Blonde Joke Chapter Ten by Jeffrey M. Mahr   How did the blonde break her leg raking leaves? She fell out of the tree.

“Sir?” Mrs. Smalling asked.

“What?” There was a rustle of paper, but the senior Brodsky declined to look up from the material on his desk.

“There’s a Mister George Tennant here to see you. He says he’s a private investigator and that he has some information that you need to know.”

“No. Tell him to go away. You know better than to bother me with such trivialities.”
A brief whispering could be heard over the intercom and she continued, “He says it’s about your daughter.”

There was an uncharacteristic several-second silence followed by what sounded like throat clearing. “Show him in.” Then, the intercom clicked off.

Sandra was surprised but quickly stood and came around her huge desk, heels clicking on the solid oak flooring of her office area, to escort the disreputable looking gentleman into the thickly carpeted inner sanctum of Franklin Brodsky. The senior Brodsky never saw people between noon and one and it was still seven minutes shy of one. Additionally, Sandra didn’t think the Brodsky’s had a daughter, at least there weren’t any pictures of a distaff Brodsky amongst the few pictures on the wall behind Mr. Brodsky’s desk and she was sure that neither Jacqueline nor he had spoken of one in her presence. Sandra of course said nothing and showed no emotion beyond polite interest as she led Mr. Tennant in and surreptitiously double-checked her boss’ small gallery of portraits. As she remembered, there was only the boss’s wife Jacqueline with her beautiful wavy raven mane, but she was a well-trained executive secretary and knew better than to question any of her boss’ actions.

“This is Mr. Tennant. Mr. Tennant this is Franklin Brodsky. Mr. Tennant, may I offer you something to drink?”

“No thank you.” Sandra backed out of the room and closed the door.

Tennant lasciviously stared at the comely secretary as she departed. He waited until the elaborately filigreed door had closed with a solid "thunk." “Thank you for seeing me. I...”

“You have exactly two minutes. I recommend you don’t squander it.” Fingers drummed impatiently on the mammoth desk, sterile in its emptiness but for a neatly folded newspaper.

“Uh...I know where your daughter is.”

“I’m waiting.”

“I found her at a shelter downtown.”

Silence.

“The address costs money Mr. Brodsky. Some of us work for a living.”

“Why should I believe you Mr. Tennant?”

“You shouldn’t.” Tennant’s smile was strongly reminiscent of a hungry barracuda with food swimming into his mouth. “You should believe your eyes.” Two grainy photographs appeared and fluttered to the desk before Brodsky. One appeared to be a transfer from a security camera or an ID card while the other showed a dirt-smudged and scraped up face blanketed with a poorly cared for mane of blonde hair.

“This one is the one your security office has been quietly distributing,” Tennant pointed to the poorer of the two pictures, “and this one I took about two hours ago. When I showed her your picture she called you daddy,” he leered. “Or did she mean ‘sugar daddy.’”

The silence dragged on. Finally, Brodsky reached for the intercom and flipped it on. “Mrs. Smalling, have a check prepared for?” he glared at Tennant.

“Five thousand will do nicely Mr. Brodsky.”

“Mrs. Smalling, a check for twenty five hundred dollars. I want it on my desk in two minutes.” He clicked the intercom off and leaned back in his high back leather chair. “Where?”

“I assume that’s my down payment.”

“I will not ask again Mr. Tennant, nor do I make it a habit of negotiating.”

Another silence. They were getting boring, but Brodsky had not gained his empire without being an astute judge of character. He waited patiently for the check, rocking slowly back and forth in his huge leather bound chair with just barely the hint of a smile on his face as he calmly watched Tennant gnaw at his lip and squirm worriedly in his chair. When the check finally arrived, Brodsky could see beads of sweat on Tennant’s forehead.

“Here is the check, Mr. Brodsky.” Brodsky acknowledged Sandra’s presence with a nod but his eyes never left Tennant. As she had been taught, Sandra placed the check on the desk nearer Brodsky than Tennant, but facing Tennant so he could read it. The silence dragged on as Sandra left. After another minute, Brodsky slowly leaned forward reaching towards the check.

