Headhunter – Aftermath

markwildyr.com, Post #92

Courtesy of Publicdomainpictures

Diego has had his revenge on each of the men who gang raped him, so what more is there to say? Well, sometimes actions have consequences. Read on.

*****

HEADHUNTER

AFTERMATH

Saturday morning, Diego woke feeling depressed. It was as if revenge had given him a goal, a meaning to his life besides eating, sleeping, and working. Now, that was gone. He didn’t even get any satisfaction from remembering how he’d evened the score.

He’d just finished a long, hot shower when the doorbell rang. He wrapped a towel around his middle and opened the door a crack. Rocco stood there with a bag in his hand.

“I come in peace, man.”

Diego stepped back to admit Rocco before returning to the bathroom to comb his hair. He ditched the towel and shrugged into a robe.

“You like Chinese?” the handsome young man asked as Diego came back into the room.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Got some Dim Sum.” Rocco removed a couple of steamer baskets from the bag.

“What kind?”

“Usual kind. Pork and cabbage, mini Cantonese spring rolls, taro coquettes. That kind of thing. For dessert, I brought egg custard and mango pudding, your choice.”

“Let me get dressed.”

“The robe’s okay. Don’t want to let the stuff get cold.”

Still wary, Diego brought out some utensils and napkins and they settled in the living room on the couch to eat off the coffee table. The food was good, and they ate in silence for a moment.

         “Sorry I didn’t bring tea,” Rocco said. “They say in China Dim Sum is always served with tea. Dim Sum…that means “to touch your heart,” you know.

         “What are you doing here, Rocco? You sure as shit didn’t come to break bread and educate me on Chinese Dim Sum.”

         “I don’t know why I’m here. It’s just that….” His voice trailed off. He tried again. “It’s just that I keep thinking about when I crawled in that motel bed with you. I wished it had been another way. You know, without those other guys gawking and you being out of it.”

         “So you’re saying you liked it?”

         “Hell, no!” He started to get his back up, but relaxed. “Yeah. I did. I’d already decided I was going to try it again after I whipped your ass at the gym the other night”

         “But you didn’t whip my ass.”

         “No. So I wondered. Well, I wondered how you felt about it when you…you know.”

         “You got a double helping of me. I only got a blow from you.”

         Rocco flushed. “Yeah. I know. But still—”

         “I felt the same way. I wished it had been under other circumstances.”

         “These are other circumstances.”

         “Yeah. And you do owe me a turn.”

         Rocco stood abruptly. “Shit, what am I doing? I’m willing to bet a month’s pay you’re a man… a real man. And I know for damned sure I am. So what’s going on?”

         Diego shrugged. “I guess we’re learning something about ourselves we didn’t know.”

         Rocco reached out and pulled Diego’s robe open for a long, frank look. The man shook his head. “Hell, I’m getting steamed just looking at you.”

         “You have me at a disadvantage.”

         Rocco tore his shirt over his head, slipped out of his loafers, and dropped his trousers. Diego responded immediately.

         Rocco’s shoulders drooped. “What do we do now?”

         Diego stepped forward and put his arms around the other man. “Whatever we feel like, I guess. He put his lips to Rocco’s. The man flinched for a moment, and then put his hand behind Diego’s head and drew him into a hard kiss. Their tongues did battle with one another. After a long moment, they parted.

         “Shit!” Rocco said.

         “Damn!”

         “I’m doomed. I’ve never felt a kiss like that one.”

         Diego brushed a hand over his eyes. “Me neither.”

         “And from a dude, too. A hunky dude.” He held Diego at arm’s length for a moment and then said, “A hunky dude with fur on his chest and spots in his hair and eyes that glow in the dark. What’s with that, anyway?”

         “My grandfather was a jaguar, didn’t you know that?” Diego pulled Rocco back to him.

         Later, after he stopped panting from a dynamite ejaculation, Diego looked at his partner's loopy smile. "What are you thinking?"

         “We’re even,” the saturnine young man said. “Next time, it’s my turn.”

                                                

THE END

*****

Well, Whadda ya know? Those two macho men did manage to get together again. And it sounds as if it’s gonna happen again and again and….

Sigh. Would it were me!

Remember, I will now return to my regular posting schedule for August. See you then.

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:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

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 the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Headhunter – The Leader

markwildyr.com, Post #91

Courtesy of PexSnap.com

Diego’s pulled it off three times in a row. Can he make it four? Or will someone termed “the leader” prove too smart for him. Let’s find out.

