So the Benton couple have quite an albatross around their necks. We need to know what happened many years ago, though, as we follow how they’re gonna try and get out of this issue…
TEN YEARS AGO
Marcus Malcolm Glazer was a model citizen who owned a chain of chop bars and high-end restaurants. He was a big believer in catering to both ends of the scale; why leave any money on the table when it’s all there for the taking?
But that was Marcus Glazer, the side he showed during the day. At night, he went from model citizen Marcus to no good Kane Glazer, high society swinger and purveyor of lustful treats for men and women with little morals and a lot of money. If you were a spoilt, entitled brat who liked to be rough, he had just the girl for you. If you were a classy lady with a ravenous appetite, he had the perfect gentleman for you. He did not care who you were as long as you had money.
Image, quality and class were the only things that meant anything to him, and he made sure that his girls and guys were top of the line, going as far as giving them beauty treatments, massages and fitness sessions just to make sure they could satisfy every type of client. He had slim ones and he had thick ones, he had tall ones and petite ones, he had them all. You could have multiple girls or guys at once and you could do whatever you wanted as long as you didn’t disrespect or endanger them, but Kane had one rule: no personal relationships.
If a client fell for one of his treats, they’d lose their place on his list. If a treat fell for a client, they’d no longer work for him. Most importantly, if a treat fell for a treat, not only would they lose their jobs with him, but they’d never work anywhere. Kane’s client list included politicians, religious leaders, military leaders, the who’s who of society. If he chose to blackball someone, they’d best move to another country.
Right now, he was in his study at home, having to deal with an unsatisfied client who’d tried to make one of his girls put stuff inside of her that simply put, didn’t belong there. The guy was the son of some big-deal deacon at King’s Court Chapel, and his father’s reputation carried a lot of weight. He was a former police officer turned right-hand to the Oracle of God, a prophet whom everyone equally loved and feared.
When some men kidnapped the finance minister’s daughter, this man prayed that they would break out with lesions and vomit until they die unless they returned her unharmed in three days. Everyone, from the media to the court of public opinion, ridiculed him and questioned whether God’s name should be used in such manner. Surely enough, the minister’s cook died four days after that prayer, his deputy died another day later, and a man appeared at the minister’s house two days later, visibly losing his life as he moved. Pale and barely breathing, he told the story of how six men plotted to kidnap the minister’s daughter in an attempt to make him resign so his deputy would be promoted. He gave the girl’s location and promptly proceeded to die.
Kane did not want any part of the prophet, but he couldn’t let the son of his right-hand threaten his business and get away with it. The boy could not be allowed to use the good deacon’s name to cover his bad habits. As he sat, figuring out what to do, a thought came to him. When he used to be a man with scruples, he’d heard a sermon about sons following the patterns of their fathers, something about bloodline traits that needed to be dealt with. The deacon’s son was clearly a bad apple, but how much better was his father? It was time to test the good word. He picked up the landline and called his assistant. “Stella, how are you? Would you be a dear and ask Carol to come over to the mansion?”
Thomas “Tembo” Gardner was living his best life, laying down with three girls he’d had the pleasure of taking down the night before. He wasn’t really into orgies, but this was different. He’d lost a bet to an old apprentice of his, Seth Goosman, and his punishment was to sleep with three girls in the same night without being the first to tap out. He felt quite confident that he’d win the bet, but he lost. So, here he was in a hotel with three girls who were still snoring from all the activity from last night.
Thomas got up to go order some room service when his phone rang. It was way too early to be talking to anyone at all, but it could be an old client looking for a referral. He picked up the phone and was terribly unprepared for the blitz that came from the other side.
“Tembo, how did this happen?! You were supposed to have taken care of this ten years ago, now I gotta deal with this shit?!”
It was Carol Swanson, now Carol Benton, the woman who had made him rich enough to retire from his life of thuggery. “Good day to you too, Carol. I’m well. Retirement’s treated me awesome. How have you been, woman?”
“You choose now to be dramatic, you asshat? Haven’t you seen the news?”
Thomas lazily walked over to the TV and turned it on. His cocky demeanor quickly gave way to an “aww hell naw” manner. This was bad. This could end his life out of the game and put him in jail. There were a lot of guys he’d crossed who were there, waiting on his ass to mess up and join them.
“I knew I should’ve put his slippery behind in a barrel of acid. Do you still have people in the police force?”
“Yeah, but none of them will touch this. It’s too hot and too heavy; the whole country’s looking. One mistake and it could be their careers on the line. You need to finish the job, Tembo!”
“Woman, what the hell am I meant to do, re-kill him? I’m retired. You need to get one of your boys with the force to take care of it.”
“Tembo, you may be enjoying retirement, but if I end up having to deal with this myself, I’ll use you as the fall guy. Don’t test me.”
Now Thomas was just mad. He hated getting threats, especially from a woman. How dare the weaker species threaten his very dominant male self! Except, she’d threatened him before and made good on it, so he didn’t want to cross her. “Fine. There’s no need to panic for now; everything I used to off him is destroyed. All they have now is the body of Kane Glazer, but they have nothing that leads them to his dispatcher. So, I’ll just keep tabs on it until there’s something to worry about.”
“You better, cos I’m not going down for this!”
Rude bitch hung up on him, goddamn.
Thomas stared at the innocent-looking picture of Kane on the TV, the “Marcus Glazer” side on full display with the caption “BODY OF MISSING GHANAIAN BILLIONAIRE PHILANTHROPIST FOUND.”
“Kane, oh Kane, why’d you have to be a son of a bitch yet again?”
Carol screamed in frustration.
Goddamn it! Everything was going great and then this fool had to come and threaten it. Bloody son of a bitch still affected her life even in his death. She sat down in her kitchen, staring at a vase Tembo bought her as thanks for the pay day. Cheap man, buying a vase for someone after they’d just made you a millionaire. Silly her too for accepting it, even going as far as putting flowers in it for her kitchen counter.
She knew him when he was Kane’s fixer, and he’d tried to ‘take care of her’ one time when Kane thought she’d fallen for a client. She had, but she wasn’t about to lose the good life this line of work afforded her. Of course, she turned the tables on him and got him fired, but why she retained affection for his two-timing ass, she didn’t even know. “Must be the biceps,” she murmured.
She thought of the many different ways she could break that vase with his face if she ever saw him, but her thoughts were interrupted by a call.
“Yes? … Oh, hello Inspector Kpodo. How are you today, sir? … Very well, thank you. … Yes, I just saw it on the news. … Yes, we worked together, but I didn’t see him for a while before the…incident. … You want me to come down to the station? … Sure, I’ll be there later this afternoon. … Yes sir. Thank you. See you soon.”
Not even a day had passed, and they were already calling her for questioning. F*ck!
Interesting stuff! I wonder what the questioning is gonna be about, and of course, those flashbacks. So critical…