by Tony Bulmer
He slapped her face again, leaned in with his halitosis breath and barked, “You give us plenty trouble Officer Kellerman. You think perhaps you can act like a hero and come out of this? Well you are wrong. The brave die quick—all the quicker if they don’t do as they are told.”
“How do you know my name?” rasped Kellerman.
The thin, savage little face twisted unpleasantly. “You stupid American. So consumed with your own importance, as the world marches against you and your kind. Did you think you would be able to evade the wrath of the new future?”
Kellerman stared blankly. This guy was nuts, had to be—some kind of religious freak, or a nut-‐job politico, frothing with the swirly-‐eyed look of indoctrination. “I got no idea what you are talking about bucko, but you got to know you are dealing with more than a ship here. You are dealing with the Federal Government of United States. So whoever you are, your future is going to be short and ugly, unless you release me and everyone else on this ship right now.”
“My name is Captain Kim. And you are witnessing an historic event Officer Kellerman— the first bold step in the overthrow of world government. You should be proud to be a part of this day. Rejoice, because many years from now school children everywhere will speak your name.”
“I got to tell you bucko, I ain’t the biggest fan of schoolchildren,” rasped Kellerman throatily. “And I ain’t too big on revolutions either, so why don’t you and your pals go sell your mad-‐cap plans to someone who gives a damn.”
Captain Kim nodded. “I understand you murdered Engineering Officer Heung. How did that feel Officer Kellerman? Did you experience a flush of excitement as you killed your first human?”
Kellerman narrowed her eyes.
“What would your family in Massachusetts think of your actions, or your friends at the East Village Arts Park in Long Beach? Do you think you will ever be able to look those comfortable little friends of yours in the eye, knowing that you are a killer many times over?”
Kellerman scowled.
Captain Kim laughed. “Don’t look so surprised Officer Kellerman we have planned every
part of this operation. I have studied the mundane details of your cozy little life so thoroughly, I feel as though I almost know you.”
“You got no idea bucko, let me tell you.” “Your feeble protestations have no interest for me. All that matters is that you assist us in our operation. If you cooperate, not only will you and the other members of your crew be spared, you will be immortalized as heroes of the new order of mankind.”
“Assist you how?” asked Kellerman.
Captain Kim smiled; it was a sick, ugly smile. Looming over her, with his fists planted hard against his waist, like some black–shirted dictator. He said, “The electrical systems in the bridge, we need your assistance to restart them.”
Kellerman frowned harder. If the systems were down, the folks at NOAA would be initiating emergency procedures already. They would be cycling through satcom frequencies, trying to raise a contact and if they couldn’t make a connection— “You took the systems down, why don’t you figure out how to start them up again genius?” growled Kellerman.
“Do not waste my time,” snapped Kim, “You will help us, or we will kill everyone aboard and send your ship to the bottom of the Pacific. By the time the planes from your feeble Navy arrive, there will be nothing left for them to find.”
Kellerman scowled, “I guess you don’t leave me much choice do you?”
45
Oahu, Hawaii Laughter cut through the night, a woman’s laughter. The laughter sparkled with a knowing and lustful quality that suggested the woman had been drinking hard and had now reached a place where consequences no longer mattered.
Ted Congo stood by the gate, shrouded by thick blooming oleander bushes and examined his fingernails. That fat freak he had tossed into the volcano had busted the end off one nail and split another into the goddamn flesh. Not even three days since he had visited that sweet little Filipina manicurist over on Kalakaua and now he would have to go back again. That cute little freak would be squealing like a bossy schoolgirl when she saw the state of those delicate little pinkies. Congo sniffed. He hadn’t poured it the pork as yet, but it was only a matter of time. That cute little manicurist sure as hell had it coming. Congo sucked his fingers, and allowed a slow smile to develop at the edges of his mouth. Pretty soon the whole world would be spinning right for a change, the bullshit hierarchy who had been running things so long would be burning their spoiled little liberal asses on the bonfire of history.
The help snapped off the lock to the garden gate with bolt cutters. Congo stood back, watching as the heavy padlock sheared off and bounced onto the floor with a hard metallic noise. Congo scowled. The help stood back, both of them looking apologetic, the guy with the bolt cutters mouthing a
silent apology. The laughter from the garden continued, followed by the rumble of a man’s voice, his words running together into some unintelligible quip that had the woman laughing ever louder. Congo turned towards the black Mercedes sedan parked under the trees and held up four fingers. This wouldn’t take long, not long at all, and there would be no more broken fingernails, not tonight.
