Tit for Tat

by Steven King

  Tick tock, tick tock somebody shoot that fucking clock.

  “Only three hours in and your already covered in sweat Mr. Y. Save some sweat for the rest of the hours. Save your sweat, like how you hold your breath, because I’m no longer sane. I’m not the man I used to be, but no matter. Besides, it’s time for one of Henry’s lessons. You remember Henry don’t you? The penis man? Hold still now, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it does me.”

  You’ll never get out of here alive, Chris. The voice of Mr. Yacomono rattling around in the fully insane mind of Chris.

  “That’s where your wrong Y man. I will get out alive, insane, but alive, and you will get out too, also insane, and also alive, but just barely. You will, however, benefit from having learned the lessons of Henry and Jeffery, and Peter and Andre. “

  “Just wait’ll you see the rat in my bag Mr. Y. Do you know the damn thing will eat absolutely anything and everything you put in front of it? That’s cause it’s insane Y man, just like me. It is also gluttonous, so very, very, very hungry. And later, after you’ve fed my rat, seen my box of a hundred nails up real close, and allowed me to take the chill off your balls, you can hand me over a list of the names and addresses of all the viewers in the area that paid to have me made insane. Then, I shall put their names in a hat and choose one to represent them as the sacrificial lamb. Normally, I would visit them all, but do you know what Mr. Y? Thanks to the work done on me, the good doc now tells me I only have about two days to live. Apparently, some of my organs are failing, something about internal injuries that won’t heal properly. Still, I should be grateful for the small things, like Henry’s cock in a doggie bag and also grateful for the big things, like Peter’s ten foot frame”

  “It was so much fun visiting with you, Mr. Y., I know I should visit more often. But because the good doc has told me I only got about two more days to live, I have to hurry off and make sure others get to share in the fun. Did you know, Y man, that Andre also got to share in the fun, hootin’ and hollerin’ and hollerin’ and hootin’ until I said to myself, ‘you’ll never guess in a million years whose face that is.’ Hmmm, that’s what happens when an insane man gives you a facial. Not pretty!”

  Tie a string around your finger, that way memories will linger. His mother’s voice.

  “Her damn voice just won’t go away. But the finger string thing won’t work for Mr. Y. He lost his fingers to my cigar end cutter and his curiosity killed not only the cat but also trimmed his ‘I’msitckingmynoseintoeveryone’sbusiness’ nose. Yeah, that nose!! That bulbous, had to much to fuckin’ drink, all red and swollen, Dicken’s novel type nose, and don’t you forget it…cause ya ain’t got anymore fingers to tie up with string no more, Y man. But having said that I got two days to live. Can’t git ‘em all. Can’t git ‘em all…can’t…can’t find the time.”

  Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock. “The thing about cooking one’s balls is that the hair singes, if you got any hair that is. I heard somewhere that Japanese men didn’t have any hair. Y did, or at least he used to. I didn’t bother using the hundred nails on Y. Y you ask? That’s funny. That’s so fucking funny. Y instead of why. Git it? Oh you gotta git it, cause someone’s gonna git it. I got the names and addresses off of Mr. Y’s computer. He couldn’t type in the info cause his fingers went the way of all flesh. I still got some of my fingers Y man. Oh Christ ya shoulda heard him holler. Eenie meenie minee moe, catch a Y man by the toe, if he hollers let him go, then cut away the other toes.” Bad boy, bad boy, watcha gonna do? Aint got no toes left to wear that shoe.

  “I shoulda been a singer, I shoulda…really…only two days left to kill a thousand spectators, all of them equally guilty. But alas only time for gittin one. I…I…”

  Chris wondered who should be the sacrificial lamb?! Who should bear the sins of so many?! All paid Y man to sit around their computers to watch him suffer! All partook with their wonton eyes! But Chris only had time to pay back one!!!

  Put your name in a pot, draw a lot, pick a spot, connect a dot, get it while it’s hot. Not his mother’s voice again. He wasn’t sure whose it was, but a lottery!!! Yeah, what excitement! Pick a name at random and then go visit the bearer of that name. Pay your last respects. Let that one pay for the crimes and misdemeanors of all the others. Like Jesus, who bore it all! The sins of all the people on one cross!!!

