MATI series - installment 4
Come on in, asshole. That's it...
When he knocks on the door, it moves under his knuckles.
Peeking inside - "Kirk?"
"Yeah," I say, from the bedroom. "Drey. Uh... C'mon back, willya?"
He heads in, automatically closing the door behind him. Sniffing - and as he recognizes the smell of reefer, he starts to smirk. Walks faster.
Dude lost his wallet last night. Somehow, I ended up with it. Imagine that. Damn nice of me to call, on a cold Friday morning, and tell him so. In my best stoner voice... Well, you ain't gonna believe this, but I didn't even steal the money out of it. He said he'd be over, right after his last class - and here he is, good as his word.
The bathroom door is closed. He glances into the bedroom -
I put a blue light bulb in the overhead fixture, to keep it mysterious. The light from the hallway is shining in... on the wallet, lying right on the foot of the mattress. He sees it, and looks around. The thick "wallpaper" under the posters don't even rate a second look. I mean, he's built like a locomotive... nobody's gonna try anything funny with ol' Drey.
With another glance at the bathroom door, he darts into the trap and reaches down. Picks up his wallet. It's what he came for... right? He looks in the money compartment -
I stuck a hundred in there, just to keep him staring down. One fuckin' second longer, maybe two... as I start closing the door.
By the time he looks up, it's too late to race over and kick it open. I got him.
He walks on over - after it's closed. The doorknob is oiled... and it's loose. The lock doesn't make any noise, because I oiled the shit out of it. But he looks at the door, and all the padding around it, like he might be inclined to get angry.
"Hey," he says. Arrogant as they make 'em.
"Get ready. Sucker."
He grabs the doorknob, and lurches to the side. Slippery, huh?
"I'm a friend of Deeny's."
That makes him freeze. His eyes get bigger.
"And I hate your fuckin' guts."
He turns around. Looking for me, but he's in for another surprise there. "Now wait a min-"
"You and me, Drey. Right here. We're gonna have a wild time tonight."
I have six gloves zoom out of the closet, to his left. Black satin. Clamping on...
He yells, and his wallet slaps against the wall. Well, shit, I thought he came over to get that. Big fuckin' reaction to the first squeeze.
I spread 'em out, armpits to belly-button - and he slams back, rattling the door. Making a different sound. Shrieking, as he hugs himself. I pull his right foot up, and yank his shoe off.
Out in the living room I turn on the stereo, not too loud... and lock the front door of the apartment. I get a wedge from the bathroom and jam it under Drey's door. There.
He forces himself off the door and rattles the knob. I put my deadbolt in the upper corner, but it doesn't show from the outside. I don't need a key to lock it.
He's spending the weekend here.
"Fuckin' suh huh huh huh hhhnnnaaw h-haaaaalllpp meeee..."
To make sure he knows that I've got him, I pull the other side of the doorknob off. From outside his cell. I have a piece of duct tape all ready, so I peel it off the door and plug the new hole.
Drey falls back, and almost goes down. Near the mattress - and that would've been handy - but he don't lose his balance. I get an opportunity to maul his sides again, before he can bring his arms back in. And I get his left shoe off.
He laughs at the doorknob in his hand.
"Haaaaaaaallp! Help me heeee heeeeeeeeeee!," he roars, throwing his weight against the door.
When I pick up his leg and peel the sock off his right foot, he rears back hard, slamming his back and his head against the padding. He stops yelling and slides to the floor, looking dazed. But he recovers, kicking and throwing himself around, and he manages to get back on his knees clawing at the hole where the doorknob used to be.
I get his left sock, give it a hard tug - and pin his ankles. Four soft fingers rub each of his soles, and he starts roaring again, good and loud.
Whipsawing around, tense as a wire... and falling over.
I let go of one ankle - and tickle the other foot harder. Lots more of this planned for ol' Drey. A shitload of tickling. As I slide his shirt up, my gloves hop right back on. But now they can fuck with his bare skin.
