Having It All (18 page)

“And Martha,” said one excitedly, “they have GUNS.”

F&E did nothing to dispute that rumor and so, most of the time, there were few uninvited guests at the camp.

On this particular winter day, Max and Ted were out hunting for rabbits. They were on snowshoes, deep in one of the many thickets in the lowlands of the property, when Ted held up his hand, lifted his earmuff and pointed south. They both heard it. The roar of at least two, maybe three screaming two-cycle engines turning the high speed snow tracks of snowmobiles and they were coming closer. Both men had worked out a plan for just such an event and they quickly and carefully set their trap for the illegal vehicles.

In a few minutes, three upscale skidoos appeared, going slower now as they probed the edges of the thicket, looking for a way through the brush and frozen swampy terrain. Ted stepped out from behind a tree and flagged the three vehicles down, displaying his legitimate Police Reserve badge and holding his shotgun in a port arms position diagonally across his chest. When the machines stopped, he gave them the “cut” sign and made a small motion with the shotgun to emphasize his point. Once they shut down, he signaled the riders to dismount. Reluctantly, all three did so and it was then that Ted realized that two out of the three were women and the third was a young man.

“You are trespassing on private posted land. Would you like to show me your operator’s license?” Ted asked authoritatively.

The three seemed confused and were certainly intimidated by the lone gunman and his badge and firearm.

“We didn’t bring them with us,” said the woman from the lead vehicle. She pulled off the hood of her snowsuit and turned up the edges of her knit cap, revealing a better than pretty face and tendrils of dark brown hair. She was probably twenty something, Ted thought, admiring the small, compact body stuffed into a one piece, bright yellow nylon snowsuit that looked like it was two sizes too small for her. She displayed curves and the usual female assets well, in spite of the bulky coverall.

“We were just showing him the area. I’m sorry we are on your land and we’ll go back the way we came.”

“Nope,” said Ted, shaking his head and putting his badge wallet back in his pocket while he carefully checked out the other equally attractive blond in the red and black snow suit, who was now fidgeting with the handlebars of her vehicle and obviously frightened and cold.

“We didn’t mean any harm,” the Red and Black suited woman said.

“The owners will want to press charges,” Ted responded. “And since you don’t have ID, I’ll have to ask you to give me the keys to all these vehicles and then come with me. We can call the sheriff as soon as we get to the house, but there’s no cell phone service here, so we gotta walk.” The third member of the snowmobile party, the young man, remained quiet and silent.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” said the second woman. “And you wouldn’t dare shoot us.” She threw her leg back over the machine’s saddle and turned the key to start the motor. “If you want us to come back with you, you can ride behind us on the skidoo. We’re leaving.”

“You’re right,” said Ted, loudly. “I won’t shoot you. It’s Sunday and I usually only shoot trespassers on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but if you start that machine up I’ll put a load of double O buck right through the gas tank.

“We got a right to be here,” piped up the young man who had been standing quietly next to his vehicle until now. He was probably eighteen or nineteen and had a windblown and sun burned face protected in part by his goggles, knit cap and the hood of his suit. “You can’t keep us off public lands.”

“These are not public lands,” said Max from behind the group. His over/under twelve gauge shotgun was pointed up and over the heads of the three, but it was clear that he was not going to put up with their nonsense. “Now take the keys out and give them to him,” he said, motioning at Ted with the shotgun. Suddenly, everyone decided to cooperate and three sets of keys were passed to Ted who put them in to his pocket.

“Let’s go,” said Ted, motioning them to follow him as he turned around and headed towards the main house, which was about a half mile away and over the nearby ridge, “unless you want to sit out here and argue while it gets dark.”

“You should know, Mister,” said the second woman, who also, in Ted’s opinion, was a looker and probably in her mid twenties, “that my father is Ronald Johnson and he will not take kindly to your kidnapping us at gunpoint.”

