White Pirates of Somalia

©2009 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.

.oOo.
Part 2

When I left college with my MBA in hand, I felt ready to conquer the world. It was probably my cocksure attitude that helped me land that first job with Best Deal, soon to become America's leading electronics chain. I tore my way up the corporate ladder, leaving bloody bodies behind me. I was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

I went through women the way I went through newspapers, yesterday's was no longer of value. I couldn't let my career get sidetracked by some long term commitment. That is, until I met Sybil. Blond. Drop dead gorgeous. And totally infatuated with me. I fell deeply in love. Sybil had barely finished high school, but her intellect was not the attraction for me. We were total opposites in so many ways, that we complemented each other. She was compassionate, caring, warmhearted. On our second date she slept over and in two months she became Mrs. Montgomery. I was determined to work hard for her. I continued to make rapid promotions and by the time Abby born I had a reputation throughout the corporation as a tough negotiator.

I had a keen mind for details, and an appetite for language. I'd taken French in High School, Spanish in college, and bought Rosetta Stone when it first came out to learn Mandarin, because so many of BD's products came from China. Arabic was next on the agenda.

As busy as I was at work, I still loved coming home to watch the baby grow. I'd say "Who's Daddy's Little Girl?" and Abby would laugh hysterically. When Abby was still less than 1, I told Sybil she had so many other chores, I wanted to bathe the baby. That wasn't as easy as I thought. I was crouched over the tub, trying to keep the kid from sliding under the water. She was splashing and getting me drenched. As I lifted her out to dry her off, Sybil walked by and said it would have been easier to get in tub with her. That's what she does. So the next day before bath time, I considered putting on a bathing suit but instead I stripped naked and climbed in the tub with Daddy's Little Girl. When I got a hardon, I was so scared, I never bathed her again. After all, I was no pedophile.

I had the type of job that engendered enemies. But it also generated big bucks, both for me and the corporation. I negotiated contracts with suppliers that more or less said, "take what we offer or find another retailer." The same with the workers. BD managed to keep the unions out and the so called bargaining unit simply accepted what we gave them. Our competitors hated our cut throat methods because they couldn't compete with our prices. When I began to get anonymous death threats, I bought a gun.

A few months after Abby turned four, along came Kevin. Life was perfect: a girl and a boy, a loving wife, a high six figure salary, a big house, and all the toys. Ah, the toys! Besides the two BMW's in the garage, one of the toys was a 65' Sparkman and Stephens Motoryacht. We kept the Wet Dream berthed in Charleston, and took her out any weekend we could get free. And every July we went to sea, just the four of us. Bahamas, Bermuda, Virgin Islands, wherever the sun shone hot and my wife could sport a skimpy bikini, sometimes only half a bikini. Kevin and Abby each had their own stateroom and bath. They both loved to cruise.

Like all parents with money, we spoiled the kids rotten.
And if Sybil or I denied Kevin something,--like staying up late, buying a toy he saw, or getting extra cookies,--he simply asked the other parent. And if he still didn't get his cookies, then he'd sweet-talk Abby into getting them for him. Yeah, I know all kids play their parents against each other, but I had to admire the skill with which Kevin did it.

Abby was becoming just like her mother and Kevin more and more like me. They were both great kids. Like me, Kevin loved to explore and learn. I began taking him to the local playground on Sundays. When I noticed the other kids in the sandbox wouldn't play with him, I decided to have a word with him: "You're better than all of them. You don't need other kids. Don't even try to be nice to them unless there's something in it for you."

Kevin was bright and the next time we went playground he sat down on the only working swing. He didn't swing, just sat. Eventually a kid maybe a year older came over and asked him for the swing. Kevin asked him what he'd give him for it. They negotiated a while and in a few minutes Kevin joined me on the bench with the kid's lunch bag. Not sure if it was a smile or a smirk on his face but I was damn proud of him. He opened the lunch bag and pulled out an apple. He didn't really want the lunch, just the satisfaction. He made sure the kid watched him eat his apple. He took a bite of the peanut butter sandwich but when he found it was chunky, he wrapped it back up, put it on the ground and stepped on it, again making sure the other boy could see. "Next time I'm gonna ask for money."

"Good idea, Kevin."

For the next few months, Kevin had plenty of pocket change and several small toys. One day he came home carrying a brand new pair of expensive sneakers. Some sucker went home barefoot that day. My son may not have had any friends but he had the skills to make his way in this world.

By then we could afford a housekeeper so Sybil could spend her days shopping. Rosita was worth her salary. I noticed then Kevin also had my gift for language for he quickly learned to speak to Rosita in Spanish.

