From lysander@bitsmart.com Thu Jul 17 12:32:20 1997
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From: lysander@bitsmart.com (Lysander)
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Subject: NEW: The Making of Amy part 1 (blackmail, setup)
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DISCLAIMER

This is a piece of fiction.  Any relation between these characters and
real live people is tenuous at best and incestuous at worst.

If you are a minor in your jurisdiction, do not read this as it contains
graphic, non-clinical descriptions of sex.  (Not this installment, but
why start something you're not allowed to finish?)

If you are a minor in the United States, do not read this as it contains
descriptions of smoking.  You want the FTC and FDA on my ass?  The First
Amendment extends only so far you know.


                           The Making of Amy
                              by Lysander
                        (lysander@bitsmart.com)

One


"Hello?"

"Is this Amy?"

"This is her."

"Did you get my tape?"

"I got it and I watched it.  How much do you want for the
original?"

"I like your directness, but do you think someone reduced to robbing
convenience stores at gunpoint would be able to purchase such a daring
piece of cinema verite?"

"Very funny.  But I don't care for blackmailers with a sense of humor."

"Tsk, tsk, Amy.  Don't think of me as a blackmailer.  Rather a
benefactor.  After all, if it weren't for me you'd be seeing yourself on
whichever TV station could pay most.  And you realize--"

"Look, just tell me how much."

"Don't ever interrupt me again, Amy.  That tape could still find its way
to the media and the police.  Armed robbery is a felony, you know."

"But how much?"

"Be on the southwest corner of Fourth and Crescent at 4 pm tomorrow.
Bring the gun in a bag or your purse.  Wear a T-shirt tucked into
shorts.  Make them too tight to hide a weapon.  And an umbrella;
weatherman says rain."

"What if I don't show up?"

"You know better that to ask that, Amy.  Goodbye."

Amy Starling pressed PLAY on her VCR remote.  She saw her electric blue
Toyota convertible parked outside the Shop-N-Save almost directly under
the security light.  Why did she have to park there?  She heard the
gunshot.  She had been shaking, and that idiot clerk didn't think she
had the nerve to shoot, but did she have to put a hole in the wall a few
feet from her head?  She saw herself running out of the store and
ripping the ski mask off her head.  Why did she have to take that damn
thing off?  She heard herself whoop as she hopped into the convertible
and tore out of the parking lot.  As the camera zoomed in on the tail,
she could clearly make out the license plate through blue tire smoke.
AMY STAR.  Why did she have to do such a stupid thing?  She heard the
cameraman whisper a single word: "Shit."

"Shit," Amy muttered as she sank onto her bed.  "I am in deep shit."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lemon yellow teddy bear
propped against her pillow.  "What the fuck are you staring at?" she
asked.  But the bear just smiled cheerily back at her.

Dressed as ordered, Amy paced back and forth on the appointed corner at
the appointed time.  Between drags on her Marlboro, she compulsively
extended and collapsed her umbrella as she stared intently at every car
that slowed as it approached her corner.

She should just leave.  Maybe she could stall the blackmailer.  After
all, it was five after four and he wasn't here.  If he was going to
extort money, or whatever he wanted from her, he ought to keep his
appointments.  She could string him along and get the tape from him
without too much trouble.  But he sounded very serious on the phone.
Never mind, if she couldn't get herself out of this jam he had her in,
then Daddy could.  But how could she explain the tape to her father?
Damn it!  She couldn't think she was so worked up over this whole mess.
How did she get in this and how would she get out?  She took another hit
of nicotine to keep herself from screaming in frustration.

She recalled the conversation she'd had last night with Rufus.

"Ru, I need your help."

"Sure, what's up sweetheart?"  Even through the telephone receiver, his
voice sounded oily.

"There's somebody who's giving me some trouble.  Can you take care of
him?  You know, mess him up a little?"

"Depends on what's in it for me, baby."

Amy shuddered at the leer in his voice.  "Ah, I was thinking, you know,
the usual?"

