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From: tmquin@ibm.net (Thomas M Quin)
Subject: {ASS}SSK: Mary Anne -- Prologue
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STANDARD DISCLAIMER
===================
The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and
has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author.
The author explicitly prohibits.
1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form.
2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express
permission.
3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the
written permission of the author.
This work is copyright TM Quin 1998.
All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.
Quin 1998
tmquin@ibm.net
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Getting Even with Mary Anne by Quin
================================
Prologue: "Life and Death in McAlister County"
==========================================
I don't know where I was the night Mary Anne McAlister cried rape. I
haven't a clue, and that's God's honest truth. I know Sheriff Parker
found me at six the next morning lying in a pool of my own puke under
the Ultine Bridge -- hell, I can still feel the boot he used to wake
me.
Now, old Parker was one of those good ol' boys you see in movies like
Deliverance, "born and raised in the county like all the Parkers
going way back." He had zero time for city folk who thought they had
a shot at farming and even less if the miserable bastards failed.
Yeah, he'd been down on my dad right from the start, explaining how
they "did things around here." Dad had been polite, he even tried to
fit in with the rest of the Farmer Brown types in McAlister City.
But that sort of stuff never really works, not with these people, and
Parker and the rest of the locals sat back to watch Dad's dream of
his own farm trickle straight down the john. Eventually we had to
sell the place and move into this rathole trailer park on the edge of
town. By that time I was pretty heavily into pot and some other
stuff, so Parker and me were like old friends, which is why I didn't
take that boot too personally. When they'd dragged me back to the
McAlister City lockup I figured that he was going to do me on some
stupid vagrancy rap or my old favorite, drunk and disorderly.
In fact, the first I knew about Mary Anne or her accusations was
while they were fingerprinting me. Parker and his boys did this
whole thing where they talk about you and what's likely to happen,
right in front of you, like you weren't even there. It was from this
"conversation" that I worked out the story; some guy had grabbed Mary
Anne on the way back from a church social, beat and raped her, and
left her to walk home barefoot and half naked. It was also obvious
that she'd made a positive ID -- me. She didn't say it was some guy
my height or weight -- she'd said it was me, by name. When Parker
and his buddies told me that, I lost it. I mean, I was too high to
remember much about that night, but I knew I didn't rape her. Even
drunk and stoned out of my head, I wouldn't do that.
I mean, I *knew* Mary Anne. Everyone did -- it's impossible to be a
McAlister in McAlister City and not be known. Mary Anne and I went
to the same small high school until I'd dropped out that summer. In
fact she ruled that school in the same way that her father ruled the
rest of town, through fear and favor. Hell, when I first got there
she and her friends even let me hang with them for awhile because
they thought big city life was cool, until they realized that I
didn't have a lot of money or access to a decent car. So, yeah, I
knew how Mary Anne partied as well as anyone, but I still didn't
understand why she'd fingered me.
While I was trying to kick my brain into gear, old Parker decided to
explain what happened to guys who rape in his county. That took
about fifteen minutes and left me wheezing on the station floor,
holding my screaming nuts in both hands. He then explained what
happened to guys dumb enough to rape the first citizen's daughter and
just to make sure I didn't forget he let two of his larger deputies
tattoo it on my face with their fists. After they threw a bucket of
water over me to wash off the blood, I was charged, my mug shot
released to the press and a court hearing all worked out before they
told my folks or even bothered to look for a lawyer. Around here
they call that country justice. I suppose I was lucky they couldn't
find a rope.
Somehow Momma managed to dry Dad out long enough to come and see me.
She looked even smaller and thinner than she had before, and he sort
of staggered around trying not to be sick. Momma promised to find a
lawyer but I knew they couldn't afford one; all of their savings were
sunk into Dad's dream farm. I said I'd go with the court attorney
because he was more likely to know the judges. She just smiled and
said that we'd see, like she had when I asked for something pricey
for Christmas. As if the world's most brilliant lawyer would stand a
chance in McAlister City. Shit, F. Lee Bailey couldn't get me off of
this one.
After they left, I heard the two deputies discussing the best way to
beat a confession out of me. Old Parker, he was a smart old coon
dog. He just waited for the jitters and the withdrawal to set in.
He knew all you had to do with a junkie was wait and let the
addiction do its work -- soon, he'd be hurting so bad he'd admit
anything to just make it stop.
