back to Part 1
Casey woke up a million years later.
It appeared to be his own bedroom, but nothing was certain anymore. He barely managed to reach for a pack of Luckies on the side table. He didn't buy those...
9:41.
Wait. That wasn't right.
The sun was coming through the window. Too much sun, for the morning -
So the clock hadn't been fucked with. He was three hours late?
He swung himself around to the edge of the bed... and started laughing.
Oh, wow, it was suddenly impossible to do anything except laugh. He barely got the cigarette into the ashtray, rolled around - which made the sensation so much worse! - and pounded on the mattress. It was unbearable. Casey ended up shoving the pillow against his face so he could laugh just as hard as he wanted. Oh, he fuckin' roared with hopeless laughter, beat the pillow some more, bit it.
His cock.
Unbelievable. It was sore, and erect, but the ticklishness made him squeal and bellow like a madman. Brushes had to be dancing all over it. His crotch was soaked...
He finally dared to look. There was a brown Tickl-Dee-Nial condom on him.
Still wailing laughter at it, his fingers tugged at it - which all but paralyzed him for a few terrifying seconds, because the impact was shattering!
But eventually he rolled it off, and sagged back.
His arm trembled as he fetched the cigarette.
The fuckin' rubber was still caught tight in his left fist, because he sorta expected it to come to life and float back down to his cock.
Purple, green, blue, then green again...
And now, brown. This was the fifth torture-condom.
Man, his whole body tingled.
It felt like it had lasted a decade, but that might've been an even more satisfying time than the last day or two in the fuckin' warehouse. So good, actually, that now he was really late for his shift.
He managed to pull the phone over to him and called the sergeant.
"You sound like shit," his boss said.
He'd never been so late for work, so that was perhaps the most reassuring thing Casey could've heard.
"If I thought you were clever enough to pull this, Davalos, you'd get a writeup. Long weekend."
"What?"
The sergeant finally laughed. "You're a lousy actor. So that musta been genuine. You can't do the job if you're too hoarse to yell at somebody. But I better get a doctor's note if you even think about not being at briefing, Sunday, 0700 sharp."
Aw, hell, Casey just couldn't spend the weekend... going through what he had last night. No freakin' way. "It won't happen again, Sarge," Casey said. "This... it jumped me." Which was truer than Sarge would ever know.
"I know it won't, because then I'd look like a dupe. You don't wanna know what I'm like when I feel like a sucker."
"Nossir. I don't."
"Get better, he sighed. "Sunday."
"Sunday."
The line went dead.
Casey took a last drag - and froze.
He really could get grabbed any second now. Today, Friday, Saturday...
"Incentive," he whispered. Oh... shit.
Something was up.
He paced around, tried to eat...
The carton, with seven packs of Lucky Strikes left in it, had been left on the kitchen counter.
"Thanks a whole hell of a lot," he said, smacking a new pack and tearing it open.
It was toying with him.
Dammit...
He jumped a mile when the phone rang. Almost two in the afternoon. Please, please, Casey thought sickly, don't do that Fazetock-laugh, don't tell me to report back to that torture chamber, or any other -
But it was the Sarge.
"I know this sounds weird, but hang with me," his boss said. "First, you know anybody with the last name of Fitz?"
Casey nodded. That wouldn't travel through the phone, though. Man, he was still rattled... "Uh, Jimmy, Mike, Andy, Paul. From youngest to oldest."
"That'd be them. Now tell me about Jimmy."
He hesitated. "How much detail you want?"
"I'll tell you when to stop."
Okay. He took a breath. "James Matthew. September 20, nineteen... eighty-seven. Probably - no, at least four juvie busts. Small shit. Then boosting cars, stop-and-frisk pot busts, intent to distribute. In and out. Two kids, last I heard, and he picked up his three-year chip at NA. Seems like a legit turnaround. He, uh, hates cops, though. We haven't talked since I went to the academy." That was an ugly scene -
"Anything unusual in the way of tattoos?"
After thinking about that, Casey snapped his fingers. "He's sleeved, but you must mean the Fitz tree. Some uncle started it. All of the boys got it put on... their right bicep. Way up. Brothers get 'em drunk and hold 'em down. Jimmy was, uh, thirteen." And proud, after he sobered up. Showing it off as Casey passed the joint back, outside the back door of the Y. Windy day.
