markwildyr.com, Post #87
|Courtesy of PexSnap.com|
Now we’ll see what Diego has in mind as he confronts Chuck-called Stocky by his intimates—for the first time after Diego’s rape.
Pay attention now.
Monday morning, Diego strode through the door of the print shop and went through his usual routine of clocking in, pouring a cup of coffee, and saying hello to everyone in the plant. Chuck—Stocky, the crew called him—glanced up from cleaning one of the presses and muttered a subdued welcome. The worried look he wore dispelled any lingering doubts. Friday night had not been a wet dream; it had been a wet nightmare. Diego swallowed his rising gorge and gave Stocky a friendly greeting.
“That must have been some party Friday night,” he said, hoping he sounded sheepish. “I woke up Saturday morning in a motel room, can you believe that? How much did I drink, anyway?”
Stocky visibly relaxed. “A lot, man. I’ve never seen anybody soak it up like you did. I wasn’t in too good shape myself.”
Chuck Thalman was pathetically friendly. They’d never been buddies, even though they hung out after work occasionally. Stocky’s eagerness to please made things easier. Mid-week, Diego approached the man.
“Hey, Chuck, I ran into that blonde at the table next to us at the Stomp the other night. She wants to get together, but I have to come up with a date for a visiting girlfriend. Brenda swears she’s no dog. Are you game for Friday night?”
“Gee, Diego, I don’t know. I don’t like blind dates.”
“Well, let me tell you how much of a sure thing this is. We’re picking them up at her friend’s motel. I figure we can take a bottle, have a little drink before we take them out… and then never leave. All it’ll cost us is a bottle.”
“Naw, that won’t work. They’ll want to go out for dinner or something.”
“Dunno. I told Brenda we’d bring a bottle, and she said okay. Want to give it a try?”
“Sure, why not?”
Diego embellished the big lie for the rest of the week. During his Friday lunch break, he rented a motel room a little more upscale than the one they’d abandoned him in. He left the items he’d brought with him placed around the room. After satisfying himself everything was ready, he departed, leaving lights burning. At lunch, he dangled the key in front of Chuck.
“Went over last night and met Brenda. Her friend’s a dish. They gave me a key and told us to come over. I told them you were a stud, Chuck. You better not let me down.”
A smile broke on the other man’s face. “They gave you the key? No shit. What’s this girl’s name? Is she a blonde like the other one?”
“Nope. A luscious redhead. Actually, I’d like to get her, but Brenda’s already got her hooks in me. Her name’s Marcia.”
“Marcia. I like that. Don’t worry, I won’t let you down. Nobody’s complained so far.”
As Diego drove the two of them to the motel, Chuck seemed to get more pumped at the idea of hooking up with a sure thing.
“I see you gussied up for the rendezvous,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Chuck indicated a ring of beaten silver on Diego’s right ring finger. “I’ve never seen you wear jewelry before.”
Diego held up his hand, allowing a smile to reach his lips. “Something my grandmother gave me years ago.” And if you only knew how important it is for tonight, my friend.
They parked at the back of the motel parking lot and sauntered to Number 110 like peacocks stalking peahens. Diego knocked loudly before opening the door and stepping aside for his companion to precede him. As Stocky brushed past him, Diego pinched the flesh of the man’s arm against a recessed needle in his ring. It wasn’t much…but it didn’t take much.
“Ow! What the….” Stocky grabbed his arm. A moment later, he sagged against Headhunter.
“Payback time, my friend.” He shoved Chuck across the room. “You didn’t really think you were going to get away with it, did you?”
Stocky staggered against the bed and fell across it, unable to reply.
Headhunter closed and chained the door before flipping off the lights, removing his shades, and walking over to lift Chuck’s legs onto the bed. He knew his companion was acutely aware of his environment even though he was unable to move. Stocky would know everything that happened to him. He wouldn’t have to struggle to remember he’d been screwed.
Elevating the helpless man’s head and shoulders on pillows, Headhunter slowly and deliberately stripped away Stocky’s clothing. Then he took the candles he’d left in the room when he rented it and set them on the end tables on either side of the bed. As he put flame to the wicks, he spoke.
