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In which we go to Scotland.

She'd thank him for showing her what a real man could do for her rather than the inadequate shrimp-assed wimp she'd married.

She crooked her finger at him beckoning him to take her. He stroked his pole once or twice teasing her. She feigned a pouting face.

"Sock it to me," she said. "Hurry up."

I wanted to throw up.

"Yes, Mark, like that. Fuck me. Oh my! My gawd! Oh! Your cock is so big." She bucked and flailed wildly as he pushed and pulled in and out of her. They came together in a stunning climax.


I had to either get out of there or bust in on them. I was so mad that I almost couldn't breathe, mad and sick to my stomach. I decided to get outta there. I knew what I was going to do, and mister big-dick was never going to be the same.

"I don't know how I put up with that little faggot that I've been married to for so long," she said. "If it weren't for the children I would have dumped him for inadequacy long ago."

She was digging her own grave. No I wasn't going to kill her, but she was going to wish she were dead, and him too. I eased myself across the floor, got through the bead-curtain making almost no noise. I got myself down the stairs, out the door, and I was gone. Back at the car I made a couple of calls. thirty minutes later a black van pulled up behind me. A big man came to my window. I lowered it.

"You know what to do, yes?" I said.

"Absolutely," said the big man.

"You guys are not to do anything else to him. Nothing, got it?" I said. "I want him to live a long and healthy life-well, almost anyway."

"We got it boss. It's a piece of cake. But, what about..."

"I'll take care of her. I have something special planned for her. She's in for the long haul," I said.


The three men in the black van were patient; they had their marching orders. They had been selected by Enzo at the request of Max; Max had wanted out of towners for this one, and he didn't want to know who they were; Enzo had concurred with his nephew and had acceded to his request for personnel.

The leader of the little out of town group was Rafael, that's all, no last name; and the first one was not his real name. He'd been selected because of his special empathy with the victim, Max Bertulucci. Rafael's wife had cheated on him and the act had nearly driven him to suicide. His boyhood friendship with Carlo, Max's number one soldier, had offered him a chance to get appropriate revenge on the man that had disrespected him and at the same time a way into the family. He never talked about it, but the rumor was that the disrespecting adulterer had had both of his arms and both of his legs broken. And, there had been an added bonus: Rafael's wife had been forced to watch her lover get what he deserved.

Rafael and his wife were still together; everything had worked out just fine; the woman understood that she had run out of chances: she never even thought of cheating again.

At any rate, he was more than happy to help another spousal victim with his marital problem; he was simpatico. The difference in the proposed punishment for this new asshole both amused him and gave him the chills.

It was more than three hours later that the asshole left the Bertulucci residence. Rafael saw the woman waving goodbye to him as he headed down the street to his car.

Rafael's two associates were in the street talking near the asshole's car, and when he came near and dug in his pocket for his keys, they threw a sack over his head, knocked him out, and hustled him into the van. They drove off.

Another car with two men in it drove by three minutes after the van had turned the corner. One of the men got out, got into the kidnapped man's car and drove it off. It would be left in the Electro-Mall parking lot for the asshole to find later. Not a trace of evidence that anyone but the owner had ever been in the car was left for the police to find.


"Carlo, Carlo, Carlo you've done well. Let me be miserable in peace," I said to my number one soldier.

"Max, she is not the devil.

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