DIMEBAG BANDITS
A Novel
BY Craig Furchtenicht
Dimebag Bandits © 2013 Craig Furchtenicht
All Rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and organizations are either a product of the author's deluded imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, living or deceased, events, locations or organized groups are merely coincidental.
For my loving wife, Henrietta.
Thanks for being my constant inspiration
and my harshest critic.
You were right about all those pages in life
that it takes to make a book.
It took me a while, but
I think I finally got it.
Also, for Todd W. and Wes V.
The original Dimebag Bandits
You are truly missed
Chapter 1
Stacey cursed the darkness as he repeatedly stabbed the key at the lock on the overhead door. The damn security light was out again. That made the second time in less than a year. It made him wonder just where the hell the money that he forked out to the power company went every month. He was definitely going to be making a call in the morning, just as soon as he sobered up.
The headlamp from his idling Harley Panhead did little good. If he had been a bit more in control of his faculties when he pulled up to the bar, he probably would have noticed the light. As it stood, the only illumination from the bike was directed to the left of the door, completely useless to him now.
He cursed his old lady as well. Sheila was nowhere to be found when he got home after a twelve hour shift at the bar. His guess was that she was probably out banging that scumbag from Cedar Ridge, a goddamn cop of all people. Not that it should make any difference who she was screwing around with, but it did. So, as drunk as he was, he turned his bike around to go looking for her. After an hour of riding around and no Sheila, he headed back to the bar to sleep it off in his office.
To hell with her. To hell with all women for that matter. They were as useless as the headlamp shining on the dumpster while the lock in front of him was impossible to see. And that little bitch Marlene, calling in sick on the busiest night of the week. That made the third time in a month. If she didn't have such a sweet rack on her he would have fired her a long time ago. He might just do that anyway.
If it wasn't for Marlene he would have been home hours ago, probably in time to catch Sheila before she got bored and decided to step out on him again. Then he wouldn't be standing there aimlessly poking around at the lock like an old blind man in a whorehouse.
Finally he got the key to slam home and the lock popped opened. The heavy overhead door rattled as he heaved it upward. He was home free, or so he thought. The engine of his Harley abruptly cut off, leaving his head buzzing from the sudden absence of noise. The thought to turn around and investigate barely registered when his head lit up like the grand finale on the fourth of July.
He never went completely out after whatever it was that hit him across the back of the head. His brain shrieked in agony from the base of his neck to the top of his skull. He lay on his back and looked up as his vision went from black to blurry. With the overhead open there was just enough ambient light to make out the four masked men standing over him.
“We've come for the good stuff, barkeep,” the tallest one said.
Two of the others grabbed him by the arms and dragged him inside. Stacey was a big man but he was too drunk and disoriented to even consider resisting. By the time the notion of defending himself had crossed his mind, the tall one snatched him by the ponytail and twisted. The fourth intruder walked the bike in behind them and slammed the door shut.
“The good stuff, Stacey. Don't make this hard,” the tall one demanded. He pried up on the ponytail, stretching the hair on the back of his neck to the point of uprooting it from the skin. Stacey screamed and began to fight back. His right arm broke free and he pounded his fist against the guy on his left. The one who pushed the bike in ran around to face him. He flashed a set of glistening white teeth through the mouth hole of his mask and kicked him in the solar plexus.
His lungs seized up as he struggled for breath. Blackness seeped back into his peripheral vision as he dropped to the concrete floor. A sobering thought occurred to him as he lay there, chest heaving for air that would not come. I'm gonna die right here in this bar, while the bitch I named the place after is off giving it up to some fucking cop.
When he finally regained consciousness he found that his hands were crudely bound behind his back. He didn't know what they had used, but whatever it was tore deeply into the flesh on his wrists. The lights were on in the storeroom and he could see three of them sitting on empty cases of beer, watching him. Behind him the engine of his bike revved over and over. His head throbbed as he turned to look.
It was the bastard that kicked him, straddling across the seat with a grin on his face. It made Stacey ill to hear the sonofabitch wind the motor to the point of blowing it up. He watched helplessly through the blue fog of exhaust that filled the room. He would just as soon see some dude riding his old lady than to mess with his bike. Of course, he thought to himself, maybe that's why I'm in this mess now.
“See, boys. I told you I didn't kill him.” The guy hopped off the bike and sauntered over to him. He knelt down and lifted Stacey's head by the ponytail. “You're not dead are you, buddy?” He leaned his face even closer and whispered, “But you're gonna be if you don't show us where it is.”
“Fuck you,” Stacey growled and looked him straight into the eyes as much as his throbbing head would allow. He knew he was in trouble, but there was no way he was going to show this punk any fear. He had not backed down to anyone in fifty years. He damn sure wasn't going to start with this guy.
