Dagger

I worked with Whitney during the days and made love to her through the nights. We were barely sleeping, and it was taking a toll, although I couldn’t seem to think of anything but her. We’d agreed that any penetration would involve yoga, as it was too tempting to incorporate the two with an audience.

She was the perfect student. She loved to please me and was intelligent and creative on her own. I made vague suggestions and she took them and put her own brand on them. I introduced her to the Tantra chair I kept in my office, and she was fascinated.

Physically, she was the perfect specimen. She had long, lean muscles, an excellent sense of balance, and long limbs that allowed her to accomplish moves generally performed only among advanced yoga students. We both enjoyed the exercise and the sense of control. It became a challenge to incorporate the yoga moves into our nightly lovemaking. Just when we thought we had a routine down, she’d come up with another idea and we’d try it out. It was an ever-evolving palate of offerings.

Part of me hated what we were planning to do. Originally, I’d been angry with the world; it had been an act of rebellion to open such a studio. Those who knew me thought it just another crazy outlet for my money. I believe my original intention truly was to add athleticism to sex, to have better control and thereby more enjoyment. Whitney brought all that into question as I grew more and more jealous at the thought of her being exposed to the clients.

By the day before the open house, I was in a frenzy.

“What’s wrong, Dagger? You seem all on edge.”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I’d never think you’re crazy. You’re one of the sanest people I’ve ever met,” she reassured me. Given her experience, I had to accept that as a compliment.

“I don’t know, Whit. I’m liking this whole idea less and less. You belong to me, and that body should only be on display to me. I like the fact that you’ve grown so comfortable with yourself, but this whole idea just isn’t hitting me right. I think I want out.”

“What? Dagger, it’s been your idea since the beginning, and you didn’t have problems with it before. Why now? What’s changed?”

“You know damned well what changed. You! Me! Us!”

“Dagger, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous!”

“Call it what you like. This isn’t going down.”

“Come here and sit down with me. Please? Let’s talk about it.”

We went up to her apartment and she made us green tea and sandwiches. We sat at the small table by the window and I looked out over the rainy afternoon.

“Okay, now give. We had this all worked out. I was the one with the strongest resistance, and you helped me to overcome it. You were so positive minded. What’s changed?”

“I just don’t have a good feeling about this.” As soon as the words were out, they rang back at me, ricocheting inside my brain, and the old, sick guilt came flowing back into my veins.

“What? What is it?” She had a keen sense of my moods already and knew she’d touched on something really vulnerable. I had to tell her.

“That was what Tim said the day he died. He wanted to back out, was having a premonition, and I wouldn’t let him. I cost him his life.”

“I understand.”

She let the words settle in me for a while before crying foul. I knew she wouldn’t minimize my feelings; she wasn’t that kind of woman.

“Well, okay, then we won’t open. I’ll call the caterers and the florist, the rental place and the musicians. We’ll cancel the grand opening and then give you time to decide what you want to do.”

This made me angry. “Don’t be condescending to me, Whit. Don’t treat this like I’m being a child.”

She looked me in the eye. “I would never do that. I can tell you’re about to snap, and to keep you on track, I’m taking off the pressure. Dagger, there’s nothing in this world that you have to do. Life is all about options and choices. I’m here and I took this job because it was an option and I made a choice. But I’m not as invested in it as you. I could decide tomorrow that I didn’t want to be nude and you’d find some way around it, wouldn’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Well, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would. I’d never make you do something you didn’t want to.”

“There, you see? Now you know how I feel. My job is to help you, and if you decide you don’t want me naked, then it won’t happen.”

“Jesus, Whit, I don’t know what to do. Everyone is expecting what we’ve promised, and if I back down now, I’ll be a laughingstock. I can’t let that happen. Not after the Navy hero crap everyone talked about.”

“Who will it matter to, besides you?”

“I guess no one. I don’t have family.”

“Then don’t let it bother you.”

We sat there companionably, thinking.

