Elgin’s Trial
By Mr. J.
Chapter XIV: Mistletoe Blues
Tracy sips her eggnog slowly and watches Frank shake hands as he mingles through the crowd. His whiter than snow teeth gleam as he makes the way through, outshining most of the employees and guests in the sprawling cafeteria With his rugged good looks and slick charm, it is difficult to believe this is the same man who turned one of his chief scientists into a whore and nearly got Tracy’s best friend as well. How he could carry on and still retain a loving wife and family on the side is one of life’s mysteries.
In truth, there is little to understand, and Tracy is in no mood to. At least she’s dressed for the occasion—a plain white blouse and pencil thin skirt, with a Santa cap thrown in for good measure. Hopefully the office slut-cum-Santa’s-horny helper get up will satiate his libidinous tastes enough to keep his mind from wandering towards other things—namely, that she is on to his dangerous game. The good news is that it shouldn’t be that hard, not with the help of her trusty earrings.
Still, she can’t help take her eyes off him. It’s a mixture of attraction and repulsion, with a fair bit of eroticism thrown in. She reckons it’s the same appeal that gangsters, spies and serial killers possess. She’s played with fire herself more than a few times over the years. The thrill of being close enough to feel the heat but not be burned is fraught with its own difficulties.
Not many women can pull it off, though.
“Hey lonesome!” Frank calls to her. “What are you so glum for? Join the party!”
“Sorry.” Tracy feigns tiredness. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“What do you have to apologize for? It’s Christmas!”
“Technically, that isn’t until next week.”
“Such a Debbie Downer.” Frank motions her towards him. “C’mon. Live a little.”
“Alright, if you insist.”
Tracy strides toward him, accenting her legs and torso as she walks. She flashes a smile and flanks his side, putting up a front while legions of mostly male co-workers she’s never met before smile back. Do they think she’s his mistress? Girlfriend? Slave?
Probably all of the above.
“To Tracy Elgin.” He raises his mug in a toast. “The best employee Divinex has ever had.”
As her co-workers toast her in kind, she can’t help but imagine how much he’ll come to rue those words soon. She glares at him in mock anger as he pinches her ass, unable to care much about it. It could be the alcohol, but she finds his rogue charm adorable, in a dreamy sort of way. It’s not hard to see why anyone would be enamored of him.
Then again, most people aren’t under the influence of mind control. The irony isn’t lost on her. She pulls away from him and excuses herself. She ducks into the bathroom, splashing water on her face as she struggles to reconcile the reflection in the mirror with the person who graced Frank’s presence just a few minutes ago. The shrill ringing of her phone snaps her back into reality. She fumbles inside her purse, missing the call by seconds. She glances at the screen. She quickly redials the number and breathes in deeply.
“Tracy?”
“Suzy? It’s me. I’m taking a short break right now. Is there something you need to talk about?”
“What happened to Joanie?”
Oh, shit.
“To tell the truth, it’s kind of complicated...”
“Is she hurt? I hope she’s okay.”
Here goes.
“She’s dead, Suzy.” Tracy slurs. “I should have told you earlier, but I can’t get into the details right now. Look, someone’s knocking at the door. I’ll be in touch soon. I promise, okay?”
She opens the door to reveal Rose, clearly concerned despite her festive holiday attire. She casts her eyes forlornly towards the ground. Despite not having seen her in weeks, Tracy does not know if she’s ever seen a more pathetic person in her entire life.
“Something wrong?”
“I’ve been sent to check on you, ma’am.” Rose stammers. “Boss’s orders.”
“Tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
As Tracy turns on her heels, an idea takes hold of her mind.
“Rose?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Gathering her senses, she follows closely behind the intern, focusing on the party rather than her problems. Her insides are a mess, but one would never think it looking at the flush, radiant woman sucking air out the room as she walks. She glides through the exchange of presents effortlessly, accepting the ribald, silly White Elephant gifts with no apparent care in the world. As the partygoers thin out, Frank blindfolds her and leads her through a corridor.