“Wait!” Tennant lunged forward in his haste to beat Brodsky to the check but lost. The words poured out of his mouth as he watched the check waving languidly in Brodsky’s hand. “She’s sitting in my office. I can get her and bring her here in about one hour. Where do you want her? Just tell me.”

Brodsky leaned back in his chair, his smile replaced by a fleeting look of disappointment and then he was all business again. “Have her brought to my estate.” He flicked the intercom on again. “Mrs. Smalling, please escort Mr. Tennant out and give him directions to ‘White Wood.’” Tennant watched horrified as the check was cut neatly in half. “Here’s your down payment Mr. Tennant. The remainder will be awaiting you, and your delivery, at my estate.” The other half was handed to Mrs. Smalling and with that Brodsky’s attention returned to his newspaper.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Brodsky. Now give me the rest of the money and you’ve also bought my silence.” It was Tennant’s turn to smile as Brodsky considered.

Finally, he responded with a snarl, “It will be at ‘White Wood’ when you deliver the goods, Mr. Tennant.”

Once the heavy office door had closed yet again Tennant turned to Sandra, “Is the old bastard always like that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is he always such a bastard?”

Sandra just smiled politely and handed him an envelope, “The address is on the outside of the envelope and an authorization for entry to Mr. Brodsky’s White Wood estate is inside the envelope Mr. Tennant. Have a nice day.”

“Delivery.” Tennant spoke into the intercom. His car was stopped in front of the huge wrought iron gate blocking entry to White Wood.

“All deliveries around back.” The intercom clicked off although the video monitor slowly panned over to face Tennant and then stopped. The voice had an English accent adding superiority to the more obvious tones of disdain.

“This is Brodsky’s daughter.”

“Mr. Brodsky has no daughter. If you persist the constables will be contacted.” Click.

“I suggest you read this letter and open this damn gate now or I’ll turn around and leave you to explain to your boss why his express instructions were not followed.” Tennant sneered as he waved the envelope with the Brodsky Enterprises logo on it.

“That is merely an envelope. Open it and show me what’s in it sir.”

“Sure friend.” Tennant smiled at the sudden warmth in the conversation as he flipped open the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside. “I’m opening it as we speak friend. Here it is. It says to let me in.” He waved it towards the video monitor.

“Hold the letter to the monitor please.” A lens zoomed out.

“This permits entry for one person, a female. Is there a female with you?”

“Yeah. She’s in the back seat sleeping.”

“Present her to the monitor.”

“I told you she’s sleeping.”

“Wake her.”

“No.”

“Then we have no further business to discuss.”

“Right, friend. Tell that to your boss. I’ll wave to you as I drive past the Unemployment Office.” Tennant reached out and started his car.

“Wait. Someone will be at the gate in several minutes.”

“Sure friend, but speed it up. Time is money.” He turned the car off again grinning as he waited. It was always fun to burst the bubble of some martinet. Maybe there would yet be a way of serving back Brodsky some more of his own.

He was less happy when he saw the two well-armed guards exit the car that stopped on the other side of the gate. Especially since their weapons were pointed at him and it was evident they were well trained from the way they carried themselves.

“Get out of the vehicle. Now!” One gestured with his gun while the other stood a bit apart, poised and alert, neither eyes nor gun wavering from Tennant.

“Sure thing, friend. Don’t do anything we’ll both be sorry for. Have you considered lowering those guns just a bit? It might go a long way towards making this little táªte-á -táªte friendlier.” The patter continued without effect, as neither gun wavered. With hands in clear view at all times Tennant reached out to open his door from the outside and slowly slid out of the car.

“Move away from the vehicle.” The talker’s gun briefly left his anatomy long enough to gesture.

“Sure friend. Not a problem.” Tennant took two steps away from the car, hands still in the hair. The talker pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt and spoke into it. Seconds later the gate began to open in towards the guards, but stopped after opening only about two feet. First one and then the second guard carefully slide through the gate while the other covered Tennant from a clear vantage point, but never once did either gun waver from his abdomen.

