It is always a pleasure teaching a fool their place. I am not talking about putting them in their own place but just re-educating them on where they stand in the pecking order.

I have been working in the stock market since I was of age and now that I am in my thirties, I would say I know more than a thing or two about the trade. I handle other people's funds and my own. Money comes and goes but people make it even more fun.

Everyone treats money like their ancestors when investing and yet when they want to go on a buying spree, money becomes a cheap whore.

In my opinion, watching someone choose their stocks is a direct indicator of who they are. There is the gambler, they go in completely blind and wish for the best. There is the lazy, they usually hire a stockbroker if all goes well they feel glad they put their money in stocks. But if they lose money, they get the brilliant idea that shifting to a new one will help.

Amateurs!

There are many other different types but I will finish with those I like best, the ones in the know. They just know what money is all about, whether by experience or from family or just sheer dumb luck that leads to realization. Those are the ones that usually make it. And they are my favorite prey.

"I think I will go with mutual funds in the end." my client sheepishly roused me from my thoughts after thumbing through the balance sheets of the companies on the rise for at least 30 minutes.

I made myself more comfortable in my chair, reached down beside me onto the huge pile of documents, and fished out a form. "I am sure you know what is best for you," I played along "This is the form and all that remains is the cheque and you are good to go."

It really does not matter what the client chooses, they are usually in the lowest rung of the food chain anyway. No predator would ask another predator to hunt for them. I smile at him soothingly, my way of reassuring clients. In any case who would suspect they answered the question wrong if their teacher -hate those by the way- is smiling at them so innocently.

It takes him about 10 minutes to finish the form, as I waited for him to decide on how much he will be putting in the funds my mind wanders again. I am looking forward to this evening, we will be having a special client and their guest honoring us. My brother should have sorted it all out by now. Not the brightest tool in the shed but family is family.

You just have to take care of them and you feel bad and maybe cursed if you neglect them but as always there are exceptions.

"I have written out the cheque, I am looking forward to hearing the good news." the client smiles at me with slightly more confidence than when he came in. It always reassures the client when they did the deed rather than grilling their tiny brains over various thoughts.

"I am sure you will, safe travels my friend." as I receive the cheque, I stood up to shake his hand firmly.

"Thank you! I will be checking in with you next month." He said as he left the room.

The smile melts off my face like snow in the wee days of spring, what a boring man I lament. I finish today's paperwork with more focus. Then just as the sun is setting, I leave the office. The weather is nice for September, it has that familiar chill that makes my mind more awake.

I get into my Porsche, a car that is just as expensive as its heritage. The car makes the man they say, people say a lot of nonsense I do agree with this statement though. I just love the drive home, especially when I am looking forward to something. I breeze through the streets just making sure I am ever so slightly above the speed limit. The journey takes me about 40 minutes. No matter how good the car, traffic decides the flow in the end.

I arrive home, a grand villa. It looks more like those villas on the brochures of vacations than a place near the city really. I think the greenery just makes it even more beautiful.

"Welcome back, Jack." the butler greeted me at the door. He is a fine-looking man, in his late forties and of course of military background. There is no use for a pretty face with no substance. I greet him back, his suit is on point just as always. There is no perfection in the mortal world but this is as close as it gets.

I go right to the bathroom to shower, then as I head to the dining room my brother meets me along the way.

"It is all sorted," he reassures me as we walk. He looks nothing like me except for that snake-like glance in his eyes which I find annoying. What kind of a predator would announce he is one so openly? A dumb one.

"I do hope so. What time will they be here?" I ask.

"You have about one hour to eat and prepare. The client is quite accurate, at least I hope so."

Fantastic! I love a client who respects time. After all, time is life. And if they do not respect life then they deserve death.

The dining room is as amazing as ever, a long fine mahogany table, one that can seat a football team, with three plates of delicacies for my lunch. It seems like my brother will be eating with me as well. He has five plates on his side, what a foodie.

Our family is usually on the thin side, yet I and my brother look like athletes rather than our actual jobs.

I eat in leisure taking care to check my watch every now and then.

As I finish with ten minutes to spare, I decide to prepare for our guests.

It is so easy to forget the time when you enjoy an activity, yet times crawl to a standstill when you anticipate a delicacy. It took me five minutes to have everything ready, the last five minutes were so slow. I did not want to start anything that will distract me from the guests.

Finally, the basement door opens. The client and their guest come in. Fanciful greetings then onto business.

"Our friend here stole a chest full of diamonds and I need to know where they are stashed." my client finally specified what the job was.

"As per the usual, you pay upfront and give me one hour to reason out if the job will go fast or slow," I repeated the usual phrase with every client of the sorts.

I cuff our guest to the table, he offers no resistance. It seems like his head was swimming in whatever drugs they shot him with. A minor inconvenience that will be solved with another shot.

The client sits in the armchair in the corner. It seems they want to observe. I guess torturing out the information with an audience every once in a while is not bad.

"Anything I should know before I start?" I ask routinely, these sort of people would not give a hoot if the guest or the to-be-tortured was allergic to air itself but just in case one has to ask.

"This is my son," she replied.