Congo moved quickly and silently through the gate. A gently curving stone stairway lined with luxuriant sub-‐tropical shrubs folded in around him. Congo headed up the stairs three at a time, then paused near the top. He ran his penny loafers up against the back of his slacks, a final polish before the off. He peered through the shrubs and there they were, on the other side of the pool area, both of them sitting in the hot tub together, having a little poolside party of their very own. Congo smirked. This was going to be fun. He headed out onto the patio. The pool lights cast an eerie blue light up across the garden shrubs and into the night, where a hundred million stars stretched out in a vast auditorium, looking down forever silent, the only witnesses the unfolding scene.
Congo walked up to the edge of the hot tub, with slow, careful footsteps. As he reached the edge he looked down and said, “Well isn’t this romantic? Widow Geryon and her legal eagle, snuggling up under the stars, on the balmiest of nights you ever saw. I am pleased you two kids are having such a good time—under the circumstances, I mean, most folks would wait until the corpse was cold in the ground before they started in on the hootchie-‐ coochying, but not you two, no sireee. There you
are, naked as jaybirds, skinny-‐dipping and snorting cocaine, like you ain’t got a care in the world.”
Priscilla Geryon let out an involuntary sob and sank down in the foaming waters of the hot tub, until only her head was visible.
Thurston Petrelli, the Lawyer placed his champagne flute beside the hot tub and snapped, “How the hell did you get in here Congo, you are trespassing on private property.”
Ted Congo gave Petrelli a quizzical look and said, “Oh, I am sorry councilman, I just happen
ed to be walking by and I saw the gate was open, so I came right on in. Is this a private party you two lovebirds are having, or can any one join in?”
“This is harassment Congo, and you are not going to get away with it, so you better turn around right now and head out the way you came, because soon as I have finished enjoying my evening, I will be submitting a very strongly worded letter of complaint to Judge Hanneman and your superiors too. You cannot intimidate me, or my client.”
Congo pursed his lips contemptuously raised his shoulders up and pantomimed a cold shudder, then relaxing back, he said, “You see that Petrelli, you got me shaking with fear.” Congo raised a foot up, placing it on the very edge of the hot tub and gazed lovingly at the fresh-‐polished gleam of his penny loafer. He pursed his lips again and said quietly I don’t much care for you Petrelli, or your smart mouth opinions either, which is part of the reason I thought I would drop in on you this evening.” The bubbles in the hot tub rumbled louder, masking the footsteps of the help as they lumbered out of the darkness, standing ready by the swimming pool as their master made his play. It
took a long moment for their presence to register on the faces of Priscilla Geryon and her lawyer lover, but when it did the implications hit home fast.
The girl was the first to act. She broke out of the hot tub, like a dolphin, water breaking off her sleek, naked body in a million broken rivulets. She slipped, skated forwards and fell heavily onto the hard stone surround. Winded, she choked out a sob of fear, her desperate fingers clutching for the protection of a towel that lay just out of her reach.
The help lumbered out of the shadows. They helped the naked girl to her feet and held her by the elbows. She tried to twist free of her captors, but they held her tight, their hard muscular fingers making deep pits in her warm suntanned flesh.
Congo looked at the girl’s naked body and raised his eyebrows. “Would you look at that. I have to congratulate you Councilman that is quite some piece of ass. Rest of it a seven, maybe even an eight on a good day, but the ass is a pure nine.” Congo raised his knee on the side of the hot tub and leaned in against it. He wagged his finger with admonishment. “But dollars to donuts you weren’t thinking about that hot little ass when you decided to tap widow Geryon, were you Councilman? You were thinking about that fat little inheritance she is sitting on, am I right?”
Thurston Petrelli opened his mouth as though he were about to issue a denial, but Ted Congo frowned and wagged his finger once again and said, “No, don’t you say a thing Petrelli. If you told me anything other than the way things are, I would lose respect for you, and you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”
“What the hell do you want Congo? If it is
money, just name you price. If there is something
else you want, just tell me. You have got my
attention damn you.”
Ted Congo gave a heavy sigh, raised his
eyes to the star filled heavens and said, “There you
go. I told you if you said anything I would lose
respect for you, but would you listen? Don’t answer
that Petrelli, that is one of those rhetorical
questions—you do know what a rhetorical
question is don’t you?”
