'I believe in being thorough,' she told him. 'I've got everything I need to start writing. I have all the facts on Dorothy Baker and her son Mark, Mary Anne Overton and her son Brian, Jennifer Henderson and her son Jamie, Irma Thatcher and her son Michael, and Patricia Preston and her son Manley!'
'So I see,' said Findley. 'Unbelievable. I don't see how you managed to dig up this stuff all by yourself.'
'It wasn't easy,' Laura told him. 'But I know how.'
'That's obvious,' said Findley. 'Now I suppose you want to get started on putting all or most of this into a book?'
'That's what we agreed on,' said Laura.
Findley looked at her and shook his head.
Laura looked puzzled. 'What's wrong? Is there something there you have a question about?'
'This Jennifer Henderson and her son Jamie,' said Findley, going through a file folder of papers. 'Wife and son of Frank Henderson. You know who he is, of course?'
'W-what do you mean?' asked Laura.
'He has a fabulously successful book store in Tuttleville. He does a tremendous business in that whole area. We wholesale a huge volume of books to him. It would be a horrendous loss to this publishing company if he were to cut us off.'
'I don't understand,' said Laura.
'Well, what do you think he's going to do when we offer him your book, a book which gives the lowdown on his wife having sex with their teenage son?' Findley pointed out.
'Oh…' said Laura.
'He's going to sue us, of course,' said Findley. 'But whether he wins or loses, he'll never buy another book from us. We can kiss umpteen thousands of dollars goodbye right there.'
'I see,' said Laura, clearing her throat. 'Well, okay. We'll leave them out of the book. God knows we have plenty of others.'
Findley shifted in his seat as he looked at her. 'There's more. You've been researching the women and their sons. I've had a crew checking out their husbands. They aren't just plain working stiffs, or clerks in a store. These men are pretty powerful cookies. They have clout. Stanley Baker, for instance, has political connections. I don't mean little ones either. I mean he's in with the big boys, like you wouldn't believe, people who would be embarrassed if your book embarrassed Stanley. You get what I mean?'
'So far – yes.'
'And this Hugo Overton,' Findley went on. 'I shudder to think what he could do to us. His company, of which he's a major stockholder, controls the voting stock of Vitmar Enterprises, and that happens to be the controlling stockholder of this publishing company. Get the picture?'
'Oh my God!' Laura gasped.
'Now let's take a look at Charlie Bradner,' said Findley. 'What you've got written here about his wife Norma and their son Michael, would curl his hair if he was to read about it. It would make him get very nasty. His banking interests finance this publishing company's ventures. The bank in which he has a considerable clout, also holds the mortgage on my home and the lien on my yacht. What do you think of that?'
Laura did not look at all happy. Her air of confidence seemed to evaporate like the morning mist in the heat of the day. In its place was an appearance of obvious anxiety.
'Is there more?' she asked, almost fretfully.
'Just the fact that these women you mention here in your pile of facts and exposes, are all good friends of each other. You hurt one of them and the others will rise up in arms. You damage all of them and with the power and influence their husbands have, you'll pull the roof down around our ears. This book, if we went through with it, would no doubt wreck their homes and marriages, but they in turn would surely wreck us.'
'What are you saying then? What's the bottom line?' asked Laura.
'Just what our attorneys have told us – forget it!'
Laura looked stunned. For a moment she sat there and said nothing. Then finally she spoke in a quavering voice, 'All that work. All those months!'
'Down the drain,' Findley finished for her. He shrugged. 'That's the way the ball bounces. You haven't lost anything. You got a paycheck every week, against the royalties on the book. You lived pretty good on an expense account. It's our loss not yours!'
'I feel crushed,' said Laura.
Findley grinned at her. 'You'll get over it. So will we. It all comes off our income tax.'
'What now?' she managed to ask.
'First, this pile of garbage,' said Findley, motioning with his hand to the pile of papers she had covered his desk with, 'goes into the shredder, along with those pictures and the negatives. They are here, aren't they, somewhere?'
'In that brown envelope…'
He opened the envelope and withdrew the 8 x 10 prints that were in full color. He gazed a long time at the shot of Mary Anne Overton on her hands and knees, with her son Brian crouched behind her, shoving his prick up her ass. 'I'd love to keep these, for my personal collection. But I don't dare. I'd be afraid of them. They have to go.'
'What do I do now?' asked Laura.
'You mean about work? I'll have another assignment for you, one that won't get this publishing company in hot water. But that's for later. Right now you help me put all this stuff through the shredder. And don't miss anything. And if you have any more stuff, that you haven't brought in – get rid of it. Burn it!'
'I-It's all here. Everything.'
Findley grinned. 'Good. Then after we've taken care of this stuff, let's go to your place and fool around. Your husband isn't due back for another three days.'
What happened after they were at Laura's place, made that evening's TV news and was splattered all over the pages of the newspaper the next morning. When they entered the house, Laura and Findley headed straight up the stairs to her bedroom, took off their clothes and got onto the bed. The last thing they ever suspected was that her husband had arrived home three days early and instead of checking in with Findley's office right away, was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of coffee.
When he heard someone come in, Jerry was about to call out to Laura, then realized there was someone with her – a man. When he heard them go on upstairs and into her bedroom, he began to wonder what in hell was going on. He, too, went up the stairs, making no sound on the thickly carpeted stairs and hall floor. He got to the bedroom door just in time to see his naked wife and her employer – their employer – also naked, get onto the bed together and wrap their arms about each other.
Jerry was in no hurry. He watched while his anger came to a boil, and then just as Findley climbed on top of Laura and sent his long hard pecker up into her waiting pussy, he let out a cry that was that of a madman. He dived for the bed in one mighty lunge, grabbed the underside of it and heaved it upward. Laura and Findley toppled to the floor on the far side, with the bed, mattress and covers spilling on top of them. Laura's screams of fright mingled with Findley's cries of shock and near terror.
Frantically Laura's boss and lover fought his way out from under the covers and the mattress, to be met with a pile driving blow to his middle. He doubled over just as he was coming to his feet. Then a second hefty blow closed one of his eyes and broke his nose.
Laura sprang free of the debris and amid a blur of straining bodies, she was consumed with panic. Fearing she was about to get the same as Findley was getting, she dashed through the bedroom door and down the stairs. Close on her heels was Findley, who wrenched himself free of his attacker. Laura, thinking it was her irate husband breathing down her neck, flung open the front door and raced out into the street. Findley, seeing with his one good eye an avenue of escape, raced after her, both of them oblivious of the fact they were naked. Their headlong dash out the front door carried them down the steps, across the front lawn and almost into the path of a passing police cruiser. Laura's husband, on reaching the front door, slammed it shut and locked it.
A month later his harrowing escapade made him the laughing stock of the city, the brunt of all the barroom jokes, a favorite subject of nightclub comedians, Findley made the news again when his wife kicked off what was soon to be the messiest divorce trial the city had ever known. Reporters had a field day. It went on for months and when it was over, Findley's wife walked off with everything. By then Laura and her husband were also divorced. It
