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Message-ID: <42481asstr$1053072606@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [079/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Fri, 16 May 2003 04:10:06 -0400
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Author's Shortened Preface:
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In the interests of reducing bandwidth the full preface is now 
available at:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

I would encourage you to read it at least once. If you ignore
the full preface and end up offended, you have nobody to blame but
yourself. Caveat emptor. The really important bits:

This is a work of erotic fiction. As such there may be scenes with
nudity, sex, and even questionable non-consensual bondage. If you
are a minor, or you are irresponsible at any age, you shouldn't be
reading this -- find somewhere else to play. I won't be offended.
If you are looking for a quick stroke story, this probably isn't
it. For a piece of writing of 157 chapters, there is remarkably
little sex. You've been warned. Twice.

This is an original work, copyrighted by the author, Crimson Dragon.
Please do not use it as if it were your own. Enjoy the writing, but
do not archive or sell it in any manner without my written
permission. I'm easy to contact if you wish to redistribute my
words.

Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy hearing from people reading any of my
stories. Feel free to contact me with raves, rants, encouragement or
dissertation (note the lack of invitation for spam). I do try to
reply to all who are kind enough to drop me a note.

Now, if you are still with me, onto the story,
 - Crimson
   (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

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Dawn of Time - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

Chapter 79

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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"You don't know how much trouble you're in," she said with an edge
of fear permeating her voice.

He shrugged, and pushed himself slowly to his feet. His head
obscured the watercolour hanging on the wall behind him. His hand
held the pistol swinging easily at his side. Her eyes never left it.

"I'll scream, and security will be all over you," she said.

"If you really believed that, you'd be screaming."

She bit her lip, backing up until her back touched the office door
behind her.

"They'd come, but you might shoot me before they did."

He sighed, and twirled the gun lazily. Her eyes followed every
movement of it.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice emerging as a whisper. Her
eyes left the gun to dart left and right down the hallway. Nowhere
to run, and nobody walking up the hallway to help her. "Money? You
can have whatever I have in my purse. It's in the office, if you'll
let me open the door."

"I want to know who you are," he said.

She turned her eyes back to him. He was tall, but otherwise normal.

"You don't know who I am?"

He shook his head. The gun bobbed, but suddenly it was aimed at her.
Her heart jumped in her throat.

"I'll scream anyway."

He sighed. "You might as well try it. It won't help you."

"You won't shoot me?"

She regarded him with the look she might a guilty client, trying to
determine his state of stability. Her throat closed, only a squeak
emerging.

"You can't yell louder than that?"

And she did, her voice strangely not echoing up the corridor. The
scream was featureless, no words, only an unusual sound in an
office, attempting to get anyone's attention.

As the sound of her voice died, the office remained eerily silent.
She glanced up the hallway, but no patter of saving feet, or shouts
of security, rounded the blind corners.

She turned to look at him, puzzlement on her face. He had known,
somehow, that screaming wouldn't get him caught.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"First, I want to know who you are. Is this your office?"

She nodded, afraid to lie.

"M. Pelletier. Michelle? Mandy?"

"Monique," she supplied, moving slightly to the left.

His eyes followed her, the gun unwavering from her torso.

He leaned back against the opposite wall, and lowered the gun.

"Trust me, Monique, the gun works, and is loaded."

She nodded, fear still evident in her eyes and stance.

"The big office, down through the maze ... whose is it?"

She looked startled for a moment, then regained a sense of
stability.

"Old man Blake's office? I just came from there. Are you here to rob
him?"

"Rob him?" The gunman laughed. "Why would I need to rob him."

Monique shrugged. "Why else would you need to walk in here with a
gun?"

"Why were you in the big man's office?" he asked her.

"He was giving me a case. I'm a lawyer. He's going to promote me.
But what does this have to do with you holding a gun on me?"

Instead of answering her, he motioned her back the way he'd come.
She lifted her hands, like in the movies, and walked ahead of him.

"You look ridiculous, Monique."

"You're holding a gun on me, what did you expect?" she said. She
walked slowly in front of him, not making any threatening moves, or
trying to look back.

"You can put your hands down. I doubt if you have a weapon on you,
and even if you did, it wouldn't help you."

Monique slowly lowered her hands to her sides without stopping. They
passed the oaken doors leading to the lobby. The girls outside were
quiet, and Monique walked by oblivious to the two naked girls on the
other side of the door.

"Where are we going?" she asked him.

"To pay a visit to Mr. Blake," he replied quietly.

                         <---===***===--->

She stood with her back against the wall beside the door, shivering.
The two men, Blake and Johnson, sat at the older man's desk intently
regarding the phone placed on the desk surface between them.

The gunman walked up to the desk, beside where Johnson was sitting,
and leaned forward, hands braced on the front of the desk to either
side of Blake's nameplate.

"Allah-kazam," the gunman whispered.

Surprised, Blake looked up at the man who had suddenly appeared
leaning against his desk uninvited.

His eyes flitted to Monique, and then to the tall man's hands, one
of which held the pistol against the desk. Monique tried to signal
the old man with her eyes, but he ignored her, instead facing the
gunman. His voice emerged with the waver of age, but not with fear.

"Young man, I don't know why you are here, or how you got here, but
it seems rather uncivilised to be towering over an old man holding a
pistol. Why don't you have a seat?"

