This is Chapter Nine, the final chapter, of a book. The characters and situations will be more understandable if the previous chapters have been read. This chapter is much less erotic than previous chapters, but its primary purpose is to wrap up the plot threads of the book.
In this final chapter, Walter, Weston and Woodruff Monty are rounded up.
If you desire background to some items mentioned in this story, you might want to also read my short stories “The Society - Witness Protection,” “The Redhead in the Killer Kollar,” and “The Master of the Kollar.” Another story involving The Society is “The Society - Party Crashers.”
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Walter, Weston, and Woodruff
Sam Two Feathers and I decided to move our meeting to my hotel room. I had a suite of rooms, so we met in the living room area. Boris and Natasha were part of our meeting through an encrypted video link.
“So, Boris,” Sam said in his almost monotone bass voice, “do you think you can take over control of the elevator at The Blue Deuce?
“I already have,” Boris answered smugly. “I can even tap into the video feed from the elevator security camera to guarantee it’s empty.” He giggled in his nerdy way and said, “I couldn’t risk sending anyone down to the lower level, but I did take someone up to the Third Floor who had pushed the button for the Second.”
“But can you stop the car between floors?” Sam said harshly.
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” Boris replied smartly.
“What?” Sam snapped back.
“Trust him,” I said motioning with my hands for Sam to calm down. “He will stop the car when and where it is supposed to stop.”
Sam nodded and continued to text someone.
“Now all I need to do,” I said flatly, “is get close to Walter when the manure hits the ventilator.”
“That won’t be you,” Sam said.
“But I’ll be the only one on the inside,” I protested. “Someone has to steer him toward the right exit.”
“That will be my responsibility,” a sultry female voice said from behind me. I turned to see that one of Sam’s bodyguards had let someone into the room literally behind my back, and that someone was standing behind me... ... naked.
“Meet Pussy Galore,” Sam said with a smile. Then he held up his hands and said, “She chose that code name, not me.”
He waited for her to walk up alongside me before continuing. “She’s a damn good agent who has gone undercover for us in places a lot more sleazy than The Fourth Floor. She will take care of making sure that Walter goes out the right exit. You just make sure his bodyguards are otherwise occupied.”
I figured I should ask the obvious question. “Why is she naked?”
“So you will get used to seeing me as your slave,” she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s how I am getting in tonight. You are taking me in on a leash.” She paused and then looked me directly in the eyes before adding, “But don’t get any ideas.”
“It’s all strictly business to me,” I answered. Actually, it was one aspect of our business that I was enjoying. She was a truly beautiful woman.
“Do you have a preference for a slave name?” I asked.
“Call me pussy,” she answered. “I find that appealing to a man’s– or a woman’s– basest nature causes them to underestimate me.” She shrugged and then said, “It comes in very handy.”
“Pussy is my martial arts instructor,” Sam said firmly. “She’s not pure, native-born Nippon, but she still knows more different ways of killing you than the average Ninja assassin.”
“Now you’re being racist,” pussy said, sounding somewhat angry... or perhaps just faking petulant anger.
“I could have said,” Sam replied with a smile, “that I expected you to be shorter.”
One of the men with Sam gave a snorting laugh which he cut short when pussy glared at him. She did have a very oriental look to her body. She had long, straight, black hair, almond eyes with just a hint of slant to them, a slightly olive skin, and the small breasts common to many Asians. She was, however, just short of six feet tall. That would be tall for the typical Occidental woman. It was in giantess range for an Asian female.
She looked over at Sam and stuck out her tongue. They clearly had a close relationship that allowed for mutual putdowns and digs. It was a bond that was obviously forged in combat or combat-like situations. I wisely refrained from any such comments and instead concentrated on our review of the plan. Sam, pussy, Boris and I went over the plan verbally four or five times repeating aloud what each of us was expected to do and when. Then Sam called two of his guards over and had them listen as we recited each step of the plan.
“What do you think?” Sam asked the guards. “Do you see any major weaknesses?”
