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- - 23 - -

"Well, c'mon in." I shut the door and lock it.
That doesn't faze Erwin. "What on earth have you done?"
Brent looks triumphant. "Kidnapped me. Tortured me -"
"Look," I interrrupt - losing control of the scene, and I really hate that - "let me feed you guys. Okay? Let's just all stay calm."
They lock eyes.
"Calm," Erwin says thoughtfully. "Yes." He looks around, as if he was trying to locate me. "You need to offer something at this point, dear. Give us your solemn promise that we will have a long talk after dinner. A real talk." He looks back at Stinger. "All three of us."
"Gladly."
Brent opens his mouth, and closes it again. And he sags a little. Rolls his eyes.

"Then it's settled," I say quickly. "I've got some nice, lean beef. Sirloin..."
Erwin walks over to the table, shaking his head.
"What are you drinking?" I ask him.
But he ignores me. He's studying Brent. "Vik... dear... would you have any objection if I talked with this young man, alone?"
Actually, yes. Shit. I already decided there was no avoiding it, though. "I'll be on pins and needles, but go ahead."
Brent chuckles. It isn't a nice chuckle, either.
"In fact, we'd better get all of the cards on the table," I say, pulling the steaks out of their packages. "Why don't you two check out his room?"
They both stare at the hovering steaks. I drop 'em, pick up a tenderizing mallet and start pounding.
"You're kidding," Brent finally says.
"Go," I say, waving the mallet. "I've got cooking to do."
They disappear down the stairs.
I can only imagine what kind of horrible things Stinger is saying about me. All of them true...

After a while, I can't stand the suspense. I wander down there.
"...I don't blame you," Erwin was saying.
"Unbearable. I really mean that, I... Shit. I can't find strong enough words to describe it."
"You don't have to," Erwin said. "That's something I understand. Some things are way beyond words."
"Yeah," Brent says, all excited.
I can't bear to hear any more. So I go back upstairs and toss the salad for fifteen straight minutes, fretting...

Finally, everything's ready. And they're still talking. "Soup's on," I say, from the top of the stairs.
"And it smells delicious," Erwin says, coming up.
"Well. Yeah," Brent adds, reluctantly.
"Just eat," I sigh. "Eat first, and then we'll talk..."

They devour my food like they've been breaking rocks all day. I take that as a compliment. Stress, coming out. Very different kinds of stress, but... they're still men.
Erwin wanders into the living room, and sits on the couch I got just for him. At the other end, I park Stinger.
Irish coffees for both. I offer Erwin a cigar, and he eventually accepts. So I have Brent fire one up too. He acts like I'm sticking pins into his butt or something, but at least he doesn't whine.
"Ah," Erwin says. True contentment. He doesn't fear me anymore.
One of a very few.

After a while, I took the chance of telling him what I like to do on my days off. He failed to see the appeal it held for me. Finally, I joked about kidnapping him and showing him first-hand.
He called my bluff immediately. So we did. We decided the actual kidnap part wouldn't be crucial to his "education", so he drove out to a cell I was using at the time, in Maryland. I showed him all the gear I had, and he seemed to be interested. So I took a huge chance, and turned out the lights. I stripped him and laid him out on a mattress. He took it well...
I tickled him for an hour. He chatted the whole time. Completely unresponsive. A gag didn't help. Tying his toes back didn't help. I had no reason to think he'd suddenly burst into a ticklish frenzy after a climax, so I didn't even go there. That's how disappointing it was.
So I let him up, apologizing nonstop, ready to die of embarrassment. And he surprised me again. He'd been waiting for me to jump him. The stern, silent torturer was exactly what he'd expected. After all, he got in a car with a predatory tickler - voluntarily - and drove out to a cell...
We decided the prior knowledge couldn't have prepared him thoroughly enough to lay there like a dead fish. He said the restraints, and the darkness, were invaluable. No amount of description could convey it. And yes, he'd really expected me to slip into the "stern" mode I really used on my prisoners.
"Trust your instincts, Havik'a," he said. "I do." And I kissed him. I'm not ashamed to admit it. How incredible, to be trusted that much...