Rufus' laugh was sickening.  "Naw, baby, a blowjob got you the gun.  If
your problem's too big for that, then I think we're gonna to have to
come up with somethin' even better than that mouth of yours.  Exquisite
as it is."

"How about twice, then?"

"Now you got talent, girl, I admit that.  But every time I see you in
one of those little dresses of yours I just can't help thinkin' `bout
the little snatch they hidin'.  I think it's about time I got me a taste
of some of that."

Amy's nose wrinkled at the thought of Rufus with his hands on her, of
him inside her.  But.  "Okay."

"An' maybe you'll take care of my cousin too.  He's been hard up since
his old lady kicked him out."

That was the final straw.  "Fuck you, Rufus!  I'll take care of my own
problem before I'll spread for any of your scuzzy friends!  And from now
on, keep your smelly dick and your ugly face away from me!  You got
that?!"

The only thing she'd heard from Rufus was cruel laughter.

Finally, twenty minutes after her arrival, a pea green Volvo of
indeterminate age pulled up to her corner.  "I believe you're waiting
for me," the driver said through the open passenger window.  She bent
down to look at him.  As far as she knew, she'd never seen him before in
her life.  He had sandy hair and wore wire-frame glasses, but looked
otherwise utterly nondescript.  He was only a couple years older than
herself.

"You're fifteen minutes late," she complained.

"I told you to be here at four; I didn't say when I would show up.  Did
you bring the gun?"

"Umm, yes," she replied, holding up her purse so he could see.

"Hand it to me through the window."  She opened her bag and started to
reach inside.  "The whole purse, Amy.  We are in public, remember."

"Right.  Sorry."  She had to keep calm.  As long as she didn't make any
stupid mistakes and kept her wits about her she was going to be okay.
She passed the purse to him.  He reached inside and pulled the gun out,
careful to keep his hands below the car's windows.  She noticed he was
wearing latex gloves.

"Browning.  Nice.  I assume you wiped your prints from it?"  She nodded
her head.  She wasn't stupid.  Then why were you robbing a store for
less than you spend on lunch in a week? she asked herself.  "Did you
wipe the magazine too?"

"I never touched it.  It was loaded when I borrowed it."

"I see."  He ejected the clip and wiped it on his pant leg.  "Wouldn't
want someone else to go down for your crime, would we?"  He put the clip
back in the weapon, replaced the gun in her purse and put it in the back
seat.  "Hop in."

Amy hesitated.  "Where are we going?"

"Elsewhere.  Get in."

She got in the car and shut the door.  The driver didn't pull away from
the curb.  They just sat there, and Amy grew even more nervous.  She
looked over at her blackmailer expectantly.  "Buckle up," he said, "and
put both hands on the dash."  When she'd done as ordered, he pulled away
from the curb.  Afraid to look over at her blackmailer (kidnapper as
well?), Amy kept careful track of the route they took.  She was
surprised when the car pulled into the driveway of a small house in a
lower middle class neighborhood not far from her own home.  "Stay in the
car until I call you," the blackmailer told her.  He reached back and
retrieved her purse, then got out, taking the keys with him.  She
thought for a moment of getting out and running home, but he still had
the original of that damned tape.  She couldn't leave until she had the
tape.  He went inside the house and, after a few moments, came back out.
He waved her in, so she got out of the car and went in the house.

Like her kidnapper, the house's furnishings were neat but not
remarkable.  She followed him into a kitchen/dining area and took the
seat he gestured her to.  Her purse sat on the counter at his elbow.

"Want a drink?" he asked.

She hadn't noticed how dry her mouth had become since she first met this
man and she nodded.  "Do you have any beer?"

"Cola or orange juice?"

"Orange juice, please."  He took a glass from a cupboard and opened the
refrigerator.  She saw him reach past most of a six-pack of Miller Lite
to retrieve a plastic pitcher.  He was still wearing the gloves.  Why?
Was this somebody else's house?  He poured for her and set the glass on
the table in front of her.  He leaned against the fridge and watched her
as she sipped, arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face.