“It won’t work like that,” one man said flatly. “It never does, but as a plan it sounds good.”
I was slightly offended, but I could see that pussy and Sam were both smiling. “I should give him the code name Cassandra,” Sam said, still smiling. “He always speaks the truth, but no one will ever believe him.”
That was not the most comforting way to end our meeting, but everything from my end was in place. Pussy and I would be arriving shortly after one am. The Deuce would technically be closed at that point so the chance of collateral damage was lessened. The earthquake was scheduled for one thirty, but that was a variable. All timing was in so many minutes following the explosion.
After Sam and his guards left, I told pussy, “Why don’t you slip something on and we will go downstairs to eat. Then we can catch some sleep and go into tonight rested.”
“Or,” she said, clipping her leash to the front of the shiny black collar that was around her neck and handing me the other end, “you could lead me into the bedroom and we can get rid of some nervous energy so we can go into tonight relaxed. Then we can call room service and give them something to talk about tomorrow.”
We compromised. After we got rid of our nervous energy, we went downstairs to the restaurant and gave them something to talk about tomorrow. No, she didn’t go down naked, though I think she would have been more than willing... and it probably would have caused less talk. Instead she pulled a loose fitting, short black skirt over her naked body and left the leash in place, trailing down inside the front of the dress and wrapping around her waist under the dress. The dress covered all, but the soft, black, shiny material revealed everything. I’m sure that everyone in the restaurant had something for tomorrow’s conversation.
We got back to the room around seven. Pussy felt that she had more nervous energy to get rid of. I wasn’t that nervous, but am always happy to help out a woman in need... of any sort. She was beautiful and an excellent lover, but I was unable to get the thought out of my head that she could very easily snap me in half if she wanted to. I wondered if that was how the male spider feels just before his mate injects him with poison and wraps him up for her larder. I didn’t think those thoughts were a good topic for post-coital conversation, so I set the alarm on my cellphone and we both quickly fell asleep.
My alarm woke me around eleven-thirty. Pussy was already up and had showered. She was drying her hair with the hotel blow dryer. She didn’t seem to need a brush, but was pulling her fingers through her hair like a comb as she dried it. I quickly showered and dried my hair with a towel. Combing it in place was all that was needed– one of the advantages of being a man.
We spent the next hour verbally going over the steps of the plan and then left for the club. It was a different valet on duty, but when I gave him my short spiel about the car being electric, he recognized who I was. “Don’t worry, Mister Guthrie,” he said cheerily, “I’ll take special care of your vintage Tesla.”
There was a certain sadness in handing over my keys. I wasn’t sure I would ever see it again... or that it would see me, depending on how the night progressed.
Pussy was wearing the same soft black dress as we walked into The Blue Deuce. The shiny, chrome, metal leash now hung in the air between her collar and my hand. But she wasn’t walking three steps behind me like a dutiful slave. She was leading me. It was rather obvious that she was, in fact, a powerful woman, but that is often the hidden truth in many D/s relationships. The real power is very often on the collar end of the leash.
Once the elevator doors closed, she slid the leash from my hand and then pulled the black dress up over her head. “Here,” she said, “keep this in your pocket. I may need it later.” When we came out of the elevator into The Fourth Floor’s reception area, my naked slave was dutifully walking behind me with just a little slack in her leash. I swiped my card at the hostess desk and said, “Harold Guthrie... and friend.”
The hostess replied, “Your slave isn’t in our registry. She has to be registered before she can enter.”
I almost panicked for a moment, but then the hostess continued, “She needs to face the camera, give her slave name and verify that she is here of her own free will.”
I wasn’t the only one caught offguard by the hostess’ initial comment. I could see pussy relax slightly as she faced the camera and said, “My name is pussy. I am Master Guthrie’s willing slave and have willingly accompanied him here tonight.”
“Thank you,” chirped the hostess as she pressed a couple of buttons on her desk. “Please follow me.”
