Bad Luck Black Money (21 page)

Chapter 29

After allowing his pod to sit for a few moments in stunned silence to consider what had just been said, the Duke of Winterfield led Esmerelda and Boss back to a luxurious, viewing box, next to his own.

"You look troubled, Milton," said the Duke. "What's wrong?"

"... What's wrong is that you've just turned everyone in this stadium against my family."

"Ha," laughed the Duke. "These bastards would never have liked you anyway. You are a threat to their very existence. You are hard; they are soft. Given the chance, they'd hang you from a tree in front of your own corporation.... But they won't have that opportunity.

I like you, Milton. And that's rare because I don't really care for people. So, quit worrying and enjoy yourself."

The Duke excused himself, leaving Boss and Esmerelda in their own luxury box.

They sat there in silence. Esmerelda would look at Boss, and then Boss would look at Esmerelda. And everyone seemed to be looking at the both of them. Studying them; looking for any sign of weakness.

A medium sized man with light, olive skin made his way from the opposite side of the coliseum to Boss's box. He stopped outside of their box's boundary and waited for Boss or Esmerelda to acknowledge him, even though no door or wall prevented him from just entering.

"Yes?" asked Esmerelda.

"Hello," said the man. "I am Jaheal Naheer, and I would like to welcome you to the pod."

"Are you, King Jaheal Naheer?" asked Boss. "King Naheer of the Naheer Kingdom?"

"Technically, yes," answered King Jaheal. "But here, we hold no titles, save for those given to us by the Duke of Winterfield."

"Please, come in, your Highness," said Esmerelda, as she rose to her feet, followed by Boss.

"No! No!" exclaimed King Naheer, as he motioned for them to sit back down. "We are equal members of the pod. The only one, to whom that level of respect must be shown, is the Duke and Duchess."

"Won't you sit down?" Esmerelda asked.

"I would be delighted to," said King Jaheal, as he made himself comfortable on a golden, reclining couch with red upholstery. "I would also like to offer my services in getting you up to speed in how things work around here. Well, at least, as much as I know. They don't tell me everything. Only the Duke of Winterfield knows everything."

"Why are you trying to befriend us?" asked Boss.

"Boss, try to show some tact. Will you?" Esmerelda scolded.

"That's alright," interrupted King Naheer. "I actually prefer candor to forced civility.

All of the pod members have long ago, formed secret alliances among themselves. My family has always been shunned because of our skin color. You are new. Perhaps, you will see value in my help and remember me when we're competing above ground."

"You're whiter than I am," Boss said, while looking down at his arm.

"My skin has not known the kiss of the sun, since I was a child," King Jaheal said, as he looked down at his own arm. "Maybe it's more a fact of my Arabian blood, which keeps me from fully integrating with the rest of the pod. Whatever the case may be, I have no allies here."

"Now that you mention it," Esmerelda said. "I haven't noticed much cultural diversity since arriving here. Are there any persons of color in the New World Order?"

"I cannot attest for all the pods. I am not even sure how many different pods exist. But I can swear to the fact that I'm the only member here, who has any heritage other than European."

"Huh," grunted Boss. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

"Yes, well, it's a matter of do as I say and not as I do," King Naheer stated with a twinge of anger in his voice. "The only reason that they allow me in the NWO is because of my great, great, great grandfather, Jaheal Abdul Naheer.

He helped secure Middle Eastern oil for the West. As a reward for his faithful service, they granted him membership in this pod and anointed him, King Naheer, the First."

A bell sounded throughout the coliseum.

"What was that?" asked Boss.

"The bell informs us that the wannabes are on their way," answered King Naheer. "It's kind of cruel, but then again, everything we do here is cruel in some way or another.

Tell me, have you ever seen a vampire movie?"

"Yes," said Boss and Esmerelda simultaneously.

"Good," King Jaheal said. "In the movies, vampires cannot go out into the daylight, so they have normal people guard their coffins during the day and do their bidding in the sunlight. In exchange for their loyal service, the vampires promise to one day change their human servants into vampires.

