PIPER'S, Inc.

By Joaquin De Torres and Dr. Joseph L. De Torres

"Freedom is not free; it must be taken!"

This is the mantra of "PIPER'S, Inc." a conspiracy thriller centered on a secret society that is dramatically and horrifically changing the landscape of American life. Through the methodical liquidation of corrupt politicians, lawmakers, judges, law enforcement, financial CEOs, and the elite oligarchs whose whims manipulate American life, the institution is bringing a bloody wake-up call to society.

Waiting for social change and economic prosperity will no longer tolerated; they will be forced through the systematic assassination of those at the top who offer only the meager drippings of the good life to those at the bottom.

At the center of the organization is 'Temujin,' an ex-Black Ops commander who's had enough of the greed, abuse and self-serving machinations of the U.S. and local governments. Leading a massive unit of hand-picked special warfare assassins, he's out to change the nation, and restore the meaning of the 'American Dream.'

Mysteriously and gruesomely, members of Congress, state departments, Supreme Courts, law firms, financial giants, and police precincts are eliminated-with specific messages attached to their bodies. One by one the pillars of society fall as fear mounts to pandemic heights. "PIPER'S, Inc." is now the scourge of corruption and social inequality. The nation has a new Big Brother. . .and surprisingly, the nation is liking it!

Slowly emerging as a mysterious folk hero, Temujin promises there will be more blood and bodies, leading all the way up to the White House door if need be. . .until CHANGE FOR ALL citizens is realized.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456624590

Book preview

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Forward

Once upon a time . . .

on the banks of a great river in the north of Germany, lay a town called Hamelin. The citizens of Hamelin were honest folk who lived contentedly in their stone houses. As the years went by, the town grew very wealthy from their businesses and trade.

Then one day, something alarming happened to disturb the peace. Hamelin developed a serious rat problem because the rich would throw their excess food out of their windows. They had rats before, but they had never been a danger because the cats had always killed them. With all their wealth, the townspeople never invested any money into eradicating the pests. It grew worse over time, and still the people seemed more occupied with building their wealth. Seemingly, all at once, the rats began to multiply.

In the end, a black sea of rats swarmed over the whole town. First, they attacked the barns and storehouses. Then, for lack of anything better, they gnawed the wood, cloth or anything at all. The terrified citizens flocked to plead with the town councilors to free them from the plague of rats.

What we need is an army of cats! said the councilors. But all the cats in the town were dead, killed and eaten by the legions of rats.

We’ll put down poisoned food then! But most of the food was already gone, and even poison did not stop the rats which grew stronger, and hungrier.

It just can’t be done without help! said the mayor. Just then, while the arguments continued, there was a loud banging on the door. Who can that be? the city fathers wondered uneasily, mindful that maybe the angry crowds were going to revolt. They cautiously opened the door. And to their surprise, there stood a tall, thin man dressed in brightly colored clothes, with a long feather in his hat, and waving a gold pipe at them.

I’ve freed other towns of beetles, spiders and bats, the stranger announced, and for a thousand pieces of silver, I’ll rid you of your rats.

A thousand pieces? exclaimed the mayor. We’ll give you 50,000 if you succeed!

The stranger responded: At dawn tomorrow, there won’t be one rat left in Hamelin.

The sun was still below the horizon, when the sound of a pipe echoed through the streets of Hamelin. The Pied Piper slowly made his way through the streets and alleyways, and behind him flocked the multitudes of rats. Out they scampered from doors, windows and gutters; rats of every size, came out to follow the piper. And as he played his strange tune, the stranger marched to the harbor, and faced the water. The legions of rats, hypnotized by the strange music, followed each other right off the edge of the pier without hesitation. Every last one of them drowned, and was swept away by the current.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, there was not a single rat in the town. There was great celebration at the town hall, until the piper tried to collect his payment.

The rats are all dead now, and they can never come back, laughed the mayor. But you can’t expect us to pay such a huge price for such an easy task, do you? Now that the rats are gone, you can be on your way. We will pay you nothing.

