by David Carter
“Here’s an idea for you to consider; how about I take away your pillow and mattress for the next few days, and feed you nothing but stale bread and warm water. Or seeing as you are a man who’s obviously passionate about food, would you prefer that I offered you a colour TV, a daily newspaper, and the promise of a giant cheeseburger and fries for dinner every night? Then we can all forget this whole episode ever happened.”
Jones thought about his proposal for a moment, realising that clearing his name was more important than his beaten pride. “After much consideration, I’ve decided to accept your generous offer. Oh, and can you make mine a chicken burger please? My doctor keeps hounding me about the fact that I’m supposed to be on a diet.”
“Anything to keep Ryan’s enthusiasm for justice off the record,” said Hampton, and jovially slapped him on the shoulder.
After he left Jones to get settled in his cell, he returned to the interview room, and said to Ryan, “If I had to guess, I think Karl got mixed up with who he saw at the crime scene. Yes, Jones was there and he obviously recognised him, but I also believe Jones’ story—that he definitely isn’t the killer.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Come on, Ryan, just look at him. Do you really believe that that tub-of-lard could be capable of taking out two young, fit police officers by himself?”
Ryan exhaled heavily. “When you put it like that—not in a million bloody years.”
“Exactly. Look, I don’t blame Karl for getting confused after the trauma he suffered to his head, but unfortunately that still leaves us back at square one.”
“Not necessarily,” said Ryan. “He still identified Jones as being at the crime scene, which we now know for a fact that he was. And now, thanks to Karl, he is in our custody. Let’s go kick over some rocks and see if what he claims isn’t all just smoke and mirrors. In the meantime, you can go back to The Greasy Axle and grab some dinner for yourself and the good judge. Oh, and another thing, make sure you book us separate rooms at the hotel for the duration of our stay.”
“Separate rooms?”
“Damn-right! I don’t want to listen to an old fart like you snoring all bloody night.”
Hampton remembered Ryan’s impending date with Sharon, and said, “Oh, sure you don’t, lover-boy, sure you don’t.”
Chapter 28
Sharon tried on at least twelve different outfits before she finally decided on her classic little black dress. It was the one item that every woman claimed was a must-have in their arsenal of clothing, and her dinner date with Ryan was the perfect night to pull out all the stops. She applied a flattering amount of makeup, and a touch of deep red lipstick before one last review in the mirror.
She looked absolutely stunning.
She knew she was running out of time, and this was confirmed when she heard a knock at the door to her upstairs apartment, built within the vast ceiling space of The Greasy Axle. “Just a minute,” she sang out.
She slipped on her black, peep-toe high heels and opened the door. Ryan was standing there, holding a bouquet of red roses, looking handsome in his long-sleeved button up shirt and black dress pants. He sported a lavish gold wristwatch, and wore a pair of shiny, black dress shoes. She nearly drooled as she gazed at his perfectly sculpted hair and freshly groomed face. She breathed in his cologne, going weak at the knees as she fantasised about what she considered to be the perfect looking man that she had all to herself for the evening.
She greeted him with a cheeky, put on, posh voice. “Why hello there, Cameron Ryan, may I say you look rather dashing on this fine evening?” She giggled.
Ryan was speechless as he got his first glimpse of her in anything other than her work clothes, and was anything but disappointed. The aroma of her seductive perfume drifted up his nostrils with the effect she hoped for, stimulating all his senses at once. Her fine, long hair was lightly curled and gracefully rested on her shoulders, drawing attention to the beautiful diamond necklace resting on her bare chest, just above the perfect amount of cleavage she had generously put on display. Ryan’s eyes travelled from her left ankle all the way up to her thigh as the split in the side of her dress revealed one of her alluring, tanned legs.
Jesus Christ, he thought. “You look incredible,” he said, and smiled. “These are for you.” He handed her the bouquet of roses.
She blushed. “Thank you, Cameron, they’re lovely.”