We were shown a table slightly closer to the front than I had occupied the previous night. Since I hadn’t done anything to make me a greater VIP than I had been last night, I assumed that the move closer to the stage had to do with pussy’s eye appeal.
We hadn’t even taken our seats when our waitress slave came running up to the table and presented herself with the required, “What may this worthless slave bring to an esteemed Master for his pleasure?”
I tried to look like I was thinking and then replied, “I think I will have another of those Weihenstephaner dark beers like I had last night.” I then sat down. I was surprised that pussy knelt on the floor next to me. We hadn’t talked about that detail. I pointed at her and she surprised me again by saying in her most sultry voice, “May I have a Gentleman Jack, Master?”
I looked at the naked slave waitress and said, “And also bring a Gentleman Jack, double, neat.”
“Yes, Master,” the waitress said and scurried off into the darkness.
Pussy leaned forward toward me and said softly, “Twenty-three minutes to show time.”
The naked waitress slave had run back with our drinks, so I just nodded my head.
I relaxed slightly when I saw that Mistress Tenesha’s steel globe had already been put in place. Master Tyrone, Mistress Kelly, and Mastress Barbette were also in place. There were now three additional people strapped in place with them. Master Walter walked out into the center of the stage in front of the curtain and said in a loud voice, “We have a very special treat for you tonight. I present the Anaconda Sisters.”
With that the thin, reedy, music of the Indian snake-charmer’s flute filled the club and four men strode down the aisle carrying a slightly larger version of the now familiar basket hanging from the poles they were carrying on their shoulders. The curtains had opened as they walked in, so they walked up the steps and set the basket in the center of the stage. The music continued as the lid popped open slightly and slid to the stage floor. Then a green hand began slithering just above the rim of the basket. Soon it was joined by another hand... and then another and another.
I cupped my hand over my mouth and spoke into my watch. “Whisky Tango Foxtrot,” I said softly. “Then I added, Snafu, Fubar, Tarfu.” I heard a deep bass voice respond “Shit!” in my earpiece. Then I said softly, “Little Sister Anaconda is here. She might recognize me from my night at Colonel Boogie’s. Showtime is NOW!”
Sam responded with “It is now T minus 5. The running back is going out for the pass.” Shit was about to get very real. I reached down and slapped pussy loudly on the ass. She yelped and threw her drink in my face. I jumped to my feet yelling, “You bitch!”
Two security men immediately appeared at my table. I pointed down to her and said angrily, “I want her lying across that spanking bench by the time I get back. If she won’t go willingly, strap her in place.”
Pussy was now pleading anxiously, “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean it. I’ll be good. I’ll take my punishment. Don’t be angry with me.”
I looked down at her and said in my best snarl, “Then I’d better see you lying willingly across that spanking bench when I get back with my Elephant Crop.” I then stormed to the back of the club and went into the elevator.
The upstairs hostess must have been alerted because she met me as I came out of the elevator. I tried to look very upset. “I need my toy case from the trunk of my car,” I said firmly, as if I were trying to control my anger. “Tell the valet it’s worth fifty if he gets it in here right away.”
She pressed something on the lapel of her ruffled shirt and relayed my message to the valet. Again, Master Walter’s setup impressed me. I wouldn’t have suspected that the upstairs hostess was part of his security team.
The valet arrived moments later carrying a small, brown suitcase. I handed him a fifty, as promised, and then opened the case. The hostess appeared disinterested, but I could tell that she was inspecting what it contained. There were a variety of paddles and whips in the case and one very large, oddly-oversized crop. I took it out and still carrying the case started back toward the elevator.
“You can’t take that case into the club,” she called after me.
“I’ll leave the case on the elevator, then,” I called back. “You can keep it up here until I bring back my Elephant Crop.”
There is no such thing as an Elephant Crop, but the name justified the tennis racket-sized handle on the flat leather paddle. It did look like the type of crop you might use if you were riding an elephant.
