12

  Almost two months after war and peace with George Warner, Bob Kerry was on the move, headed to Dubai again, as usual hopping his way across from city to city. Carl Snyder, too, was on his way to Dubai, in Citizenbank’s biggest and newest corporate jet, direct from New York.

  Kerry’s arrival was at night, on Monday, April 19, but early enough, and Chad went to receive him. As he waited at the airport, he found himself listening idly to two Indian men talking loudly near him, quite oblivious to their surroundings, laughing, as they chatted while waiting.

  “So, is it with you now?” asked one.

  “Don’t know, man, I’ve lost track completely,” replied the other. “She takes it full of love, then shoves it back down my throat in a huff. Then hers again, then back again, ha, ha. It’s happened so many times, I don’t know whether it’s with me or with her. No idea, man, absolutely no clue - give and take, give and take, give and take.”

  “Shit, you’ve got to be careful, man. She could lose track of who has it. She’ll misplace it, and demand it from you. You’ll get raped, man.”

  “I think I’ll open a register, you know, sign it in and out. Nuts, she’s nuts, and it’s damned dangerous, man. Any argument, throws it in my face; a good deed, which could be anything at random, she takes it back. Fucking give and take, give and take, give and take.”

  The men moved away, still talking and laughing. Chad wondered what item was changing hands so very often. A ring probably, he figured. Give and take. Ha.

  The flight was on time, and Kerry was out almost immediately. “What’s the weather like?” he asked, walking through a light drizzle to Chad’s jeep.

  “Absolutely fantastic,” answered Chad. “It rains once or twice daily, but the rest of the time it’s all clear skies. Super temperature too, but summer will strike any day, I’m told. Hope the cool holds a few days more.”

  “How’s work been going the last two days?”

  “Pretty good, Bob. Survey results came in yesterday, and the Trojan Horse window closed today. Looks like nobody’s spotted it. Good overall, I would say.”

  “Carl will be pleased. He’ll be arriving later tonight.”

  “I haven’t heard.”

  “It’s an impulse trip. He called me in Cairo. He’s very excited about the scheme, and can’t wait to get it going. I would be too, if I was going to make as much money as him. Any new ideas on introduction?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot, Bob, but nothing new has come up. Still, survey results indicate that we should be okay with simple default subscription.”

  “That’s good news,” said Kerry. “But it would be so much tighter if we could come up with a way to evade all scrutiny.”

  For the first time in many years, Kerry would not be staying at the Ramada. Carl Snyder refused to put up any but the very best hotels, and had been booked into the Jumeirah Beach Hotel, Dubai’s newest and most luxurious. As a top boss himself, Kerry had no option but to break his habit and book himself there too. They both had suites, Snyder’s being the best and most expensive. Kerry actually could stay in any hotel of his choice, in any room or suite, but he had been travelling many years, prior to his present exalted position, and, other than when at a new location, he, creature of habit, tended to stay at hotels he was familiar with. Some had become almost sleazy.

  Kerry was horny as hell. He lived a regular life in New York, under his wife’s thumb, and never built up the nerve for a bit of fun there, and so, after a late dinner, they went to the Cyclone, where, to Chad’s amazement, Kerry chose three extremely good looking girls, and though they commanded far higher rates than average hookers, Kerry was okay with that.

  “You want to watch three girls doing things, or fuck three girls?” asked one.

  “Both,” replied Kerry. “Everything,” he added, to make sure she got it.

  “Price is more,” she said. Kerry could not care, and agreed without asking what old or new rates might be. She turned to Chad. “What about you? You don’t want to fuck?”

  “No money,” said Chad.

  “Take money from him? You. Why you don’t pay for your friend? You are rich old man, yes? What you can do with three girls?”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Kerry laughed, as did Chad and the other two girls. But the speaker was adamant. “He is young man. When you finish, I will fuck him.” She turned to Chad. “Don’t worry, you will fuck, not only this greedy old man.” She was outraged at the thought that Chad might go without.

  One of the other girls butted in. “You can fuck me too,” she said.

  “I’ll have them all,” said Kerry, laughing, “and when I’m through, I’ll send two to Carl, the horny old toad.”

  “He does this?” asked Chad, surprised.

  “Chad, I think I’ve told you before,” Kerry scolded him mildly. “Everyone does; perks of travel. Snyder’s too big a name, too well known, watch the fuss they’ll make over him when they find he’s in Dubai, and cannot visit places like the Cyclone. Me? I keep a low profile, and very few people recognise me. I can do these things. Carl will call me as soon as his plane lands.”

  Kerry drank up, and went off with his three girls, and, after agreeing price with a nice looking girl, Chad also called it a day.