  At the cross at the cross, where I first saw the light and the burdens of my heart rolled away, it was there by faith, I received my sight and now I am happy all the day. His mother’s voice again, clear as day, mixing the sane with the insane, telling him with a song she’d sing at church, that it was better one should die for the sins of all.

  “They made me this way, ma. But one shall pay. My fingers are tickling the names in the pot. Time to choose, you snooze you lose. Time for only one more…but who…which one…which…witch…witch…ding dong the witch is dead, the wicked witch is dead!!! A woman! At random I picked a woman. Maybe we’ll have a little fun with this one, maybe…forgot, ain’t got no penis. Just like Henry and just like Japan man.

  Look ma, no hands! Chris talking to his mom after she bought him his first bike.

  It’s just like riding a bike son, you never forget. “But sex without no penis Ma?”

  “Murial Harper? Murial Harper! What kind of a name is Murial Harper!!! Mom told me always to respect women, to be kind and courteous to women but…but…sorry ma but she is the chosen one. The one, like Jesus who must die for the sins of so many others, so many watchers for all those who paid to have me…looking the way I do. Do you think Murial will find me attractive ma? I should think that is highly unlikely ma…I should think…I should think but I can’t…I’m…I’m crazy now ma, so utterly mad. Forty eight hours is all the time the doc says I have ma. But Murial lives right here in this town, ma. Twenty minutes by car. Or four hours walkin’. Can’t walkwith the feet Henry gave me. Sooooo I guess I’ll drive ma, I guess I’ll git behind the wheel and go…and go…”

  Giddyup horsey! His father’s voice.

  “Dear old dad! How you’d be proud of me now pops! I can’t talk to mom anymore now dad, cause she would hate me hurting a woman, but I gotta hurt dear Murial dad. I gotta hurt her real bad. All my remaining fury. Her eyes feasted on my pain and suffering and now I shall feast on her eyes. Her mouth laughed at my shouts of pain and her lips shall be painted with blood and her tongue stapled to her forehead. Murial dad. Shit! Is that with an ‘e’ or an ‘a’? There’s a blood stain on her name. Murial or Muriel?! What difference does it make you ask, dear old dad?! It makes a

  difference! It damn well makes a difference. You gotta spell one’s name right on a tombstone. No sense burying someone decently and in order if you can’t spell their name right! Ya might as well just toss their mangled corpse by the roadside and let the vultures pick away at what’s left. But there won’t be much left of poor Murial dad. Not when I git through wid ‘er. I’m a lean, mean, torture machine! If you were still alive dad you could lend me your cock and then I could do her but…but…not to worry old man. I’ll do her…I’ll do her for all the other guys they hurt…for all the other sufferers HER money bought and paid for. Bye, gotta go dad, gotta run, gotta scoot, gotta vamoose, cut loose, ride the caboose and make like a horny moose…only without the cock antlers but I shall fashion a cock dad, I shall. I know mom is mad with me… “

  Be respectful to women always my son. His mothers voice again.

  Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock!!! Only two days till…till…

  The quality of mercy is not strained. His English teacher’s voice, rattling around in the back of his head.

  Count to ten whenever you’re mad. Something he read somewhere, now vomited back up by his insane mind, offering him time, time to cool down.

  “I like being mad, it removes the sad of me being a cad and fills a bag with lots of glad.”

  “Be glad you asshole!” What kind of asshole hurts a wom
an?! His mother’s voice

  again. Only it didn’t quite sound like his mother’s voice. “Not with my ears lopped off it didn’t, not with my… Mom!? Is that you mom???”

  No, it’s not me, you pervert! Your mother doesn’t speak to sons that are on their way to hurt a woman. Hurtin’ a woman?! His mother’s voice again. Louder, angrier, more determined!

  “Sorry if I let you down mom, but the bitch hurt me first!”

  Is that how I raised you son? To go around calling a woman a bitch?! Hunting herdown with a bag of tools?! His mother’s voice again, chastising, criticizing, complaining.

  “Dad would understand, wouldn’t ya dad?”

  You betcha son, giddyup horsey?! His father’s voice again.

  “We gonna play horsey again dad? Will we ever play horsey again?!”

