Wire-Pulling Pt. 01

Outwardly, Dallas was thankful for receiving another chance to prove himself. In truth, however, he had trouble stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Surely, these people were simply overreacting, burning money and essential resources on their personal quests to make their marks in the organization.

Now, however, he was sitting in front of his desk, after reading the report of the surveillance team they placed on the lawyer, and tried to suppress the feeling of dread invading his mind.

According to the report, the lawyer had made contact with Ms. Anderson's son and convinced him to play an active role in his mother's defense. Apparently, he worked for a Houston-based and rather unorthodox private security company that employed mainly highly trained ex-military personnel, as well as highly capable... ex-cons!? Dallas looked twice at the information he had just read, before believing that he didn't just misread it. Despite its relatively small size, the firm quickly made a name for itself thanks to its professionalism and success rate.

It was a mystery to him how anyone would be able to coordinate a staff like that, though that last little tidbit was immediately substantiated when the report spoke about the surveillance team being 'unable to gather any intel regarding the meeting between the target and secondary actors'. Or, in plain English, their countersurveillance hat bested the organization with all their expertise and resources. That spelled trouble.

Luckily, based on the observed actions following their meeting, it was fairly simple to deduct what was spoken about.

Immediately after their meeting, Ms. Anderson's son, Paul, left with her. It would be safe to assume that she was now living with him. The lawyer returned to his office in Austin. The audio recordings the team acquired through the lawyer's tapped phone proved that the eager man did not waste much time and started making calls as soon as he had entered his car.

One of the calls he made was to the DA's office.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Dallas printed the report and made his way towards Fairfield's office. Now he didn't have a choice, even though Dallas was still sure that all of this was the result of Fairfield's hasty actions. It was highly unlikely that this support team around Ms. Anderson would act that cautious, and employ that many safety measures, had the main witness in the case not suddenly turned up dead. However, he was determined to turn this operation into a success and, consequently, save himself from having his employment in the organization terminated.

"Good morning, Boss!" Dallas greeted after stepping into Fairfield's office. "I received the report from the surveillance team we placed on the lawyer. It seems like Ms. Anderson managed to obtain the support of some rather troublesome individuals. I suggest we assign another surveillance team to her son, Paul, who appears to be the center of their operation with a firm called Carter Security."

Fairfield blinked at his protégé for a moment before he released a tired sound.

"Dallas. What happened to you?" Fairfield asked perplexed. Dallas, who seldomly arrived in the office before nine a.m., was now running around the building, going through reports, and planning operational responses, when it wasn't even six a.m. yet and Fairfield didn't have a chance to get a cup of coffee yet. "First, show me that report."

After Dallas handed the report over, he watched Fairfield's face progressively darken as his eyes wandered further down the pages. When he had finished reading it, Fairfield leaned back in his chair and thought about this new information before speaking.

"First, create a dossier on Carter Security. If they seriously managed to outplay our surveillance team, we should investigate them further. Second, I agree with assigning another surveillance team to young Paul. Right now, it only seems like they are protecting the woman, but, given his past with our client, it's safe to assume he will be out for revenge. Sadly, with the surveillance team's failure, we missed our opportunity to stop the lawyer from acting in time. Disposal of the target is no longer an option."

Even though Fairfield delivered this line in a rather cold tone that could justifiably send shivers down a man's spine, Dallas still felt relief upon hearing it.

"Next," Fairfield continued. "Let's check the audio recordings. Maybe there is something after all."

With that, they pulled the audio file from the cloud server the surveillance team had uploaded it to and started listening to it. However, not even half an hour later, both men sat in that office massaging their temples, feeling the onset of a major migraine.

"What in the world does 'Muffin Purper-Gurk' even mean?" Dallas asked in a pained voice, though Fairfield controlled himself a lot better when he answered.

"Cheer up, Dallas. This is a good thing. It tells us something important."

"What? That our new opponents have a weird sense of humor!?"

