Chapter No. 5 Tribulation

Georgio's is one of those fashion boutiques that are frequented by a narrow class of clientele: those with plenty of cash. The usual customer base consists of Hollywood starlets, wives of successful company presidents, and wealthy dowagers. No bargain basement clothes and accessories can be found on its racks. In fact, this high priced establishment doesn't display prices; if you need to ask, you can't afford it.

Occasionally, a less affluent customer graces their salon.

"Why, Mrs. Hauptman," an impeccably dressed woman said. "So nice to see you."
Margaret cracked a tentative smile. She felt self conscious in Vivian Marcelles' presence. The owner of Georgio's was exquisitely wrapped in a glistening silk pantsuit cut so low it would have been indecent for any normally endowed woman to move around in it. Vivian had a model's figure and a stylishly coiffured hairdo, but her face showed signs of wear despite numerous face-lifts.

"Thank you. I'm interested in foundations. Something comfortable but with control."

"We have some new Christian Dior sport briefs. Perhaps they might satisfy your requirements."

Margaret nodded.

"Would you care to see them modeled?" Vivian asked, gesturing to the back of the showroom where a separate room is reserved for lingerie.

Margaret tried to sound casual. "If it's no bother."

Vivian clapped and a young woman appeared. She also was blessed with a model's sleek body, but her flawlessly complected face had unique features: thick lips, large oval eyes, and short violet hair maliciously brushed straight back to a point.

"Marla, Mrs. Hauptman would like to see a Christian Dior panty--the new sport model."

Marla flashed a wide grin and then entered a door that was nearly invisible in the royal blue velvet wall of the lingerie show room.

Vivian turned to her customer. "We also have some new special Millennium edition Cosabella bras. They're very exclusive. Only three hundred have been made. Perhaps you would care to see them also."

"Yes, I believe I would."

Vivian sashayed to the velvet door, opened it, and entered its inner sanctum.

Margaret settled into a plush leather chair to wait for her modeling session. She felt uneasy about being here. Trendy things don't really turn her on, but she likes well-made things, especially clothes. They give her a sense of security unlike anything else she can acquire. She doesn't care for the pangs of conscious that it gives her, though; Georgio's is an establishment dedicated to decadence.

The velvet door swung open and out strutted Vivian with her usual haughty expression. Behind her came Marla wearing a violet velvet cloak that nearly matched her hair color but was short enough to exhibit the entire length of her long trim legs. She click clacked in her high-heeled scarlet platforms over to a position in front of Margaret, smiled, and with a taunting flick of her head, removed her cloak and swung it down with a theatrical flair to the floor.

Margaret's eyebrows rose slightly. She was impressed by Marla's svelte figure and smooth complexion unblemished by age or wear and tear. It made her jealous.

Vivian pointed to the front panel of the panty. "This section has been engineered to provide maximum control without the usual restriction. It gives you a nice tight tummy." She inserted her slender hand between the waistband and Marla's taunt abdomen. "See how flexible it is." She pulled the waistband out to illustrate her claim.

"This model is not only designed to enhance but it is very comfortable," she said, pointing at the bra. "You could easily wear it everyday."

Marla pranced around, swaying her hips and arching her back to emphasize her breasts.
"What do you think, Mrs. Hauptman?"

"Well," Margaret said with a mock frown, "All I can say is that it won't look as good on me as it does on her."

Marla smiled. Vivian laughed.

Margaret's expression didn't change. "I'll take three of each."

"I'm sure that you won't be disappointed."

"I'm sure I won't, but my husband will when . . . when he sees the bill."

"Why, Mrs. Hauptman. Perhaps what you need is our more erotic lingerie. It's guaranteed to interest any red-blooded male."

Margaret nodded, but she wasn't quite sure what to expect. Erotic lingerie is not her forte.
With a subtle nod from Vivian, Marla picked up her cloak and disappeared inside the velvet inner sanctum, only to reappear, after a few minutes, wearing a sheer silk nightie that was not only short but lacked just enough opacity to hint of the feminine charms behind its thin fabric. It had a nice bright-red silk tie, though.

Margaret held her hands to the sides of her face. "Oh my! That certainly wasn't designed for mixed company."

Vivian laughed again. "No, but I'm sure your husband wouldn't mind seeing you in it in your boudoir."

"I'm sure he wouldn't."

She thought about it for several seconds. "Ok. What the hell? I'll take it. It might even work."

Vivian turned to her model. "Thank you, Marla."

Margaret smiled at Marla. "Thank you." Then she watched the model sway back to the velvet wall. She couldn't imagine herself wearing something so revealing. It's indecent.

Vivian tilted her head and smiled. "You haven't added anything to your nice figure since the last time we measured you, have you?"

"I don't . . . no, I haven't."

"Good." Vivian turned and strolled toward the front of the salon.

Margaret followed her to the sales counter and the inevitable consequence of her shopping spree. Vivian punched up her purchases and announced the total. "That will be $833.75."

Margaret nearly gasped, but she bit her lip instead and then handed her a credit card.

While Vivian was swiping Margaret's card, she caught sight of an unusual vehicle parked outside the store. "My! I hope that's a customer."

Margaret turned to look out the front window. A large black Lincoln limo, its windows darkened to prevent a clear view of the occupants, sat gleaming in the morning sun directly opposite the front door. She gave it a cursory look, but it wasn't foremost on her mind at the moment.

Vivian handed Margaret her credit card and then her package nicely tucked in a fancy shopping bag. "Have a good day, Mrs. Hauptman."

"Thank you." Margaret gave her a quick smile and a nod before she left.

