Our Only Hope - S01 E13

Story 10 months ago

Our Only Hope - S01 E13

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 13

***

Two days later we were again at Cabo Frio Airport. Boris, Natasha, poopsie, and I boarded one of Natasha’s father’s planes to return to my bald knob fortress. Master Randolph had arranged for one of his corporate planes to take him, slave ines, Master Bouchard, and the firmly bound Dominic Rodriguez to The Society’s island prison. The prison is actually a legally-recognized facility that is inspected regularly by international groups. The few prisoners there are treated well, but The Society– and the courts of several nations– have determined that such sadists and psychopaths can never again be let loose on the “normal” world.

Fourteen hours later we were once again in the control room housing area of my mountain safehouse. Boris was conversing with his friends and trying to uncover the family history of David Barrow, if that was his true name. Natasha was in the guest sleeping area with her beloved poopsie. Slave poopsie was a very happy and talkative young woman once she became convinced that she was indeed now safe. It was almost like having a small puppy following you around, happy to see you and willing to give you unconditional love. Natasha’s mood was also greatly improved.

It took Boris almost a week, but one evening just before sunset, he ran out to where I was working on a personal laptop yelling, “I found him! I found him! I found him!”

He set a tablet on the table next to my laptop. David Barrow’s face– or a much younger version of David Barrow’s face– was staring out at me. “William Monty,” Boris said triumphantly. When you captured him, the police ran a DNA check to see if he had committed any other known crimes.” He scrolled the screen to a chart with a bunch of lines and circles and pointed to one that was filled in with flashing yellow. “But they didn’t do a forensic familial DNA search like I did.” Boris put his finger on the flashing circle and said, “That’s his mother. She had five sons, and she abused them all. They were taken away from her and raised in the foster system.”

He scrolled some more. “Because they were older, and had psychological problems, they were never adopted.” He paused and then continued, “Evidently they got back together as they aged out of the foster system. Their names are Walter, Weston, William, Woody, and Wyatt.”

“A, e, i, o. y,” I said flatly. “She must not have been able to think of a W name with the second letter ‘u’.”

Boris coughed nervously and said, “Actually, she did. Wulf died at age three. The father abandoned them right after Wyatt was born. Evidently another son every eighteen months was too much for him.” He again coughed and continued, “After that she was a typical struggling single mother with two jobs. She had left Wulf and the youngest at home in the care of their older brothers. Something happened and he died. That’s evidently what sent her over the edge and why she started really abusing the others.”

“With name choices like that,” I replied, “I think she was pretty close to the edge to begin with. But there is a certain irony to it all.”

“What do you mean?” Boris said, looking confused.

“The W brothers,” I replied “have declared war on W.”

“Yeah,” Boris said softly, “and on me and Natasha and the entire Inner Circle.”

“I think you all are just collateral damage because you helped me,” I answered.

“Did they go after Lacy?” Boris asked. “She helped you bring down Bonnie and Clyde, too.”

“She was law enforcement,” I replied. “I don’t know if these crazies want to go up against that or not.”

“They are going up against The Society,” Boris said forcefully.

“But they have a traitor working with them,” I replied. “And they know that The Society won’t go to the authorities unless there is no other option.”

“Like us,” Boris said. His voice was tinged with anger.

“Like us,” I replied. Then I gave Boris one of my best smiles and said, “You’ve done good work, so far, Boris. Now, can you and Natasha tell me where these scumbags are?”

A cry of “Boris!” brought us running back to the computer area. Natasha had a video queued up on the big monitor. Across the bottom of the video was what looked like a baseball scoreboard. The top row was marked with a large W, the bottom row, an M. There were boxes for five “innings” with a “1" in the first box. On the right side of the screen the score showed W-1, M-0.

“This was just posted on the dark web,” she said flatly, then she triggered the video to play.

“They know we know who they are,” Boris said. “The home team is M for Monty.”

“Start the video,” I said, trying once more to contain my anger.

Once again, it was the image of bound woman. This time it was Mistress Tenesha, wife of Master Tyrone, Grand Master of the Inner Circle. Her ebony black skin was shiny with sweat. It might have been oil or something that had been sprayed or rubbed on her, but the drops on her face were definitely sweat. She was wrapped backwards over a large barrel-like device with slats of wood every several inches. If it didn’t have a naked woman wrapped around it– it would have reminded me of an oversized lobster trap. Instead, since it had a support axle in the middle of it, it reminded me more of those large round barrels they use for contests at a local fair that they rotate around to mix up all the entries before ***********ing the winner.