He bucks like a rodeo bull, and howls at the door.
I get a lock on each of his upper arms with a couple of hands... and drag him backward to the mattress. The gets him arching hard, and he pounds on my gloves. Bastard. I pull his jeans off without 'em, so he has nothing to beat on. College boy's not wearing any underwear...
"Nooooo hooaaaah haaah hah helllllp help helllaaaaaalllppp... Aw heee heee heeeee-eeeee."
He watches all four limbs get spread out, and tied down. Pin his ass down so he can't hardly wiggle.
I bring the gloves up and make 'em hang there. Over his belly. What the hell - I even add a couple more.
"You like tickling, Drey. Remember?"
"Nooooooooooooooo hoooo-"
"Let me show you how it's done."
He gasps - but he don't move a muscle - when I make the fingers dive.
Tickle my cowpoke, will ya? Asshole.
"I'm gonna kick your ass," I growl. "There and back again. You wanna just leave it to the experts."
I plow into him, and he screams just like a little girly-girl.
Deeny's got it hard enough, I think to myself. About time this prick grew up and acted like an adult. Helped out...
I'll tickle some sense into him. Probably gonna be a while, too, before I feel better about this shithead.
He's definitely overreacting. Too afraid. I've seen it before. Some bullies slide right into a full-tilt panic when the tables are turned like this.
But I wanna make sure, so I slow the gloves way down. "Fuck. Get a grip, Drey. It's just tickling." So far.
Panting, he shakes his head real hard.
"Yeah. Same thing you were doin' to your little brother -"
"Nuh n-no no nawww halllllp..."
Seriously afraid. And he should be. Big jock never thought this day would come, right?
"No rules."
"Aw haw hah haaaawwwnnaaaaaaahhh!"
"No limits."
"Naaawwweeeeeeeee! Heeeeee heeeee neeeeaaawwwwwwwnnnh..."
"Just the way I like it."
He squealed, even louder, and flopped around.
"Laugh, asswipe. Harder. I'm gonna drive you nuts. Take that -" and I wrap a glove around his right pec - "And that!" Another one crawls out of his left armpit, and they roam back and forth. Pecs, armpits, pecs, armpits. Back out, and in.
He's just about ready to have a seizure. His laughter climbs up. Hysterical squeaking...
A minute later, he just shakes with his mouth open, laughing silently.
"This is how I do it, Drey. All night."
He opens his eyes again, and yanks on the ropes.
Well, I made him a promise...
So I nuke him until the sun comes up.
He's fun.
I clean him up and change the sheets. Get him all ready for the Saturday that just won't fuckin' end.
As he lays here, snoring quietly, I see the resemblance...
He sat there, tossing pebbles into the creek. Didn't look too happy. I intended to fix that.
As usual, it was easy to bring the knapsack right up to him without getting caught. Behind his back, I slid a pair of handcuffs out of the front pouch. They were painted green.
I caught his right wrist before he even looked at it. His reaction time sucked. He watched the cuffs reach over, and I shoved his left arm into position. Click.
He was still tense. That wasn't like him.
I chuckled at him, slow and growly. That got him to smile, at least. But he was still actin' all shy.
From the backpack, I pulled out a pair of green satin gloves. Bright green, a ridiculous color. Deeny's favorite.
"And now," I said, with a dark laugh, "Let's make that smile a lot bigger..."
When I brought the gloves around, wiggling the fingers - he stiffened up. Pain in his eyes.
"No! Kicker, no, please. Dooooon't..." He tried to scoot away.
Something wasn't right... but dammit, I wanted to enjoy myself. I laughed louder, and reached for his sides -
"I can't! It... Oh, crap."
Can't, huh? I had the gloves back away. "What's that?"
He closed his eyes. "Stupid, stupid, stupid Deeny, stu-"
"Hey. Shut up. You're not stupid." He started shaking his head. "Deeny. What is it? Let me help you out." He was getting frustrated, so I unlocked the handcuffs and put 'em away. His eyes were getting misty. "Talk, cowpoke. C'mon. It's just me."