She quickly put them in a vase of water and fetched her purse from her bedroom. “Right; I’m officially ready. Shall we get this show on the road?”
He held his arm out for her, and she happily took it, before they walked down the stairs and out to his car.
Ryan played the perfect gentleman, opening the door for her and helping her into her seat, before getting in the driver’s side. He said, “You really do look amazing, Sharon. I’m the luckiest guy alive right now. But there’s something about you that I just can’t figure out...”
“And what’s that?” she said, slightly worried.
“Well, you’re gorgeous, you have your own business, and from what I can tell have a fantastic personality; you’re quite the catch. So, my question is: how on earth are you still single?” he teased.
She blushed. “You know, Cameron, I could ask you the very same thing.”
She gently put her hand on top of his. “I’m still single because I’ve been waiting for a decent man like you to find me,” she said sweetly. “What’s your excuse?”
“I’m not even going to try and top that answer!”
They both laughed.
As they pulled away from the curb, Sharon said, “I know what I just said sounds corny, but I’ve never wanted to settle for just anyone. Plus, I’m constantly working long hours to make my business successful, which means I’d only bother going on a date with someone who ticks all the boxes.”
“Well, I’m both honoured and flattered,” said Ryan. “I knew from the moment I saw you this morning that you were something special, but never could I have dreamed that I’d be taking you out to dinner right now! I think it was your subtle move of passing me my coffee across the table that pushed me in the right direction!” He laughed.
“Oh my God! I completely forgot about that! You must think I’m such a skank! I promise I don’t do that to all my male customers!”
“Please, don’t be sorry. The view was pretty good from where I was sitting.”
They chatted away to each other the whole way to Milton City, not once having to endure any moments of awkward silence. When they arrived, they enjoyed a gourmet three-course-meal at an Italian restaurant, where they talked non-stop about their work, where they grew up, and how they had both been in no hurry for marriage and children, as their careers had been their priority after graduating from university. They both felt as if they belonged together, as though their chance meeting was fate, even though it was through terrible circumstances that Ryan had been called to Glendale.
Sharon tried to be an independent, modern woman by insisting on paying the tab. Ryan said, “You know, it’s a gentleman’s right to pay for dinner, especially on the first date.”
Eventually they overcame their stubbornness with a compromise: agreeing to pay for their own meals separately.
“Difficult child,” he teased, as he paid for his, and then waited for Sharon to pay for hers. She rummaged through her purse, looking for her credit card, until she suddenly realised she had left it in her car earlier this morning when she’d nipped out to buy some groceries. Her face went bright red as she stood at the reception desk, embarrassed. Ryan’s heart softened as she stood there with her vulnerable side exposed. She gathered herself, and with a cheeky grin, she said, “It looks as though you get to be a gentleman after all!”
“That will teach you for trying to break the rules and traditions of a first date,” he said, and laughed.
He paid the tab, and they walked out of the restaurant and up the street. Sharon snuggled in close to him, her arm around his wa
ist, and his arm around hers. He said, “Would you like to catch a movie? Or go for a walk? I know a great coffee house not far from here, if you’re interested?”
“I don’t mind. As long as I’m with you,” she replied, completely letting her guard down.
Ryan stopped walking and turned to face her. They stared deeply and longingly into each other’s eyes, sensing one another’s desire. He leaned in, and gently kissed her lips. She kissed him back, softly at first, and then harder and faster as their feelings and physical attraction towards each another took over. Neither of them wanted to be the one to sever their first moment of passion.
Ryan eventually prised his lips away. “So, how about that walk and coffee?” he asked.
She couldn’t help smiling. She felt safe and secure while being held in his strong arms. She reached up high on her tip toes, and whispered into his ear, “Never mind the walk and coffee, why don’t you just take me home instead.”
He was instantly aroused, and to make sure they were both on the same wave length, he asked, “And what do you propose we do once we get there?”
She giggled. “You’re the detective, aren’t you? I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Chapter 29
Archer walked across the compound towards The Wolves’ Den, casually swinging the weapon one of the men in the metal shop had made for him in his hand. He went inside and walked over to Poochie’s cell.