  The sounds of sobbing, of Chris sobbing uncontrollably. No mom to love him. No dad to play horsey with. No penis to screw with!

  “Can somebody lend me a fuckin’ penis?! I’m almost there! I’m almost at Murial’s or Muriel’s, or whatever damn name she woke up with one morning!”

  Don’t worry none about the spelling son. You won’t leave enough of her to bury anyhow. No corpse, no gravestone. Simple mathematics. Don’t get all caught up in the

  details when one and one equals two. Stop listening to your mommy tryna make it equal three. Your mom was always like that, tryna make one and one equal three. His father’s voice again, only sterner, firmer, soliciting a learner.

  There’s a tool for every purpose under the sun, did you know that Chris? Oh, sit the fuck still will you? Rearranging one’s face is like artwork. Flinching and twitching only makes me have ta do the damn thing all over again. And you know what that means, don’t you Chris? It means double for your trouble. Andre’s voice, resurrected from the back of Chris mind. But that was then and this was now. And suddenly he hated Andre most of all!!! Face man!!! Rat man!!!

  “My my my, how the tables have turned, haven’t they rat man? No more double for your trouble, not even triple will do, but rather quadruple for the pupil. And Andre certainly was my pupil, weren’t you face man. Nothin left of your ugly mug but bone and moan. Betcha yer still moanin’ aren’t ya bone face pupil. And thus ended the lesson. Dat’ll learn ya! Especially when I let the rat git carried away!”

  Can’t use the rat on Murial son. You let that insane rat feast on the Frenchie face of poor Andre right to the very bone. Y‘s plump face also made the rat as big as a cat. Gotta saddle that rat and ride ‘im if ya want him to carry his teeth over to Murial’s. Way too much froggie jap fat for the belly of the rat! His father’s voice again, explaining the facts of life, especially how things were, not how they ought to be!

  Explaining how things ought to be is your mother’s job son. But you ought not listen

  to her. She’ll only muddy the waters, throw a monkey wrench in the works, leave a scalpel sown up in the patient! Why leave a perfectly good scalpel inside. Why not use it ON the patient?! Logic, Chris, logic! Unlike your mother, not knowing that one plus one equals none! His father’s voice again.

  “I thought you said one plus one equals two, dad?!”

  It all depends on how you look at it son. It could equal two, but then that would leave some behind for the grave, and we don’t know the correct spelling for the gravestone, do we son? Why buy a dictionary? Why waste money? Why not just ensure nothing is left? His father’s voice again, promoting logic over mercy. Promoting an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. “Yes you’re right dad even mom quoted bible.”

  Forgive those that trespass against you! His mother’s voice again.

  “That’s highly hypocritical of you mother, forgiving women but not men?”

  When did I raise a son that talked back to his own mother, that was rude to his own mother?! His mother’s voice again, raising tones that were definitely not those of a happy camper.

  You tell her son. Your mother blamed me for every little thing, and yet, a certain nosy parker, trouble making, mother in law could do no wrong! She’s the reason we divorced! She’s the reason we couldn’t play horsey no more! His father’s voice again, telling him how he was right to talk back to his mother.

  “You said we’d go back to Scotland one day mother, back to where men wear skirts and people blow into bags of pipes and sea monsters are as natural as the air we breathe.”

  I don’t go on trips with sons that hurt women. His mothers voice again, as he tried the front double doors leading to the state of the art condo complex.

  “Locked, shit!”

  Try the back door son. The receiving doors. They sometimes leave them open for deliveries and such. His father’s voice again.

  I taught you that men were protectors. Remember the titanic? Remember a man dressing as a woman to get into a lifeboat strictly set aside for the women and children? He was knick named ‘skirts’ for the rest of his life! What monstrous namewill they give to you, son, if you carve up a woman?! His mother’s voice again.

  “I only got two days to live mom, so it doesn’t really matter what name they give me for a lousy forty-eight hours.”

  Sticks and stones have broke your bones but names are what will hurt you. A name lives on in infamy, pilloried from the tongue of tattle telling folk with longmemories, talking bout whatcha done long after you pass on. Is that whatcha want, folks railin’ on ya long after the worms have finished off your body? His mother’s voice again.