Blake glanced at Johnson, a puzzled look gracing his features for a
moment. Then with a shrug, he seemed to accept that Johnson was
frozen, and continued with the conversation.

The gunman continued to stand.

"I'll talk to you the way you are, but you'd be more comfortable in
a chair. We are civilised here, are we not?"

The gunman regarded the old man almost suspiciously, but slowly
lowered himself into the far chair in front of the desk.

"That's better, my young man," the older man said. He leaned back
into the chair, apparently unafraid of the weapon still pointed at
him. "You might offer Miss Pelletier a seat, as well."

He turned towards the girl, and said, "Monique, if you want, you can
sit on the floor."

"That isn't exactly what I meant," Blake said, but as the woman
slipped to the floor, he shrugged and turned back towards the
gunman.

The gunman spoke slowly. "You aren't afraid."

The older man smiled, and tucked his hands behind his neck.

"Young man, I've seen guns before, and I've faced death before.
I've lived my life, and though I really don't understand the
necessity of threats, or scaring my staff, I accept that you think
it is necessary. I also do not wish to die today. The safety is off
that toy gun you're waving around, and though I'm sure that it is
loaded, and you know how to fire it, I would prefer if you'd lower
it. Neither I, nor Miss Pelletier, nor our frozen friend here is a
threat to you."

The gunman lowered the gun, placing it across his jeans.

"All right."

"There doesn't need to be bloodshed here," Blake continued, "The
wall safe is behind that picture." He pointed a hand that shook more
with age than fright, at another watercolour near a bookshelf. "The
combination is rather complex, but I can open it for you, or
describe how you might open it yourself."

The gunman smiled, and leaned back into the plushness of the chair.
He crossed his arms over his chest.

"There is in excess of one hundred thousand dollars in there. If
you'd like, I can easily provide more through unbrokered accounts."

"What makes you think that I want your money?" the gunman said
quietly.

Blake looked taken aback for a moment, but then his eyes grew more
insightful.

"I see," he said in the same calm voice he'd been using so far. "It
cannot be me that you wish." His eyes flit over to Monique hugging
her knees and sitting by the doorway. "What will it take to free
her?"

"You're smart," the gunman said.

"Young man, I didn't survive wars with stupidity."

"I wouldn't suggest that, sir."

"What will it take?"

"Take?"

"To free Miss Pelletier from your clutches. What is it that you
want, if not money. Information? Favours? Extortion?"

The gunman laughed. "I'll let her go when I'm ready. You
misunderstand me."

"I see. I cannot claim to understand what is going on here, or why
you are sitting in my office with a weapon that can only be used to
kill. And I suspect that the argument of legal ramifications would
be ... useless to you. You are aware of where you tread."

The gunman nodded. Blake closed his mouth as the gunman leaned over
the arm of the chair and gathered something from the pack beside
him. A pair of handcuffs gleamed in the afternoon sun. Blake didn't
seem surprised.

Without turning, the gunman spoke.

"Monique?"

"Y-y-yes ..." she stammered.

"I'd like for you to handcuff Mr. Blake. Not tightly, but securely,
so that he cannot cause me any trouble."

"I won't," Monique said clearly from her seated position next to the
door.

He turned, and aimed the weapon at the girl, who shielded her face,
and turned away, stiff.

Blake's voice called from behind the desk.

"Young man, there really is no need to bind me. I'm far too old for
heroics."

He ignored the old man, and called again. "Monique? Last chance.
Mr. Blake over here isn't correct. This isn't only a weapon designed
to kill. It can also maim." Without turning to face him, he
addressed Blake. "Sir? Have you ever seen a bullet wound? One
placed in a shoulder? A kneecap? An elbow?"

Blake grimaced, and bit at his lower lip. "I've seen warfare, yes."
After a moment, he inhaled slowly. "Miss Pelletier? Such things are
never pleasant. And though I would endure them gladly, I fear that
you would never walk again, and you are young. I have seen this
man's type before. He would shoot you, and not pleasantly -- though
more from ignorance, I fear, than intent."

The gunman turned to face Blake who continued to speak.

"Have you ever shot a person before, young man?"

"I haven't needed to. Yet."

"I imagine not," Blake said quietly. "You have never seen someone
gut shot, or even shot in the leg, have you?"

The gunman shook his head again.

"You would not be threatening that pretty creature over there with
it if you had. But I do not wish for her to suffer to satisfy your
curiosity. If you wish me bound, I will gladly submit. I thought
that I had made that clear. You do not require to restrain me. I am
no threat to you, or your plans, but if you wish it, I will allow it
without fight."

"I won't handcuff him," Monique said defiantly from the floor.

"Miss Pelletier, you will have a wonderful life. Such
inconsequentials are not worth harm to you. I willingly will allow
it, and I don't mind. Let him bind me, through you. Miss Pelletier?"

The girl looked up, and slowly shook her head. She was fighting back
tears evident upon her eyelids.

"Miss Pelletier. It is not worth the consequences."

Slowly, she stood. The tears disappeared, replaced by a modicum of
hate, or rage. Either may have been represented by her features.

She stepped forward and snatched the chrome from his fingertips.
The ratchet clicked, and Blake's hands were immobilised behind his
back.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

He nodded, and she stalked back to where she'd been bade sit. She
settled back to the floor, turning away from the scene in front of
her.

Blake pulled on the bonds for a moment. "Undignified, but secure,"
he said. "Now you have nothing to fear from me."

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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