And of course I did.
All in all the trial was as fair as you can get in a town that had
already been told I was guilty. By then I'd been Upstate long enough
to get my head straightened out enough to withdraw the confession,
not that it did me any good. Mary Anne's testimony alone was enough
to bury me. She sat in the witness box in this white summer dress
with eyelet lace, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders
and just the tiniest bit of makeup (nothing that tears could ruin --
she was too smart for that) making her look like a distressed angel
as she sobbed her heart out about her "frightening ordeal." God, I'm
only sorry the Oscar committee couldn't have seen it. When she
looked up at that jury and told them how she'd pleaded with me to
stop, even I would have voted guilty. At that point, I realized I
was screwed. No amount of scientific evidence could win against that
kind of performance, not when the people of this town had been
believing whatever a McAlister told them for over a century. Of
course, they may have been more skeptical if they'd hung out in the
same bars in Ogden where she liked to dance topless on the pool
tables, or if they'd seen her so high on coke that she couldn't even
remember her own name. And around here a name like McAlister is a
difficult one to forget.
Looking back, I suppose I was lucky that the death penalty was not an
option. Twenty years seemed almost like a slap on the wrist compared
to the trial. As they led me away to the prisoner transport bus, I
told myself that no matter how bad jail was, it had to be better than
living and dying in McAlister.
Dad died later that winter. It was unusually cold that year and he
wasn't really been cut out for trailer park living. Somehow Momma
managed the seventy mile trek up to the state pen to see me. She
looked fragile, like a strong gust of wind would just blow her over,
but I knew she'd be all right -- she'd always been the strong one. I
told her to go stay with her sister in Philly, get out of McAlister
and forget about me. I knew it couldn't be easy for her to live in a
place like that, what with the small minds and the sharp tongues. It
was probably as easy as being a convicted rapist in the state pen.
She promised she'd think about it, but I knew she'd never leave.
McAlister for all its shitty problems was closer to the pen than
Philly. With Dad gone, I was all she had left.
In some ways I had to be grateful for what happened. I could easily
have drowned in my own vomit that night or on one of the other nights
afterwards. Like I said, after we lost the farm I started doing
drugs, mixing it up with various flavors of booze. If I'd stuck with
it, there would have been an early grave in my future, that's for
damn sure. Jail changed all that. Oh, don't get me wrong, jail is
hell; the first few months I got beaten up on a regular basis and a
few of them tried a little more. Eventually, though, the guards
figured I'd had enough and stopped turning a blind eye. Strangely,
old McAlister's political influence started working in my favor. The
case had made enough nationwide publicity to make my constant
"accidents" look bad on the prison authorities. At the end of my
first year I was moved to a secure block, and it was then that my
life started to turn around.
To protect me from the other prisoners I spent most of the time
locked down in my cell. Bored shitless, I started reading anything
and everything from crime novels to technical books. After three
years I got my high school equivalency diploma, then started taking
correspondence courses in a variety of subjects. Physically I was
better, too. The jail ran a tough regime and I ended up stronger and
healthier than I think I'd ever been.
Sometimes at night I would lay there and wonder what would have
happened if I had died that night. One thing seemed clear -- it
would have pissed Mary Anne off to be cheated of such a perfect
scapegoat. Shit, I knew that it wasn't a genuine error or a case of
mistaken identity. I could see it in her eyes when she pointed me
out in the courtroom, that look of McAlister hate and power. I knew
then that she deliberately set me up. I just didn't know why.
After I'd been Upstate for six years I got my answer.
You could've knocked me over with a feather when Betty Ross came to
visit me. Back when I was still in with the Mary Anne crowd I'd
fucked Betty a few times, but then the slut would fuck anything with
a pulse. When I was sent down she'd been Mary Anne's best friend and
one of the ra-ra types that yelled abuse at me from the public
gallery. However, outside in the real world times had changed. It
was the end of the eighties and the farming crisis had really started
to hit hard. Even long-established folks like the Rosses were
starting to go under, and Betty had woken up one day to discover that
her popularity had been directly linked to her pocket book. Suddenly
the clique she'd been in since junior high decided to freeze her out.
I could tell that she was majorly pissed, and here more for her own
revenge than in a sudden fit of conscience. Like I cared. The
important thing was that she told me what had really happened that
night.
