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The Misanthrope

By Johntaw All Rights Reserved ©


The hate

Dacey walked down the asphalt pavement along all the stores on the constantly crowded Drottninggatan in the capital of Sweden. There is a slightly smell of perspiration, perfume and cigarette smoke. He is disgusted of it. He feels the looks, both those he think is hostile and those appreciate ones from women’s that are everything except hostile. He knows he’s handsome. He has heard it many times. He saw himself in the reflection from the display-window in front of mannequins dressed with beautiful woman’s underwear. He sees a long, well-trained man with blonde well combed hair and a short well-groomed bear as white as the hair on his head. He is wearing a dark Emporio Armani suit and Italian leader shoes that shines brightly.

He looks down on the people he is passing on his walk. The looks from them brings up a hate from the deep of his soul on his walk to the Old Town. He is disguised of what he sees and he thinks of them as selfish humans who only think of themselves and only look after their own interests. They are all the same. Bastards!

He walks in to an Italian restaurant that looks welcoming to get something to eat before work. It’s already lunchtime. He moves confidently to approach the female head waiter. She’s a young, blonde woman with very beautiful face features and big, blue eyes that looks gently on him. There is something sensual and female in them and he feels lust immediately.

– Are you all by yourself? She’s wondering with a low voice that shuts out all hum in the restaurant.

Yes, if you don’t want to have lunch with me, he says and smiles his most charming smile that shows every one of his fake-white teeth.

– Perhaps another time she says and blushes lightly.

Dacey attacks directly:

– Perhaps dinner. Wherever you want.

The young woman feels a little unsecure over his very non Swedish behavior but finds herself quite fast and decides that he is nice.

–Well, why not. You seem like a nice guy and not dangerous at all, she says and giggles while she slowly shows him to a table. He is accustomed that women’s don’t turn his invites down. He sits down on a leather-clad chair and orders an avocado-salad with a small beer.

– When do you quit?

– Perhaps we can meet at seven PM somewhere?

– Great. How about Riche bar at Birger Jarlsgatan. Is that ok?

– Gee, isn’t it expensive there?

– Sweetheart. If I ask you out to dinner I’m fully prepared to take care of the bill, he says and smiles.

– Oh, thanks a lot, how nice. See you later. See you there then.

– What’s your name?

– Correena.

– Ok. Nice

He always eats healthy.

When he sees all the fat bastards at the restaurant just sitting there and gormandize the fat dripping meat that are stain their mouths blank he gets furious. They live in extravagance while animals are anguish. He sees himself place his fist right in their blubber filled stomachs just for the pleasure to see all content get thrown up. If only one drop would get on him he would attack immediately. A full macabre attack.  

He keeps himself in top shape and keeps hoping that someone shall try to kick him. He waits and search for a reason. He keeps hoping for a discussion that will trigger a fight. It’s a truly, intimate wish, and it’s huge. He always tries to awake some kind of hate in the glance of the eyes he meets. He looks harsh into people’s eyes with his forehead wrinkled and a stiff gaze. He never looks down; he keeps it focused until the short meeting is over. The big disappointment is that most people just look away. Sometimes it’s makes him even more angry, the feeling that they might look down at him!

He finish his meal, stands up and sends a quick blink to the blonde woman he shall meet later. She smiles back a little embarrassed. She’s really cute, this Correena.

The lawyer job at the small law firm in Old Town gives him nothing. He only sees his profession in combination with his hard training; both at the gym and with Krav Maga, as a perfect mix that can be used, if necessary, both physical and as an action of law. He knows exactly what he can do and not. And he knows how to cover up for himself.

He moves elegant and urbane between the office rooms with its stucco in the high ceilings and leaves his heavy, but sweet, Versace Oud Noir Edt behind him.

He often gets annoyed on some of his swanky colleagues he thinks of as truly bullies. But with a good grace and an enormous pleasant behavior he fools everyone. Everybody loves him. Sometimes he can seem a little arrogant though.

He often wins his trials. He doesn’t have any faith in the judicial system. He would like to change it. He would like to see the real crooks, those who treat living creatures as garbage and don’t care about hard working people’s tax money. He would like see them get framed. One way or another. His choice would of course be the brutal one, the one that gives the most pain and hurts the most. And those that commit errors in nursing and social welfare, those who just needs to excuse themselves and then hide behind their positions. He would like to see them pay. One way or another. His disregard for the politicians whose only interest is to portray themselves as perfect with bunkum and hypocrisy makes him furious. He has no understanding how those who keep our society rolling day to day can be so underpaid, how the politicians always can be such cowards and hide behind double-talk instead of for once being straight and honest. He hates the priorities they make. He hates all and everyone.

He logs in to his computer and checks, first of all, if he has been suggested as a public defender. He is well known and requested. Then he checks his other emails before he continues with the criminal case he is working on for the moment; crimes committed in the name of honor. He hates it. He knows he should renounce the case but he is sure he can solve it anyway. If he can get his client free of charge, and the ridiculous judgment that will follow, he can solve it on his own. It’s never accepted to beat the life out of your daughter because she is giving the family bad reputation. He feels some pleasure when he gets the feeling that he will solve this on his own. As always.