“I have a suggestion,” she piped up. I was all ears. I nodded, urging her to continue. “Okay, so what if we make clothing optional? I’ll go out and get a few pairs of pale pink or flesh-toned ballet leotards and wear nothing beneath. Now, it’s the ladies I’m talking about. You men can do as you please; in fact, it might make them feel more, well, ‘beastly’, if you will, if they’re nude. But the ladies can have the option and my option will be to dress to suggest I’m nude, but not be. I didn’t want to bring this up, but maybe you’ve forgotten that women have a few days each month when nudity just isn’t going to work for them. This way, they can still participate without hesitation. What do you think?”

I listened, and as the idea rolled around in my head, I could see the possibilities. This woman, no, my woman, was smart, and she was right about options. Options separated “want to” from “have to.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea. You think men should be clothing optional, too?”

“And hide that beautiful body? No way. You should be proud of the way you look, and I’d much rather have the women see you au naturel than dressed in candy pink tights. Just not the same effect,” she said, wrinkling her cute nose.

“Okay, Whit, you’ve saved the day. You scoot on out of here and buy those leotards. I want to go through a few routines before the grand opening to make sure there are no restrictions. If we run into snags, we’ll just drop that part from the routines.”

She stood up and wiped her hands against one another as though she had just completed a job well done. “Good enough. I’m on my way. While I’m gone, you’ll have to figure out what to tell Katrina. She gets confused so easily. She needs to be able to smoothly explain it to clients.”

“Good idea.”

She was gone then, and I liked the way we had worked through the problem together. I had a feeling it was the Tim connection that had bothered me all along. I couldn’t shake it. I knew I was crazy about Whit, and she belonged to me, like a buried treasure I’d discovered and would keep hidden from the rest of the world.

***

I’d been so busy training with Whit that I’d relied on Kat to do most of the client screening. That was against my better judgment, but I couldn’t continue to limit her duties according to her personal skill set. She either needed to do the job, or I needed to find someone else. So it was the night for the grand opening and I really had no idea who would be showing up. I had my fingers crossed, but even better than that, I had Whitney at my side. She seemed to make everything turn out fine.

The doors opened at eight o’clock. I’d invited the entire membership of the yacht club, the country club and the financial groups in the area. I wanted to hook in the people who would provide the most resistance first. Everything and everyone after that would be a piece of cake.

Whitney had come up with the fabulous idea of having an initial function for the women only that would include a day of beauty. She’d planned to have stylists, manicurists, personal shoppers and cosmetic experts on hand for consultation for all the women. She’d even lined up a fashion and jewelry show to be held during a tea party. She was class all the way.

But more immediately came the grand opening. It was to be a black-tie affair, by invitation only. I had doormen and valets on duty, as well as all the normal festive accompaniments from music to catered food and the finest liquors to ice sculptures floating in the pool. Whitney, as it turned out, loved to plan parties, and she took over, even though Kat wasn’t happy about it. Kat knew it was a losing battle to argue, so she sat sulkily at her desk and played with the guest list.

Whitney had arranged for a roaring 20s theme, with speakeasies and sleek dresses. Women carried unlit cigarette holders and had beauty marks applied to their cheeks. Guests were invited to dance the Charleston, and admission was granted after you’d been inspected through a peephole in the door. It was great fun and, as it turned out, the event of the season. There were limos and sports cars lined up along the curb, and we’d taken over the rooms at the hotel across the street for our guests’ comfort. We were special, we were expensive and we were beautiful people. That made us desirable.

Car after car discharged its passengers out front and the doormen admitted them. Kat loved the peephole assignment, and she’d dressed to fit the bill. The entire building, except for our apartments, was open for viewing. The best room was the pool area, where Whitney had placed linen-covered round tables with wooden chairs and giant potted palms. She’d also had another stage built. This one had a backdrop of the lake and the colorful, striped changing houses typical in the 20s.

