The Strange Death of David Parmenter 2 No Going Back
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The Strange Death Of David Parmenter - 1. The Event free porn video
Author's note: This is an original work of transgender fiction. Any
similarity between any person, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.
I. The Strange Death of David Parmenter
by Erin Shoemaker, Jr.
1. The Event
"Aughhh," David Parmenter thought to himself as he woke up and stared at
the ceiling. He remembered that he just wasn't excited about having to
go grocery shopping that day. It was the weekend, and he just wanted to
relax for a day. But there was little, if anything, in the house to
eat, and he couldn't bring himself to order yet another pizza; it seems
that's all he'd been eating all week.
Ever since the merger, actually "buy-out" is a more appropriate term,
he'd been bored and was beginning to put on weight. His little software
company had struck a chord with the "millennials", giving them a way to
develop and forecast a personal program with all they would need to be
successful in today's digital world. By providing these young people a
complete life-changing program which encompassed everything from fitness
and weight-loss, to investing, accounting and frugal spending, to
education, to gaming and entertainment, he filled a niche that made him
and his company very very successful, and him a very rich man indeed.
But last month, he sold-out to Nitrotech, and large electronics firm and
now found himself relegated to a corner office with actually very little
to do. He knew that soon, he would have to quit, sell his shares, and
move on to something new.
But that didn't change the fact that there was nothing in his apartment
to eat.
So he dragged himself out of bed, and shuffled into the kitchen to make
a cup of coffee. Spaced out from another night of drinking too much, he
sat and stared out the kitchen window; stared at the Bay Bridge and
hills behind Oakland and Berkeley which were just beginning to appear as
the morning haze burned off. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to wake
more, and eventually found the motivation to get dressed and head off to
the store. It was a quick walk up California to Trader Joe's at Hyde
Street.
Feeling his oats now in the morning sun and cool bay air, he quickened
his pace. He didn't remember the hill being so steep, and soon was
beginning to pant as little beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
So as he approached Huntington Park, he stopped and sat on a bench for a
minute to collect himself. Watching the traffic on California his
thoughts drifted back to his angst about his future. If he quit
Nitrotech, what would he do? Where would he go? He certainly had
enough money to pretty much do whatever he could dream up. And as he
sat and thought, he suddenly realized the freedom he had, and relaxed
some and took a deep breath. "That's right," he thought to himself, "I
could travel, or buy a yacht and sail around for a few years, or even
just stay in Europe for a while." And as he realized that there really
wasn't any pressure on him anymore, he comprehended that he was free to
do whatever the hell he wanted.
And so while sitting and daydreaming about the possibilities, suddenly
he heard a distant, "POP - POP - POP", and the sounds of cars screeching
down California. Looking east down the street he saw a red Ford Mustang
approaching like a bat-otta-hell, weaving in and out of traffic causing
other cars to swerve and slam on their brakes. "What the hell?" he said
out loud... The Mustang was followed closely by a large, black Chevy
Suburban. As he watched the approaching chase, he could see a man
hanging out the passenger side window of the suburban - he was firing at
the Mustang. "POP - POP - POP" went the gun as the rear window of the
Mustang shattered. The red sports car swerved back and forth, and then,
almost right in front of him, came crashing over the curb, across the
little mowed strip of lawn which formed the edge of the park, and
slammed into a tree not more than 50 feet away. David dove to the side
thinking perhaps the car would keep going, but it was there to stay.
The front of the poor Mustang was smashed back half way to the
windshield as stream and smoke began to pour from the smashed hood.
Within seconds, the big Suburban followed a similar path screeching to a
halt on the grass just behind the incapacitated Mustang. David, now
realizing that he was not going to be run over, stood up and began to
walk quickly toward the collision to help if he could. He could hear
sirens in the distance as he approached. But then, the man who had been
hanging out the window firing at the Mustang jumped from the Suburban
and ran toward him. David froze when he saw the gun in his hand. The
man reached the driver's door, and tried to pull the door open, but it
was twisted by the force of the impact. Then, grabbing the handle and
putting his foot again the side, the man pulled with all his might and
the door popped open. David could see that inside the driver was
unconscious and stooped over the steering wheel. Then the sirens became
much louder as the fire truck rounded the corner a few blocks down.