All I got was a low whine. Shit.
I put the gloves away...
"Please? I want to help. Look. No tickling today. If you don't want it, I don't do it. Remember?"
He nodded. Yeah, his lip was trembling. And I really hated it when he cried -
"You wanna cigarette?"
As usual, that distracted him. Without moving at all - the little con artist - he whispered, "You got some?" Eyes darting around, to see if anybody'd catch him.
"Dammit..." I got a new pack out, and handed 'em over.
He giggled a few times.
"Biggest mistake I ever made," I sighed melodramatically. Then I pitched my voice higher. "C'mon, Kicker, I'm fourteeeeeen. Almost a man... I just wanna try it. Please? Pleeeeeeeeeze?"
He stuck a cigarette between his lips and gave me a big ol' grin. That was more like it. "I'm sixteen, now," he said, as he pulled his lighter out. "My dad smokes."
"So what?" I shot back. His ol' man wasn't up for parole for another eight years.
"Well..." He lit up, groaning with pleasure. Yeah, the little shit liked to smoke. I was gonna have to fix that. My fault. Never thought he'd take to it like he did. Fuck.
"What happened, Deeny?"
"Nothing."
"Deeny."
"What?"
I growled a little. He looked behind quickly, at the knapsack. No gloves coming. So he giggled, and flicked ash.
"Tell me," I said.
He shook his head. "Just forget I, uh, said anything."
"Tell meeeeeeeee..."
I was wearing him down. He took a long drag, and looked around again. "I... can't."
"Did you promise somebody?"
"Uh-huh."
"Was it a good promise?"
And he didn't answer.
We've talked and talked about shit like that. I just about gave up on making him understand that there are bad people out there who will say anything. His dumb-ass mother didn't care... But generally, I thought he understood. I hoped so. Hell, I knew I was taking chances - and life was hard enough for him already - but I got to like the little bastard. He was a sweet kid... and he was gonna end up in prison, or the state hospital, the way things were going. Nobody else gave a fuck. So I stepped up. If things took a real bad turn I had a seriously amusing place to haul him off to instead...
"Spill it, Deeny."
"Kicker..."
"Don't I always keep my mouth shut, when you tell me things?"
"You don't have a mouth," he said, as if I was dumb as a post.
"Nope. But I can hear... and if you wanna hold on to those cigarettes, you better start talking."
"Okay. Don't... Okay." He thought for a second. "But I did promise."
"Do you know the difference between a promise and a threat?"
He nodded. And his face clouded over.
"Let me guess...." I was getting madder and madder, but I didn't let him hear it. "Was it your mom?"
"Mom? No."
"Was it... Drey?"
He looked down.
That bastard. I'd kill him...
"What did he do, Deeny?" He shook his head. "You have to tell somebody, when bad things happen. It's the only way they can get any better."
"It wasn't that bad -"
"Bullshit. You're not the same ol' happy guy I know. Won't let me tickle ya -"
He winced.
"Oh. Let me take a wild guess," I said drily. "Did Drey tickle you again?"
His eyes opened wide. "How the fuck do you do that?" he whispered.
"I'm magic. Did he touch you..." I tried to remember the phrase he understood, that we agreed on. "Out of bounds?"
"No," he said immediately.
"Well. Good," I muttered.
"He's never done that, Kicker, nuthin' like that. So don't go doin' a-"
"Okay. So... he just tickled you, huh?" I am such a fuckin' hypocrite.
"Just? He - it was horrible." A big shiver ran through him. "He wouldn't stop."
Big deal, I thought. "That's my favorite thing to do, butthead."
"Well, I know that. But it was... Man. It just went on and on and on, and I couldn't breathe too good, and I pi-"
Deeny shut up, real quick.
"And then he stopped?" I said grimly.
He shook his head, looking down. "No..."
That was when I decided I was gonna have me a long talk with Drey. Four years older, and he's gotta have a good sixty pounds on Deeny. Even worse, he could do no wrong so far as Deeny was concerned.