His eyes igniting with rage, the piper pointed a threatening finger at the mayor. You’ll bitterly pay for breaking your promise! he warned. You will regret not paying the piper! Then he left, slamming the door behind him. The mayor shrugged and said to his council: Lads, we’ve just saved ourselves 50,000 pieces of silver!

That night, freed from the nightmare of the rats, the citizens of Hamelin slept more soundly than ever, already counting the money they would start making the next day. But this time, when the strange sound of piping wafted through the streets at dawn, only the children heard it. Drawn as by magic, they hurried out of their homes while their parents slept. Again, the Pied Piper strolled through the town, and children of all sizes and ages flocked at his heels to the sound of his strange melody.

The long, silent procession left the town and made its way through a misty forest and into a mountain cave where they were never seen again. Only one boy, lamed in the journey and finally falling behind, escaped this fate. It was he who told the mortified citizens what had happened to their 130 children. It was said that the screams of mothers and grandmothers went on for days.

No one suffered the horror more, however, than the mayor, himself. . .the one who refused to pay his debt. He learned shockingly that no injustice goes unanswered, no crime goes unpunished; that no matter how clever you try to hide your sins, you will eventually have to pay the Piper.

And pay dearly he did. His mentality lost, the fabric of his soul forever shredded, he could only stare at the empty beds of his three daughters whom he would never see again. With his left hand, he raised into the air a satchel of silver coins, 50,000 of them, and flung it into the licking flames of his roaring fireplace.

With his right hand, he brought a blade up, and sliced open his throat.

Prologue 1

Viceroy Hotel, Miami, FL.

Ocean View Suite, 12th Floor, Room 32

It only takes the slightest touch from the tip of a person’s tongue on the recipient’s mouth to make it open instinctively. There is no thought to this. A subtle hunger; the tingle of anticipation as it rises slowly, waiting to unleash itself after hours, minutes, or moments of sensual restraint. The hairs on the back of the neck bristle as if icy fingers are stroking them; the goose flesh of arousal blossom from the skin instantly. A tongue slides across the crease of your lips and immediately your mouth opens, and your tongue slides out in search of its partner. Both mouths suck each other in, sealing the gap as the tongues explore each other like curious snakes. It’s automatic; it’s primordial.

And it was all happening for multimillionaire, and recent widower Brandon Becks, 45, as the young woman smoothly removed his dinner jacket, undid his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt without breaking the rhythm of her oral attack. The breathing through their nostrils hastened and got louder as the woman’s tongue slid deeper down his throat, then wandered aimlessly throughout his mouth. Becks grew hard instantly. The blood and Sidenafil citrate flowed up his shaft in a confluence of nature and science. He thanked God that he had paid his Pfizer buddy a cool 20 grand for a few vials of the little blue pills just for moments like this one. He popped one into his mouth an hour earlier while he and this goddess were having drinks in the lounge.

The brunette woman, Cherry Snyder, also known as ‘Angel,’ was already naked. With her long, wet tongue slowly exploring the inner crevasses of his mouth, she put her hand on his pants and felt a solid log beneath. She moaned approvingly. She led him slowly to the couch and sat him down, their mouths still hermetically sealed, denying the splashes of saliva from escaping. A few moments passed, then she broke off the suction and stepped back. Becks’ eyes were wide, his anticipation like a teenager whose virginity was about to end within the next few moments.

She stood motionless for his inspection. His eyes scanned her from her beautifully arched feet, up long, pillared legs; a flat, tight stomach; up to her breasts, natural and full. Her shoulders were broad and her entire torso was subtly etched with the lines of muscular fitness. She lifted her head slightly, exposing a long, regal neck. Her medium-length black hair, cut and fashioned meticulously cast a shine like raven’s feathers. Her lips were pouty and fleshy like two ripe pieces of fruit- painted glossy red; and her sharp cheeks, nose and chin seemed more sculpted than evolved.

