Bad Luck Black Money (23 page)

Once they were out of the bathtub, Jenny began drying him off with a heated, fluffy towel. And then Boss began to come back to his senses.

"That was amazing!" Boss enthused as Jenny continued her job with the towel. "Who needs sex? That was WAY better than most sex, I've ever had."

"Are you sure?" asked Jenny as she began drying his groin area. "It seems a shame to let this go to waste."

"Oh, I'm sure," answered Boss, closing his eyes, enjoying the moment to its fullest. "Are you the best bather in the world, or can your skills be taught to others?"

While working on drying his legs, Jenny said, "I'm tempted to say I'm the very best and get you to take me with you. But in all honesty, it's easy to do."

She helped him put on a brand new suit, which fit him as only a custom-made suit could. He stopped her from tying a blue, silk necktie around his neck. So, she slipped it into his front pocket, lingering there for a second too long.

"Mr. Boss, you sure do look handsome."

"Thank, you, Jenny," said Boss as he looked her over. She had quickly dried herself off and put on a bathrobe before helping Boss out of the tub. He glanced around the bathroom but didn't see any dry clothing for her. "Do you have some dry clothes to put on or should I have some brought to you?"

"Please, don't worry about me," Jenny said. "I'm just doing my job. I'll clean up in here and have your clothes laundered. Don't worry, I promise I won't track water all over the carpet outside."

"I wasn't implying," Boss began saying before being cut off by Jenny, who was ushering him out of the bathroom.

"I know; I know," said Jenny when they reached the door. "I'll see you tonight."

"Really? Again?" asked Boss.

"Well, I certainly would assume you will need another bath this evening, won't you?" asked Jenny as she opened the hidden doorway.

Boss felt like he had never been so clean, yet felt so dirty in all his life.

Greeting him as he entered the bedroom was Esmerelda in her new dress with matching red lace gloves, purse, and sun umbrella. "What do you think?"

"You look marvelous, dear," answered Boss. His answer would have been the same if she were wearing an old flour sack.

"Was I right about the bathing attendant?" Esmerelda asked, while leading him toward the gaggle of servants who were readying to leave.

"Right as rain, my dear. We must get one or two of those for our home. How did we ever live without them?"

Esmerelda made her way into the middle of the servants and hugged her man, with one arm on his back and the other squarely on his butt. "I want you to keep your penis out of the help. Can you do that for me?"

"Where did that come from?" asked an incredulous Boss.

"Don't take it that way, honey. I trust you, but I don't trust all these half-naked whores running around. Honestly, it's like we're in the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah."

Boss knew that it was only a matter of time before Esmerelda threw one of her little insecurity fits. He was halfway amazed that she'd lasted for as long as she had on this trip. And the best way to reassure her fragile ego was with an inappropriate, public display of affection.

He went in hard and fast, grabbing one of Esmerelda's breasts in one hand and trying to grab some of her ass with the other. Her poofy, layered dress stopped his hand from feeling her tailbone, but in Esmerelda's defense, she was starting to develop a little bit of ass. Boss's tongue found its way deep enough down her throat to make her gag.

Pushing Boss off of her, Esmerelda coughed, "Get out of here, you're going to be late. And you're messing up my dress, you sexy beast."

On his way out the door, Boss called back to her, mainly for the servants to hear, "You'd better be ready for sex when I get back, woman!"

Chapter 33

The frail looking, manservant waiting outside of Boss's door, shook like a frightened Chihuahua. Surely, only a madman would yell something so vulgar.

"I understand that I'm late," Boss said. "I don't like being late."

"You're not really late, sir," said the manservant as he hurried down the hallway in front of Boss. "It's an informal setting. People come and go as they please."

Boss didn't respond to the frail man, but wondered if the guy was capable of going any faster. Then they were at the lecture hall.

"This is the rear entrance, sir. I doubt anyone will even notice when you enter."

The manservant opened the door, and Boss walked through. Every eye in the packed classroom turned to look up him. Boss turned and gave his guide the stink-eye as the door closed between them. The frail servant started shaking again.

Boss settled down in his chair in the rear of the lecture hall, which had stadium seating. A very plain looking man in his mid forties was lecturing on the topic of eugenics. Although Boss already had more in-depth knowledge on the subject than what he was hearing, it was still interesting.

In the outside world, eugenics was a taboo subject. All people were the same. To suggest otherwise was somehow xenophobic. Sure, there were strains of mankind who were faster, or smarter, or more pleasing to the eye than others, but that was one hundred percent due to environmental factors. Genetics played no role whatsoever.

The lecturing, middle-aged professor in his white lab coat and thick-rimmed eyeglasses had come to a conclusion. The zenith of human evolution was Germanic. This seemed odd to Boss, since his own heritage was a mix of French and English and American mutt. Nevertheless, his mind was open, and he waited for the professor to show evidence in support of his theory.