*****

HEADHUNTER

THE LEADER

The next morning, Diego took out the piece of paper Stocky had provided him. The final name on the list was Richard Robins. Ritchie… the Leader. This one stumped him for a while. The guy worked in a law office downtown, and according to Stocky, spent his time at the country club except when he went slumming with his blue-collar buddies. Lately, that hadn’t been happening. Diego’s gang rape had splintered the group.

As he struggled for a way to handle the final member of the gang without exciting suspicion, Diego finally decided he would simply go downtown and confront the man.

Friday afternoon, armed with a description of Leader’s car from Stocky, Diego prowled the downtown parking structure beneath Ritchie’s office until he discovered the vehicle. Around five-thirty, Leader appeared in a spiffy blue suit and tie, carrying a briefcase. As the too-pretty man unlocked the door of his Mercedes, Headhunter pushed off from the post he’d been leaning against and walked toward the vehicle. Some sixth sense must have warned Leader, because he whirled… and immediately took off running.

Astounded, Diego resisted the urge to follow. Instead, he stopped to consider the possibilities. Someone had tipped Leader off. Was the guy going for the authorities? Not likely. He had to know the cohesiveness of the gang was broken. Somebody would talk, and he’d be exposed as a rapist. The guy worked in a law office, so he couldn’t afford for that kind of crap to come out.

Making his decision, Diego walked out of the parking structure and down the block. If he was being watched, he wanted to be seen leaving. Once around the corner, he re-entered the garage by another entrance and returned to the car. The keys still hung from the door lock where Leader had left them in his panic. He crawled into the back seat and lay down on the floorboard.

Within five minutes the door opened, and Diego felt the weight of a body in the driver’s seat. The briefcase struck his calf as Leader slung it into the back. The motor caught, and the Mercedes raced out of the structure. Leader barely brought the car to a halt before turning onto the street and pealing out. Diego could feel the driver’s tension peak every time he halted for a traffic light.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Leader muttered. “Gonna be all right. Relax, Robins, relax. The Indian fucker’s spooked. Miles from here by now.”

Headhunter mentally shook his head. The guy talked to himself! And said all the wrong things.

Ritchie really took off once he gained the Interstate. Risking life and limb to an automobile accident, Headhunter sat up in the rear seat directly behind the driver. It took Leader almost a full minute to spot him in the rearview mirror. The German automobile skidded across two lanes of traffic before Ritchie regained control.

“You! What’re you doing in my car? I’ll have you arrested. They’ll throw away the key. Get out! You hear me? Get out.”

Headhunter glanced at the speedometer. “At seventy miles an hour? I don’t think so.”

“What…what do you want?” Leader licked his upper lip nervously. His green eyes flicked back and forth between the mirror and the roadway.

“You know what I want or else you wouldn’t have run.”

Leader wiped perspiration from his lip. “How’d you find out? Who ratted on us? Chuck?”

Headhunter pursed his lips. “No one ratted on you. No one needed to, you asshole. I reached down inside and replayed the whole night like a video tape. I saw every one of you bastards, and what you did to me.”

“You couldn’t. Nobody remembers things after they take that stuff. Not as much as I gave you.”

“Maybe nobody else does, but I did. I remember you especially. Yeah, I remember it all.”

“I’m sorry, man. It was wrong. We shouldn’t have done it. Look, I’ll make it right. I’ll write you a check. Whatever you want.”

“What I want is to pay you back, not have you pay me.”

“Think about it, Diego. You don’t want to do this. You take my check, and it’ll be over. You can spend my money on things that will last a long time.” He laughed nervously. “You know, give up instant gratification for prolonged satisfaction.”

“If you knew as much about my tribe as you claim to, you’d know we savor vengeance for a long, long time. In another time and another place, I’d have taken your head. Now I’m just going to take your ass.”

“Please, man. Don’t do this.”

“Any way we do it, it’s not going to be easy for you. But I can make it a lot harder than it has to be. It’s up to you.”

“You…you’ll just do it to me, and then it’s over?”

“I’ll do exactly what you did to me, and then it’s over. Who tipped you off? John? The Pipsqueak?”

Leader nodded absently, too wrapped up in his own predicament to be concerned over possible consequences to his friend. “Yeah, John.”

“Then you’ve been expecting me. That makes it better. You’ve been worrying about me for weeks. Good.”