The pool water was glowing with floating candles, and the outer edge of the room mimicked carnival rides, their seats used for additional seating. Whitney had hired some men to rig a series of carousel horses that went up and down as they rotated over the pool. Actresses dressed in skimpy but full-body bathing suits laughed and sat atop the colorful horses, throwing golden coins to the guests at the pool’s edge. All in all, it was an elaborate affair, and by the end of the night, our membership tally exceeded three hundred clients and counting. Once the word got out, I’d probably have to expand. Each membership billed out at twenty thousand per year, due to its exclusivity. That equaled a six-million-dollar revenue the first year, and there was only minimal overhead. The plans were rolling around in my head.

The open house having been declared a success, we received considerable media attention. I knew the next people to show up would be the new money and need to be screened more thoroughly. Those I’d already invited were old money and generally eccentrics. Some might only have joined to say they were a member. That was fine for me if they paid their dues and didn’t start trouble.

It was only a few days before classes were due to begin. Since the entire purpose of the studio was yoga, there was nowhere for clients to just hang out. Therefore, the only time there were people in the building, besides Kat, Whit and myself, was during class periods.

It had been decided that the men’s classes would begin first. They would be followed by the women’s tea and, the following week, their lessons. This gave Whit a bit more time to perfect her moves and organize her class members.

My first class was about to begin, and my students were filing in, serious looks on their faces. I could tell many were having second thoughts, probably having viewed themselves in full-length mirrors before coming.

I recognized most of the faces.

Barry Waters was first in. He was a banker known for a full head of white hair and exceptional physical condition at his age of sixty-five. His wife was a jet-setter, some twenty years his junior. It was obvious he had an image to project and that was why he was there.

Next was Stephen D. Collins, the country club tennis pro. Attendance for him wasn’t optional if he wanted to keep his job. He was in fair condition, but swinging a tennis racket and bending like a pretzel offered uniquely different challenges. At least we’d finally uncover whether the bulge in his tennis whites was a sock or the real McCoy. I was laying my money on the former.

Doc Happ filed in next. I knew he was curious what this was all about, and again, if he was going to preach exercise, he’d better be seen doing it. He was a short man with little hair, slight and rather nervous for a man of science. He tended to preach religion a lot, too, but I noticed that God sort of filled in for him when he was clueless about a medical condition.

Doug Ratters stomped through the doorway. His family had money, as mine had, but he’d opted for the Army and disappeared somewhere in the mess hall. His story had been infantry, but his gut indicated lasagna. We all pretended he was tough, but I believed he’d be more at home on a yoga mat than a fence of barbed wire. He had some attitude, though, and I’d have to watch him.

There were more to come, but the time had come to begin the class. I needed to get things started.

“Gentlemen, may I have your attention? As you probably know, my name is William Braun, but most people call me Dagger. I’m a former SEAL, and I believe that fitness and a healthy mind are the best partners. Therefore, we’re here today to begin a series of classes that will teach you all common and comfortable yoga positions. Why are we different from the pansy place down the block? We’re men, and we’re going to learn in the nude. At the completion of classes, each of you has the option of inviting your partner and we will have combined classes that are designed to show you positions that will enhance your sexual life. Sex is never over until you stop moving. Got that?

“Now, the ladies will be learning in another room, and there will be no invasions into it until we’re invited for those later combined classes I mentioned. I expect you all to respect their privacy. We have a pool that is designed with a large expanse of shallow water. For those of you who require some conditioning before beginning the more elaborate moves, the water will make you buoyant and aid in that muscle group development. In short, you can’t be too out of shape. We can turn the clock back for each of you, and I guarantee, when you reach the other side, your lady will appreciate you. There is nothing spooky or dark arts about what we’re going to learn. It’s mostly about muscle control, and rather than piling on the reps, we use a stretching and isometric approach that keeps you from getting hurt while building your endurance. Any questions?”

There was an uncomfortable murmuring as many of them looked around at one another, deciding who was competition and who would be an advantageous person to work out next to. Men have huge egos, and the testosterone was riding high in the room.

Steve Collins was first to speak up. “I heard that clothing was optional.”

“Only for the ladies, Steve. Here, we’re men, and there’s nothing we haven’t seen in a locker room at some point, right, men?”

