markwildyr.com,
Post #89
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| Courtesy of PexSnap.com |
As Diego
goes about exacting his revenge, things are going swimmingly. Can this keep up or
will William Conseco—known as Rocco—be the fly in the ointment. What pretext
will Diego use to get who he considers to be the only real man in the flaky group
isolated and under his control?
Let’s
take a look.
*****
HEADHUNTER
ROCCO
A worm
of guilt worried Diego over the weekend. One minute he wallowed in self-doubt;
the next he reminded himself what had happened to him was no dream, no
nightmare. He reviewed things and decided to go to the next name on the list. William
Conseco, known as Rocco to his friends, worked at a gypsum wallboard plant
north of town, a place where it would be difficult to have an “accidental”
meeting. This man was different; he wouldn’t go for any of the zombie bullshit
that panicked the first two. And he wouldn’t let anyone arrange a date for him.
Of course, the paralytic poison would work, but how to isolate him in order to
administer it presented a problem.
In the
end, he asked Stocky where the guy hung out. After naming a sports bar on the
north side, the man made a pitch.
“Look,
Diego. I’ll go with you again—willingly—if you’ll call this thing off. I’ll do
whatever you want.”
Diego
eyed his workmate. “I believe you liked it. But no deal. They’ve got to pay.
All of them.”
Diego
shot pool at the Eight Ball on East Lomas for three nights running before Rocco
showed up. The tall young man did a double take when he spotted him but walked
on over to a vacant table with a couple of guys…coworkers from the plant,
probably. A bit later, Rocco stopped by on his way to the men’s room.
“Hi,
it’s Diego, isn’t it?” He held out a hand. His grip was firm, confident.
“Yeah.
That’s me. How you been?”
“Doing
great!” The dark eyes leveled a speculative look at him. “You?”
“Okay.
That was quite a party we had that night, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.
You went a little loopy, but it was okay. Didn’t know you hung out here.”
“Just
discovered it by accident. Seems like a decent place. Like to handle the cue
sticks now and then. You up for a game?”
“Let
me go drain the pipe, and you’re on.”
Wavering
because he felt this man could have been a friend under other circumstances, Diego
steeled his resolve with images of the lean, muscular frame atop him without
his permission.
They
were an even match on the billiard table, splitting four games. Then he joined Rocco
and his friends at their table. The night passed pleasantly without an opening,
and Diego returned to his apartment unfulfilled.
Over
the next two weeks, Headhunter saw Rocco at the lounge three or four times, but
always in the company of others. Finally, Diego watched from his car in the
crowded parking lot of the popular hangout until he discerned a pattern. Most
of the guys from the plant drove to the bar in their own cars, usually arriving
at about the same time. After another week, his patience paid off. Rocco drove
in alone on Friday evening about five minutes after the others arrived.
Headhunter met him as he exited his vehicle.
“Diego!”
the good-looking young man exclaimed, genuine pleasure in his eyes.
“Hello,
Rocco.”
“Buy
you a drink?”
“Naw.
You owe me a lot more than that.” He fingered the silver ring on his right
hand.
“Huh?”
The man turned to him in confusion.
“You
remember that first night we met?”
Rocco frowned
uncertainly. “Yeah. We put away a lot of booze.”
“Yeah,
and took advantage of me afterward. You shouldn’t have done that.”
Headhunter
saw denial flare and die in the brown eyes. “Naw, I shouldn’t. I’ve felt bad
about that ever since.”
“Why’d
you do it, Rocco? I figure we could have been friends.”
“I
thought we were.” The man eyed him nervously. “I don’t know. Mob mentality,
maybe. It was Ritchie’s idea. Said he’d done some research and you tribal guys fooled
around with one another all the time.”
Headhunter
shook his head. “I expected that of the others, but I never pegged you for a
mental zombie. You think for yourself.”
“You’re
right. That was a cop-out.” Rocco shrugged as if he was unable to come up with
a rational reason.
“I
think you just wanted me?”
Rocco put
some resolve in his look. “Dunno. Maybe the idea got to me on some level.”
“Then
it should have been between you and me.”
“I
didn’t even know you back then. That was the first time I laid eyes on you.”
“So
you just went along with the idea of drugging and raping me? You gotta pay, my
friend.”
“How?”
“In
kind, brother.”
In the
dim lights of the parking lot, Headhunter clearly saw the other man blanch.
“You saying tit for tat?” Rocco demanded. “Sorry. No way”
“What
am I supposed to do, just forget about it?”
Rocco
shrugged. “I’ll apologize, and then we’ll go inside. I’ll buy the drinks.”
“Sorry.
In my culture, that doesn’t cut it.”
“Mine
neither. So what do we do, slug it out right here in the parking lot?”
“Wherever.
But I’m going have you after I beat you.”
“It’ll
take a man to do that.”
“I am
a man. The most man you’ve ever known. What’ll it be?”
“Not
here. We’ll go somewhere private. Don’t worry, I’m not going to run away. That
would only delay things.”
“You
got that right. Where?”