"That'd be the one," the sarge said drily. "Got any tattoos yourself, Casey? Since the academy?"
"Nossir. Always thought they were stupid."
"Alright. Now I don't care how sick you are, but orders came in the afternoon pouch."
"Orders for me?"
"You got an appointment tomorrow at 9. Chief Bradenton. Special Projects. That's third floor HQ. Third floor."
"Got it." Liaison shit, maybe. Some plainclothes units there too, probably. They pulled in uniforms sometimes.
"Nine... ay... em," his boss said. "Tomorrow. Bradenton."
"Aye, aye."
"Don't cough all over him."
"You didn't get a transfer for me or anything, right?"
"Why? you wanna get away from all this sunshine and rainbows, Davalos?"
"No! I didn't request a transfer. It's just weird that they'd have a chief ask me about Jimmy. The other Fitz guys are slippery, but I think -"
"There's more to it than that," the sarge said. He almost sounded worried. "I don't have the right form in my hand yet, but yeah, this smells like a reassign. Temporary. Bradenton's gonna tell you more than just quizzing you."
"Swell."
"Come over and tell m- no, strike that, I'll be in meetings all day. Dammit. Well, look, you can't be stuck there forever. You wanna come back, you'll get back. Just... don't worry 'til it counts."
Casey thanked him, and both men hung up.
"I know exactly what you're doing, asshole," he said to the living room. It didn't answer him. No telling if Fazetock was there, holding back laughter, or not.
He didn't sleep too well.
Ended up circling until he found a space open just down the street, because he didn't like dealing with the backup at the HQ parking ramp exit. Wasted a lot more time, but Casey had left so early - to make real sure he was parked and there by nine - that it helped distract him. Plus he got in a few more smokes...
Bradenton looked concerned when Casey walked into his office, asked about his health - and thanked him for coming in on his day off. When they were both sitting down, the chief sorta cocked his head.
"You look like him," he said. Pretty young guy, to have made Chief already.
Casey gulped. Nodded. "If you mean Jimmy, yeah, we used to get that all the time. Jokes about his dad sneaking up the fire escape..."
The chief smiled politely, and flipped through papers in an open case file. "You used to get high with the Fitzes."
"Uh. Y-yeah. Not since -"
But Bradenton waved his hand. He didn't care. "How'd you like a free pass to start up again? Any... religious objection?"
"No. Wait. Sir, I didn't understand th-"
"We need a mole. Jimmy Fitz has a cousin who's in lockup. He's distant family. As far as we can tell, he's been out of touch for nine, ten years."
"I'm honored, but this sounds like a job for a gold shield."
"There could be one - hold that thought. Tell me about James Matthew. What's he allergic to?"
Casey stared at the desk. "Nothing." That felt like a trick question. "I never heard about an allergy. He hates clams, though. They weird him out..." He looked up, and saw the chief was actually paying attention. Well, okay. There was something Bradenton wanted to hear. "Uh. He's big on egg creams. Cheap beer. Used to rag on me for smokin', when we were thirteen or so - and our sophomore year he got busted for it three times. I didn't, and his brothers sure should've been nailed for it any day. Pissed him off something fierce."
The chief didn't say anything. Casey scratched his neck, wondering if he'd blown it somewhere along the line. "Lost his virginity to Maddie Rose, across the street," he continued quietly. "Later they had a false alarm. Her cousin always had a thing for Jimmy. Liked the way he grinned. He has this leer - or had it, when he still did drugs - that made the, uh, ladies melt -"
"Stop. That's why you're here. Instead of a detective. There's no danger, even if your cover's blown. Consider it a tryout."
Casey sat back. This just didn't smell right. Oh, sure, there were moles that didn't risk anything bad happening if they were outed. That kind of buddying-up to a suspect was done by detectives and C.I.'s, usually, but not always. The gig sounded interesting. And easy.
But the brass never said shit like "there's no danger"...
Well, it wasn't really a request or anything. "So... I'm going in now?"
The chief nodded. "Cooperative program. Some contractor runs the j- Um... if you got a dog, hand it off to somebody for a while."
"No pets."
"That's the spirit," the chief said tiredly.