And I guessed that was normal for baby brothers. But Deeny wasn't normal, and Drey sure as hell knew it. That prick was the reason I had to take a perfectly good pair of handcuffs and paint 'em green, let Deeny play with the keys awhile and ask how they worked, just so he wouldn't be afraid of 'em anymore.
Fucker had a sick sense of humor. So do I - but damn. Taking advantage of Deeny's trust the way he did... Hey, kid, c'mere. I got you something. Put out your hand...
Oh, this? It's called liniment. Smells good. You can use it as a deodorant. Here. I'll let you try it. Put it under your arms. Real thick, okay?
I patted Deeny on the shoulder. He jumped a little, and relaxed. "No more tickling, then. Not until you say it's okay." And I started whining. "But I was reeeeeally lookin' forward to hearing you laugh tonight."
"I like it when you tickle me."
"No. Dude. You can say no. And that's all there is to it. People better listen to you, or I'll make 'em sorry... Say 'no' to me."
He grinned, and dropped his head.
I squeezed his shoulders. "Saaaaay it -"
"No."
"Oh, a lot louder than that."
"No."
"You need some practice, big man. Again."
"Alright... NO!"
"There." I let go, and spotted a paper in his back pocket. Grabbed it -
"Hey..."
"What do we have here? Math homework?"
"I'll do it later."
I laughed and stuck it in his hand. "Get real. Let's see..." I pulled a pencil out of the knapsack. It clanked against a can -
"What was that?," he said, turning around.
"Nothing. A can of whoop-ass, with your name on it. But I guess it'll keep until later. Then, look out."
"Scary. I like that," he said. "Was that a beer?"
And I hesitated too long before I answered. Well, fuck, it wasn't like his mom gave a damn. He'd started drinking on his own. I decided to blame Drey. It had to be his fault somehow...
"Maybe," I finally answered. "Depends on how hard you work on these math problems."
"Shit," he mumbled. "Okay... Two times three."
I handed him the pencil, and we sat there for awhile. Finally, I couldn't stand the wait. "Two times three is the same as?"
"Three times two," he fired back proudly. "Oh. It's... two, four, six. Two times three is six."
"Yup. So three times two... is..."
He stared at the paper. "Six?"
"Yeeeeeah!" I cheered. "Write it down." I pressed against the back side of the paper, and he carefully wrote a 6. "That calls for a smoke."
"You always say that," he said, eyes already on the next problem.
"I always mean it," I sass him right back. "At least with the older dudes I... hang out with."
"Like Drey."
Oh, that mutherfucker was gonna sweat. I got a brilliant idea... "Too bad Drey don't smoke."
Deeny didn't react. He was too busy staring at the paper. "Uh, he used to. When I was little. Then he went out for the football team."
Well, maybe he'd take it up again. It would serve him right. "Did he look cool?"
"Sure. Five times five... Twenty-five."
"Whoa. Hold on," I barked. "Did you just take a guess?"
"No!"
"C'mon."
"Asshole. No. I know my fives."
"Get outa town." He laughed so hard the numbers were hard to read. "I'd erase those and write 'em again, if I were you."
"Okay."
"You continue to impress me, Deeny. And I don't care what they all say about you."
"They can be pretty mean sometimes," he said quietly. "Four times ten... uh-oh."
"Forget them. They suck. Remember who your friends are."
Apparently, he took that to be an order. "Jo-Jo, and Lionel, and Miss Wegner. Mom. Drey, sometimes."
Or sometimes not. Shit, was I gonna enjoy getting to know Deeny's big brother. "And who else?"
He thought hard. "Well, you..."
"Oh. Thanks. 'Well, you.' Like I was nuthin'. Thanks..."
Deeny laughed. "Shut up. I thought you were asking about real friends. Not invisible friends."
"I'm hurt," I chuckled. "I think I'm gonna cry."