Alarmed, the man turned to see, then turned back, and raising the gun,
fired four shots into the unconscious driver.
Then he noticed David who was staring at him at close range. Turning
toward him, the man stared back at David for a second and then raised
his gun and pointed it him. He pulled the trigger, but nothing
happened. Again he tried, but the pistol was jammed and wouldn't fire.
"Shit!" yelled the man, and as the fire department pulled up, he jumped
back into the large black vehicle, which then tore off directly at
David. Jumping to the side, it missed him by only inches as it passed
him and tore across the park onto Taylor Street before roaring away.
He lay on the ground, shaking in his adrenalized state, not believing
how he managed to survive his encounter. Soon he was surrounded by
firemen, onlookers, and eventually the police. They were most anxious
to hear his account of what happened.
* * * * * *
In the courthouse hallway, David's arm was suddenly grabbed and he was
manhandled to the side of the long passageway. He had just attended the
sentencing hearing for the man he had witnessed killing the driver of
the red Mustang that day in the park. It was only the fact that David
knew the man who was now accosting him that prevented him from crying
out. "Mr. Parmenter," began the police Captain in hushed tones, "I
wonder if you have a few minutes to talk. I think it's very important
to your well being," and he waited for an answer. Still a little shaken
by the sudden grab, David replied "Sure..." in a nervous wavering fashion.
"Good. Please come with me," said the policeman releasing his arm and
motioning for him to follow him down the hall. "What the hell is this
all about?" David asked as they walked. "Please, I'll explain
everything here in just a moment..." came his reply.
Soon they approached and entered one of the myriad of doors leading off
the hall. This one was labeled, "Interview Room 6". "Please have a
seat," said the Captain as they entered, and soon the two men were
facing each other over a non-descript wooden table. "So?" asked David.
Wringing his hands and looking down at them, the police Captain appeared
nervous. "First Mr. Parmenter, I wanted to personally thank you for
your testimony. With your help, we've been able to put away that shit,
Cromski, for the rest of his life. As we mentioned to you before, we've
been after this guy for years and it's only through your help that he's
off the streets and can kill no more."
"Thanks," said David "I was only doing what's right." But David knew by
this tone that there was more to the story - he felt like there was a
big "But..." hanging out there. And he didn't have long to wait.
"But," the Captain continued, "as you also know, Cromski was a made-
member of the Czechoslovakian mob here in the city." David nodded that
he knew. "Now obviously, these are very dangerous people. And..." he
paused trying to find the words. "Well, I can't think of any easy way
to say this, but you're life is now forfeit in their eyes. We have
learned that there's now a contract out on you for a substantial amount
of money."
David had already gone over and over the possible ramifications of his
testifying. He already knew that by doing so, he would most likely have
to move on, go underground for a time, or some other remedy, until the
heat blew over. And although clearly unnerved by the information he had
just received, he was not particularly surprised. So he asked, "How
much money?"
The Captain stopped his fiddling, and looked David directly in the eyes.
"One million dollars," he said.
Although somewhat prepared for the possibility of his precarious
situation, he was not prepared for that large a sum to be offered to
kill him. Immediately he envisioned himself as being the target of any
number of assassins; afraid to go out, always looking over his shoulder,
afraid to drive his car for fear of a bomb, never sure if he was safe.
As his mind raced, and even though the Captain could read what was
happening in David's head, he waited for a response. But David was
transfixed - it was as if his mind was stuck in an endless loop - never
able to come to any resolution.
Seeing his angst, the Captain spoke up, "Look. There are several ways
to handle this. First, you could try and carry on by yourself. I think
this is the most likely avenue to get you killed. These people are
professional killers, and although you're a smart guy, and may last a
while, sooner or later they would track you down and get you. Even if
you hired a bodyguard, it would most likely that he would wind up being
killed as well." David could only stare; trying to absorb what was
being said.
"Another way might be for you to run and hide. Again, we don't see this
as being very effective. By virtue of your past accomplishments and the
press you've received - in this case alone - you are a well-known
figure, and someone would recognize you. Again, it would only be a
matter of time until they found you."