Casey's phone buzzed. It was in silent mode, but the chief must've seen it vibrate. You didn't carry your phone in the outer pockets - it tended to flop around a lot. So his phone was in his shirt pocket, and the pack of Luckys had been transferred to his pants...
No, actually, the chief was staring at Casey's chest. Nodding slightly.
He'd expected it?
"Sir?" he said, confused.
"You wanna get that," Bradenton said.
"I didn't mean to interrupt -"
"No. Really. Answer your phone, Casey."
After a second he fumbled for it, and pulled it out and looked at the screen.
LOURDSTOCKS
He moved the phone further away from his body. "I really, really don't wanna take this one," Casey said, hoping the chief would go along.
"Sometimes we just don't have a choice."
Staring at Bradenton, Casey pressed the "answer" button and held the phone up to his ear.
"You there?" Fazetock said.
He must've reacted to the voice, because the chief looked away quickly.
Casey decided he was dreaming... all of it. Yeah. That could work.
"Not now," he told it.
"Oh yes. Now. I'm right close by."
That did it. Casey stood up. "Sir, I'm sorry, but -"
"Ssssh," Fazetock said, with a snicker.
Bradenton made a vaguely helpless gesture.
That was when Casey realized how universally screwed he was now.
Shaky, all of a sudden, he eased back into the chair.
"That's better," the tickler said. "Hey - he wasn't kidding. You do get to smoke pot again."
"S-swell."
"Bradenton's an old... friend of a friend. I want you to look at him." Casey fought the idea, but eventually gave up. The chief wouldn't make eye contact. "He's a good cop. Born to do it. He rose fast. That's what we'll help you do, if you want to stay on the force so bad."
"If I... want..."
"This is brutal," the chief said to his desk.
"Oh, we'll show him brutal," Fazetock said happily. "Say this name, out loud. Or else you're gonna get it for reals. Ready? Sackgild."
"Sack-what?"
But Bradenton winced, nice and big. Damage done. Casey gaped -
"Sackgild," the chief said unhappily. "My... mentor."
Fazetock laughed and laughed.
Casey actually had to hold the phone away from his ear. "I'm sorry, sir." And he meant it.
"So am I."
"We help our buddies," Fazetock said. "And we even put up with some decisions that don't permit nice, constant, lockdown supervision."
"If," Casey finally said.
"If they obey when it counts. You're smart as a whip, kiddo. It's particularly satisfying to get you the future you deserve."
He wondered if he was possibly gonna be sick, right there and then. "Is this the... uh, incentive?"
"No! That's not all. Your chief made things happen quickly. He's motivated, I guess. Got two sons at home. Some of us have wondered if they're as sensitive as he is."
"You are a stone-cold bastard," Casey hissed.
"Well, maybe you'll miss me someday. Hey, I made another sale this morning. Isn't that great?"
"Miss you," he scoffed.
"You're not really my type, Casey."
That was just too much.
He finally looked at the chief. "I'm not its type." Bradenton didn't seem to follow... "If you knew what I went through, night before last. And I get that kind of fuc-... that damn... insanity when I'm not even its type?"
The chief caught on. He frowned sympathetically.
"I got a thing for dudes like Jimmy," Fazetock said. "Not jailbirds, necessarily. There's just something so noble about dirt-poor workers -"
"Now it's being noble," Casey told Bradenton.
"O-ho."
"Shut up, you two. An average joe, no prospects - moving up to Lucky Strikes and steak. Tat him the rest of the way up, stick twenty or thirty grand in a bank account... and break him in with a nice, long party in an empty mansion. Silk and lourdstocks from here on out. But don't feel bad. Our paths will cross again, Casey - and Trunder just loves policemen."
"Trunder?" Casey said to the chief. Bradenton thought for a second, and just shrugged. How many of these lunatics were there?
"It's gonna meet you at your car. Now Trunder's a leeeetle bit more of a disciplinarian than I am. But it really respects the badge. Sometimes a cop needs a firm hand when he gets home... am I right?"
Casey just shivered.
"You two are gonna really hit it off. I wouldn't do you wrong, now. Just relax, and be out of that office and back behind the wheel in fifteen minutes. Or else," and it laughed happily.
The connection was broken.
Slowly, Casey looked at the chief.