The New World Order uses common people in much the same way. We get the leadership in different organizations to promote our agenda, and in return, the magic carrot of membership is dangled in front of their donkey heads. The sad, little secret is that they never get to join our pod. In all the years since I first inherited my deceased father's membership, not a single wannabe has ever been allowed to join.

One of the iron-reinforced doors in the pit was opened, and a line of blindfolded people was led into the center of the arena. Some of the people wore jester costumes; others were dressed in rags, while others had barely any clothes covering their nakedness. One by one, their blindfolds were removed.

King Naheer whispered to Boss and Esmerelda, "Try not to mention our location around the wannabes unless you want them to die. As far as they know, we might be in Antarctica. But feel free to use and abuse them in any way you wish. After all, that's what they're here for."

"We can do ANYTHING to them?" asked Esmerelda, which made both King Naheer and her husband raise their eyebrows in questioning expressions.

"Yes," said King Jaheal. "Anything.... Did you have something specific in mind?"

"Not really," answered Esmerelda. "But I'll think on it."

Boss stared at the poor fools as they made their way around the coliseum. Then he recognized an old man wearing thick glasses and a jester's costume. The old man was doing a silly dance for members in a nearby box.

"That's Edward Sacier," stated Boss. "He runs the biggest investment trust in the world. He must be worth tens of billions of dollars."

"Yes," said King Naheer, as he turned to get a better look at the old man. "He's been trying to get in, for as long as I can remember. Poor schmuck. Would you like for him to do his fool's dance for us? Or maybe, you'd like to kick him in the nuts?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea. He will definitely recognize me," said Boss.

"What does it matter?" King Jaheal asked. "You are now a god to him. It will break the old man's heart when he sees that you've been admitted, and he's still waiting in line.... Now, I definitely want him to dance for us."

They waited until Mr. Sacier had worked up a sweat from dancing for other members, who then pelted him with dinner rolls. Then King Jaheal motioned for Sacier to come over. The exhausted, old man shuffled his way over to them and saw that the much younger Boss had been admitted into the NWO. One could actually see the moment his heart broke, pain splashed across his face.

Old Edward Sacier started popping and locking all over the place. His tired, ancient body gyrating in ways it was never meant to. King Naheer almost fell off his reclining sofa in a fit of laughter. Esmerelda giggled at the humiliated billionaire; the thought of his shame, giving her a warm, fuzzy feeling deep inside.... Boss didn't crack a smile.

Boss felt sorry for the old fool. And he felt the tiniest bit of sorrow for the whole rotten world. Then he felt a bit sad for himself. Though he wasn't a religious man, Boss still thought of himself as a decent human being. But then as he watched the broken, old man dancing for his amusement and the amusement of his wife and a King, Boss came to the conclusion that he wasn't a good guy after all. He was just another viper in a den full of snakes.

After what seemed like an eternity to Boss, finally Esmerelda dismissed the tired old man. As he slowly walked away with his shoulders stooped and his pride broken in pieces, Esmerelda and King Jaheal were in high spirits. They talked and laughed, while Boss reclined in silence, letting it all sink in.

A few minutes later, a famous reporter stopped by their luxury box to entertain them. Felishae Rodriguez had made her name by practicing gonzo journalism on the rich and famous. At thirty-two years old, she still had the toned body of an eighteen-year-old girl.

Felicia was wearing a thin, white bikini that she kept spraying with a large water gun. She might as well have been totally naked because her every nook and cranny was visible. You could even make out the color of her areolas and outline of her mons venus.

Mrs. Rodriguez was married to a professional baseball player and had given birth to three children, as evidenced by her well-used vagina on display. The most ghetto chick in the hardest hardcore rap video couldn't have moved any nastier. She was practically having sex with herself in front of the trio.

Esmerelda exchanged looks with Boss, not because of jealousy. But because of a scathing report, Felishae had broadcast on the Hopenhammer family, two years prior. She had made both of them look stupid on national television, and inferred that their children were monsters.... Esmerelda had a wicked look in her eyes that Boss had never seen before.

