Marshall Barton sat in his plush, overstuffed desk chair. He held his hands behind his straight black hair with his elbows laid back. "What's he want?"

"He won't tell me."

"Did he give you a name?"

"No, but he is rudely insistent."

After a puzzled moment, he said, "I'll take it." He pushed the button, placed his huge palms on the desk and answered the caller. "This is Mister Barton."

"Take me off that damn thing! What I have to say is private."

Marshall picked up the receiver, placed it to his ear and leaned back from his walnut desk. "Better?" he asked sarcastically.

The raspy voice, obviously electronically changed, reverberated tinny in his ear. "I have some pictures. Photographs you'll be most interested in."

"What are you talking about?"

"Naked shots of sexually explicit material."

"I don't want any porn, so buzz off." He lowered the receiver.

"They're of you."

Marshall sat stunned. His brown eyes widened and his square jaw dropped. He returned the receiver to his ear. "What did you say?"

"I have some excellent snapshots of you, naked with various women."

"Are you some kind of jokester?" He wiped the small beads of sweat from his bulky, recessed forehead.

"Check today's mail especially the envelope marked 'For your eyes only'. I'll call back later."

The phone went dead. He cradled it, then rang his secretary.

"Dale, has the mail arrived yet?"

"Just got here, Mister Barton. I was about to open it."

"Bring it here, please. I'm expecting a package."

"You mean the one 'For your eyes only'?"

"That's it."

Dale brought in the pile of mail and placed it neatly on his boss' desk.

Marshall waved him out with his hairy hand and quickly tore open the manila envelope. "Son of a bitch," he muttered when he saw the photographs of him engaged in sexual activity with different women. He flipped through the stack, then slowly shuffled the photos recalling each incident as if it had just happened. Seven prints, each of him with a different woman and all were nude.

"Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ," he repeated over and over until his intercom rang. "Yes, Dale, what is it?"

"Its that man again. He insists on speaking to you."

"O.K. I'll take it." He picked up the receiver, "Hello."

"Pretty aren't they?" rasped the telephone man.

Marshall held the phone shakily to his ear. "What do you want?" he screamed, losing control.

"Money. Simple as that. Just M.O.N.E.Y."

"You're out of your mind!"

"Am I? What will Georgia say if I show them to her?"

"You bastard!"

"No, just a business man, like yourself. Meet me in the park in an hour, alone. We'll talk further."

Marshall cradled the receiver and again stared at the pictures. After a brief moment, he rose, slid them into the breast pocket of his serge jacket as he put it on, told Dale he would be out the rest of the day, and quickly entered his Carrera.

While driving toward the park he considered how he could ill afford to have his wife know about the photos even though their marriage had become a terrible relationship.

He recalled the beautiful beginning with exuberant sex, better than he had ever known before. Then, as six years passed, so did the enthusiasm. He thought about how he had found her becoming a bore yet always demanding material things. He reflected on how she had become less social when his business interests demanded her presence at functions. To maintain his stability in times of crises he had sought others when she denied him her support.

Damn, I should have never married that bitch, he thought as he found a parking place and left his car after setting the alarm. He walked the crooked path toward the pond and watched the ducks making ripples in the shallow blueness. He heard his footsteps change from the heavy sound of leather heels on concrete to the shuffling crunch of gravel.

"Don't turn around," the raspy voice materialized behind him.

Marshall realized this man was using an electronic device to avoid recognition.

"Keep still, remain quiet and listen. If you move---" The sentence was interrupted by the snick of the hammer being pulled back on a gun. The sound was accentuated by, "I'll kill you, right here and right now. Is that clear?"

Marshall nodded acceptance but that did not lower the hairs on the nape of his neck which reached for the cloudy sky.

"I have a lot more pictures like those I already sent and of course I have the negatives. Should you want them, let us say, to avoid a scandal or the high cost of a divorce, then I’ll sell them to you. You can buy them a few at a time or all at once. The installment price is ten thousand dollars per photo per month. Or, for a quarter of a million dollars you may purchase my entire collection. Your choice, Mr. Barton."

Marshall stood immobile. He no longer saw the ducks nor the pond. He only had visions of the devastation publicity would cause, especially with the biggest deal of his life nearly at hand.

He awaited further word from raspy-voice.

None came.

After an agonizing five minutes, he moved.

Nothing. Not a sound.

Marshall slowly turned around and walked sluggishly back to his Porsche.

The next day he answered the phone to the raspy caller who demanded his answer. Marshall had not slept which left him edgy but with a developing plan. He had elected to buy them all at one time. To drag it out would be pointless and devastating. "How do I know you will deliver everything when I pay you?"

"Trust me," raspy-voice snickered.

"Maybe I'll call the police. Blackmail is illegal you know."

"I wouldn't do that, Marshall, remember the scandal. All the money by Tuesday."

"I'll do my best."

"If you don't bring all the cash, the cost for each negative rises the longer I have to wait. Total payment is cheaper than the installment plan."

"I said I'd try!"

"I'll be in touch."

Marshall knew he could not raise so much money so quickly nor would he allow this man to bleed him to death. He left the office to complete his strategy and was successful.

