His phone audibly notified him of an incoming text message.
“Probably Ev again,” Katie said, handing Brant his phone.
Katie had been correct in her assumption of a message from Evelyn. With so much going on, Brant had ignored many of his wife’s messages over the past two weeks. He'd posted job listings, hired a private detective to provide background checks on applicants, read numerous books, researched various things on-line, and had written and submitted a formal report outlining preliminary plans to create an upgraded digital presence for his client. He'd even ordered (again with Katie's help) furniture for the house, including a dining room set and some computer equipment he'd be needing when the add-on cards being manufactured were completed.
Time, it seemed, had a mind of its own.
And now Evelyn wanted to know why the fuck he wasn't answering her messages and telephone calls. The previous bidder had lost interest in the house and now a new bidder had stepped up and she wanted to act fast before the opportunity to sell slipped away.
Brant, knowing the latest bidder to be Joshua Elliot acting in his behalf, simply replied: Fine. We'll accept the offer. I'm over this. No sense haggling anymore.
Evelyn replied: About fucking time.
“She'll shit a brick,” Katie said, “when she realizes it's you who bought the house.”
“True. I know her and she'd do anything to ensure I didn't end up with this house while she's in an apartment.”
“She won't be a fan of your sexy knew ride, either.”
“You or the Land Rover?” Brant teased and Katie giggled. They kissed passionately before turning out the lights and drifting away to sleep in each other's arms.
Brant woke the following morning, head abuzz in thought.
Katie wanted him to ruin her out of some sick need to be controlled
Brant found himself warming to the idea – for Katie's sake
He imagined Evelyn waking with a smug look on her face, believing she'd be richer very soon
He wondered when she'd be served with divorce papers and made a mental note to inquire about that with Josh Elliot
He wanted to test his theory that compiled code containing cryptic occult commands combined with interfaces etched into circuit boards might offer all sorts of possibilities
Actually, the add-on card he'd designed reinforced this notion but Brant wondered how this power might be fully harnessed through the power of software and not just firmware
Which made him reflect on the Open Source Software designer who had applied to work for him
And had the private detective Brant hired uncovered any interesting information on the applicant?
Derek Smith, Texas A&M dropout, had written an open source peer-to-peer file-sharing program that had become the client of choice for users in the underground porn video clip scene, or pr0n as it was commonly referred. The software application had become widely popular with (presumably) horny young males due to its $9.95 (via PayPal only) version which offered encryption, advance search features and an integrated software firewall that utilized a file which paid members of DerekSmithApps.com ($4.99 per year) could download. The proprietary file consisted of an IP watch list to block any and all IP addresses affiliated with law enforcement, FBI, and the adult entertainment industry, to name a few. The file was regularly updated, of course, to remain current (and maintain subscribers). Derek's resume also listed his work with the Mozilla software team and an affiliation with the KrypticTux Linux distribution which prided itself on the distro's advanced security features and highly-scalable file system.
Brant Wilson really wanted to interview Derek, but first he wanted the P.I.'s report.
He also wanted coffee and to make hot, sweaty love to the young woman pressed firmly against him.
“Katie, wake up.” He nudged his daughter.
“Mm... Need me to suck your cock, Daddy?”
For starters... “Yes.”
She already knew to tidy up around the house on her off day from Java Joe's. She'd do so while he worked. She remained very busy most days and he loved her for that. His work was taking up more of his time and he'd grown accustomed to counting on Katie's help to get through the day. She worked hard and deserved to drive a 7-Series BMW, even if the car was eight years old.
Brant could think much more clearly after a good lay.
“Fruit and bagels, Daddy?”
“Sounds great, sweetie. You know me so well.”
“Soon as I make the bed,” Katie promised.
Brant left the room, on top of his game, on top of the world. He'd never felt better, even if he felt badder than ever before. He decided the workout in bed hadn't been enough, so he went to the exercise room to hit the treadmill. The machine had been delivered along with the dining table two days ago. He decided to do fifteen minutes before a quick shower. By then breakfast would await him.
While running the treadmill Brant decided to try another spell, one he'd been studying from the book Elliott had given him. He'd need to return it soon and figured he'd digitally scan its pages first. He could print them out later, or simply keep them in a file. The spell he intended to try involved contacting another demon, one of lesser importance in the otherworld than Kasas. Brant planned to ask it for information regarding Derek Smith. He'd later compare the information, assuming he gathered any, with information provided by the private investigator.
Then another idea occurred to him: ask this other demon for information regarding Kasas.
“Veni, Suvos! Invoco te, Suvos!” Brant bellowed before the urine- and blood-filled liquor glass. “Autem! Ut mihi non loquaris via esta crystallum vas! Servus tuus petitiones consilium vobiscum! Suvos, placet, obsecro consilium.”
Brant patiently awaited the presence of Suvos, a demon known for mischief and secrecy. A lesser demon who, according to text, preferred to lurk in shadows, to take note of things, to squirrel away knowledge that could later be used. It was said that the library of Suvo remained the envy of all the netherworld and, some text claimed, rivaled if not surpassed that of Kasas.
