Millennium - 74. Chapter 74

April 17, 2000

“It is almost time,” Stef observed. I nonchalantly walked out of his office, acting as if nothing urgent was going on, when in fact we were about to start our assault against Omega.

I went down to the conference room, which we’d officially labeled the ‘war room’, and found my team assembled. They were in better spirits this week. The collapsing NASDAQ had helped us out considerably. In addition to that, the concept of moving beyond this negativity, and of simply competing with Omega head-to-head, was something that appealed to all of us.

We’d put two big screen televisions in the room. One was linked to Omega’s stock, and displayed the current price and volume information. The other was on CNBC. That one had the volume turned up so it was like background music. We wanted to see and hear what they had to say when Omega started to get hit.

The stock screen showed a price of $44.25/share. The phone rang, and I picked it up. It was Rashid, so I put him on speaker phone. “The IRS should be issuing subpoenas within the hour, and they are expected to hold a press conference to announce their investigation into Omega’s tax evasion.” He was triumphant, as well he should be. We’d found a high-ranking person at the IRS who detested Omega, and was more than happy to have a case handed to him on a silver platter.

“When they go to draw on their portfolio for money to stay afloat,” Cal said, “the only asset they’ll see as worth anything is GoChang.”

“Until tomorrow,” I said with an evil grin. I turned to watch the screen as if the stock should plummet now before anything even happened, but I was distracted by what was happening on the other television. The background appeared to be a conference room, with an official seal on the podium.

We stared impatiently as an IRS official came strolling out, dinged around with the microphone for a few seconds, and then started talking. “This morning, my office issued subpoenas to the chief executive officer and chief financial officer of Omega Corporation, to answer for 17 counts of money laundering and tax evasion.” He flipped through some papers. “Through an extensive network of secret offshore accounts, it appears that Omega has avoided reporting taxable income, and has circumvented normal cash controls that prohibit illegal funds from entering the banking system.” He rambled on after that, answering a few questions, but our eyes were drawn back to the other screen, where Omega’s stock had plummeted to $40/share almost immediately. I wondered how the market would react when they found out that the IRS didn’t have all the information, that there were a few large accounts they were still unaware of.

“It’s still dropping,” Cal observed. The price had fallen down to $38 very quickly.

“Look at the volume they’re posting. Shares of Omega are trading like crazy,” Jacob said.

“What’s with that?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. That was part of my deal with the devil. As soon as the IRS announcement hit, Joaquin, Mr. Min, and several of their cohorts had begun selling Omega short. That was putting enormous pressure on the stock price, what with the market flooded by supply, but there being no significant demand to pick it up.

Randi began hammering at her computer, accessing the stock quote function. “There appears to be a lot of short selling going on.”

“Those are some smart people,” I said, pretending to be surprised. “We’ll probably end up making them a fortune. I’ll be back,” I said, and headed to my office.

Grace followed me in. “I’m sorry to ask stupid questions, but what’s this short selling mean?”

“That’s not a stupid question,” I said soothingly. The others in the room would have thought so, though, so that’s why she pigeonholed me in my office. “Normally, a person tries to buy a stock when it’s low, and then sell it when it’s higher.” She nodded. “In this case, investors sell the stock first. They borrow shares from a brokerage firm and sell them, and then when the price drops, they buy them back later.”

“So those people who sold at $40 will ultimately buy back when the stock gets lower?”

“That’s right. If it drops to $10/share like we think it will, they could buy it back then and quadruple their money. That would be a nice profit for an investment of just a week or two.” Or less, I thought.

“Are you doing that, selling their shares short?” she asked.

“No,” I shook my head. “If I did that, based on what we knew, that would be insider trading, and the SEC would be looking for me.”

“So we won’t make any money on this?”

“No, not on the short-selling that’s going on. We’ll make money later, if Omega falls apart and we get to pick up the pieces for a song.” With that I headed back into the conference room. “What did you figure out if Omega collapses?”

“We have a plan to pick up about 40% of their business,” Randi said. “They have product lines that dovetail nicely with our projects. PTL could easily integrate several of their other lines, probably up to 30% of the company. The remaining 30% is mostly consumer electronics, and that means it’s an easy sell to a company in that market.”

“You have numbers to back up those valuations?” I asked Cal.

“I do. I’m not padding them, though, so if you want room to negotiate, tell me now.”