Seems Mary Anne had gone to Ogden with the usual crowd intending to
get drunk and wild. Ogden is pretty much the same kind of shit hole
as McAlister -- the only advantage it had for the McAlister kids was
that it wasn't *their* shit hole. Stuff they did in Ogden was
unlikely to make it back to Ma and Pa, provided they didn't go too
far. It seems that Mary Anne's chosen beau for the evening was
Bobbie Wright, nice kid, football player, strong but not that smart.
Part way through the evening, Mary Anne had decided to try a range of
recreational spices which included the new drug E and a lot of coke.
After that, she lost it for a while, and only really understood what
was happening when she felt Bobbie's pecker thrusting into her. Now,
Mary Anne's Daddy was one of those old bores that ran the Moral
Crusade for America. You know the type; always telling everyone else
that whatever they were doing was wrong. He'd cultivated a squeaky
clean image full of images of an America that probably never existed
and preached moral leadership and the punishment of the wicked. More
importantly, the Crusade formed an important part of his political
power base. His unstained reputation was used to batter the God
fearing folk of McAlister County into keeping him and his acolytes in
power. He was the type who would sacrifice a wayward daughter to
hang on to power without a second thought. I think Mary Anne
understood this, and realized that her excesses would be overlooked
as long as she wasn't a political embarrassment. As a result she
made sure she left no evidence, the only drugs she used left no
tracks and she had kept her virginity intact by trading blow jobs for
pussy licks rather than doin' the dirty. The watchword had been
plausible deniability, or it had been until Bobbie Wright took it
into his head to fuck her.
Now thanks to Bobbie she was no longer a virgin. She was afraid she
was pregnant, and Daddy definitely wouldn't stand for a back door
abortion. The liberal press were too good at digging up such
scandals and old McAlister had dreams that stretched beyond McAlister
County. Visions of bearing Bobbie's child -- or worse being forced
to marry him -- must have gone through her mind like 200 volts
through a cattle prod. Then the idea had come, a way to explain her
lost virginity and leave a politically acceptable way out if the
bitch needed an abortion. She'd been raped. Now all she needed was
a rapist. Sitting in the visitor's hall listening to Betty's story,
all I could think about was how cold and calculating Mary Anne had
been. To go from stoned to deliberately ruining someone's life in
less than an hour painted her as a true bitch on wheels. Through my
reading I now knew what a sociopath was, and I could see that now
she'd gotten away with it she was likely to get even more outrageous.
Now, I admit that when Betty had first told me the real story, my
first reaction had been relief. The big problem with having a hole
in your life is that you can never be sure what happened. I'd always
felt that I was innocent, but it was more a gut reaction than based
on solid fact. So I went back to my cell feeling if anything
relieved. I didn't even mind that Betty had refused to swear out a
statement, since I knew it was hard going against the McAlisters. It
was only later when I brooded about the injustice, all the lost
years, that the cold, dark anger had started to grow. Even then I
had no plans to do anything about it -- well, not for another
fourteen years anyway.
The years slipped by, one after the other. I got a job in the
carpentry shop, started studying a whole range of subjects from
computers to accounting. When the jail got computers I started
designing web pages for local charities, building up good will and a
good reputation. One of the charity guys even put in a good word
with the ACLU, who found me a lawyer, but there was little evidence
either way outside of Mary Anne's identification. We found we didn't
have enough for an appeal. So I continued to work year after year
and gradually my anger grew.
Strangely, it was O.J. Simpson who saved me. Remember the Simpson
trial? Well, it was prime time viewing back in the pen. I don't
think there were any of us that didn't wonder how we could have done
with a few million dollars worth of legal talent. I started reading
up on the DNA fingerprint techniques used in the case and realized
that there might be a way out. I knew old Parker had a nurse take
some vaginal swabs from Mary Anne. Back then they had been used only
for blood typing, but now there was this fingerprint technique. All
I needed was some way to restart the inquiry.
Then, my mother died suddenly of a heart attack. Somehow she had
managed to keep a small life insurance policy running. At first I'd
ignored the money -- I felt it was like I was picking over her bones
if I used it. Eventually though, a couple of my supporters persuaded
me to try. I had just enough to get the swabs DNA tested, and for
the first time my lawyer was hopeful. At first it was unclear if the
swabs, which had been in storage at the FBI crime lab for ten years,
would be in good enough condition for retesting. There was an
anxious wait but eventually the results came back as I'd hoped. For
a while I was afraid that old McAlister would use his political clout
to block an appeal, but with the ACLU on my side he wasn't going to
risk it, now that he was a national figure. In fact, he'd been so
vigorous in denouncing the Simpson jury for ignoring the DNA evidence
that he had trapped himself.