My hand freezes for a second as I was getting the shot ready. Well, that is very interesting. This does not change anything but the narrative. Any family business is usually not aired to the public. Hence whatever diamonds she was talking about might be a keyword for something completely different.

"I am guessing you do not want any obvious indications of our adventure here?"

"Oh no, please do not misunderstand I just wanted to see how startled you will look." she grins at me.

So cheeky.

"Not gonna lie that was indeed out of the norm," I replied as I injected the kid in the arm.

Yeah, he is a kid of fifteen years old. The job has to be done, I hate working on such specimen though. The young ones are usually more stubborn with fewer things to cling on. Especially since she asked for my service, it means she was not able to get the information out of him.

My brother signals at me that everything has been soundproofed and I can begin my work. We are at a hidden location close to the villa, soundproofed, out of sight, and definitely off any radar of the lovely internet. One has to be professionally cautious in our line of work.

Our family is in the line of work of torturing if that was not obvious. Our heritage of the art of torture is so old that it predates the existence of some countries. We worked for royalty, in courts, with both sides of the law, underground, and now with whoever pays.

I do not think it is a degradation but just upholding the tradition and ensuring it does not die. The art of torture is just as delicate as cooking. Both are not for the impatient and the unsteady of the hand.

There are some set rules for our family; first is maintaining anonymity with both clients and guests -the payer and the to-be-tortured-, inflict as much pain with least injuries, psychological pain triumphs over any physical pain.

They are quite the guideline, usually, the inheritors of the trade would-be doctors. However, the tradition was discontinued thanks to the advances of technology to maintain our safety and secrecy.

Now back to our boy, there is a chance they would reconcile so getting this done as cleanly as possible is favorable. Although they both are unaware of where they are, who we are, and the traded cash or goods are untraceable, maintaining good relations is always a plus with these sorts of clients.

He is quite young as well, which will be problematic if he is too courageous for his own good. I will start off with pain to the bones then slowly move on with the promise of maiming him worse comes to worst some blood might have to spill.

The boy is starting to wake up, he groggily glances around. It takes him a while to understand what is going on. I patiently wait for him to make his own assumption, I believe my oni mask will nudge him in the right way.

He starts breathing rapidly, as understanding dawns upon him. His head is raised too high to see his mother in the corner but I will assume he knows who captured him.

"The information we need out of you is a place," I catch his attention by waving a small metallic hammer around, "where are the diamonds?"

He looks at me in horror, this seems to be easier than I thought. His rapid breathing is slowly going back to normal, a bad sign. His face has this grim look, "Will you let me go if I tell you?" he asks.

A naive question truly, but as always one must speak the truth, "It is not my call. My client will decide your fate, my role in this play is to have you tell the truth and only the truth."

He looks at me, weighing his options probably. If he decides to talk without me resorting to anything that would be quite the joke, wouldn't it?

"I never thought that after beating me within an inch of my life, they throw me to the dogs to test their lucks," he spoke in false bravado, he is scared but not quite enough to talk. "Do your worst!"

Disappointing but expected. Knowledge about the human body is crucial, where to hit hard enough to inflict immense pain without irreparable harm. Make them despair but not lose hope. I circle around him watching his body, he has a slight fat on him. He does not do sports, he has the familiar smudge on the wrist. The one resulted from excessive usage of a PC.

Know yourself and know your enemy. Then you can torture effectively and efficiently. If I know what interests them then hit them where it hurts will be the best.

There will be no finger smashing or cutting off limbs, those are so outdated and very barbaric ways. Although at time they do serve their purpose.

Since he values his hands, then affecting the shoulder, elbow, or wrist or hand will do the trick. I circle around him once more, the mystery of what will happen has him on edge.

I get to work, I start by dislocating both his shoulders. Just in case he is ambidextrous and gets the wild idea sacrificing an arm in torture won't affect him much. It is painful but nothing like what comes after.

To dislocate a joint, a tearing of the tissue and muscle is a must. Now if you follow this with increasing the tear, it will lead to irreparable damage. Therefore, a slow stretch and fold are in order. Have him sing to your tune as you dance with his limbs.

He did sing once I dislocated both arms, quite the voice. Just for the routine, I ask if he was ready to speak, his refusal does not surprise me. I continue to angle his arms so that the torn tissue is twisted but without widening the tear.

I like my torture sessions limited to 25 minutes then a break of 10 minutes and so on. The first session is usually the longest, as to establish limits and acquire understanding.

He lasted for 15 minutes before he spilled the beans. A wise decision truly, as I was just gearing to pop back his shoulders and start bruising his forearms slowly with my metallic hammer. Nothing permanent but will disable any wild gaming escapades for quite a bit.

The client stands up and looks at her son in disappointment, "You could have had it all but just for your gambling, you rob your family. As a matter of fact, you rob your ownself."

I sincerely hope she does not go into lecture mode in my basement. I want them out as fast as possible since the job is over.

She harps on for a bit, a tolerable bit for me. Then her guards pick him up and they are gone after paying.

A worthwhile endeavor if I may say so.

After cleaning up, taking a shower, I browse the internet for a bit waiting for dinner to be ready.

Then after a light dinner, I go to sleep like a baby anticipating an even more fun tomorrow.