"If there was any way of stopping them," Bradenton said, "I'd devote my life to it. They've been around for decades."
"Well... shit. They got fancy new stocks now."
"Don't I know it."
"This is the best we can do? Really? Cooperation?"
"For now. I'm open to ideas." Bradenton leaned forward. "This may help. We're not the only ones in the department. Or the feds. Any agency, you name it. They'll slip up, and we'll make it count."
"You couldn't just... suspend me?"
Bradenton looked at him with pity. "The outcome will be the same."
"How can you - no offense, sir, but dammit, how can you just sit there and... not go crazy?"
"They've got photos," he said simply. "Of me. And they take new ones every year..."
Casey nodded. Of course. He started to get up, and remembered his manners. He was still a cop, when the ticklers let him be. "Permission to get going. To my new assignment."
"You'll be alright," Bradendon said quietly. "They're careful. Someday you'll be sitting where I am, if you want it bad enough."
At a loss for words, Casey got up. Don't offer to shake hands unless he does it first, some old academy-reflex reminded him. But the chief did stick his hand out, and they held the grip for a few seconds. Looking at each other dead in the eye.
Somehow it would be tolerable. Eventually.
A real life, during the day, and those lourdstocks at night...
Casey paused on his way to the door. Oh, hell, of course. What an idiot he'd been - but who would think Fazetock and its pals could work so fast? "Sir," he said, not daring to face the chief again. "The assignment. Jimmy's cousin. Is any of that real?"
Bradenton sorta shook his head, and made an irritated sound. "You are getting a pay bump for this, y'know. Special Services, miscellaneous investigations, with all reports filed through the contractor. No mandatory briefings of any kind."
He hadn't answered the question, but it was all bullshit. Just a way to get him in that straitjacket, behind bars, for who knew how long. And they wouldn't even have to make him quit the force.
Now Casey needed a smoke something fierce. "No ending date, right?"
"That's reviewed and approved by me. Every six months. I'll do what I can to... stop it."
"Can't ask for much more than that." Except maybe... being shoved into Attica as a mole. But this tickler waiting for him - Trunder - wouldn't take kindly to that. Nothing could really stop them from finding unused rooms in a prison that size. Casey put his hand on the doorknob. "At least tell me it's temporary."
"Everything's temporary."
That made Casey snort. Dammit, he had to know... "Hey. Sir. You, uh, ever see a metal ashtray with a guy -"
"Um," Bradenton said immediately. "Your new P.O. says 'laugh!'"
Aw, hell. "And this locked facility I'm going to - it's off the grid, pretty much? Like I was cut loose from the joint... and got mysteriously hauled right there next?"
"That'll be all, Davalos."
Casey was shaking. Nobody seemed to notice in the elevator.
He rushed outside, with a Lucky Strike already in one hand and his lighter in the other.
It helped some.
There was a time, not all that long ago, when the most sinister tickling soaked through his cock. He tugged on a Lucky Strike then, needing it more than he could even describe, and seemed to hear a confident voice that came from somewhere just above him. You wanna be trapped.
And he'd nodded, nice and big. It was true.
None of this was fair, but Fazetock and the gang really did have his number.
He started walking to his doom, taking another hard drag -
"Officer Casey," a rumbling voice said, real close to his right ear.
And he jumped. Knowing, real damn well, that the speaker would be invisible...
Trunder sounded eager. Just two little words.
It wanted to get busy.
A hand eased around the back of his neck. "Couldn't just hang around your car and wait for you to stroll on up. I mean... lookit you!"
"And now you're pouring it on thick, 'cause you can do better. It's okay. Really. You don't like what you see," he said, finding it harder and harder to sell the bullshit he was spewing. "So just throw me back, and get another fish."
Easy laughter. The hand pushed a little, so he walked on. It slid down his spine, came around... up... and took possession of his left armpit.
He fought not to laugh.
"I think you guys have the hardest job in the world."
Casey laughed bitterly. "I'm real close to just l-losing my mind, here."
"You deserve some serious stress relief."
"Nooooo..."
The fingers stroked slowly, lightly. "And you guys red-line it all the time. I gotta make you see how important you are. To this city. And to really get the whole picture - the contrast - you're gonna do time. Get to know what it's like on the other side of the bars."