“Who is Ronald Johnson?” Max asked, knowing full well that Johnson was a local attorney who F&E used for most of their legal work. He had met Johnson only a few days before when there was some discussion about possibly selling some or all of the land.

“He’s a big criminal attorney,” said the woman, trudging with effort through the knee deep snow and puffing clouds of steamy breath from the exertion.

“Snowmobiling doesn’t build endurance or muscles,” Max said, laughing. “And I never heard of Johnson, except Jeremiah.”

The five trudged the rest of the half mile in silence. Ted and Max made it easily on their snowshoes and the snowmobile trio found it tough going in their bulky snowmobiler’s coveralls and thick, heavy boots. An hour later, they arrived at the house and were immediately invited inside.

“We can have a chat with the owner and you can call someone to come and get you,” said Max. “Or, if you want, you can call Sheriff Harrison and interrupt his dinner with his family on this Sunday evening and complain about us impounding your snow machines.”

“My Dad is going to kill me,” the boy said, quietly.

“Maybe we should call him,” Ted suggested as he took off the snowshoes and dusted the snow off his boots.

As the group sat in the kitchen sipping coffee and hot chocolate that Ted quickly made, Frank entered and surveyed the three newcomers with an appraising eye. He was wearing his usual country squire attire that he actually saved for such occasions, just to humor the locals. The outfit consisted of a dark maroon, ragged woolen sweater, dirty jeans with a plaid flannel lining, an old pair of LL Bean snow boots with molded rubber bottoms and leather tops and his tinted granny glasses. As a further concession to the mountain community, he had a large sheath knife on his belt, behind his right hip. He was unshaven and looked like he had just crawled out from under some sort of machinery with oil and grease on his face and hands. As he went to the sink and washed his hands, he said over his shoulder to Ted: “Where did ‘ya get this bunch? Catch ‘em poachin’ deer up on the north side?”

“Well, no sir,” Ted said, falling into the routine. “These city fellas was running their power mowers in the wetlands. They was trespassing and also in violation of the federal restrictions on vehicles in the registered wetlands.”

“That so?” said Frank, drying his hands and fixing himself a cup of coffee from the five gallon coffee maker on the counter. “You old enough to poach?” he asked the boy, who was staring at him fearfully over his cup of hot chocolate.

“Ye, yes Sir, I am. But we wasn’t poaching. We were just out for a Sunday ride and we’re real sorry we were on your land.”

“You got any weapons?”

“No sir,” the three guests said in concert.

“That right, Ted?”

“Yes, Sir. No weapons. Just three hot rod snowmobiles that are now sitting in the snow over the ridge. This one here,” he pointed to the blond in the red and black suit, “says her father’s some hot shot lawyer…ah, what’s his name?”

“Ronald Johnson,” said the blond, who by now had shed the top of her snowsuit and was looking cool and less nervous in her well-fitting, plaid work flannel shirt and white turtleneck.

“Oh, him,” said Frank, laughing. “He’s just some hick ambulance chaser up here in the woods. Not to worry, Ted.”

“He’s not an ambulance chaser,” said the blond heatedly, her full chest bouncing a bit in mild indignation and her already cold reddened cheeks getting redder.

“Oh, I know, I know,” said Frank. “I know Ron and he just happens to be my attorney too, so simmer down.” He paused, sat in the remaining captain’s chair and looked at the group.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, if you agree. Ted here will drive you all back to town and make sure you get home. Are you all living in the same place?”

“Yes Sir,” said the boy.

“Okay. You can come out here tomorrow when its daylight and recover your vehicles. I am not going to press charges, but I want you to stay off my land and to tell your snowball buddies that I mean it.”

“Thanks,” said the brunette, who had also slipped out of her snowsuit top in the warm kitchen and was displaying a ripe and youthfully fit body under the winter clothing. “We appreciate that and we’ll spread the word.”

“Well, not so fast,” said a woman’s voice from the doorway.