"Yet another way," said the Captain, "is to enter the FBI's witness
protection program. Now these have been moderately successful, but in
all honesty, there is only a 50-50 chance of you not being found.
Personally I don't think these are very good odds when you consider
what's at stake."
David continued to stare, eventually realizing there really weren't many
options available to him, and those that were, were mostly unacceptable
or unreliable. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I mean,
thanks for the info, but what other options are out there?" he asked.
The Captain again looked down at his hands while rubbing his thumbs
together. Then speaking softly and slowly he said, "First, I want to
assure you that the Department will do everything it can to protect you
if you choose to remain, well, yourself. But in all honesty, we can
only do so much." He waited for the message to sink in.
Staring at the Captain for a few seconds, the underlying message really
didn't get through right away. But he could see that the Captain was
waiting for recognition. And then it dawned on David, "What do you
mean, remain myself? Are you saying I should start wearing a disguise?
Get some of those fake glasses with the nose and mustache? Or that I
should get plastic surgery or something?"
Looking up now, the Captain nodded his head in the affirmative.
"Oh for Christ's sake..." said David in disgust. "Don't you think that's
a little too Hollywood to be taken seriously?
Still watching David, the Captain began again, "Mr. Parmenter, what I'm
going to suggest to you must not leave this room. Agreed?" David
nodded yes. "The Department and other departments across the nation
have developed a special witness-protection-type program for people like
you who are respectable and honest citizens, and who through no fault of
their own, are in grave danger. We believe that our best citizens
should not have to live the rest of their lives in fear and danger for
only doing what's right."
"Uhh, OK," agreed David.
"Our program is known as the Life Reassignment Program, or LRP for
short. In essence the way it works is that you place yourself in the
hands of our program specialists, and we give you an entirely new life.
One in which there is virtually no way that your true self, or past life
if you will, can ever be detected. You can go about living your new
life free from worry and fear - 100 percent."
David thought for moment and then asked, "That sounds too good to be
true. What's the catch?"
"The catch is simply this," responded the policeman. "In order for us
to help you in this way, you have to say goodbye to all aspects of your
current life. This is not appreciably different from the FBI's program.
You must forego ever contacting anyone you've ever known again; friends,
family, co-workers all must, without exception, believe that you are
dead."
"So you would kill me off? You would kill off David Parmenter?" he
asked.
"Essentially, yes," answered the Captain. "It's absolutely necessary.
First it takes the heat off since the mob will think you are dead, and
eventually cancel the contract. Second, any contact, even a misplaced
phone call, or an intercepted letter, could doom you once again. And
there are no second chances - if your new identity is discovered, you're
on your own."
Blown away by what he was hearing, David asked, "But how? What about my
money? What about my career?"
"The process is relatively simple," answered the Captain. "We will
arrange for you to [and he drew little quotes in the air with his
fingers] die. An accident or some sort usually works best. The program
specialists will work out the details. But you must see that if your
rather substantial bank account was suddenly emptied and the next day
you wind up dead, well, it could be interpreted that you were faking
your death. So, unfortunately, your wealth stays with the old you. It
would of course, be divvied-out according to your will. But not to
worry, LRP supplies you with all you will need, including money, a job,
and a place to live."
David sat in shock - he couldn't believe what he had just heard.
"But these are all details that can be worked out," the policeman said.
"I would suggest that you think it over for a few days and then decide.
It's a lot to take in all at one time, and it's not an easy decision to
make to be sure. But again, what are the alternatives? Now, here's my
card," and he reached into his coat pocket to produce his business card
which he handed to him. David looked down at the card which read,
Kyle Bradford, Captain
Organized Crime Division
"What you have done for the People of San Francisco is a good thing. A
murderer is now behind bars, organized crime has taken a hit, and the
streets are a little safer. We would like to return the favor and
provide you with a safe future. Please think it over. The choice is
entirely yours, and even if you decide not to take us up on our offer,
we will still do whatever we can to provide you some kind of protection.
OK?"
And he stood from his chair, and reached across the table to shake
David's hand. David smiled but really couldn't think of anything to
say. The Captain re-opened the door to the hallway, and quickly walked
out; leaving David at the table, confused and more than a little freaked
out.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Lynne
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