The retrial was really more of a hearing. Mary Anne, probably
realizing that she might be liable for perjury charges, didn't even
show up, standing by her original statement and claiming it was all
too traumatic. I'm told that worked in my favor, no emotional
outburst to cloud the scientific evidence.
And suddenly, it was all over.
They released me after 12 years with a full pardon and a payout from
some justice fund. I sued the state and the City of McAlister Police
Department anyway. Now that I was proved to be an innocent man all
my allegations of police brutality were finally taken seriously. I
hear old Parker was forced to resign, and my lawyer also said that I
could sue him individually. I decided to put it on the back burner
-- possible, but not right now. I spent the next few months doing
chat shows and TV specials, and there was even a TV Movie, which all
added money to my already substantial bank account. Of course Mary
Anne never changed her story; to admit now that there was never a
rape could put her in jail and kill her father's political ambitions.
She announced on Oprah that she had been raped but had made "a
terrible mistake" in the identification. Tearfully she had begged me
to forgive her in a performance almost as good as the one she'd given
in court. I of course had smiled, kissed and hugged her to the
delight of the studio audience. Prison had taught me patience. I
could afford to wait.
Incidentally, I was told that Bobbie Wright left town that same day.
It probably hadn't escaped him that the same test that had freed me
could put him in jail. After all, Mary Anne had already sent one
innocent man to jail to save her reputation. If I had been him, I'd
have run too.
That was over a year ago. Since then I've fought hard to reestablish
myself, and so far I've been lucky. I don't know why, but there's
something that people find attractive about someone who's won out
against the odds. After I got out there seemed a lot of people who
wanted to be associated with me and my success. I was able to take
the little web work I'd done and build on it. I now own a small
company in California specializing in corporate web design. These
days I'm quite successful -- I have a house overlooking the ocean
about twenty miles from L.A., and I'm able to work from home. Up
until recently I 'd been too busy to think about all the loose ends
in my life, but now finally I've been able to think about getting
even. So I did some checking. Mary Anne had done well for herself;
a political sciences degree had led to a job as a political lobbyist
in Washington. I suspect that daddy's increasing national influence
helped there. While I rotted in jail, she'd been having a good life
with that nice apartment in Washington, that fancy little Italian
sports car, and all those rich and eligible men friends. Yep, she
was very comfortable, which made it just the right time to take it
all away.
I suppose most people would have made a beeline straight for the
bitch and settled it then and there. I suppose I could have, I'd
dreamed about it enough, but to be honest I was enjoying my freedom
too much to want to go back to jail right now. Besides, it hadn't
escaped my attention that there was a far more fitting punishment I
could dish out, one that was all nice and legal.
That's why I hired a detective to find Bobbie Wright, I sort of
figured the guy owed me for not speaking out. I don't know why I
thought I could change his mind, testifying against the McAlister
clan was as dangerous now as it was then. No, that's not true -- I
knew exactly what would change his mind. The DNA profile of Mary
Anne's "attacker" was in an FBI data bank in Washington. Even
someone as dumb as old Bobbie must have realized that it was a sword
hanging over his head. I felt sure that I could convince him that
the only way out was a preemptive strike, to get his version out
before he was an accused rapist.
Bobbie had really gone to ground. It took my detective several
months to find him but he finally tracked Bobbie down to a suburb of
Las Vegas where he was working in a health spa. I figured the guy
might freak if I just showed up so I sent him a card asking him to
call. The card sort of suggested I was looking up several old
friends. I still didn't know if he knew that I knew, if you know
what I mean?
Anyway, I got no reply, so I decided to give him a few days before I
visited in person. I want to state right now that what subsequently
happened was not in the plan. My one aim in life at that point was
to get the bitch convicted of perjury and serving time in jail. I
kind of figured she wouldn't be in long, since her daddy's political
clout would see to that. Still it didn't matter -- I wanted to see
how her wonderful career would go when she got out the pen with a
criminal record.
Yes, I had carefully laid my plans against her when fate made its own
move. Well, that part I'll tell you latter.
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