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Subject: RP: Spamhater Decoded: Blackmailed Mother 07
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(Note: I am not the author, I am only the decoder.

If you are the author, please email me.  I'd like to get your name 
reattached to your work.)


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 7/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 7

      The El Mecca was the best motel in Kirsten, Nevada -- which wasn't
saying
a whole hell of a lot for it.  The town's two other motels had been
built
during the motoring craze of the Thirties; were peeling and yellow,
little more
than cracked wash basins and sagging beds that would collapse if they
ever saw
a married couple.  The local trade frequented the two, and on Friday and
Saturday nights they employed two cleaning girls to change the bed
linen, the
in-and-outers so fast and frequent.

      The El Mecca was a good ten years old, a drab stucco imitation of
a
Spanish hacienda, but it was clean and had a decent little combo six
nights a
week, and it catered to the salesmen and businessmen on the prowl and
the
divorcees and married women wanting to be prowled.  There were the usual
slot
machines in evidence, but anybody who'd stayed at the El Mecca or
frequented it
for very long soon gave wide berth to the one-armed bandits -- the odds
were
set worse than the ones on the third floor of the Club Royale.

      Earlier in the same evening as Roger Carmel's unexpected return to
the
Skopos plant in Kirsten, he and Martin Oliss sat in the small bar,
drinking a
couple of scotch-and-waters and adding their own conversation to the
murmur of
other voices.  Roger was moody, reflecting on his unpacified wife five
hundred
miles away and what the hell he could do about it -- which was nothing
-- and
how he could convince her that trips such as the one he was on were
necessary
-- which was an impossibility.

      Martin Oliss was busier thinking of the right psychological moment
in
which to spring his portion of the trap.  They'd arrived after Skopos
had
closed for the day there.  Carmel would be stuck in Kirsten until his
invention
was finished; theoretically Oliss would be in the town only long enough
to take
some pictures and ideas for stories, and then return to Rapier City.

      Oliss had the hunch that both he and Carmel would be back before
the
weekend was out.  That was, if his wife and daughter played their parts
successfully.  If either or both of them failed, he was to have received
a
telephone call, but he hadn't as of yet, so he figured (correctly) that
all had
gone according to schedule.  There would be that other phone call
tomorrow or
Sunday -- but that was in the future, and not included in the immediate
task on
hand.  He had serious doubts that he'd be able to steal the figures and
charts
on Carmel's miniskopos while he was here; the nature of the set-up
almost
precluded that miracle, but even if he did land the prize, the insidious
plot
he'd hatched in desperation would still carry on.  There was no way of
stopping
it, in fact, now that the wheels had begun to turn.

      Oliss ran his finger around the rim of his glass and stared at the
amber
fluid in it as if in deep, disturbed contemplation.  "Roger," he said
slowly,
heavily, "I've got to talk to you."

      Carmel looked at his business associate, curious.  He was never as
close
to Martin Oliss as his wife was to Cylvia or his daughter was to Tamera,
but
that wasn't through the fault of Martin.  In spite of Carmel's feeling
of
uneasiness that he got occasionally when around the sales
vice-president, it
was more a matter that he, Carmel, wasn't one for any close ties save
for his
family.  He didn't have either the time or temperament for pals and
buddies,
and the little spare time he did have he preferred to spend in the warm
bosom
of his family.  So he was a little surprised by the tone in Oliss'
voice.
They'd been talking for the last few hours, on the plane and here at the
El
Mecca, but of inconsequentialities. That wasn't the kind of "talking"
Oliss was
now intimating.  Something was on his mind, something that was troubling
him
greatly.

      "Yes, Martin," Carmel said.  "About what?"

      "I..." Oliss pursed his lips.  "Here, let me buy you another
drink." He
hooked a finger toward the bartender.

      "Well, if you don't want to tell me..."

      "It isn't that, Roger.  It's..."  He bit his lip.  "Ah, hell. 
I'll be
blunt.  Sometimes we don't want to spill something to a friend because
it's
private and personal.  You know what I mean?"

      "That's true," Carmel agreed, tasting his fresh drink.

      "I mean, it's sort of embarrassing, and it's difficult to judge
just how
much of a friend a person is at times like that."

      "Well, I don't think you should trust anybody too quickly,
Martin.  Where
self-interest is concerned most people will betray you, and a guy has
only one
or two genuine buddies throughout his whole life if he's lucky.  But,"
he said,
"on the other hand, I'm not the kind for butt-kissing or politics or
petty
gossiping.  So in that sense, I'm a friend.  At least a better risk than
most."
He shrugged.  "Of course, it's up to you."

