I know what you’ve been doing. $100,000 to keep my mouth shut. You have until noon on Friday. Unmarked bills in a blue travel case and place it on the bench in the park where you eat lunch. I’m watching.

The words were glaring at me from my laptop screen. My heart was racing and I could feel it pounding in my chest. Someone knows! I closed the laptop and looked around, paranoid that every set of eyes was on me. I had to think straight. Friday is two days away and I don’t have much time. I simply couldn’t let anyone find out what I had been doing. I gathered my things, told my secretary that I suddenly felt ill, and left the bank where I had been a senior loan officer for the past five years.

Once at home I could think a little clearer. Who was this person? The email address was our bank address but a user name I didn’t recognize. It had to be someone in the bank, but who? I opened my laptop to the message and hit the reply button. The message disappeared! Then the computer pinged and I saw a new message from the same sender. I immediately opened it to read: I’m still watching you. Got the money stashed at home? I was stunned. This person really was watching me. I couldn’t think of any ingenious way out of this mess other than to pay. And that meant stealing more money from the bank. I wanted to stop the stealing…one big win at the casino and I’d be able to pay the money back with no one the wiser. I had a cashier’s check in my purse for $15,000 from the last fictitious loan I’d made to myself. I’d go to the casino tonight to see if I could win the money to pay off this person and if not, then I’d take care of it tomorrow at the bank. I felt a little better now because at least I had a plan.

I went to a tawdry little casino on the outskirts of town. I needed a big win tonight so I decided to play poker. I walked in and sat down at a high stakes Texas Hold ‘Em table with four men. After a few hours, I had about $70,000 and the pots and stakes were getting bigger. I needed more money. It was 4:00 am and I had to be at work in just three hours. Then I was dealt the hand that I knew would change my life. My hole cards were the 9 and 10 of spades. The flop showed the 8 and Jack of spades along with the Ace of Clubs. I had a straight flush going and I bet big. Everyone folded but one. The turn card was the 5 of hearts. No help for me, but I bet big again. The pot was now over $120,000. I held my breath as the dealer turned the river card – the Queen of Clubs. Well, I still had a Queen high straight, and I moved all my chips to the center of the table. My competitor saw the greed and desperation in my eyes as he called my bet. I focused on the large pile of chips as I turned over my cards to reveal my straight. He turned over his to reveal an Ace high flush. I’d lost it all.

I drove straight to work knowing what I had to do. My scheme involved several fictitious companies that I had invented and I periodically made loans to them that were small enough not to cause any attention. Often, I had to make loans simply to pay the interest on some of the other loans I had made so none of them would show as delinquent. I had a spreadsheet that helped me keep track of everything. Today, I would need to make several loans totaling $100,000, do all the required paperwork, and cash the proceeds checks.

I went to work on Friday, nervous and scared. At 11:45 a.m., I left for lunch and went to the park. I left the bag under the bench where I always sat and returned to my car. When I looked back, the bag was gone.

Returning to work I felt somewhat relieved, yet still anxious. I opened my email and there was a message that simply read: Thank you. You’ll never see or hear from me again. Magically, the message disappeared from my screen.

I resolved that the gambling had to stop. I couldn’t live like this anymore, scared and paranoid. The hours crawled by and at 3:00 we were getting ready to close the doors when five men in dark suits came in and went straight to the President’s office. Everyone was watching and whispering, including me. Soon, all the men came out, with the president of the bank, and started walking toward me. The president said to me, “Miss Tate, these gentlemen are bank examiners along with a federal marshal. They are here to arrest you for embezzlement of bank funds. The marshal read my rights and placed me in handcuffs. As we were walking out, I scanned the crowd that was watching me in bewilderment. There, in the back, was the geeky little computer guy with the inch thick glasses mockingly smiling at me. He winked.

Mikal checked his email again. It was still there. He knew that chick from the bar was too good to be true. He was fairly certain that her age was somewhere between what she had told him and what they were claiming in their email. The picture wasn't the best quality, but it was hard to mistake that bar code across his butt. He'd thought it was funny at the time.