Fluid in the liquor glass began to spin as it radiated heat, but Suvos did not speak.
“Suvos,” Brant addressed the entity. I come seeking information.”
The basement grew warmer.
“I seek counsel.”
Warmer still.
Counsel?
“Yes, as a representative of Kasas Koomacas, I seek detailed knowledge of Kasas,” Brant said. He knew, as in business, it paid to toss around names of contacts.
Koomacas.
“Yes. I represent him here, but I need to understand more about him there, so I may better serve him.”
There came no response and Brant assumed he may have started off with too large of a request. He added, “I also seek information regarding a man.”
What do you wish to know about a human?
“The man's name is Derek Smith, from San Antonio. I wish to know his deepest, darkest secrets, anything pertinent to my hiring him. I realize this is a strange request, especially considering your vast know—”
A massive wave of heat stopped Brant in mid-sentence. Fluid in the glass grew agitated and sloshed out. Then, abruptly, the room cooled, but not completely. The remaining fluid slowed its swirling but did not halt.
Again, Brant waited patiently.
And waited.
He began to grow impatient. He was about to call out to Suvos again, in Latin, when Suvos addressed him.
Fornicated with farm animals. Proclivities include young males.
“Derek Smith? Bestiality? Homosexuality?”
Among other things. A heterosexual fornicator.
And an expert programmer, Brant thought.
Libro Historiae Kasas Koomacas.
“A book about Kasas? There is such a book?”
Yes.
Brant wanted that book. He knew, however, that it would come at a price.
Representative of Koomacas?
�
�Yes.” If Suvos knew so much then he'd know about Kasas and the facility in Kansas. So he saw no problem sharing certain information. “Are you aware of Kasas' presence here and what I do for him?”
Digital Information. Kansas.
“Yes. I've suggested an upgrade, so to speak.”
I can offer you information.
“The Libro Historiae Kasas Koomacas?”
And Vigilans Oculis Gentium Multarum Suvos.
Brant's Latin needed work. He translated in the form of a question, “Many vigilant eyes of Suvos? Another book?”
Yes, a tome. Instructions to open a watchful eye within this house.
Brant wasn't sure he liked that idea. This entire encounter had made him nervous and despite longing for this information a terror began to crawl under his skin.
Christen your library in my name using Vigilans Oculis Gentium Multarum Suvos in accordance with the depravity expected by Koomacas and I shall fill your library with information.
Brant didn't need to ask what Suvos would get out of the deal. He'd receive a bird's eye view of the goings-on in the house, the primary headquarters of Brant's endeavor to create a massive occult presence for Kasas Koomacas.
Vigilans Oculis Gentium Multarum Suvos shall arrive shortly. Libro Hisoriae Kasas Koomacas shall arrive the day after christening. Many ancient texts shall shortly follow.
“Thank you,” Brant said. “Thank you, so much.”
Gratias tibi ago.
The radiant heat stopped as the liquor glass tumbled over and spilled its contents.
Relief washed over Brant with the entity gone. A thrill, though, replaced fear and he rushed upstairs to the library, a room left virtually empty since Evelyn had sold nearly all their books before her departure. All that remained were a few photo albums and Brant's high school yearbooks. The room seemed a vast chasm waiting to be filled with the knowledge of Suvos. Brant also decided time had come to reevaluate each room of the massive house. He went to find Katie because he wanted her input.
13
Cruising toward Austin from San Antonio in the new Land Rover, Brant silently applauded himself. The P.I.'s report had corroborated the information about Derek Smith provided by Suvos, with the exception of farm animals, which hadn't been and possibly couldn't be corroborated. Brant had contacted Smith regarding a face-to-face interview in San Antonio. Brant found Smith to be a somewhat matter-of-fact, abrasive loner who seemed to really know his business. He possessed all the skills Brant was looking for and a similar attitude as Brant that most other people found off-putting.
Brant had made Smith an offer that allowed him to work from home, with occasional travel required. Smith accepted on the spot. They'd then sealed the deal with drinks and an early dinner at a local Tex-Mex place Smith recommended. The establishment, an advertiser on his website, featured scantily-clad waitresses and surprisingly good food. Derek Smith's entrepreneurial spirit most excited Brant about the guy. He left Derek with a stack of papers and a pen set, including a non-disclosure agreement prepared by Joshua Elliot, before heading home.
Brant had received a pair of text messages from Evelyn that he had yet to reply to, so when his phone dinged again he assumed another message from her. But the message was from Katie: Miss you, Daddy. Mind if a friend stays over tonight?
“Miss you, too,” Brant spoke into the phone for the voice-to-text function. “Sure, your friend can stay.”
Around forty-five minutes later Brant parked in the garage next to the BMW. A Honda sat parked in the drive. Inside he found Katie laughing and giggling with an Asian-American girl her own age. Both had their hair up in high, Gothic ponytails, as Katie had called them once, and tight sweatpants and cotton tops in pastel colors. The friend sat perched on a stool, Katie serving drinks behind the bar.
“Daddy! You're home.”
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Daddy, this is Jenna. Jenna, Daddy.”
“Hi, Daddy.” The girl burst out in giggles.