“Where are you taking me/”
“Holiday surprise.”
“I don’t like the feel of this.”
“Shh.” He admonishes her. “Just trust me.”
Tracy’s stomach gurgles as she imagines herself strapped to a chair, I.V. hooked to her arm as subliminal messages of obedience play on a mounted television set. Matt was right to warn her in the beginning, but did she listen? Hell no.
The blindfold falls away to reveal a small sample of mistletoe hanging gently over the doorway of his office. She is both surprised, yet admiring of her boss’s fortitude. She turns to face him, not sure whether to hit him or kiss him.
“Please forgive my hesitation.” Frank fidgets with the lapel of his coat. “I haven’t done it in years.”
“Don’t knock yourself. I think it’s sweet.”
Frank lowers his eyes toward the ground.
“So are you going to kiss me or not?” Tracy asks.
“I’m not sure I should.”
“Well why not?”
“I’ve been giving some thought to what you said about taking it slow, and you’re right. We should take it slow. It’s just that haven’t felt like this, certainly since high school. Trust me it’s not easy.”
“It’s Christmas.” Tracy admonishes Frank. “I think the rules can be suspended during Christmas.”
“Thank you, but I feel like I should respect our boundaries. Not until we get to know each other a little better.”
“Let me make it easy for you.”
Leaning into him, she plants a kiss on Frank’s forehead. His skin turns cherry red as the giddiness goes to his brain. He pulls her into an embrace, yet just as quickly he pulls away, feeling endangered by the feelings spreading towards his loins. Tracy gazes confusedly into his eyes.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I’m not sure that was the right call.” Frank confesses.
“What?”
“I mean, you’re half my age and I’m over the hill. But these feelings I have for you...I just don’t know what to do with them.”
Tracy stops him.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Have you ever had these feelings before with someone else?”
“If you’re asking if I’ve had sex, the answer is an unequivocal yes.”
Tracy rolls her eyes.
“I mean romantically, like we’re having right now.”
“Only with my ex-wife, and she’s gone.”
“Time for you to forget about the past.”
“What do you me—?”
Before Frank can muster a response Tracy pulls him towards her, lips coming together in a sensual display. Tongues wrap around each other as their eyes flutter, swapping saliva, neither of them speaking as they venture into his office, stripping off pants, blouses, and bras in the heat of passion.
Frank bends her over the desk, massaging her shoulders and lower back as he arms travel down her backside, kneading her ass. Tracy moans. He presses his erect member against her, testing the waters to see if the minx will bite.
“No,” Tracy turns around. “I want you on top.”
“Are you sure?” He pauses. “What if you get pregnant?”
“I won’t. She breathlessly assures him.
“What about your earrings?”
“Don’t worry about them.”
“Well if you insist...”
Frank probes her gently, pushing against the walls of her womanhood. To his surprise he slips in nicely, though the opening is tighter than he ever imagined. He gyrates in a slow, rhythmic fashion, glancing every so often at his lover’s emerald eyes.
“It’s like a vase down there.”
“What’d you expect, a catcher’s mitt?”
“No. I mean, you’re tighter than I thought.”
“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean...”
Tracy sighs.
“I can see this is off to a good start.”
Frank ignores the comment.
“I’m not hurting you are I?” He asks as he speeds up the tempo.
“Don’t talk.” She admonishes him. “Just get it over with before I change my mind.”
His grinding becomes more rapid as he thrusts into her, in, out, in, in out. Tracy’s breaths become more labored as he plunges deeper into her. Her legs jut in the air as he drives home. Beads of sweat roll down her cheeks as he continues, driving her mad with lust.
“OH GOD!” She climaxes.
Tracy lies on the table in a heap, panting heavily as Frank looks on. It takes her several more moments to regain her composure, but as she pushes him aside, she can barely believe a man that advanced in years can still make a girl scream.