      Oliss contemplated his scotch again, and then swung to Carmel
abruptly,
his face wrenched by the seeming pain of his indecision.  "No, Roger. 
No, it
concerns you, too."

      "Me?"

      "Yes, and... intimately."  Oliss gritted his teeth.  "I... well,
I'll
start at the beginning."  He took a deep breath, knowing that he had
Carmel
hooked.  "A month back I learned my wife was seeing another man.  I love
Cylvia
very much, just as you love Lonnie I'm sure, so you can imagine how I
felt when
I thought that she was running around on me."

      "Running ar --" Carmel's eyes bulged.  "You mean, having an
affair?
Cylvia?  Are you sure?"

      "Oh, more sure than I care to think about," Oliss said bitterly. 
"You
see, her lover came to see me."  He saw Carmel's mouth open, and he
waved his
hand.  "No, not for a divorce.  Worse than that." Oliss leaned toward
Carmel
and looked him in the eye.  "He was one of those slimy Latin lover
types; you
know the kind.  Worm their way in before the woman knows what's
happening.
Anyway, he threatened exposure, a scandal, all of the lowest and
rottenest
tricks he could think of if I didn't... cooperate."

      "Cooperate?  I don't follow, Martin.  Cooperate how?"

      Oliss dropped his voice as if utterly ashamed.  "By spying on you,
Roger.
By stealing your invention and turning it over to him.  He said he had
pictures
and proof.  Oh, God, I was sick!"

      "My... invention!  I can't believe it!  You mean another company
would
stoop to such filth as to seduce your wife and then blackmail you into
taking
my miniskopos?"  He shook his head, dazed.

      "I'm afraid so."

      "What... what did you do?" Roger gasped.

      "Oh, I was beset with indecision.  You see, my wife didn't know
that I
knew what she'd been doing.  I wasn't about to tell her and perhaps ruin
my
marriage.  Neither could I see coming to you... then.  What could you do
for
me?"  He groaned in humiliation.  "Neither could I bring myself to
subvert the
company I've given so many of my years to.  It was horrible.  A
nightmare."

      "And?"  Carmel was almost rocking on his stool with shock.

      "I hired a private eye.  I told him what the problem was, blurted
out the
whole sordid mess.  I wanted him to first of all confirm what this
sonofabitch
was telling me about my wife was true, and then take whatever means
short of
murder to get back the proof.  Once I had the proof of my wife's
infidelity,
then this bastard wouldn't have a hold on me... or so I figured... and I
could
tell Cylvia that I knew what she'd done, and what her... mistake had
almost
caused.  I'd forgive her, and I believe that she'd understand her
foolishness
and never do such a thing again, once she understood she'd been doped."

      "Martin, you poor man," Carmel sympathized.

      "Wait, there's more." Oliss shuddered, as if the worst was yet to
come --
and for Roger Carmel, it was.  "I... got a report from the detective
late last
week.  No, Monday it was.  Christ, this thing has me so shaken up, I can
barely
keep the days straight.  Anyway, he confirmed that this cocksman had
indeed
been sleeping with my wife, that he'd followed him and Cylvia to a
string of
motels and a couple of times... in my own house."  Tears nearly welled
in
Oliss' eyes as he poured forth his tale in choking words.  "My... own
house!
My... marital bed, de-defiled by this bastard!"

      "Martin, "Carmel soothed.  "Get hold of yourself."

      "I... asked him to see what he could do about the proof, and he
said it
might be wiser for him to dig up some dirt on the man -- you know, an
eye for
an eye kind of thing.  He called me after lunch today, just before we
left,
Roger, with the most disturbing news of all.  It... it seems as though
this
bastard has decided to make sure he gets the miniskopos plans, since I
haven't
helped him any."

      "How?  What more could he do?"

      "He's..."  And here Oliss paused dramatically.  "He's seduced
another
man's wife.  One... oh, shit, Roger, he may be fucking Lonnie, too."

      "Lonnie?"  Carmel staggered under the impact.  "My wife?"

      "I'm afraid so, Roger.  I... hate telling you this, but it looks
as
though we're in the same boat together."

      "But are you sure it's Lonnie?  I can't believe it!"

      "I couldn't believe it about Cylvia, either," Oliss said sadly. 
"But in
all fairness, I'll tell you that by the description my detective gave
and the
other facts he learned, I'm almost positive it's Lonnie."

      "But you're not sure!" Carmel demanded, grasping at straws.

      "Ninety percent positive, Roger.  I ordered my detective to find
out
without a shadow of a doubt and call me here sometime tomorrow or
Sunday."

