"I had a motivated team."
"Tell them thanks, and make sure you set up a bonus for them through Marilyn."
"You've got it, Boss."
I didn't need to assemble the troops. They stood in front of me waiting for the word, including Jill and Ruth.
I smiled broadly and shook my fist.
Ruth's neighbors probably wondered what all the cheering was about.
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Chapter Twenty-One
I found myself back on another airplane the next day. Robert had isolated a contact in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn for MDMA, popularly called Ecstasy. Simon Roth, the man I was to meet, was a Jew.
"The fucking world isn't right anymore,” Robert had told me. “If you can't trust Hasidic men in their black hats, dark suits and side curls, who can you trust. Actually, Roth uses them as couriers to bring the drug to the United States. The religious young men are given a free trip to Europe and paid $1,500 to smuggle back the contraband. Their religious dress and appearance attract little or no attention from Customs inspectors. His army of black hats has brought in over a million tablets in the last three months. The conniving son-of-bitch tells his couriers they're smuggling diamonds. Evidently, diamond smuggling is an honored profession among Hasidic men."
I met with Roth for about an hour and struck a deal. He had checked me out before my arrival and my credentials were acceptable. He said at first he wondered why a rich man like me wanted to get into the drug business and then remembered the rich always wanted to get richer. He laughed riotously at his statement. I laughed with him and verbally confirmed his assumptions. I told him I liked the profit margin. I had hoped that the trip to Amsterdam would not be necessary, but Roth insisted I meet with his source directly.
"You pay him,” Roth said. “He pays me. I pay my couriers. That's how it works."
I arranged to purchase 90,000 tablets at $1.50 each. The markup amazed me. I knew the retail price was at least $20 each. That made the product I purchased at $135,000 worth $1,800,000 on the street. If this drug buy were a D.E.A. sting, I would be in jail for twenty years, give or take a year or two. I purchased 90,000 rather than 100,000 because each of his couriers brought in 45,000 Ecstasy tablets each trip. Two couriers with a full load were more economical, both for Mr. Roth and me. I also told him this first buy was merely a test case. If everything went smoothly, and my distribution system functioned, as I believed it would, I would then purchase the drug in 900,000 tablet lots. Payment would be made through wire transfers. I planned to spend some time with Vera to make certain the buy could not be traced back to me when we turned the smuggling and drug-manufacturing business over to the D.E.A. after Operation Monarch was shut down.
I flew directly back to New Orleans without meeting with Robert. I wanted to handle him via the telephone and Marilyn personally when I informed them I was making the trip to Amsterdam instead of Robert.
As expected, all hell broke loose. Surprisingly, Robert gave me very little flak. He had anticipated I would be making the trip when I insisted I meet with Roth, not him. He even understood my reasoning when I told him Roth and Frans Reicherter, the source in Amsterdam, insisted they only deal with the principal. At first, Marilyn gave me the silent treatment. I figured I would hear from her when we were alone that night. The real surprise came when Ruth jumped into the fray. My sister was seriously pissed. Once Ruth became vocal, Marilyn decided not to wait. And the two of them wailed at me unmercifully.
"I'll be perfectly safe,” I said to Ruth.
"Fine,” my sister replied. “Then I'm going with you. Roy can run the call center for a couple of days. Besides, I've never been to Amsterdam. I understand it's a fun place to visit, a wide-open city with live sex shows including audience participation. I'm not letting you have all the fun."
"Don't be unreasonable, Ruth. The odds are it's perfectly safe. I believe it's safe, but..."
"Ah, hah! The truth comes out."
"Let me finish. Ruth, I admit there's a small risk. I can't allow..."
"Allow! When did you become my lord and master?"
"Ruth, you have Christie to think of. Even a small risk is too much for you to take."
"If you won't let Ruth go with you, then I'm going,” Marilyn said. “I don't have any children to care for. If it's safe for you, it's safe for me. I'll go pack my bag. Is it winter there, or summer? I need to know to select the right wardrobe."
"I need you here, Marilyn. You're in charge when I'm gone."