“I guess I’ll see you next Monday?” She asks as she slips back into her pants and blouse.
Frank nods.
As she drives home, it occurs to her that a line has been crossed. But she doesn’t give it much thought.
—30—XVI: Divine Intervention
“Damn it!” Tracy whispers as her behemoth of a PC mocks her while she attempts to gain entry into the encrypted folder on the screen. She grumbles into a Sterno of stale coffee and starts typing the password over again in a pyrrhic effort to access it. Those jerks in I.T. really know how to piss people off. If she wasn’t eager to go on a shooting rampage before, she is now.
She glances through the frosted office window at the cars zipping along the street below. What she’d give for an opportunity to recline in her hand me down chair and finish her novel, pausing only to sip eggnog from her favorite mug. As it is, it’s she who volunteered to stay behind and catch up on work while the reindeers went off to play their games. Oh, the sacrifices one has to make to preserve their cover.
Every so often she looks over her shoulder. She knows there are cameras in all the halls of the complex, but personal offices? The thought of being videotaped makes her sick. Then again, this is Divinex. Even if Frank knows, she doubts he’ll mind. He thinks she’s on his side, after all.
She thinks back to the encounter at the mall. It’s impossible that the fake Santa isn’t him. It had all his hallmarks—power, depravity, the need for a captive audience. Cass confirmed as much. It’s bad enough that Tracy more or less offered herself up to him, but the idea of him luring her best friend into the fold—it sickens her. And now there is a good possibility he may be expanding his interests elsewhere.
Yet the notion of sitting in his lap that day—letting his hands explore her body—is hard to forget. She can’t account for the latent desire to be a part of him, to be controlled by him. It must’ve been something in the air—it’s hard to say really. But she knows more than anyone how close she came to giving it all up. She is dangerously close to the edge, and she knows it.
Hopefully Matt will get his story wrapped up after New Year’s, the contracts will dry up and Frank and his cronies will be exposed for the lying, sick perverts they are. She prays the next ten years of his life will be spent shuffling from courtroom to courtroom and hearing to hearing, journalists chasing him down as he’s forced to explain why he used government money to fund his pimping business. That would be a fitting capstone to his legacy.
The screen flickers, and the program shuts down yet again. She shuts down the computer and reboots it again, running the anti-virus program in safe-mode. Even an evil corporate conglomerate is no stranger to bugs in the mainframe—she assumes whatever infected it got on accidentally. It sure wasn’t her.
On the seventh try, she successfully logs on to Divinex’s internal network. Using the admin password Frank provided. A flurry of subfolders and documents assault her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she spies a file, entitled simply ‘PAYROL’. Whoever titled it is definitely not the literate type.
Her eyes bulge at the row of six digit numbers, cascading down the screen. 001, 011, 019, 021...all crossed referenced with names and addresses of actual people. Rich, poor, black white...they read like a cross-section of the city. There are even a few middle-aged people in the bunch. But one number in particular stands out among the rest.
She glances at the bold letters in front of her. 023980. Tracy recalls the image of the bald woman from the dossier. It has to be the same person. There’s no other possibility. But even her incredulity cannot prepare her for the earth shattering revelation moments as she discovers that 023980 isn’t just any ordinary woman....
She’s Jill St. John. Jill the whistleblower—the one that she read about in the news, the one Joanie told her about. Frank must’ve gotten wind of her plan and got to her before she could do anything But how did she end up as a bunch of numbers? Why didn’t he just kill her?
There’s more to this than meets the eye. Tracy saves the document to her thumb drive and phones Matt.
“Uggh.” He groans. “Who is this? Whatever you have to sell me, I’m telling you I’m not interested.”
“Matt, are you drunk?”
“Jesus, Tracy, its 11 P.M, couldn’t we talk about this in the morning?”
“Matt, I just stumbled on something that might speed along your investigation.”
“Is it a smoking gun?”
“Meet me next Saturday at seven. McSweeney’s.”
“Hang on let me right this do—”
Click.