      "No man's come to me," Carmel blustered.

      "Evidently he just... started with your wife.  He'll be by to see
you,
just as he came to see me.  A matter of time."

      Carmel's mind whirled disconcertedly.  What Oliss was telling him
was the
most wild, inconceivable story he'd ever heard!  Lonnie would never...
but
then, he wasn't home much, and women are prone... no, no... it was
ridiculous... absurd... the detective must have another woman mixed up
with his
wife!  He knew Lonnie; she was strictly a one-man female, and she'd
never....

      "I know what you're thinking, Roger," Oliss said glumly.  "Same
thing I
kept telling myself until I was shown by the detective that what I had
been
told was true.  You're thinking I'm crazy, or that this affair has made
me see
ghosts in every corner.  I wish that were true, friend; I wish I didn't
have to
tell you this."

      Carmel shook his head, numb to his bones.  "I don't believe it."

      "Don't," Oliss suggested.  "It's probably better if you forget
what I
told you altogether."

      "But how can I?" Carmel cried.  "My wife!  For God's sake!"

      "Yes, your wife and mine," Oliss pressed on, his voice calm and
low now,
well hiding his inner elation, his satisfaction and sadistic pleasure at
seeing
Carmel shaken to the very core of his soul.  Good... good... and after a
day or
so of torment, he'll be ripe for the final phase of  my plan.  And
then... he
had a hard time keeping a straight face as he added: "And we're going to
have
to do something about it, too!"

      "My God, my God... what?"  Confused, unready to accept the fact of
his
wife's infidelity, Roger Carmel swallowed his scotch and ordered another
one
straight and almost dementedly turned to Martin Oliss for help.  His
whole,
wonderful world was teetering from extinction by the slender thread that
what
Oliss and the detective said were mistakes, and that Lonnie was not
letting
another man touch her.  But Oliss was so insistent! So damnably sure!

      "Well, there's nothing either of us can do until the detective
calls,"
Oliss said.  "Then we'll know for sure whether your wife is involved as
mine
is.  Then... well, then perhaps we should go back."

      "Go back..." Carmel moaned abjectly.  Go back to what?  A torn
fabric of
his love and happiness?  And yet, he couldn't stay away, not fight for
what he
considered the most important objects in his life, his wife and home. 
Go back
echoed through his brain.  Christ, could he sit it out until the phone
call?
He'd go mad!  Stark, staring, raving imbicilic!  He downed the shot in
one
gulp.

      "If it isn't Lonnie," Oliss continued, "I imagine I will make the
best of
it... alone.  But if it is --" He let the nameless terror seep deeper
into
Carmel's stricken mind.  Damned right it was going to be both, he
thought
demonically.  Both -- in some perverted bacchanal... and it won't be any
imaginary detective passing on the news, but my sweet whore of a wife on
the
phone.  I wonder what the hell my luscious twin cunts are up to now,
anyway ?

      The lewd projection of Cylvia and Tamera Oliss in wild and
licentious
abandonment as strange cocks and mouths fucked their wits silly made his
cock
leap.  And then the further image of Carmel's wife and daughter getting
the
same orgiastic treatment, whether to their delight or anguish, made his
penis
bloat with lust and press against his pants painfully.  Soon... soon
I'll know,
and soon after that I'll be participating.  And who the hell knows?
Maybe old
stick-in-the-mud Carmel will, too.

      For the first time in his idyllic marriage, Roger Carmel began to
question its solidarity, and the values which he and it were living by. 
Had he
been so inconsiderate a husband to let Lonnie fall prey to this Latin
lover
Oliss was telling him about?  Was he that shallow a man as to not know
how to
hold her fidelity?  He was beginning to think he didn't know.  He loved
Lonnie
and Jennifer with all his heart, and in spite of what the detective
would
report, he knew that he would try to repair his marriage with the same
panicked
desire that Martin Oliss evinced.  He couldn't leave Lonnie... would she
leave
him? Was her desires now changed and she no longer wanted him around? 
Is that
what prompted her actions -- if that indeed is what was happening.

      If... if... the poisonous word berated his tortured soul.  The
next day
or so would be a nightmare, and he knew that the only way he'd find
sleep
tonight was to drink himself unconscious.  Thank God for the few drinks
he'd
had -- without them I'd have gone completely to pieces.  Roger Carmel
slumped
to the bar, utterly dejected, his brain a cauldron of agony and fears. 
He
never noticed as Martin Oliss peered down on him with a sadistically
triumphant
leer twisting his lips and mustache.


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