“There’s
an old gym where some of us work out on the weekend. It’s closed tonight, but
I’ve got a key.”
“Sounds
okay.”
Headhunter
followed Rocco’s pickup to an empty parking lot beside a small, stucco building
in the North Valley. Neither man said a word while Rocco fumbled with the key.
Headhunter followed him inside. The place was dark except for a small night
light at the back. That suited Headhunter just fine. His cat’s eyes saw everything
clearly.
“Might
as well be comfortable while we beat up one another,” Rocco said, leading the
way to a thick wrestling mat. He stood in the middle to strip off his shirt and
kick out of his shoes. Headhunter followed suit.
“You
sure there’s not another way to do this?” Rocco asked. “I’m open to anything
reasonable.”
“Okay,
take off your pants,” he answered easily, studying the other man’s stance. Rocco
had done some boxing; Headhunter wasn’t much for boxing, but he was good at
fighting.
“Can’t
do that, amigo.”
“Did
you get a thrill out of what you did to me?”
Rocco dropped
his arms and considered the question. “Yeah, I did.”
“You
like having an audience watch you perform?”
The
other man flushed. “Not particularly. Probably would have enjoyed it more if we
were alone.” He stood with his naked torso gleaming in the dim light. “But it
wouldn’t have happened if the others hadn’t been there. Needed a spark to get
it going. Ritchie was that spark.”
“That’s
what I figure. But now I’m going to enjoy it more because we’re alone, and I
can take my time.”
“Won’t
be that easy. I’m not gonna lie still and let you do it to me, not even if you
manage to whip me, Diego.”
“Didn’t
think you would. But I will do it.”
“Gotta
get the best of me first.”
“That’s
not much of a problem.” Headhunter suddenly rushed the other man, managing to
lock him in a bear hug. Rocco flailed ineffectually with his imprisoned arms
and butted with his head without doing much damage. Linking his hands behind
the struggling man, Headhunter conjured the image of an anaconda. Becoming
a constrictor, he crushed the broad chest in his embrace. Rocco dropped to the
ground and frantically rolled across the mat, crashing into furniture and
equipment, desperately trying to break the suffocating embrace. Headhunter held
on doggedly. He was whipped if it became a matter of standing and trading
blows. That had never been his way.
With
arms like the coils of the serpent he conjured, Headhunter tightened his grip,
twisting his hips away from Rocco’s thrashing knees. All the other man could do
was to beat at him ineffectually as the breath was slowly squeezed from his
lungs. Headhunter felt his opponent’s strength ebb. Rocco held on longer than
most, fighting for all he was worth, even after the lack of oxygen caused his
muscles to fail. He was a scrapper. Finally, his efforts became weak as he
struggled to draw breath into his constricted lungs.
“Had
enough?” Headhunter asked, fighting to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“Can’t…breathe,”
Rocco gasped.
“I’ll
let go, but it’s over.” He realized once the young man in his embrace drew a
decent breath, he’d fight again. Headhunter released him and quickly pinched
the man’s arm. The recessed needle in the silver ring bit. He doubted Rocco
even noticed. He hadn’t used as much of the poison this time. If he’d guessed
right, it would only produce lethargy, not paralysis.
He was
keenly aware of his rising excitement as Rocco’s naked flesh pressed against
his chest… maybe because this one had fought him like a man, challenging his
right to retribution.
“Hey…Diego.
Can’t we…do…this…’nother way?” Rocco’s breath was labored. From the exertion or
from the drug?
“Afraid
not,” he answered, rising to his knees and fumbling with the other’s buckle.
Hands quickly grasped his wrist, but they had no strength in them. He easily
twisted out of their grasp and opened Rocco’s fly, strangely excited by what he
was doing. Over the next half hour, he exacted his revenge on this man who
could have been a friend if things were different.
Shaken
by the experience, Headhunter pulled on his clothing. “You’ll be all right
soon,” he said. “The stuff’s already wearing off. I can feel you move a little.
Can you talk better now?”
“Some,”
came the muffled reply.
“Good.
Because I want to know if this thing’s over? As far as I’m concerned it is. You
took me; I took you.”
“Better
stay…outa…my way. But it’s…over.”
“Suits
me fine,” Diego breathed. “Don’t want to have much to do with you anytime soon,
either. But I hope you mean it, Rocco. I wouldn’t want your Sicilian blood to
come up with a vendetta.”
“Not
Sicilian,” Rocco mumbled. “I did wrong. You did wrong. That makes a right, I
guess.” The man laboriously turned on his back. “It’s over. I swear. But keep
away from me, hear?”
“I
hear you. Now I want you to make another oath to me. You don’t say anything
about this to the others.”
Rocco
gave a snort that could have been a laugh. “Don’t worry. Don’t want… anybody to
know about it anymore’n you do.”
*****
Wow! Don’t
know about you, but that was steamy, so far as I was concerned. Do you feel an
attraction? Even so, it’s hard to see these two macho men getting back
together.
See you next
week.
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
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
The
following are buy links for CUT HAND:
And now my mantra: Keep
on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
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.
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