Stuart Reb Donald’s latest work of fiction 9.999: A Cautionary Tale of Greed, Lust, and Avarice is the story of Roger Edinger and the part he played in the total collapse of the United States of America. Set in the very near future, 9.999 (Nine Ninety-nine Nine) is a sordid tale of deception and intrigue. It shines a light on how deviant and aristocratic Washington DC is, or in this case was. It proves that sometimes fiction is truer than truth.
Once again he proves that he’s more than just an award winning chef and cookbook author. He is also the author of A More Perfect Union the suspenseful tale of US President Alexander Lawrence who’s last living family member, his beautiful daughter, dies of an overdose and her body is dumped in a trash can in New Orleans’ famed French Quarter. A More Perfect Union was a stunning debut for the musician-turned-chef-turned writer from Mobile, Alabama.
For 24 hours you can download a copy of Stuart Reb Donald’s latest work of fiction 9.999: A Cautionary Tale of Greed, Lust, and Avarice. It is the story of Roger Edinger and the part he played in the total collapse of the United States of America. Set in the very near future, 9.999 (Nine Ninety-nine Nine) is a sordid tale of deception and intrigue. It shines a light on how deviant and aristocratic Washington DC is, or in this case was. It proves that sometimes fiction is truer than truth. And for one day you can get it for free, just click HERE.
“It started with Ivan.”
“Ivan isn’t a who; it’s a what. It all started with Hurricane Ivan.”
“The plot to destroy America started with Hurricane Ivan?”
The afternoon sun was shining brightly over the French café as the many pedestrians streamed by the May-December couple sitting at the corner table, “No, no. There was never a plan to crash the country, at least not to deliberately crash the country. There was never a plot as you put it to destroy America. It just kind of happened. It was an accident; like an unplanned pregnancy. There was a plan, however, once it became clear that the country was going to crash that made sure certain people were taken care of.”
“Which people?” She was like a moth at the flame, she knew this story was dangerous but she also knew that it would make her career. Nothing would tickle the BBC big wigs like being the first to land the true story of the financial collapse of the United States of America.
“You’re too eager, dear. I hope you aren’t like this in bed.”
She sat up offended, “That is none of your business!”
He grinned and softly patted her hand, “It’s all right, dear, I was out of line, I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. You said before that it started with Ivan – what did you mean?”
“Right, it was the summer of 2004. If you remember Hurricane Ivan was a whopper that landed on Pensacola, Florida. You aren’t old enough to remember that are you?”
“Yes, I remember Ivan, I was 18.” She hated it when people mentioned how young she was. She already looked like a child with her tiny frame standing all of five foot even. She knew she should not have let her stylist talk her into bangs. Instead of looking 20 now she looked like a teenager.
He blew off her response and kept talking, “I think it was a category 5, isn’t it that biggest? Never mind, it’s irrelevant, it was big and we decided to see if we could use it to jack up the price of gasoline.”
“Yes, we, the big oil companies including my company. You have the most beautiful brown eyes. They look so sad.” He was still rubbing her hand gently.
“So Steadfast Oil & Gas was in on it?”
“My boss was Theodore Tillman III.”
“Really? He was the CFO that was assassinated in Austin by that waiter, right?”
“Again you are trying to jump ahead. Slow down, dear. I mean look around you, we’re in Paris for piss sakes. That’s the fucking Eiffel Tower over there. Take a moment to enjoy your surroundings because you never know when some jack ass is going to blow up it up to make a political statement.” He caught himself, “Sorry, I never got to see Mount Rushmore and I’m just a little biter about it.”
She was about to speak when he interrupted, “But seriously did he have to blow up the whole damned mountain? Seriously? I mean really, the whole thing? He couldn’t just blow off Roosevelt’s glasses or something? The whole … fucking … mountain?”
“Mr. Edinger, please, you were talking about Theodore Tillman.”
“Oh, yeah, Tillman, what an asshole,” The Rothschild was beginning to get into him a bit, after all it was his second bottle since noon. “So Tillman, Jenson, Stevens, Levinson, and a few of the other “Texas Tycoons” (that’s what they called themselves) got together at Tillman’s place on Lake Coeur d’Alene to talk about using Ivan to justify jacking up gas prices. In case you don’t know, cupcake, that’s collusion. It’s a violation of the Interstate Commerce Code and a felony.”