“What… what do you want me to do?”

“That was too easy. But appropriate. Let me tell you what happens if you try anything. Ask Chuck about the poison I have. A savage like me wouldn’t even think twice about administering a dose. Not when my manhood’s been attacked.”

“All right, you’ve made your point. What do you want me to do?” Sweat dripped off the end of the man’s nose. Headhunter chuckled. Leader better get himself another career. He probably wasn’t a very good lawyer.

“Drive to a motel and rent a room.”

Headhunter watched through the window as Leader paid for the room and picked up a key. He saw the man hesitate at the house phone but step outside without using it. He walked around to the back and unlocked a door. Headhunter was at his shoulder when he entered. Leader eyed the bed nervously.

“Look, man, won’t you reconsider? I know I did wrong, but isn’t there another way to make it right?”

“You act like you’ve never given a blowjob before, Ritchie.”

“I haven’t. Never!”

“Never been fucked?”

“No! For God’s sake, that’s the truth. I swear.”

“First time for everything. Besides, if you didn’t want to do it, why are you here in this room with me? I haven’t laid a hand on you.”

Leader swallowed hard. “I’m… I’m afraid of you.”

Headhunter nodded. “Wise man. Now get undressed.”

Headhunter watched as he complied. Over the next thirty minutes, Headhunter was almost as miserable as his victim. The man had a good body—in a rich-boy, country club sort of way, but was so androgynous looking, he failed to excite Diego. Nonetheless, after a prolonged effort, Leader managed to do what Diego wanted. It was a disappointing ejaculation, but at least the bill had been paid.

Angry with himself and at these bozos who’d led him into this, Headhunter fell over onto his back and ordered Leader to clean him up. As he watched the blond wash him, he was repulsed by the man’s precise movements. He brushed him aside and got up to dress.

“Is it over?” he asked. “Or are you going to try some legal shit?”

Leader mumbled something.

“What?”

“It’s over. But…but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“You think I want anyone to know I fucked your candy ass?”

“I guess not. Thanks.”

Thanks, the man said. Hell! What kind of vengeance was that?

*****

Not so tough… or smart, for that matter, was he? How did he assume leadership of that bunch. Probably because the others were awed by a law degree. But as he found out, Diego believed in curanderas and spells and Jaguar, not sheepskins.

So is that the end? I wouldn't do that to you. We’ve got one more episode to go.

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:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

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.

Headhunter – Diego (3)

markwildyr.com, Post #90

Courtesy of PexSnap.com

So far, so good. But what kind of toll have his actions taken on Diego? Maybe we’ll get a clue in this episode when he goes dream traveling again.

Read on.

*****

HEADHUNTER

DIEGO

Diego’s examination of his conscience was different that weekend, but it was Sunday before he turned to what really bothered him. With the first two, it had been an eye for an eye. With Rocco, it had been different. Not subtly different, but powerfully different. He had always recognized the man’s physical draw, but in the end, he had wanted the man. Carnally. Lustfully. He came alive at the touch of the man’s smooth, firm flesh. Like he did for a woman. Why? Did Rocco feel any of this? Sense his attraction. Perceive his weakness?

That thought came as a shock. It was a weakness. To want a man lustfully put him in that man’s power. The attraction to a woman was not a weakness because it was accepted as a norm. But to expose such a desire for a man forever put him in the power of anyone who recognized the desire.

So disturbed by the revelation, Diego delayed any further action. Although it galled him that Leader—who had instigated the whole thing—would escape his righteous fate, he decided to let the whole thing die. Until he had the dream.

Even in his sleep, Headhunter realized he was restless, tossing from one side of his bed to the other. His muscles tightened when he soared above the thick canopy covering the jungle of his homeland. He desperately tried to turn back, but to no avail. Something… someone drew him onward. Natala.

When the mists cleared from his vision, she stood in the center of a clearing, a gigantic cat purring at her side. This was Jaguar, The God of the Underground himself. Powerful, malevolent, benevolent, all seeing, all-knowing. So it was Jaguar who told the old bruja what had happened to him. And now, Jaguar probed his mind and sensed his doubts, his hesitation.

The old woman seemed as dynamic as the magnificent animal at her side despite her frailty. She studied the ethereal Diego calmly, although her anger pressed against him hotly.