I didn’t wait to hear what the hostess might say, but instead swiped my card and headed back downstairs. The downstairs hostess was standing in front of her desk watching me as I got out of the elevator. “I left it in there,” I said firmly, pointing back at the case. “I’ll take it back up after I’m done disciplining my petulant slave.”
She smiled at me as I swung the crop through the air to emphasize my words. I looked into the club and said, “I’ll wait back here so I don’t disturb the girls. They are fabulous dancers.” She just nodded slightly and stepped back behind her desk.
I don’t know if Walter had brought little sister in to check me out or if he just brought her back to LA after his brother’s club in Iowa closed, but in any case, she didn’t have a chance to see me close up. And even if she did, she wouldn’t be reporting back to Wyatt’s big brother until it was too late.
I stayed in the back until both women slither-danced their way back on stage and dropped back into their basket. The four security men walked forward and picked up the poles to bring the basket back out. As soon as they left the stage, Master Walter hurried into the spotlight and said, “As you may have heard, we had a slave misbehave during that performance.” He smiled and brought his hands together. “So...” he continued, “she is going to be our next performance as Master Harold Guthrie uses something called an Elephant Crop on her bare ass.”
I said, “Showtime!” loudly and the hostess smiled at me. Then I started up the aisle toward the spanking bench on the left-hand platform. As hoped, Master Walter remained on stage to further introduce me, or perhaps just to get a closer look at my weird oversized crop. As I moved forward, I could see the elevator doors closing out of the corner of my eye. Hopefully Boris was in control of the elevator because I had already pressed the control in my pocket which activated the bomb. It was now T minus fifteen seconds.
I was almost up on the platform when a loud explosion rocked the club and smoke billowed in from the reception area. Alarms went off and as Sam had predicted, arrows of light began flashing in sequence pointing toward the three fire exits. As expected, Walter Monty’s bodyguards came running forward to take up positions with their boss. I also ran toward him crying “What’s happening? What’s happening?”
The first bodyguard didn’t feel the microneedle go into his muscles when I pressed the handle of the crop against his back. The second guard must have sensed something was wrong because he went for his weapon. If he had been wearing a belt holster, I might be dead, but he was wearing a shoulder holster and had to make a cross-body draw. I pushed the back end of the handle into the middle of his chest and pressed hard, triggering the second microneedle’s launching charge. With the paralytic injected that close to his heart, he dropped before he could clear his weapon.
All hell was breaking loose. Firemen– actually Sam’s operatives– were pouring into the club from the now open firedoors. The security team was overwhelmed preventing panic and keeping people moving calmly to the exits. They didn’t notice pussy slip her collar from her neck and use her leash like a combination lariat and garrotte to subdue Walter and pull him toward one of the exits. I noticed that two of the fake firemen were wearing body mounted portable jaws of life units. The powerful cutters that can take the roof off a car in seconds had no problem removing the chains and restraints from all six captives held against the wall. The huge metal globe surrounding Mistress Tenesha lasted only seconds longer. Soon we were all moving out of the front of the mall and into waiting ambulances which roared into the night.
The ambulance I was riding in stopped right after leaving the mall parking lot and I transferred to a red SUV which took me back up to the front of The Blue Deuce. The SUV had proper LAFD decals on it and said “Fire Marshall” on the hood both forwards and backwards. It stopped just long enough to let me out at the valet station.
I held out a hundred and said firmly, “I need to get my car out of here NOW!” The valet grabbed the bill and brought the electric Mustang around just as the first real firetruck was arriving. I discovered that it truly could accelerate to 60 mph in twenty feet.
As I was silently accelerating into the night, Sam’s voice said loudly and firmly in my earpiece, “High Rooftop Lounge, thirty minutes.”
That was not part of the plan. Something major must have gone wrong, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I drove as quickly as I legally could down to the Venice Boardwalk and went up to the High Rooftop Lounge.