Again he referenced her age, he was so damned condescending, “I know what collusion is, Mr. Edinger, I minored in business law.” He did make a cute drunk, though.
“No shit, where’d you go?”
“Bachelors from the University of North Carolina.”
“Carolina, huh? Are you pissed that your degree is from a college that no longer exists?”
She was rather annoyed that she spent three and half years working to graduate with honors from a university that ceased to exist when the Union disbanded. Knowing that the beautiful campus she had loved so much had been turned into a refugee camp especially galled her. “I do have a Masters from Trinity College in Dublin.”
“Gotta love the Micks, they know what fucking whiskey is for.” He began tracing his finger lightly over hers as his tone softened, “Anyway, love, they get a couple of pounds of cocaine, an ass load of hookers and headed off to Idaho to come up with a viable explanation for gouging gas prices.
“What they came up with, get this now, was that most of the oil rigs in the Gulf had been damaged by the storm and oil production would be down for months while they repaired them.” He started laughing loudly enough for passersby to look at him strangely, “Like it never dawned on the engineers who designed those platforms that there might ever be a storm in the Gulf of damned Mexico. Hurri-who? What-a-cane?
“The only thing as ridiculous as that damned dribble is how you people never even thought twice about what they told you. Of course that was because a few media moguls where in for a cut as well. It boggles the mind the shit that three or four dozen billionaires can do if they work together.”
She interrupted him, “Wait, slow down, now you are going too fast. The networks were in on it too? And did you say three or four dozen billionaires?” She was frantically reading over her pad. She always used a recorder and took handwritten notes. She was so engrossed that she didn’t even notice her holding his hand.
He did, “Listen, Carolina, I’m shit-faced, walk an old man back to this townhome would you?” As he stood she stood with him, and so did the very athletic looking man in the black turtleneck and slacks who had been sitting behind Edinger staring at her during the interview. She of course knew who he was, Black, Edinger’s body guard.
Rumor had it that Edinger was so confident in Black’s ability to protect him, that he went anywhere he wanted without fear. Truth be told he was only about 96% sure of Black’s expertise but that was good enough. He figured that if somebody did manage to kill him, he probably had it coming.
Edinger wavered a bit as he stood, the red wine settling in his feet. He looked down at his diminutive companion, “You’re a tiny little thing aren’t you?” He took Christina by the arm and stepped to the sidewalk, “Enough shoptalk, sunshine, we’re in the most romantic city in the world, laissez les bon temps rouler!”
She smiled up at him, “What?”
“Let the good times roll!”
Arm-in-arm they walked down the street as he told her the story of a Texas hunting trip in which a politician, in a drunken attempt to kill a quail, nearly did the same to another hunter. As they neared his home he said, “Carolina, I have a joke for you. Want to hear it?”
“There’s this older gentleman sitting in a bar and across the room he sees this unbelievably beautiful young woman. He walks over to her and says, Baby, you are stunning, if I gave you ten million Euros would you spend the night with me?”
“She laughs seductively and says Dear heart, for ten million Euros I would rock your world.
“He smiles and says would you do me for ten Euros?
“She says ten bucks? What do you think I am a prostitute?”
“He replies we’ve already established that. Now we’re just dickering over the price.”
Christina laughed and asked, “What brought that up?”
He smiled, “I’m worth €67 billion.”
Isle of Manhattan, New York RBCNE
She stared deeply into her lover’s eyes. Since the first time they had made love lo those many years ago at the Catherine Foyt School for Girls those eyes were what always sent her over the top. The most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. The touch of her lover’s hand on her skin was intoxicating especially her talented finger which never failed to give her release. It knew all the right spots. No woman, and damned sure no man since had ever pleased her like her first had, still does.
Patricia Edmunds was in the throes of passion, “You are amazing, don’t stop.” Her lover did as she was told; she always did as she was told. The Governess arched her back as she neared climax, “That’s it right there, faster, harder,” suddenly she shot straight as a board as the feeling swept her body, “yes, yes, yes!” Her lover kept teasing her and Edmunds’ response was simply, “I love you. More than anyone on this crap hole of a planet, I love you.”
As the waves of enthusiasm ebbed she opened her eyes to look once again into her lover’s eyes. They stared back at her from the nether world of the mirror, mimicking everything she did. The entire room was lined with mirrors. No matter which way Edmunds looked she could always see her only true love, herself.