"I can't believe this!" he protested. "A private d-dungeon isn't the same -"
"It's the real thing," Trunder said. "County jail. Closed down back in '65. We bought it. Dark granite and iron, hidden in a valley way off the road. No one ever bothers us there... officer."
He whimpered, just a little.
"When your hair grows out, I wanna take a picture. Just like the ashtray. Reenact that son of a bitch. Head cocked back, laughing away. It could take a few tries before I get exactly the shot I want." The fingertips pressed and relaxed. "Maybe a lot of tries."
"I gotta make you - listen to me. I can't go through with this!"
"And then the straitjacket comes off," Trunder growled. "And the lourdhands go on."
"Lourd... hands. Little stocks."
"Yup. Hold you in any position. Stretch you in the air - you've got the muscle tone for that. Only an hour or two at a time, but at least I can get to every spot at once. And tickle. Set you back down on a rack, and tickle some more. I'm not too partial to the Tickl-Dee-Nial toys, but Fazetock made a special trip to stick a box of those rubbers in the trunk of your car, here. It was real insistent, so..."
Casey wanted to scream, right then and there. His hand had gotten another smoke between his lips, and he hadn't even noticed. He desperately wanted to know how many of those rubbers came in a box, but any answer higher than twelve was gonna make him shit his pants or something.
After a second he retrieved his lighter.
"It's all set. Got your prison clothes in the car - but you can be sure I'm going to be extra careful with this uniform, and treat it right."
Shit, their notions of respect made Casey's head spin.
"Only about ninety miles to drive -"
"I'd really like to go home first. Pick up a few things."
"I bet you would," Trunder laughed. "But check it out. I emptied out the refrigerator and the trash, turned off the gas, got your checkbook and the bill box. I'll pick up the mail every week or so - and hey, I slipped next month's rent under the super's door. There's no need to thank me."
Bastard, he thought. "I'm gonna need some clothes."
"No, you're not."
"Toothbrush?"
"Casey, we've got more toothbrushes at the jail than we know what to do with. Aw - I know. Of course. You're worried about your latest purchase. A hundred payments to go, huh? No wonder I got me such a jumpy policeman. Well, there's no way I'd forget your lourdstocks, champ. They're already down there in the hole."
Solitary confinement had to be expected, but the mental picture still made him want to run.
Roaring in a quiet, dark chamber made of rock...
He was almost at the car. Dammit. "The cigarettes on the counter?"
"Oh. We oughta talk about that."
"Like hell!" he snapped. A couple of schoolgirls on the other side of the street stopped to look at him.
"Look, I don't think it's dignified. For an officer."
"What a load," he said. "You don't think it's good for my wind. Reduces the total hours of tickling."
"That too."
"And weed is on tap," Casey groused. "Bradenton all but said I won't get drug-tested. Actually, he was more certain than that. Get the cop high, and I'll bet he's more ticklish."
"You're smart," Trunder said. "I'm gonna have to bring my A-game. Got a real rising star on the leash. Fazetock had nuthin' but good to say about you."
"So you're gonna make me toke, but cigarettes are a bad influence?"
"Convicts take drugs."
"I thought I was a cop."
"You are. Just take it easy... Shit. I'll let you have the smokes. For a while. Hey, what about whiskey?"
"Don't change the freakin' subject!"
The fingers slid down to his ribs. "I didn't expect to be saying this - to you - but that's a conundrum. You're gonna get high. Oh, hell yeah. And we've got a half-dozen designer drugs now that'll put your current ticklishness to shame. But you're the right target for me 'cause you're definitely all cop, through-and-through. Just give me a couple days to work out a big, fat rationalization." The hand spread out over his gut. "'Course, you'll be a basket case before dinner, so I guess any explanation will do."
"Yeah, well, just drop me off at a motel until you figure it out, okay?"
"Are you trying to goad me into tickling you harder," Trunder said, "or is it just some kind of suicidal reflex with you? Sassing me like that?"
They were at the car. Oh, hell. He got his keys out -
And the door started opening for him.
"It just pops out," he sighed, getting in. "Got nuthin' to lose now."
His keys were taken away, and the correct one slid into the ignition.
"Finally," the tickler laughed, "Officer Casey gets the picture."
back to Part 1
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