One of Sam’s men met me at the top of the stairs and nodded his head toward the far end of the building. Sam was pacing back and forth and looking very displeased. “I should have caught it,” he said angrily as soon as I arrived. “I should have caught it,” he repeated slamming his fist on a table.
“How bad?” I asked.
Sam shook his head and said quickly, “Not what you think. Walter’s on a plane to The Society’s prison as we speak. The hostages are at the safehouse. No casualties. No collateral damage.”
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked.
“The Blue Deuce,” he replied. “I didn’t make the connection until I actually saw that blue two of clubs in the night sky. That’s when it hit me.” He shook his head hard, like he was making some huge effort... or perhaps holding back a terrible pain. “Weston Monty used to run a private security firm called The Black Deuce.” He shook his head again. “Everybody was the black something back then. My firm was The Black Warriors.” His voice became unusually animated as he continued. “But the Black Deuce was the worst of the worst... every atrocity in the book. The Black Deuce used that exact same logo, except it was black. Weston was convicted of war crimes in absentia. Supposedly he died in an explosion escorting a convoy in Afghanistan, but men like us don’t die like that.”
I waited for him to continue, but when he remained silent, I said, “And...”
“He’s a cop now... he has to be... and he runs The Blue Deuce,” Sam spat out. “He and his brothers ended up as just numbers within the foster system... brother number one, brother number two, brother number three. Wes was brother number two... so he started calling himself ‘Deuce.’”
He was starting to wind down so I asked, “What do we do?”
“Is Boris still listening?” he asked quickly.
In response a voice chirped in my ear– and Sam’s, “I’m here. What do you need?”
“The Blue Deuce,” Sam said firmly and slowly, “has led a charmed life. Someone has been protecting it. Someone has squashed any investigation and warned Walter of any impending raids. That someone is a high-level cop and that someone is Weston Monty.”
A female voice in my earpiece said, “Running an AI algorithm on it now.”
“Thank you, Natasha,” I responded.
We all stood there silently for what seemed like forever, but was probably less than five minutes. Then Natasha said curtly, “Got it. Captain James Montgomery Reynolds. Weston Monty was almost adopted when he was in the foster system. The family who tried to adopt him was named Reynolds. The adoption was almost formalized. They even had a new birth certificate prepared under the name James, but then Weston abused his step sister in some fashion. Except for a notation in the adoption process records, nothing was done, but the adoption fell through. Weston must have used that birth certificate to create a new identity. With his experience– and his behind the scenes contacts– he quickly rose to the position of Captain in the LAPD.”
Sam looked at me and said slowly, “This one is mine.” His face would now definitely scare away tourists or paparazzi.
“Alive,” I said firmly.
“Don’t worry,” he answered. “Captain Reynolds will be on the next plane to the prison. Once the right people are made aware of who he really is, an acceptable cover story will be given to the press. But I’m taking this bastard down.”
Sam Two Feathers and his men then strode out of the lounge area. I wouldn’t want to be anyone who got in his way tonight. There was something very personal about Sam’s anger. I would have to ask him about it some day, but tonight was not the time.
“Four down, one to go,” Boris’ voice said in my earpiece.
I took a deep breath and replied, “I need to speak with Master Tyrone immediately. Where is he?”
“Sam thought it best to get everyone out of town,” Boris responded. “They are probably headed back east by now.”
“Make arrangements for Master Tyrone to meet me at Shangri-la Three,” I said. “Tell him that I know who the traitor is and it is time to bring the Inner Circle... and the Shadow Council together.”
“Master Robert and Mistress Aleana are still unaccounted for,” Boris said.
“I know,” I replied, “but with Wyatt, Walter and Weston gone, I think that Master Robert will reappear. Tell Master Tyrone that I am suggesting you begin arrangements for the Inner Circle to meet in town.”
“In town?” Boris sputtered. “Like in town, here?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Give me five days to drive back... no make that six. I have to stop in Vegas and arrange to have something shipped back from the storage vaults there. And Boris...”
“Yes?” he answered.
