Two days later, David flipped through his mail. Sitting down wearing t-shirts and shorts and surrounded by more than a bit of litter, he cradled the flat-screen computer in his hand. Tapping the forward buttons, he flipped through offers for investments, news on the local area, and even the newest burger ad for only 1,999 dollars. He laughed, you could barely buy food for under a grand for the last few years, but the advertising places still promises prices with too many 9's at the end of it. Everything cost thousands of dollars with inflation.
He stopped at the daily hunting reports. He scrolled down to see the flash of pretty young men and woman that had their lives bought and paid for by those with weregild, also known as blood money. Most of them, he guessed, never saw the next day, but a few of them would spend days, weeks, even years under the strange perversions of their new owners. Next to each entry, the notice of a single weregild, the cost of a life, being transferred to their next of kin, minus a hefty fee from the government. Since common folk could not own fractional blood money, it got converted into a billion dollars, minus the 20% tax. Once made into cash, even a billion dollars couldn't purchase a single weregild. A neat system that kept the poor with only overinflated dollars and the rich rolling in blood money.
Unless there was a double kill.
David sighed. He hated the system, but benefited from it at the same time. His two slaves came from a frantic purchase from a friend who needed him. And, beyond any doubt, it was the best and only purchase he ever made with weregild.
Sighing again, he tapped the trash button. The next email hurt his eyes with flashing icons and banners. He hit the trash button, but as the image faded from the screen, he spotted his old high school's name. Hitting the undo button, he spent a moment to read the mail with more detail.
A simple reminder of his ten-year school reunion in a few days. The coordinators decided to hold it in northern Mexico, miles south of the border where he graduated. He grinned with the memory of sneaking across the border to catch a few wild hours in the Tijuana nightlife.
Warmed by his memories, he flipped back through his message queue to the original mail announcing the reunion. A nice hotel right on the beach and the promising of catching up with some good friends.
He looked up to his small house, considering it. After a second, he ran his finger down the links in the original email. A few taps later and he confirmed his reservation to fly down to Tijuana.
Sometimes, it was good to be rich. Even if he didn't look the part.
An hour later, the limo driver rang the doorbell. David hefted a packed duffel bag over his shoulder and opened the door.
On the other side, a woman wearing nothing but a chauffeur's cap and a black tie stood on his threshold. “Good afternoon, sir, I'm here to serve you.”
He looked over the slender, black-haired woman. She gave him a wink, “Anything, of course, that you need.” She turned to show the code at the base of her spine. Turning around, she waited for David's command.
He smiled, “How about a coke?”
Her mouth dropped, but she regained her senses quickly. “At once. Shall I take your bag?”
David handed it over and followed her to the car, watching her naked ass shaking with every step. True to his word, he just slipped into the back of the car and leaned back to enjoy the drive.