At the end of Jack’s Thursday evening kundalini workshop, Kevin Knight and four other police officers entered his studio. Most of the women were in the process of rolling up their mats and looked startled to see so many officers enter the building.
Jack was encouraging two of his students to sign up for private sessions when Kevin approached him. “We need to ask you some questions,” he said loudly. Jack looked at him quizzically but decided to play along.
“Of course, Chief Knight,” he said. “Ladies, if you would be so kind as to take your conversations outside, I would appreciate it.” When they hesitated to leave, Jack explained, “As you know, I’m the caretaker of the Le Beau Château estate. You may have seen in the newspapers that its home burned down on Tuesday. Sadly, one of the town’s last great homes is gone, and the officers have some questions for me.” Two of the police officers started herding the Lululemon-attired crowd out of the building. They closed and locked the doors on their way back in.
“What’s this about, Kevin?” Jack asked.
“Have a seat, Jack,” Kevin responded.
One of the police officers placed a wooden chair in the middle of the yoga room. Jack hesitantly sat down.
“I have something to show you,” Kevin said as he pulled out a portable DVD player. On the screen, he brought up a video of himself and two of the other cops in the room during their sexcapade with Abby.
Jack looked shocked. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
Kevin pointed to the yoga studio’s old bank vault, where the safety deposit boxes were.
“When?” Jack asked.
“It doesn’t matter, Jack,” Kevin responded. “I have it, and it proves you broke a promise to me. Not only did you film us, but then you stored it away to use for whatever future purpose you had planned.”
“I-I wasn’t singling you out,” Jack stammered as the two other officers on the tape moved in closely behind him. “I tape the sexcapades for my own private use. It’s just a weird perversion. I’m not planning to do anything with the tapes.”
“Bullshit. That’s not what your assistant Leaha told us during questioning,” Kevin said. “She even showed us a file you created listing your sexcapade clients’ weaknesses. At some point, you were planning to blackmail us all.”
Jack was speechless. Leaha, you fat, pathetic bitch, he thought.
“Given the fire that occurred during a sexcapade you orchestrated, you could be charged as an accessory to murder,” Kevin started, deciding to list all the potential charges even though he knew he wouldn’t pursue them, for fear of exposure. “We could find enough evidence for the charges to stick. We could also, given these tapes and the participants’ testimony, charge you with pimping and prostitution. Based on Leaha’s testimony, the files acquired during a ‘no knock’ search warrant, and your bank records, we could also charge you with fraud concerning your charity and the benefit. With all of that… You’re looking at a jail term of about fifteen to twenty years.”
The other policemen moved close to Jack, surrounding him.
“What do you want?” Jack asked.
One of the officers pulled a cloth bag from his pocket. He placed it over Jack’s head while another officer sharply pulled back Jack’s arms and wrapped them in a monoglove behind the back of the chair. His ankles were cuffed.
From the darkness of the bag, Jack heard the studio’s exterior door open and the tapping of what sounded like stiletto heels strutting across its wooden floors. A whip cracked next to the chair. A match was struck. The bag was ripped from his head, revealing Stacy, his B&D sexcapade client.
“I get to have you tonight,” she said as she pulled a long rattan cane from a thigh-high boot.
“No,” Jack said as images of her sexcapade volunteers squirming in pain flooded his head. “No, no, no!”
“Enjoy your sexcapade, Jack. I’ll be back to set you free so she can fuck you,” Kevin said as he and the other officers exited the studio.
Forty-five minutes later, they returned to find Jack a bloodied mess. His face had been torn in several areas from contact with knuckle rings, one of his eyes was swollen shut and turning purple. All the exposed areas of his body had raised, bloody welts. He could barely hold his head up.
Kevin partially untied him and dropped him to the floor. Stacy then gingerly removed the monoglove and his clothing while kissing some of his lacerations. Jack flinched with each of her touches. Kevin had his men roll Jack onto his stomach and hogtie him with his hands and feet bound together.
“What are you going to do to me now?” Jack wearily asked. Stacy answered his question with splash of hot wax. She proceeded to cover him, walking in circles and dumping cups of melted wax on his backside. With each new splatter, he called out in pain. He begged her to stop.
“Stacey, dear, I don’t think he’s up for the finale,” Kevin said as he kicked Jack in the ribs. Kevin stared down at Jack’s exposed penis and asked the other officers if anyone was up for a castration. Jack’s one unswollen eye was wild with fear.
“I didn’t bring a drop cloth with me tonight,” Kevin said finally. “Maybe we’ll cut his dick off tomorrow? Guys, take him to the vault.” Two of the four policemen took hold of Jack and dragged him on his stomach. Once at the vault door, they picked him up by the arms and legs and, after swinging him back and forth, threw him into the space with such momentum that he crashed against the back wall of safety deposit boxes and landed with a thump and a long groan. Before turning off the vault’s lights and locking its door, they cut off his bindings and cuffed his hands and his feet.
“We’ll water him tomorrow morning,” Kevin said in jest as they locked up the studio’s exterior door. “He’ll survive the night.” Kevin hung a “CLOSED FOR ASBESTOS REMOVAL” sign on the building, which he knew would send most of Jack’s students into a complete panic. A photo of the sign would definitely be the lead in Breaking News Today: Cannondale, and the Cannondale Mom’s Group chat room would be abuzz with comments.
“Where did you find Stacy?” one of the officers asked Kevin as they left the studio.
“Believe it or not, she’s a local mom. I saw her on one of the sexcapade tapes we got from the vault, and when I showed a still of her to a few of our guys, one remembered meeting her during a routine traffic stop. Her house is the one on the market on Grassy Pastures Lane.”
* * *
The next day, Kevin entered the bank vault with his officers, two power bars, and bottles of Gatorade. Jack looked like shit. He was slumped against the far wall. His face was purple and swollen. His body was covered with crusted gashes. Urine was puddled inches from his feet.
“Jack, we’re going to set you free on one condition,” Kevin said, towering over him. “You are going to leave Fairfield County and never come back. From here, you’ll have a police escort to your apartment, where you can pack one bag of belongings. The officers will then bring you to Stamford’s Greyhound bus station, where we will provide a one-way ticket for you to Fort Lauderdale. You don’t have to go all the way there, but you can never step foot in this town again. If you do, I will get word of it, and you will not survive the night. And if I ever hear of the sexcapade tapes going public, your mother will be the victim of an unfortunate accident. Stan Martin, the police chief of her town, is a close friend. I also know where your four brothers live with their families. We good?”
A terrified and cuffed Jack nodded.
“Lastly, just so you know, your assistant has been very helpful to us. She and I wiped out your computer’s hard drive, but I have a copy of everything that could expose your charity’s fraud. She’s off-limits. You don’t call her, text her—nothing. You really shouldn’t have taped me and my men, Jack.”