After three intensive hours he takes a break and reads DN’s newspaper on the computer.

He lives in a constant anger. He reads the newspaper about how humans destroy the planet for their own comforts sake. He sees how the own individuals doesn’t care at all about what’s happening, what we destroys, what we terrorize, how we take it for granted to take what we want. No one wants to give anything up. Nothing. He doesn’t understand why humans even exist. When he thinks of how humans take the liberty to do whatever they want, he gets frustrated. How we divide up the earth and kill those who don’t accept our demands and exterminates both animals and nature for our own comfort. But most of all he hates those who thinks that this behavior is obvious.

The adrenaline makes him dizzy.

– Dacey! What are you doing tonight? Do you want to join us for a night at the town? Says the colleague Peo and lean on the doorway into his room.  He gives Dacey a quirky eye, the way only Peo can.

– Not tonight my friend. Got a date. A real cute young woman with long, blonde hair and blue eyes filled with life that is sparkling sensually. A body that is taken care of properly and with respect is immediately recognized by me, and shall be treated according to that. And for a body like that an excellent expert is required. Nothing else will do, he says with a smile.

He is dreadful handsome, Peo thinks and does thumb up while he laughs at Dacey’s explanation.

Dacey checks the time on his computer. The day is passed and evening time is round the corner. He wants to get home and take shower before he meets his dinner date. Besides that he hopes, as always, to meet someone that will draw out that physical meeting he always wishes for.  

An hour at gym was required as well, as usual. Otherwise he had way to much anger and frustration locked inside him. The only thing that stops him from being totally fatal is the fact that he never can start an attack. That can never happen. It must always be the antagonist. Otherwise he would turn his own causes down and become what he hated. His rampage must have a motivated drain.

At the gym he is one of the most frequent members. He is training very hard and often. He split the training between the self-defense training and the weight training at the gym. He is athletic but is very careful to balance the muscles not get to big and make him rigid. Otherwise it would been easy for him to get really big. He responded very well on the training. He drank alcohol very seldom and when he did it was sparingly. To lose control was unthinkable. He smoked a cigarette from time to time. It was nothing that ever was allowed to be a health issue. He snorted cocaine sometimes but mostly when he should have sex. Drugs were nothing for him. He needed control.

He left the flat on Kaptensgatan on Östermalm and walked slowly down to Birger Jarlsgatan through a lukewarm summer evening. Down from Strandvägen it’s always noise from the all the traffic. That street never seemed to calm down. He walks Skeppargatan ahead to Strandvägen to take that way to Birger Jarlsgatan. Time is only just past six PM but he want to be there before the proposed fuck arrives. He smells heavily of the same scent he always wears. He’s suits are mostly dark and now he is wearing a tailor made one. It fits absolutely perfect. For a tailor he is the idealistic customer. To take his measurements is like a masculine bible. No male body can be more balanced.

In the shower he carefully made sure that no unwanted hair remained anywhere on his body. His hair lay perfect on his head and not a single hair in his beard differed from the rest. He was ready, ready to control women. Regardless how much hate he kept inside him he could never ignore sex.

Suddenly it happened, what is not allowed to happen. A car down at Strandvägen with a middle-aged man in a big, white BMW SUV drives careless in a pool of water that makes the dirty water splashes up on Dacey’s tailor-made pants. The man in the car seem to notice what happened; he throws a fast glance at Dacey and then draws up his shoulders in an apologetically gesture while he grinned. The car continue to drive ahead on Strandvägen, towards Birger Jarlsgatan, while Dacey makes a note off the license plate that are lighten by two lamps above it.

He rushes back home again while checking his Rolex Yacht master II, which shows him that he still has some time to spear before the meeting.

The dinner was terrific, just as expected.

Correena was wearing a blue dress, black nylon stockings and black high heeled boots. Her long, blond hair lay perfect along the blue dress. She smelled pleasant of citrus. The dress showed her shapes and he appreciated the female looks of it so much that he was a little bit worried that it might be seen if he got hard.

For starters they had half a lobster each and salad with Salomon for main course. First they shared a bottle of sparkling Louis Roederer and for the main course they shared a bottle of Domaine Cordier.

After only a couple of hours they laid in his big bed at Kaptensgatan. He had, as always, been very careful and made sure the bed had new, fresh sheets and that there was a pleasant smell. She appreciated his little three room apartment, just like all the other women’s did that had been there. After a short tour of the flat, and after each of them had a string of cocaine, she laid in the big bed with only her stay-ups on with his stiff dick in her mouth. She sat on his face and while his tongue was working on her clitoris he heard her gasp escalates with the cock in her mouth. He let her come and then turned up and took a firmly grip on her while he penetrated his manhood in her from behind. She whined loud and he watched them in one of the mirrors on the bedroom wall. It turned him on enormously to see himself; see his muscles move controlled and focused, the hard cock in the woman’s flesh. Soon he pulled it out and emptied himself on her stay-ups while he looked at himself in the mirror. Very pleased he pulled the last drops out with his hand with his eyes on his biceps.