“Your task is not completed.” Her voice, not a voice that he heard clearly. Some rational part of Diego’s mind noted he was dreaming in color. The jungle was green; Jaguar, yellow and black and and white; Natala, brown and black. Although she must have been well past seventy, her hair and eyes were glossy black. An emerald at her withered neck gleamed like a frozen green flame.

Diego’s formless self straightened beneath her stare. “It is enough. I have acted like a man.”

“Yes, like a man. Until you found one whose flesh burned your manhood. Do you think it has never happened before? Pah! More often than you know, child. At some time in their lives most men have lusted after a man. That is nothing. What is something is to desire one worthy of your lust. But no matter. Your task is not complete. You must become Headhunter once again and deal with the plotter. Do this first, and then puzzle out your future.”

Shamed that his secret thoughts had been revealed to her, Diego was nonetheless helpless to deny it. In fact, he now admitted what he had only permitted to roam the fringes of his mind. His desire for Rocco Conseco was real. As real as his lust for a woman.

Then Jaguar roared, and through his roaring, spoke. “You have heard her words. Seek out this coward who steals your seed by stealing your mind.”

Desperately seeking to hold onto his vision, Diego felt it slip away. Jaguar became obscured by a thick mist that rose from the jungle floor. Everything disappeared except for the head and shoulders of his grandmother. As her insubstantial image floated amid the fog, he understood that he would never see her alive again. She would soon roam the forest at Jaguar’s side, unseen but not unfelt.

Diego woke in his own bed drenched in sweat. He wished his father were here instead of ministering to the sick in some hot, dusty Moroccan village.

 *****

Okay, so he’s human and has a conscience. But why would it raise its head now? Could it be that the encounter with Rocco shook Diego a little? But with his resolve restored, he has one more member of the gang to bring to account. The Leader. Can we assume from that name he’ll be the toughest one to crack?

We’ll get our answer 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:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

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.

Headhunter – Pipsqueak

markwildyr.com, Post #88           

Courtesy of PexSnap.com

Okay, it’s John Shandell’s turn. Except Diego has such little respect for the man he calls him Pipsqueak. How will Diego handle this one?

Enjoy

*****

HEADHUNTER

PIPSQUEAK

On Thursday, Diego went to buy some condoms. And there, smaller than life behind the counter at the East Central Drug Store, was John Shandell, the guy he called Pipsqueak—the first name on Diego’s list. He smothered a smile at the look of consternation on the dainty features.

“Hi,” he put a friendly tone in his voice even as a worm of disgust crawled around in his belly. “It’s John, isn’t it? I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yeah, five years now.”

“That was a hell of a night a few weeks ago wasn’t it? Hope I didn’t make an ass of myself passing out like I did. Don’t do it very often. Funny thing, I didn’t think I was drinking that much.”

Pipsqueak’s countenance cleared a bit. “I got kind of smashed, myself. No harm done.”

“I’ve been on the straight and narrow since then. How about you?”

“Yeah, a man can’t handle a drunk like that more’n once every few months.”

Diego wondered if Pipsqueak included himself in the “man” category. The guy looked like a pallid, aging kid who’d skipped his youth. Repressing a shiver of revulsion, he asked for a three-pack of Trojans. The thin kind. How was he going to snare this one? Despite a Napoleonic bluster, the John Shandells of the world walked around in fear of their fellow creatures because of what they themselves were capable of doing. On the other hand, Pipsqueak was desperately anxious to be considered a man. Probably thought women lusted after him and had naughty dreams about him. Still, the guy wasn’t about to walk up to an empty motel room like Stocky.

As he paid for the condoms, Diego struck a thoughtful pose. “I don’t know many people in this town,” he said slowly. “I wonder if you’d be interested in…. Naw, that’s okay.”

The diminutive man took the bait. “What? Go ahead. What is it, man?”

“Well, my sister and a friend are up for a visit from South America. They’re not too sophisticated, you know…coming out of the jungle and all. I thought I’d try to get Dorena, that’s her friend, a date. Don’t suppose you’d be available tomorrow night, would you? I know it’s a lot to ask. I’d get Chuck to give me a hand, but he’s busy.”

This guy painted his thoughts right on his face for the world to see. Instantly, Pipsqueak went cautious. “Uh, what does she look like? I mean, uh…I don’t know much about people from down there.”

Inspired, Diego pulled a photo from his wallet. A group of Huatani kids sat on a log staring into the camera for one of the missionaries. He handed it over and pointed to one of the girls. “That’s Dorena, a couple of years ago,” he lied.