"No," Fairfield actually managed to chuckle. "It tells us that at least one of these people does not take the whole situation seriously. This is the exact opposite of professionalism. So, either that firm's reputation is unearned after all, or we just found an attack angle for the future."

"How will this help us?" Dallas asked, confused.

"The real art of using agents in our line of work, Dallas, is to use them without them ever realizing that they are working for you. So, first, make the call to the surveillance team and give the order to limit their activity to surveillance only. Given what we just discovered, it is reasonable to assume they have a few more surprises waiting inside their apartments and offices. We will watch them for now. And let I.T. send someone to check out little Paul's car to tap into its GPS. If it happens to not have one, don't even bother with an attachable tracker."

"Yes, Sir!" came Dallas's response before he rushed back into his office.

Chapter 4

I had been sitting on my bed, not knowing what the hell I was supposed to do or even how to properly process what had just happened, for the past hour. I basically face-raped my own mother when she woke me up with a blowjob, and then she acted like it was the most normal thing in the fucking world!

Was Tim right after all? The day before, I had gone to great lengths to deny any possibility of my mother ever doing anything like this, just to be proven wrong within hours. And I still didn't understand why she would do that. I mean, yes, Tim had phrased it in a way that did sound plausible, no question about that. But, at the end of the day, there is a difference between serving the person who beat you into submission over the years and latching onto any male authority figure you can find to then serve them as well.

But, if that was truly what had happened, it meant trouble on a whole new scale. If that was truly what I could expect from my mother, then what did that mean for her mental state? How far gone was she truly? Was there any way to come back from something like that?

As I continued recollecting the entirety of Tim's warning, I became desperately worried, and my mind was invaded by an onslaught of intrusive thoughts.

"Didn't he say something about the temptation of having totally unrestricted access to an ultimately submissive woman?" I thought.

That was obviously crap. She may be a woman, but she was primarily my mother!

"But, regardless of her being my mother,... I can't forget the feeling of her lips around my shaft. How it felt when the skin of my dick was pulled into that warm and wet mouth while being massaged by her sponge-like tongue before I slammed it into her throat for ultimate pleasure. And the way she just let it happen, completely disregarding her own discomfort and need for oxygen, just to make me happy. I might not want to admit it... but I enjoyed every second of it."

No! Of course it felt good. It was a blowjob! Blowjobs always feel good! I just didn't know it was my mother doing the deed. As soon as I found out it was her, I was anything BUT turned on!

"But what if I just wasn't turned on anymore because I experienced a mind-blowing orgasm, and not because I discovered that it was my mother who caused it?"

I sighed, shaking those thoughts out of my mind. I needed to get a shower, find Mom, and set some things straight. When I got out of bed, though, I noticed some of the gunk that had dripped off her chin onto the floor right next to the bed, and my eyes would no longer obey me as they remained fixated on that small whitish glob.

"God help me..." I whispered before finally getting a change of clothes and walked into the bathroom.

When I stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel to dry myself off, the pleasant scent of freshly baked bread floated into the bathroom. Though, as soon as I realized the implications of this, I quickly got dressed and rushed into the kitchen where she had just finished setting the table.

"Where's all this coming from? I thought the kitchen was empty?" I asked while gesturing towards the food, worried that she left the apartment to go shopping by herself. Honestly, I didn't really expect the senator to try anything drastic anymore but, if I was wrong and something happened while she was out by herself, there would be absolutely nothing I could do, and I probably wouldn't even learn about it happening until it was too late to find her anymore.

"I found small packages of portioned-off dough pieces in the freezer and used them to make some bread. And I found jam, peanut butter, and Nutella in that cupboard," she explained while pointing out a little cupboard above the small dinner table. "I couldn't find any regular butter, though. I'm sorry."