"Vera can handle the administrative functions. I'll take my laptop with me and handle everything else with email and the telephone. As you say, it's only for a few days."
"Do you have a passport, Marilyn?"
"No, but I can get one."
"Not in one day, you can't. Besides, I'm traveling on a fake passport. One I've used before. It's essential that this trip remain clandestine. We plan to turn over the drug smuggling and manufacturing operation to the D.E.A. when we shut down this project. If Roth and Reicherter rat me out to the D.E.A. after they are arrested, it's important that no record of me traveling to Amsterdam exists. Vera and I will be jumping through hoops trying to make that happen."
Marilyn flipped out her phone and dialed.
"Robert, it's Marilyn. How soon can you get a fake passport for me ... What if we double the fee ... That's what I thought. Set it up ... Thanks, bye."
She looked at me with fire in her eyes. “It seems a fake passport can be acquired faster than a real one, Martin. All you need is money and a little help from your friends. Is it cold or warm in Amsterdam? I need to know. I'm going with you."
"No,” I said. “You're not going! I'm going alone, and that's final.” I spun on my heels and walked away from them.
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Chapter Twenty-Two
Thursday afternoon, Marilyn and I checked into The Pulitzer, a five-star hotel in Amsterdam. My final word had been ignored, and Marilyn had busied herself like a whirlwind to make everything happen with the short notice she had. She conferred with Jill, and between the two of them, she assembled a new wardrobe including luggage. She booked our flights—the Concorde from New York to Heathrow, and TWA to Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, with transfers in Amsterdam to The Pulitzer. She cajoled hotel management into giving us the honeymoon suite for two nights; her fake passport arrived in time, and she arranged the visas in our fake names. She also used our aliases for our airline tickets and hotel reservations.
I met with Roth and would meet with Frans Reicherter using my real name. The fake names were used to confuse the D.E.A. After I turned the Roth/Reicherter drug operation over to the drug agency, the pair would be arrested, and I anticipated Roth and Reicherter would offer my name, among others, as buyers in a plea-bargain attempt. With no trace of my trip to Amsterdam and some airtight alibis from some of my friends, the D.E.A. would have no evidence. Oh, I knew I would go on their watch list, but because of my avocation, I was already on a dozen lists. Being on a watch list didn't bother me, and it was easier than creating a verifiable alias the drug dealers would have accepted as readily as they accepted the real me.
In our suite, Marilyn hooked up her laptop to the World Wide Web, and was soon chatting with Vera and Ruth using ICQ.
The Pulitzer consists of twenty-five restored 17th and 18th century canal houses that have been harmoniously integrated to create a truly unique hotel. It is located on Prinsengracht, in the heart of the city, framed by two of the famous concentric canals. Our suite was tastefully decorated, spacious and comfortable.
My meeting with Frans Reicherter was set for the following morning in an Executive Room at the Bilderberg Garden Hotel. While Marilyn communicated with Ruth and Vera, I called Reicherter and introduced myself. He was expecting the call and spoke excellent English, but with a thick accent. I told him where he could reach me and confirmed our meeting for the next afternoon. He told me he would send a limo to pick me up. He also offered
a guide, female or male, my choice, to show my lady friend and me around the city that night. I refused, claiming jetlag, but asked him how he knew I was traveling with a lady.
He laughed. “Just a guess,” he said. “It is the honeymoon suite, is it not? I'm familiar with the suite number because I, too, have used the suite a few times. Its ambience makes ladies amorous."
I joined with his laughter. Frans and I seemed to be getting along.
My belly growled. I suffered less jetlag if I didn't eat while flying.
"Did you make arrangements for dinner?” I asked Marilyn.
She looked up from her monitor. “If you're hungry, order a snack from room service. It's too early for dinner."
Twenty minutes later enough cheeses, fruits, raw vegetables, dips, and other goodies arrived to feed an army. A bottle of cold, white wine accompanied the snack, complements of the hotel. I started to tip the waiter when I noticed Marilyn shaking her head. The waiter bowed and backed out of the suite.
