Hidden Valley Farms

"Warn," She calls from shower, "where are you, what's taking so long?"

"On my way," I called out.

I'm in a buoyant mood from my discovery about the meeting. My mind is working on the best way to get my plan to work. But now I have to shift gears and act the part of the compliant husband who shares his wife with a powerful man and accepts that situation.

Stepping into the warm shower and seeing Gina's naked body still does thrill me. An odd thought occurs. Another man has been touching this woman, my wife, in the most intimate of ways and she has welcomed that. I feel suddenly sad about the whole thing. I also think this very possibly is the last time I will see Gina naked.

Despite the mixture of emotions, Gina still turns me on. And if this is the last time, I may as well make the most of it.

With her facing the shower I hug her from behind and begin to caress her big round breasts. I manipulate the nipples and they grow. My erection is firmly planted between the round globes of her ass. I soap her breasts, her pussy and her ass. The soap's lubrication has my cock slipping and sliding around her beautiful ass.

She turned around and my mouth went to her nipples, suckling and lightly biting. My hand is massaging her clitoris. Normally our foreplay would next progress to me orally pleasuring her. Even though it's been a few days and several showers, I'm not putting my mouth anywhere near where Simon's dick has been.

Gina dropped to her knees and began to blow me. I'm very erect and I'm half tempted to let her continue this till I orgasm in her mouth, but I know intercourse is expected. I need to keep playing this role. Strange, in the midst of sexual passion, I'm strategizing.

We dry off and move to the bed. There is no slow tender copulation, I'm fucking her. I turn her over and start doing her doggy style. It's less intimate when I'm not facing her. I didn't want intimacy tonight. As I grasp her round breasts, in the back of my mind I'm thinking, I will miss this.

Eventually I orgasm but I don't think she did. We lay together with my arm across her body, catching our breath.

"Oh, Warner," she says. "I am so glad we could get past this. I am so happy here. The farm is such an ideal place to live. I love everything about this wonderful place. I am so glad we are here together. I know we will spend many happy years here. We deserve this"

I give her a hug but I don't reply. This is most likely my last night here. It is also more than likely the last night we will ever be together. Furthermore, I would not be surprised if very soon this idyllic farm will be in for a number of changes.

Obviously, I say none of this. Eventually we both fall contentedly asleep. Each of us content for very different reasons.

The next day I packed my backpack. Phone, car keys, wallet, iPad, toiletries, some extra clothing I may need. Nothing obvious to signal my abandonment, just a few necessities.

I'm nervous at work all morning. It's hard to sit still. Claire notices my odd behavior but says nothing. Lately she and Mike have been trying to distance themselves from me. I don't blame them. They know I'm up to something. Just not exactly what.

I take a solitary walk during the lunch break, planning. I go over the steps I need to take in my mind. Back in the office I impatiently wait until shortly before 2 PM. I go to April's office. My arms are behind my back and I lean against the door jamb.

I have a series of questions for April. Nothing to do with the secret "C" account. Just normal, boring accounting questions. As I continue to drone on I can tell she is getting impatient with my innocuous inquiries. She glances at her watch.

"Warner, it's all pretty basic. You should know this stuff. I need to take off for a meeting. In the meantime if you have any more questions check with Claire." April tells me.

As she gathers her laptop to leave for the executive meeting she does not notice I have molded a piece of heavy duty transparent tape to the strike plate on the door frame. If my plan works the locking latch bolt won't engage as she shuts the door. I've seen her adjust the interior locking button on the door as she leaves and close it dozens of times before. I know what she will do.

As she closes it I lean against the door still prattling some made up questions to keep her focus off the latching of the door. My pressure holds the door in the jamb, it looks locked. She quickly leaves.

"Have a good meeting," I call to her as she leaves. She doesn't reply.

I wait a minute to make sure she didn't forget something. Then, quickly I am in motion. I get up, make eye contact with Claire and place a finger to my lips. The sign of silence. I hear her gasp as I open April's unlocked door. I remove the tape.

I open the top right hand drawer. I boot up her desktop and enter the username and password from the desk drawer. Interesting, her password is 'april+simon4ever'.

Quickly I take up the thumb drive and navigate it to the C File. I then begin to download. There is a lot of data here. It may take some time to load everything on the thumb drive. I'm nervous.