The big man sat staring at the computer screen tapping his teeth. He actually wished it was a better picture. His fuzzy memories suggested that she was cuter than he could make out in the pixelated mess on his screen. He typed quickly.

Don't recognize the girl. I need better quality pictures, preferably from a better angle. All I can see is my butt.

He went and got himself a beer while he waited for the reply. It took most of a six pack before his computer chimed.

The picture was much better this time, and he could see the girl clearly. She wasn't as cute as he remembered. Definitely not worth what it was the blackmailers wanted.

Let me think about it. You got any pictures of cuter girls?

While he waited, Mikal rolled a joint and put the best picture up on photoshop. He began playing with it until he thought he had a picture of a girl that might be worth the trouble.

You want to set me up with a chick. This is what I want.

The next email came back asking him what he thought he was doing. They were serious. He did the job or they would sent the pics to the cops. He would do more years that she was old. They sent more pictures too. They were much sharper and the chickie looked a lot younger.

Mikal looked from his photoshopped pictures to the newest pics on his screen. He smiled. This was going to be fun. He got another beer from the fridge and got to work after emailing back that they'd got him and would do what they asked.

The meet was in the park under a footbridge that was a favourite spot for the local taggers. He had twenty four hours to get his gear together and sober up. Mikal couldn't understand why they thought he was drunk. He cracked another beer while he fired off an email to a friend of his. He printed a stack of pictures then carefully erased all the files except for the ones he left as email attachments. When he was done he set his drive to optimizing and went to bed.

*****

Mikal woke late in the morning. He had the fridge door open with the beer in his hand before he remembered the email. He tried to recall the brilliant plan that he had come up with last night. Nothing. Looking wistfully at the beer he put it back in the fridge and went to his desk.

The sticky note on the screen just said “Go wth th flow. I's all set.” At least that's what he thought it said. He hoped his plan was better than his handwriting. He went out for lunch since all he had in the house was beer.

Evening finally came and Mikal picked up his gear, already packed and headed for the meet.

The first thing he noticed as he walked across the park was the new graffiti on the bridge. It was a larger than life size picture of his backside complete with bar code. There was a young woman waiting for him.

He peered at her for a moment then grinned. “I know you! You're cuter with you clothes on.” Her jaw clenched and he thought he heard teeth grinding.

“This way.” She led him under the bridge to where two men were waiting.

“What's with the artwork?” one asked.

“Taggers,” Mikal said, “Who knows what's in their heads.”

“Can we get down to business here?” the girl said.

“Sure thing,” Mikal said, “Pictures first.”

“Here you are,” she held a brown envelope, “Eight by ten glossies just as you asked.” Mikal took the envelope and stashed it in his bag. “You get the SD card after the job.”

“Here are the plans of the house you are going to rob and a list --”

“EVERYBODY FREEZE!” the cops came over the bridge on ropes while half the people in the park ran toward them. The other half ran away.

*******

“So they were trying to blackmail you with fake pictures?” the detective asked.

“Yeap, they wanted me to break into some house for them.”

“And these are the pictures?” he spread them across the table. “The tattoo is convincing and she is under age.”

“You saw the tag at the bridge. I got peeved at some boarders last week and mooned them. They put my butt up on display. Anyone could take code and put it on a picture.” He pointed to the other pile. “Those are just as convincing and you saw the emails."

“Right,” the detective looked at the pictures of celebrities with bar codes tattoo in unfortunate places, “And you did call us in. You're free to go. Just be careful.”

“You got that right. I'll never be able to show my butt in public again.”

I closed my eyes and listened through the pain to the roar of the Commodore’s engine as my brother and his mates speed away into the night. Part of me still wanted to warn her somehow. The same part of me that still wanted to believe that she was still the sweet, caring Becky I knew. That wanted to forget the disgust on her face as I lay in the dirt covered in blood and spit. That wished I’d never met her . . .

***

It was never meant to turn out like this. She was perfect. We met online, but it didn’t take long ‘til we were real close; at that time in my life I felt like she was the only person who’d really listen to me. I could tell her anything, stuff I couldn’t even talk to my best mates about and she’d understand. She said I “had depth”. Said she loved how I was strong and sensitive at the same time. Said she thought country boys were hot. And she sent me pictures. Oh god, the pictures that girl sent . . . ! Seriously, how could any guy resist that? She was perfect.