I got a few low-toned cheers for that morale booster, but Steve looked as though he was ready to puke. He had enormous vanity, and if my guess was right, the reason behind that nervousness was that third sock he was wearing.

“Do we have to stick with the women we came with?” shouted Doug Ratters. “I saw you had a real pretty one. Any chance I could work with her?”

“None. You work with the woman you brought, and no switching. This isn’t that kind of place, and if that’s what you’re after, leave now. There’s a few places in town where you can do all of that you want, but not here. I find out about it and you’re out, and so is she, but the dues are still enforced. Anyone else?

That seemed to cover the major questions of the moment. “Alright, men, there’s a locker room next to the pool area. I’ll see you all in the water in ten minutes.”

This was when the men were separated from the boys. The more mature, intelligent individuals were curious and considered this to be an interesting experiment. They were looking forward to enhancing their romantic lives and not at all bothered by the nudity. They’d most likely been on nude beaches overseas where nothing was thought about it. Then there were some who looked as though they were headed for their own hangings, and yet others who were going in as arrogant bulls. They would be tamed soon enough.

“Okay, now I want each of you to spread your arms and make sure there’s at least two arm’s lengths of space between you. There’s plenty of room for everyone, and once you’re off your feet, you’ll see there will be a bit of drifting. Get into position and we’ll get started.”

I felt as though this was Cub Scout camp and they were all children. I’d never seen such a disorganized mess in my life. If they’d been in the military, they’d all be doing kitchen duty. It would take some work to get them all in shape, especially considering there was such a wide variance in their current abilities. I’d staked my reputation on this, and once again, I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

“Doug, give Harry some more room. You want to fuck him or your wife?” Doug glared. I knew that was a hit below the belt, but insulting one member of a group always brought the others into line. They had seen the teeth of the boss dog, and since most of them were clueless, they would avoid drawing attention.

As I’d expected, there was some snickering and male teasing, but men are at their most vulnerable when nude, and their characters emerge. That was what I needed—their brains. I’d learned from my Navy training that the brain is not only in control, but controllable. Given the right circumstances and some training, it is possible to convince the brain that it is capable of something not ordinarily attainable. People are acquainted with acts of super strength, as when a car falls on a loved one; or of superhuman endurance, as when marooned without food or potable water at sea. It spurs the creative, innovative centers of thinking, making people believe themselves to be better off than they are. Those highly skilled in meditation can reduce their blood pressure and heartbeat at will. That was where I wanted these men to go.

It wasn’t just about sex. It was about improving their physical health, endurance and powers of clear thinking. Staying in the moment dedicates all the brain’s power to a specific purpose—letting your thoughts wander depletes it. For the most part, these were powerful men in positions of great influence. They were exactly the right people to teach.

The women, on the other hand, were for the most part support systems to their husbands. They had learned to be submissive, not because they weren’t capable of being in charge, but because the unified machine was far more efficient when only one was claiming alpha rights. In my opinion, these women were learning to be better equipped as that support system, and yet they had no clue. They wanted attention; they wanted to feel secure in their marriages, and making them attractive as partners in this exercise empowered them to ask for exactly what they wanted. I never took the time to explain all the nuances; for now it was enough that I designed the program accordingly. The men who would utilize it best would recognize what was happening. The rest didn’t matter.

In truth, my philosophy for what I was doing was something I’d not explained to anyone. When Whit came in, with her basic background in psychology, it was a sign from heaven. Surely she was meant to understand and support what I was doing. The fact that she was extraordinary in so many other ways just sweetened the alliance, and to an extent, proved that my theory worked.

Kat had apparently screened according to her own romantic notions. There were a few guys who were obviously not meant for the class, and no amount of work on my part would bring them any closer to their ladies. I had the unhappy duty of informing them of that fact, refunding their money, and wishing them well. I didn’t like being placed in that position, and I made a note to myself that Kat I were going to have a sit-down talk. She needed to fall into line, or I would have to let her go as well.

As for the rest of them, I could tell that as soon as they saw how fit I was, not to mention the tattoo and scars on my back, I began to command some respect I had not formerly enjoyed. It took nothing away from their masculinity and added nothing to mine, but no one wanted to model themselves after someone who was obviously a failure at what he did.