I exit April's office while all this is going on. Claire looks at me with fear in her eyes. I just shake my head. One of the others, Belinda, walks into the accounting office and starts chatting with Claire. Nothing urgent just a mid-afternoon break to talk. I've got to get her out of there.

Finally I ask Claire for some help and this prompts Belinda to leave. I quickly dash into April's office and see that the file has completely uploaded. As I look up, Belinda has returned to Claire's desk. She sees me in April's office and has a puzzled look on her face as if "what's he doing in there that office is off limits".

Belinda hurries back to her office.

I whisper to Claire "give me a head-start, but you need to report me."

She shakes her head, not comprehending.

"Belinda will report this, you need to also, or else you look complicit," I tell her. Silently I mouth 'thanks' and then I'm out the door.

Backpack on I want to appear as if I'm jogging, not a full out sprint. That would look suspicious. I get to the parking lot and see once again the chain is across the driveway. Quickly inspecting the grounds around the parking lot I see there is no way to exit in my vehicle. Shit!

I only have one choice, I'm going to need to run. I know its 22 miles to Grants Pass and I know there is a series of trails in green space that can get you there. I've run some of them. I take off. Fortunately I have been running a lot during the months we have been at Hidden Valley Farm. I'm in much better condition than I was when we were in Portland. I have run two marathons previously, so I'm confident I can do 22 miles. I also know I probably don't have more than a half hour left before they send out the search party.

Nearly three hours later I get to Grants Pass and find the bus station. So far no sign of the search party. There is a bus leaving in 20 minutes, but it's heading to Sacramento. I buy a ticket and board.

It's late when I arrive at the bus depot in Sacramento. I find a cheap, seedy motel and check in. The next morning I call my cousin Shasta in Portland. I try to explain what's going on, but she doesn't comprehend. It's complicated and Shasta isn't the sharpest tool, but she wants to help.

I tell her I need to get back to Portland. She's working and there is no way she can get the time off to drive 12 hours to Sacramento and 12 hours back. I don't blame her. She says she'll talk to Zeke, her live-in boyfriend, to see if he can help.

It turns out some buddies of Zeke's are in Reno, heading north. As a favor to Zeke they have agreed to pick me up in Sacramento and take me to Portland. I thank Shasta profusely and mentally I think, any negative thought I've ever had regarding Zeke have been washed away.

I had to spend one more night in the cheap motel. I was still nervous about my escape from Hidden Valley. I laid low and pretty much stayed in the motel room. Checking my phone, I had messages from Gina.

"Where are you?" and, "Did you leave the farm?" also, "I miss you." Finally, "everyone's looking for you." Uh oh. I can imagine what that reception would be like.

Zeke's friends show up. There are 3 of them all on choppers. Robert, Banjo, and Hoss. You can imagine. Black leather jackets, long beards, heavy, and lacking adequate hygiene. Still I was overjoyed to see them. I needed to get home. Anyone looking for me would not likely think of me with this crowd.

I got to know them a little as we traveled north to Portland. As different as they were from me they were pretty good guys. Far more intelligent than I suspected. Just goes to show you can't judge people by their outward appearance. That goes the other way too, I think of Simon.

I got to thinking more about Simon and the farm during the long ride home. Okay he bought the land and set everything up. I get that. But the people like us, who bought shares, by my calculation grossly overpaid for what they were getting. Almost like a time share. Then, Simon had all these people, the residents, that essentially became free labor. And they paid Simon to live there and do the work I know there was the profit share but that was minimal.

And then, what I think was happening was he would divert cash, less traceable to this "C" account and then stash it. Likely overseas. Obviously, April was involved, and probably Tom January. From what I saw in just a few months, there had to be millions in the account.

That evening we get to Portland. Me, Hoss, Banjo and the gang headed to my house. Shasta and Zeke were there. We ordered pizza on me and there was plenty of beer.

Shasta had lots of questions. Where's Gina, what happened at the commune (her description, but actually pretty accurate), what are my plans? I really didn't want to get into it yet. I was still coming to grips with the sadness of my marriage most likely ending, my anger at Simon and some of the people at Hidden Valley Farm, and the betrayal by Gina. I was never more unclear as to what direction my life would take in the near future.

