The Slumber

Oscar looked up and saw a young girl of sixteen or so sitting at his dining table near the kitchen door. Her blond hair reached almost to her waist and she wore a red, backless dress that outlined her supple figure, her pert nipples visible through the fabric that scantily covered her breasts. Bright red lipstick was generously applied to her lips and her eyes were also excessively made up. Her legs were gracefully crossed and a cigarette smoldered in her hand. Light blue eyes seemed to smile at him from her pretty face.

"Who are you people.” he asked as he approached her.

"Are you always so rude to your guests, Mister Abernathy?” she asked. “I would think one as powerful as you would value the consideration of a host.”

Her words were echoed by the rising gasps of the woman in the bedroom, and Oscar's temper began to wear thin with the uninvited visitors. His head turned as the gasps reached another heated climax. When he looked back at the young girl she grinned menacingly at him, like the dark haired woman had.

"We're here to discuss business.” she continued, her smile becoming more genial. She took a long pull from her cigarette and blew the smoke toward Oscar defiantly. “It goes without saying that your actions over the years would make some kind of payment necessary, sooner or later. I suppose we should have contacted you sooner, but you know how hard it is to find good help these days.”

Oscar's temper sparked.

"Just who in the hell are `we'?” he asked with anger in his voice.

"You know, that's a good question, Mister Abernathy.” she calmly answered as she stood up and walked across the room. “That's a good question indeed.” And she walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Now Oscar's anger started to really flare. He stepped toward the bedroom door where the moaning had stopped and then back to the front door to avoid confronting the dark haired woman that he wanted so much yet intensely feared, not knowing why. He paced in front of the front door a few times and blew up.

"Who in the hell are these people?” he yelled to an empty room. “And what do they want with me?” He'd become so upset that he didn't notice that the room wasn't empty anymore.

"My dear Oscar, calm down. Relax.” the man said quietly. He was leaning on the wall near the television stand, immaculately dressed in a black, three piece suit. “Please accept my deepest apologies for barging in on you in such a manner.”

He was taller than Oscar; well over six feet, had sandy brown hair and a mustache, and he had a small, dark goatee right in the center of his chin. On seeing the man for the first time, Oscar's `pig' eyes widened in fear and he backed up slowly to the door, his arms up for protection.

"And my girls do catch a body off guard.” the man continued, ignoring the fear in Oscar's face. “Samantha's a minx and loves to fuck on occasion. And sweet Laurel is a master of, …well… the finer things that women…, well the things that women do. You know.” He strolled over to the easy chair and picked up the nearly empty bottle of scotch off the floor.

"And being the type of people that we are, we sometimes forget that we must deal with swine like yourself, Oscar.” The man spoke in a very courteous tone of voice. He removed the cap of the bottle and sniffed it with a wrinkle to his large, pointed nose. “Do you people really still drink this noxious swill?”

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