"The entire concept of tipping is foreign in the Netherlands, Martin,” Marilyn said. “Tips are built into restaurant bills, bar bills, and the bill of the hotel."
I wondered when she found the time to study the customs of the Netherlands and shook my head in amazement. I poured the wine and tasted it. A little sweet, I thought, and then sipped again after eating some cheese. Ah, the wine complemented the food perfectly. Ten minutes later with my gnawing stomach satisfied, a thought occurred to me.
"Marilyn, ask Ruth if Christie is around. I need to chat with her."
My lady nodded.
"She's online, Martin. Sit here. The fruit looks scrumptious."
"Try the wine with it. They go together."
I sat and typed:
—Christie, Sweetheart, how are you—Happy, happy, :—) Uncle M.—-I need you to talk to the kids in the for and neutral columns again, and bring up Frank and Karen Able. Able and French share the kids. Some of them might be for or neutral about French but hate the Ables. Make a new set of columns, like before, and classify the kids relative to Frank and Karen Able. If you have questions, talk to your mother.—I understand, Uncle M. I'll have the kids categorized like you want by the time you return. Talking to the kids makes me : ... ( but I know how important this is. Are you and Marilyn having fun? EG—
"Marilyn, what does capital E, capital G stand for?"
"Evil grin,” she said and gave me an evil grin.
"Come here, I need to get even. Give me an acronym Christie might not know."
"She probably knows more of them and I do.” Soon, she leaned over my shoulder. “Type ROFLAPMP"
"What does that stand for?"
"Just type it, and then type, ‘You're too cute for words.’”
—ROFLAPMP. You're too cute for words.—GMBO. L8R G8R. H&K. HAGN.—
"Okay, translate please,” I said.
"You said, ‘Rolling on the floor laughing and peeing my pants.’ She said, ‘Giggling my butt off. Later, Gator. Hug and kiss. Have a good night.’”
I typed:—1,000 Hs&Ks. HAGN yourself.—Marilyn is helping you, isn't she?—-Yes. I love you to pieces, Sweetheart. See you soon.—I love you, too, Uncle M. Bye.—
"She's a clever scamp,” I said.
"You love children, Martin. Did you and Dianna consider having some babies?"
I smiled. “We didn't want any the first five years of our marriage. We enjoyed being a couple too much, didn't want to share our relationship with a third party. We were young, in our twenties, and felt no need to rush things. In our sixth year, Dianna's maternal urges surfaced. Frankly, I was ready, too. And we tried, lord how we tried. Finally, we went to doctors and took the standard tests. We discovered Dianna couldn't have children, and the fact nearly broke her heart. I was willing to adopt, but Dianna wanted to try the fertility enhancement methods available at the time. We spent two years with those efforts, and more than one doctor. All of our hard work proved ineffective. We were considering the various alternatives from adoption to using a host mother with my sperm and a donor egg when she became ill."
"I want children, at least two—a boy and a girl. I want to experience raising one of each sex. Boys and girls are so different. The experience of motherhood wouldn't be complete without one of each."
I laughed. “What happens if you give birth to five boys or five girls?"
She looked at me seriously. “Then I'll try again, and keep trying until I get it right.” Another evil grin crossed her lips. “Speaking of trying.” She stood and turned her back to me. “Unzip me, please. This is the honeymoon suite, you know."
I unzipped her. Then she unzipped me.
"I want a talking fuck,” she said. “I'm half zonked from the flight. Besides, I want to talk to you about something that's been moving in and out of my mind, especially during the long and boring flight."
I agreed. My body wasn't up to any serious calisthenics either.
Expecting to pet her to arousal before inserting my cock, I discovered she needed no petting. Her pussy was wet, her labia swollen and her clitoris hard.
I slipped my hard-on inside her and asked, “What has you so aroused?"
"Besides you? Actually, you're a prominent part of the cause of my arousal, Martin. Oh, you feel so good inside me. Sitting next to you for so many hours on those flights without being able to fuck you nearly drove me batty. Let's break the boredom on the return trip and join the mile-high club."
I chuckled. “The initiation must take place on the first leg of the trip from here to London. The Concorde is fast, but it's too small."