“You assaulted the wrong guy. I come from a different culture, a different time, really. Back where I grew up, they’re still living back in the middle ages. I learned a lot of things you white boys never even dreamed of. My grandmother’s a curandera. You know what that is? A healer. She taught me everything she knows about herbs and plants.”
He hovered over the paralyzed man and studied his frightened eyes. “You know what else they call her? A bruja. A witch. And she is. Now let’s talk about us. You fucked me Friday night. If I wanted my ass fucked, I’d have asked for it. But you didn’t even have the courage to approach me directly. You drugged me before you and your sicko buddies stuck it to me. Well, I’m doing the same thing to you, but with a difference.”
He clearly saw the question in those helpless eyes. “I had to figure out what happened to me for myself. You thought I’d never remember what happened. You’re gonna know what’s happening to you without being able to resist. Who knows, maybe you’ll like it.”
He undressed before straddling the helpless Chuck’s groin. The prostrate man’s fear-clouded gaze centered on the dark fur on Headhunter’s naked chest. He tried to speak but managed only a passing of breath through his throat.
Headhunter put on a little show for his terrified victim, smearing a cross on Chuck’s hairless chest with candle wax and chanting and invoking the Jaguar. It was pure horseshit, but it freaked out the helpless man spread out naked on the bed.
“Let me explain things, Stocky. I’ve given you poison.” He held up his ring finger. “See that little indention? There’s a needle in there I coated with a substance my grandmother gave me. I pinched your arm and forced some of the stuff through your skin. Didn’t want to give you too much. Not yet, anyway. A little, and you’re paralyzed, but you know what’s going on. A little more, and you’re a zombie. Not dead, you understand, just helpless and useless and frightened every minute of your miserable life. A little more, and you’re dead for real.
“The problem is,” Headhunter went on, “I’m not in the habit of fucking men. I like women. Do a good job on them, but don’t even know if I can get it up with you. You better pray I can, because one way or the other, I’m going to have my revenge.”
Half an hour later, Headhunter staggered into the bathroom to clean up, disconcerted that he’d taken some enjoyment in the thing. Oh well, revenge was supposed to be sweet, wasn’t it? That’s why it rang his bell more than he expected, because it was good, old-fashioned vengeance. He finished cleaning up and went back into the room.
He studied the man while he dressed. “You lucked out. I’m not going to inject any more venom, so you’re not gonna die or end up a zombie. You’re gonna lie here until the poison works through your system. In a little while you’ll find you can move your hands and feet. Gradually, you’ll recover all the feeling in your extremities. By morning, you’ll be all right.”
Headhunter moved to the bed and bent over the helpless man. “Now let me tell you something else. This is the end of it. You took me against my will, and I took you against yours. But at least you didn’t have three other guys watching your humiliation, or taking their turn afterward. If you decide you want to get back at me, so be it. But you’ll be sorry you did. So keep your mouth shut. If you warn the others I’m coming for them, then I’ll come back for you. If you go to the authorities, you can probably lie yourself out of what you did to me and make me pay. But one day I’ll get out of prison, and you won’t like what I’ll do to you. Understand?”
A strangled mumble answered him.
“Good boy. Now Monday, when we see each other at work, we’re going to act like nothing happened. I know from experience it won’t be easy, but you can do it. And you’re going to hand me a piece of paper with three names and addresses on it. You’re going to write down where each one works. You had to pay; so it’s only fair they do, too. I hope you believe every word I say, because I mean every one of them. I’m going to leave now. Sleep well.” He covered Stocky with a blanket and went out the door without looking back.
Diego left the motel wrestling with himself. Had he really done it to Chuck Thalman? No, but Headhunter had. He paused to consider that. Were there two of him? Was he split right down the middle, part savage, part hip and cool?
One down and three to go. Will things go smoothly, or will Diego—or Headhunter, if you prefer—run into some problems? He seems like a capable young man, but when it comes to revenge, who knows? Tune in next week for another episode.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on each Thursday for the life of this serial; thereafter, the first and third Thursdays of the month.