by Steven King
“Look,” said Chris. “I don’t have any beef with you guys. So if you will just take me back to where you left Jeffery standing, then I won’t have to hurt you. But if you don’t, I’ll kill all three of you right here, right now.
“You seem to be forgetting, kid. We’re the ones holding the gun.”
“For now.”
“What’s that mean, for now?”
“Better frisk ‘im George. Make sure he ain’t packing.”
“Hold your arms up, freak man. But don’t make any sudden moves or my friend here will blow your ugly head off.”
“Hellllllooooo, what do we have here. Say Mikey, this freak’s gotta gun. Lookie here, a twenty two caliber. And, hold on…there’s more…what do we have here. Say Mikey, look what I found, one of them electric dodads, a taser I think they call it.”
“Is that how you kidnapped Jeffery’s friends, with a taser? I betcha thought we wasn’t gonna find it? I betcha thought you was gonna zap us with it? I betcha thought-”
The left hand of Chris was lightning quick, it pressed the button that unleashed the switch’ blade’s insidious sharp edge and blood gushed from Mikey’s juggler vein like a fountain, causing him to drop his gun and press both hands to his own throat.
Chris calmly picked up the gun with his hand that still had three fingers and shot George directly between the eyes. The driver was next, taking two shots to the head.
Chapter Five
Company’s coming son. Put on your Sunday best. His mother’s voice again, reminding him that all his relatives would be coming by for thanksgiving turkey.
You know what I used to love most about our family gatherings at thanksgiving mom? It was the fact that usually, on such special occasions, everybody showed up. It made me love the ambience, the mystique, the fellowship. Take tonight for instance. Who would have thought that all four of my dearest buddies, Henry, Peter, Andre and Jeffery would all join me, together, in celebrating such a special occasion?
And of course, dearest mom, what thanksgiving would be complete without a turkey to carve up. Well, I may not have a turkey in the bird sense, but I do have a turkey in the people sense. Jeffery is gonna be our bird this year mom. He is our volunteer bird. Well, he may not have volunteered himself, but I volunteered him on behalf of his three other friends. It was either gonna be him or them. I’m sure they are glad it was him. Did I say that right mom? Did I use proper English?
I’m afraid I can’t talk to you out loud mom. I have given Henry, Peter and Andre some powerful sedatives to knock them out. I don’t want to disturb them just yet, But, when they awake, they shall be introduced to the new and improved Jeffery.
You can’t find a doctor over the holidays when you need one. His mothers voice again, lamenting the fact that when he was only four, he broke his leg on thanksgiving day. Most of the doctors at the hospital had gone away for the thanksgiving weekend, leaving poor injured Chris and his mom to wait for a full eight hours before finally seeing a doctor.
“You were lucky, Jeffery. You didn’t have to wait at all. No, no, no. After applying a little extra pressure to the face of Andre, I received a wealth of information on that underground doctor you guys used to use on me to stop the bleeding after each session. You do remember doctor Peterson, don’t you Jeffery? He is the alcoholic that lost his license to practice medicine by operating on people at the hospital while drunk as a skunk? Well, I understand he has to make a living somehow. Do you know that Andre here had thirty grand stashed in his house from his ill gotten gains, gains he received by having me, and other poor saps before me, so brutally tortured on your pay per view scheme. Well you imagine my absolute surprise at Andre offering me the money to stop the knife from scalping him. Cowboys and Indians, Jeffery that’s all it was. Surely you used to play Cowboys and Indians as a child? No? Well that’s strange, because you played Cowboys and Indians on me, scalping me the way you used to. I’m not boring you, am I Jeffery. I know you have that cloth draped over you with only your head showing, but don’t worry. I shall momentarily unveil the masterpiece that you are, the masterpiece that the good doctor Peterson has helped you become. I gave him the whole thirty grand to operate on you Jeffery, and you know what? He told me that was far more money than he ever saw from you or your three cohorts here, for all the patch up work he did on me after each of your brutal sessions. He kept me alive, he did, just so you could keep working on me over and over for that damnable thirty days.