And then she came to visit one day. I was so nervous I turned up two hours early at the depot in case her coach got in early. It didn’t, but it didn’t matter: ~~BeC20~~ was even more amazing in the flesh as Becky. She was unbelievable. We held hands and I took her out to the one Chinese restaurant in town and she played with my legs under the table all through the meal. Later that night back in my room, her nails running down my back, she whispered: “Hey, I have a really wild idea. You wanna video tape it this time? Being on film really turns me on . . .”

It wasn’t until the next weekend when she was coming to visit again that I found out that Becky wasn’t 20 year-old Becky, but a girl named Kyra. It wasn’t until a whole week later, when I told her my parents were going on holiday and we’d be alone that I found out she had a boyfriend and that they had constructed “Becky” as bait. It wasn’t until after I’d cleaned the house and spent all day trying to work out how to cook a roast that I found out they had the video. That they knew I had the photos. That they knew she was only 16. And if I didn’t have $1,000 to give them within a week, the police would know too.

How was I meant to explain to my parents where the Playstation had gone? Or my iPod? Or how $500 went missing from Mum’s account . . .

That Friday night I waited at the empty block behind the Kenworth yard, kicking at the clumps of dried weeds in the red dust as I watched the main road from behind the shadows of shiny new truck cabs for sale. I had $1,000 in my pocket and a whole lot of fear to go with it. Bring the money and everything would be cool, they said - as the two cars screeched to a halt in front of me and eight guys with cricket bats and crowbars got out, I knew nothing was cool at all. They wanted another $5,000, and they didn’t like it when I told them no way.

When I came to, I could see eight pairs of shoes in the distance and one pair of high heels walking through the dirt towards me. Crouching down, Becky – Kyra – watched me for a moment: her face was blurry, but I could see her studying me as I started lose consciousness again. The last thing I remember is the look of disgust before she spat in my face and strode off, the sound of screeching tyres following soon after.

***

It was my brother who found me. Took me back to his place, cleaned me up. Said I better tell him what was going on or he’d do the same to me again. Said no one was going to treat his little bro like that. “You know where they live?” he asked me as we sat in his shed, him mopping my face with a cotton bud. The bowl of hot water had long since turned a shade of watery-red and one of my teeth swished back and forth at the bottom.

“Not sure exactly. Maybe St. Albans. Somewhere on the west side of the city, anyway.” One of my eyes had fused shut and I couldn’t feel half my face but my head and body ached all over. I just wanted to lie down and for all this to go away.

“No matter. I’ll find them,” he said absently as he brought a glass of water to my lips. But I could barely hear him over the roaring in my ears, and I felt my body pitch below me as the world turned dark again.

This time, I woke lying on the sofa bed in my brother’s living room. Outside I could hear voices and car doors slamming. “You know where we’re going?” I heard my brother say. “Good. Right, let's roll, boys, and remember: the gun's just for show . . . "

Seventeen million. That’s all the email said and all it needed to say. Seventeen million was simply the answer to the inevitable question that arose in my head two minutes ago. Just under four minutes ago I received an email from the same sender. It was a video. It was THE video. Even as I sat there staring at the computer screen with $17 mil. on it, the video was playing in the background. The b*****d had given me just enough time to realize what I was watching before sending the demand for the amount. At first I hadn’t even realized it was me I was looking at. The funny thing was, I’d been lying to the police about my wife’s disappearance so often and so well the past few days that I actually thought for a brief moment that this was a kidnapping video. Nevertheless, the question remained the same. How much?

No sooner than the thought entered my head, the second email arrived. I had no doubt in my mind that he would time the next email as he had this one. I turned off the video. I already knew how that one ended. The shrieks of my dying wife coming from the speakers stopped, giving me some comfort, but not much. I stared out the window at the twilight’s reflection off the lake aside which the house sat. If I were a little more of a nervous man I would have rushed to the closet where the makeshift snuff film had obviously been filmed from. I had already cleaned out most of that closet just a few hours after killing Sandra to make it look like she’d packed and left. There was no camera. So how did he get this footage? Right on cue a third email came in. This one went into a bit more detail.

