PIPER'S, Inc.. Joaquin De Torres

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      “FUCK!” he yelled out in pain while reaching up to his head. He looked back at the woman who was now gripping a pistol in her left hand aimed at his face.

      “What the fuck is that!?” he whimpered, knowing that his act had just made a horrible situation worse.

      “It’s a Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm Shield,” Snyder replied quietly. She waited as tears began to flood his eyes, his hands opened in front of his chest again.

      “Angel, are you going to kill me? Is this what this is? Just like that? You’re just going to murder me?”

      “After you had your wife murdered, I don’t see why you would be so surprised?” He shook his head.

      “I didn’t murder my wife! She died accidentally from a medical procedure! I was not involved!” Snyder withdrew the pistol from his face, allowing him to breathe a little easier. She regarded him with disgust.

      “Your personal doctor claimed that the victim died from an overdose of Botox injections she was administering to herself, causing Botulinum Toxin poisoning,” she said flatly. “Lethal doses cause muscle and respiratory paralysis.”

      “Victim!? My wife was no victim of any crime!” Becks stiffened more as Snyder produced a tubular metal cylinder and began screwing it onto the end of her gun. “What is that? A silencer!?” Panic quaked through him as she nonchalantly affixed the tube to the end of the pistol barrel.

      “It’s a sound and flash suppressor,” she responded calmly. “So, yes, it’s also called a silencer.”

      “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?” He was now crying, but Angel’s expression was unmoved.

      “You were beating Karen, Mr. Becks. You beat her with a belt that had a metal buckle.”

      “How the fuck do you know this!?” She ignored him as she ejected the gun’s handle clip and inspected the bullets. His eyes locked on her movements in utter panic.

      “The belt buckle cut her in several areas on her body, causing open wounds,” she continued as she slid the clip back up the gun with a satisfying locking sound. “One of those wounds was near her mouth. When the bacterial spores of Botulinum Toxin reach an open wound, they travel straight to the respiratory glands, breaking down the muscles of respiration, leading to respiratory failure.” Becks eyes looked away as he imagined his wife in her final moments. He was there, at the scene, watching from the balcony of a second-story room at their mansion. The balcony overlooked the pool where his wife lived her final moments.

      “Suddenly, the panic hits when the person can no longer suck in air, but can’t move because of involuntary muscle paralysis. She tried to stand and call for help, but because of the postural hypertension, she was going into a coma when she fell into the pool. Karen drowned while she was suffocating and paralyzed.” She stared at Becks, his eyes betraying his guilt; betraying the fact that his wife died exactly as this woman, whom he didn’t even know before tonight, had described it.

      “Then you called your family doctor to report that she died from a Botox overdose and accidentally drowned.” He shook his head; not that he was denying the allegations, but dumbfounded at how she knew all this. He looked at her, wondering what amount of pleading he would have to do to come out of this alive. He put out his hands as if begging for mercy. She had none as she spoke again.

      “Your sins, Mr. Becks, had just begun from there. Because you married into her deceased father’s wealthy estate, you stood to gain all of your wife’s $56 million fortune. You had your lawyer alter her will to exclude her three children from her previous marriage. You made sure they received not a penny of the inheritance. Now, they live with their grandmother and will never afford to go to college. You then spent millions on investments, which worked out very profitably for you. Still you shared nothing with your stepchildren. You spent millions on lavish parties, a yacht, women, a Bentley, two Mercedes SUVs and two more mini-mansions in Orlando. You continued to get rich, spend money, yet you didn’t help Karen’s mother nor those young children. The two sons and their sister all have canceled their matriculating into Ivy League schools, and now are working part-time and going to state colleges.”

      “But that’s not my fault! I mean what could I do? I was busy with meetings, business deals-”

      “You were fucking!” Angel spat and glanced sharply at him for an instant. “You were fucking and spending money. You had no intention of sharing anything.” She shook her head slightly. “Mr. Becks, it’s not very smart to lie to a person who knows everything about you.” He tried to open his mouth to protest his case, but she put the barrel of the gun to her lips as if a finger indicating a person to be quiet.

      “A month ago you received a text on all your smart phones; then, when you went to your job or home, you saw that same message again, didn’t you?” He nodded. “And what did that message say?” He swallowed deeply as a thick finger of sweat slid down the side of his face.

      “It said: We know what you did. You have three weeks to pay the children.” He stopped, too scared to go on.

      “To pay the children. . .or what?” she asked with narrowed eyes. He began to tremble again as he looked up at her with pleading eyes.

      “Or. . .you will pay. . .the Piper!” She nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll give them some money!” he blurted instantly, believing that he now had a bargaining chip to spare his life. To his surprise, Angel instantly put down the gun, albeit laid it close enough to where she could get to it. He wasn’t going to try anything, but the removal of the gun in his face made him a little calmer. He wiped his eyes of tears at the sudden, awkward comfort. He dared not move, and watched as Angel again retrieved something from her bag. She handed him a pen and a small stack of documents.

      “What are these?”

      “I just need your signature on all the items highlighted in yellow. Your lawyer will sign them after you. I will visit him tonight after I leave you.” She grinned dryly. “You’re going to do the right thing now, Mr. Becks. This is your will. It states that in the event of your death-by any cause-whether by accident, misfortune, misadventure, drug overdose, murder, suicide or natural causes-your fortune shall be distributed in the following allotments to your stepchildren.”

      The numbers were staggering as Becks read the documents with disbelief. Basically everything that was his wife’s before they married would go to her children, including the yacht, houses, and vehicles he bought directly with her money. The money he made in stocks, bonds and investments would go to a list of charities that were listed, and a dubious mention of 'The Finder’s Fee.'

      “What’s this finder’s fee?” Angel got up from her knees, her nakedness no longer an attraction to him despite his Viagra-laced penis still strong and erect.

      “That’s for me because I found you. If you had done it in the beginning, you could have made your own terms and amounts. But you ignored the message, and now you’re going to pay the Piper.” He swallowed again, desperately needing a stiff drink. He took the documents and signed each one.” Handing them back, he waited for her to speak. She put the documents and the gun into to bag to his great relief.

      “So, will you let me go now?” Sweat continued to cascade down his face, and his trembling had not ceased. She smiled, and knelt down between his legs again. She looked at his penis and clutched it with her left hand again, resuming her expert pumping motion. The adrenaline and endorphins that had coursed through him during his life-threatening stress found a new direction of primordial use, and СКАЧАТЬ