A while later, I suggested he might understand me better if he saw me in action.
He thought it over for a month. I brought it up again - and I wasn't looking for his approval. It was obvious he wasn't going to cheer me on. Hell, no. I think I just wanted him to get more insight into what makes me tick.
Make a videotape, he said. I shot that down. They're always fun for me to watch, but they don't include everything - guys need to see it live.
He said he couldn't watch another person in distress without trying to come to his aid. After a long debate about what constitutes "distress" - which I, of course, lost - I made it crystal clear I was going to enjoy the weekend, whether he saw it or not.
Erwin is a completely pragmatic man.
Once certain he could not appeal to my sense of reason, we made a date. I built a cell in Pennsylvania. Four cameras, so I'd have something to enjoy later. Two of them were hidden in the cell, and two were behind a big one-way mirror. I installed good microphones there too. The last accommodation was a thick layer of bulletproof glass between the mirror and the observation lounge wall.
Then I parked Erwin in a comfortable chair, high enough so he could look down and easily watch what was going on in the cell. I gave him cigars and a thermos of coffee - and a urinal! - and I locked him in. By prior agreement, he'd be there for three hours. I thought that would long enough to give him some idea of what marathon tickling did for me. So he was trapped, with his permission, unable to alert my prisoner that he was watching.
I brought in a gang member - an exceptionally mean little fucker, tough as nails - and put Erwin out of my mind. And I proceeded to enjoy myself. When the timer went off, I let Erwin go, collected the cameras and toys, and fetched a van I'd stolen and hidden away. Erwin went home, and I took the ticklish bully to another cell in New Jersey. No way for Erwin to know where I'd moved him.
If Erwin got any kick out of watching, I never picked up on it. My passion was interesting only so far as it told him more about me. He tried, for a long time, to get me to stop...
Well. Except for that Aussie. When other methods had failed, I was all set to persuade a thoroughly nasty guy from Queensland to rat on his scummy friends... but the bastard caved in. And that was before he even found out what I was going to put him through.

- - 24 - -

I look at him, and at my captive - smoking their cigars.
"Well?" Stinger says finally.
Erwin shifts around a little. "Well. A few questions, first. Save some time. Havik'a - how long do you intend to keep poor Brent?"
I don't say anything. Mostly because it's too much fun watching Stinger think about it.

"How many hours have I wasted, trying to get you to stop this behavior?"
"More than I can count," I shoot back. And I can see where he's going. I could kiss him right now, if it wasn't for that damn cigar.
"Do you comprehend my concerns?" Oh, baby. Ever the pragmatist. "Have you been considering the many... many excellent reasons why this has to stop?"
"Yes, Erwin."
"Not the least of which is Brent's right to freedom?"
"Yes."
"Are you open to hearing two more reasons why this is morally repugnant?"
"I'll listen... but I'm still not going to let him go."
Brent sags back against the couch.

"You refuse to stop tickling him?" my boss says, watching Brent carefully.
"I refuse."
'No matter what the consequences?"
"No matter what."
He smokes his cigar.
Brent looks from Erwin, to the door. "Now wait just a mutherfuckin' minute, here -"
"Stinger, sweetie, be quiet and let the adults talk."
"Vik," Erwin chides me.
"I don't believe this," Brent says, all sulky.
"Somebody needs to get stoned," I say, fetching a joint.
"Oh no you don't..."
But of course, I do. With his own hands.

"Why did you ask me to come out here, Vik?"
Uh-oh. "I wanted..." Think fast. "I wanted you to know what I've done."
"Havik'a. Please."
"I'm in way over my head -"
"Just let me go," Stinger says, drawling more than usual. "Do the right thing -"
"Hush," I tell him.
Erwin doesn't react at all. "Why am I here tonight, Vik?"
"I just told you w-"
"Why, Vik?"
"Shit. Okay. I want you to talk me down."
Brent perks up.
"Really." He isn't buying it. How did this man get to know me so well?
"I want him. Erwin. Too much." And I can't have him - not the way I want, with the work I do...
"You can't keep him," he says. Surprisingly gentle. "You will come to see that, in time. This has enormous repercussions. For our work. For Brent."
"Aw, c'mon. He makes me happy. You can't imagine how much fun he is to tickle -"
"Maybe I can't," he says, "but I have three compelling reasons. And you know I do, yet you had me come out here anyway. The work will suffer. You are obsessed to a degree I've never seen before, and that cannot be good for you." He looks over at Stinger, who's taking another good toke. "And however much you... reward him, this is not good for Brent."
"Fuckin' A, it's not," Stinger says suddenly.
"He's not a pet, Vik."
"Yeah. Get a dog or something."
Erwin and I wait for Brent to shut up.

