Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Seph (and frankly, she hated being called that, but calling out "Persephone!" in a crowded grocery store will get you all kinds of unwanted attention) was a miracle. She was like Carnation Instant Love; add a few teaspoons of cream and she was all kinds of happy. She'd chosen this life. She even told me it was true, too. She wasn't some Central American or Asian kidnap victim sold into a life of servitude. No, she'd been a nurse for years and had met someone who knew someone and before you can say "beat me, spank me, make me write hot checks!" she was into the scene and loving every ass-smacking minute of it. Honestly, have you ever whacked a girl on the ass and had her fall to the floor in orgasm?

Well, neither had I.

Like I said, this whole scene was fucking with my head, and I think I may have mentioned my head was already pretty well scrambled, and, so, everything about my life now was pretty fucked up. One day I went down to Central to fill out some paperwork and bang, just like that -- it was all over: I was a retired cop. Since I was officially retired, I didn't have to turn in my gun and badge, so like Tate I signed up for the reserves. I week later I got a call; they'd had a bad one and wanted my help. Would I mind coming down?

Would I mind? Fuck. They even sent a patrol car over to pick me up! Limousine service! If I'd only figured this out sooner!

Seph claimed she preferred being chained to the floor by the foot of the bed but I wasn't having any of it. A cold teak floor? Am I heartless? No, I had her curl up behind me and scratch my back all night. I'd never had a wife do that before. What the hell was wrong with this picture? Sex? Don't ask... just command!

"Say baby, I'd like to screw upside down hanging from the top of the mast!"

"Sure thing, Woody. Let's do it!"

It was every misogynists' dream come true, enough to make Susan B Anthony turn barrel-rolls in her grave. There was only one problem, but it was a big one. I hated it. Everything about it. When she asked me to get rough with her I cringed inside, then I hated myself afterwards. If I left a red mark on her ass I had to go into the head and somehow keep myself from puking. Let me be perfectly clear: I was not then and am not now wired that way. Causing pain or administering corporal punishment for her supposed infractions did not make me happy, did not help me get my rocks off.

It was a means to an end.

Let me explain.

I'd made my decision the first time I saw Liza after I came out of the coma. I knew I loved her. I don't know how, or why, and anyway, I don't give a damn. When she walked into my room in the ICU the lights got brighter, my heart suddenly felt young and strong, I wanted to live -- and live with her by my side. That feeling became bedrock.

But she, apparently, belonged to -- if not someone -- then something that made it impossible for her to just drop off the map and sail away. She let me know in no uncertain terms that there was no running from these people. They weren't limited to Seattle, to the Pacific Northwest, or even to the good ole U. S. of A. They were, she told me, everywhere. Literally. Senators belonged. Federal judges too. And -- pointedly -- chiefs of police belonged. FBI agents, CIA operatives, even a former President were regular adherents. I had no idea. My tax dollars at work! And here I'd thought all these years that politicians took no pleasure from screwing us over!

Just goes to show ya, huh?

The 'local affiliate' had been started years ago, she told me, by a bunch of uppity-ups at Microsoft (hey, that figures, doesn't it?); now, she said, more than a thousand of the most influential people in the area were deeply involved. They were always on the look-out for talent that could help in a pinch. She told me if I wanted to get an idea of what the group was like to watch Kubrick's last film. You know; the one with Tom and Nicole and all those nice people wearing leather beaks. She let me know these people were, however, just a touch meaner than those in the film. Having been at two crime scenes and admired their handiwork, I was prepared to take this appraisal at face value. Then it hit me: If the cops and the courts were compromised, then what? If you took down a couple, or even a couple dozen, there were hundreds more buried everywhere ready to hunt you down and feed you your dick.

And the simple fact of the matter was you'd never know who to trust, or who not to. With that simple maxim as gospel, then trusting even Tate -- maybe especially Tate -- was out of the question. If you don't know who to trust, you trust no one. If there is any doubt, then there is no doubt. This arithmetic is simple, the kind I understand. If I was going to do anything, if I was going to extract my pound of flesh, it was going to be a solo operation. Either that or I could just go with the flow and enjoy Persephone and Liza and learn how to use a riding crop.