“Let’s go with the raw numbers. If they can’t see that, we’ll have to work on a plan B.” I didn’t think PTL or another company would balk too much at getting a division of Omega handed to them at a bargain price. “If they won’t go with us, we’ll buy the whole damn thing and then spin off the stuff we don’t want.”

“The markets are really hammering Omega,” Ethan said. We looked and saw that their stock had plummeted to $30/share. “Whoever was doing that short-selling really sent them into a tailspin.” I forced myself not to smile.

“There she is!” Grace exclaimed, pointing at the other television. Alexandra Carmichael, in her crisp business suit and perfectly but rigidly coiffed hair, stood next to Elliot Pfinster as they prepared to face the press.

“What has happened today is an outrage, an example of a regulatory investigation based on thin air and nothing more, followed by a long binge of short selling clearly designed to drive down Omega’s share price.” She continued on with that theme, talking about stock manipulation and alleging that they were being framed. They didn’t mention us by name, but we knew they were throwing darts at us. They talked about Omega, and highlighted its assets. Alexandra made a big deal about GoChang, and how through that entity Omega would have a virtual lock on the Chinese internet market. She was playing right into our hands.

“You are presenting Omega as a bargain purchase at its current price?” a reporter asked. It had dropped to $25/share.

“I am,” she said firmly. “Both Mr. Pfinster and I are personally buying shares, taking advantage of the opportunity that this situation has created.” The price began to rebound, climbing back up to the $30/share range. We thought that would be where it ended, but there was an interview with one of the stock analysts that tracked Omega. He said that he’d looked at their valuation, and based on their outside assets, which meant the companies acquired by Amphion, Omega stock was significantly overpriced. The market closed with Omega at $28.75 share.

Omega had started the day at $44.25, and had closed at $28.75. It had lost $15/share in value; it had dropped 35%. Elliot Pfinster had just earned himself a paper loss of $100,000,000.

It was a very long day, and by the time it ended, I was exhausted. I drove home just in time for dinner, walking into the dining room at 6:59pm. “Hey baby,” I said as I walked over and gave Robbie a big kiss. He’d come up here with me for the week, because he loved me and he knew I’d need his support.

“Hey. You look tired,” he said sympathetically.

“You have no idea.” This whole thing had been a whirlwind.

“So how was your day?” JP asked.

“We managed to deprive Elliot Pfinster of $100 million,” I quipped cheerfully. I sat in my seat and said hello as Cass and Ace showed up, along with Frank and my mother. Wade and Matt were here, of course; the food was much better here than on campus. “How is your mother doing?” I asked Wade.

“Really well. No one knows how to deal with her now that she’s sober and not evil incarnate,” he joked. “I talked to my father, and he’s pretty happy, so it must be working out.”

“So do you think they will figure out that the IRS got that information from Lark?” Stef asked, bringing us back to the business at hand.

“The IRS was told that it came from a mysterious man who cannot be found,” I said uncomfortably.

“And who is this mysterious man?” Stef asked.

“I think they are under the impression that it is Brian Parnell,” I said. I actually gave JP an apologetic look, but he was stone-faced as always. “I suspect he won’t have much to worry about though. Dan and Alexandra could both end up doing time for this one.”

Dinner was relatively quiet after that. After we finished, we went out onto the patio for our nightly joint. JP studiously avoided mentioning Brian, and acted like it didn’t bother him, so I went with it. I figured that I would just assume he had learned his lesson and moved on. The pot had only partially eased my nerves, but Robbie took me down to our room and treated me to one amazing orgasm, and that was enough to help me sleep peacefully. Elsewhere, things were probably a lot less quiet.

***

Not more than 15 miles from Escorial, a non-descript white Chevrolet van was parked on a residential street. It was next to a construction site, so the presence of an unattended vehicle did not draw attention like it might otherwise have done in this exclusive, upscale neighborhood. Only the vehicle was not unattended. Inside, behind it’s blacked out windows, were three men, and they were waiting for night to truly set in before they began to work.

They were an odd group, these three men. The leader was a skinny white guy who went by Fred, even though that wasn’t his real name. He was an expert in hacking, and was wanted in several countries for computer-related crimes. Having him here, in charge of this mission, was a real coup, since he was normally too valuable to risk on field operations like this. But the money had been good, and he was a bit of a wild man, so the extra risk was more of a thrill to him than anything.