  “Ah, but that’s where your wrong ma, cause then folks would at least want to hear

  both sides! They would at least want to know why I’d done such a monstrous thing

  to a woman! They would then discover what she and others like her had done…and then…and then…”

  And then others would stop paying to make people suffer. You would save lives Chris. You would stop others from suffering Chris. Your story would be told! His father’s voice again.

  “Shit, the back door’s locked too!”

  You can scale the balconies if you want to Chris. Just stand on the ledge of the lower one and jump so your hands will grasp the sculptured gargoyles of the higher one. Then shimmy up until you stand on the next ledge. His father’s voice again, the voice of reason, of understanding.

  “But it’s sixteen floors up dad?!”

  Well then, the sooner you get started is the sooner you can tell Murial or Muriel why you came. Show her your tools. Gag her so she can’t scream then show her why you came, to test out your precision tools, a workman that needed not to be ashamed. His father’s voice again.

  A workman that needed not to be ashamed is from the bible, in the book of Timothy. It is a scripture talking about reading and understanding the scriptures. Your father is twisting God’s word around. His mother’s voice again, correcting, contradicting coercing, condescending, contrary, c…c…

  “I’m all out of ‘c’ words mom.”

  Turn it off!!! For the love of God will somebody puleeeeeeeeeeesse turn it off!!!! Jefferey’s voice, rattling around in his jumbled mind, trying to remind him…trying to prick his memory, but without a string on any of his leftover fingers.

  Chris paused as he vaulted over balcony number twelve. “Did I turn off the hot plate under Jefferey’s balls??!!”

  Humpty dumpty sat on the wall, humpty dumpty had a great fall. All the kings horses and all the kings men, couldn’t put humpty together again. His mother’s voice again, reading one of his favorite rhymes when he was only four.

  “Jeferrey the stump man sits on my table, cursing and swearing as much as he’s able. His balls are stuck on the stoves iron wire, but none of his friends, can put out the fire.”

  The rain came down in sheets now, and yet the night air still seemed strangely hot and stifling. Chris supposed it was one of the signs that he was dying, and perhaps had even less time then what the good doc had predicted. Forty-eight? Thirty-six? Twenty-four? It didn’t really matter to him now. All that mattered was that he could show Murial a good
time. He was mere minutes away now and he gripped the wings of the next gargoyle and swung upward onto balcony thirteen.

  A soaked Persian rug hung tenuously over the railing, making his flip onto the concrete floor a little less agonizing. He finally smiled. Only three more to go!

  And then it dawned on him. Some condo buildings skipped the thirteenth floor. What if, when he entered the sixteenth floor, he was really entering the seventeenth? What if, he ended up having fun with the wrong woman?

  The ledge was slippery as he finally swung over what he assumed was the sixteenth floor. Each floor had four sets of balconies and Murial’s, being 1604 would face the south. As long as he had the right floor, Chris knew he had the right condo.

  “Nail her tits to the hardwood floor. Then spank her bum with a two by four. Make her pretty with a facial peel and don’t stop cutting when you hear her squeal! I…I should’ve been a poet. I should’ve been a-”

  You’re actually going to hurt a woman? What kind of a monster have I brought into the world? Had I known you were going to turn out so rotten I would have crushed your good for nothing skull as you came out of my belly! His mother’s voice again, reiterating her profound disgust.

  “Tit for tat, mother. Tit for tat!”

  Render unto Caesar what belongeth to Caesar and unto God what belongeth to

  God. His father’s voice again, urging him onward.

  “I’m one step ahead of you dad. Vengeance belongeth to the almighty and I shall render unto him the vengeance he requires and the hurt to Murial she so richly deserves.”

  The heavy drapes were pulled tightly across the sliding glass doors, letting Chris know that Murial was one that obviously valued her privacy. Still, the bright light

  beaming through the tiny sliver cracks told him she also liked her condo brightly lit.

  The better to see you with, my dear. His mother’s voice again, telling him about little red riding hood.

  Open up the door bitch, or my son will huff and he’ll puff and he’ll blow your house down. His father’s voice again, making Chris smile. “I don’t need to blow it down dad, I’ve got glass cutters, besides, up on the sixteenth floor she probably rarely locks her balcony door. It’s not like someone could just climb up sixteen floors, or could they?”