| Subject: Chapter 248 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 248) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, July 19, 07:08:26am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
He was near the breaking point, once again--had come close to it more than once these past couple of months. It was bad enough that his daughter was pregnant by her seducer, but to think of them living together for good was simply unendurable. The actor had already run out on children before--not a true demerit against most men with their mistresses, but the actor's own choices of women had been a hideously mongrel lot. To think of a future which involved Samuelle's presence in the life of Jones's own grandchild . . .
His hand was on the phone, not for the first time--the possible alternative he had often enough played with in the back of his mind returning to him once more. It just wasn't enough that the actor be sent away. Even if it were to his own home country--who apparently knew how to treat him, at least--it just couldn't satisfy. War, admittedly, had its casualties, but it was anything but certain. The most prepared and diligent could die in the first fight, while a man who had shirked every duty made it through unscathed--and honored; it couldn't be said to be fair. While he might dream of Michael's death there, it wasn't anything he could count on; the rage nipped at him again. And that just wasn't promise enough for him now.
It was how open the future was which infuriated him, the ridiculous bargain leaving far too much to chance. True, it would rid his daughter of the man for awhile, might give her an opportunity to rethink her foolish choice, but, even if she did, that changed little anymore. Samuelle would still come home to his wife and child--and, once it was that far along, Nikita, like any woman, wouldn't be able to leave.
It was the damage to his daughter's reputation which worried him the most just now, the fact that--even if she changed her mind before her husband's return--there was no real way out. She would no longer be presentable to Jones' friends if she bolted, would have no one to take care of her. He would have no real use for her himself--even less for the bastard child she would have in tow; that the word might not be technically correct, in this case, altered his mood little. And what of that child? She couldn't exactly abandon it after all the publicity of its arrival. No. She would be forced to stay--and that in itself was simply unforgivable.
He lifted the receiver for a moment before putting it back in place--so very close to a decision but vacillating still. He did know of Madeline's intentions concerning the child--or suspected them, at least--even if he wasn't certain whether her little show the other night had been part of them. Of course, if she hoped to simply shock Nikita into miscarriage, she was gravely mistaken in her approach--Wirth women made of sterner stuff than that. But the tutor's interactions with Bauer did argue otherwise.
This last fact encouraged him somewhat, the disposal of his daughter's child before its birth probably the girl's only chance at a better life. If that came to be, and she then left her husband--or, perhaps, they were all fortunate enough to see Samuelle killed on his own--she would be free to be guided by her father. He could talk to his allies, could make them see that she was still capable of bearing their sons many strong children--her first one simply disposed of by other means. They were men of the world, would understand. While it might completely rule out your average woman from consideration, he hoped that the link to himself would be enough to convince them; he smiled, imagining it. Then, he would know that his daughter was in the strong hands she needed to finally bring her back into line.
This was the outcome he hoped for fervently, the one he wanted very much to aim toward. Michael was too soft, would ruin her--as he already had her original marriageability--Jones' disgust intense. Men who spoke of love, of wishing to be with women in such flowery terms, didn't understand what to do with them, beyond--and only possibly then--the most basic procreative senses. He would encourage her in all the wrong ways--would teach her to be the little spitfire her mother had been; the businessman's sigh went deep. But such women were only interesting as mistresses.
This wasn't the life he wished for his daughter, wasn't the one he was determined to see her have; he picked up the phone, ordering his subordinate to send in his favorite fixer. Then, he put it down and waited. This belated decision should change everything for the better.
There were reasons for the change he was making, ones he had every intention of carrying out. Primarily, he didn't wish his daughter to end up like the girl in Madeline's lesson the other night, didn't want her to be so easily used up. A real woman made life better for the men close to her; he finally smiled. And soon Nikita would make his better, as well.
This was as far as his thoughts over Sondra's highly-unfortunate end actually went--as a lesson of how much more could be gotten from his own daughter. It never occurred to him to care about the girl, to feel sorry for the suffering she had endured. To his mind, any woman who made such a choice ended up a certain way. It only made sense that this one would, as well.
He was focused solely on his intentions, then, could see his plan clearly--would order his subordinate to do away with Michael, demonic bargains be damned. Then, he would allow Madeline to end Nikita's pregnancy, before he himself put her on the market to his friends for their sons; the smile deepened. And then maybe she could learn to become a proper woman at last.
There was only one loose end in all of this reasoning that he saw--what would happen to his daughter's contract with Premier--but that would take care of itself in time. Some of his allies actually wished for closer ties to Hollywood, might well invite in a star to their families. If not, it could be ended easily enough. Like any actor, she would quickly fade from the public mind, once she was no longer in view.
This was the outcome he wanted, his heart rising with it. So much better than simply waiting to see whether Michael would be successful in his months or years at war. The door opened, his fixer nodding to him--making Jones smile. It was definitely going to be for the best.
He was just about to open his mouth, to give the order he wanted to, when a flash of his terrible night of bargaining with Adrian returned to him--and he found, suddenly, that he couldn't bring forth the words; hating the facts didn't change them. God help him. He had made a deal. And, whatever he might wish in this case, deals were not meant to be broken.
There were a million temptations driving him, a million reasons why he wished to break this lifetime habit--but he found that he couldn't, reality weighing in. And the biggest reason was that it wouldn't be prudent, Adrian what she was. By this point, she had undoubtedly snitched about the deal to Murrin, had done her best to enlist his assurances; she wasn't, sadly, that stupid. Even if Jones changed his orders to take care of her, the other businessman would not only take revenge for the murder of someone under his protection, he would also be able to spread malicious--and, in this case, absolutely true--tales of Jones breaking his word. In his business, that was a *very* bad idea. The only way the streets didn't actively run with blood, everywhere across the country, was that men like him knew when a deal truly mattered.
This one, unfortunately, was one of those deals, couldn't be broken--however little he might like it. Adrian had seen to that. If Michael even died in a suspicious manner before his war duty, it would be laid at his door; he nearly grumped. There was nothing to do, therefore, except actually see that the couple was well.
"Sir?" his subordinate said at last, having waited far longer than normal to get his orders. It brought Jones back, made him realize his mistake. But the real one had been made months ago, when he had agreed to all this; he was sighing softly. There was really nothing to be done about that anymore.
He nearly said that he had changed his mind--too distracted to keep up appearances--when he stopped himself, finding another way. "Take the night off," he nodded. But he stopped short of actually saying, "Merry Christmas."
This was probably fortunate, the original concession alone making the gunman's eyes go wide--clearly wondering whether his boss had lost his ability to reason--but the look evaporated a second later, all appearances back to normal. "Sir," he nodded simply, before he left. Whatever he thought of the matter was left entirely to himself.
This was for the best, Jones left alone to sigh--wondering how to survive his foolish agreement. He supposed that all he could do was let things go, for now. Michael would go to battle--hopefully fatally; Madeline would handle Nikita's pregnancy, and he would wait to see what happened after that. Only if any of them changed their parts of the deal could he act--and swiftly; he sighed. But he supposed that he could only wait and see.
He leaned back in his chair with this thought, not at all content. Still, it was the only way--his part in the proceedings only deadly, if the agreement were altered; he did brighten a bit a moment later. There was always after the war to consider; Michael could still die, once he was home--that possibility left out of the original deal. He shook his head, but the thought did bring about a smile. For a foolish old man such as he, that was all he really had left.
[End of Part 248]
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