With him were his muscle, two goons who were good with their fists, knives, and guns. Carlos was a big Latino man, while Franklin was a slightly bigger black guy. Fred had only agreed to this mission if these two accompanied him. They looked big, dumb, and scary. They were big, and with their horrible prison tattoos they were certainly scary, but they weren’t dumb. In fact, they were experts at breaking and entering and at dealing with hostages, both skills that would be required for this job.

Half an hour before they were to begin, they checked their equipment and turned off all the lights in the van, allowing their eyes to acclimate to the darkness. They sat there in silence until the designated moment. “Time,” Fred said, the only cue they needed to carefully and silently make their way out of the van. They climbed up the hill in front of them, heading toward the house above them. The hill was steep but not treacherous, and the three men were able to scale it with ease. They slowed their pace as they neared the house. Fred positioned himself in the shadows, using binoculars to look inside for any activity. He could see a young man sitting on a big sectional sofa petting a small dog. Shit. He hated dogs. In another room, he could see another man working at his computer. Franklin and Carlos headed off to the left and right, respectively, circling the house, looking for any indicators that there may be security, or alarms. They returned and nodded to Fred. He made a signal, indicating that there was a dog inside. They were about to break into the house when an incredibly lucky event took place. The young man on the couch got up cheerfully and the dog followed him, wagging his tail. The young man opened the door and led the dog out, and then things moved quickly.

Carlos moved up and grabbed the young man from behind and used an inhalant to knock him out. While they struggled, and the dog barked, Franklin charged through the house and was up to the other man before he could turn off his computer. “What do you want?” the man asked.

“You’re Dan Church?” Franklin asked.

“Who wants to know?” the man asked. Franklin pistol-whipped him a few times, just to get his attention. “I’m Dan Church,” he admitted.

Fred entered the room and walked over to the computer. “We’re going to make a few transactions in your offshore accounts.”

“I don’t have any offshore accounts,” Church said.

“Omega does. You bullshit me again, and I’ll start removing your body parts one at a time.” The malice in Fred’s voice was palpable. They frisked Dan to make sure he had nothing on him, like a phone.

“What happened to Brandon? What about the dog?” Church asked.

“They’re both tied up in the other room. If you cooperate with us, they’ll be released. If not, they’ll join you in hell,” Fred said. Franklin pulled out some handcuffs and duct tape, then used them to firmly secure Church to his desk chair.

Fred sat at the man’s computer and loaded up the bank’s website. “I need your account and access codes.”

“Fuck off,” Church said.

“Bad answer,” Franklin sneered. He pulled out some large pliers. “You won’t type as well with a finger or two missing.”

“NO!” Church said.

“I think you’ll only cooperate if you think we’re serious,” Fred said. “I think we’ll have to take a few body parts off of you before we get what we want.”

Church pondered that, digested the situation, and relented. He gave them his access codes, and then sat back, dejected and defeated. Fred didn’t care, he was too busy transferring money. Millions of dollars were funneled to numbered accounts, accounts which would soon be emptied into other accounts, and so forth, until the trail was no longer traceable. Those dollars would be used to pay him, Franklin, and Carlos, as well as the two other teams that were ready to spring into action tomorrow night.

Fred thought about that and had to marvel at the guy who thought this plan up. He was taking out hits and paying for them with stolen money. It was brilliant, just brilliant! His own share of the take would set him up in fine style in Costa Rica, or another country without extradition treaties with the US.

What money was left, and it was still several million dollars, was funneled into another account, one that was in Church’s name only. Fred demanded and got the password and log-in for Church’s e-mail account, then inserted a 3.5” floppy disk into the computer’s disk drive. He quickly pulled up a text file and cut and pasted the words into Church’s e-mail program. The e-mail was a full confession and itemization of the money laundering and tax evasion charges the IRS had leveled against Omega. In it, Church laid all of the blame at the feet of Alexandra Carmichael. He told them that she had already commissioned hit men to kill people who had crossed her, including some guy named Mark Clark and another named Brian Parnell, and asked to be taken into the Federal Witness protection program. When Fred hit “send”, he had effectively ended Dan Church’s life as he knew it.

“What did you do?” Church asked.