I sentence you to thirty days of being grounded. His mothers voice again, during a mock judge and jury sentencing, which inevitably took place whenever Chris would misbehave and have to be punished.
Tick tock, tick tock somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.. “Wakey, wakey guys. Here’s some smelling salts to stop your sleep. It’s time to view the Jeffery bird!”
“The thing to remember with amputations, the good old doctor informed me, as he was working on poor Jeffery here, is that you have to let the patient know that there will be some itching where the cuts took place. Some real bastard itching I’m told. The only problem here is, that when you operate to remove two legs and two arms, there are no hands, feet, toes, fingers, knees or elbows left to scratch with.”
Without so much as a stump or lump, you’re only left with a head and stump.
“That’s the price you pay for being a turkey, I suppose, lots of itching and nothing to scratch with. Thanksgiving after all, is always like that, isn’t it? One person wants a wing, and just plucks it right out of the socket. Another person wants a leg and likewise just plucks it right out of the socket. Go figure. I think the really amazing thing is, that the good doc, although sickened by what he had done to poor Jeffery here, had a hard time accepting that he had actually earned the thirty grand.”
“Anything else you need done on Jeffery here,” he asked me?
“Not offhand, nothing more that I can think of anyways.”
“Well, if you think of anything, just let me know, he muttered disappointedly as he finished his cuts on you Jeffery. Well, now for the unveiling. Voila! Off comes the cloth and oohs and ahhs from Henry, Petey and one-eyed Andre here on the new and improved Jeffery.”
Look ma, no hands and no feet! The voice of Chris at age six, telling his mom he was steering his new bike and not using any hands or feet for about five seconds.
“Ahh, whatsa matter Jeff, why so glum? When I was little, Jeff, do you know I used to pretend sometimes I was a prized turkey like you? I would take my hands off the steering and my feet off the pedals and glide for about five seconds. Mind you, I had an advantage over you Jeff. You see, I had training wheels. I’m afraid the good doc left you with no training wheels. No stumps to attach artificial limbs to. All you are now is a head and a stump. But not to worry. I am not going to do anything more to you. You were, after all, just the torso man, so, I’m honoring your title by leaving you with nothing but a torso, and a head, of course. I am not going to kill you Jeff, I’m just gonna let you sit on your rump for thirty days and watch me work on Henry, Peter and Andre here. And at the end of thirty days, after I make sure they go the way of all flesh, I will drop you off on your front porch, safe and sound, and leave you with the rest of your life to be a thanksgiving turkey year after year. It’s the least I can do! Now, it’s time again to make our good friend Peter here taller. Much, much taller.”
“The good thing about power drills,” I said, holding one up close to Jeffery so he could get a real good look at all it’s features, “is that you have a choice of battery powering it or just plugging it in.”
“Don’t…don’t hurt me,” he blubbered, his eyes wet, red and wild with intense terror. “You promised you…you wouldn’t do more to me…more than…more than you already have.”
“I don’t want to hurt you Jeffery, or even do more to you” I informed him, “honest I don’t, but playing with Peter here over the last ten days has convinced me he’s not going to get much taller than he is now. And he has gotten a real black and b
lue tan from all that hammer work as well. I mean, I wouldn’t want him to get too much color.”
Tick tock, tick tock somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.
“The problem with time,” Andre once told me, “is that it is always changing. Take the time your face spends in the cage with Mr. Hungry Rat here. The minutes you share with him might seem like hours, whereas the hours I let you sleep might seem like mere minutes.”
Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. His mothers voice again, from when he was a mere four years old, propped up on her knee.
“The more time I spend with you Andre, is the more I am convinced it is just not possible for you to get any uglier than you are now. But then again you never know.”
Some tools are guaranteed for a lifetime whereas other tools aren’t guaranteed at all.
You can’t always judge a book by its cover. His mothers voice again, disappointed that one of the books she read seemed to bore Chris.