“Jeez!” Pipsqueak exhaled. “She’s a beauty. Does…does she speak English?”

“Yeah, most of the kids from my village do.” Diego fought to keep spite out of his voice. “The missionaries and medical people were too lazy to learn our language, so we had to learn theirs.”

“Sure. Where we gonna take them?”

“Thought we’d take them out to dinner, and then you and Dorena can go do whatever you want. My sister wants to see an American movie.”

Pipsqueak was almost salivating. “I can take her off on my own? Yeah, sure. I got nothing better to do Friday. Where do I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up. They’re staying at a motel out on Pan American. Not enough room at my place. We’ll go together, have dinner, and then I’ll bring you two back to pick up your car. Okay?”

It was not only okay, it was music to Pipsqueak’s tiny ears. As they made final arrangements to meet his non-existent sister and her phantom girlfriend, Diego wondered if the jerk could keep his hands off himself tonight in anticipation of screwing the brains out of an uncivilized savage tomorrow? Naw, he’d save what little jism he had for the main event.

At the appointed hour on Friday, Headhunter went by the drug store and found Pipsqueak anxiously pacing the sidewalk. He swung west and picked up I-25 North while his companion peppered him with questions. As they passed motel after motel on the adjoining Pan American frontage road, John’s chatter died away.

“Where in the hell are they staying?” he finally demanded as they left civilization behind. “On the Indian reservation?”

“In South America, actually,” Headhunter said as he sped up the Interstate. “You didn’t really believe me, did you?”

The small man bristled. “Why the hell would I come with you otherwise?”

“To pay me back,” Diego said quietly.

“Wh… what?” Headhunter caught the look of alarm out of the corner of his eye.

“You apparently favor oral sex. At least you did when I lay helpless on the bed. Now it’s my turn.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Turn this car around and take me back right this minute.”

“Somehow I think this’ll be a little harder for you than it was for me.”

“You’re crazy, man!” John yelled. Abruptly, he dropped the phony disclaimers. “You…you’re not supposed to remember any of that. You can’t remember it! They promised.”

“Did you get the drug for them, Pipsqueak?” Headhunter asked. “I figure working in a drug store, you’re the supplier. You know all about things like that, don’t you? How much to give. How much I’ll remember. Am I right?”

The little man almost broke his neck casting around for help as they sped by Sandia Pueblo. “Where…where are you taking me?”

“We’re going up in the mountains where we’ll have some privacy. And then you’re going to make me believe you’re enjoying what you’re going to do for me. Do you understand?”

“Man,” John wheedled, “You’re wrong. I’m not queer.”

“Neither am I, but you took away my strength and did what you wanted to me. And now it’s my turn.”

“It wasn’t me!” Pipsqueak yelped. “It was Ritchie’s idea. And…and it wasn’t like it was the first time. Ritchie said you guys had no morals. Said he’d read where you did it to one another all the time, didn’t matter what sex it was. Said you serviced the missionaries.”

“And you believed him? Of course, you did. Your leader said it, so it had to be true. Besides, you wanted to believe it because you wanted me.”

“Yes, I believed him,” the little man pled. “He knows more about things like that than I do. He reads all the time. Why would he lie?”

“To get you to do what he wanted. To get his sick thrill from dominating three grown men and a helpless, drugged victim.”

“I’m sorry, man,” John turned in the seat, his face twisted in torment. “Really, I am. I’ll never do anything like that again. Please, man. Don’t make me do this.”

Headhunter noted the tacit acquiescence, although he doubted Pipsqueak realized he had already capitulated. “Actions have consequences, you little shit. The only question is how bad is it going to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where I come from, what you did would earn you a slow, painful death. Or worse. A non-death.”

“Wh…what’s that? Some kind of freaking zombie?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Either I’d have your head hanging in my hut or you’d be wandering helplessly in the jungle praying to die. You’d have no human contact because everyone who saw you would run away in terror. Think of living day after day with no contact, not capable of thinking. Wrong word! That’s not living. That’s existing... endlessly.”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t know how to do that. Anyway, there’s no such thing as zombies.”

“Believe what you want, Pipsqueak. But it’s really a very simple thing. Doesn’t take any Caribbean voodoo mumbo-jumbo. That’s for the tourists. It just takes enough of the right drug. Not too little and not too much. But the right dosage is kinda hard to judge. You know, weight, body mass…that kind of thing. The witches kill more victims than they enslave. But either way is okay by me. Both meet my standards of justice.”