“You just sent a detailed confession to the Feds, and implicated your boss,” Fred said with a grin. Before Church could react, Franklin was behind him with the inhalant, knocking him unconscious as well. They carefully undid the handcuffs and made sure they left nothing behind, then left the house and descended back to their van. They made their way out of Hillsborough long before Dan Church and Brandon woke up.

***

April 18, 2000

“That must have been a rude awakening,” I said to our team. The Chinese government had shut down GoChang in the morning, Beijing time. That meant that when Alexandra, Elliot, and the markets all woke up, the knowledge that GoChang was toast would be front and center.

“I’ll bet Omega takes a major hit over that one,” Cal speculated. He was right. Trading opened and Omega’s stock plummeted even more. By mid-morning, it was down to $23/share. It was still priced at way more than we were willing to pay.

I didn’t receive any reports about my plans for last night, but then again, I hadn’t expected to. I figured that the news would tell me whether we’d been successful or not, and in the early afternoon, it did. Right after lunch, FBI agents entered Omega’s headquarters and arrested Alexandra Carmichael. She frowned at the cameras as they hauled her out, looking to all the world like the shrew that she was. I was in the war room with my team, and we all cheered as we watched her being carted off.

That was followed by a news conference. The same IRS spokesman came out and told the world that Omega’s CFO had reached an agreement to testify on behalf of the government. “So Church turned state’s evidence?” Jacob asked.

“That’s what it looks like,” Randi said. I watched them, these bright people as they digested that, and watched them as they began to wonder if I had anything to do with that.

“Remember what I said in the beginning? We need to stay on our toes and look for opportunities.” They mostly just rolled their eyes at me, while I chuckled.

“Look,” Randi said, pointing at the television. We saw the dour, old, grizzled face of Elliot Pfinster standing in front of a podium with ‘Omega’ emblazoned across it.

“Effective immediately, I have accepted the Board’s request to step in and take over as interim CEO of Omega Corporation,” he said gruffly. “I plan to serve in that position until these ridiculous charges against Alexandra Carmichael are dropped. I won’t rest until those who perpetrated this scam against Omega are brought to justice!”

“Oh yeah, like you’re such a badass,” Ethan quipped at the TV, cracking us all up.

“That should really piss David off,” Grace observed. “David, her son,” she added, reminding us of who she was talking about.

“He’s been the guy just waiting in the wings, looking pathetic, kind of like the Prince of Wales,” Rashid said over the phone. “Now, when it should be his time to take the reins, Elliot steps in and aces him out.”

“That seems to have stopped the slide in their stock price,” Cal said, pointing at the screen. The stock had leveled off at $20/share.

“Shouldn’t it be lower? The CEO just got hauled away, the CFO is a federal witness, and the new CEO is an old fart,” Grace said.

“I think the markets are digesting the news,” Stef said. None of us had even heard him walk into the room. “Having Elliot take over is a good strategy. You have a floundering company in trouble, so you bring in an old, experienced hand to fix it. That is why things have stabilized there.”

“What now?” Cal asked. “If this is as low as it goes, we’re not going to be able to pick the pieces apart.”

“Let us focus on what we have already accomplished,” Stef said in a slightly scolding tone. I watched Cal’s reaction, the fear that he’d offended Stef. No one wanted to get on his bad side, not because that was dangerous, but because they had such great respect for him. “We have bought into Triton for a bargain price, and look to make a lot of money on that company even if we have to compete with a strong Omega. You have taken a hideous and reprehensible woman, and tossed her out of power. These are impressive achievements!”

“You’re right, Stef,” Cal said. “I guess I was thinking we could work miracles on this one.”

“Why don’t we see how this plays out?” I asked. “The Senate Hearings are tomorrow, and if we’re lucky, this will let us pick up that third contract.”

“That could be a real problem for them,” Cal said. “They have to be down to minimal cash reserves at this point. I don’t see them getting loans and financing, especially after they lose that contract.”

“So let us remain optimistic, and keep our eyes open for a good opportunity.” They all agreed, of course, since Stef said it. We went back to Escorial after that and had a great dinner. Claire and Jack came up and we celebrated Alexandra’s arrest in fine style.

Robbie and I retired to our room and made love, the kind of bonding experience that was surreal. After we were done, and I was sprawled across him, I felt him tense up.

“What?” I asked.

“You feel uptight,” he said. “Like there’s something going on.”