He shook his head, and looked at the paper again. "Four times ten. Ten is a one and a zero... Don't tell me... Four times one is, uh, four. Add... Four-oh?"
If I had a tongue, I might've bitten it clean off.
"Four...ty. Forty. Oh yeah. Four times ten is forty..."
"Real, real good. Big ol' cowpoke."
"Don't poke me now. I'm writing."
"Yeah. But later, when you feel like it again... I'm gonna poke your feet real good."
"Kicker -"
"Poke you under the arms. Belly-button."
He sighed, as if putting up with me was annoying as hell. "Eight times three. Hmmmmmm..."
It's a cold, miserable Saturday... afternoon.
"What?," is the first thing out of Drey's mouth after he yawns himself awake. He looks at one tied wrist, and then the other. "No. No! Shit!"
"You still here?" I taunt him.
"Not... more!"
"Shit. Nuthin' but more. After you eat."
"I... But you said! Tonight..."
"What?"
"Last night. It's what you said, dammit. Somethin' like... gonna have a wild time tonight."
"Uh-huh." I watch his expression, as he tries to think up something else to say. "I said that."
"Well?"
"And we did."
"Uh..."
"We had a wild time, huh?"
"Yeah, but... please..."
"What - were you thinking I meant... one night only? And then I'd let you go?" And I cackle at him like I'm insane. "Fuck. Good one, Drey. Check it out - I told ya last night was gonna be wild. And it was."
"B-"
"But I never said today wasn't gonna be wild, too."
That makes him wail louder, and snap at the ropes.
"Fuckhead. It's still true. You and me, we are gonna have a wild time. Tonight."
"No no no... Oh no -"
"Same as last night." And I chuckle again, as he babbles cuss-words, trying hard to roll over. "And tomorrow night..."
Fuckwad.
He's gonna remember this weekend.
"Damn," he gulps.
I bring him a water bottle, and a six-pack of beer.
"More to come," I chuckle. "That's a promise."
"You... enjoying yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Sick b-bastard. You like this -"
"If you're tryin' to insult me," I tell him, "You're goin' about it all wrong."
That's when I untie one of his wrists. He finally notices, looking more confused than usual. It's good to keep 'em confused. "Oh... yeah."
"You're not a southpaw, are ya?"
"N-no."
"Catch." I lob a pouch of joints over to him.
"What's this?"
"Hold on tight." I unzip it. "See for yourself."
He stares. "You're gonna get me stoned?"
"So high you can't see straight. That's some good shit."
After a second, his hand dives in. "Thought you hated my guts," he says, pouting.
"I do. Mostly."
He pulls the lighter out, and sparks up. Makes a noise like he approves of my stash.
"Better?"
"Yeah," he croaks. "Fuckin'... scumbag."
"I see where Deeny got his vocabulary."
He scowls. "From you. Really - uh, why?" He waved the joint in the air.
"You're gonna relax... and then, the tickling is going to hit ya so hard it'll blow the top of your head clean off."
"Great." He snorts, and takes another hit.
"And I can start tickling in a couple minutes," I remind him.
"Or?"
"Or you can kick back, for a couple hours. Lay here and smoke. Get drunk."
"Well, shit," he says sarcastically, "what a tough decision to m-"
"Keep pushing, fucker."
That's all I have to say. He shuts up.
"I'll get the last laugh. Ain't done with you... Now if you wanna run your mouth, here's a subject. Your kid brother."
He frowns. Damn, am I gonna waste this fool. "What d- I don't know what you want from me."
"Let's try this again. College boy. I'm a friend of Deeny's."
"And you don't want me to tickle him. I got it."
"No. Not yet. You only think you got it. Truth is, I'm just hitting my stride." He gulps. "You tickle Deeny, one more time, and I'd be more than pleased to lock you up. Padded rooms, racks, cock toys, you name it. I got it all. And there's plenty of other ticklers, Drey. Long-time fun. All I gotta do is say the word."
He looks downright scared.
"Tattoo your ass up right," I drawl, twisting the knife a little more. "Definitely."