I sigh dramatically. "If only there was some other way..."
"Vik." There's a warning in his voice. He's on to me. For a moment, I panic...
"Well, uh, I'm sorry," I blurt.
Erwin puffs on his cigar. I've lost. I can't believe it. I never lose -
"Pick a date," he finally says. "Cut him loose. If you must, go back to your old ways. Maryland. Philadelphia."
What? Oh. The places where he's seen me in action. "Like... I used to do. Before." He nods, and points at Stinger. And I think I get it. "Because you can't stop me anyway."
"I would if I could."
"I believe you..."
And victory is still within reach. Erwin completely misunderstood my apology. He hasn't figured it out.
Maybe he refuses to believe how far I'm willing to go.

"Stinger. Let's get you ready for bed."
He mumbles under his breath.
"Stinger?," Erwin says.
"Nickname. And no, I didn't give it to him -"
"Stinger," Brent mumbles. He's so stoned.
"He came with it. C'mon, babe. Up." I pull him to his feet. "More coffee, Erwin?"
"Don't worry, I'll serve myself," he says, with a wave.
So down the hall we go...

I shut the door behind us. Unzip him - carefully - and stick a cigarette between his teeth. While he urinates, I open the little cabinet under the sink. And pull out a plain cardboard box.
He shakes his dick, and puts it away. While he does, I light his cigarette. Behind his back, I open the box and take out the implanter. It looks like an oversized air-gun for giving shots. Vaccinations.
Brent smokes, and leans forward. That suits me. I take hold of his head, very gently, and find the spot. A small dot of exposed scalp, shaved yesterday and hidden under all this long, straight hair.
"In a way, babe... I am sorry," I whisper, and set the barrel in place.
"Huh?" he says, tightening his neck muscles like he's about to lift his head.
Before he does, I pull the trigger.

"Ow!" he roars. "That hurt! Wha..."
Stinger buckles, and I hold him up.
When I carry him into the hall, Erwin's already there. He looks past Brent - and sees the implanter.
"Oh, Havik'a," he snaps.

"Get out of my way!" I yell. And he does...
I lay Brent on the couch. Erwin checks his breathing, his pupils. And then he examines the implant site.
"You've lost all objectivity," he says sadly. And that hurts.
"Apparently so," I say.
He sighs.
"Without anesthetic?"
"Erwin, he's stoned."
"Hmmmm."
"How's the placement?," I ask nervously.
Erwin closes his eyes for a second. "Just about perfect."
"Oh, goody."

He turns around. "This is beyond the pale, Vik."
"Then fire me."
"I wish I could."
"Then do it. I'll get busy... with Brent."
"You're needed in Panama! In three days!"
"And now, I can be there. I mean it."
He looks at Stinger again, and walks into the kitchen.
"Please, Erwin. Don't clam up on me -"
"Vik... I have to think." I decide it's a real bad time to try to convince him of anything. "I... Oh, damnation. I'll ask you, nicely, to watch Brent. He could be coming around even now. And I will get myself another cup of coffee, and perhaps a cigar. And I will be allowed ten minutes to think."
"Yes, Erwin."
He fills his cup. I hold a cigar out. Peace offering.
"Cutter," he says curtly. I get it, and a box of matches. He lights up, and gets a death-grip on his mug. Marches downstairs - not a good sign. I would've steered him away from Brent's cell if it had been up to me, but hey.

Snagging a bottle of water, I head for the couch. Then I make a detour and grab a bottle of ibuprofen out of the medicine cabinet.
Brent lays there. A little blood is seeping from the implant site. He'll have a bruise...
"Ow," he says vaguely.
"Headache?"
"Yeah..."
"Take some of these."
He squints at the pillbottle. "Two. No, make it three..."
I sit him up carefully.
"What did you do to me?"
"The only thing I could think of," I sigh. "Here."
He swallows obediently. I send his hand to get a cigarette out -
"No," he barks, seeing the pack.
I overrule him. Well, at least partway. I hold the lighter in his right hand, and a cigarette in his left. A Winston, just waiting to be smoked, the filter sticking out from the loose leather fist -
Suddenly I'm just overwhelmed with the urge to tickle him. So bad.
And I will. I've got him now. I've really got him. Erwin knows it. He'll have to help me.
I should never have done this. But now that it's done, we'll make it work. For everybody. Erwin's smart enough to see that.
"You want a beer, sport?"
"Ugh. No."
"How's your stomach?"
"Fine."
"What year is it?"
"Leave me alone. Okay?"
"What day is it?"
"How the fuck would I know?"
Whoa. "Right."