She stepped forward slowly, patiently, towards him. She knew exactly what she wanted and wondered if he knew what he would get. She stood so that the subtle grooves of her six-pack was only an inch from his face. He could smell the light, citrusy fragrance that permeated from her body. He reached his hands around her hips, held each tight buttock and pulled her gently into his face, pressing into a thick forest of hair. It smelled even better than her skin as he inhaled her natural, clean and musky scent mixed with her perfume. His tongue then entered the curly thicket, wanting to hear her moan with desire. Instead, she pulled back silently, dropped to her knees and looked at the massive snake trying desperately to escape between his legs. He saw this and hurriedly undid his belt, button and zipper. He stood up briefly to shove his pants and underwear down to his ankles as she waited.

He noticed with a man’s pride that her eyes never left his engorged penis. She eyed the thick pole without passion as it stood out and up rigidly. He sat back down and spread his knees wide to let her in. She moved forward and knelt between his legs, grasping his shaft and gently moving her grip up and down. The distance from the base to the tip of the head was at least nine inches, plenty of length to work with. His pleasure increased with her subtle changes in speed and pressure as her hand worked like a soft piston. The fingers of her other hand slid through his pubic hair like a snake through tall grass, finally sliding lower and cupping his bulging scrotum. Becks was already breathing heavily through his nose as he watched; his poise-like his balls-about to rip open at the seams.

Okay, baby, he breathed, laying his head back and closing his eyes. Do your thing. And do it slow. We have all night, and tomorrow, too. He expected her to answer with promises to make him cum all night; or, that he would not regret agreeing to meet her; or, maybe. . .she would call a friend over later to join the fuck fest. But instead, his heavy breathing, and the warm breeze moving through the open balcony doors were the only sounds he heard. Then the hand-pumping stopped. His eyes still closed, he anticipated her long tongue to begin drenching his balls with gentle laps, and her mouth and throat to descend upon his head like a warm, moist hood. He waited.

Her hand was still gripped on his shaft, but there was no other activity. After another few moments, he raised his head and opened his eyes. What he saw drained the blood from his face and his jaw went slack. Still gripped in Angel’s left hand was his granite-hard cock; but in her right hand was what looked like a seven-inch combat Bowie knife. The blade gleamed as she held it horizontally, its cutting edge just millimeters from the base of his penis. His eyes bulged in fear, but more terrifying were Snyder’s eyes which were cold and indifferent as she stared right through him.

What the fuck!? he asked in a trembling voice, eyeing the blade that was held so perfectly still that he couldn’t believe an actual person was holding it. He swallowed deeply as sweat began to bead on his forehead. Angel, what are you doing? Her silence unnerved him further; and her lack of movement sent icy volts through his body. But in the silence, he was able to find some sense of control. He brought his opened hands up in front of him, the international sign of surrender, and tried to sit up from his lounged position. She tightened her grip on his penis so hard that he winced in pain.

Stay where you are, she ordered, ice crystallizing each word.

What do you want? Money? Angel, there’s my wallet over there, by your purse. There’s $20,000 in cash in it. Take it. The keys to the Bentley are there, too. Take the car! I can write you a check right now for another 10 grand, anything you want. Just. . .just. . .put the knife down, please. This seemed to work. She slowly withdrew the knife from his penis. He blew out a long breath of relief. With her fingers, she manipulated the knife so that it was now gripped in her fist, a stabbing grip. His eyes bulged.

Angel! What are you. . .? She brought the blade up high. ANGEL! ANGEL! NOOOOOOOO!!! She brought the knife down, plunging it into the lip of the couch just inches from his scrotum. He opened his tearing eyes as he whimpered, his body quaking. He saw the knife standing like a gleaming totem pole, embedded in the couch. His penis was also standing, free of her hand. She was still between his legs, but her back was turned slightly away as she reached for something from the large handbag she had brought with her. She was distracted, and he saw his chance. He quickly sat up and reached for the knife, but felt a metallic hammer-blow on his forehead that drove him back into the couch.