I began with a simple class, teaching them how to stand and balance their weight. I showed them how to stretch and to begin to use the abdomen for breathing, instead of the chest. Breathing was one of the most important aspects of yoga. I explained that we would be working in the men’s studio with a mat at some point and that the water was a temporary aid as they learned. I wasn’t sure how many were going to stick with the program, but I hoped there would be many. I wanted my first class of graduates to become future instructors. I did not want to be the only teacher. For the studio to have growth potential, it needed to become popular. These were men with influence and connections. The more satisfied they were with the outcome, the more equally influential people who would hear about it.

At the same time my classes had begun, I had reached a major milestone in my search Malchevsky. I had reached out to a friend who had served in Naval Intelligence. I had asked him to get a look at Malchevsky’s file, and while I didn’t want him to openly break any rules, I let him know, in a general sort of way, what I was after. I had done him a few favors in the past and he owed me. I wasn’t one to call in favors, but I would do it for Tim.

My friend, Tom, had sent me a message. In it, he simply said that he’d accomplished most of the chore and would be sending me the final product. I understood that to mean that he was drafting some sort of documentation that would be delivered by private courier. If I knew Tom, most likely that courier would be someone who owed him a favor. Guys in the military were often bound by favors. Barter was the only substitute for money, and the Navy didn’t pay extraordinarily well. Of course, that had never been a problem for me, but I’d never let anyone know that.

I was waiting for the courier, and in the meantime, I had a few of my closer friends keep their ears to the ground at the clubs. I wanted to know what people were saying. Feedback was valuable information. I didn’t want gossip, only credible commentary. That was another reason I began with classes for the men. Women tend to be far more social and prone to embellish the truth in a one-upmanship manner. Had they been the first to spread the news of the studio, it would have been badly flawed. That would not only have reflected poorly upon me, but upon Whit as well, and I wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Her plans for the ladies’ tea were ongoing. I admit, it gave me pleasure to watch her be so excited. Now that we had reached a compromise on the intimacy factor we would display in public, it made it far easier for both of us to separate our personal life and be professionals at the same time. I was right. She had a head on her shoulders and was heaven sent.

***

Tom had been extremely creative in his choice of couriers. Later that afternoon, a truck from a local florist arrived and the driver delivered a massive potted palm as a grand opening gift. Kat handed me the small, sealed envelope that accompanied the plant. My name was written on the outside of the envelope. At least she had the good sense to not be intrusive for once and left it sealed. She hung around a few moments, hoping to see my reaction in some perverse voyeuristic manner, but I simply slipped it into my jacket pocket and went on my way to my office. I could feel it was heavy and knew it was not simply a card.

I shut the door and had a seat at my desk. I reached for the ivory letter opener. It had been a gift from Tim. He had been very tentative about joining the service, particularly as he wasn’t so fond of water. I think he dared himself and literally got in over his head when it was already too late to change his mind. He had guts. To keep himself occupied during the off-duty hours aboard ship, he had taken up carving. Somewhere along the line, someone had given him a chunk of ivory and he had methodically, and with great creativity, carved a letter opener shaped like a dagger with an eagle on the hilt. He’d given it to me on my birthday, and even now I recalled how touched I’d been. Even though we were close in age, he felt like a kid brother, the one I never had.

I opened the envelope and out slid a small brass key. There was a card inside, the typical congratulations on your new venture sort of thing, but on the back was the number 344. Looking at the key once again, I noted that it was marked as property of the United States Postal Service. There was a post office two blocks down the street, and I knew that in box 344, I would find my proof.

I slid the key into the back of my wallet and burned the card, watching the ashes dissolve in the bottom of my metal wastebasket. I wouldn’t go to the post office until after hours. Even though cameras would be filming, I could mostly block their view with my shoulders and disguise my features with a ball cap and sunglasses. I knew how to avoid security cameras; I had wired in too many of them over my career.