“Up against the wall! Move it! Hands against the wall! Spread the legs! Wider!” The frisk was very professional with the talker holstering his gun while patting him down and the silent one carefully positioned to permit him to efficiently split his attention between the car and Tennant. Tennant was glad he had no weapons on his person, as he wasn’t sure how the guards would have reacted if they had found something besides his wallet and the authorization letter. After finishing the frisk, he was handcuffed to the gate. Then, the talker carefully read the letter, stuffed it into his pocket and turned his full attention to the car.

Finding an unconscious, disheveled woman wearing torn and filthy men’s clothing, the talker motioned to the silent guard who holstered his weapon and, with an ease suggestive of great strength, pulled the women from the car. When she remained unconscious even after several not so light taps on the cheek he lifted her over his shoulder, carried her to the other car and lay her carefully on the rear seat. Returning to the gate, he pulled his weapon and again aimed it at Tennant.

“The gate is about to close.” Talker had moved to the guard’s vehicle. “After it is closed and I have left, your handcuffs will be removed. You will get into your vehicle and leave immediately or the local police will be called to pick you up for trespass.”

“Great, but what about the rest of my money?”

“Nothing in the letter about money.”

“Brodsky owes me for this delivery. He said he would have it for me when I dropped the girl off here.”

“That’s nice. Take it up with him.” With that, he got into the car and backed it up the driveway. Just as the car moved out of site around a curve, the gate began moving and ponderously closed. The silent guard, standing just inside the gate, gestured while holding the handcuff key.

“What the hell is it with Brodsky and money?” Tennant muttered rhetorically before turning to the silent guard. “Why all the security?” He held out his hands and the cuffs were removed.

The silent guard gestured with his gun for Tennant to leave.

“Sure. No problem. Watch me backing away. See, now I’m getting into the car.” Starting the car he called out the open window, “And now watch me leaving.” He backed out onto the main road and shifted into drive offering an extended finger as he roared off.

About four miles down the road he stopped at a pay telephone. Dialing a number, he waited while it rang. On the fourth ring he got an answering machine. “Pick up. It’s me. She’s in, but I couldn’t get by the guards to check the place out in case she needs help. She’s on her own.”

“My lord, what a filthy creature.” Renfrew’s English accent dripped with contempt. “Take that thing back to the rock you found it under. You may not bring it into this house.”

“I suggest you read this.” The guard pulled out the authorization letter and handed it to Renfrew who read it, snorted in distaste and turned to the two maids standing quietly behind him.

“Clean it up and place it in the Rose Room.” With that he crumpled the paper and threw it in the garbage. Then, he turned and marched back into the house leaving two very bewildered maids to figure out where to start to even begin to comply with the butler’s instructions.

Talker turned to the still unmoving maids. “You! Strip her. You get some bath towels.” When they didn’t move he spoke more forcefully, “Move it!”

When they jumped and scurried off, he turned and stalked off, only to return in a couple of seconds with a garden hose. Dowsing the slumped body caused it to squirm but it never quite awakened.

He turned the water off just as the other maid trotted back with the towels.

“Strip her.” When they hesitated, he pulled out his gun and shouted it. “I said strip her.”

They jumped to comply and seconds later he was hosing down a naked woman.

“Dry her off.” He waited impatiently while they complied, then picked her up and draped her over his shoulder before marching off to the Rose Room trailed by the two maids. Reaching the Rose Room, Talker waited for one of the maids to open the door then stalked in and dropped the body on the bed.

“She’s all yours ladies.” With that, he turned and left.

The two maids looked at each other still confused as to what to do. The Master, or the Bastard as they called him behind his back, had had many women over since the death of his wife many years ago. They had come for anything from a few hours to a few weeks in the past. Some had been very nice and dignified while others had been gold digging creatures. Just about all had made the Master happy for their stay, but he had never had one that was unconscious or at best barely conscious like this one. Given the unusual situation, and the lack of help and guidance being provided by the new Mistress, they put up their feet and relaxed with a cigarette as they decided how comply with Renfrew’s instructions. Finally decided, they put out their smokes and went to work on the new Mistress.