Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  “I’m not finished, Mazerski, now listen up. The cargo must be arranged into groups of five and seven. Do not separate the cargo. It’s a must that each group be on the same truck. You will make a number of stops in Nevada, Utah, California, and Arizona.

  “I guess we’ll be provided instructions on how to make sure these groups are to be transported.”

  “You will be one week from tonight. Just be there!”

  “We’ll be there; you just hold up your end of the bargain.”

  Trent checked in at the hotel in Tijuana at nearly five in the afternoon. He had barely gotten to his room when his cell phone vibrated.

  “Rodeo Man, Slinger, just wanted to give you a quick update. Make sure your calendar is clear for exactly one week from today. Is that a problem?

  “No, that’s not a problem. Sure ya still wanna do this, Sling?”

  “Yeah, I’ll give ya the details when we meet.”

  It was about time to get back out there in the Tijuana underworld. Trent was ready for whatever came his way, and he knew any intel he collected was not going to be without ratcheting up danger for his own personal security. This time he was going to have to be more direct and forceful in getting information, which would require direct contact with these Syrian terrorists. He planned to take hostages and force them to talk. As soon as darkness fell, he slipped out of the hotel unnoticed. Trent returned to the bar where he first saw the Islamic terrorist Mehmoud. He knew that guy was in the know, and he had information that was critical to extracting what he needed. Trent was also aware that those savages usually didn’t drink, but the Prophet Mohamed would probably turn a blind eye if it meant killing infidels. The problem he faced was, even if he located him, he would not be alone. That could complicate the situation.

  Trent ordered a Cerveza and food while he waited in hopes Mehmoud would return to play pool or something. He ate heartily and drank several beers, but no Mehmoud and his compadres. He paid and got up to leave when he saw Mehmoud and a companion come through the door. He sat back down and ordered another beer. The two of them decided to play a game of pool, and that was when Trent decided to create a little diversion. He plucked a sugar shaker from a table and walked passed the pool table on the way to the head. As he passed by, he allowed its contents to pour on the floor. When he came back, he emptied out one of his jars of red fire ants, and then returned to his seat at the bar. He sat there sipping his beer and observed Mehmoud and his friend out of the corner of his eye. It must have been a good ten minutes before ants began appearing on the pool table, and then both of them were being bitten by the little formicidea.

  In Arabic, they began yelling, jumping, and slapping their legs. If they had been Irishmen, one would have thought they were doing an Irish jig. They threw their cues upon the pool table in disgust and headed for the door.

  This is my chance Trent thought. He immediately followed them out the door as they continued to rail against the bar. They turned onto a dark street, and Trent circled around the block as they walked and he came face to face with them. By then, Trent had put a silencer on his Glock, and he shot Mehmoud’s friend dead, right between the eyes, and he dropped to the concrete.

  In Arabic Trent said, “Say one word, and I’ll kill ya just like that pig-friend lying at ya feet. Just for ya information, all of my bullets are soaked in pig’s blood. Keep quiet or ya’ll never see your 72 virgins. Do as I say and don’t open your filthy mouth!” He whispered loudly.

  Trent marched him several blocks until his hotel came in sight. Then, Trent sent a crashing blow to the back of Mehmoud’s head with his pistol. His knees buckled and Trent hit him again. He made sure he was out. He slung him over his shoulder and entered the lobby.

  “Is that man sick?” The desk clerk asked.

  “Not really, he just had too much ta drink and passed out. Thought I’d take him up ta mah room and let ’em sleep it off.”

  “That’s good, but you know you will be charged extra,” he said in broken English.

  “It’s okay, what’re friends for? I’ll settle up in the mornin’.”

  Once Trent got into the room, he flung Mehmoud across his bed. He ripped his shirt off his unconscious body as well as all of the rest of his clothes. After he was completely naked, he bound his hands tightly behind his back, bound his feet, duck tapped his mouth, then picked him up and dropped him into the bathtub face up. Trent turned the TV on a little loud. Mehmoud was still unconscious, so Trent turned the water on very slowly. In less than a minute he began coming around, and suddenly his eyes sprang wide open.

