Twisted All To Hell

by J E Moore

night," as he lifted his eyebrows.

  "Sorry sir. I know nothing of it," the crewman answered all the while thinking, "The very rich man obviously had too much to drink."

  "Never mind," countered Victor. "I'll ask Captain Versace at his table tonight. Surely, he'll know," and chuckled at his own wit.

  Early that evening during the formal dinner's service of appetizers at the captain's table, a young navigator who had recently joined the ship's core of top-ranked officers asked an out of line delicate question. "So, Mister Armada, how did you become one of our valued benefactors? A Whale, as they say in Vegas. I'm sure all of us are curious to learn how a member of the Rich and Famous became so successful and ended up here." The Master of the ship, Versace cringed at the probe into a guest's privacy and vowed to replace this immature privileged, 'child' forthwith at the port of Los Angeles and starting tomorrow morning restrict this fool to bridge duties and his quarters.

  Victor gave a short version of his life after college - omitting numerous unpalatable yet extremely profitable parts. His grandparents were Mariel, Cuba refugees from generations of fine cigar markers who started-up a small shop in south Miami during the sixties. Sales were good. Their product wasn't genuine Cuban but as close as the American version was permitted. Later, when the U.S. finally dropped its illegal, seventy-year old embargo their family business, now managed by his parents, exploded to a thousand employee corporation, the bulk being Cuban-Americans working in a massive Miami processing plant with a hundred other people remaining and serving from their homeland. The Research and Development department had been growing tobacco fields in Virginia and the Carolinas using pure Cuban stock and the company expected to go international, starting with Europe within two years. Life was good and unbelievably prosperous... and in addition to all this, Victor had been chosen to be both the C.F.O. & C.O.O. due to his American law degree and the family's backing.

  After the awkward interrogation, Victor ventured his question. "Senoré Armada there is no thirteenth floor," returned the fleet's ranking captain. "Ah, how would a German say? Ach verboten... forbidden... to have such a floor on any ship, my friend," then quickly changed the subject by raising a toast to (rich stockholder) friendship.

  "Humm," mulled Victor to himself. "A well placed change of direction by the Captain, however I have to admit I didn't see the number thirteen displayed on the way down tonight. So, was it a crew's prank yesterday or an illusion on my part? No, to a possible illusion," he deduced. "I'm never wrong... I remember every detail. It's the gift which places me far above these working class peons. I'm tempted to bring the Captain and especially his idiot Navigator back to the damn elevator and mash their faces into that thirteen button," but instead remained calm and played the part of a favored, grateful sponsor during the ensuing cocktail party.

  Victor finally escaped the endless toasts offered by a blur of plastic, smiling faces and sauntered toward his suite at one a.m. "I think I'll spend some time in my sauna after breakfast then work on my tan in the afternoon. Perhaps I'll buzz the Spa and have them send a young, pretty, willing masseuse to give me an extra stimulating session. If she's satisfactory, I'll treat her to an evening in the casino before we retire for more happy endings. However pleasing she may be, I won't allow her to accompany me when I go ashore in Buenos Aires, after all the woman's no more than low-class, servant entertainment and I must safeguard my public image."

  He turned and bade a cordial, "Good night" to the security crewman who had followed him to the private elevator. Inside, Armada swiped his key card which programmed the lift to carry him directly to the sixteenth floor and locked out others attempting access from other floors. Five, six, seven he rose then noticed number thirteen displayed once again. Victor pressed the elevator's stop button while giving the panel a second and third look. "What the? I knew I should have dragged that insolent, pomp-ass captain with me. I do not make mistakes." He released the 'Stop' and mashed thirteen hard. "We'll see now," he fumed. "I have a good mind to retrieve some kind of physical proof and go beat on his cabin door when I'm sure he's asleep!"

  The elevator stopped at the desired floor but its doors did not open. He waited. "What's the matter with this damn thing?" He glared and stood firm for seemingly another extra-long minute then resorted to smacking the stainless steel barrier with his open palms. "Hey, in there. Open up. I'm Victor Armada and I demand you open these doors!" and hit them again. The mechanical device parted smoothly in silence. "About time," he hissed but did not step out of the compartment.

