by a b
“Right Feely.” Sean said in a low monotone.
He was the mascot of the group, willing to do anything on a dare. Feely was their long haul rider, often making it from East to West coast “balls rattling” in a single straddle of the bike. It was particularly important to have a long haul rider now because of Blade’s rules involving commerce.
He made them buy everything by mail order, and nothing came to the same mailbox twice. So if they needed to buy parts, they set up a mailbox in Tampa or Tuscaloosa, ordered the part and sent Feely on the road.
Feely shrugged his shoulders and passed the talc under the plastic divider to Stones. “Here you go Stones, there’s enough for your body, but it won’t cover your dick.”
“If I were you’d I’d be tired of myself in a week.”
“I’m thirty-one and I’m proud to say after watching Dr. Phil I learned to make myself better through criticism of others.”
“Somebody take away his TV.” Stones smiled, very satisfied with almost everything he said or did.
Feely shot back, “Don’t talk about TV to Mac - “ He stopped short, just realizing that Mac wasn’t there. He looked up at Blade. “Go easy on him, he’s had a bad day –” Blade spotted the empty stall. His skin turned from parchment yellow to a flushed red in seconds. Stones took the conversation off track before he could expel his anger at anyone in the room.
“Our little friend should know not to step in front of bullets, he’s so fuckin paper thin, it’s going to go right through him and hit the other guy anyway” he grabbed Feely’s shoulder and shook it. Feely wobbled like a sheet of tin. Stones let out a deep rumbling laugh. After a moment of breathless indecision Blade joined. Relief spread through the room and everyone returned to the task of suiting up.
Stones’ area was stained Yellow. After a quick dust he began applying the vinyl coating on his skin. Painting the median line below his belly, he encountered what would be to an outsider a truly majestic sight. Stones had one attribute that nobody in the group could argue with, a porn sized penis. It mesmerized the group like a religious object. Many had knelt in front of it – that could explain the confusion. The experience he offered was the kind based on stimulus alone. At the base of the argument about Stones was that he never felt alone, even when there was nobody in the room. It explained the way he got away with behavior that others in the room could not and also the way he thought about himself. His dick gave him a numerical advantage of adjusted net worth. He had the one object of influence that could not be bought of sold and he knew it.
Mac rushed in ranting, “The fucking TV, can’t get my E, how am I supposed to get it together without E?”
“You’re late.” Blade projected from the doorway.
Mac stumbled and nearly fell over the brown stained bench in his area. “Fuckin TV – it’s not my fault. It’s the satellite.”
Blade approached him in even, measured steps. He let words slip out the same. “You know my rules, nobody’s late, no excuses.”
“Come on, it’s not me.” Mac held up his hands in front of him in a defensive posture, which only angered Blade more.
“Do you think I’d just punch you? I’d never do that.” His right eye twitched, pupil lazily dragging itself from the corner and focusing on Mac with fresh anger.
“I’m not saying you would – it’s a mistake.”
“It would be over too quickly, I like it when someone is waiting for the punishment to come. Do you want it now or later?”
Blade saw the recognition in his eyes. Later was always worse, he’d pick a time when everyone was drinking and happy. There was an instance when he’d waited a year for punishment, then called for it just before the guy was going to meeting up with his family that he’d been away from for six months. He took a gusher over the right eye to the reunion. If a person didn’t stand for the punishment, they ended up dead. He had two pinpoint daggers, assassins’ weapons that were silent on the way in and bloody on the way out. Blade always got in his due, when it came to payback.
“Now.”
Blade put his hands together. He had a secret that made his punches legendary among the people who were on the receiving end. He did what he always did to get the adrenaline running. With a quick twist, he popped a knuckle on his right hand out of joint, excruciatingly painful, his arm lashed out almost as if by itself, striking Mac in the throat. Blade heard his knuckle pop back into joint as it pushed into the meaty flesh of Mac’s throat. The second surge of pain brought a smile to his face. Mac staggered backward falling over the bench and landing on the hard tile. Blade received and dealt out pain in one elegant motion, it was the product of the sickness that infected his pleasure centers.
Mac, meanwhile, was rolling on the floor, gasping saliva and blood into his lungs.
“I like TV.” Blade said with brutal levity, a husky laugh in his throat. “Anyone like it more than me?”
The men were silent. Mac struggled, unable to talk.
“Then raise your hand.” Blade pointed directly at Mac. Mac slowly raised his hand, fingers curled still from the shock of the hit. Blade burst out laughing. “You’re in charge of getting it fixed… it has to be fixed by next week.” The joke spread through the room but just as the mood was passing. Blade added “paint up men, don’t want to be late for the initiation.”
Chapter 16 Tasteful
“Kiss me, kiss me like a reckless schoolgirl with a crush, on my lips. Sugar lips baby.” Tracy’s improvisation skills hadn’t blossomed in captivity.