“This is a busy week,” I said, deflecting his question. It’s not that I didn’t want to answer him; I just wanted him to think before he probed too hard.

“Tonight is the night, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said simply. I knew him so well, that I was reaching up to wipe away the tear just as it started to form.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as he apologized for crying.

“You know I have to do this, and I know it’s hard on you. It’s OK. Really,” I told him soothingly. Then I held him tight while he cried, not a sobbing kind of thing, but gentle tears to reflect sadness, not devastation.

***

Palm Springs, California

Xavier Hernandez set up his sniper rifle, the night scope adjusted for the light in the bedroom of his target. He aimed the rifle carefully, just for practice, and then backed away from the weapon to look around and make sure no one else was present. His job was easy. He was an expert marksman, and all he really had to do was aim and shoot. The only problem with this kind of job was dealing with your conscience, but that wasn’t a problem for Xavier. He had no conscience.

He was a paid assassin, a well paid one, and in this case, a pre-paid one. He’d discovered, to his surprise that the money for this job was already in his bank account. That wasn’t a risk with a man like Xavier. He may not have a conscience, but he did have his honor. Stealing was a crime he simply would not commit.

He resumed his position, watching the room, waiting for his victim. That wasn’t a problem either. This job taught a man patience. He relaxed, moving his position, taking a break from his scope every minute or so to re-survey his surroundings. He’d gotten adept at sensing and identifying desert wildlife. He knew there was a rattlesnake within 20 feet of him, but he wasn’t afraid of a reptile. The pistol in his lap, the one with the silencer, would make short work of the snake, or of the coyote that was nearby.

He glanced through the scope and was rewarded with the sight of the young man who was his target: Slightly built and blond, very cute, if you were into guys, and Xavier wasn’t into guys unless he was in jail, or really drunk and horny. He almost laughed aloud as the target started playing with himself. Xavier lined up the rifle and was about to shoot when the target moved, reaching into a side drawer. He watched as the target pulled out a big dildo and lubed it up, and then jammed it in his ass. He alternately worked his ass, then his dick, then back again.

Xavier ignored his own erection and focused on the task at hand. He got an evil grin as he planned his next move. He watched through the high-powered scope as the young man cringed, as the ecstasy built up to a crescendo. He moved the scope down, aiming it at the target’s penis, just in time to see it begin spewing out cum. Xavier only watched him blast a few shots before he re-aimed the scope. He had a laser bead right on the young man’s forehead. As the young man leaned back, enjoying the afterglow of his evening masturbating session, Xavier squeezed the trigger. He watched through the scope as the bullet pierced the glass window, causing it to shatter, and then hit the target almost right between the eyes. No one could survive a gunshot wound like that. Xavier quickly packed up his gun and loaded it into his truck. He was on the move less than two minutes after he’d fired the gun.

Carson was no more.

Morgantown, West Virginia

In the months since he’d left Escorial, Brian Parnell had not bothered to explore the country, or other places in the United States. Instead, he’d headed back to Appalachia, to the part of the country he knew so well. He’d picked Morgantown for no other reason than it was cheap, and it was where he’d stopped to fill up his gas tank. He’d rented a nice enough apartment downtown, and gotten a job working for a local CPA. He wasn’t really that into accounting, but he did a good job, and made enough money to live on.

In reality, he had plenty of money to live on even if he didn’t work. He hadn’t been nearly as broke as he’d let on when he went up to visit Escorial. He’d merely been building up his war chest, getting resources for the next time he decided to take on one of his half-brother’s self-important kids. He’d already messed Brad up so bad he’d almost turned into a psycho. Maybe it was time to mess with Ace, or even Claire. Or maybe Claire’s kids. Her son, John, was about the hottest looking 12-year-old Brian had ever seen. Maybe he needed an expert to guide him in the art of love. Brian chuckled at his own joke.

He had no need to rush, and no need to worry. He’d shown up in town with a fake ID and a whole new name. Brian Parnell was now Andrew Spencer. Andrew Spencer would live and work in this town for as long as he wanted, maybe for the rest of his life. He sat on a bar stool with his seductive look.

The intended recipient of Brian’s seductive pose was a guy who had only gotten into town yesterday. All night long, he and Brian had traded glances and looks, giving each other signals, only when the bar closed, the new stranger had been gone, and Brian had felt let down. But now, the guy was back, and he was playing the game with a different intensity. Brian could sense the lust in him.