“Do not forget my generosity,” he said to him sternly as he handed over the sixteen-inch-long piece of lead piping with a sharp point lathed on one end. “Now that you have the advantage of a deadly weapon, I shall give Bobby the option of choosing the cell in which the fight will take place.”
He walked down the centre aisle of the den, as if he were immortal, all the way to the end where Blaze sat on his bunk, silent and expressionless. “Good evening, Bobby,” he greeted him.
Blaze stared at the ground, refusing to acknowledge his presence, frustrating him immensely.
“I said, good evening, Bobby.”
“Evening, asshole.”
Archer smirked at his response. “Are you ready for your final fight, Bobby? You have my word that I’ll leave you be if and when you have killed Poochie. However, I may call upon you when I feel the urge, as you have a rather unique skill set when it comes to dismantling one of your fellow inmates.”
“Whatever.”
Archer paused, before he said, “In a recent addition to tonight’s programme, I have allowed Poochie to select any weapon of his desire, as you already have your precious little knife. But I will let you decide whose cell in which the fight will take place.
Blaze thought for a moment. “Fuck it, I’m sick of messing up my cell, and I think it’s only fair that Poochie should be torn apart on his home turf.”
“Then we are all set!” said Archer with glee in his voice.
He spoke into his hand-held radio that was attached to his waist belt, calling in the three guards he had ordered to wait outside. They came in and roughly marched Blaze to Poochie’s cell, locking the door behind him before they returned outside.
Archer turned on the cameras and waited for the action to begin.
Poochie brimmed with confidence as he gripped the crude weapon in his hands, looking forward to finally putting Blaze in his place; in the ground. He came at Blaze, swinging wildly. Blaze tried his best to avoid the early onslaught, but copped a blow to his left bicep as Poochie levelled him horizontally. His arm burned and temporarily went numb. Better to cop one in the arm than in the face, he thought as he dropped on one knee and slashed one of Poochie’s shins with his knife, which had little obvious effect on him.
Poochie grunted as blood oozed from the wound in his leg, and jolted the blunt end of his weapon down on Blaze’s head before he had a chance to move away. He further capitalised on his advantage as Blaze groggily tried to stand, landing a cheap shot across his back, causing Blaze to crash face first into the floor.
“Well done, Poochie, don’t give him an inch,” encouraged Archer.
“I’ll be giving him all seven inches when I’m finished with him,” he replied crudely.
Blaze’s head was throbbing; he sensed he was in trouble. He forced himself to scramble across to the other side of the cell, giving himself a few precious seconds to clear his head and regroup.
Poochie came forward, jabbing at him with the pointed end of the pipe. Blaze timed his counter attack to perfection. He dropped his knife to the floor, dodged the spike, and grabbed Poochie’s outstretched wrist, using his forward momentum to swing him into the bars of the cell wall directly behind him, dazing him momentarily. Then before he turned around, Blaze quickly squatted, picked up his knife, and slashed the back of Poochie’s upper leg, causing him to curse and limp severely.
Poochie roared and showed his mettle by staying on his feet. Blaze, who had overcome his early knocks, began his usual trash talk. “Come on, Pooch, show me what you got, big boy.”
He flashed a grin with his decaying teeth. “Like I said to the governor; I’ve got seven inches of love for you, baby.”
Blaze underestimated Poochie’s tolerance for pain, as before he could reply, he unexpectedly ran at him, slamming him against the concrete wall and driving the spike into his abdomen. Blaze cried out as he gave it a sharp twist, before ripping it out again. Blood soaked his shirt as he hunched over, holding his wound.
Poochie smartly decided to take out Blaze’s legs to stop him from scrambling away. He took a wide swing at his kneecaps with the lead pipe, and as he did so, Blaze mustered all his strength, jumping above its flight path, and slashing Poochie across the face with his knife all in one motion.