He found himself being dragged by the hair toward his bike. It was not until he felt the heat radiating from the exhaust that he realized what was about to happen. He thrashed his legs as two of them struggled to hold him still. He fought with everything in him as his head was forced closer to the hot pipe. He tried not to scream when the skin on his cheek began to smoke, but it was no use. The pain was exquisite. The hand holding the back of his head released the pressure. With the eye that was not already swelling shut he could see remnants of his flesh burnt onto the exhaust pipe. It hissed and popped like meat scraps on a griddle. Stacey became an instant vegetarian.
“You were saying something, Stacey?”
“Yeah, I said fuck you, you pile of... aghh!” His reply was interrupted with another firm push to the back of his head. This time two hands pushed from behind, rubbing his face into the hot chrome like someone would rub a dog's face into a soiled carpet. His entire left eyebrow was permanently erased from existence in roughly three seconds. The smell lingered in the air and lodged in his throat as he sobbed.
“We can do this all night, man.”
He craned his neck away from the heat and cried out, “Okay, okay!” It was the sound of his own pained cries that did it, along with the tears that streamed down the ruined flesh of his cheek. Within minutes they had broken him and at that point he was willing to give them anything to make it stop.
“Atta boy,” A gloved hand patted him on the back. The engine on the Harley stopped. “Now where is it?”
He hesitated for a moment. Not because he was having second thoughts, but because he was suddenly finding it very hard to keep from passing out. He felt himself being lifted to his feet. Someone slapped him hard on the back of the head. The pain from the burns intensified and brought him back around. He could feel his pulse through every tortured nerve ending.
“You want to me to start on the other side?”
“The offic
e,” he said, nodding his head to a door just beyond the storeroom. “In there, behind the couch. Take it all.”
They did just that. The wall safe behind the couch was there just like Stacey had promised. In it was exactly what they were looking for, though not nearly as much as they had anticipated. Certainly it was not enough to justify permanent disfigurement to protect it. Some people were just stubborn that way. They knew that it was more of a matter of principle than a money thing. Nobody liked to get robbed. Not even bad people who gladly would have done the same thing if given the opportunity.
They left Stacey with his hands and feet bound, laying on the storeroom floor of Sheila's Tap. He spent the rest of the night and most of the next morning there. He cursed the bastards who did this. He cursed himself for breaking down so easily. He even cursed the motorcycle that he would take months to bring himself to ride again. Most of all he cursed women, especially when he came to the realization that Marlene was probably going to be a no show again.
Chapter 2
It seemed to Kori like he had been sitting alone in the cramped interrogation room for days. In reality, the clock on the otherwise bare wall showed that he had only been in there for about forty minutes. That was not counting the two hours that the detectives spent hammering him with pointed questions. When they realized that he was either not going to give them anything useful or had nothing of use to tell, they left him by himself to think things over.
They were probably hoping that if he spent enough time by himself, he would crack and give them something more to go on. He was not sure what else they wanted from him. He already admitted that the vials, the ones the muscle head's girlfriend had given them, came from him. He told them how he had stolen them from the medicine locker at work and sold them to the guy. That was all that they had on him and he was damned sure not going to tell them anything they didn't know about.
Besides, the police were the last of his problems at that point. He was facing jail time for sure, but that was nothing compared to the wrath that he would face when his stepfather got wind of this. He was already on Clayton's shit list and this would definitely put him over the top. He also had to worry about how to deal with Dr. Ross. After all, the drugs in question had belonged to his clinic. He did not even want to think about how much missing inventory an actual audit could reveal.
Outside of the room, the police station was business as usual. The two uniformed officers that had arrested him were long gone. They had stuck around just long enough to meet with the detectives after they filed their paperwork. Through the opened blinds Kori watched them huddle in the hallway outside the door. The younger uniformed cop kept looking through the window as he listened to his more seasoned colleagues exchange notes. He looked at Kori with an expression that was a mixture of both pity and disgust.
When they finished their conversation the cops bid the detectives farewell with customary handshakes and went their separate ways. The younger cop hung back for a moment as if he wanted to enter the room and talk to him alone, but his partner barked an order from somewhere out of view. Their eyes met briefly and then the he was gone. The exchange peaked Kori's curiosity, but he was still relieved to see him go. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to talk to another cop.
He looked around the room and its sparse furnishings. Save for a clock that taunted him with its slow mechanical second hand, it was little more than four bare walls. The numbers on the face displayed both regular and military time. A small camera was mounted in the corner near the door. It was pointed in the general direction of the heavy metal table in the center of the room. The two plastic chairs that the detectives had used now sat empty. The only other thing in the room was a thin manila folder with his name handwritten across the front.
Several pieces of paper stuck out of the corner of the folder and he was tempted to reach across and pull them out. They obviously contained any information that the detectives had on him and more importantly what charges were being filed against him. The only thing stopping him from looking inside was the camera watching his every move. Maybe it was some sort of trick that the detectives were playing. Did they leave the folder behind just to see how long it would take him to look inside? But why would they do that? Was it some sort of test?
