Out on a Limb

All in off the Flop

Whatever response Ferguson had been expecting it clearly wasn't that one, and after a moment of startled silence he burst out laughing and continued to do so until he broke into a round of wheezing and coughing, his shrivelled lungs startled by the jocular reaction and unable to produce a sufficient amount of oxygen after so many years of abstaining from such strenuous movement. He took a moment to regain his breath and wiped a lone, seemingly humorous tear from his eye.

Donald held his stance and waited patiently for the stale laughter and rasping cough to recede, gifting the living corpse this one final joy. It was the least he could do considering the man was about to die.

"It's too bad you just changed your diaper. It smells like you might need a new one after all that excitement."

His compliment wiped any trace of enjoyment from Ferguson's expression.

"You sonofabitch!" he wheezed. "When Constance finds out—"

Don held up a hand, quietly halting the tirade before it could fully get itself off the ground. He wasn't interested in tirades this evening, despite the intuition that told him Ferguson was gearing up for the performance of a lifetime. Even though Ferguson could barely make it out of a chair without exerting so much energy that he often shit himself in the process, his words had no such difficulty. They were nimble, sharp and acidic, and often travelled with a lightning speed that sometimes singed egos and more often than not burned clean through the flesh of his victims, striking their confidence (and even more often their careers) dead before they ever knew what hit them.

"I'm disappointed in you, Ferguson. I've gone to all this trouble of breaking into your office, told you I'm going to kill you, and you're going to play the Constance card as your opener? I thought you were a better player than that."

Ferguson's scowl deepened (how this was possible was difficult to say given the lines in his face already ran to cavernous proportions), but he held himself in check and settled back into his oversized chair.

"She's going to leave you."

Don chuckled and took a few more steps forward. "Oh, I don't know about that. I'm a good husband who puts up with your shit day in and day out, and I spoil my family — with your money of course — more than enough to swing the vote in my direction. Besides, your daughter likes the way I fuck her too much to just toss me to the curb, so I don't think she'll be leaving anytime soon." He chuckled at the outrage that flashed across his face. "Your little girl has an exceptional talent for sucking my cock, so I think I'll stick around awhile longer if it's all the same to you."

Whether it was the comment about his money or Constance's sexual talents that caused his pallor to flood with enraged blood beneath his paper-thin skin was irrelevant. Either way the mark found its target and wreaked perfect havoc.

"Now, I know what you're thinking, old boy. You think you've got a card up your sleeve with Evelyn Blair, don't you?"

Ferguson's eyes narrowed to sliver-like proportions and he allowed himself a pencil-thin smile. He would never admit to agreeing with Donald, but when the man was right the man was right.

Don pondered his own words. "But where is this ace in the hole of yours? She left her resignation on her desk without so much as an explanation a week ago, and from what I hear she hasn't talked to anyone at the office since. I'm betting even you haven't heard from her— I know I certainly haven't. Let me guess, you think she's holding out for more money, because it always comes down to money. Maybe she's just biding her time before she makes her ridiculous move and tries to expose an affair that never happened."

Ferguson said nothing, but his frail fists tightened.

Don smiled his most charming smile once again and closed the final few feet between them. He picked up some trinkety piece of shit Alex had made for his grandfather (he recognized it because he had one just like it sitting on the corner of his own desk three floors down) and sat on the vacant space, knowing the casual intimacy would infuriate his father-in-law even more. He tossed the homemade ashtray (mug? paperweight? What the fuck was this thing anyways?) back and forth nonchalantly and then gently set the item back down on the desk beside him.

"It was never going to work, you know, not with Evelyn as your best bet. I honestly thought you had better taste. I mean, given what your dead wife looked liked back in the day I would have expected more from you. Evelyn was a fucking moron and her tits were as fake as her jewelry. But I suppose I know what turns you on," he finished, and winked conspiratorially.

The old man snorted but said nothing else, bent on silently fuming until Don could taunt him no more.

"If it's any consolation, she tried. She really did. Thong panties in my face, engorged breasts," — he mimicked the size of her chest with his hands — "damn things were pushed up against me like they were magnetized for Christ's sake. I don't know how often she kept you posted, but her coup de grace was something else. I was working late and came into my office, and there she was, completely naked. I mean head-to-toe naked. Didn't even have the decency to leave on her stilettos. You could see everything. She was waxed from eyebrows to pussy and begged me to seduce her.

"Would you like me to tell you about her pussy, Ferguson? I can give you that before you die."

The threat, coupled with his base descriptions intensified his scowl and finally tore him from his silence.

"You're disgusting. I always knew you were disgusting."

"Possibly, but you're still going to die."

"Ha! And who is going to kill me, Donald? You? You're nothing more than a coward and a thief."

Don smiled. "Don't forget 'killer'. And an excellent one at that."

The two men held each other's gaze — a pair of wrinkled, faded brown eyes gauging the veracity of his opponent's words, the other set of eyes crystalline blue, clear and unwavering, calmly watching for the truth of his assertions to be accepted as fact.

"I could have put up with you for another ten years, Ferguson. Hell, I could have handled another twenty, but you cost me another prize I was planning on claiming, and Evelyn had to pay the price for it. And now so will you."

(The prize in question was a lovely Chinese woman he had set his sights on with the intention of trying out the ancient art of 'lotus feet' with. Breaking each of her toes and the arches of her feet, and then lovingly binding them and making love to them was something he had always wanted to try, so when he found his lovely lotus flower he was overjoyed.  The plan was to fold and bend her back and forth, and then work her ribcage into the shape of an origami Carambola flower, but with the distraction of Evelyn Blair and Ferguson's antics always top of mind he simply didn't have the focus he insisted on to see the process through completely. Worse, his delicate flower had moved on, and now he would have to wait for another partner to come along.  It wasn't impossible to think he would find another, but as far as Donald was concerned it was symbolic of how his family affairs had gone unchecked to the point of unacceptability.)

_____________________

Ferguson carefully eyed the reverie Donald had slipped into and tried his best to figure out his next move given the seriously precarious position he unexpectedly found himself in.

He had always loathed Donald Fancy, but not for the obvious reasons as many assumed. Yes, the charismatic man took away his only daughter's love. And yes, he was certainly embarrassed by the thought of his little girl fornicating in perverse ways with this despicable man. Yes, he was certain the man wanted his money (and as much as he had millions tucked away here and there and had trusts set up solely under his daughter and grandson's names, he knew there was no truly ironclad way to keep the bastard from getting to it if he really wanted to — if anyone knew that he did).

The true reason he hated his son-in-law and took every opportunity to taunt, torture, and torment him was for the simple reason that he genuinely feared him.