She laughed. “That sounds like a plan. The answer to your question is a little complex. This past week, I've come to know your sister much better, Martin. She's an amazing woman."
"I know,” I said and wondered where the conversation was heading.
"She wants to fuck you, you know."
My cock lurched and my arousal jumped up ten notches. I groaned.
"And you obviously want to fuck her."
"Wanting and doing are two separate things. I prefer to keep my incestuous leanings in the fantasy mode, and I believe Ruth feels the same way."
"She does. Let me play with my clit. You put a finger in my cunt along with your cock."
"Will they both fit?"
"Yes. Try it."
I did. She was right.
"Ah, that's nice. One more finger, please."
I had to pull back and insert the fingers before I thrust my shaft back into her. I liked the way my fingers rubbed my cock as I slid in and out of her pussy.
"Jeez! That feels like Big Ben. Will one more fit?"
I tried. It was close, but it fit.
"Ah, I've never felt so full. I like it for a change, but I'm glad you're not that big all the time. I'm really hot, Martin. Go slow."
Her fingers stopped moving back and forth on her clitoris.
"I have a confession to make, Martin. Incest excites me more than any other sexual scenario. Do you want to know why?"
"Yes."
"My first lover was my first cousin, a boy a year older than me."
I groaned as my arousal slipped up another notch from her comment and asked, “How old were you the first time?"
"Thirteen, nearly fourteen, but we had played sex games with each other for a couple of years before we fucked. Martin, we still fuck each other when we get together. Do you mind?"
Curiously, I felt no jealousy. I didn't feel he was competition for some reason. I told Marilyn about my feelings.
"He's not competition because Paul, that's my cousin's name, because Paul and I can't make a life with each other, make some babies, like you and I can. We still fuck each other because it gives us pleasure and it hurts no one."
"Is he married?"
"Yes. I guess that makes me an adulteress. Do you think I'm morally lacking, Martin?"
"Does his wife know about the two of you?"
"Yes, she joined us one time. He told her about us before they married.
"
"Then I don't think you're morally lacking."
"I have another confession to make. When I was young, my favorite fantasy involved my father."
"Did you act on your fantasies?"
She chuckled. “Other than teasing the poor man nearly out of his mind, no I never fucked Daddy. But to be perfectly honest, if he had tried to fuck me, I would have fallen on my back with my legs spread in a flash. I always wished I had a brother. If I had had a brother, Martin, I would have fucked him. As I said, incest excites me."
Her fingers started to move on her clitoris again. She sighed.
"When you were young, did you fantasize about fucking Ruth?” she asked.
"Yes, frequently, and I always felt guilty after I climaxed if I used her as jack-off material. I don't know how many times during a guilt trip after a sister-fantasy-induced orgasm that I vowed to stop thinking of her as a sexual partner. I soon stopped making the vows because I didn't enjoy breaking promises to myself."
"I wish you had fucked her. I'd love to hear the details about your first time with her. Also, I'm convinced you and your sister will fuck each other sometime. You both want each other too much for it never to happen. Neither of you will plan the event. It will be spontaneous; circumstances will join with other circumstances and it will happen without volition on the part of either of you. That's why I brought up the subject: to make my confession, and to tell you that if you fuck Ruth sometime, I will understand. I love you to distraction, but I wouldn't be jealous. Let's come now, Martin. Thinking about you and Ruth fucking each other has made me very hot. Will another finger fit?"
"I don't think so."
"Try. Ah! Christ, Martin, it fit! Now fuck me! Fuck me with your cock. Fuck me with your hand! Fuck me with your cock and your hand. Yes! Ah!"
I watched her climax, my favorite sight, and joined her when she was halfway through her orgasm. We finished together.
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Chapter Twenty-Three
I asked her later if she wanted to go out on the town, walk through Amsterdam's famous Red Light District, or visit one of the clubs that provided live sex shows with audience participation. She declined. Jetlag had her in its grasp. We ordered from room service for our evening meal, made love again, another talking fuck, and were asleep before 9:00 PM Amsterdam time.
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