Later none of them could sleep. But after some sparkling wine they found body contact again. Exhausted they then had a meeting with the sandman in Dacey’s big bed that now had the smell of body fluids and wine. 

When she left the following morning he felt what he always felt after these escapades. He’s in love again. So deep in love he has been countless times, so deep in love he could be for maximum a month before the object needed to be replaced.

At work the following day he started to snoop around to find the owner of the BMW who forced him to rush back home to change clothes and to dry-clean his tailor-made pants. The owner lives in Storängen, a suburb to Stockholm where you need a lot of millions to buy a house.

In the evening, when he left the office, he explains to his colleagues that he needs to run an errand for a client. He is very clear to specify who the client is, where he is going and for how long. It’s been said many times before, its standard procedure for the lawyers when they are about to meet potentially dangerous clients.

He walks down the street and beckon a taxi to get to a client that he has in a stranglehold. The client is a heavily burden criminal and it’s only through Dacey’s help he is on the loose and are not judged. He knows he has a debt of gratitude to his attorney. This is one of these precautions visits Dacey is making before he goes on a mission. He explains to his client, very careful, that the rest of the evening they will work together with the law sues against him. That’s the official version. The law sues have been taking care of already to appeals. They both know they will be approved.

Then Dacey leave his client and travel by bus to Storängen. The client thinks his attorney is the most brooding human being he has ever met. He doesn’t have a clue what kind of person he is and how he thinks.

Dacey finds the address via the GPS on his phone.

He is very pleased to find out that the BMW is parked at the properties driveway in front of the huge house. He glimpses the sneering man and must restrain himself with all his power to stop him from an immediate killing. He passes the street. The man doesn’t see him or doesn’t notice who he is. Dacey is gauging the area. It seems all dead. Does he have a family? A Dog? Dacey walks several laps around the block and round the house before he sneaks up on what seems to be the backyard. He sneaks up to a window and checks it carefully to see if there is any alarm equipment attached to it, or if there is a dog inside. There is an alarm; he can see that on both the cameras and the warning labels. Could be fake but he is not going to take any chances. The man seems to be all alone in the house. In the big, white living room he sits in a big, black leather couch while watching the huge TV on the wall. He’s looking at porno. Cheap shit. This should be proof enough that he is alone in the house. Dacey waits a long time outside the window. He sees no dog and no proofs for the existence of a dog in the house. If there was one it should have felt his presence long ago and warned his owner. Dacey keeps himself outside the cameras range. Then he approaches the front door and rings the bell. He can hear someone in there complaining while moving to open the door. The lock twists. For a moment he steers right into the man’s eyes; the angry eyes, that fat face, the thin hair, the lackadaisical body holding and the washed-out tracksuit.

– Who the fuck…

That’s all he manage to say before Dacey’s hard fist hits him stone hard right in his face. The man falls backwards at high speed on to an oak table. The table falls into pieces and the man lies on it lifeless. Dacey walks inside. He takes out a pair of thin gloves from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and slowly puts them on. He checks if the man still has pulse on his neck. When he states that there is none, he picks out a small plastic bottle with vitriol that he pours slowly on the man’s face to erase all traces. The acid starts working immediately; flesh is shown and skins disappear. The man should be happy that he doesn’t feel anything, Dacey thinks while he leaves him.

Next day Dacey is at the gym early in the morning. This time he’s not there to get rid of aggressions, only for health purposes. It’s going very well. He feels very good. It’s going really well. The weight on the barbell feels like feathers. He’s strong.

A couple of hours later he sits at the office and summarizes the dummy meeting with the client the day before. A report about an unpleasant murder in Storängen arrives. No suspects. Police is working with the theory that it’s a brutal execution with economical motive and that it’s a demarcation, a warning to others. They will focus their searching’s in the man’s contact net.

As so many times before Dacey have that good feeling he has made himself and the society a favor.  He also knows that soon the adrenaline will kick in again. To walk around with so much adrenaline and noradrenalinin the body system all the time had long time ago shaped the sensitive fight or flight mechanism that constantly was triggered in him and had made him who he was. Soon all would be back to normal. He waits; trains and stays focused. Eats healthy, lives healthy and are angry. Always.

The phone rings. He sees that it’s Correena. He doesn’t answer. His interest has already cooled off. Instead it’s now focused on something completely different. Dacey’s heavily burden criminal client has offered him to buy an automatic rifle. Dacey is very interested.

– Sven! Sven. What’s the matter with you?

The colleague shakes him anxiously.

Slowly he looked up from his dinner plate to meet the colleagues glance. He had been falling in a food coma. He looked around in the restaurant with a tiered, apathetic looks on all the other over-nourished men who just sat there and glutted from the beef-mountains on the tables, pig heads and cow heads.

He meets his own eyes in the reflection thrown back from the restaurants dirty display-window. It was dark outside and because of that it was very clear. He saw his fat face, the grease dripping mouth. He was stiff with food. He looked down at the plate again, the huge plate that was filled with chewed off bones.

– Sven. We’re supposed to work tomorrow. You won’t forget that will you. They need us more than ever at the secretariat tomorrow.

– Sven! All you do is dreaming. How are you?

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