"I won't tickle him anymore!"
"Good. Because I ain't done with you. Even after you stagger out of here, Drey. Whenever that is. You're stuck with me now. I'm the probation officer from hell."
"Wha-"
"Shut the fuck up. Okay? I'm still workin' out the terms of your probation. No more weed - you like that one? It could happen. I'd rather see ya smoke... Couple packs a day. Camels, Hammers, Pall Malls. A pint of Jack Daniels, every night. No sex. Kinky sex. Whatever the fuck I want. You catching on?"
"Yes," he says simply.
"Now. You tell me everything."
"About Deeny."
"No, about Fidel Castro. Fuckhead. I met up with him when he was fourteen. Before that, I don't know much."
"F-" He slams his head on the mattress. "No way."
"Start talkin', Drey."
"I thought he was talking to himself."
"N-no," I say hesitantly, "can't say as I notice him doin' that."
"In his room - do you, uh - er -"
"Spit it out."
"Talk to him? At home?"
"And other places."
"Yeah. Oh, shit, I've heard him. Talks real quiet. But sometimes I hear -"
"And now you know who he's been talkin' to. Your imaginary enemy."
"Oh, shit..."
He cooperates, finally. Tells me everything. Answers my questions, and I start to see his attitude improve.
"I got him loaded. Last winter... no, it was the winter before that. He didn't like it."
"Good," I sigh. "So it'll be a couple years before he takes it up."
"I dunno. He's sixteen." He shrugs, as much as he can with one hand tied down, good and tight.
"He ain't you, Drey. Wants to be... He'd shoot dope just to impress you."
"Oh, fuck off."
"You have no idea how much he idolizes you. Do ya?"
"He... Knock it off. Mindfucker."
"Your old jean jacket. Heavy metal music - remember? Wanting his hair long, just like yours. That toy car he painted to look like your old Mustang - and that pen you gave him - I think it was a graduation present. From your aunt in Georgia, or something."
That gets him thinking. "Aw, hell."
I hate him a little bit less. "You didn't know."
"Never caught on. He told you all that?"
"I'm tellin' ya. You're his hero."
Drey fumbles in the pouch for another joint. "I think I see... why I'm here."
Well, that's just a golden opportunity to tell him about where he's going, the next time. I give him all the gory details...
"You're wreckin' my buzz, here."
"Brought it on yourself."
"I went a little too far -"
"A little." I snort. "That's the whole fuckin' point. You embarrass him - your biggest fan - and you keep right on goin'."
"I wasn't thinking," Drey says.
"You were probably high."
"Yeah."
"And you're loaded now, so I'll spell it out real clear. You're my new project because you humiliated him - and the sucker still wants to be like you. It ain't all about the tickling. Hell, he loves ti-"
"You should know."
And I barely keep myself from cuffing him upside the head.
"Let me tell you something, captive," I say quietly. "Yeah, I'm a tickler. Ain't gonna apologize for it - not to the likes of you. I torture adults... But not Deeny. Do you know what a fuckin' stop word is?"
"I, uh, think so."
"When he says stop - and means it - I stop. Period. If he don't feel like laughing, I leave him alone. And I ain't never made him piss his pants. Asshole."
"Okay."
"Here's an idea - he starts lookin' miserable, I slow down, he tells me, and I let him up so he can go take a leak. He plops himself back down and grins... Sixteen years old. Wetting himself, as his dumbass brother - the jock - his hero, sits on his legs... and keeps on tickling."
He closes his eyes. "I'm sorry..."
"You sure as hell are."
"I - Look. What do you fuckin' want from me?" he yells. "I'll apologize to him -"
"Uh-uh. Wrong again," I interrupt. "First, you're gonna have a weekend full of tickling that's way beyond anything you could ever come up with. Show you how it can be... And I tell ya, I could get addicted to being the big dog with a leash on you. Rubbing your nose in it." He's thinking it over. "But you're needed at home. Get me? This is not the time to be reminding him what you did. Not even to say you're sorry. That'll keep, Drey."