He lights the cigarette. By himself. I put the ashtray close by.
And we wait.

Erwin's climbing back up the stairs...

- - 25 - -

"You cannot do this, Havik'a."
"Erwin - as you know full well, I am doing it."
"Do what?" Brent says.
"I really, really need you to shut up now," I beg him.
He looks annoyed - and then, rather... smug.
I get him another cigarette, and make him light it off the old one. Just wait until I get you alone, I think. Oh, man.
"You're taking advantage of me."
"Yes, Erwin. I am. And you can't begin to imagine how much I hate that."
He sits down. "The annoying part is, I believe you."
"Oh, good," I say, very relieved.
"If you'd pulled this a month ago, or a month from now, I'd fire you."
"Yes."
"But I don't see any other option, at present. I must have you in Panama by Tuesday. Must."
"I hear you, B-"
"Kindly put a sock in it," he says evenly. "The timing is too fragile to use... human operatives. And I expect your usual flawless cooperation." "Y-"
Ssssh," he adds, waving his cigar. "But I cannot continue working with you. Not when you're this far gone. You know how important the work is. And this is - well, it's inexcusable."
I hold back what I'm thinking, and stay quiet.

"And now I'm involved," Erwin sighs. "You sat me down at the table with your, uh, friend here. Vik. This is unprecedented. In humans, it creates a bond, however puzzling that may seem to you. I have to live with the knowledge of him being here. And that, it turns out, is the real reason you asked me to dinner. So I must step up to the plate. And I don't mind, entirely. There's a certain... scientific appeal - well. At any rate. Before I do what I must, Havik'a, you have one last chance to stop this."
A few seconds pass. "Erwin. I understand you perfectly. And I'm sorry... but he will get his instructions tonight. With or without your input."
"None of that. Save the drama for later, when he's a... captive audience."
"Ow."

"Instructions?" Stinger says. "Wait a minute."
"Brent," Erwin says to him, "you have been sorely used, but the timing is critical. Let me fight for you. If I took the time to explain it all... your prospects would be considerably dimmer."
"Nobody ever tells me anything -"
Erwin turns away, and I must admit I find that amusing. To the empty air in front of him, he says, "I insist on hearing every syllable."
"That could be embarrassing -"
"Only for you, Vik. Perhaps it will act as a restraint."
"You're just full of puns tonight."
"It's turned out to be a most astonishing dinner."
Touché again. "Game, and match. Your terms?"
"I know he's here, and that you're keeping him. I will hear your... special instructions. If you move him, you will tell me -" He sits up. "No. Strike that. I'd rather you create some kind of bond. I want to monitor him. For his own sake."

"Certainly, Er -"
A loud fart interrupts me. Brent. The good ol' boy. He looks at Erwin, and laughs.
"Phone calls - daily, if I wish - whenever you're not present. Incoming, and outgoing. At least one visit a week. Field trips -"
"What?"
"I'm not negotiating, Vik. Consider the power of what you're about to do. I have full confidence in your choice of... wording. Our wording."
He waits me out. "Yeah. Okay."
"Be creative. It's better for him. And it doesn't have to... cut into your private time at all."
"I think I see. Actually, yeah." It gives me a couple of hot ideas. Oooooh - three ideas.
"Why did you ask me to come out here, Havik'a?"
"I -" Oh-ho. I get it.
He outfoxed me again.
"Say it."
"You're my insurance."
"And Brent's."
Dammit. "Yeah."
"So let me minimize the damage. Or else I'll have to do my duty, as a man. And many innocent people will end up getting hurt, because of Panama."

Oh, fuck Panama, I think. I just want to get about a dozen gloves on Stinger's torso. Responsibility sucks.
"Alright."
He nods. "Let me be there for him. Increases stability," and he rolls his eyes toward Brent. "I have to keep you efficient."
"By keeping him stable. Okay."
"Well... as stable as possible. Do we understand each other?"
"Yessir."
"Then do what you're going to do. I have a long drive ahead of me."
I could hug him. But that's exactly the wrong move right now. Men are so weird.