Poochie dropped his weapon and clutched his face. His fingers went straight through the two flaps of skin that used to be his cheek, shocking him. Blaze didn’t waste any time. He balanced the ledger, slashing the other side of his face, leaving his mouth spilling a waterfall of blood over the floor.
Blaze picked up the lead pipe before Poochie had any ideas about fighting back, viciously swinging it at his legs, and dropping him to his knees. Then he said, “I’d kill you right now, you sick piece of shit, but I want you to know what it feels like to be on the end of something that doesn’t belong up your asshole!”
Poochie fell forward, landing on all fours. Blaze seized the opportunity, shattering his ribs with the lead pipe. He savoured Poochie’s screams as he pummelled them over and over until the sound of cracking bones slowly blended into the dull thudding of beaten flesh. Blaze kicked him to the floor and rolled him over on his back, giving him a front row seat for what was to come.
Blaze held up both his hands: his knife in one, the lead pipe in the other. He winced from the pain of his own still bleeding gash in his abdomen, before he said, “What’s it gonna be, Pooch? Crushed knees or your balls cut off? I’ll let you decide.”
He was in no state to answer, but he managed to flinch one of his knees. Blaze sniggered. “Any smart man would’ve picked that option. But you aren’t even close to being considered a smart man, are you, Pooch? So you can say goodbye to your kiddie-fucking nuts.”
His eyes pleaded for Blaze to show mercy, before he started struggling as Blaze stripped off his pants. “Lie still, you fucking maggot! Or I’ll have to restrain you even further!” he shouted.
Poochie struggled even more, so Blaze picked up the pipe and took a practice swing at his knees, pulling up an inch short just to mess with his head. He chuckled in amusement before he rapidly raised the pipe above his head and slammed it down on Poochie’s left knee. He shrieked as his knee joint shattered from the blow. His pain barrier was stretched even further when Blaze destroyed his right knee, leaving him crippled and at his mercy, of which he would receive none.
Blaze dropped the pipe and held the point of his knife beneath Poochie’s testicles, torturing him, as he calmly held it there for what seemed an age. Then without warning, Blaze bunched up his child molesting toolbox in one hand and s
liced it off in one satisfying motion with the other. The bloodcurdling scream was deafening. Blaze casually tossed Poochie’s genitals onto his chest as he writhed around in unbearable agony, before spitting on his face. “That’s for all the innocent kids you raped, you fucking pig.”
He picked up both of Poochie’s shattered legs, dragging him over to the stainless-steel toilet in the corner of the cell. His screams continued as a trail of blood rapidly flowed from where his genitals hung only moments ago. “It’s okay, Pooch, it’s almost over. But for you to truly experience what it’s like to have your dignity stolen, you need to have a giant cock involuntarily shoved up your ass. Unfortunately, Archer’s head is physically much too big to fit up there, and he is too much of a pussy to come in here alone, so I’ll just make do with this rather fine weapon you so kindly had made for me.
Blaze dumped Poochie’s blood soaked abdomen across the toilet bowl, so that his hands and feet were touching the ground. His white, hairy ass stuck up in the air, while blood dripped from his wound into the small puddle of water in the toilet bowl beneath. “Say goodbye to your virginity, Pooch!” he snickered, sadistically enjoying the moment.
He took aim, raised the pipe above his head, and angrily drove the spike deep into his rectum, shredding through his colon and intestines in the most brutal display of torture anybody had ever witnessed in the den. Archer and the other prisoners blocked their ears as Poochie’s screams pierced their eardrums once more.
Blaze still wasn’t satisfied. There aren’t enough punishments in the world for a kiddie fucker, he thought.
Blaze crouched beside Poochie’s head, and calmly said, “Have you ever had a man shove his shit-stained cock inside your mouth, Pooch? Because Danny told me a little story about you today, revealing that it was one of your favourite things to force upon your underage victims. Unfortunately, once again I’m short of a shit stained cock because Archer’s on the other side of the bars, but don’t worry yourself, I’m sure I can improvise.”