“That’s just…a bunch of hokum.” Pipsqueak’s voice held a note of desperation.

“You think so? Then tell me something. How do I know Chuck was first and you were next? You claim there’s no way I could remember. Well, I do remember. My grandmother’s a witchdoctor, Pipsqueak. And I used everything she ever taught me to overcome your drug. I saw you perform your perversions on me. And you’re all going to pay. One way or the other, you’re gonna pay.”

Resistance, denial, disbelief all crumbled abruptly. “Please, man. I’m sorry. Please don’t do this!” Pipsqueak actually bawled.

“And if you get the bright idea of going to the police afterward, I’ll probably go to prison if you all stick together and lie. But I promise you one thing. When I get out, I’ll devote the rest of my life to finding you. And when I do, you’ll never be the same again. That’s a promise. No, that’s a vow.”

An hour later, Headhunter let the palsied little man off at his car behind the pharmacy. “One final thing. You’re not going to warn the others. If you do I’ll know… and you’ll pay.”

“I-I won’t. I promise. Uh, Diego, if you want, we can….”

Diego smirked. “Never again, you miserable bastard.”

He went home, showered thoroughly, and nursed a sore penis the remainder of the night.

*****

So far, so good. But you know me well enough to know I can’t let well enough alone. What will happen with the final two on his list? 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:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

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.

Headhunter – Diego (2)

markwildyr.com, Post #86

Courtesy of PexSnap.com

We pick up the second installment of our serialized story once again with Diego. How will he recover his memory of what happened to him last night?

Hope you enjoy.

*****

HEADHUNTER

DIEGO

Natala! The name popped into Diego’s head as he stood beneath the pulsing showerhead. As soon as he got home, he’d checked his time/date clock, determined it was Saturday, which meant he wasn’t missing work, and immediately took another long shower. And with that name, his distant past came flooding back even as last night continued to elude him.

Natala was curandera to the Huatani, a remote South American tribe. The tattooed woman from the dream was their healer… and his grandmother. As spiritually powerful as she appeared physically weak, she had been his nurturer, his caregiver, his teacher after his mother was stung to death by a serpent. Her strength came from her talisman, Jaguar, the God of the Underworld.

For a long time, he grew up without a significant male in his life. The Christian missionaries treated him, indeed all of the Huatani children with affection, but they represented only a collective masculine influence. He ceased simply being Diego and became Diego Bárbaro the day the Spanish authorities came to the mountains and hauled away the children, claiming they needed a proper education. For years, a dilapidated old bus took the youngsters to the nearest town so one set of foreign prejudices could replace the heresy of another set of foreign missionaries. He learned later of their little joke. Bárbaro was their name for a savage.

One day, a tall, slender white man named Dr. Walter Collins returned to the mission near Diego’s village after a thirteen-year absence and learned he had a son. The man and the boy were both shocked. Diego had always known he was different; his flesh was lighter, and he was taller than his playmates. His sharp nose distinguished itself from the flat nostrils around him. But a white man as a father? Why had Natala never told him?

Despite an obvious strain between his dark grandmother and his pale father, they tolerated one another rather than rend the boy in two. Natala disapproved but permitted Diego to spend time with his sire. Slowly, he discerned the difference between the two healers, so he understood when one was preferable to the other. In the event of an emergency in the village, he always knew which to summon first.

When Diego was fifteen, Dr. Collins was sent home yet again and insisted on taking his son with him. The youth feared an uprising of the clan when Natala set her mind against his leaving, but the white curandero and brown curandera huddled in her small hut for half a day, and when they emerged, he became Diego Bárbaro Collins and accompanied his father to the North American Southwest. Natala must have agreed to the decision, as his father did not fall to the ground and die in agony. Over time, he learned to love and respect the tall white man until his doctor-father went off on another mission in yet another country last year.

After drying off from his second shower of the day, Diego dressed and hunted around for his shades. He wore the darkest smoked glasses he could find, even in class and at the shop because the bright sun hurt his eyes. But when twilight came, he could see a crack in the sidewalk twenty yards away. He didn’t even own a flashlight; he could see adequately even at midnight.

Donning the smoked lenses, he walked over to East Central. He took it easy because he still ached in certain places. Chuck Thalman usually worked on Saturdays…that was why Diego did not. But today, the guy’d called in another press operator to cover for him.

