"Dammit, answer the fuckin' phone!"
The hunter was on its way to the park, and usually it wouldn't even pause... but the guy who'd just yelled had decent arms. Too skinny, though. Crankster. His ribs - it could count 'em even through his t-shirt.
That thought was intriguing, so it ambled on down.
He slammed the handset into the cradle, scooped up the change and hesitated. Plugged the coins back in, and punched a number.
"Hey. It's Clyde. Listen, you gotta go to my place right after work. Tell Boo to get the fuck out. Lay low for awhile. Fuckin' cops got his plate - but I was drivin'. Tell him... They're gonna bust his ass if he sticks around. Tonight. You make sure he gets gone, alright? I'm takin' his car. I'll call ya tomorrow - goin' to leave him a note, now. But get him, okay? Later."
Lay low, huh?
It followed Clyde to a rundown apartment. Two bedrooms.
The other one, well... it had to be Boo's. Younger brother, probably. There were two photos - each with a different girl. Short hair, at the ocean - maybe Florida - and a more recent one. Longer hair, stoned-looking grin... Golden Gate Bridge in the far background.
He looked promising. Worth getting to know.
Next to an overflowing ashtray, there was a pile of check stubs. Payroll checks. The workplace was maybe a mile away.
The hunter waited for Clyde to take off. As he pulled out, it ripped up the note he'd left for Boo. Evidence was usually not helpful.
Poor guy's future hung on whoever Clyde had called. If that lowlife didn't get the message, and act on it... Boo was goin' to jail. For something he didn't even do.
That just wasn't right. The hunter was in a position to prevent it. Fuck waiting for Clyde's friend to sober up, or whatever - Boo had to disappear. For his own good, of course.
And it so happened that the hunter was able to make that happen. And willing, of course. Hell, yeah.
If he wasn't at work, for some reason, it figured it could intercept him when he got home...
But there he was! Also skinny, but not as sucked-up as Clyde. Scruffy-looking. Maybe twenty-two.
As it looked him over, the unfairness of his situation - the trouble waiting for him, which he didn't even know about - settled the matter.
He slipped out behind the warehouse, lighting a cigarette. Right in plain view. The cops could already be tracking him down.
It disappeared, and returned a few seconds later. Bringing something with it...
A long, low object, which materialized right behind Boo. He was taking another drag. Didn't see it -
He bumped into the footboard. With a surprised grunt, he exhaled smoke and turned around. Saw the bench. Stared at it.
Dark brown wood. Leather pads... and straps.
He blinked a couple times, and looked around. Took a step back, and another -
The bench disappeared, for less than a second. Suddenly it was right behind him again...
And this time, he fell onto it. Started sliding down the inclined leg-pads, and stopped.
"Whathfuck?" Boo muttered. He lowered his arms slowly... hands ending up by his butt.
The hunter entered the bench. Merged with it - hell, it became... Bench.
Panels slid open, a few inches below Boo's hands. Silvery gauntlets emerged, smooth and quick.
Bench closed solid fingers around his left wrist. The other set paused, over his right hand...and quickly dragged over his ribs.
Boo gasped, and started to roll away.
Bench grabbed his free wrist -
And it made him disappear.
Bench and captive were suddenly in a small room...
Technically, it was a cell. There was a little window, with thick bars blocking it. Way too thin for Boo to get through. There was no door. No need for one. He'd get out when Bench carried him out, as easily as it had blinked him in.
The stonework was solid. Bench had built it, deep in a Bavarian forest. And with Boo, it had a win-win situation. He needed to be gone - and fuck, he was gone but good. Not only was Bench helping him out of a jam...
It was going to have a great time with him. His earlier reaction was all it had needed to see. Time to haul ass.
He looked around wildly. Then back at the window.
It sent two more hands out from under the footboard. One crept up to a strap -
And the other grabbed his right shin. All by itself, it shoved him back. His ankle dropped into the padded half-circle in the footboard.
He looked, and tried to kick. Bench pressed harder on his ankle. He yelled, and started to turn.