Of course, the guy had nothing but Nutella and PB&J in the house. Tell me you're still a teenager without saying that you're still a teenager. Tim must've forgotten to mention those, and I had neglected to check the freezer myself. With my most prevalent worry of the moment placated, I actually processed what Mom had just said, and, hearing her apology, decided that now would be a good time for my first attempt at addressing the most important issue. However, that turned out to be rather difficult to even start on.

"Why are you apologizing? I was the one who forgot to buy any groceries," I asked in a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, mostly to buy myself some time.

"I should've thought about it when we went to the mall. It's a good wife's job to take care of the household," she explained like it was common knowledge. Though, I almost choked on my food when my troubled mind heard the word 'wife' in combination with this being my (temporary) household.

"You're not my wife!" I quickly clarified, very cautious of my tone to not make her think I was scolding her again. "And it's not your job to take care of this household. I appreciate the help, but the most important thing is to keep you out of sight, in case Dick comes looking for us."

"Oh," was all she responded with. It didn't sound like I just told her something she didn't already know. It was more like she didn't know what to make of it and was now a little lost.

"Maybe... we should look for a therapist or something. Someone you could talk to about..."

"I don't need a therapist," she interrupted me with a conviction in her voice that took me aback. Especially since it was such a stark contrast to her earlier way of speaking.

"Mom. You woke me up with a blowjob this morning," I reminded her in a futile attempt to get my point across. "This isn't normal."

"I'm not sick, Paul." She shook her head while her body was completely rigid. "I just want to make you happy. I don't need a therapist. I only need you."

That made me blink.

"I'm not... We can't..." I stammered, desperately trying to find the right words while simultaneously trying to interpret her words. "You woke me up with a blowjob, for Christ's sake!"

"Did you not enjoy it?" she asked with a hint of almost panic in her voice. "I can do better, Paul! I only want you to be happy!"

This didn't bode well. Especially since I was still scared to death about what happened last night after I woke from that nightmare. The fact that I talked to her like Dick had always done still shook me to the core, and that she now seemingly panicked when thinking she couldn't make me happy only intensified my fears.

"Mom, listen. I'm sorry about last night," I said. Her eyes widened just the tiniest bit and, as I started wondering what that could mean, I decided to keep my eyes on my food as I continued with my apology. I didn't want to screw this up because I kept questioning her behavior. "When you came into my bedroom, I... Well, you already know I had a nightmare. It was about something that happened when we lived with him, and... I don't know. I guess it sent me back to a bad place, and you had to suffer through it. I'm really, really sorry."

My eyes stayed glued to the piece of bread I was holding while we sat there in perfect silence for a good half minute, before I finally looked up and saw her still watching me attentively. Though, by now, the way she looked at me had changed.

It was no longer that neutral expression she wore while awaiting instructions. Nor was it the timid expression she showed when trying to please me. Instead, her eyes were full of sorrow as the trail of a single tear marked her left cheek. When she finally spoke, it was a lot softer and quieter than I was used to her.

"It is like I said this morning: I failed you. I'm a failure as a mother. You have nothing to apologize for, Paul."

"Yes, I do!" I called out, unable to control my voice anymore. "Even if I was in a bad place, and even if the dream made me relive some of the things I'd rather forget, the things I said to you... I sounded like him. And I..." I sighed. This was a lot harder than I thought. Especially since I wasn't prepared to have that discussion already. "Just... give me some time. I'll work through this."

She was still regarding me with the very same expression while her body had not moved a single inch during the entirety of our talk. However, she also didn't react to my request at first. It took her a long while before she spoke. And, when she did, it was so quiet it was barely more than a simple breath.

"What... was the dream about?"

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if telling her was the right choice. In the end, though, I knew I couldn't just ignore her question without seeming like an ass, or make something up just to later confess my lie when we needed to have this talk in earnest.

"The orbital fracture," I finally answered.

She stared some more, her body still perfectly unmoving. Though, her eyes had lost focus as if she was dwelling on memories. After merely a few seconds, she spoke with a quiver in her voice that accompanied the slight trembling on her bottom lip.