FUCK! he yelled out in pain while reaching up to his head. He looked back at the woman who was now gripping a pistol in her left hand aimed at his face.

What the fuck is that!? he whimpered, knowing that his act had just made a horrible situation worse.

"It’s a Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm Shield," Snyder replied quietly. She waited as tears began to flood his eyes, his hands opened in front of his chest again.

Angel, are you going to kill me? Is this what this is? Just like that? You’re just going to murder me?

After you had your wife murdered, I don’t see why you would be so surprised? He shook his head.

I didn’t murder my wife! She died accidentally from a medical procedure! I was not involved! Snyder withdrew the pistol from his face, allowing him to breathe a little easier. She regarded him with disgust.

"Your personal doctor claimed that the victim died from an overdose of Botox injections she was administering to herself, causing Botulinum Toxin poisoning, she said flatly. Lethal doses cause muscle and respiratory paralysis."

Victim!? My wife was no victim of any crime! Becks stiffened more as Snyder produced a tubular metal cylinder and began screwing it onto the end of her gun. What is that? A silencer!? Panic quaked through him as she nonchalantly affixed the tube to the end of the pistol barrel.

It’s a sound and flash suppressor, she responded calmly. So, yes, it’s also called a silencer.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!? He was now crying, but Angel’s expression was unmoved.

You were beating Karen, Mr. Becks. You beat her with a belt that had a metal buckle.

How the fuck do you know this!? She ignored him as she ejected the gun’s handle clip and inspected the bullets. His eyes locked on her movements in utter panic.

The belt buckle cut her in several areas on her body, causing open wounds, she continued as she slid the clip back up the gun with a satisfying locking sound. "One of those wounds was near her mouth. When the bacterial spores of Botulinum Toxin reach an open wound, they travel straight to the respiratory glands, breaking down the muscles of respiration, leading to respiratory failure." Becks eyes looked away as he imagined his wife in her final moments. He was there, at the scene, watching from the balcony of a second-story room at their mansion. The balcony overlooked the pool where his wife lived her final moments.

Suddenly, the panic hits when the person can no longer suck in air, but can’t move because of involuntary muscle paralysis. She tried to stand and call for help, but because of the postural hypertension, she was going into a coma when she fell into the pool. Karen drowned while she was suffocating and paralyzed. She stared at Becks, his eyes betraying his guilt; betraying the fact that his wife died exactly as this woman, whom he didn’t even know before tonight, had described it.

"Then you called your family doctor to report that she died from a Botox overdose and accidentally drowned." He shook his head; not that he was denying the allegations, but dumbfounded at how she knew all this. He looked at her, wondering what amount of pleading he would have to do to come out of this alive. He put out his hands as if begging for mercy. She had none as she spoke again.

Your sins, Mr. Becks, had just begun from there. Because you married into her deceased father’s wealthy estate, you stood to gain all of your wife’s $56 million fortune. You had your lawyer alter her will to exclude her three children from her previous marriage. You made sure they received not a penny of the inheritance. Now, they live with their grandmother and will never afford to go to college. You then spent millions on investments, which worked out very profitably for you. Still you shared nothing with your stepchildren. You spent millions on lavish parties, a yacht, women, a Bentley, two Mercedes SUVs and two more mini-mansions in Orlando. You continued to get rich, spend money, yet you didn’t help Karen’s mother nor those young children. The two sons and their sister all have canceled their matriculating into Ivy League schools, and now are working part-time and going to state colleges.

But that’s not my fault! I mean what could I do? I was busy with meetings, business deals-

You were fucking! Angel spat and glanced sharply at him for an instant. You were fucking and spending money. You had no intention of sharing anything. She shook her head slightly. Mr. Becks, it’s not very smart to lie to a person who knows everything about you. He tried to open his mouth to protest his case, but she put the barrel of the gun to her lips as if a finger indicating a person to be quiet.