As the world famous reporter kept doing more and more degrading things to herself, she recognized Boss and Esmerelda. Felishae stopped in the middle of pulling one of her legs behind her head and fell to the floor with a 'THUD'. She wanted to get up and carry on like nothing had happened but her body wouldn't move. It was frozen in fear.

"What is wrong with the girl?" asked King Naheer.

Esmerelda told him about the hit piece that Felishae Rodriguez had done on them, as the frightened, young lady lay on the floor in a small pool of her own water. Boss used the time to think out the scenario unfolding in front of him.

Boss knew that it couldn't be a coincidence. This was a test of some sort, arranged by the Duke. He wanted to see whether they would take revenge on a commoner. The Duke would judge them harshly if Esmerelda and him let the woman off lightly. If they over reacted and killed her, the Duke might draw some harsh conclusions of his own. It was a tight spot to be in.

As predicted, the Duke of Winterfield returned to his private box adjacent to Boss's. He saw Felishae whimpering on the floor and asked, "What is happening over there?"

Boss took the imitative and said, "This reporter ran a hit piece on my family a couple of years ago. And we would like to make her pay for it."

"Really?" asked the Duke, who seemed a tad bit skeptical. "What do you propose be done to this young lady?"

"I'll strangle the bitch to death with my bare hands!" said Esmerelda as he hopped off her sofa and lunged for the girl.

Boss caught his wife from behind and held her in place. "Easy, Esmerelda. Let's not do anything rash."

"Ha, he-hah," laughed the Duke genuinely. "You've got yourself a tiger there, Milton. Don't let her go. Ha."

"Let me handle this, dear," ordered Boss.

"It's well within her rights to choke the life out of the slut," said the Duke as he leaned his tall frame over the low divider between the boxes to get a closer look at the frightened woman's sexy body. "Why not let Esmerelda have some fun?"

"With all due respect, Duke Winterfield," Boss prefaced. "Felishae Rodriguez is a public figure. Her going missing would draw unwanted attention. And she must be a good soldier for the cause, or she wouldn't be here."

"OK then, Milton," the Duke said. "How do you propose we handle this situation?"

After pretending to think about it for a few seconds, Boss said, "What if Esmerelda beats her with a whip of some sort? It shouldn't break any bones or do any long term damage. Well, maybe some scarring, but she could sacrifice wearing backless dresses."

"Methinks a fairly good compromise," said the Duke. "Esmerelda, would you accept beating her instead of choking the life out of her?"

"... Of course, Duke Winterfield. Whatever you think is best."

"That's my girl," bragged the Duke. "We have everything you could possibly need on premises. Just tell my secretary, and he'll arrange everything."

"Thank you, Duke Winterfield," Esmerelda said.

"Think nothing of it, my girl," the Duke replied. "Remember to take your time and do a thorough job. Try to get all your hostility out. Take it from me, the second time you beat a person is never as good as the first time."

"Yes, Duke Winterfield."

"Milton, walk with me," ordered the Duke, as he headed toward an exit.

Ch
apter 30

Boss walked beside the Duke, being careful to never step ahead of the tall, older man. He really didn't need to worry about it, because he had a hard time keeping up with the Duke's long, quick strides. They walked through a maze of corridors, which left Boss totally lost.

The Duke stopped at a railing at the end of a hallway, which overlooked a gigantic arboretum. Boss marveled at the variety of plants from all around the world, thriving deep below ground. Looking up to study the lighting system, Boss had to avert his eyes from an artificial light, which seemed as bright as the sun.

"What do you think of my little garden?"

"It's magnificent, sir," answered Boss, as he leaned over the railing to watch as water crashed onto the rocks below a large waterfall.

"You knew that girl was a setup, didn't you?"

Boss turned away from the splendor before him to look the Duke in his eyes. He could tell that the Duke wasn't probing for the answer; he already knew it. So, Boss took the only course of action left open to him, and simply told the truth.

"Yes, sir. I figured that you wanted to judge our reaction to the girl. If we showed mercy, it would be considered weakness. Use too much force, and we would be unsophisticated brutes.... Whipping the woman seemed to me like a good middle ground."