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" he asked.

Amy shook her head.  "Should I?"

He laughed.  Not a mean laugh, it sounded almost regretful.  "Probably
not.  Wait here while I get something."

He went toward the back of the house and she heard something scrape
across a floor.  He had left her purse on the kitchen counter.

Quickly, she went to her purse.  The gun was still there!  She pulled it
out, but had a second thought.  She looked at the bottom of the handle
part and saw that the clip was still in place.  She crept down the hall
toward the sounds of her blackmailer.  She found him in a small bedroom
going through the disorganized contents of an old steamer trunk.  "Give
me the tape or I'll shoot."

He looked up at her, looking oddly not at all startled.  "No," was all
he said.

"I mean it," she said and raised the gun so it was pointing at a spot on
the wall a couple of feet above his head, just like she had done with
the woman behind the counter at the Shop-N-Save.  She braced for the
recoil and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.  The trigger wouldn't budge.

The blackmailer smiled and took the gun from her hands.  "Let me guess.
The guy you borrowed this from told you just to point and pull the
trigger, right?"  Not knowing what else to do, Amy just nodded.  "Did
you ever hear the saying `a little knowledge is a dangerous thing'?  No?
You were carrying this gun around for the past three days with the
hammer back and the safety off."  He pointed out a small selector switch
on the gun.  "It could have gone off at the slightest jar.  I could've
pulled up to that corner today and found you with a hole in your side.
Yes, really."  He smiled a smile that was not quite evil.  "But thanks
for putting your prints back on the gun."

Stupid stupid stupid, Amy berated herself.  Out loud, she asked, "What
if I'd known about the safety?  Or what if it hadn't worked?  You
would've shit your pants."  Despite her own embarrassment at not knowing
anything about the gun, she smiled at the thought of her blackmailer's
humiliation.

He smirked back at her.  "That's an ugly mouth for such a pretty face.
Lesson one for the day, Amy: the simple things always work.  Besides,
the first three rounds are blanks."  He ejected the clip and thumbed two
cartridges from it, then pulled back on the weapon's slide.  Amy watched
the brass cylinder arc gracefully through the air.  It thudded quietly
to the wooden floor.  "You've had things too easy, Amy.  Unless you
smarten up, I'm always going to be two steps ahead of you."  He held up
an oversized book and gestured her back down the hall.  "But on to more
pleasant things."

The book turned out to be her freshman yearbook.  The bastard had gone
to her own high school!  While she leafed through the book, looking for
his picture, her blackmailer explained "the facts of life" (as he termed
it) to her.  The video had been shot by a college buddy of his.  He had
just been fooling around with his new toy when he saw a masked figure
enter the convenience store across from his apartment and had taken
advantage of the situation.  Just more of her bad luck.  The video was
in a safe place, under the control of another friend.  The gun would
soon join it.  If this second friend didn't receive a call every
Wednesday at six, the package would be mailed to the police.  If Amy had
him beaten up, or if she tried to kill him, or even if she just made him
feel like the phone call was more trouble than she was worth, her life
would be ruined.  Her father couldn't help her.  Rich girls caught doing
bad things could do wonders for an ambitious DA's career, especially
when Daddy was a big deal in the other political party.

"Is all that clear?"

"I guess so," she answered.  She would never have gone to her father for
help anyway.  Not unless it were absolutely necessary, that is.  "Where
are you in this?"  She held up the yearbook.

"I was a junior."

She flipped to the appropriate pages and finally saw him.  Robert Wade
Evanston.  "I think I remember you.  Bobby Evanston, who used to mow our
lawn, right?"

The blackmailer -- Bobby -- nodded.  "Your father let me do yardwork to
earn some money for college.  More of a favor to my dad than anything
else.  I saw you a few times, but I did the work on weekends and you
were always a popular girl.  I think I remember every time you walked
out the front door.  Do you have any idea how beautiful you were?"