Diego had a phone number for Chuck but decided to wait until Monday to talk to him. Realizing he was hungry, he headed up to McDonald’s for one of their salads. The food irritated his sore throat, so he went home and gargled with warm saltwater. Then he put a small blanket woven with tribal patterns in the middle of the floor, tucked his legs under him, and sat in a lotus-like position.

Friday. After work. He and Chuck ate at a restaurant and then went to The Stomp to to meet some girls. Diego attracted women like mosquitoes. They claimed he was handsome and sexy, but he thought it was just that he didn’t look like anyone else they knew. Whatever it was, he didn’t believe he hooked up with any of them that night.

But he did recall meeting two…no, three…of Chuck’s buddies at the big nightclub. The five of them collected at a table with five women sitting at another not ten feet away, obviously available…insistently available. Hell, Diego had danced with a couple of them, but each time he returned to the women’s table, one of the guys would call him over and get him involved in something.

He remembered drinking a lot, but they wouldn’t let him pay for a round. One of them kept saying South American money wasn’t any good up here, laughing every time. It got tiresome.

Diego shifted on the mat and frowned. He couldn’t remember anything beyond that point. Had he gotten so drunk he passed out, and the guys dumped him in a motel? He’d drunk himself into oblivion a few times, but not lately. And he’d never felt like this when he regained his senses. He didn’t feel rotten enough, sick enough for a hangover that major. Something was strange.

Diego had learned a few things during those formative years with his bruja grandmother. He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled deeply four times, one for each of the cardinal points, and then took two more deep breaths, one each for the underworld and the upperworld.

His mind reeled backwards until the dark, tangled jungle of home became imprinted upon his closed lids. Towering trees crowded the shore of a broad, muddy river. A cat, a huge tawny beast with dark rosettes, lifted its head from the water and stared through yellow eyes while its muzzle trickled water back into the river.

That was good. Jaguar was Natala’s kinsman. His mind raced down the river to the spot where it broadened and swept past a thatch and mud village, his village. Natala materialized, wrinkled and old and strong and mystical, inspiring fear and love. She smiled, giving encouragement to his efforts. That, too, was good.

Wisps of clouds obscured his vision as he traveled through time and space, arriving at a raucous table in a crowded, smoky nightclub. And then as if he were a disinterested party, he stood apart to watch the interplay of five young men huddled around a small table. One he thought of as Headhunter tried to isolate a woman at a nearby table while his companions vied for his attention.

His eyelids fluttered as his mystical self saw what the women at the next table saw, an uncommonly attractive group of men, all of an age. Diego’s spirit eye regarded each.

Chuck, the guy he worked with, was a stocky, brown-haired, likeable man. He was attractive to women because he represented stability.

John, a diminutive, bantam rooster-type with mousy hair, was loud and obnoxious. Diego dismissed him as Pipsqueak.

Ruggedly handsome, the dude called Rocco looked somehow foreign with black hair and brown eyes that roved restlessly and saw everything with the same watchful wariness as Headhunter.

But the last guy, Ritchie, was the one to keep an eye on. With his open, yellow-haired, pretty-boy looks, Leader had choreographed the whole evening.

Allowing his mind to float, Diego saw the party break up. The four men ushered Headhunter outside and piled into two cars. The procession stopped at a motel on East Central. They practically had to carry Headhunter inside. Using the deep, hypnotic trance of his bruja grandmother to part the chemical clouds of his mind, Diego watched the entire night unfold.

Headhunter had been helpless, weak beyond belief. They stripped him and laid him on the bed. The four men chattered like excited monkeys as they examined and poked his flesh. The duskiness, the difference fascinated them. They fanned the strange orange-gold patterns in his hair and rubbed curious hands through the gold-flecked black mat on his chest.

Diego’s eyes opened in shock as those lost hours were revealed to him. His breath came in short gasps, his skin prickled, his heart raced as he understood what each had done to him. Then a calmness settled over him as his grandmother’s instructions came through the ether. No, he wouldn’t take their heads. He wouldn’t even kill them. But as the grandson of a bruja, as a man, he couldn’t let this pass. It wasn’t the sex so much as the way they’d done it. And he would use all the skills Natala had stuffed into his head to pay them back.

*****

It looks as though a gang rape might have consequences, at least if Diego has his way. What’s he up to? Revenge, most likely.

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:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

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.