“I see you two have been drinking.”
“You don't mind, do you?” Katie said.
“As long as you don't plan to drive, I don't mind, but I thought you had decided against drinking.”
“It's okay.” Katie rounded the wet bar and took Brant by the hand. “We'll be right back,” she told her friend.
Katie led Brant into the kitchen, where she kissed him passionately. “You told Jenna I'm your daddy.”
“Shh... It's okay. She thinks you’re just my sugar daddy.”
“I see. And the drinking?”
Katie's smile faded. “It's okay, isn't it? It isn't like Dallas. I'm home, with you. And Jenna.”
“It's fine, sweetie. Just trying to be supportive.”
“It's just that...” Katie glanced down at her feet.
“Just what? You can tell me anything.”
“It's just that... Jenna's boyfriend is being a dick. He broke up with her. She's my friend. We work together at Java Joe's, and, well, she didn't have anywhere to stay so I told her she could stay here tonight, that we'd forget all about that dumb loser who dumped her.”
“It's okay, baby. Really.”
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“I-I... I wanted to forget...” She sucked in her lip and pouted.
“Wanted to forget what? I don't understand.”
“You're gonna be mad at me. I'm a bad, bad li'l girl.”
“Bad girl? You aren't making any sense.”
“It's just that Joe. Not Java Joe. Joe Johnson, the evening manager at Java Joe's. He sorta...”
“He sorta what?”
“He sorta took me in the back room, and – you'll be mad – he's a big meanie. You didn't make any rules and I didn't know what to do. You haven't given me any rules and so how can I know what I'm supposed to do and he just took me in the office and closed the door and – and – and...”
“Shh... baby. You're not—”
“And he grabbed me and you didn't make any rules...” Katie sucked her lip and shook her head, obviously growing flustered.
“Sweetie, listen—”
“He groped me and wanted me to... and I didn't know what to do, so I... So I...”
Katie turned to run away but Brant caught her by the wrist.
“What did you—?”
“He wanted me and you didn't make rules and I'm just a li'l girl and I...” Katie tugged to escape Brant's hold.
Brant, growing frustrated at the evasion, at her attempt at retreat, and obvious emotional turmoil slapped his daughter across the face much like the men in the GIFs she’d shown him and said, “Spit it out, Katie.”
Her resistance immediately stopped. An orgasmic expression crossed her face as a free hand went to her blushing cheek.
“I fucked him, Daddy. I fucked Joe Johnson right in the office because I didn't know what else to do.” The expression on her face screwed into confusion and sadness and disappointment with herself. “Please don't be mad, Daddy. I'm so sorry, Daddy. Don't make me leave. I love it here. I love you.”
“There, there, Katie.” Brant hugged Katie close. “It's okay. We'll deal with this. Go be with your friend. Is this Joe asshole working tonight? I'd like to have a few words with him.”
“Yes. Till nine.”
It was a little past eight.
“Pull yourself together, clean yourself up, and go be with your friend. Okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Brant returned to the garage planning to get Joe's side of the story.
Ten minutes later Brant entered Java Joe's looking for Joe Johnson. He noticed a man, mid- to late-twenties chatting up an attractive barista while a less attractive barista offered to take Brant's order. The way the guy was dressed made him likely the evening manager.
“Is that guy in charge? Is he Joe Johnson?”
“Yes. Would you like to—”
“Hey, you. Johnson,” Brant said loud enough to gain the man's attention. Johnson looked u
nhappy for the interruption but flashed a smile.
“May I help you?”
“You're the evening manager?”
“I am. What's this about?”
“I'd like a few words with you. I suggest we exchange them in your office.”
The man appeared reluctant, yet said, “Sure. Right this way.”
Directly through a door labeled Employees Only and to the right awaited the office. Johnson ushered Brant in and closed the door before repeating, “What's this about?”
“It's about Katie Wilson.”
“And who are you?”
“Never you mind who the fuck I am. Katie says you had your way with her in this very room.”
A smirk crossed Johnson's face before he suppressed the expression.
“Her word against mine,” Johnson said, “and I don't know what she's talking about.”
“The hell you don't. I know it happened. Don't deny it. I want to know how it happened.”
Joe Johnson shrugged. “Between you and me, amigo. You know her. You know how she dresses. She wanted it. I brought her in here, suggested she get on her knees. She'll do anything she's asked. So I asked. It's not like I forced her or anything.”
“She wanted it, the way she was dressed – that's what you're saying?”
“Exactly.”
Brant powered a fist into Johnson's belly that doubled him over.
“You're dressed like you want an ass-kicking,” Brant said, “but I'll let you off easy this time. And for the record, I doubt Katie will be back, except perhaps to buy coffee. And I don't want to hear another word about you. Comprende, amigo?”
Brant didn't wait for a response. He left the office, left Java Joe's and drove back home.
Where he found Katie drunkenly attending bar for her friend.
“Whatever you ladies are having, make mine a double,” Brant said.
“Double your pleasure, coming right up,” Katie said.
The drink, a fruity rum concoction, went down easily.
“How did it go with Joe?” Katie asked.
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