A month ago you received a text on all your smart phones; then, when you went to your job or home, you saw that same message again, didn’t you? He nodded. And what did that message say? He swallowed deeply as a thick finger of sweat slid down the side of his face.

"It said: We know what you did. You have three weeks to pay the children." He stopped, too scared to go on.

To pay the children. . .or what? she asked with narrowed eyes. He began to tremble again as he looked up at her with pleading eyes.

"Or. . .you will pay. . .the Piper! She nodded in satisfaction. I’ll give them some money!" he blurted instantly, believing that he now had a bargaining chip to spare his life. To his surprise, Angel instantly put down the gun, albeit laid it close enough to where she could get to it. He wasn’t going to try anything, but the removal of the gun in his face made him a little calmer. He wiped his eyes of tears at the sudden, awkward comfort. He dared not move, and watched as Angel again retrieved something from her bag. She handed him a pen and a small stack of documents.

What are these?

I just need your signature on all the items highlighted in yellow. Your lawyer will sign them after you. I will visit him tonight after I leave you. She grinned dryly. You’re going to do the right thing now, Mr. Becks. This is your will. It states that in the event of your death-by any cause-whether by accident, misfortune, misadventure, drug overdose, murder, suicide or natural causes-your fortune shall be distributed in the following allotments to your stepchildren.

The numbers were staggering as Becks read the documents with disbelief. Basically everything that was his wife’s before they married would go to her children, including the yacht, houses, and vehicles he bought directly with her money. The money he made in stocks, bonds and investments would go to a list of charities that were listed, and a dubious mention of 'The Finder’s Fee.'

What’s this finder’s fee? Angel got up from her knees, her nakedness no longer an attraction to him despite his Viagra-laced penis still strong and erect.

That’s for me because I found you. If you had done it in the beginning, you could have made your own terms and amounts. But you ignored the message, and now you’re going to pay the Piper. He swallowed again, desperately needing a stiff drink. He took the documents and signed each one." Handing them back, he waited for her to speak. She put the documents and the gun into to bag to his great relief.

So, will you let me go now? Sweat continued to cascade down his face, and his trembling had not ceased. She smiled, and knelt down between his legs again. She looked at his penis and clutched it with her left hand again, resuming her expert pumping motion. The adrenaline and endorphins that had coursed through him during his life-threatening stress found a new direction of primordial use, and he laid his head again on the couch back.

With his heartbeat and adrenaline amped up, he felt he would orgasm at any time, launching his seed into the air. Then a soft, yet noticeable blast of warm air fanned down the tip of his head, the heat around it intensified, and then the moistness of Angel’s mouth gloved it. She leaned into it, and sucked slowly, moving down his shaft at least five inches before slurping upwards again.

OHHHHHHHH, my God! Yes! he exhaled. Oh, YES! Angel! Her rhythm was smooth and focused as she filled her throat with him, increasing the tempo. All the while, her other hand massaged his aching scrotum, rubbing and squeezing each palm-sized testicle gently. Becks pulled at his own hair on his head, unable to take much more. OOOOOHHH! Angel! OOOOHHH, ANGEL! She sucked down as deep as she could go, lubricating him almost to the base, and held it for a few excruciating moments, suckling and purring to his carnal delight.

It didn’t take long as he took in a deep breath of air. AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! he bellowed, caring not who was within earshot. Angel felt his body tense up as he arched his back. She felt the eruption begin, and released her lips, sliding up the shaft, and off at the exact moment Becks launched. He roared like a victorious warrior, and held the roar as he watched thick ropes of semen soar upward. As she used her hand like a piston, the sperm kept coming, cascading on her hair and back. As if to drain out every ounce of it, she squeezed his balls harder, forcing more of the liquid to blast out. Then the fountain finally was reduced to a dribble. Becks collapsed backwards, soaked in sweat and panting while Angel remained still; her left hand still holding the iron-rigid organ.