Of course she knew what she looked like.  He must have seen her
expression and knew what it meant.  "No, I mean do you know how close to
perfection you seemed?  It was almost painful to look at you, those few
times I saw you.  You weren't sexy and you didn't try to be, at least
not when I saw you.  You had this aura of innocence about you.  You even
smiled at me a few times.  You were just... beautiful."  He was being
awkward, but Amy felt flattered despite herself.

"Then you came to my high school and I found out what a bitch you really
were."

Amy opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand and the look on
his face made her close her mouth again.

"Marcia Watkins.  Kiesha Jefferson.  Joel Merks.  Recognize them?
Friends of yours right?  At least they used to be.  Until you got Joel
Merks fired and jailed because you convinced him to cover up your
shoplifting, until you drove Marcia to leave school because she told you
she had made out with her cousin at a slumber party.  And what you did
to Kiesha was unspeakable."

"I didn't know she'd be so sensitive.  All I did was."

"Shut up.  Even if you were that obtuse you should have at least have
apologized to her.  In public.  But you went on as though none of your
shit touches you.  That's three lives you ruined, except maybe for
Marcia if her parents speak to her again.  And how many other people
have you hurt out of carelessness or maliciousness?"

"So what do you want?"

Bobby leaned against the wall and looked down at her, not as though he
owned her but certainly as though he was considering the purchase.  "I
haven't decided quite yet.  First, tell me why you held up that store."

"I don't know."

"What are you, four years old?  You had to get the gun, drive to a part
of town you probably don't go to very often, pull on a ski mask and
point that gun in somebody's face.  Surely there was some reason, no
matter how inchoate, floating in the recesses of what passes for your
mind.  Daddy not giving his princess all the attention she thinks she
deserves?  Did you want to get caught so he'd be humiliated?"  She shook
her head in denial.  "Was it just stupid kicks?  To see if you could get
away with it?"

She nodded dumbly, ashamed -- ashamed! -- to look him in the eye.

"Well, looks like you couldn't.  How much money can you get hold to
without anyone finding out?"

"If I sell some things... twenty-five, maybe thirty thousand dollars."

That obviously stunned Bobby.  His eyes popped open and his jaw dropped.
He looked so cartoon-like Amy had to fight the urge to laugh.  In truth,
she could have gotten closer to fifty if she sold some of her jewelry,
but like her father said, the first offer is never the real offer.

"Whew, that's a lot of money.  More than I expected, to be honest."

"Then we have a deal?"

"Not in the slightest."

"But."

"It's a lot of money, all right.  Too much, in fact.  It's more than
I'll make this entire year, but you could probably get it for me in a
week, right?  And no one would know and it wouldn't make the slightest
dent in your life.  That's your problem."

"Look, Bobby, being poor wouldn't make me a better person, and it
doesn't make you better than me."

"First of all, I go by Robert now.  Rob to my friends.  Second, I have
nothing at all against rich people; I'm sure they're as decent as the
general population.  In fact, I hope to be one myself some day.  I just
meant that you've had things easy and you've taken it for granted.  It's
spoiled you to the point that you think all problems go away if you
throw enough money at them.  Fourth -- no, third, it isn't my relative
poverty that makes me superior to you.  It's the fact that you're a
felon and I am not."

"Extortion's a felony," Amy retorted grumpily.

Bobby just smiled down at her.  "You're right.  Let me correct myself.
My superiority comes from the fact that I haven't been caught."

"Yet."

"Well, if I am, maybe the prisons they put us in will be close together.
Maybe I'll even see your bus on its way to highway cleanup."  If he went
down, she was going too, and she wouldn't like it.

He lifted her from her chair by the elbow and guided her to the front
door.  "You can find your way home from here, can't you?  Be here
tomorrow after school.  Wear something sexy."

He had decided on the purchase after all.


Copyright 1997 by Lysander (lysander@bitsmart.com)
This story may not be archived at any site that would charge for access
to it.
This story may not be sold as part of any collection that charges more
than a nominal copying fee.
Otherwise, this story may be distributed freely by electronic means as
long as the title, my pseudonym and this copyright statement are not
changed or removed.


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