The Duke was silent for a few moments as he considered something. "You are always thinking... plotting... scheming. I guess it's why you were so successful in the business world. And it's why you married Esmerelda. And it got you a ticket to the New World Order. But if you're not careful, it will be your undoing.

... Don't ever go against me, Milton. You're not as clever as you think you are....

I'm reserving those five trees over there to use as spikes for the impalement of you and your family, should you ever betray me."

"Sir, I swear to you that I'll never turn against you. As a matter of fact, I'll stand by your side, even if it leads to my own destruction."

"For your sake, I hope you are telling the truth, Milton....

I suppose, you would like to know more about your competition? The pod members that you'd better keep an eye on."

"Yes, sir."

"Pace is fat, old fart who's fascinated with old battles, and military strategy. He's borderline obsessed with it. That makes him dangerous on some level, although, he is somewhat technologically challenged.

Gardner has a brilliant mind that may equal of your wife's. He is dangerous, but he has one major character flaw. Gardner is a sex addict, who cannot keep his mouth shut in bedroom. I have had to clean up more of his screw-ups than anyone else in the pod. He's probably masturbating right now. At least, once an hour, every hour. But don't underestimate him.

Cornett is a bloody psychopath. If there's blood and gore about, he'll be right in the middle of it. Any man, who loves violence, will come to a bad end. Just make sure, he doesn't make you bleed first.

King Naheer, my ass. That piece of shit, who's right now sitting in your box, is a snake. He'll act like your best friend until he gets the chance to stab you in the back. Jaheal has already betrayed you, and you don't even know it. He is in a secret alliance with Pace, Gardner, Cornett, and McNeil.

Gloria McNeil, the uber bitch. Her family was practicing behavioral psychology before that terminology was even coined. She's the leader of the group. And if she can keep them in check, maximize their strengths and mitigate their weakness, they could be a force to be reckoned with.

Think you can take that information and run with it?"

"I'll do my best, sir. Thank, you."

Then the Duke took Boss on a tour of the arboretum. He pointed out rare plants, odorous flowers in bloom, and even a few plant species that hadn't been catalogued by science, yet.

A sense of calmness came over the Duke of Winterfield as they walked through the arboretum, which Boss had never witnessed before in the man. He made a mental note to study up on botany when he returned home. When they next met, Boss planned on conversing knowledgeably with the Duke about everything from rare plant species to sustainable ecology. (It might help him stay in the Duke's good graces.)

When they made their way back to the arena, everyone was gathered around the sand pit. A powerful, television star, Felishae Rodriguez, sat on the pit's sand floor, crying. A large, torture table that looked like it was taken from the Tower of London's Dungeon had been set on the side of the ring near the gawkers. Esmerelda was discussing something with two NWO servants. Then one of the pod members spotted the Duke and the coliseum fell silent.

"I hope we didn't miss anything," said the Duke.

"Not a thing," said a fat man wearing a food stained toga. He was arranging a tiny army of lead soldiers on a miniature battlefield in his viewing box. Boss took an educated guess that he was the man called, Pace.

"Well, lets get this show on the road," commanded the Duke. "Milton, why don't you go help your wife? She may need some help with the whipping."

"Yes, sir," answered Boss, and he made his way down into the pit.

"Stand her up," Esmerelda ordered the servants.

"Please, please, don't do this," begged Felishae, while wiping tears from her cheeks. "I'll do anything, please!"

"Put her on the table," Esmerelda ordered the servants. They lifted the shivering lady onto the table, face down. "No, I want her, face up."

As the servants were flipping her over, Felishae cried out, "Not my face! I can't work without my face. I'll be useless to you. I beg you, please don't!"

"Shut the hell up," demanded Esmerelda. "I'm not going to scar your lovely face... bitch."

They used leather cuffs attached to iron chains on the sides of the table to spread her arms wide apart. Another set of leather cuffs wrapped around her ankles held her legs wide open. Felishae whimpered as she laid helpless, spread eagle on top of the torture table.

"You won't be needing these," said Esmerelda as she roughly ripped the girl's thin bikini from her quivering body.

