The Killing League

26.

Blue Blood

Douglas Hampton’s mouth tasted like his fifth and last martini. He stood just outside the swanky restaurant where he’d treated himself to a nice two and a half hour lunch. The food was average, as always, but the wait staff was hot. That was really the only reason he went to the place. The waitresses were all young, slim and attractive. They wore white, long-sleeve dress shirts and tight black pants. It was a non-stop beautiful ass parade.

The fish bowl size, super strong martinis didn’t hurt, either.

He glanced down at his Panerai watch and considered the time. Technically, he should go back to the office and waste some more time at his big desk in his big corner office. Maybe log on to some porn sites, or check out some of his singles online dating services. He had a variety of profiles, all fake. He never chose the women he found there, though, as his victims. Too easy to trace. He preferred the anonymity of the ghetto for his hunting grounds.

He didn’t have to go into the office, though. Everyone knew he kept odd hours and no one would miss him. For him, the office was really just a tax dodge. It included a seat on some board set up to oversee a few of the gargantuan Hampton trusts. He didn’t know the details, didn’t care to know them.

But he had to go there at least a few times a week, his lawyer told him. Just in case.

So he went on a somewhat regular basis. At least once a week for an hour or two unless he was on vacation out of the country. During his time there, he’d completed not one single piece of actual work but had managed to f*ck every receptionist the company employed, even the ugly ones, out of sheer boredom.

Now, he savored the last taste of the martini and knew he wasn’t going back to the office. He would head out to the country club, maybe bang some cougar in the locker room, just pull her cute little golf skirt up and have at it.

The valet gave Hampton the keys to the BMW. It was parked immediately outside the front door of the restaurant. It was always placed front and center because he was a Hampton, of course. But also because he had dumped so much cash at the restaurant, everyone treated him like royalty. Plus, it was good marketing for the restaurant. It told everyone that rich people ate here, and they should try it, too, if they could afford it.

Hampton walked to the driver door and noticed a card pinned beneath the Beemer’s $170 windshield wiper (he’d had to get them replaced last season) and was about to crumple it up and throw it to the curb when he noticed it wasn’t a parking ticket. It was a card.

On the front it read: Blue Blood.

He climbed into the car, sat behind the wheel, and ripped open the card.

Dear Blue Blood,

No Hampton accomplishment can compare with this one: You, Douglas, have been chosen to be a competitor in the Killing League. Enclosed are your travel instructions. You don’t need to get anything out of your storage unit #27, though, and the cops certainly don’t need to be alerted to its contents. Wink wink, nudge nudge. Thanks and good luck!

Sincerely,

The Commissioner

Hampton took a deep breath, then smiled. So what if someone knew what he was doing. They clearly weren’t going to the cops. No doubt, they wanted some of his money. But he liked their style. A blackmailer who was a bit of a smart ass.

Okay, he thought. I’ll play along. He took out the ticket and slipped the card inside his glove compartment.

Hampton checked the airline ticket. Coach. He laughed out loud. Coach! F*ck that. The first thing he’d do at the airport would be to upgrade to First Class.