Josh Ahrens was, as was the case on a nearly weekly basis, in the news again. Once one of the celebrity boy geniuses of Silicon Valley, he was still quite a vibrant force in his early middle age as he championed social causes to the delight of his celebrity buddies and much of the fawning media. With his Lasik-calibrated blue eyes retaining their twinkle and his blonde hair slightly too long but stylishly so, he still seemed like the eternal boy.
Andre Spiros, a former clandestine partner of Josh's in several schemes, found it amusing that Josh routinely ripped into evil capitalists while still earning millions to his multi-billion dollar fortune thanks to his own capitalist-based multi-media corporation. What Andre didn't find so amusing was how Josh had made Andre the scapegoat for some of the white collar crimes that had landed Andre in prison. Begrudgingly, Andre had to tip his hat to the man for outspending him in political influence. But vengeance had a way of evening the score.
Of course, Andre had no interest in playing to a tie. At the moment, he was watching a news story on television as Josh Ahrens received some award from a self-styled reverend and civil rights leader on behalf of a wad of cash Josh routinely tossed to the reverend's charity. Of course, it was played up as "furthering the bright future of young African-Americans". It wasn't the first time that Josh had been recognized for his interest in black youth.
Andre had obtained proof of Josh's deep interest in black youth - particularly girls in their early teens if not a year or two earlier than that. And this reverend currently on the screen had supplied his fellow hypocrite with some adoring young things on occasion. But even the reverend would have drawn back had he known the depths of Josh's depravity.
Using some of his own software that established high-security, virtual private networks, Josh played the director in quite a few rape tableaus where young black girls were gang-raped by white men. Never wanting to get soiled himself, Josh would communicate instructions on torture and sexual positions and apparently masturbate to the fun from the privacy of his well-appointed den in his capitalism-provided estate.
Having heard Josh drunkenly confide in his habit back when they were ostensibly friends, Andre had made it a point to seek out proof once he was out of prison. Regardless of the amount of cybersecurity built into a system, a single human being was the easiest path to breaking into Josh's own little porn network. For a remarkably few million dollars, a software engineer who would rather be surfing on the ocean then the internet gave Andre access.
A week ago, he had captured and recorded a live streaming session. The poor girl was only thirteen but by the time the men were done with her she had been degraded in every hole and her mocha-colored skin had marks on it that, like her psyche, would never completely heal. Now it was another girl's turn and tonight, eleven year-old Nathalie Ahrens who resembled her father so much, would not be home for dinner.
While his wife, whose recreational drug habits had been close to problematic before this night, was heavily medicating herself with powder and liquid, Josh sat down in his den at home and logged into his private network as the note had instructed. Also as instructed, he had not contacted the police but since his daughter's abductors knew about his network, he knew that going to any law enforcement agency would eventually provide some proof that would put him away for a long time. He had no illusions that any of his friends and contacts would aid him in anyway once his proclivities had been exposed.
A figure appeared on his high definition computer monitor. He was bare-chested and heavily muscled beneath the dark brown skin of his torso and the two arms crossed over it. The man also looked supremely confident which was a turnabout from what Josh usually experienced during negotiations.
"Who the fuck are you and how did you get into my network?" Josh snarled.
The man's heavily lidded eyes narrows and his wide nostrils flared. As he spoke and moved his head, an overhead light played over his shaved scalp.
"Keno. You can call me that but that don't make us on a first-name basis, cracker boy," the man spat. "And how I got into your network aint nobody's concern tonight. What I got to worry about is how I'm gonna get this..."
The camera panned out, showing that Keno was naked and was holding a very impressive erection in his hand.
"...into that little bitch of yours."
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade
A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Friday, November 03, 2017