  “Okay, you goat fuckin’ piece a shit, ya gonna tell me stuff I wanna know. I can see ya understand English purdy good. I can speak yor Pig Latin okay mahself, so I’m gonna ask questions, and you gonna answer.”

  Mehmoud violently shook his head no.

  “Well, tough guy, I got all night, and it’s gonna be a long one. I got stuff in store for ya that ya ain’t spectin’. Ya ain’t in GITMO, you in GITLESS! I don’t do no waterboardin’, that’s for sissies, but I do know how to git you to tell me what I gotta know.”

  Once again, Mehmoud shook his head no.

  “Since you ain’t nothin’ butta ISIS savage, I’m gonna treat ya that way. Let me show you somethin’,” Trent said, reaching in his bag for the jar with the spider. “Take a good look at this little fella. Ya know what he’s called?”

  Mehmoud shook his head no. “Let me tell you some ’bout this critter. He’s called a brown recluse spider. He’s one of the meanest things in nature. If he bites ya, you’ll more than likely die, but it’ll be slow. Where he bites, the flesh will rot, and the poison will fill your body,” Trent said smiling.

  Trent could see abject fear in Mehmoud’s eyes, and he began, squirming and thrashing about in the tub. Then Trent placed the jar containing the spider against the left side of his face.

  “If I was you, I wouldn’t move too much ’cause you might break the jar. Then, you’d better pray to Allah that he don’t get in ya ear or go up ya nose, ’cause these things like dark places,” Trent said with a smile.

  Mehmoud’s muffles became louder, but he did stop moving, and his eyes rolled down to observe the jar.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much ’bout him, yet. He’s got friends. Let me show you some of ’em,” Trent said, holding up the jar of scorpions. If none of these works, he’s got more friends,” he said, holding up two jars of fire ants. “I think they wanna git to know ya. If you say no, they might git upset, now you don’t wanna hurt their feelin’s, do ya?”

  Mehmoud’s wild-eyes were dripping with fear, and he shook his head no.

  “That’s real good ’cause I kinda like all these critters, and I’d hate to have to leave ’em here with ya, ’cause they just might wanna eat on ya till there wouldn’t be much left. I got some honey they might like better, and I could just pour it on ya, and they could have some desert. Better yet, maybe ya’d like to eat them first. All I gotta do is rip this tape off your mouth, and if ya yell, ya gonna git a mouth full of sand and ants. I’m savin’ the scorpions for later. Now I need to pour a little honey on ya,” he said, opening the jar he’d taken from his pantry at home.

  Trent drizzled the honey all over Mehmoud’s face and down his torso to his private parts. “I’m gonna take the tape off your mouth, and if ya open ta yell, I’m gonna fill ya up with these here ants. Got that!”

  Mehmoud shook his head in the affirmative. Then Trent poured a puddle of honey in the middle of Mehmoud’s chest and took the jar of scorpions and pressed it firmly against his breast bone.

  “It’d be a good idea if you don’t move, ’cause this glass jar could roll off and break, then these critters are gonna git mad as hell, and when these varmints stick their stinger in ya, sometimes a leg or arm can get total numb and swell up real big. Even yor tongue can get so big ya choke to death. I gotta warn ya, if ya don’t give
me good answers, I’ll just break the jar with this here pistol. Speaking of breakin’ a jar, I want my spider to git real comfortable so I’m gonna squeeze him up tight between your legs and cram him under your balls and dick. I can also break that jar, too. One little whack of this ole pistol, and you and Mr. Brown Recluse are gonna git up real close and personal.”

  By now, the threats made were driving Mehmoud mad, but he had no intention of revealing any information to this crazy person. He was convinced that it was all a bluff, but still he wasn’t completely sure. He began thinking is this insane infidel going to just mentally try to drive me mad or kill me? Whatever, I cannot talk.

  “Now, I’m gonna take this tape off your mouth. Don’t forget, you make one sound, and I’m gonna fill your mouth up with these fire ants. If I need to, I’ll pry your mouth wide open with a screwdriver, and while I’m doin’ that, this here jar with the scorpions is probly gonna git broke,” He said, reaching in his bag for a slot screwdriver.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mehmoud was beside himself as he watched a smiling crazy man just sitting alongside the bathtub with a jar of ants and screwdriver in hand. He felt he absolutely could not give up any information, but this man was out of his mind.