Headhunter – Diego

markwildyr.com, Post #85

Courtesy of PexSnap.com

I’m trying something a little different this time. A serialized story, each episode with its own subheading. And while it’s playing, I’ll suspend my regular timeline and post a new episode at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday morning. After “Headhunter” ends, I’ll return to the first and third Thursday.

Hope you enjoy

*****

HEADHUNTER

DIEGO

A spasm, an involuntary muscular contraction shook the bed. In an explosion of brain synapses, he fought his way out of the void, out of the clutches of a dream. A nightmare. A reality. Whatever.

He opened an encrusted eye and blearily examined his surroundings. A box. A beige box. Cheap prints on the wall. Stale, frigid air. Ah…a motel room. He lifted the covers with a shaky hand. Naked. Alone and bare-assed on a bed in some motel room. What the hell did that mean?

A name edged into his consciousness. Diego. He was Diego. And with the name, came fleeting flashes of vivid greens and muddy browns. Verdant jungles, mud flats beside a broad, brown river. Laughing, happy mud children. A magnificent cat—a jaguar. And a dark old woman with wrinkled flesh and tribal tattoos.

He blew air through his nostrils and shook his aching head. He needed to concentrate on the here and now…and the who. They came slowly. He was Diego Bárbaro Collins. He worked at Albuquerque Fast Ink, a print shop on Central NE across the street from the University of New Mexico where he took some classes. Twenty-five-years-old. Yeah, that felt right.

Ok, that’s the who and the where. Now to the what. The last thing he remembered was early Friday night. He and Chuck decided to go out. Chuck? Oh, yeah. The blond guy from work. They’d started bumming around together lately. Chuck’s doing; not his. He was a loner. They’d gone to a Mex place for enchilada plates. Then what? His fuzzy mind groped for an answer.

The Stomp! That C&W place out on East Central. Met some of Chuck’s friends there. Then what? Women at a nearby table. But that was as far as his conscious mind took him. From there, the unconscious—the nightmare—took over. The horrid dream he couldn’t quite wrap his memory around.

Diego shifted on the bed, generating several sensations—a terrible taste in his mouth, scratchy sore throat, dry cough, and a bruised body. Had he fallen on his ass? Had a fight? What the hell happened last night?

Battling big-time lethargy, Diego dragged himself from bed and staggered naked around the room looking for something. What? Anything. Blood. A body. A blonde. All he found were his clothes tied into knots. Who in the hell would do that?

He lurched into the bathroom to take an urgent piss before shuffling to the basin and staring at the stranger in the mirror. For a panicked second, he thought some jungle headhunter was glaring at him. Instantly, two fleeting images flashed before his eyes: the brown, tattooed old woman and that great yellow-eyed, spotted cat. He shook his head to clear his mind and examined his own dusky image. Crap, it was like meeting himself for the first time.

Ink on his brown arms…like the old woman’s tattoos. Yellow eyes with black, bottomless irises…like the cat’s. Thick, black, hair with odd patches of yellow like the spots on a leopard. He ran a hand through his hair, but the bits of color didn’t come out. His wiry body was almost totally hairless except for an expanse of fur—there was no other word for it—between his nipples. Silky black and spotted with yellow rosettes. Again, like a leopard. Gooseflesh puckered his back. No, not a leopard…a jaguar!

Seized by the feeling he was dirty… contaminated, Diego stumbled into the shower and soaped himself repeatedly until his skin squeaked. Toweling off, he felt clean but not cleansed, whatever the hell that meant. At least the shower had leached away the muscle soreness. Discovering a brush and tube of toothpaste—apparently complements of the motel—he worked vigorously to erase the foul taste in his mouth. A pocket comb from his knotted pants forced his unruly black and yellow hair into some semblance of order.

In a sudden rush to be out of the place, Diego untied his knotted clothing and dressed in the wrinkled duds. Now he no longer looked like a headhunter; he resembled a bum from the downtown area. As he left the room, he recognized his car parked right outside. He’d given the 2005 Mustang a custom yellow paint job last year. He got in and kicked over the motor. The throaty roar of the engine brought to mind the jaguar again. Still feeling shaky, he drove straight back to his apartment on Roma NE, a ground unit within walking distance of both the U and his work. How had he known where he lived?

During the entire trip, he puzzled over what had happened on the night lost to him… the previous twelve hours or so.

*****

Well, well, well. It looks as though something has happened to Diego. How does he find out what? Can his curandera grandmother or the Jaguar god help? Let’s see how Diego’s handles things 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:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

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.