But the other glove wrapped the leather around his leg, and slid it down. Pulled it snug, and hooked it on the stud. Both hands flew to his other leg -
Boo kicked again, but his trapped foot stayed where it was. Looking shocked, he reared back a little and yelled again...
The gloves kept a tight grip on his wrists.
His left leg was pinned efficiently. His feet sat there, trapped, almost level with his face.
Bench sent two more gloves out - from the headboard - and took hold of his left arm. With care, three gloves raised his arm and pulled it behind his head. There, out of sight, more straps were waiting...
The post behind his head was cut whole, from a tree. Maybe eight inches across. It wrapped his wrist and pulled it snug against the wood. Hooked it, and the gloves went to his right arm -
He was fighting hard, by that time. Flailing all around. That delayed Bench a little. But it still won.
His limbs were all trapped. He yelled, and cussed. Bucking around...
Next to Bench, his cigarette lay where he dropped it, smoldering. Forgotten.
It sent one of the gloves back into the solid base, and picked up the scissors. With other gloves holding him down, it started cutting at the collar of his work shirt and hiked it up by his hands. Soon the sleeves were also cut, and the shirt was tossed aside.
The Levis took longer. He kept squirming, and yelling.
When it took away his underwear, Boo really got mad.
But his attitude changed when the gloves converged on his sneakers, pulling gently at the heels... and letting each shoe fall. Tugging on his socks, until they were free. Held in their grip, raised slightly - and dropped.
He twisted in the straps. The deep pockets in the footboard kept him from moving too far. Tilting side-to-side, but anchored too well to pick 'em up. And with his arms bent like that, behind his head - held tight - his ass was staying right in the padded saddle where it belonged.
Bench pinned his right leg with two of the hands, and brought up a pair of bolts. Reefing a little harder on the strap, it pushed the screw through a hole in the strap, and a matching hole in the footboard, and spun the nut down.
When the other bolt was set, he kicked and wrestled around. Now the lateral movement was reduced, too. He was a pretty good fit, Bench decided. Not too short. Of course, he couldn't stay in this position for too long. But there was an alternative waiting. Even more comfortable.
It bolted down the wrist-straps... and let him discover how hobbled he was. As if the cell wasn't enough. And the topper was that he didn't even know it was actually keeping him out of jail. Well, "real" jail. Bench liked the irony - Boo, avoiding arrest, caught in its clutches. Stripped, tethered and helpless as they come. Ready to discover why it had brought him here...
Bench wondered how long Clyde had in mind. Get him - get him gone. For a week? Two?
It retracted four gloves, and let a pair hang over his belly.
Why not... a couple months? Just to play it safe.
Above his head, a feather was stuck into the thick post. On duty.
From the footboard, it sent out a pair of metal stalks. Each brought something up -
And they grabbed his attention, alright, as they came into view.
Large white feathers.
Boo looked like somebody slapped him. He bellowed, trying to rock back and forth. Toes wiggling, eyes stuck on the soft pointed tips...
Bench raised them, just over his toes, and brought 'em back down.
He managed to shake his head. "No," he said. "No. Fuck -"
Contact. Midfoot - up, and back down.
He stuttered, body all tense - and groaned. Whined, passionately - and then he chuckled. Bursting out of him, the most desperate, reluctant chuckles...
Which gave way to hoots. Gleeful, mournful wailing.
Bench brought the hands down slowly. Down, down, down. To his armpits.
He squealed at one glove, then the other. Trying to arch -
It dragged the fingertips gently, around, pressing in.
Boo yelled, and gulped air. Racked with laughter, eyes shut tight...
Bench stroked the valleys under his arms, sliding over the coarse hair, then sent the fingers creeping down his sides.
He laughed on, wild and touchy. Really desperate to bust the straps.
Bench liked motivating him. The straps creaked as he slammed back and forth, arching. Convulsing when its fingers slid into his armpits, again and again.
And constantly, steadily, the sweep of the feathers on his imprisoned soles. Unshakable.
Unstoppable.
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