"M-May I... return to my room to prepare for the day?"

"Sure."

As soon as I closed my mouth, she calmly stood up and walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. When I followed, I could faintly hear the sounds of her muffled sobbing through the door. Yet again, the feelings that welled up inside me as I listened to my mother's crying confused me.

On one hand, I felt bad for her, like a son normally should when his mother is in distress. I wanted to walk in there and comfort her like she had done for me before Dick entered our lives. On the other hand, there was also a part of me that felt... satisfaction. The fact that she was now in this state, after I merely mentioned the main injury I suffered at that time, proved that she not only remembered the event itself but also her own part in it.

Yes, I knew I emotionally went full schizo when it came to Mom. One moment, I wanted to rebuild our relationship, the next, I went off on her for abandoning me. I just... I didn't know how to handle any of this.

"Maybe I should look into getting a shrink for myself to understand all this crap in my head..." I mumbled to myself as I turned from the door, but then suddenly stopped.

A psych eval! Why the hell didn't I immediately think about this!? I basically sprinted back into the bedroom to grab my phone and dialed Breston's number. After merely three rings, he picked up.

"Paul!" I heard his enthusiastic voice greet me. "What can I do for you?"

"Good morning, Breston. I was wondering... What if we got a psych eval of Mom? Wouldn't a psychologist's assessment of her total subservience help her case? Surely, they would attest that she couldn't betray her husband, even if she wanted to."

I could hear paper shuffling before he spoke.

"The truth is, Paul, I already have a psychological profile of your mother." That surprised me. "Over the six weeks of her incarceration, she met with a psychologist multiple times, and they did attest to her submissiveness. The problem, however, is that they reached some conclusions that are... not entirely in our favor."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, at first they wanted to diagnose her with something they call a..." More paper shuffling. "...a 'Dependent Personality Disorder', as she appeared to be troubled when asked to make everyday decisions for herself. It would also be an explanation for why she stayed in that abusive relationship for so long. We are lucky they looked further into this because, if they had diagnosed her with this, it would have meant that anyone could have easily manipulated her into stealing that data from her husband. Instead of helping us, it would have been additional ammunition for the prosecutor."

"Okay?" I said, not understanding half of that psychology stuff. Then, however, I had a quick thought. "If they didn't diagnose her with that...dependence thing, did they come up with another explanation for why she stayed with the man?"

"No. They weren't that interested in her relationship with the senator, their focus was on her mental state. But, if I had to guess, I would say she stayed for the usual reasons."

"I'm sorry... what?"

"Well, she had nowhere else to go. Apparently, after being married to him for the first two years that were relatively harmless in terms of abuse, she no longer had a bank account she could freely access, and no family left she could ask for help either."

That information was completely new to me. I had asked her so many times to leave the guy, but not once did she give me any reason for why she refused. The only thing she always said was "I can't, Paul". Consequently, this is what had fueled my budding resentment towards her. I always thought the fact that she couldn't leave him meant that being with him was more important to her than protecting me. And, even now, there were other things that did not line up with what I had just heard that negated Breston's theory.

"But... what about after I left?" I asked, perplexed. "She handed me four grand in cash, and I doubt those were a parting gift from Dick, so she clearly had funds!"

"Paul... I can't answer your questions. All I have is the psychologist's report. But, according to that, your mother maintained throughout the sessions that she needed to be punished. And even the psychologist couldn't discern whether this was some hint to an actual need for punishment on her part, like a... sexual thing... or some form of atonement for her inability to protect you."

That absolutely floored me.

"That is the other reason I don't plan on using this in her defense. If she feels guilt towards you, it could be construed as a motive for why she would hate and try to hurt her ex-husband. Though, I guess they would only play that angle as a last resort. After all, they would need to explain to the court exactly why she would have needed to protect you from the senator in the first place, and I don't expect them to tell the world about all the times he beat his wife and adopted son."