Instead, I go open the refrigerator and get a little box out of the vegetable crisper.
"Was that, by any chance, in the freezer?" Erwin asks, watching it float in.
"Vegetable bin."
"Pity. Well, maybe the moisture ruined it."
"It's also called a vegetable crisper, Erwin."
"I am getting fuckin' pissed off," Brent announces. "With both of you."
"And it's not fair," I say, soothing him. "Here."
"What's this?" He examines the box.
"See the button?"
"This, here? On the top?"
"Yes, babe. Push it." Erwin just closes his eyes.
"What'll happen?"
"I'll cease to exist... in a puff of greenish smoke."
And he actually starts to push it. The cad. But he stops... "No, really. What'll happen?"
"Good grief." I start to take it away - but he yanks it back! "You'll become a happier guy."
"Like hell."
"Push the button, Brent," Erwin says. "Get it over with."
"Yeah," I giggle. "Push it."
And poor Stinger, he's in a real quandary. "You both want me to. So it's bad... unless you're double-crossing me..."
"You see?" Erwin says to the room. "What you're doing to him?"
"You're right," I sigh. "You're both right. Stinger. Forget it. Don't push the button."
I count to three, and watch him. His eyes narrow -
And his thumb presses down.

"Urk," he says, dropping the box. His whole body relaxes.
"That was sadistic," Erwin says.
"Hey, I didn't push the button!"
"I don't mean that. Handing it to him."
"Oh. But it's so much fun."
He just sighs...

- - 26 - -

"Okay, Stinger. Sit back and relax." Where to begin, where to begin...
"Yeah."
"How do you feel?"
He thinks about it. In a faraway voice, he says, "Real good."
"I am so glad to hear it. When you're happy, I'm happy. I'm your... imaginary friend."
"Okay."
"What's my name?"
"Vik. Havik'a."
"Atta boy..."
It's just like the manual says. Kinda spooky.

I won't pretend to know the difference between alpha, beta, delta waves. What's important is that the implant works. It temporarily floods him with a sense of peace and calm that overpowers traumatic stress. And certain wave patterns are being introduced.
I have about forty-five minutes, tops, to change his life. My statements will be accepted as fact. My questions will force honest answers...

"No one can see me. Only you can hear me."
"Yup."
"When I'm not at work, I live with you. Here, in this house."
"Here..."
"Yes. I've always been around, and whenever you tell anyone about me, they don't believe it. So you don't bother telling anyone now. If people say something that makes fun of imaginary friends, you kinda feel sorry for them, because you know I'm real. You got all that?"
"I sure do."
"I've got the cellar all set up, just the way I like -"
He frowns. Starts to fidget.
"What's the matter, Stinger?"
"The cellar."

I sigh. "What's bothering you about the cellar?"
"I... uh, I get tickled. There."
"Yes, you do."
"I hate it."
"Stick with me, kid -" And Erwin clears his throat. "Okay. Why do you hate being tickled?"
"It's so hard... Intense... But it's just not... hard enough."
I stare at Erwin. His eyes widen.
"That's the first thing he comes out with? Biggest complaint?" I whisper to him. He nods slowly.
Holy cow.
"What else... Is there anything else about the tickling you don't like?"
"I can't move. I'm stuck, real tight."
"Yes. Go on."
"It's so fuckin' intense, and I can't move... Can't get it over with..."
"You hate that," I say, and Erwin shakes his head vigorously. I get it. "Sometimes. Do you like it, other times?"
"Oh, yeah."
"This is unbelievable," I whisper to Erwin, who just scowls.

I need a full half-hour. It's... uh, ticklish work.
He got a big legal settlement last year, and I help him with his finances. He doesn't remember some things because he got hit on the head, but he's been recovering nicely. Eventually he'll be able to go back to work - that one, at Erwin's urging - but for now he gets to loaf around.
Sometimes, he'll go out drinking... maybe even let a woman take him home. Another one of Erwin's bright ideas. It was surprisingly hard to get the words out.
I told him it was important to live where he did, until he was "all better". Moving, or taking any solo trips faraway, was not in the cards just yet.
If anyone visits, the cellar doesn't even exist as far as he's concerned... And I realize I'd better check and see if any of the meter readers have to be let into the cellar. A big curtain, like they use to in hospitals for a little privacy, might be a smart addition.
Simple facts go right in. But I spend ten precious minutes convincing him the tickling is unavoidable. Meaning, in particular, my brand of nuclear-meltdown fun. I keep having to circle around the basic idea that "it's not fair" with variations of "life isn't fair sometimes". Eventually, I win again - not by challenging any strong beliefs he has, but by confusing him.
His outrage at being imprisoned and tickled is all a big misunderstanding... he's recovering from a head injury that impairs his judgement. The tickling is happening in his cellar, after all. It would just follow him if he lived somewhere else. It's exciting. He's getting more ticklish as time goes on...