A servant girl brought Esmerelda a bottle of baby oil. And Esmerelda began to slowly massage the oil into Felishae's skin. She started with the reporter's shoulders and worked her way down to the girl's fingertips. Slowly and sensually, she worked her way down Felishae's body.

When she started massaging the woman's breasts, Esmerelda looked up into the crowd. A grunting sound had drawn her attention. A middle-aged man with a goatee was banging a serving girl, while watching her massage Felishae. Esmerelda then glanced at her husband, who was staring at the grunting pod member with a disapproving look on his face.

"Honey," said Esmerelda, while backing away from the table and towards Boss. "Will you do me a favor?"

Boss got close to his wife and put his ear to her lips. Esmerelda was dripping baby oil from her hands that were held out in front of her, like a surgeon not wanting to contaminate her sterile hands.

"Get that look off your face," whispered Esmerelda. "Now, go get some salt shakers from some of the tables and put them down at my feet."

Nodding his head 'yes', Boss set to his task. It was an insightful thing, what his wife had just done. Everyone in the stadium was after their scalps, and openly showering the pervert members with scorn wasn't helping matters. Boss would have to remind himself to seek Esmerelda's council more often. After all, it was her mind that he married her for.

Walking around the coliseum, Boss had an opportunity to study the pod. Swiping the saltshakers from unoccupied tables seemed beneath him. But the act of asking other members if he could borrow their salt was enlightening.

The first person he asked for salt was Gloria McNeil. At least, he guessed it was she. A woman with a haughty look and contemptuous eyes gave him permission to take her salt shaker with a dismissive wave of her bony wrist, which was attached to her bony arm, which was attached to her bony body. Gloria was one of the few women of the pod, who held her own membership.

It was going to be harder to pick Cornett out of the crowd. Boss looked for a man with bloodlust in his eyes, but most of the pod seemed fascinated with what was going on in the pit. But there was one particular man, who evidently lived in a gym, judging by the defined, massive muscles poking through his toga. The muscle man was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He would lick his lips, once in a while, definitely a candidate to be the psycho Cornett.

Although he had more than enough saltshakers, Boss strode over to the man, who he believed was probably, Gardner. Upon closer inspection the man actually looked like a villain from an old black and white movie. He had finally stopped grunting after getting off of the serving girl.

"May I borrow your salt?" asked Boss.

"What do you want it for?" Gardner asked, as he flopped down on his sofa without bothering to cover his nakedness.

"I don't know. My wife asked me to collect some salt shakers and bring them to her."

"That slut right there got most of my salt," said Gardner, pointing at the stunned serving girl who was trying to regain her composure, after having been taken roughly by the bastard, Gardner.

"I see...."

"Esmerelda's a lot hotter now, than when Duke Winterfield first introduced her," said Gardner. "I don't suppose the two of you swing. Do you?"

"Nope," said Boss as he turned to leave the man in his filth.

"Wait, wait," Gardner called out. "Take my salt shaker. It might give me a thrill to think that my salt is adding to that TV bitch's pain."

"Thank, you," Boss said, picking up the saltshaker and adding it to his pile. He turned his back to Gardner and walked away. While walking away, he felt the pervert's eyes watching him, studying his ass.

The thought crossed his mind that these people weren't any better than the troglodytes, up on the surface. These New World Order members acted like savage beasts. But he reasoned that it was easier to fight and defeat wild beasts than it was cold, calculating men. Then Boss began to feel more confident about his chances of winning this twisted game of the uber rich and mega powerful.

When Boss retuned to the pit and placed the saltshakers at his wife's feet, Esmerelda had stopped massaging the girl's chest, and was now working on Felishae's feet and calf muscles. Despite her terrible predicament, Felishae's feelings of fright were evaporating and being replaced with waves of relaxation.

Early in her college years, Esmerelda had considered becoming a practicing medical doctor. She had read scores of medical books and journals, retaining all that information in her memory. Unfortunately for Felishae, her tormentor knew more about the human nervous system than most of the doctors who specialized in pain alleviation.