And believe me, there were times I thought that was an attractive proposition, too. How fast we fall.

The first time Liza came down to the boat after Seph joined the crew was, well, interesting. Like every red-blooded male in America my favorite fantasy involved making it with two women. Let's ignore the fact that I had never known two women at the same time that I'd have even been tempted to do this with; now I had two women who, simply stated, were more than willing. Way more than willing. The biggest problem now was I'd recently had three major coronary vapor locks: my V-8 was now an inline four. Viagra was a major league no-no. What would I do???

But did that stop these two girls? My two girls? In a word: No.

They were gentle, at least at first, and not very demanding -- which was highly appreciated. Remember, all it took to send Sephie over the edge was a good smack on the ass. Liza was simply oral, like Linda Lovelace was oral; apparently her tonsils and clit had merged years ago -- to wondrous effect. The only thing she liked more than giving head was receiving a little. She could lay back and take a licking -- for hours at a stretch, too. Fortunately the only thing I enjoy more than receiving is giving, so we were perfect for each other. And face it, all either of us had to do was smack Sephie on the ass every now and then, and we were all three in carnal heaven. Hard to do on a boat, believe me, but we managed.

And this went on for months. Whoever or whatever this organization was, they were content to sit back and watch and listen for any signs that I might be trying to plot my revenge. I, however, was equally content letting Liza and Sephie clean my clock any time the mood hit.

And then there was the poor guy on the boat next to mine?

Everytime I poked my head out into the sunlight the guy bowed at me like I was Krishna or the Buddha. I never really considered that sound carries. Our exploits were becoming the stuff of urban legend. So, like I said, I was retired now, and in goods hands. An equitable exchange, don't you think?

I thought so too.

So, life took on all the aspects of a comfortable routine -- but things in truth were not quite what they seemed. Once or twice a month the department would need me and someone would come for me and I'd go do my cop thing for a day or two. Tate joined me from time to time, then he sponsored me and I got my P.I. badge and bought my own Nikon. I went out with him every now and took photos of philandering husbands and cheating wives; the rest of the time Sephie and I puttered on the boat: I taught her to sail and believe it or not I taught her how to love. Someone paid her salary, everyone left us alone, and three or four times a week Liza came over to spend the night, and along the way she taught me how to love, too. It was a real trip.

I think after a year of this routine I'd have been quite content to live out the rest of my days doing this and only this. Tottenham's murder receded into a dim and hazy past, dreams of sailing south to the tropics began to feel unnecessary, even narcissistic. I was content, even happy. I hadn't made any waves and all indications were that I wouldn't.

In short, they had me right where they wanted me.

And I was counting on that, too.

+++++

It was right before Christmas, more than a year later, when the call came.

They were apparently sentimental characters and wanted me to attend their annual Christmas get-together. Liza told me the Satanists in the group tended to boycott the affair but it was, generally speaking, a rather low-key orgy followed by the ritual sacrifice of a few goats and a seminar or two on the proper use of riding-crops. Everyone there would be masked, except of course, me. I would, if I chose to attend, be examined, judged, and if found wanting, killed. By Sephie. Who would then be killed.

No pressure or anything. Just your average holiday get-together. Mistletoe over the spiked punch and all that jazz.

"Don't we, like, exchange gifts or anything?" I asked. This could be fun!

"Woody, this is serious."

"I am. It's Christmas, for Christ's sake!"

The girls laughed at my naiveté. They had no idea how naïve I was, or am -- for that matter. Old dogs and new tricks, and all that nonsense. I mean, come on: I like Christmas, always have. I still get the warm fuzzies when I watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. I like it when the Grinch finds his heart is still pure. I love watching kids open their presents on Christmas morning, and don't mind opening one or two of my own. So shoot me! How cold could a bunch of homicidal sadomasochists be?

+++++

It was the thought of spiking the punch that first intrigued me. How could I do it and not get caught? And what could I spike it with that might drive the point I was trying to make home? More to the point, what could I spike it with that would break no laws but really fuck with them where they lived?

Acid? I mean LSD, not hydrochloric: geesh -- cut me some slack, wouldya? Anyway. No. Too common.