He anxiously awaited the phone call but was startled when it came at his residence.

Raspy-voice breathed heavily into the telephone. "Tomorrow night, ten thirty; park bench, farthest from the entrance. Come alone. Have the money in a brown paper bag; all twenties, unmarked and non-sequential. Oh, and please come alone, it's unhealthy to walk the park with partners."

The next evening, Marshall crossed the bridge and followed the gravel path toward the back of the park. In his left hand, he clutched the paper sack against his strong belly. He cautiously eyed every bush and the darkness for any movement. He thought maybe the blackmailer wouldn't bring the photos; maybe he'd just take the money and run; to bad for him if he does.

Marshall moved his right hand into his jacket pocket to grip the snub nose thirty-eight. His plan was to not let raspy get away. He neared the bench.

"Stop," ordered the tinny voice. "Put the bag on the ground then move toward the pond."

"Hell, no! I have to see what I'm buying."

From the bushes on his right, a small person emerged onto the walkway. "Put the bag on the ground and back away toward the water."

Marshall placed the bag on the ground as ordered and took rearward steps with his eyes fixed on the tiny figure. He squeezed his pistol and demanded, "The negatives, where are they?"

"Here." The silhouette extended his left hand containing an envelope. "Everything's here; if the money is."

"It's there."

"I'll just check it out." The black figure moved toward the paper bag, reached for it and felt the bullet strike his chest knocking him to the ground.

Marshall moved quickly to his side, glowered over him pointing the smoking pistol at the fallen body. "O.K. you bastard, now I'll check the merchandise." He opened the envelope and discovered that there were indeed a number of photographs and negatives. "Are they all here?"

"Yes! Why the hell did you shoot me?"

"You didn't really think I'd give you all that money if I could avoid it, now did you?"

The dark figure gasped in pain. "You can't have believed I'd come alone, could you?"

"What?" Marshall quickly studied raspy-voice and then the bushes.

"I'm not stupid, you know." The fallen stranger coughed a death-rattling cough.

The loud slam of a shotgun being loaded broke the momentary stillness. The sound emerged from the same bushes the dying man had come from moments earlier.

Marshall dropped the envelope, looked toward the metallic sound and started to point his gun toward it.

"Drop the gun," a female voice demanded.

He knew he would lose if he fired blindly toward a shotgun so he let the snub nose slip from his hand to the cement.

"Now back away."

He obeyed.

"Keep making toward the lake. That's a good boy. Halt!"

He stopped.

From out of the bushes stepped a stately, blond female.

"You! You're the one behind this?"

"Of course, darling."

"But Georgia, why? Why the blackmail?"

"Simple. I can't get a divorce because of the premarital agreement. That damned piece of paper you made me sign gives me nothing if I leave you."

"Clever, don't you think?"

"Yes. But I married you for love, not money. Then when all you wanted was sex and wild parties, I became annoyed. When your only desire became chasing the fast buck and using me as an adornment, I got angry. And finally, when you were gone too many nights and weekends on so-called business, I got downright furious as well as curious. So I hired this small timer to follow you and see just what you were up to. Well, he found out."

"So, with him on the way out, we can re-connect."

"Never!"

"But Georgia, I love you. I've always loved you."

"Bullshit!"

"These others were just, well, you know---"

"Yes, I know." She strode forward with the shotgun raised. "I wanted to leave you, but without money I couldn't."

Marshall stepped toward her when she moved for the envelope.

"Freeze," she shouted and aimed the shotgun right below his belt line. She bent over her dead accomplice, took his hand and pointed his gun at her husband. "This is for you and for me!" She squeezed the trigger.

The .38 bullet slammed into Marshall's right eye and passed directly into his brain. It killed him instantly.

"Now I get all this money, your estate and your life insurance. Quite a reward for living six years with a bastard."

Georgia picked up the money sack, brushed the gravel erasing her footprints and quickly left, aware that gun shots in a park, although rather common, would soon bring the police. She was hopeful they would believe it was a shootout during an attempted robbery.

At home, Georgia opened the paper bag and found her husband had not been so stupid after all. He had placed twenty dollar bills around newspaper to make it look like a large sum when in reality it was a pittance. What's a few thousand, more or less she considered.

At the reading of David's will, she gloated while the attorney finished, "And to my wife, Georgia, I leave all my worldly possessions." She savored knowing that the mansion, furnishings, businesses and large estate were now hers. She smirked when the attorney had finished giving her everything.

He went to the door, turned and spoke somberly, "I am truly sorry for your husband's untimely death. Please accept my condolences."

"Thank you, but at this point all I want are the holdings. When do I take possession of them."

"Today, however---"

"However what?"

"You see, Marshall was very much in debt. In fact, he was overextended to the point of bankruptcy. There no longer is an estate except for the household furnishings. Everything else belongs to his creditors."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Not at all."

"You mean I inherit nothing?"

"I'm afraid so."

"At least I get his life insurance. Two million dollars, if I remember correctly."

"You remember correctly, but, he cashed it in two months before he was killed. It no longer exists."

Georgia slammed the attorney outside and stormed around the house she almost had.