Thread: Not So Snow White (Mr Quixotic & Aurelia)

Eight Hundred, Nine Hundred, One Thousand. Forty year old Hunter Forsythe slid the ten, crisp clean one-hundred dollar bills back into the envelope marked 'private and confidential', with a smile. He wasn't sure why he'd counted it really, as in the twelve months since such an envelope had first appeared, it had never varied. Twice a week, slipped under his door in the middle of the night. Always a thousand dollars, always fresh one hundred dollar bills. Coincidentally the first had arrived the very day after the Dean of one of the most prestigious and expensive Colleges in the State had issued a public statement on Ridding the education system of the scourge of drugs, starting right here in my very own backyard. Hunter S Forsythe was an intelligent man, and he'd known exactly the purpose of the delivery. It was a payoff, and that had been just fine with him. As much as the Dean thought taking a stand against drugs would be good publicity, he found the proposition of easy, tax-free cash even more attractive, and his promise to Save the future great minds of this country from themselves, had quickly been forgotten. Except, by that idiot Professor of Literature, Graham Spencer - Mr Fucking Morality himself - who'd recently began to again cause a ruckus. If it continued, Hunter was going to have to do something about the man. What else Hunter needed to do, and had been attempting, without success, to do for some time, was discover who it was that controlled the campus drug trade. If they could afford to pay him two thousand dollars a week, then how much was their take, and why shouldn't he be entitled to a bigger share for himself? If not the entire lot. Hunter Forsythe, after all, was the man in charge of the College. Hunter knew the names of some of the students involved, but as to the identity of Mr Big, he had no idea. Whoever it was had been careful to leave no trace, and Hunter had reached a dead-end. Short of bringing the involved students in, and hanging them by the fingernails from the rafters until they revealed whatever information they had, he couldn't think of what do next. He'd considered that last option, but eventually decided it would defeat the purpose. Dragging them in for interrogation would only give the person in charge prior warning, and time to shut up shop. He couldn't use the threat of expulsion either - the kids would just laugh in his face, it wasn't as if they attended College to obtain an education - so he'd need to bide his time. Something would come up. Those thoughts were on Hunters mind as he slipped the latest payment into the safe hidden behind an oval shaped wall mirror. As he closed the door, and set the mirror back in place, Hunter glimpsed himself in the glass, and was satisfied with what he saw. At forty, his short cropped, dark-brown hair had started to gray at the temples, and his deep-blue eyes were surrounded by faint laugh lines, but all of his hair remained intact, and his eyes still glowed with intelligence and life. A long straight nose led to a gleaming set of perfect teeth - recently straightened and whitened thanks to his anonymous benefactor - and a strong jaw. He was a long and gangly 63 tall, with a body still as slim as it had been when he was twenty. That was mostly due to a fast metabolism which Hunter was grateful for, as he wasn't a man who particularly enjoyed exercise, or sports. At least not in a participatory sense. The Dean did like to watch. That was the reason he'd returned to his office.It was almost time for his favourite part of the day. Cheer-leading practice. It was due to begin in fifteen minutes, and was something the Dean never, ever missed. Not that he was interested in the practice itself. Oh, no. Hunter preferred what happened before and after practice, and to view that from the comfort of his armchair. Mr Forsythe, Educator, College Dean, and all around standup guy had, with tax-free and untraceable funds, arranged for a number of exorbitantly expensive spy cameras to be installed in the ladies locker rooms, with a live feed direct to his laptop. If there was anything more stimulating than the sight of a group of pretty, young, athletic, hot, sweaty and naked girls showering together, Hunter couldn't think of what it was. 'Damn it. He'd just sat down at his desk, absently flicked a piece of lint off the sleeve of the tweed jacket he wore, and switched on the computer, when he heard a knock at the door. His brow furrowed. Who the hell would dare disturb him at this time? Hunter had made it clear to his secretary that he required this hour of peace to concentrate on 'important work' without distraction, and on no account was he to disturbed. He was just about to yell for whoever it was to go away, when his attention was drawn to a girl known as Cherie, who'd walked into view on the computer monitor. Hunter whistled. Nice tits, honey, and didn't even realise the door had been opened until he heard a woman's voice. Hunter Forsythe's head shot up, and his face turned pale when his eyes found the woman who entered the room, at the same time as her words registered in his brain. 'Surveillance? What did she mean? And that grin on her face, he'd never seen such evil. Hunter swallowed hard, and it took him a couple of attempts before his throat regained enough moisture to enable him to speak. Who are you? I've no idea what you are talking about. The volume of his words was barely above a whisper, and as Hunter Forsythe began to perspire, one hand crept across the desk, and pressed the off button on his computer. Or that's what he thought. Little did Hunter know that, in his surprise and nervousness, he'd instead hit the button that operated the floppy disk drive, and that the still lit screen was now filled with crystal clear images of half-naked female college-students, with the school logo prominently displayed on their uniforms. What do you want?