Oh, Angel, he whispered while trying to regain his composure. Fuck, that was great! And look! He pointed to his penis. We’re just getting started! Angel looked darkly amused. Looks like everyone’s gonna be happy! His chest heaved slower than before as he felt his second wind coming to him.

Your stepchildren are going to be very happy.

Yeah, when I go, they’re suddenly millionaires! he chuckled, trying hard not to replay the scenes leading up to him signing the will. Yes, indeed. They will be paid.

They will be paid tomorrow. Angel's statement hung in the air for a confusing moment for Becks.

What? He tried to recall if one of the clauses mentioned a pre-death settlement or some kind of signing bonus. Are they going to get some money now? Like a small percentage, then the rest at my death? Honey, I didn’t read all the clauses, naturally. He laughed and thought she would share the joke, but she didn’t even smirk.

They will be paid in full tomorrow, she repeated hauntingly.

But how? I mean- With a swift movement of her right arm the combat knife gleamed horridly in his eyes again.

"You killed your wife who gave you everything you wanted. You took her money; you took her dignity by beating her; and you took her life. Do you know why she was shooting Botox, Mr. Becks? She wanted to be more attractive for you. Becks began to whimper again, his arms wrapped around himself as he quaked. She was a mother with three children who loved them dearly."

No! Please!

You have to answer for Karen, Mr. Becks. And for that, you must pay a higher price.

In a blur, Angel twirled the knife to the appropriate grip and swept it horizontally, lopping off the penis two inches from the base. Becks was so paralyzed by what he had just seen, that the pain had not yet registered. His eyes bulging, and his mouth held open in a wide sputtering maw, he choked on air as a fountain of blood gurgled out of his penal stump. As he watched in horror, Snyder stood up again, twirled the knife with her fingers into the stabbing grip and arced it down like a sledge hammer through his chest.

The last thing he heard was her soft whisper: Sooner or later, Mr. Becks, everyone must pay the Piper. Becks eyes stared lifelessly as Cherry Snyder raised herself up. She reached into her bag and pulled out her smart phone. She tapped the keypad. It rang only once.

Hello, Temujin? This is Angel. The Piper’s been paid.

Prologue 2

Trust National Bank, Branch 47

30th floor

Rochester, New York

Twenty-five-year-old Croatian fashion designer Diana Noel, couldn’t believe what the loan officer had just said to her.

Excuse me? She kept a tentative smile, but her eyes flashed with confusion. I’m sorry. I didn’t quite get that. Sheldon Rosenbaum, bank president, executive loan officer, securities officer, and senior board member of New York’s Small and Medium Entrepreneur Administration, sat back in his chair behind his massive mahogany desk.

Diana sat on the other side of his desk. He regarded the attractive young woman with a confident smirk, tilting his head back and pursing his lips. His thoughts, salacious and insidious, were working from the moment she stepped through the door. He repeated what he had said seconds before.

Take off your clothes. Diana swallowed nervously, her eyes looking at the documents she presented to him just to avoid his lustful stare. She’d never heard such a statement in the short period she had been in business in the fashion industry. This could never happen in Croatia where she managed six NOEL stores in the beautiful capital city of Zagreb. Her being so far away from her country was no accident. She had a plan for coming to New York.

Croatian labor costs were rising, and the economy was still stagnant despite the country’s European Union status. With 4.5 million people, and over 20 percent unemployment, Croatia was too small for Diana’s dreams. NOEL was a successful business, specializing in top quality women's fashions, lingerie, and shoes. But because of the quality of her products, the prices were a bit steep. Not Dolce and Gabbana steep, but perhaps a little too steep for the average Croatian citizen.

Special orders by European celebrities and the elite were what kept her business above water. However, it wasn’t the elite she wanted to market to, but the mainstream community. Other chains importing cheap materials and using Third World sweatshops to make their products like H&M, Mango, La Senza, and The United Colors of Bennington threatened to close her business down. She couldn’t compete with the crap imported from China, Bangladesh, Malaysia, India, Pakistan, and Turkey. And if that wasn’t enough, Zagreb