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Subject: {ASSM} (New) Mo' and the thief (Part 1) (Mf, Voy, Mast, Slow) By Katzmarek
Date: Wed, 30 Oct 2002 23:10:02 -0500
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Disclaimer This series came from the recesses of my dark and squalid imagination and do not reflect the views of the author. They are for titillation and entertainment purposes only and you need to be of the required age etc. Further as I'm neither from the US nor the middle east I'm taking a risk with accuracy concerning those communities so if I have gotten names wrong or have erred concerning the culture please don't abuse me, I've done my best. Love The Katz
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Join Excite! - http://www.excite.com
The most personalized portal on the Web!<1st attachment, "Mo part1.doc" begin>
Mo' and the thief (Part 1) (Mf, Mast, Voy, Rom, Slow)
By Katzmarek
Mo' had seen the same images a hundred times. Like millions of
people across the globe, the sight of those planes slamming into
the twin towers would be forever etched in his mind.
Mo' knew right away that the perpetrators were from the middle
east. He hoped he was wrong. Hoping that some deranged types,
like the Oklahoma City bombers, totally unconnected to his sorry
homeland had been responsible. His parents had emigrated from
Lebanon before he was born in part to make a living, but also to
avoid the religious strife and silliness which had so bedogged
the place.
The middle eastern community in this medium-sized mid-western
city had turned inward upon itself. Moslems avoided as much as
possible public transport, drove rather than flew, and kept clear
of the authorities unless as much as possible. The harassment
was not long in coming. Mo' didn't blame them, even when the
F.B.I had visited his shop because, because he understood the
reason-sapping hysteria.
America had never had such an attack since Pearl Harbour and it's
people were traumatised. Shit, he was blitzed. What they didn't
understand, he mused, was that Arabs had taken this sort of hit
for generations and the world seemingly, had stood by. Still, he
thought nothing else to do but get on with life and keep your
head down.
Mo' ran a small but growing business. After business school he
had gone into partnership with his father in wholesaling business
supplying restaurants with middle eastern and Asian foods. He had
then found there was a demand among the increasingly affluent
ethnic community for his their supplies so he had opened a
delicatessen to cater for the public. This part of the business
had grown sufficiently for him to employ more staff. He liked to
have Lebanese work his shop, mostly sons and daughters of his
customers. They worked hard, were punctual, and he believed he
was helping his community, as well as his business.
He had 5 or 6 girls who regularly worked shifts in the shop. They
were honest and clean and the customers liked them, that was the
important thing.
In his thirties, Mo' had never married despite his mother putting
up candidates. He was westernised to the extent that he wanted to
do his own picking when it came to that.
"But Mohammed", she would say. Only his parents used his full
name. " That young Khoulouri girl would be just right for you".
In exasperation she had turned to his younger brother for which
he was grateful.
Not that he was against marriage, he just hadn't found the right
one, and, he thought to himself, all the candidates were a bit
over the hill for his taste.
Mo' liked the fresh young things. He had secretly fancied a few
of the girls he'd hired but alas he had to keep them strictly
off-limits. In his community, everyone knew everyone else and
most of the teenagers were connected to his customers in some
way. Although most of them were more or less westernised when it
came to morals, most of the families would take a very dim view
if he bedded any of them.
It's not that he wasn't desirable. He was reasonably good
looking, slim with pale olive skin. He was also quite well to do
and managed his money carefully. He owned his own home,
overlooking the river, which he had designed himself, with the
help of an architect. Middle- eastern style, it featured a
central courtyard set in an acre of gardens in a very desirable
part of town.
Life was good except for a recent discovery. Somebody was
stealing his takings. Not large amounts, but a steady dribble of
money was disappearing from the till. He knew it must be one of
the girls but could not track down the culprit. He had tracked
the disappearances down to two. Shari was a slim 16 year old of
olive complexion. She had beautiful mediterranean features, dark
eyes, dark hair, and seductive smile. She was the daughter of a
good customer of his and his family had known hers since they had
arrived in the country together. She was saving for college and
her family had been very grateful to him for taking her on.
She was quite protected by her family and they would only let her
work with someone they could trust. And they could trust Mo'.
Even though he lusted after her he had never laid a hand onher.
The other candidate was Shaki. She was a busty confident young
woman, very westernised, of about twenty. She often had a button
or two of her blouse undone giving the punters a glimpse of her
fruits. She bantered with them, shared a rude joke, while keeping
them at arms length. She was an asset.
They made his afternoon. Shari with her demure good looks, Shaki
with her upfront approach. He couldn't decide who he fancied the
most.
And now it was all turning to custard and he felt the anger
welling up. He would have to fire one of them but the
repercussions would go beyond that. One family would be shamed,
beyond words, one girl would have her life ruined by the scandal.
Mo' was facing the hardest decision of his life he thought as,
trembling with rage, he watched the security camera being
installed. He hated the whole business. The paranoia, the
betrayal, and the damned expense of the camera necessary to
protect his business. Soon he would get the whole sorry affair
over with and could get on with the rest of his life.
He had no idea how he was going to handle this. The camera had
clearly showed the culprit palming a twenty and later slipping it
into her purse below the counter. Fuck it!, he had trusted her,
protected her, even ran her home in his car to protect her from
public abuse on the city bus. He'd got drunk with her brothers,
bounced her on his knee when she was a baby and he was, what?,
17?. He had tried to do what was right and good in giving the
damn girl a job and she'd shit on him. He'd thought of putting
her over his knee, pulling down her pants and giving her arse a
good warming. But, of course he couldn't, even though the thought
quite appealed to him, she would have to go. He didn't want to
call the police, he would receive no thanks from anybody, but he
would have to go carefully so as to minimise the stink as much as
possible.
"Shari, would you stay behind today, I want to have a little
talk?", Mo' said with a heavy heart.
<1st attachment end>
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