An overdose of Viagra? Nope, I could cause a couple of heart attacks that way, but even so the idea of a hundred or so men turning up at local ERs with permanent hard-ons did have a certain "use it or lose it" appeal.

No. What I was looking for was the anti-Viagra. Something I could give these guys that would make it impossible for them to get up for a long, long time. Permanently would be even better, but hey, do you think I'm a heartless son-of-a-bitch? Even better, to keep them from killing me I could allude to having an antidote, and my remedy would of course be the only way to restore potency.

Fuck me! This might even be fun!

But this was really a nice daydream, perhaps, but I didn't know any biochemists or physicians, and anyway, these guys probably had half the scientists in Seattle in their back pockets. Maybe I was just going to have to play their game, which led to one inescapable conclusion. Maybe I'd just have to be content to live with these two beautiful women the rest of my life, because the choice, as it was being presented, seemed pretty obvious to me: go along with their way of life and remain alive, or refuse their offer and die. But what would I do, I wondered, if I acquiesced only to find I was getting pulled in deeper? Maybe into something really dark? What if there really was no third option, no way to get away from these people and secure some sort of happiness? They'd tried to warn me off but damn near killed me, but I was under no illusions; they didn't owe me anything.

Killing two cops had been dangerous for them, but they'd had the right people in the right places to mitigate the damage. Killing me might have been over the top, and they might have seen endless security issues as a result, but the other option kept gnawing away at the back of my mind. What if the man I saw on the boat with Liza had known everything? What if he was the intermediary between me and this 'council'? Had he had kept me alive? And the real key might be why this had all started in the first place...why kill Harvey, the FBI agent? Was he inside? Had he been investigating something peripheral and stumbled onto the group?

But, and this was a big but, I was now on the outside, looking in. I wasn't a cop anymore, not a real one, anyway. Weekend warriors don't have the same administrative rights and accesses to information that full-timers have, so that left my new PI ticket as my only way inside, and that left me dependent on Richard Tate.

And what if Tate was the intermediary, the man on the boat who'd spared my life. He was smart enough, skilled enough to pull off most any subterfuge, and he was my friend -- and that alone might have been motive enough to cause his intercession.

And what about Anders, the chief. What if he was inside, and wanted to put a stop to things before they got out of hand and exposed this seamy underside of his life? And SAC Brennan, or anyone else in the Bureau's SeaTac office?

What I was left with was a 'no-win' situation, there was no way out, and I only had a week to come up with something if I decided to make a break.

That was when Mary-Jo dropped by, and paid us a little visit. That was something I hadn't been counting on, and for quite some time too, if you know what I mean.

+++++

"So, you're really going to come?" M-J asked when she came on board, meaning, was I really going to go to meet the council, and seek membership in their little club?

"Well, it's either that, or Seph is going to go all Sunni on me with a knife," I replied with a shrug, smiling a little. So much for idle chit-chat, anyway.

"That's not a real positive attitude, if you get my drift, for wanting to join," she added.

"Maybe if they'd just let me be, not bunked me down with the hottest nurse in the Pacific Northwest?"

"They couldn't trust you, Woodie. Simple as that."

"Well then, what made them think being held almost incommunicado for a year would make me more trustworthy?"

"I suppose, but...what did you name her? Seph?"

"Persephone. Queen of the underworld."

"The underworld? Like Hell?"

Woodward smiled. "Not quite."

"Well, what I was going to say is I think they were counting on Persephone's ability to control you."

"Even though I am her master?"

Now it was M-J's time to smile. "Yes, funny how these things work, isn't it? Isn't control almost always an illusion? Anyway, just what do you feel towards Persephone?"

"Feel? I love her completely. Aside from that, she's the best friend I've ever had." Persephone, sitting by his side, smiled demurely, knowingly. "If she were taken from me tomorrow I think I might wither and die."

"Really? Die?"

"I don't think I'm trying to be disingenuous here, M-J. We're very close."

"Well then, suppose I order her to leave you, right now. What then?"

"Well then, I suppose I would begin to wonder just who you really are? What you're role in this little organization really is?" Truth of the matter is I thought I knew exactly who she was, yet even so at this point I was more than a little concerned. I knew a lot was riding on my answers the next few minutes, and that M-J was holding all the Aces.