In through a door behind the lecturer walked two naked people. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed man standing at over six and a half feet tall, proudly displayed himself for the audience to study. Beside him stood an almost six foot tall woman with the prerequisite blonde-hair and blue-eyes. She also sported D-cup breasts with bright pink nipples and areolas. Both had thickets of untamed pubic hair.

"If you wanted to start the human race over again, these specimens of physical perfection should be your models. They can work in the fields all day and screw your brains out all night. The race is highly intelligent and many of their genetic weaknesses have already been purged.

I like to call them Saxony-Anhalts from the region of Germany from whence they originate.

My team has spent generations perfecting the breed. We have an ample supply of fertile women and virile men, from which you may start your very own breeding programs.

Are there any questions?"

Boss rocked back in his chair and it twisted from side to side as he studied the pod's reaction to what the professor had said. Half the members were scribbling notes down on paper or frantically typing away on computer keyboards. The other half of the pod looked as if they were lost, not knowing what to think or do.

A raised hand shot up from the middle of the lecture hall. It was light olive colored and belonged to King Jaheal Naheer.

"Yes, sir, what would you like to know?" asked the professor, happy that someone wanted more of his haughty wisdom.

Jaheal stood up and said, "I want to know what Boss has to say on the subject."

Every pen stopped scribbling and not another key was pressed as the entire pod looked in Boss's direction.

"I just got here," Boss spoke up. "Who am I to question this learned professor?"

"You're the most dangerous man here according to Duke Winterfield," said Gloria McNeil, the only female member in attendance. "I think I'd rather hear what you have to say on the subject than some quack scrounged up from some Ivy League university. No offense, professor."

"None taken," said the professor, who wasn't used to hearing any criticism from his students. His knuckles turned white as his fingers dug into the lectern. "Please, feel free to voice your opinion... sir."

Continuing to rock and swivel in his chair, Boss said, "Well, since everybody seems to be interested in my opinion, I'll give it to you.

If we were dropped back in the first century, Black Forest region of what is now Germany, then the professor is absolutely correct. The man and woman down there would make excellent breeding stock. Of course, you would want them to have sex exclusively with each other for the purpose of reproduction.

After just a quick glance around this room, I can see all kinds of genetic weaknesses and imperfections floating around in this gene pool. You wouldn't want to roll the dice and mingle your genes in with those beautiful freaks of nature, who stand naked before us. But then again, would you really want a homogeneous population of super men? What would stop them from rising up against you?

And what level of technology are we talking about here? The lecturer mentioned that his Saxony-Anhalts could work all day in the field. Are tractors and irrigation systems off the table? If so, do you realize how many calories those giants need to consume every day, in order to work hard and not lose weight?

There are just too many variables here to arrive at any definitive conclusion. Would I want to rule over ghost-white Germans at the equator? Maybe, if they had time to acclimate. Or would pygmies perform better in physical combat? Maybe, if we're taking small firearms. They'd definitely make for smaller targets, whereas giant Germans make for huge targets."

"I can't do this!" shouted a pod member, who was seated up front near the professor. "We're all going to die! He'll kill us all!"

Another pod member, seated near him, motioned for help. And several people dragged the distraught man out of the lecture hall.

"That's just Seymour," spoke Gloria over the chaos in the room. "He has panic attacks. Ignore him.... Do go on."

Just then, the Duke of Winterfield opened the door behind Boss and quietly said, "Milton, a word."

"Excuse me," Boss said, as he headed towards the exit.

The Duke and Boss walked down a hallway, stopping after they were a hundred yards away from the lecture hall. The Duke turned to Boss and asked, "Are you practicing psychological warfare against my entire pod?"

"What? No!" exclaimed Boss. Adding, "No, sir, your Dukedom."

"Don't lie to me, Milton. I'll ask you once more. Are you playing psychological games with all the other pod members?"

Staring the Duke right in his eyes, Boss said quietly but with conviction, "No, sir."

The Duke stood there studying Boss's face then replied, "I believe you. But that's the end of your lecturing days.

Actually, it's the last time that joker with a doctorate degree will ever spread his nonsense around here. He's served his purpose, which was to open some of the pod's minds to alternative lines of thinking.

Political correctness has seeped its way into my pod, and it must be eradicated. I want my pod striving to improve themselves.... I don't want them traumatized into stasis."

"That wasn't my intent, sir. I swear I was only trying to help. Gloria said that Seymour has panic attacks. I assume that's what just happened."

"Nobody likes a tattletale, Milton," said the Duke as he started walking. Boss tried to stay at his side.