  Trent ripped the tape from Mehmoud’s mouth and was ready with the ants and screwdriver, but he made not a sound or movement.

  “Good, we makin’ some progress here. Now, me and you gonna have a little conversation ya fuckin’ Islamic terrorist. It goes like this, I ask a question, and ya give me a truthful response. If at any point, I think you’re lyin’, I’m gonna break one of these jars,” he said, placing two more jars of ants on top of Mehmoud.

  Finally, Mehmoud spoke, “Are you out of your mind?” He asked in Arabic.

  “Who me?” Trent replied in Arabic as well.

  “Why would you do this to me?”

  “That’s a stupid question. I don’t have a lot of time for this crap! I’m gonna cut it short with a few questions of my own, then I want some goddamn answers, you uncivilized piece of shit! Why do you people chop off the heads of innocent folks? Why do ya stone women to death in honor killin’s? What ’bout all those men you weirdos drown in big steel cages, set fire and burn alive, or kill Christians ’cause they don’t believe like you? Whydaya throw homosexuals off buildings? Let me answer for ya, it’s ’cause you believe in a false prophet who tells you to kill infidels! Before this night’s gone, you’re gonna wish you’d never heard of the Quran or that child rapist pig Mohammed! I know you understood every word I said, even though it was all in English, not Pig Latin! Now, let’s get down to bidness. When do ya sickos plan yor big attack on our soil?”

  “I don’t know, I-I-I really don’t know,” he said nervously.

  “That’s a damn lie, and we both know it. Looks like it’s time to break the first jar,” Trent said, raising his Glock above the jar of scorpions on Mehmoud’s chest.

  “Wait, wait, don’t do it!”

  “You damn people believe it’s okay to lie to infidels, don’t ya?”

  “But I’m not lying. There are things I don’t know yet,” he pleaded.

  “Before I break this jar, I’m gonna give you one more chance. Are you savages plannin’ on sending Syrian killers into America by truck? Now, don’t give me no goat-shit!”

  “I can’t say,” he replied in a shaky voice.

  “No, it’s not you can’t say, you won’t, you lyin’ goat-fucker!” With that he broke a jar near Mehmoud’s face, and the ants started running about frenetically near his eyes and nose.

  “Please, please get them off. I beg you!” He exclaimed in Arabic.

  “I can’t, them ants gotta mind of their own. I suggest ya don’t move, ’cause them scorpions want out, too. I could pour some water on them ants, that might help.”

  “Do it! Do it, now! Please! Please!”

  “Let me get some water,” Trent said as he slowly got up to get a cupful.

  “Quick, quick, they’re in my nose!”

  “Okay, here goes, but this water might make ’em madder,” Trent said as he poured the water over Mehmoud’s face.

  “They’re biting me! Biting! Biting!” he said loudly.

  “Keep your voice down, and suck it up, you savage, or I’ll let them all loose on ya.”

  “No, no, no, don’t do that, please!” Mehmoud beseeched him.

  “You gonna answer my questions truthfully?!”

  “Yes, yes, of course, of course!”

  “What about them Syrians in trucks?” Trent asked.

  “If I tell you, you won’t kill me and let me go?” Mehmoud pleaded.

  “If I get the truth, I won’t kill ya, and I’ll leave ya alone. ’Cause you ain’t no martyr. No virgins for you scumbag.”

  “In two weeks some of us will be crossing the border in big trucks—get these ants off me!”

  “I’ll put some more water on ’em, that should slow ’em down a bit,” Trent said, getting another cupful.

  “I told you what you asked, now let me go,” he begged.

  “You think I’m stupid?!” Not on ya life. You didn’t tell me shit. You’re a damn liar and I know it. It’s time for another jar. This time, I’m gonna let those scorpions sting the livin’ hell out of ya. You wait till they get in yor mouth, nose, and ears. They gonna go there first, ’cause they like dark places.”

  “No! Do not do that!” No! No!” He yelled.