And - very important, to me - if he's not in the cellar, the tickling is remembered as a recurring dream. A vivid, endless dream, very dark, not scary. Overwhelming - okay. And the things he says and hears down there are never recognized as things that actually happened to him. Unless he's downstairs.
Erwin prompts me again - so I add, "All a dream. That includes everything you've gone through since... you went to the convenience store, that fine Saturday morning, to get yourself some cigarettes. Got it?"
"Yup. Got it."
"When you're down in the cellar - and I'm not down there with you - you have nothing to fear. Right? You'll remember those weird dreams, but the stuff down there won't even be worth noticing." That was a close one...
But none of what I do to him is "real" - until he's hauled downstairs again. Then it all comes back to him.
If it does cross his mind during the day or in a dream, he will focus on the exciting, intense aspects. A pleasure-workout for ol' Stinger. All fun. Hot, twisted fantasy.

I look at Erwin. "Any conflicts likely to come out of that?"
He thinks hard. "I don't see any."
I get a burst of inspiration. "Brent, do you like to read?"
"Like... books?"
"Yeah." I already know his taste in magazines. And mine...
"Not really."
Erwin doesn't say anything, but I can see it on his face - not too surprised by that last answer.
"Why not, Brent?"
Eventually I get the answer - too much forced reading as a kid. Too dull. I gently argue for the diversity of books out there, a growing curiosity, blah blah blah. As for the magazines, he already knows what to do there. I'll just keep the fuckrags coming. Broaden his horizons...
And grab every tickling mag I can find. For the cellar.

The time is flying by. "Okay. Physical fitness. You really like being buffed out, don't you, Stinger?"
"Fuck yeah."
"You like working out?"
"Yeah..." Hesitant, that time.
"Why don't you work out regularly?"
"I never have the time."
"Well, you do now."
"Cool."
I'll have to get him a set of weights. He'll pump iron, most days. And he can run. He seems to be open to that, all those cigarettes notwithstanding. But he's not to get obsessed about his physical condition.
"Havik'a hates competition," Erwin can't resist murmuring.
"Spoil-sport."

"Add me into the mix, while there's still time."
"My liege. Brent... where's Erwin?"
He points. "Right there."
"That's right. He's a good guy. You can trust him. And he's fascinating... in his way... once you got to know him." I don't dare check out Erwin's expression, right now. "Here's how you met him, the first time. You were at the... doctor's office, for a follow-up and some x-rays... and Erwin was there in the waiting room. He struck up a conversation, and - against all odds - you two enjoyed talking." I peek. Erwin's arms are folded. "Just another one of the weird things that happen to you, Stinger. You guys decided to get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. You got all that?"
"Coffee," he says, nodding. "I remember that. He's okay."
"Yeah. You respect his opinion. He's smart. Now you hang out with him and talk every week. Sometimes every few days. And when I'm at work... uh, one of you checks in with the other every day. You can tell him anything, Brent. He's trustworthy."
"Yeah. He is."

"Okay, O trustworthy one. What am I forgetting?"
Erwin thinks for a few seconds. "Mid-course corrections."
"Huh?"
"Pick a code phrase for planting suggestions later."
"Of course." Dammit. I'd thought of that before we started, and managed to forget it in all the excitement of setting Stinger up for a red-hot time.
"You won't be able to undermine his values, thankfully. But you can introduce new facts -"
"Or take them away," I say casually.
"Yes. But it won't work nearly as well then, as now."
"Okay. Brent, my man."
"Yeah, Vik?"
"From now on, wherever you are, if you hear me - or Erwin - say the word..." Crap. Something amusing. Okay, got it. I say it carefully... "Kittle. Then you will believe what you are told. Everything you're told, until you hear the word again."
"Kittle," he says.
"Yes. And only from Erwin or me. If you hear 'kittle', you listen hard... believe whatever is said to you, and fit it in with what you already know... until you hear the work 'kittle' a second time. From me or Erwin. Do you understand? Have any questions?"
"No. Makes sense," Brent says - chuckling. Oh, babe, you are in for a wild ride.
"A little heavy-handed," Erwin whispers, "but..." And he shrugs.