Wagner had turned away from the picture when Tracy touched Laura. This was the second time she’d watched the video, the first time with audio. She could now hear the desperation added into the act. Tracy clearly was willing to do or say anything to keep her captors happy. Laura was immobilized, the pattern of knots that held her spread across a frame were expertly executed. Her mouth was wide open, a bit inserted in the back teeth that kept it in a forced an oval look of shock. Nothing could change the series of perversions about to happen.
“I’ll start by rubbing up against your chin. Then if you don’t eat, I’ll relax these muscles,” she touched the area where her pubic hair met her stomach.
Wagner’s heart was racing, futility was pumping through her veins, ice in her bloodstream carving out a throbbing pain in her head. Her own discomfort was trivial, in that moment that she knew that it was happening. It was real, the kind of real that is as personal as a facial expression or fingerprint. Odd, slightly connected thoughts went through her mind, like the fact that there were thousands of nuts that collectively didn’t believe the moon landing. She was willing to bet that the people who fought reality, the most stubborn doubters, were out there watching this and believing everything. No one wanted to be skeptical of this event, and Wagner knew why. Sex was the ultimate argument, and watching the live image, she stood and made footsteps quick to the bathroom.
She vomited. It was warm and full of acid. Her body dug deep into her digestive tract, but it couldn’t pull the experience from her mind. The geography was just all wrong. A splitting headache accompanied the final heaves – then she looked up into the mirror. A strand of hair had fallen, curled around her face, and for all the preoccupying beauty that stared back at her from the mirror; the only thought that went through her head was “I used to see her on the way to class.” She brushed the hair back and set about to fix the rest of the damage.
Wagner left the restroom and found Legacy waiting outside directly between her and the conference room. He said nothing, but for some reason he stood waiting. Wagner stood statuesque for a moment, looking up at her partner. She took his silence as smugness. “Real nice talking to you.”
Wagner brushed past him, hesitating at the door to the conference room. Naturally, she had no will to go back. Legacy’s presence standing over her shoulder, made it almost impossible to back down.
The audio from inside was bleeding into the hall. A woman’s voice yelled through breathless bouts of fake e
cstasy, franticly signaling to her captors “everybody get in here – and - finish us off!” The controller’s voice came over the PA; a vacant sound ordered all of the colors to report to set. Wagner felt another wave of nausea. From behind her Legacy raised his voice in what seemed like effort to cover the sounds of the production.
“You don’t have to go back in there. The people in that room are going about this all wrong.” Wagner looked back at Legacy and saw a quick flash of something resembling concern, but coming from Legacy a closer translation would be a pause in judgment. It made her feel selfish. Legacy quickly adopted his regular tone, adding “Everything those investigators have done up till now has been useless, going back in there with them just includes you in their failure. It’s pathetic to keep failing the same way. Come back to the office.”
“You always know just what to say.” She quipped.
“It’s a real gift.” He said falling in step beside her. They didn’t speak on the way back to their office, but at the door Legacy leaned in and opened it for Wagner. She brushed under his arm and turned, catching Legacy face to face. This was the time when most men would fall under Wagner’s spell. “You know you overcompensate, you’re emotional and fragile you sit around debating your own shortcomings, which, granted there are many.” Legacy was not other men.
“Something else you should know about me, I work better when I’m pissed off. So we should be very – productive.” Wagner was already sinking into her chair and turning away from Legacy’s area of the office.
“Fine for you, but is there anything that makes you easier to work with?” Legacy stared at her like he was waiting for a reply, one of the first times he wanted to hear her voice. Wagner’s silence was delightful, and operatic.
Chapter 17 Quack Shop
“WHOOOOO HOOO!” Mac, Brown, garbled a cry of victory. His bald head bobbing in and out of the spray of the showers. “I love to stick it to the law.”
He licked his lips, snorted the air and water mixture deeply “It’s like fresh bread.”
Vorest, Purple, was always looking for fresh pain. “I like both of them there at the end, it’s like having an old girlfriend and a new girlfriend at the same time.” He threw a wet towel over the plastic of his shower enclosure; it smacked the wall beside Stones. Stones didn’t flinch. “Stones, the way you gave that parting gift to the actress.”
Stones peeled the yellow away from around his lips, said with a sly tone, “Felt like a dozen clowns getting into a compact car.” He examined his lower appendage, holding it like a jeweler cups a precious gem. “I think I’m chafed.”
“Pussy.” Feely, Green, mocked him from across the room.
Vorest corrected “Ass.” It was like a high school filled with felons.
Mac ran through the divided areas with a huge bottle of hair conditioner “I’m a warthog! I’m a warthog!” He yelled splaying the white creamy fluid across Vorest, Feely, Stones, and Sean.
Sean tried to grab the hair between Mac’s shoulder blades to slow him down. Mac squirmed away. But all too soon he found out why Sean wanted to slow him down. The stream of conditioner splashed spastically off the walls as he turned. Then it landed on something that was completely un-tiled. The blue body vinyl took a splash across the chest and Mac was face to face with their scowling leader, Blade.
“I’m sorry, I was a warthog.” He pleaded. Blade brought his fists together, and Mac stood still waiting for his punishment with closed eyes.