“I’m the man who was having an affair with Sandra. The camera was just pure luck I suppose. We were filming ourselves when you came home. I hid in the closet while you accused her of cheating on you and …well, you know how that played out. I could have jumped out and helped her but I saw an opportunity. I AM curious as to how you found out about the affair. Maybe we can discuss that tomorrow at 10:00pm at Junie’s Bistro on 7th when you bring my $17 mil.

P.S. I don’t have to tell you no cops, now do I?”

Unbelievable! This guy apparently loved my wife even less than I did, and I KILLED the witch! The plain truth is, I hadn’t known about the affair until I accused her. I heard word through some prestigious circles that she had spoken to a lawyer about divorcing me and taking me for everything she could. I played the infidelity card because I didn’t want to lead on that I knew about the divorce. Her eyes told me as soon as I mentioned it though that I was right, if only by accident. That’s when I snapped. I’m not entirely sure of what happened next. Everything went black. The end is all that mattered anyhow. I had choked her to death, thrown the body in the lake and then headed up to the room to cover up what I’d done. My “email buddy” must have slipped out while I was disposing of the body.

Seventeen million smackeroos was no small amount even to the CEO of a major company as I was. Small price to pay to get away with murder I suppose? Besides, the great U S of A government would be providing my company with a bailout soon and I’d make at least half of this damned extortion fiasco back. I made calls to several of my banks and arranged for withdrawals the next morning. I then laid down in the room where I had viciously strangled my wife not four days before, and slept like a colicky baby.

The next morning I awoke with a different attitude about the whole situation. I had worked too hard and too long to get where I was just to let some adulterating scumbag take it from me. After withdrawing all the money, I made one more call to a man I had hoped not to have to call again. Rainkor was an ex-marine and mercenary for hire, of sorts, for rich corporations. I had used him once several years before to “persuade” a potential whistleblower into not testifying against my company in a financial scandal. I wasn’t sure if he had ever killed anyone in his latter career but speaking with him when we first met gave me the inkling that he had. I told him as much of the story as I felt safe to on a phone and met him shortly after to go over the finer details.

“25 percent of the blackmail cash.” Rainkor told me after I began a more thorough explanation of the situation (leaving out, of course, the part where I murdered someone). “I’ll have a clear shot at him from the roof of the store next to the bistro.”

“Great. I can give you your share right n-“Then I realized I hadn’t said anything yet about the location. “Oh sh-“and then everything went black again.

A moment’s indiscretion found out and now it was blackmail. The blackmailer wanted to meet at her office. Having little choice, I agreed.

A plump, dark haired secretary sat in the front office wearing bright red. She passed me through the door to the bigger office beyond. I found a tall woman with hard brown eyes set close together, thin lips, and long blonde hair coming around a desk to greet me with her hand extended. When I did not take her hand she laughed a giggly type of laugh and returned to her position behind her desk.

“My name is Alice Colson. It was very sensible of you to come, Mr. Shelby. Very sensible,” she started.

I was in no mood. “Let’s get down to it. What do you want?”

She laughed that annoying laugh again. “Very well. I don’t believe in draining my clients dry. I like a steady income stream. I’ve studied your financial status and I believe that you can afford to pay me a modest sum per month without undue hardship.”

She handed me a slip of paper with an amount written on it.

“Impossible,” I replied, looking at the amount.

“Frankly, you have two choices. It’s pay up or exposure. The choice is yours. One more point. Murdering me will only bring about your exposure, of course. I have a failsafe system.”

I needed time. “Alright, I see your point, but I’ll need a few days to set it up. I want to use an offshore company to cover the transaction and that will take time to set up.”

“You have seven days from today.”

“Very well. I’ll contact you with the details of obtaining your money.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” she purred

I turned my back on her and exited the office, her laugh following me out the door.

I was in her office again on the seventh day.

“Well Mr. Shelby, are you ready to make your first payment,” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

The shock was fleeting on her face replaced by amusement.