Stinger yawns.
"If you have any parting shots, now's the time," my boss says..
I've been debating this. But what the hell. "Brent. Listen. You've had an idea for a while now - not sure where it came from, maybe a movie you saw - but you're ready to act on it."
"Yeah?," he says curiously.
"There's this great tattoo -"
"No way," he shoots back. Erwin clicks his tongue, but I ignore him.
"C'mon now. Why not?"
He hesitates. "They hurt."
"But you're a tough guy."
"Well, yeah."
"And you know what? Some people are wimps. Your tattoos won't hurt. And they'll look great."
"Tattoos? More than one," he says, yawning again.
"They're addictive. People rarely stop with just one."
"I get to pick."
"You pick some, I pick some. And they're not going to hurt at all. It'll just be a tingling sensation, and you'll kinda like it."
"Okay."
"Honestly," Erwin grumbles...

I'll start him out with a bee. Real badass, though. With 'Stinger' under it. I'll design it.
"You're yawning a lot. Have a cigarette, babe. Then it's bedtime."
"O-kay." But he's so out of it I have to control his hands...
I am so excited. Picturing what he'll look like. Cuffed on the pad - with thick blue-black chains inked around his arms, cartoon feathers dancing in flames, slick gloves pointing at reliable spots.
And my name, on a scroll over his heart.
Erwin's looking nauseated. "You'll get him catalogs of design templates. Find out what he wants," and he cocks his head, "or at least how he wants it to look. Please tell me you're done."
"Sting-er... You know Havik'a loves you."
"Hell yeah, I do."
While I want to add the reverse - make him say it - I just can't bring myself to do it with Erwin here, looking that angry. Besides, I can make him say it later. In the cellar. I'll be adding a lot of instructions into Stinger's muddled head. Tomorrow... stretched out tight, all sweaty, trying to smoke and catch his breath at the same time. Staring at himself in the mirror...

- - 27 - -

"Well, some of us have to go home," Erwin finally says, getting up.
I'm sad to see him go, and I feel like a jerk. But at least I'm a jerk with an infinitely entertaining stud at my disposal.
"Give him my phone numbers, will you?"
"Of course." I unlock the door. Glancing back at Stinger, who's just starting to snore.
He puts his hand on the doorknob - and stops. He doesn't even lift his head. "Havik'a... I have the utmost respect for what you can do. And you are intelligent. I find you endlessly fascinating. But."
"But?" I prompt him.
"There will be no second time. This is the first, and it will be the last. I do not approve. And I will not assist... again." And he sighs then, sounding old and weary. "I will never be in this situation again - with you and some human you fancy. Because then I would have to do appalling things to remedy it."
I feel... the worst I've felt in a long time. Maybe ever.
"Unless you have an urgent need before then, we'll speak when you call in for a Panama update. Monday morning. Good night, Vik."
"Good night, Erwin."
I watch him get in his car and drive off.

Back inside, the door safely locked, I pick up Brent and carry him downstairs.
With every second, I get more and more... annoyed. He's the reason Erwin is mad at me. No, that's obviously not true. But I'm getting into the feeling.
If it wasn't for this big, dumb redneck...
Ah. I can run with this.
All the shit I have to buy now. He's going to need a truck, and a set of weights... all kinds of clothes - oh, crap, I have to get him a real bed! For his room. His room. And that means a dresser. And another TV. The whole entertainment center has to be duplicated, for the living room. I don't believe this.
He'll need money, too. A checking account...
I cart him in, and set him on the pad. Lock the door. Strip him. Restrain him, and start planning.

Vengeance. I'm going to make him suffer...
I have to call Erwin in... what... about sixty hours. Stinger can catch a few hours of sleep now. Four hours. No more. Then he'll need, oh, a bare minimum of six, the next two nights. Dexedrine will keep him sharp.
And I really should have him wake up on the couch. Test how well he forgets the basement. Drag him back down, to continue the asskicking he so richly deserves.
Subtracting rest breaks, I'm left with what? Maybe forty hours of carnage. Grudge-match tickling. No rules.
Fuck 'em all. Panama, all of its neighbors... I've got a party to throw. Brent's gonna be blown away.

On to Part 5
Back to Part 1   -   Part 3

21jan2002