Thurston Petrelli opened his mouth to
respond but Ted Congo struck lightening fast, with
a heavyweight snap kick that caught the lawyer
hard in the centre of his forehead. A horrible
strangled noise issued from the lawyers gaping
mouth as his eyes fluttered white and he slowly
toppled backwards into the foaming water.” The girl started shrieking then, the screams
so loud it seemed like she would bust a lung. As the
screams came, she renewed her struggles and the
help, despite their superior weight and strength
struggled to contain her hysterical contortions. Ted
Congo strolled over almost casually, pausing for the
briefest of moments to pick up a towel. He wound it
tight around one fist and approached the struggling
woman. Hyperventilating now, sucking air in a
series of desperate hollow sobs, her eyes bulged
wide with fear.
Ted Congo moved close, gave her a
reassuring smile then hit her hard and fast in the
stomach. The impact sucked every last gasp of
tortured breath from Priscilla Geryon’s body. She
sagged onto her knees, fighting in vain to draw
breath.
“That’s right baby, you suck up the pain,
there is plenty more where that came from.” Ted
Congo grabbed her roughly by the hair, tugging her
head backwards. He crammed the towel in her
mouth, forcing it ever deeper, as the help held the
girl tight, She spluttered, she choked, she gagged,
her head flipping wildly from side to side as she
tried to evade the ordeal that would surely kill her. The sound of the spluttering torment
masked the slow deliberate approach of metal
heels, click-‐clacking very carefully towards the
scene of carnage.
Cheena Tao moved beside Ted Congo and
looked down into the face of Priscilla Geryon. “Oh,
you poor thing, just look at your pretty little face,
make-‐up all smeared and such an expression—
almost tawdry wouldn’t you say Ted?”
Ted Congo pulled Priscilla Geryon’s hair
ever harder and jammed the thick towel into her
mouth with the heel of his hand.
Reaching out Cheena Tao caressed Priscilla
Geryon’s matted hair with the back of her hand, her
black manicured nails, drifting thoughtfully against
the blond rat-‐tails. “I heard all about your little
conversation at the funeral with the Kane woman,”
said Cheena Tao lightly. “Not a very smart move on
your part, was it my dear?”
Her eyes bulging with fear and indignation
Priscilla Geryon made strangled noises and shook
her head wildly.
Cheena Tao nodded sympathetically, “I
would imagine that you are trying to tell me that
your friend Karyn Kane is not a stooge from the
Department of Justice as she would have us all
believe, but an assassin, an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency no less.”
Priscilla Geryon gave a strangled scream from somewhere deep in her throat.
“What’s that? You knew all along but neglected to tell us?” Cheena Tao twisted her heavy rouged lips thoughtfully. She turned, looked towards the hot tub then back at Ted Congo. “Is the lawyer dead?”
Congo shrugged, an ambivalent look twisting across his face.
“Well go and get him then, fish him out so
he can see the show.”
Ted Congo gave a sigh, “I lift that slab of ham out the tub I am liable to bust me another fingernail, and put my back out too. Why’s everything got to be a scenario with you Cheena?”
“Please don’t question me Ted,” said Cheena Tao tartly, “You know I don’t like being
questioned.”
Ted Congo frowned. The crazy bitch— killing got her juicer than a clingstone peach. That look she had—all ecstatic like some degenerate sex fiend. She was a weird one all right. There was no accounting for rich-‐folks, they took their pleasure where they saw fit and damn what anyone else thought.
Congo paused, licked his lips, and threw a sidelong glance towards the bosses wife—ogling Cheena Tao in her tight little outfit. That kind of temptation was plenty powerful and boy did she know it, flaunting that top of the line ass—teasing every jock she saw with her empty come-‐ons. A woman like that needed taking in hand. She needed excitement, not just some meal-‐ticket husband.
Congo stared at her now oozing defiance. He shot a look at the help. “So what are you waiting for? You heard the lady, pull the doofus out the hot tub and slap some life into him while you are about it.”
The help exchanged nervous glances and set about their task. Congo tightened his grip on Priscilla Geryon’s hair and dragged her close to the edge of the swimming pool. As the Geryon woman bleated and sobbed Congo turned to Cheena Tao and said, “I know what you are thinking before you even say it.”