“I need locations for charging stations on my route back.”
He laughed and said, “Don’t fall asleep with it in autodrive mode. I don’t think you want to end up on YouTube.”
“Duly noted,” I replied. “Check Mister Guthrie out of the hotel. I will scrub the ID and retitle the car once I get back.”
“Consider it done,” Natasha responded. “Poopsie says to drive carefully.”
“I will,” I answered and walked down from the rooftop to retrieve my Mustang from the parking attendant. I figured I could get back to Vegas before morning and rest up before three-oneing it back to Shangri-la Three.
Master Tyrone was unusually pensive and Mistress Tenesha was skittish and overreacted to sounds or movements around her. Both were symptomatic of PTSD and understandable after what they had both been through. They probably needed time– and counseling– but it was not my place to suggest that. It was, however, the Shadow Council’s place to rule on whether any or all of the Inner Circle was fit to return to run The Society’s daily affairs.
Master Tyrone agreed with my recommendation that the Inner Circle and the Shadow Council meet together and appraise the situation. He was now back in full communication with both the circle and the council. Master Moreno of Argentina and Mistress Ingrid of Germany had both been abducted by contract dirtbags. They had not been abused during their time of detention and had been released unharmed as soon as the ransom money had been paid. Master Viktor and Mistress Luba of Russia, Master Li Qiang and Mistress Zhang Min of China, Master William and Mistress Ellen of the UK, and Master Joaquin and Mistress Pia of Chile had also been abducted by contract villains, but when it became obvious that the Monty brothers’ war on The Society was going badly, they were released without payment of ransom.
Mistress Ramala of Africa was the one member of the Inner Circle who had avoided capture. Ramala means “Predictor of the Future,” and Mistress Ramala was recognized for knowing things before they came to pass. She had a premonition of danger and went into hiding before her hired captors could strike. She had also tried to get a message to me from her place of hiding which said, “To find the blue, you must pursue the black.” Like many such revelations, it would have been basically meaningless to me without Sam Two Feathers knowledge of Black Deuce Contract Services, but it was nice to know that Mistress Ramala truly had “the gift.”
We each have a form of the gift. As I had accurately predicted, Master Robert Williamson showed up basically unharmed in New York. He and Mistress Aleana had been dropped off at the airport by what appeared to be a hotel limo. Mistress Aleana, unfortunately, was not in good shape and was currently in a psychiatric hospital in upstate New York. She would miss this special joint meeting of the Inner Circle and Shadow Council.
Staff at the Hilton Hotel and Convention Center must have wondered when an apparently continuous series of black vans, accompanied by black security SUVs, drove into the secure, inside entrance to the convention center. In all, thirty-six vans arrived and quickly left. Inside a large room that was often used for conventions or banquets, a large table square had been set up with forty or fifty chairs around it. There was a podium on one end, and behind the podium a large screen on which was projected a video of whoever was standing at the podium. For the moment, that person was Master Tyrone.
“Before we officially begin this joint meeting,” he began, “I would like to acknowledge the magnificent work which Master W has done for The Society.”
I felt my skin warm slightly. Evidently I could still blush a little bit and being called a Master by someone such as Grand Master Tyrone was an unexpected honor. When the applause had died down, Master Tyrone continued. “W has requested permission to give a short report to this joint meeting. Do I hear a vote of approval for that?”
There was a loud shout of “Aye!” and Master Tyrone gestured to me.
As I stepped into the podium, I looked around at the Masters and Mistresses who ran one of the most powerful organizations in the world. Individually, each of them controlled large companies or managed unbelievable wealth, but together, they controlled and managed much of the world. I took a deep breath and began.
“I am sure,” I said, looking around the table, “that you are all familiar with the expression, ‘The Devil is in the details.’ It is the details which enabled my team to find and bring down those who had launched an attack against The Society.”