Blade wiped the conditioner off his chest with a finger then shoved it into Mac’s mouth, scrubbing his back teeth.
A smile broke across Blades mouth like a jagged path to hell, “Take it back warthog.” Blade was in a good mood. Feely let out a high-pitched laugh, everyone joined. Blade put his arm around Mac who playfully licked his finger. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“A warthog cums in volume. Five hundred milliliters - “ Mac started.
Stones cut in “Isn’t that a pig?”
Mac continued “A pig that gets almost no action, so he stores it up. Half a liter each time he blows his wad.”
Blade held up the bottle of conditioner. “Half liter?” He squeezed the remaining contents onto the floor. “If any of you could do that, I’d get rid of the rest.”
Mac said “I’m going to figure out the TV receiver problem today, I’ll have it fixed – like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Blade raised his voice for everyone to hear, “This guy fixes things,” finger snap, “like that, and I like that. He’s a good guy.” Jeers rang along the walls, Blade put up one finger to silence them. “And if he shows up on time I don’t feel much at all like killing him.”
Vorest chimed in “We do.”
Blade continued, “One more, one last whore. And we’re coming up to our reward.” The room became quiet they knew what came next. “We don’t live like kings, we live the life that allows us to keep living the life. People think they are better than us. I’ve never met anyone better than us. Out in the world, there’s a tidal wave of sperm swimming free because of the work you did in the last hour. The FBI-meets-actress angle drew our first million live, and it was so fucking good. Our subscribers are talking about it all over the net. It’s going to make international headlines.”
Blade strode around the room. “We are an entertainment network, and an international incident.”
Blade’s voice dropped with sinister finality “Killing the actress might be the best marketing we could possibly do.”
Sean spoke up “But she made the ransom.”
It wasn’t decency that made the room reluctant to spill her blood. “We should be consistent.” Feely agreed. Blade snapped his head toward the dissenting opinion with a brooding conflict: he looked like he wanted to kill them and thank them at the same time.
“We riders do have a code, don’t we?” A grumble of laughter.
“Secret ballot,” He held up five pieces of paper and distributed them among the men. “Dump the bitch breathing, or the body?”
Feely asked, “Why don’t you vote?”
Blade said in an even tone “It’s all the same to me.”
Chapter 18 Curled Queen
Tracy pressed herself farther in the corner hearing the outside door open. It always took ages from the first sound until Blue would open the inner door. The seconds stretched her nerves until pitched like the wires strung to the far keys on a piano. How long would he take this time?
A full minute later, she heard the key go into the lock, minutes more and the lock turned. The hesitation must mean something. Blue wasn’t looking forward to this errand. It was over for her, she knew it.
Blue had bits of papers in his hands; he thumbed through them like a dealer churns a stack of cards. “I told you it would come to a vote if you didn’t make it.”
Her eyes filled up with tears, “Have you counted them?”
“No,” Her head snapped up, clearly surprised. He explained “I thought it was better to do it in front of you.” He glanced down at his hands.
Tracy’s mouth trembled as she spoke “I really did good today, right? They must have noticed.” Blue flipped the ballots onto the floor, read them like tealeaves. It was an elaborate act, a poker bluff that invited speculation and dread. With her life on the line, Tracy showed great restraint waiting moments before blurting out. “Good news?”
“Yes - I don’t really read them. I just do what I want to do.” He said arms spread wide and welcoming. He took on the outward countenance of a preacher and it seemed fitting when Tracy uttered “Thank God.” Tracy let out a sigh of relief.
A dark transition overtook every aspect of the man she knew as Blue, his tone of voice dropped off into a black abyss. Malice, somehow built from humble playful beginnings. “Let’s not bring him into it, yet, it feels like you deserve punishment after what you did today. Look at your soiled sinful body, and your newly sinful mind.” His steps toward her became heavy and imposing. Unseen to Tracy a knife, barely
three inches long, dropped into his hand, covered by his palm. “Stand in the shower please.”
“What? I did what you said–” Her voice was cut off. She chirped in fear as he swooped in and tucked the blade under her throat. With a brisk step he led her to the shower. A fierce tango, bodies locked in a strained embrace. This was the moment that he lived for, the uncertainty, the balance of life and death. Her gasps for air fed a fire in his eyes, a savage light. Tracy looked up into them; she had always counted Blue as a friend and now everything, even the shape of the room and colors, changed in her eyes. Trust gasped, dying, and betrayed on the edge of a surge of panic and recognition.
This was Blade’s foreplay.
Fear shook her body in waves, her skin wrapped around useless muscles; messages came from a useless brain. Impossible was the only way to describe the kind of futility and helplessness that Blue was able to bring to bear in the last moments with his victims. He breached the walls of all of their senses and pulled their insides out. Safe to say that the best way to describe the final ordeal was in the words of one of the women who made it through their final meeting with him. The transcript hung in Legacy’s office, the last moments of a two-hour interrogation after which the girl said nothing. “It made me forget the torture, all I can remember are those moments with him.”