"Got it."
"And you're not ever gonna tell him you met up with me."
He opens his mouth, and grimaces. Shuts up again.
"Better," I say mildly. "Words ain't gonna cut it, Drey. I better see some action."
"Okay," he nods. He looks sorry - and I don't mean he's just pretending to be sorry.
I hand him another beer. "No more tricks. The liniment, the handcuffs. And no retard jokes -"
"Hey," he snaps. "I ain't never called him a retard."
"To his face," I growl. "True. But I've been haunting your house, mutherfucker. Remember? And I listen to you, sometimes, when you're on the phone. The way you talk about him..."
"Uh," he says, wincing.
"Yeah."
"Brothers rag on each other," he says defensively.
"Not you. You're havin' a life-changing experience. Right here. From this point on."
Drey thinks for a second. "He smokes in the house."
"Oh - This from the clown who's always got a joint going, in the room next door."
"But... cigarettes stink."
"That's it." I open the closet door, and pull out a carton of Camels. "Fucker. That tears it."
"Oh, yeah. That's really helping him out."
"They ain't for him," I chuckle. "They're for you."
He blinks. "No way. No."
"The smell won't bug you anymore." And I laugh at him.
"No... wait, now, you can't just m-"
"Fuckin' pothead." I tear open the carton, and remember the joint he's got lit. So I set 'em down on the floor. His eyes stay on 'em. "Let's see here... By the end of the month, you better be pretty damn close to, ummmm, two packs a day. It'll give you two something to talk about."
"You've gotta be shitting me."
"After a year - if you behave yourself - you can put 'em down."
"Dammit," he whines.
"Let 'em remind you, every smoke, to be... the world's best big brother -"
"That's what I get for being nice," he grumbles. "Man. I wish I'd never given him one."
Hold on... "You?"
He shuts his eyes, like I'm gonna hit him, and takes a fat toke. And he nods.
"When was this?"
He looks at the ceiling, figuring it out. "Thirteen," he wheezes, right before he exhales.
"Thirteen? The little shit was thirteen?"
"Uh-huh."
"How sure are you?"
"What the hell do you care?"
"Well, he was fourteen when... uh, when I -"
"You?"
"Well... uh... I got sick of his whining."
"Tell me about it," Drey nods.
"He lied to me."
"You sound surprised."
"It's pretty rare."
"So, uh, do I still have to smoke?"
"And buy his cigarettes."
"Son of a bitch..."
We're coming up with a list of all the things Drey can do for Deeny.
"And I'm tired of being the only one nagging him about his teeth," I say.
He rolls his eyes. "His teeth are fine."
"How many cavities did he have, last time he went to the dentist?"
"Two," he says confidently.
"Try four."
"Oooo." He thinks it over. "I did give him a beer, afterward. As a reward for going. Do I get any credit for that?"
"Five points," I drawl. "Get after him."
"I will," he promises. "I don't want him to piss and moan about any more toothaches... I took him to the regular doctor."
"Bullshit. When was this?"
"January - no, February," he snaps.
I think back... "That bronchitis?"
"It wasn't bronchitis. Something about his chest. The lining, inside."
"Huh."
"They gave him a shot. Cortisone, or something. Worked like a charm."
"Why'd you take him to the doctor?" I say. "Was it a real doctor... or were you just trying to fuck one of the the nurses?"
"Oh, for Pete's sake," he wails. "Deeny was hurtin', I did a good thing. Why can't you believe that?"
"Ten points, then," I chuckle. He might avoid a repeat of this weekend, after all - which would suck, sorta, 'cause he's so used to being a bully that it just drives him nuts to be on the receiving end.
"Whoooo," he says disgustedly. "So how many points am I up to?"
"About twenty-four."
"Fuck. Great -"
"Out of one hundred," I add, picking up... eight gloves.
He sees 'em, and starts to wrestle around. "Uh, lemme go for twenty -"
"Nope. It's time to laugh, Drey."