When she stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Georgio's, car doors opened and two men dressed in dark suits emerged. They grabbed Margaret's arms and hustled her into the limo, which then sped off. Her shopping bag and her purse remained on the sidewalk.
Vivian observed all of this, quickly made a call and then stepped out to retrieve Margaret's personal items.

Before Margaret realized what was happening, the men had secured her wrists and ankles with garbage bag ties. She screamed but her desperate cries went unanswered in the sound proofed limo.

From the front seat, a man with curly black hair and a pudgy face turned to stare at her. "Good day, Mrs. Hauptman. We would like you to give us some information."

"Why? What the hell information do I have that you would be interested in?"

"We want to know what you and your husband know about the new species that lives in the Galapagos Islands."

Margaret's face twisted with confusion. "New species? What new species? What are you talking about?"

"Surely, your video shows that an unusual new species is present on the island of Fernandina."

"We don't know what they are or even if they're real. The images are too blurry to make out any detail."

"But you do have opinions, do you not?"

"Well," she said after calming down, "I don't know if I . . . my husband and I are reserving judgment until more information can be . . . I mean, they're considered myths."

"Why are you interested in these creatures? You and your husband are specialists in mollusks and crustaceans, not mammals."

"Mammals? How do you know they're mammals?"

He glared at her with an expression that reeked with exasperation. "Mrs. Hauptman, I want to know why you're interested in these creatures."

"We accidentally discovered them on our last expedition. We're curious. What more can I say."

"Is the Institute committed to another expedition to investigate your claim?"

She smiled, but only briefly. "The Institute thinks that my husband and I are old fools. They're not in the business of chasing after myths."

"I don't believe you, Mrs. Hauptman."  He paused before he turned to one of the men. "Shoot her. She's of no further use."

Margaret's eyes widened with terror. "No! Don't kill me! Please!" Her eyes swiveled to see a gun pointed at her temple. Droplets of sweat broke out on her brow. "Please don't shoot me. I'll tell you everything I know."

The curly-haired man grinned. "That's much better, Mrs. Hauptman." His face muscles tightened. "Now tell me if the Institute is planning an expedition to capture one of these creatures?"

Margaret's eyes rapidly cycled between the man holding the gun to her head and the man questioning her. "The Institute is planning another expedition to the Galapagos Islands, but it's not to find the . . . whatever it is that my husband and I have seen."

"I don't believe you, Mrs. Hauptman."

Just then a piercing siren penetrated the sound proofing of the limo. The limo's engine suddenly sped up.

"It's the authorities," the driver said.

"Turn at the next street," the curly-haired man ordered.

The driver made a quick turn onto Sonoma, sped to a side street, and quickly entered it.

"Dump her out here."

After the Driver had slowed the limo, one of the men opened a passenger side door, grabbed Margaret by the shoulders, and tossed her out. She struck ground on her back and rolled three times before coming to rest. She lay there on the pavement while a police cruiser flew by to chase the fleeing limo. A second police cruiser screeched to a stop near her and two officers emerged. One was tall and lanky with a narrow face and a neatly trimmed mustache. The other was short and stout, his belly lapping unevenly over his gun belt.

"Are you ok, ma'am?" the lanky officer asked.

Margaret looked up at him but had to squint because of the noon sun. "I . . . I don't know."

They cut her bindings. When she tried to get up, she sat back down.

"I think we had better get you to a hospital, ma'am." the stout officer removed his cap and scratched his shorthaired head. "Who in the hell were those idiots? The Mafia?"

"I have no idea what . . . they grabbed me in front of Georgio's. They were going to kill me."

The lanky officer cracked a cocky grin. "Good thing we came along when we did."

Margaret nodded, but she was still confused.

Why are they so interested in an unknown species that she and her husband were not even sure was real?

###

Eric rushed down the hospital corridor clutching a bunch of roses as if he were escaping a fire with his only possessions, but he came to a screeching stop at a nurse station.
"I'm Eric Hauptman. I've been told that my wife is on this floor. Her name is Margaret . . . Margaret Hauptman."

A young Hispanic woman with jet-black hair tied back into a bun stared at him for several seconds, lowered her large round eyes to glance at a clipboard and then looked up at him. "Yes, Mr. Hauptman. She's in room one-nineteen." She pointed down the hall.

"Thank you."

He sped down the hall, found the room and peeked in, holding the roses out in full view of the room's occupant. "Well, Love. I thought you were just going to spend a leisurely afternoon shopping at Georgio's"

A smile greeted his smiling face, prompting him to follow the roses into the room.
His wife's face transformed to a pout. "I guess I'm not entitled to have a leisurely afternoon."

He looked around for a place to put the flowers. "How do you feel?"

"Not too bad. The doctor said that I have a few abrasions, but no broken bones. I guess I got lucky."

"What happened?" he asked after placing the roses in an empty vase.

"I was accosted by three thugs in a limo. They asked me questions about our tape."
"What? How'd they know about the tape?"

"Hell if I know. They acted as if they knew all about us." Her eyes widened with delayed shock. "They were going to shoot me!"

His face twisted with anger. "What the . . . Why would they want to shoot you?"

"I have no idea. Good thing that Vivian called the police. They came along just in the nick of time."

He moved closer, bent over, and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm just glad that you're ok. I don't think that I could go on the expedition by myself."

She smiled and then set her jaw with determination. "Don't you worry, a bunch of thugs are not going to dampen my enthusiasm. I'll make it to the launch. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

That brought a smile to his face. He knew his wife had spirit, but this was above and beyond the call.

But, who are these thugs, as she put it? Why are they so interested in blurry images on videotape, interested enough to threaten death? It doesn't make any sense.