“Come now, are you ready for exposure then?”

“Yes, I have already begun the process,” I replied.

She was visibly shocked this time. Her hard eyes grew wide with surprise.

I continued, “I have told my wife all there is. It will cost me a 20 year marriage and a fortune in settlements. As to the public scandal, I have hired the best damage control firm in the business to spin it in the best light possible. It will cost me professionally and financially, but ultimately I’m free of the blackmail burden. As for you, I am contacting the police.”

She grew angry, her face becoming splotchy red. “Police! Do you realize that hundreds of people’s personal lives will be exposed if I’m arrested?”

“Perhaps. I’m betting that many of the people you’ve blackmailed have refrained from killing you because of what you have on them. With you in the custody they may reconsider their positions. I hope you didn’t blackmail any law enforcement folks.”

Fear now replaced anger in her red splotched face. “You said you were “contacting” the police?”

“That’s right. I haven’t done so yet. Now don’t think murder as I have a failsafe system. I’m willing to deal.”

Despite her fear and anger she smiled. “Ah, I see. And the conditions of this deal?”

“Simple. Turn over all the information you have on all your clients, both electronic and hardcopy, to me, tell your clients that you have decided to get out of the business, and disappear forever. Your clients will still think you have information on them so you’ll be safe. If I ever hear of you surfacing anywhere again with your little business I’ll reveal the truth about your vulnerability and turn you over to one of your more friendly clients. Oh, and I need five hundred thousand dollars. That should do it.”

Her face became more red as her thin lips pushed together to form a line that seem to split her face.

“That’s….That’s… absurd! Five hundred….! What makes you think I have that kind of money?”

“I checked your financial statements. This blackmail business has been good to you.”

“I refuse!”

“Your choice. You can be free with what you have and live a quiet… a very quiet… life or take your chances with the cops and your clients. Only you know the attitudes of your clients.”

She sat quietly for a moment then took out some paper and began to write. When she finished she handed me the paper.

“These are the locations of my files, originals, backups, hardcopies, passwords, and combinations. I will transfer the money to whatever account you want immediately. I do not expect to see you again.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

I have regained most of my wealth (legitimately, I destroyed all the blackmail information) and my stigma is now part of my tantalizing past thanks to the spin doctors. As to Colson, she turned up in Chicago starting up her profession again with a brand new set of clients. I had to turn her over to one of her more lovely former clients. He was most interested once he found out that his information was destroyed. I understand their reunion was most unpleasant.

As for Colson’s dark haired assistant, she’s now living in Florida with a husband and two kids.

They keyboard's tray slammed violently back into place as Eric pushed himself away from the computer's desk. He sighed impatiently as his right hand was brought to push back the strands of hair laying just at his brow.

How could do they do this? Everything that he had done for them, the hardwork, his wife sacrificing cold nights alone, knowing very well there were more nights to come. How? The simple question running through his thoughts annoyingly.

Eric paced to the balcony's door, placing his open palm against the glass as he watched the many people below, walking as though they needed somewhere to be at four thirty in the morning. Sighing once again, Eric leaned his forehead against the door's glass, closing his eyes as his breath slipped past his lips, molding into the glass to create a steam effect.

"..In order to keep you in line, you must remember that we have your private photo album, Eric. Your intelligence has been proven to us, let us hope that you will not fail us on this."

For the first time in nearly a decade, Eric felt a sharp pain pierce his heart as he moved himself from the door, his steps quiet as he passed by his daughter's room, the gun in hand. Leaning against the door frame of his bedroom, he watched her sleep. The moonlight hitting her just right, showing the brilliant features of her face.

Cocking back the gun, he lifted his arm easily. His sharp intake of breath had been the only reaction. His wife lay more still now, the blood splattered against the mirror next to the wall, just beyond the closet door.

Eric froze, hearing Caroline scream, the gunshot had woke her with a start, closing his eyes momentarily, he turned on his heel, making his way back down the small hallway, closing the door behind him as he entered her room, stuffing his gun into the back pocket of his jeans before doing so.

"Daddy?"

No, he would not fail them on this.