Dino Marconi was the guy he wanted, but Dino Marconi wanted Brian for an entirely different reason. Dino Marconi was a hit man for an organized crime family in Pittsburgh. Word had come down that the boss wanted this creep taken out and Dino owed the boss a favor. Dino owed the boss his life. He’d made the mistake, the big mistake, of over-skimming, and ripping off his capo. The boss had intervened and made things right, but in return, Dino owed the boss his soul. It was time to pay up.

Dino flexed his bicep, letting it bulge the sleeve in his polo shirt. He sneered inside at this guy. He’d tried to think of ways to get to him, and had spent a lot of time mulling over different techniques before he got to Morgantown. It had only taken a few minutes watching the guy to pick up on the fact that he was a raging queer. That made things a lot easier for Dino, because Dino knew that guys like Brian, small, skinny guys, usually went for big, bulging men like him. Dino was a wrestler, and even though he no longer participated in that sport, he worked out constantly, keeping his hulking body in prime, toned condition. He’d worn a white polo shirt tonight, knowing how that would contrast perfectly with his olive skin.

Dino wasn’t too picky about where he stuck his dick. A hole was a hole, as long as he got off. He’d rather have a woman if there was one around, but a guy like this would do. Sex for Dino wasn’t usually a romantic thing anyway; it was usually just about getting off. He flirted with his eyes, leading this blond guy on, until finally he’d teased him enough. He sauntered over to the bar and leaned in to get a beer, making sure he brushed against the blond.

“Sorry I bumped into you,” Dino said.

“Not a problem,” the other guy said. “I’m Andy. Andy Spencer.” Dino pretended to take that in, even though he knew the guy’s name was Brian, not Andy.

“I’m Dino. You hang out here a lot?”

“It’s about the only place in town to meet interesting people,” Brian said.

“I saw you looking at me. That mean you find me interesting?” Dino asked, turning on his charm.

“Very interesting,” Brian said. He let his foot run across Dino’s calf for a brief second. “Where are you staying?”

“The motel across the street,” Dino said.

“Is it nice?”

“You want to find out?” Dino asked.

“Yeah.”

“Come on,” Dino told him, and led him out of the bar. They walked across the street to the motel, where Dino unlocked the room and led Brian inside. It was an old room, and it smelled musty. “So what do you think?”

“I think that as long as you’re in this room, it’s magnificent,” Brian told him, moving closer. Dino pulled Brian into him, wrapping his arms around him, and then leaned down and planted a long kiss on him. He was forceful, in a way he knew Brian would like, and he was right. He was actually enjoying himself. He made the little faggot lick his balls clean, and then forced him to work on his hole. Dino knew he was sweaty, dirty from being outside and wandering around all day, but that just seemed to get Brian more excited.

Dino pushed Brian onto all fours and grabbed the lube that was next to his bed. He slathered it on his cock, and up and down Brian’s crack, getting a loud moan for his efforts. “Condom,” Brian said with a gasp.

“Fuck you,” Dino snapped, and slapped his ass. “I’m bare backing your sweet ass.” Before Brian could object, Dino drove into him, spearing him with his cock. Dino pushed Brian down so he was flat on his stomach and then made sure Brian could feel his huge muscles as they worked solely to fuck the shit out of him. He repositioned Brian on his knees; with his head on his folded arms, and slapped his cute ass before he plunged into it again. He pounded away, savoring this sweet hole that was giving him so much pleasure.

Dino felt Brian quivering beneath him, and knew that he was about to blow. “Blow that load baby! Blow that load,” Dino ordered. Brian let out a shrill moan and began pumping his orgasm out onto the bedspread. Dino reached behind him, into the drawer of the nightstand, and pulled out his pistol with its silencer attached. Just as Brian was shooting his last blast of cum, Dino put the gun to the back of his head and blew Brian’s brains out.

Then Dino did his favorite thing. While Brian’s dying body spasmed, its last movements being mere twitches, Dino pounded on, fucking him until the body was lifeless. He tried to stop himself, but this was, for him, the ultimate fetish. For Dino, nothing was better than fucking someone as they died. He blasted one of the biggest loads of his life into the corpse, and then got his things together and left Morgantown.

***