About that time I figured Kevin was old enough to know about my gun. I knew he was curious and didn't want him finding it on his own. Well, Sybil walked in, saw Kevin with the gun (unloaded) in his hand, and freaked. She made me promise never to let the children touch it again. That's a promise I've kept to this day. At least in the letter, if not in the spirit.

Abby was mommy's helper. They did everything together, especially shop. Like Kevin, she didn't have many friends. But who the fuck needs friends when you've got parents like us?! Every day Daddy's Little Girl grew more beautiful, more like her mother. And unlike Kevin and I, Abby had a soft spot like her mother. One day she came home with a little puppy someone was getting rid of. For weeks she and Ariel were inseparable, playing together, watching TV together. The dog even slept in her bed.

As much as she loved Ariel, she didn't like picking up the dog shit in the yard. Daddy's Little Girl was too much of a princess for that. But I was surprised one day when I saw her brother with the pooper scooper. And I was even more surprised when Kevin began bringing other tykes around to play with. I learned later what bargain my four-year old son had struck with his sister. Whenever Kevin brought other little boys around, she had to let them look under her skirt. And she couldn't be wearing panties. Of course Kevin was making money pimping peeks at his sister's seven-year old cunt. To Abby this exhibitionism apparently wasn't as abhorrent as picking up shit.

Of course, Kevin knew how to play the angles. Later, he happened to see eight-year old Roy next door experimenting with a cigarette. Roy asked him to please not tell his parents, and Kevin got him to clean up the dog shit from then on. Kevin was certainly a chip off the old block!

Actually the dog liked Roy more than Kevin anyway, and eventually even more than Abby, whose interest seemed to wane when Ariel was no longer a cute little puppy. Girls can be fickle.

When Kevin started school he still had no success making friends, probably because he didn't try. By then he knew other kids were on this earth to manipulate, not to befriend. So he was always the last picked for teams, and always the one sitting alone on the school bus. He was certainly bright however, and picked up his lessons quickly. He never let anyone take advantage of him, but got the better of them his own way, selling them answers to tests or writing excuses from gym class for a fee.

So between the four of us, we were our own friends. We were a family, very close, very tight, and who the fuck needs anyone else?!

When Abby was 10, and Kevin 6, Sybil was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. She lived six months, during which I cut back on my hours at work and told the board if they didn't like it they could fuck themselves. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Sybil in her last months. We talked a lot about the future. Over and over she made me repeat the gun promise. Both kids were in the DARE program at school, and she made me promise to do all I could to keep them off drugs. She also told me not to be reluctant to date. I joked about her spirit haunting my bed, but she knew my needs and said I should feel free to take new mates in bed. Hopefully one would become a good stepmother.

The funeral was elegant,--just the way Sybil would have wanted: the most expensive casket, lots of floral arrangements, a lovely black dress she'd chosen herself,--though sparsely attended. The few who offered condolences were probably looking for favors.

Thank goodness for Rosita, who kept the home on an even keel during the storm. Abby took her mother's death very hard. The littlest thing would set her off: seeing some favorite thing they bought together, eating some dish her mother enjoyed, passing someone who just looked slightly like Sybil.

I did date a few women, but no one measured up to Sybil. I never even took any of them to bed. For those needs, I contacted an agency and met call girls in a hotel in the afternoon. I was a tough customer, very hard to please. None of these prostitutes were as good in the sack as my wife, though all of them reminded me of her. I had enormous guilt feelings.

I threw myself into my work again and earned some more bonuses. That's why I was as surprised as anyone when BD filed for chapter 11. I never saw it coming. Of course they were right to keep me out of the loop, in case I slipped up and hinted something to a supplier. So up until the end I was negotiating hard and tough. That made the suppliers even more furious, assuming I had to have known all along about the corporation's financial problems.

I put out my resume, but none of our competitors wanted anything to do with me. It was payback time. I quickly saw there was no way I was going to make that kind of money any time soon.

I assessed my situation: no job, no prospects, no ties, no friends. What I had was plenty of money for the time being, a big house, a yacht and my skills.

I sat Abby and Kevin down one evening and pitched my proposal: "Let's go on a long cruise."

"Where?"

"Anywhere we feel like. Let's explore this big world."

"So we won't have to go to school?"

"Oh I'll make sure you get your lessons, but this way you'll really learn first hand. See new places. Meet new people. What do you say?"

Before anyone changed their mind, I sold the house, the cars, and liquified all my other assets. Abby gave Ariel to Roy, who quickly renamed the dog Spike, and both boy and dog were happy. I gave Rosita a generous severance package, took the kids out of school, flew to Charleston, and set sail.

.oOo.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.