It was not as if he were compounding the degree of guilt against him by looking inside. Besides, the file was his. It was his name was that was printed right there on the front of it. In his mind he had justified every reason to open the folder. Regardless, he felt some deep sense of guilt and had to steel himself before he could act. The hallway was clear but that could change at any time. He had to move quickly before the detectives came back.
The table was wider than it looked. He had to extend himself with one foot off the floor to reach the other side. He guessed that this was to keep people from reaching across and assaulting their inquisitors during the questioning. The thought had crossed his mind at least once during the past few hours. With his fingertips on the corner, he started to drag the folder toward him. Suddenly a commotion erupted in the hallway outside. He quickly sat back in his seat and folded his arms.
Through the window he saw two officers dragging a woman in handcuffs down the hall. She appeared to be in her late fifties, but it was hard for Kori to tell with all of the makeup she had pancaked onto her face. Her hair was long and frizzy from years of over-bleaching. Most of it was matted to her face by either sweat or tears. She twisted back and forth in an attempt to break free from the large officer holding tightly to the restraints behind her back. The other officer, a stocky woman with a classic mullet hairdo, gripped an arm with both hands and repeatedly shouted at her to calm down.
Kori stood up and watched through the glass as they finally managed to force the woman into a sitting position on a bench and secured her there. As the officers stepped back the woman kicked her bare feet and strung together a steady flow of profanity. The officers did not seem to notice.
She was dressed in a skin tight skirt that was two sizes too small for her and a tank top. The shirt was smeared with blood and what appeared to be mud. Mascara dripped down her flush cheeks and neck, mingling with the sweat that pooled between her breasts.
Her handcuffs were attached to a heavy eye bolt that protruded from the edge of the bench. She turned her body slightly inward to lean against the wall and collapsed in defeat. For a moment she sat perfectly still except for the steady rise and fall of her chest. Satisfied that she was no longer a problem, the officers left her there. Kori stood up and walked around the table. He pressed his face to the glass and watched her. He had never seen a prostitute in real life before, at least not one that close up. He could not help but to feel sorry for her.
He started to wonder what kind of circumstances or life choices she made had brought her to this place. He was reminded of his own situation and felt guilty for even thinking about making the comparison. Although his problems were not entirely his fault, there was no way that he had it anywhere near as rough as this woman. He was not normally an affectionate person but he wanted to go out into the hallway and comfort her. He did not know why he felt compelled to do so. Maybe he just wanted to feel human again for a change.
Suddenly the woman sensed him watching her. She stiffened and looked up at him through her swollen eyes. He smiled at her and she smiled back through a mouthful of hair and missing teeth. She sat up slowly, obviously tired and sore from her ordeal. In one swift move she propped both feet up on the wooden bench and spread her legs to him. Then she reared her head back and spit at the glass between them.
“There, asshole. Now you got somethin' to stare at,” She yelled. She cackled loudly while maintaining the pose, squatting and staring down between her own bruised thighs. Her bony hips pumped up and down a few times until she nearly lost her balance and fell from her seat. She was not wearing any underpants.
Stunned, Kori took a step back and nearly tripped over one of the empty chairs. He watched the spittle slowly o
oze down the glass in front of him. There were tiny bits of chewing tobacco mixed with it. For some reason this repulsed him even more than the unsolicited flashing. He had not seen many naked women either, but to him her womanhood looked less like a vagina and more like a yawning gorilla that he had once seen at the Blank Park Zoo. He quickly returned to his chair.
“Hey, knock it off!” Someone yelled at her from somewhere down the hall. She put her feet down and assumed her previous position. She eyed Kori with a sour look for a moment before turning her attention in the direction of whoever yelled at her. She smacked her lips and blew a kiss.
The mullet cop escorted a middle-aged man dressed in black to the bench. Kori watched through the window, trying to ignore the streak of hooker spit drying on the glass. Upon closer examination he realized that the man was a priest. He found it odd that it took two officers to restrain a one hundred pound woman, but it only took one female to bring in a six foot man. She latched the priest to the bench next to the hooker, who made it a point to express that she was none too pleased with the idea.
Part of one of the priest's ears was missing. To Kori it looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. He also observed that along with blood, his clothing was caked in the same mud that was on the hooker. When the female officer left them, the priest leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head back and forth and turned away from him. The priest leaned over and tried to kiss her on the mouth. She responded by head butting him square on the bridge of the nose.
Blood poured from his nose and onto his chin. It collected in his beard before dripping all over the front of his shirt, staining his cleric's collar a bright red. With his hands cuffed behind him, the priest could only lean his head back to slow the bleeding. He licked away the blood as it collected around his mouth. Dread filled Kori's heart. Were these the kind of people that he was going to be locked up with?
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