“You can’t always judge a tool by how long it lasts,” I again told Andre. “It is more useful and accurate to judge it’s effectiveness by the mark it leaves on the job it does. Take this power drill here for instance. Good old Jeffery here doesn’t think that testing it out is a good idea. Do you Jeffery?”
“Don’t hurt me…you promised me you…not any more than you have already. I’m a turkey, you said. I will drop you off on your porch, you said. So…so don’t hurt me.”
“The funny thing about you not wanting to be hurt, Jeffery, is that I don’t have to waste any time or effort tying you up. You don’t have any arms to tie. Or legs to bind to the chair. You’re not like the others at all, are you Jeffery? Why I could spend all day introducing you one by one to the dozens of nifty little drill bits on this here brand new drill and you wouldn’t be able to stop me at all, not unless of course your tiny cock could wave and knock that drill out of my hands. But if you don’t have a cock the size of Henry’s, don’t expect him to knock it out of my hands either. He don’t have a cock anymore Jeffery, just a stub that the doc patched up after my last surgical cut.
This is the last slice, Chris, so you need to make it last. His mothers voice again, as she gave him the last remaining sliver of his birthday cake.
“You also have to remember Jeffery, that Henry’s feet aren’t what they used to be. Ten days of pounding that pavement have really caused them to just fall right off. Worn down to the nub as workmen are always fond of saying. So if you don’t tell me what I wanna know, I might just turn on this drill and have some fun with you instead. I need to know who the mastermind of the torture organization is. Who put you four up to kidnapping and torturing me? Who, Jeffery, who?”
“I can’t tell you. He said he’ll come after my family. He told us many times before. If we told who the head of it was he would kill us then kill our families.”
“You don’t have to worry about him killing your friends Peter, Henry and Andre here. I’m doing a pretty good job of that already. As for you Jeffery boy, I’m sure you’d rather be dead anyways. As for your families, I’ll kill them a hell of a lot more slowly and horribly than he ever could, if you don’t tell me who the head guy was that hired you. After paying you guys to work on me for thirty days, do you really think I’m gonna leave anything of him alive to hurt your families?”
The lesser of two evils. His mothers voice again, teaching him how to choose the path of least resistance.
“Would you rather take a chance on him meeting up with your kids and wives, or on me meeting up with them?”
“His name is Yakomono. He lives in Japan during the winder months, but in the summer, he has an office right here in this city at the Glauch buiding on Elm Street. He goes for lunch every day at the Plaza Hotel, he-”
“Shhh, that’s more than enough info,” cautioned Chris. “You don’t want a guy to shoot the noisy messenger now do you?”
Too many cooks spoil the broth. His mothers voice again, warning him about the dangers of too may chiefs and not enough Indians.
Toss those veggies in the stew, if chefs get bossy cook them too.
“I’m not going to use the drill on you after all,” informed Chris, turning it off much to the relief of Jeffery. “Nawww, I’m thinking instead about chefs and stews and cooking. Did you know Henry here cooked my balls, Jeffery? What’s that, you didn’t know that? Well I knew that. Mind you, they were my balls Jeffery, just like the ones dangling from your torso right now. But not to worry, Henry’s balls got a taste of their own medicine. Funny thing is though, Henry knows how to dish up a meal but he doesn’t know how to have the same done to him. You didn’t know that Jeffery? Well I know that, cause I’m the one that left the stove on for too long.”
Don’t forget to turn off the stove when them fries are done. His mothers voice again, when she first started letting him use the stove at age twelve.
Come out come out wherever you are. His mothers voice again, during hide and seek. “Come out, Yakomono, wherever you are? Don’t make me come getcha.”
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “I’m not sure how long I’ll count to before I go fetch Yakomono. Whaddaya think Jeffery?”