  What he encountered challenged logic. Spread before him was a vast, deep-red room which seemed to stretch forever in all directions. He could understand not finding reference points in regard to the thousand-foot ship's length but none for the width also? "Yes indeed, there are optical illusions at play here," he reasoned. "Is this to be some kind of new entertainment center... a 'fun house' mirrored arcade? If so, they've made a good start." Soon, his eyes focused and after the initial surprise he discerned two women seated in nice, plush chairs about a hundred feet away. They waved to him and called his name.

  "Mister Armada, please come join us!" bade a dark-haired young woman as she pointed to an empty lounger facing them.

  The other, a champagne blond, called, "Please, we've been waiting for you," which prompted 'God's gift to women' to leave the lift and slowly swagger toward the tender, young maidens wearing matching, short, white summer dresses.

  "Two," he mused. "I've done two, many times before," and gave his best, charismatic smile. The closer he got the better it became. He estimated these perky, little girls to be fifteen or sixteen. "This will be so entertaining... and with no fear of repercussions. If they're cruise personnel and refuse to give it up I'll have their sorry asses fired and deported to whatever rat-hole village they spawned from."

  Victor took his time during his approach - sizing up the beckoning youngsters. The words Sweet and Innocent came foremost to mind. "Good evening, Mister Armada. It is so nice to finally meet you," they chimed. At six foot-two he towered powerfully above the cute little morsels. "Please take a seat and let's get to know one another," as they gestured toward the empty chair.

  "Thank you my dears."

  "Thank you sir," they echoed. "My name is Faith," said the blond and my good friend here is Joy."

  "Yes, she will be," he quipped as his fantasies rose.

  Ah yes, I think we understand... and since we going to became close friends may we call you by your first name sir?" He graciously nodded assent to their simple request. The girls looked at each other and smiled in delight. "As we said before... Victor, we are so happy to get with you now. It's the perfect time... it always is."

  Their guest agreed, "Uh huh," not yet sure if the girls and he were on the same page. But then, it really didn't matter.

  "Let's start by saying we know everything about you Victor."

  He made a sly smirk, confident these children didn't know horse crap because if they did they would not have placed their delicate, little bodies directly in his sights. Armada enjoyed being punishingly dominant and one or both of these fragile little girls may become a little tender tonight.

  First, let us welcome you to the thirteenth floor," gushed Joy. "We call it the Fun deck so, let's start having fun!"

  Victor gave a wink and agreed, "I'm ready when you are kiddies." His eyes dropped to their shapely legs and tried to steal a peek higher.

  "See," squealed Faith. "I told you he'd try to hit on us sexually right away."

  "Yes, you did," concurred Joy. "The first point goes to you." She then turned to Victor and said in a little girl sing-song voice, "Mister Armada, we're not wearing underwear." He gave a come on smile but neither revealed any more skin which resulted in a fake pout from their guest voyeur. "Which now brings us to the beginning of a game you're going to play," she announced. "We call it Truth and Consequences. Did you catch that little word change from 'or' to 'and'?" He gave a blank look. "No? It's from an old television sho
w, probably before your time. That's all right because Time is the key factor and you'll catch on quick because you're so smart and remember every detail."

  "You appear to be distracted sir. I suggest you stop trying to peek under our dresses or envisioning doing naughty acts with us... because we are sex-less... similar to department store mannequins and therefore have no need for underwear," added Faith. "Besides, that part of your life is over now. You know: molesting children and having sex with minors. In fact, you'll never be able to get your little weenie up again. Surprise!"

  He frowned and gave them a hard look while thinking, "We'll see about that later you stupid, little bitches." Victor quickly scanned the red room for other people (witnesses). They appeared to be alone. "Starting now," he decided and tried to shift in his seat in order to rise but couldn't. "What's this?" His hands and feet remained in place - unrestrained, as non-feeling dead weight.

  "Not just yet, pretty boy. We have to explain the game before we allow you to return to your sordid existence."

  "I don't know how you're doing this to me but I guarantee when I get up from here I'm gonna pound your little butts," threatened their captive.

  "Oh my, such a violent, little man," bemoaned Joy.

  "And