It was Ellen, who had apparently heard the whole, or most of, the conversation. “I think some sort of compensation for the trespass is in order, don’t you?” she looked at Frank and winked.

“Well, yes, that would be the honorable thing to do,” said Frank. “Let’s see. Any of you married?”

“Nope, not me,” said the blond, grinning.

“Not me,” said the boy. “And I don’t plan to be.”

“How about you?” Frank asked the pretty brunette, looking carefully into her brown eyes. “Any marriage plans?”

“Ha,” the girl said, looking around at the group. “Not likely, unless it’s to her.” She laughed an honest, uninhibited laugh and nodded at the blond, who blushed and nodded her head slowly.

“Okay. That’s great,” said Frank. “We like diversity and your gender preferences make no difference to us. You are all invited back here for dinner Wednesday night and no excuses. Ellen makes a mean pot roast and we will have other guests you might enjoy meeting. Be here at six thirty and dress up a bit. None of this mountaineer crap,” he said gesturing to his own crummy outfit. “We’ll be drinking and if you want, there are plenty of spare rooms in the house and you can stay the night, arrange to be picked up at midnight or make sure you have a designated driver. Ok?”

“We’ll be there, and we’ll stay on at your invitation. I hate driving at night here when there’s snow on the ground,” the blond said. “And thanks. See you then.”

“Good,” said Frank. “Take ‘em home Ted.”

Chapter Thirteen

Basement Trio

Meanwhile, in the cellars, Patty, Katy and Purple were having a party of their own. At their joint request, and for a little variety, they had been placed in the triple kneeling cages that were joined at one end to form a three pointed star and they were enjoying the intimacy of this particularly special accommodation.

The cages were designed to allow almost no movement by the occupants. Frank and Ellen had drawn up the designs after seeing some explicit drawings by a French erotic artist and had made their own modifications. The structures were built from chrome plated steel reinforcement bars and welded into a rectangular box shape with removable top and bottom. The sides were fixed and could not be adjusted, but the top and bottom could be removed or fitted and locked to compress the occupant. Additional steel bars were available to be inserted in the sides or from front to back to further restrict the movements of the occupant and once inside, the person in the container discovered that if properly set up, the box cage could restrict any movement whatsoever. This was the situation that all three young women now found themselves sharing.

Before entering the cages, certain preparations were made.

Hands and feet of the occupant were first inserted into welded steel mittens and shoes that separated and confined the fingers and toes in glove and boot-like metal capsules. So, no finger or toe movements would take place. These devilish devices were locked on with cuffs that went around wrists and ankles and had welded on rings at several locations that allowed locks or chains to be attached. The victims (and they were truly victims once they were enclosed in the cages) had their heads locked into clamshell steel, leather lined helmets (various sizes were available so that everyone was sure to get a good fit) which restricted and prevented speech, hearing and sight. Even the sense of smell could be altered because the air channels into the helmets were led through a pump and filtration system that could add or remove any scent from the air that the victims received. (Ellen always said that she preferred the fresh pine scent.)

The internal gags on the helmets rivaled anything else in the speech elimination category because they trapped the tongue, clamped the jaws and lips shut and put pressure on certain nerve centers that supposedly controlled speech. Arms and legs were cuffed at the wrist, above the elbows, below and above the knees and at the top of the thighs, then closely chained to the sides, front and back of the cage. The leg cuffs were not conventional hand cuffs or shackles, but custom made metal bands with built in springs that allowed a certain amount of expansion when the wearer’s muscles flexed and prevented circulation-inhibiting tightness. Thus, when attached to the wearer in a standing position they were snug, but when the leg was bent, as in a kneeling position, the cuff expanded slightly, still straining the limb, but not cutting off circulation. The design was complex and expensive to implement, but it worked.

The top of the box was closed and locked and the extra bars were inserted in key locations:

Through the sides and just above the neck, pressing the head down and holding it there.