I took Whitney out to a local diner for a quick supper that evening. I talked about the men’s class and we discussed adjustments to our teaching methods. She gave me her input, and between us, we prepared a better-rounded program. I was feeling good about it and feeling good about being with her. We had become a team, of that there was no doubt. I dropped her back at the studio, saying only that I was going to run a couple of errands. She never questioned me; she just wasn’t the type. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and opened her door, waving as she slid out and closed it. I watched to make sure she was safely inside before I left.

I drove around town for a while. There were several businesses around the post office that remained open until 9 o’clock. I wanted those closed and those parking lots emptied before I went to harvest my box. When I finally pulled into the parking lot, I found it to be deserted. Even the janitor was not in evidence.

I went in, using all the stealth I’d learned, and when I left, there was a manila envelope addressed to Santa Claus in my hand. I found a park where I could pull over beneath a lamp post and read. Although it was written in obscure language that would appear innocent to someone else, I understood everything he was saying.

A post-mortem examination on Tim had uncovered traces of a rare explosive. It was highly unstable, difficult to plant, and generally detonated with some sort of flame—the kind that could be produced by an underwater flare, for example. I remembered seeing a brief flash of red before the boat blew apart. If they’d been good for nothing else, my recurring nightmares had reminded me of that, subconsciously pointing me to the damning clue.

Now that I understood how Malchevsky had killed Tim, and had at least a little evidence to back it up, I had to find him. Fortunately, I had a few more favors to call in—one of which was from an old high school buddy. He’d gotten into trouble with gambling, and when the Russians came after him to collect, he had no choice but to bail. Kenny had not been terribly bright in class, but he had developed street smarts over the years. I’d run into him at the local bowling alley the night he went on the run. He was trying to collect his last paycheck so he had money to get out of town. We’d only been casual friends, had a few classes together, but he knew I’d inherited money. When he spotted me shooting pool, all he could see was salvation. I barely recognized him; he was that desperate, and his face showed it. He pulled me out the side door by the collar and tried to strong-arm me.

“What the fuck?” I growled and punched him in the nose. He hit the dirt and looked up at me, blood all over his face. To my surprise, he burst into tears and sat there in the dirt and old vomit and shook like a scared little girl. I let him calm down and regain his dignity before I pulled him behind a car. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Never mind, man. I’m a goner.”

“Says who?”

“There’s no way out for me. I ain’t got the money to pay them back, and these guys don’t mess around.”

“Who the fuck are you talking about, Kenny?”

“The mob, man! The fucking Russian mob!”

“You’re into them? You stupid ass! Don’t you know better than to mess with them?”

“I know, I know, but I was desperate. I took what they lent me to Arlington Park and put it on a sure thing. I was going to win enough to pay them back and start over. But something happened; the fix was in but the jockey got hurt in an earlier race and the entry got scratched. I had no choice but to throw it on another horse to win, and it didn’t. They’re out for me, man.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and looked at him—hard. His life was literally in my hands. “How much?”

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-fucking-thousand dollars? What the hell, Kenny? Were you planning to win all that on one horse?”

He was silent, but he sniffed every so often. His head was constantly twisting and his eyes darted at every noise. He didn’t know how or when they’d hit him, but he knew they were coming for him.

I dragged him to my car and shoved him into the back seat. I called my banker, a personal friend who I knew kept cash at home. He got the money together for me and met us in the high school parking lot nearby. He didn’t ask questions and I didn’t offer explanations.

I made Kenny tell me where to find the Russians and stood next to him as he handed over their money. I didn’t trust him not to take the cash and make a run for it. I wanted the deal done and then to wash my hands of him. Kenny practically fell to his knees thanking me that night. I told him I’d keep it to myself, but he owed me. That was how money worked. Some things you couldn’t buy, but a favor paid the fare.

Kenny kept in touch with me from time to time, and now I found a payphone in a deserted gas station and called him. He met me at the park and I gave him the particulars. Kenny had ended up working for the same guys who’d been after him. If anyone could get to Malchevsky, it was them. My hands would remain clean — at least for now.