with the barrel of the gun. I cut his lip badly and broke several teeth including his eye teeth. He opened his mouth and I shoved the barrel of my gun as far as I could down his throat to the point that he had trouble breathing.

"How do you like my version of shock and awe, Asshole?" I asked.

"If you were listening to what I told Max you heard that I have officially killed 27 men in combat. I want to point out to you that I killed seven of them with this gun. And before you think about struggling too hard to get away, I should also tell you that this gun responds to a trigger pull of only four ounces, and I already have two ounces of pressure on the trigger." With that, Cross stopped his efforts to get away from me.

"Now, asshole, where is your cell phone?" I asked.

Cross indicated that it was in his left breast coat pocket. I took it out.

"Turn it on, asshole," I told him.

He took it and, using his thumbprint, turned it on.

"Now, asshole, call your wife on Facetime.

Cross's eyes enlarged to the size of quarters, but he did what I told him to do. The phone rang its destination a few times before a pretty lady answered.

"Stanley, why are you calling me at this time of... Who are you?" the lady said as she saw a bloody face she did not recognize.

"Mrs. Cross," I said, "my name is Blake Ramsey. You don't know me but perhaps you know my wife, Tracey Ramsey. She is the personal assistant for your husband."

Mrs. Cross answered, "Yes, I know Tracey. She's a very sweet lady. What is this all about? Why is your face so bloodied and where is my husband?"

"I'm sitting on your husband, Mrs. Cross. And I have a gun in his mouth." I turned the phone so that it showed her the face of her husband.

"My God!" she shouted into the phone. "Don't hurt him!"

"Listen, Mrs. Cross, I don't have much time. You should know that my wife and your husband have been fucking each other for the last six or seven months. They told me today that they were going to go to a hotel for the weekend and fuck their brains out. When I took exception to that, your husband had Max work me over. Unfortunately for Max, I had to shoot him, and now I'm about to shoot your husband."

"My husband is supposed to be at our desert home in Palm Springs this weekend working on a case he has to present in court next week."

"He lied to you, Mrs. Cross. He is right here on the floor of my house right now. Oh, and this is my wife, Tracey." I turned the phone so Mrs. Cross could see my wife sitting on the sofa with her hands on her cheeks and a terrified look on her face.

"As you can see, Mrs. Cross, my wife is in a very sexy dress and ready for a night on the town with your husband before they go to the hotel he reserved for tonight and Saturday night."

Mrs. Cross responded, "I can't believe this is happening."

"I was surprised, too," I quipped.

I finished, "I have to hang up now, Mrs. Cross. The police will be here soon. It was nice talking with you."

I threw the cell phone onto the floor and turned my attention back to Cross. "Well, asshole, it seems that your wife is now vaguely aware of your extracurricular activities. Now, what were you going to do if I said anything to her? Oh yes, you were going to have Max and a few of his friends visit me, after which I would be crippled and emasculated."

Looking over at Max, I said, "Max probably won't be up the job for a while."

Then, shoving the barrel of my gun further into Cross's mouth, I brought my head real close to his.

"Listen to this, asshole. If you send anyone after me, I will kill them. I will kill them all. And then, I will come after you. Is that clear... asshole?"