  At home, as the girl bounced on him, he unexpectedly recalled the conversation of the two Indians at the airport, or, more precisely, the one phrase - give and take. It began bothering him and kept going around in his head, finally taking up the rhythm of the girl’s movements - give and take, give and take, give and take. It bounced about with her, ruined his concentration and eventually collapsed his erection. It was extremely irritating.

  And there it was again, when he rose the next morning. Brushing his teeth, give and take, shampooing his hair, give and take, eating his toast, give and take. He had hoped to complete last night’s pending job on the girl, but the incessant annoying repetition made it too distracting to try. He paid up and disappointedly sent her off.

  He tried to forcibly introduce new tunes into his head, but the main beat was too strong, too deep rooted. Give and take, give and take, give and take.

  In the afternoon, Kerry called. Snyder was still asleep, exhausted by whatever he had been up to with the two girls. Kerry wanted to visit a doctor. He thought one of the girls had given him an itch in his private parts. Luckily he would not have to include Snyder on the casualty list, as the girl he suspected was the one who had spent the entire night with him.

  Chad drove over to the hotel. Kerry was slow coming down, probably, thought Chad, studying his dick with a magnifying glass. He ordered coffee, went out on the terrace next to the pool, and sat gazing idly at children playing around it. He turned his mind to the problem plaguing him, of how slip the Credit Shield Insurance scheme past the entire credit card customer base.

  Two kids drifted close, passing a ball back and forth, and, watching them, the rhythm began again inside his head, give and take, give and take, give and take. He sipped his coffee, while mulling his problem and keeping time to give and take - and then it came to him! Had he been a religious man he would have believed the gods had so decreed, for, as the kids tossed the ball back and forth, in a flash he saw it, and the roadblock confronting Credit Shield Insurance was lifted. It was so simple.

  It was give and take, after all!

  In the evening, Snyder called Kerry to his suite. Chad went along.

  “Ah, Chad Durbin, our shield bearer!” exclaimed Snyder, warmly welcoming both. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked Kerry. “You look worried.”

  “The girl last night may have given me something. I’ve been to see a doctor, but he said it’s nothing, though he gave me a precautionary shot. But one worries.”

  “Bah, the doctor’s right. It’s nothing. One of the risks of the game, and as long as you don’t get AIDS, you’re fine. Got to fuck, Bob, got to fuck.” Snyder waved the matter away. “Set up a guidance committee meeting for tomorrow. Let’s finalise the program and get it off the ground. That Arab asshole asked me about it last week. Everyone seems to be counting the cash before the chicken is hatched.”

  “Sure thing, Carl. Meeting at HQ?”

  “Nah, I don’t fancy going to the office. Plan to treat this trip like a mini holiday. I’ve already been to the beach, and I think I’ll pass my time between beach, food, booze, and a fix of some more of those excellent Russian girls. Is there a lot of selection?”

  “Lots,” said Chad. “Hundreds of new arrivals daily. Dubai is whore central.”

  “Well, Chad, if Bob is incapacitated, you’ll have to select. Can’t go to those places, you know. Be on the TV within the hour. That all right?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” said Chad.

  “I like them young, beautiful, firm bodied, slim but well stacked, superbly assed, long legged, blonde - and virginal.”

  “Goddesses,” translated Kerry sarcastically.

  Snyder’s mobile phone rang. He fished it out, and in his usual pompous manner said, “Carl Snyder here,” making Kerry snigger privately with Chad. Snyder’s affectedness on the phone was legendary. It was his secretary in New York, and they spoke together a couple of minutes. “We’ll meet here,” said he, when free of the phone. “Tell George and the other guy we’ll have dinner together. Come casual.”

  Late at night, Chad went alone to the Cyclone, and chose four fresh young girls, as Kerry, after considerable solitary search, had found his erection again, and took them to the hotel – a Russian, a Latvian and two Ukrainians, all below twenty, and, excepting the virginal bit, with every attribute Snyder sought. Dubai really had everything when it came to prostitutes.

  At the hotel, the night manager stopped him in the lobby - girls like these were not allowed to visit rooms. Chad told the girls to wait, everyone in the busy lobby eyeing the beauties, went over to the reception and asked that they call Snyder’s suite. The people behind the counter turned pale in fear. One led Chad and the girls to the elevator, while another walked briskly to the night manager - who fled the lobby without a backward glance.

  The unfortunate night manager, upon spotting Snyder walking back from the beach, had accosted him to enquire after the previous night’s shenanigans, and had started laying down the law, telling the CEO, very firmly, that the hotel would not allow this type of thing and I’m sorry but decent respectable people...

  Snyder had rudely interrupted his reckless flow, slapping his face a number of times, in the lobby, in plain view of guests and staff, before continuing on his way to his suite.