"I told you everything."
"And I appreciate it," I say, right by his ear - as I catch his hand and slowly tie it back down. "That's the only reason I haven't been working you over all day."
"I'll cooperate -"
"Fine. But I never said I'd let you weasel out of it entirely."
"Noooooo -"
"I gotta reinforce your lessons. Show you I mean business."
"Kickerrrrr..."
Fingers start digging in - slowly.
"You just think about it. And I'll do what you did to your little brother. Right here. The water you drank - and all that beer - it's gotta come out. So I'm going to tickle you, and tickle you, until you wet yourself. Again. And you know what, shithead? I'm gonna keep on tickling."
"Pleeee heee hee heee heee-"
"No, I ain't gonna stop. So you know how it feels... On, and on. Clean it up when you shit - again - and then I think I'll keep goin'. Tickle between your legs. Get you off, Drey."
He shakes his head, yelping away.
"And probably, you'll be amazed how much more ticklish you are, right after you cum."
"Nooooooooooooooo..."
Aw. Right now, he sounds just like Deeny.
Sunday morning, after he eats, I make him pound down three shots of Early Times. Open up a pack of smokes.
I don't talk to him for a good twenty minutes. Just bring him one smoke after another, and let him think...
When I decide he's nervous enough, I bark real suddenly. "Hey. Piece of shit."
He swallows hard.
"You gonna tickle Deeny any more?"
"No!"
"Huh. You gonna get back at him?"
"No -"
"In any way?"
"No, no, I sw-"
"And you're not gonna let on that I've been talkin' to you, right?"
"Oh, no."
"You gonna be anything other than the friend he always wanted you to be?"
"No!"
"You gonna... trick him?"
"No."
"Mess with his head?"
"No. I won't -"
"Embarrass him, or mock him?"
"No!"
"Tell anybody we had all this fuckin' fun, here?"
"Hell, no -"
"Keep your hands off his feet?"
"No."
His eyes bug out -
Gets 'em every time.
I whistle, real low. "No?"
"Yes. I mean... Yes!"
"You son of a bitch." I take his cigarette away. Bring him ten gloves...
"No - don't, please, I meant yes. You bastard! Wait!"
"That's all I need to hear. I'm not letting you out today, dude."
"What?"
"Obviously, you're not ready to leave Deeny's feet alone -"
"I mean 'yes'! Dammit. You tricked me. I'll go cr- I gotta go to class tomorrow!"
"You do? Hmmmmm. Creative writing. Nine to noon... And isn't that the one you blew off, last week? To go hang out behind the welding shop and get high?"
He had no idea I've been tailing his ass all week. Setting him up. Drey makes a strangled noise, and pounds the mattress with his head.
"Thought so."
"Aw, fuck! You can't."
"Let's make sure you remember... how intense tickling can be."
Please, you just - Kicker, you can't -"
"Sure I can."
And I do. With fifty quick fingers.
He lays on his back and smokes. Got all his spelling words right - even "length", for fuck's sake. Deeny knows exactly what reward he's gonna get.
"When are you gonna take me to MATI?"
I sigh hard. "Don't tempt me, kid."
He thinks for a bit. "You let the guys smoke there, right?"
Right away, I picture Drey. Coming out of the store with a sour expression, and two cartons of cigarettes in his hands... "I make 'em smoke, mutherfucker. Then I smoke their ass -"
Dammit. Me and my big mouth. He's got that faraway look in his eyes.
"But you're still a kid. Ain't even old enough to smoke."
"Fuck you, Kicker." Big ol' grin.
"You better quit."
"Make me."
I sigh - like this is the biggest chore in the world - and pull his arms up over his head. Hold 'em down in the grass.
He watches a pair of gloves cruise on down to his belly... squealing quietly before I even lay a finger on him.
And it takes me a few months, but I outnumber the bad memories with good ones. Fixing what Drey did. And I always keep it fun. For Deeny, too.
Longer fun. More and more intense...
On to Part 2
18nov02