  “Keep yor damn voice down!”

  “All I can say is-is-is what I know,” Mehmoud stammered.

  “Look, you fuckin’ savage, I want some details, not camel dung!”

  “In two weeks from today, we have teams of five and seven refugees loading on semi-trucks on U.S. side of the border. They are to be taken to different cities and dropped off,” Mehmoud rattled off.

  “Why are ya being dropped off in teams?”

  “To…build bombs,” he replied.

  “What kinda bombs?”

  “You call them dirty bombs,” Mehmoud replied.

  “Ya holdin’ back, somethin’ I can tell. What else them teams gonna do?”

  “We-we-we have scientists who will put together nuclear devices for big cities.”

  “Ya layin’ there all comfy and cozy tellin’ me ’nuff lies to choke two camels!

  “I am not lying!”

  “Piece of shit, for yor information, they’re not refugees, they are fuckin’ Syrian Islamic terrorists! You really pissin’ me off with these half-stories,” Trent said, brushing some of the ants back into the tub. “This the only place these terrorists being picked up?”

  “I-I-I think so, don’t know!”

  “Okay goat-fucker, it’s time to break the scorpion jar, but before I do that, I gotta cut the air conditioner off. These critters like it hot.”

  “Don’t do that, please, I’m begging you!”

  “You got one more damn chance to give me the full story, so you better come clean or you’re gonna be one miserable son-of-a-bitch!

  “I been told trucks will be waiting in Columbus, New Mexico to pick up others next week.”

  “You lyin’ again!”

  “No, I’m not! It is truth!” Mehmoud exclaimed. “I’m telling truth!”

  “Who’s behind all this shit?” Trent asked.

  “Your government!”

  “Who in my government?” Trent asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe CIA, HLS, or Ad-Ad-Administration. They are helping!”

  “That’s it, you lied again!”

  “Give me names! I wanna know who they are!”

  “I swear; I don’t know names! Imam Hassan Hassan knows! I don’t! I don’t!

  “Where’s this Imam fella?”

  “Al-Raqqa, Syria,” Mehmoud replied.

  “Real convenient! Bet you’d never guess,
but I been to Raqqa hell hole!”

  “I’m done with ya.” Trent said, readying to duct tape his mouth again.

  “Wait! Wait! You’re not going to kill me, are you?” He asked in Arabic.

  “No, that won’t be necessary, but I gotta keep ya here. I’ll be right back,” he said, taping his mouth again.

  When Trent returned, he smashed the glass of scorpions on Mehmoud’s chest with his gun and piled a heavy nightstand on his torso to keep him confined in the tub. Then, he broke the rest of the ant jars and the one with the brown recluse spider. Mehmoud was left alone and alive.

  While Trent was quickly packing his stuff, he could hear muffles coming from the bathroom. He put a Do Not Disturb sign on the door and went down to check out.

  “Where’s Maria this morning?” Trent asked the desk clerk cheerfully.

  “On vacation.”

  “Too bad, I wanted to tell her goodbye.” Trent said.

  “You the one workin’ when I came in last night. Left my friend in the room, and he’s still not feelin’ too good and not ta be disturbed. I’ll pay for another night’s stay. He’s gonna need it.

  “What’s your room number?” The desk clerk asked.

  “Two-thirty-seven.”

  Trent walked across the border to his truck, drove back into Tijuana, and picked up his load of tomatoes bound for Albuquerque. As he drove, he worried about what was to become of Slinger. He knew this was a bad choice Slinger had made, but he couldn’t stop him. Mehmoud had verified the pickup planned for Columbus, New Mexico. The deal Slinger offered him seemed to be on the level. Trent got a room at the motel near 40 and 17 and waited, but he didn’t have to wait long. Slinger’s truck pulled in less than two hours later, and Slinger waved Trent over to the nearby restaurant where they had met before.

  “Let’s get a cup of coffee,” Slinger said as he pushed open the door.

  “Sounds good ta me, I see a table off ta itself,” and they sat down.

  “What can I get you boys?” the waitress asked.

  “Just black coffee,” Slinger replied.

  “Comin’ right up!”