"You still think like a cop, Woodie."

"True blue, all the way through."

"And you'll never change, will you?"

"Are you kidding? Persephone has changed me, completely."

"How so?"

"Because I love her, M-J, and I love what she is. What she is has been defined by the role she plays within your organization."

"My organization? You presume so much."

"I don't think so."

She smiled. She knew I knew. Everything hung in the balance.

She stood, looked undecided, first at Persephone, then at me.

"You're dangerous, Woodie. You always will be."

I stood, came to her and held out my hand. She looked down and took mine, and I kissed her fingers.

"We were almost friends," I began, but she cut me off.

"Almost?"

"We never had a chance to see where we could go."

She shrugged. "Some things are never meant to be."

"And Persephone? Was she meant to be?"

"She was always meant to be your executioner."

"You know, I think I'm too old to be a danger to anyone."

"But you're not."

"So then, it comes down to..."

"Allegiance, Woodie."

"What are your aims, I wonder?"

She smiled. "Allegiance is complete, or it's meaningless."

I kissed her hand again, and said "I agree," and that was really all there was to it.

M-J smiled at me, then to Persephone she said, "I release you, Persephone. You belong to no one now but this man. You have no conflicting orders or purpose. You belong to him now, and will serve him until his death. Do you understand?"

"I do, Mistress."

She turned to leave, this Mistress, my almost friend, and then I saw her entourage in the cockpit. Girls dressed in black, women who looked like ninja warriors, and I remembered an intel briefing about a group that had started working in Dallas years ago. So, here was another piece of the puzzle.

I started to follow M-J but she turned and stopped me. "You will stay here now. Down here. Do not leave for a week. Do not communicate with anyone outside. Do you understand?"

"Yes. And Liza?"

"She is masterless. Do you want her?"

"Yes."

"You must understand one thing. Once she is yours, it is to the death. She killed her master, and she is marked. If she fails you, you must kill her. Do you accept?"

"Yes," I said without hesitating.

I could see surprise in M-J's eyes, but no doubt, and she nodded her head in appreciation. "Perhaps one day I will trust you," she said as she looked at me.

"But not today."

"No, not today." She pulled my face to hers and bit my earlobe so hard I was sure she had severed it, and when she pulled away I could see my blood on her face. "Not yet, Woodie, but the day may come when you will be given the opportunity to prove yourself."

She disappeared into the night, leaving me and Persephone down below, with only lapping waves hitting the hull for company. A strong gust shook the boat, and wind moaned in the rigging. I turned to Persephone, and when she saw my wound she ran to get first aid supplies from the head.

"She marked you," Persephone said as she worked on the injury.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Either she wants you for her own, or she intends to kill you."

"Now, there's some good news."

"Did you really mean what you said to her? About me?"

"Every word."

"Even though I was meant to kill you?"

"I meant every word."

"You really love me?"

"Yes."

"And Liza? You really love her too?"

"Yes, but not like I do you. It's different. You are like a wife to me, Persephone. Liza is more..."

"A concubine? For your pleasure?"

"Perhaps, yes. But she brings me comfort, too." I looked at this woman, this care-giver, and I did indeed feel something unique when I looked into her eyes. Love? Yes. Fear? Way too much. Would she still kill me if ordered? I doubted that not at all.

+++++

The next morning I felt the boat move as someone hopped aboard, and went to the companionway and looked up into the cockpit. Liza was there, sitting beside the wheel, and she looked at when I poked my head up into the light.

"You here to stay?" I asked.

"Could we talk? Up here?"

"Sorry. I'm down here, for the week. Orders."

"I'm glad you said that," Liza said. She had been testing me -- I assumed she might.

"Well, not sure I'll cook you breakfast again, in case you were wondering."

She smiled, but there was pain in her eyes as she confronted the reality of being a murderer.

"It doesn't go away, does it?" I said to her indecision.

She shook her head.

"So, you coming down?"

"Could I sit up here for a while?"

"Suit yourself." I ducked below, started working on the alternator's fan belt. Sephie was forward, I assumed, reading a nursing journal, but then I heard her coming up behind me. She knelt down, put her hands on my shoulders and whispered in my ear: "We're going to need a bigger boat..."