At least for now, I will be living in the garage apartment. One thing I did before bed that night was stash the thumb drive in a secret, secure spot in the garage. It is in a small opening under a block of the foundation. I had yet to warn Shasta and Zeke about the potential for confrontation with people from Hidden Valley. Most likely, Ed Gunther.

The next day I'm up and I make a to-do list. Find a divorce attorney, contact Damon Claiborne of the IRS, and try to contact Steve Garcia, the friend of Mike's that vanished from the farm after confronting Simon.

I look out the window and Shasta is at home. I think I should just let her know about the potential for a problem if Gunther shows up. I call her and as we are talking I see Gunther's Suburban pull into my driveway. He must have been watching the house.

On the phone I tell Shasta, "go hide someplace in the house, one of the assholes from the farm just pulled in, there could be trouble." She's asking me questions as I hang up. I've got to make sure Gunther doesn't bother her.

I meet Gunther and two of his guys in my driveway.

"You're on private property, get the fuck out of here." I tell him.

I can tell Gunther's pissed off. He comes straight towards me and the other two fan out on either side. They've done this type of thing before.

Gunther pulls out a stun gun and zaps me. With a loud wail I crumple to the ground.

I come to, and find myself duct-taped to a wooden chair in the garage apartment. Gunther and his goons are there. This is a lot more serious than I thought.

"Where's the fucking file?" He asks.

I say nothing and the guy on the lefts hammers me with his fist in the jaw. I see stars and I'm dazed.

"This can be easy, or it can be hard, you decide." The fucking bald asshole tells me. "My boys hope you choose hard, they haven't had much exercise lately." He says with something between a scowl and a grin.

"I don't have anything," I tell him.

Smash. I'm hit by the other guy. My mouth is bleeding and I've lost some teeth.

Gunther tells one of the guys to get something from the car.

I am in deep shit. But then I think about what is going on at that farm and my resolve returns.

The goon comes back with a canvas bag. Gunther looks inside, rummages, and then comes up with an ugly tool. Something like a wire cutter, with sharp wide jaws. I'm more than frightened.

"One last time, Mr. Accountant. Where is the file!?" I see the beads of sweat on his bald head.

I'm too frightened to talk.

"Grab his left hand," Gunther tells one of the goons.

I'm clenching my fist but the guy frees my little finger effortlessly. As he grabs the tip, Gunther maneuvers the jaws of the tool on either side of my left hand little finger. And then he squeezes the blades together.

For a moment a white hot pain explodes in my head, and then I must have passed out. I wake up screaming in pain. My pinky finger is laying in a bloody pool on the floor.

"That's one." Gunther says. "We have nine more, and then we can start on other, more sensitive body parts." He gets a chuckle out of one of the assholes.

"Now, Mr. Accountant it's going to be hard to do your job without your fingers." Gunther says in a sing song voice. And then in a far more vicious tone, "WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT FILE!?".

I'm not able to even speak the pain is so great. If I could at this point I'd tell him. The goon grabs my hand and straightens my next finger. Gunther looks at me, shakes his head and starts manipulating the cutter.

At that moment there was a loud noise from outside. A vibration emanated around the small garage apartment. The rumble of numerous Harley's. Gunther drops the tool and reaches for his shoulder holster and with hand motions signals the other two to spread out. They are looking at Gunther for direction.

The door flies open and Zeke, Banjo, and five others bust into the apartment. Gunther and his guys have their guns out. The motorcycle guys have their guns out too. I'm in such pain, I barely comprehend what is happening. All I know is Zeke and company arrived just in time to save the detachment of at least one more of my fingers.

"Gentlemen," Gunther begins with a nervous smile, "it appears we have a bit of a standoff."

Gunther is clearly outnumbered, seven to three.

"Mister, I suspect we can work something out here," Zeke says, staring at Gunther.

Gunther seems to relax a fraction. "Hoss," Zeke barks a sharp single command without breaking eye contact with Gunther.

There's the sound of a gunshot and then a bullet hole appears in the middle of Gunther's forehead. He's frozen, with a surprised look on his face for a moment, and then he crumples. All the boy's guns are now trained on Gunther's men. Both goon's hands shoot up in surrender.