I nodded toward Master Randolph and slave ines. “Slave ines gave me the letters CFD and that led me to Master Rodrigeuz in Brazil.” An image of Master Rod in his devil Lucha Libra mask appeared on the screen behind me. “Two songs, sent through an unencrypted email system led me to little brother Wyatt Monty in Iowa.” An image of Colonel Boogie’s appeared on the screen. “And his bragging mention of his brother’s place in LA led me to The Blue Deuce and Walter Monty.” An image of Walter Monty taken from his club’s web page now filled the screen. I continued, “Weston Monty’s hubris use of his trademark deuce logo...” A split screen image of both the Blue Deuce sign and Black Deuce letterhead appeared behind me. “... led Sam Two Feathers to Monty brother number two.”
I paused and looked around the room. A cadre of black-clothed security guards were filing into the room and taking up positions behind the members of the circle and the council. Four came and stood behind and beside me at the podium. Many of the Masters and Mistresses looked obviously uncomfortable– perhaps so did I.
“And a week’s growth of pubic hair,” I said firmly, “led me to Woody Monty.” An image of Mistress Aleana’s shaven cunt was now projected behind me.
“Thank you, Master Randolph,” I said calmly looking slowly at the black-clad security force, “for arranging our security here today. Security has always been your responsibility in the Inner Circle and you have gathered together a special group of people fiercely loyal to you.. But these people who just entered the room are not the forces loyal to you. Your men and women have been replaced by teams from Sam Two Feathers.”
Master Randolph started to rise from his chair and the two men behind him pushed him back down. “Mistress Aleana’s crotch stubble,” I continued, “showed me– or at least my expert, Boris– that she had been taken captive at least a week before any of the other members of the circle. ... And although other captives noted that she had been held with them for a brief time, no mention was ever made of Master Randolph.”
A fanned-out stack of documents appeared on the screen. “After discovering that Weston Monty had assumed a new identity through an adoption process, my nerds went back and checked all records for any indication that Woodruff Monty had also been nearly adopted. Such a search is almost impossible... ... unless you already know the adopted name and are able to work from both ends.”
I looked directly at Master Randolph. “You weren’t nearly adopted, Woody. You WERE adopted by the Williamson family. And you grew up as Randolph Williamson. It must have been quite a surprise to you when I... and the Inner Circle... imprisoned your brother William. That was when you contacted your other brothers and began a plot to kill everyone who brought him down.”
“This is preposterous,” Master Randolph sputtered.
“No it is not,” a feminine voice said from behind me. Mistress Aleana walked up to stand next to me. “When I discovered what you were planning,” she continued, “I tried to notify the rest of the Circle. Before I could do so, you took me to Brazil and gave me to Master Rod. But first you tortured me and used me to entice W into what you were sure was a trap.” Her voice became very hard as she said, “But it was you and your brothers who were trapped.”
She walked around the huge square of tables and took a seat in the empty chair next to her husband. “I move,” she said firmly, “that Woodruff Monty, also known as Master Randolf Williamson, be transported to The Society’s island prison to await trial by an international court.”
Mistress Tenesha stood up and said, “I second that motion.”
Master Tyrone immediately said, “All in favor?”
A loud chorus of “Ayes” filled the room.
The two black-clad security men pulled Woody / Randolph to his feet. Sam Two Feathers had entered the room and now stood smiling at him. “You’re coming with me,” he said in his gravelly bass. “We’ve got a family reunion planned for you on a beautiful tropical island.” I had never heard The Society’s prison described that way, but I guess it was sort of true.
I turned to face the members of the Inner Circle and Shadow Council. “That completes my report,” I said. “I will submit a more complete report including all expenses through normal channels.”
I then left. Agent Sylvia, code name Pussy Galore, was waiting for me back at Shangri-la Three. She has been talking to poopsie and very much wants to experience making love under the stars with the traffic driving by on the highway below. I chuckled slightly as I silently accelerated toward the tunnel. I wondered if– when she was leaning out of the shack’s window on the bald mountain with me driving into her from behind– she would become a screamer like poopsie.