“I still can’t believe I left that hot plate on under Henry’s balls all that time and just went for a nap and forgot all about ‘em. It was the damn smoke detectors that finally woke me up Jeffery. I mean it’s not like Henry wasn’t screaming as well. Anyways, Jeffery, to make a long story short, I burnt Andres dinner. You mean I didn’t mention that Andre ate Henry’s balls? Well, he hadda eat something. I was gonna feed ‘em to the rat but the rat ate some of Andre so…ooohhh shit, pay attention Jeffery, your eyes are glazing over and your mumbling through the rag I stuffed in your mouth. Don’t you go telling me no nonsense like that hot plate is up too high. It’s just on simmer. Your balls can last for hours at that temp, or didn’t you know that? Not like Henry’s that were left on high.” Not like…not like…
Come out come out wherever you are. His mother’s voice again after Chris had hid a second time. “My mom found out where I was hiding Japan man. But I won’t need her to find you. That’s cause Jeff with the simmering balls here told me all about your hiding place.”
Chapter Six
Chris dumped some water on his groggy head to revive him.
“How did you find me,” he asked?
“That’s not important,” he answered. “What’s important is that I am now insane.”
“How did you overpower me, how did you manage to tie me up and-”
“A taser stun gun. You know you really should not open your door to strangers.”
“I thought you were room service. I thought-”
“It doesn’t matter what you thought, Japan man. It’s what you know. Do you know your organization made me insane? And, do you know for example, who I am?”
“I know.”
“Ahhh, so you’ve seen what money can buy. A good time for all, except of course for me. Did you know I didn’t have a good time when you were paying others to do
unto me what I’m about to do unto you.”
“You’ll never get out of here alive, Chris. You’ll-”
“Shhh,” Chris insisted, shoving a sock in his mouth to keep him quiet, as he kept straining torturously hard against the ropes binding his hands and feet. “This won’t take long, besides, time goes by faster when you’re having fun. And I’m about to have some fun. You paid to have fun with me. I’m doing it for free.”
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. That’s Dickens Japan man. It means best for me and worse for you. By the way, I hope you’re not gonna break my new drill here. I’m not sure the warranty extends to wear and tear on flesh and bone.” I’m not sure…I’m…Scottish…not Japanese…I’m…where’s my bonnie….
The lochs of Scotland, and the vivid green hills rising majestically above them, with no respite from shadows offered by
their tree studded cliffs, cliffs that jutted out precipitously to paint pictures of waving branches on the fish filled waves.
But we’re having balls for dinner, Japan man, not fish…not…not…
My bonnie lies over the ocean, my bonnie lies over the sea. His mothers voice again when he was two years old, rocking him in his arms.
I’m over the ocean where rolling waves cause prehistoric moss to change from green to burgundy when deprived of oxygen…but you’re still breathing Japan man…you’re still…oozing from your pores…despite the liquid burgundy you’re still…
“Too porous, my uncle would say. Did I tell you about my uncle, the expert workman. He was a Jack of all trades and surprising master of some. Pay attention Mr. Yacomono, or do you mind if I call you Mr. Y for short. My tortured tongue hurts at long words, just like yours is gonna hurt. Like the rest of you is gonna hurt. You see, I’m teaching you to be overly porous so you can soak up pain.” So you can…so you can…
“Before you paid those guys to kidnap me I was planning a trip to Scotland, to visit my mom. Have you ever been to Scotland, Mr. Y?”
If you close your eyes you can almost see it, the most beautiful country on earth. His mother’s voice again, reminding him how fond she was of the country of their birth.
“I was born in Scotland, Mr. Y. But because of you and your damn torture operation, I will never get to go there again. You have made me far too ugly to wear a kilt, or play the bagpipes or to spend the morn overlooking the worn castle turrets, eating kippers and sipping good scotch whisky, especially when I got no more scotch lips to sip with. Your guys took my lips, Mr.Y, just like I’m gonna take yours.”
My wee bonnie Scotland. His mothers voice again, longing to see home once more, and prance giddily over rich arable lowlands, surrounded by weather scarred hills, and ancient pillars of twisted rock, sharing them with the screaming eagles that now sporadically nest there, almost extinct…almost…