"Drop the guns," Zeke commands. And they drop them. Several things are happening right now. I'm in incredible pain, but also flooded with relief at the turn of events. I'm barely conscious at this point.

Shasta, bursts in and wants to take me to the hospital. Zeke says no.

"We can't have anyone looking into what went on here." Zeke said. "We'll get Warner fixed up. Then we got to get rid of the rest of this." He told her, glancing around the room.

Businesslike, Zeke's guys bundled up the body and the other two guys. Everything went into the Suburban. Three Harley's loosely followed the Suburban as it headed east. Later I heard that Gunther's body and the two the guys were 'disappeared'. The Suburban was sent to a chop shop. VIN completely erased. I asked no questions. I didn't want to know.

Days later, Zeke asked me if I wanted my share.

"Share? Share of what?" I asked.

It turned out between Gunther, his two goons and what they got for the Suburban there was roughly $30,000 in profit from all this. I declined my share and asked Zeke to split it up between Robert, Hoss and Banjo.

I also told him how grateful I was for his assistance. True I lost a finger, but as Zeke told me, most of the guys he runs with have less than ten fingers left. I'm not sure this was a club I was happy to qualify for.

One of the guys, certainly nowhere close to a doctor, tried his best to fix up my hand where the finger had been cut off. Fortunately the tool of Gunther's had sharp blades. It was a clean cut. It didn't look too grotesque.

After a few days of convalescing, I had work to do. I was pretty confident I would get no further problems from anyone at HVF, at least for now. Monday morning I contacted the IRS office where Damon Claiborne worked. He wasn't in, but through his secretary she scheduled a meeting for me with Claiborne on Wednesday at 11 AM.

That afternoon on a borrowed Harley I headed to Yakima. I had identified Steve and Lisa Garcia now living in Selah, outside of Yakima. The same Steve and Lisa that had been at Hidden Valley Farm.

I gave no advance notice before I arrived. I had never met either of the Garcia's. I had been forewarned of Steve's temper. It was a small house on a dusty street. No sidewalks. There was a pickup in the driveway.

Bandage around my left hand, I walked up and knocked on the door. It opened quickly and I was met by a dark haired man, mid 30's, in need of a shave. Though I had never met him at Hidden Valley I recognized Steve Garcia.

"Help you?" He said. Not outright hostility but a long way from any type of friendly attitude.

"My name is Warner West," I begin. And I know I need to proceed carefully. "I was at Hidden Valley Fa . . . ."

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" He explodes at the mention of Hidden Valley Farm.

"Steve, you've got it wrong. I held up my hand. Gunther and his guys did this to me," I hurriedly tell him. "I left there last week. Simon took my wife." I rapidly add.

The door was inches from closed when whatever I said got his attention. He asked me in.

I told him my story. I left out the part about Zeke disposing of Ed Gunther and company. I told him how it started with Simon's interest in Gina, all his bullshit about sacrifice, and the good of the farm. Sounded like he had heard it all before.

I had to be careful gathering information from Garcia. He could quickly get into a long rambling diatribe about killing them all, burning the place to the ground, slowly strangling Simon.

I was pissed off at Simon and what happened, but Garcia was at another level of anger altogether.

"So, what are we going to do?" His dark eyes focused on mine as he asked the question.

I began to tell him of potential tax evasion, legal channels, and perhaps some type of negotiated settlement.

"Bullshit!" He interjects. "I want to kill that fucking Simon."

We discussed this concept. Garcia was rational enough to know that he could never sneak onto the farm and get close enough to Simon to get his vengeance. I talked him out of some mass destructive act on the farm. Too many good people there. He reluctantly agreed.

I decided I needed to go. I had gotten the information from Steve I wanted and his hostility was starting to bother me.

"If you ever hear of that asshole somewhere away from that fucking farm, you let me know." Steve told me as I was leaving. I assured him I would.

I was scheduled to meet with Claiborne, the IRS agent, Wednesday. Throughout the time after I left Hidden Valley Farm I continued to get emails from Gina.

The tone of them were as if she believed I was coming back. Like I was on a business trip. She also kept me updated on things as if I still was interested in the success of the farm and Simon's grand plans. I replied briefly if at all, but I wanted to keep this communication channel open.

Wednesday sharp I was at the IRS office in downtown Portland. I was showered, shaved and in clean businesslike clothes.