"You're already competent enough. You don't need any directed learning. But that cannot be said for the rest of them. They'll never be a match for you and your spawn. But they can be better then, than they are now.

In the very beginning, after the billions of retarded monkeys are dumped into their mass graves, you'll need other pod members. Ones who aren't totally useless."

"Yes, sir."

"... And you're conclusions were all wrong, anyway."

"Really, how so, sir?"

"Milton, you are an American. It's not your fault. But as an American, you were constantly bombarded with comfy, cozy, idealistic nonsense. Some of it has evidently sunk in."

Boss almost objected, but then he thought better of it. He prided himself on always being open to others' philosophies and their worldviews, no matter how much they differed with his own. This was one of those times when he could learn more listening than talking. And it wasn't ever a good idea to argue with the Duke of Winterfield.

"The lecturer was also wrong. We are the ultimate achievement of human evolution. We determine the fate of the masses; therefore we are their gods. Genetics and heritage play only a minor role. Self-determination, absolute free will, and the power to shape the world as we see fit, those are the traits that make us gods....

But that wasn't really the professor's point, was it? He hypothesized that the Germanic race was the one, closest to perfection. Therefore, if you have to start the world over again, do so with German blood.... Wrong again.

The English make better slaves. The Roman Empire would have attested to that. Germans have a berserker streak imprinted in their DNA, which makes them inherently dangerous.

The English will fall to knee for anyone who prances around with a crown upon his head. They'll change their religion at his majesty’s behest, risking their own souls eternal damnation. They'll sail halfway around the world to fight and die for queen and crown.

And don't give me any of that latitudinal evolution bullshit. Englishmen can sweat under the hot African sun as good as any Ethiopian can. How you blindly accepted a kernel of racist theology in the militantly, antiracist USA is beyond me.

At one time in history, the sun never set upon the British Empire. Now, England is a basket case. Its men are not even shadows of their forefathers. Its women... well, I don't even want to think about the women.

Suffice to say, the England of old is dead. Its corpse is rotting in the light of day. Its bones are being picked clean by vultures. Even its past glory days are being erased from the history books. An entire country betrayed by its need for approval from the scum of humanity.

America fairs no better. The coals that once stoked the flames under America's melting pot have been smothered out. Now, the once revered melting pot is nothing more than a slop bucket, bubbling with stench and decay, waiting for the day somebody shows mercy and smashes it to pieces with a hammer.

And it wasn't even hard to destroy. We merely dangled a treat in front of their greedy faces, and they sold their own souls for a false feeling of security and a full belly.... Screw them! They deserve what's coming their way."

They walked on in silence, Boss not knowing what to say or if he should say anything at all. They ended up at the arboretum again, the one place that seemed to calm the demons inside of the old man.

They sat on a fossilized log beside the large, rushing stream, which zigzagged, through the indoor forest. Boss noticed that there were speckled trout swimming in the water. Some day, he'd have to ask if it was OK to go fly fishing here.

After a long while, the Duke asked, "What have you deduced?"

"About what, sir?" responded Boss.

"What do you think the New World Order’s purpose is? Why are you here? What's the meaning of it all?"

Boss took his time in answering. He wasn't sure what the man wanted to hear. Did he want some kind of reassurance? Did he want praise? The string of questions the Duke had asked seemed to hint for a philosophic response. So, that's how Boss decided to answer.

"I kind of feel like a caveman seeing an airplane for the first time. Your technology is leap years above mine, and mine is leap years above the general publics’. That means the NWO either has the technology for interstellar travel or is almost capable of such a feat.

This underground structure seems to be totally self-sufficient. As long as you have access to other sources of energy, besides the Earth's heat, then you could put this whole thing up in space or perhaps underground on a distant planet.

This obsession with building the perfect society makes sense if there are plans to replicate it out in space. One people with one solitary goal, spread out over the galaxy, hence, the underlying hatred of diversity and cultural differences in the New World Order. Oh, it's fine for the soon to be dead, normal people, but not the NWO. Do as we say, not as we do.

Sooo... am I close to the mark, or did I miss the whole target? I've probably watched too many science fiction movies, right, sir?... Duke Winterfield, sir?"

The Duke didn't acknowledge Boss. He acted as if he hadn't heard what the younger man had just said. He just sat there, watching the stream flowing by and looking at the exotic plants on the far side.

Thirty minutes later, a short bundle of female power came walking up behind them. She had her yellow-blonde hair in a ponytail and was dressed in combat fatigues with a .45 semi-automatic pistol strapped to her side.

"Duke Winterfield, Karen Sculley at your service, sir," said the little woman, holding her hands together behind her back.

"Milton," said the Duke as he got up and stretched. "This is your new chief of security."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," spoke Karen and extended her hand to Boss.