I chuck my cigarette and unlock the door of my truck -
Hands grab me. Leather glove over my eyes, and a rag slammed against
Smoke. Smelling smoke. I'm woozy.
Got a cigar between my teeth. I cough, lift my head -
Inside, small room, dim light...
Gloves.
Fifteen or twenty leather gloves, all filled out. Hanging in the air.
A big banner on the wall behind 'em... circle of big old-style letters:
Magic Fingers
M
assage
C
rew
In the middle of the words there's a huge black glove, curled like it's about to grab something. Even bigger feathers are crossed in the background. In between them - smaller white gloves, one with a cigar between its, uh, knuckles, and a bottle of booze in its grip. Square bottle, black label. The other white glove has a cigarette... and a rig, and what could be a rubber hose or something for tying off.
The whole banner has a border of heavy chain. A real chain.
"Wake up, puppy. Punk."
I don't see anybody, but the voice is coming from in front of me. Low, mean voice. Picking a fight.
"Your new owners are talkin' to ya."
I'm... tied to a chair. I don't believe this. "Who's -"
"Shut the fuck up. You don't speak unless you're told to. Got it? Or else you'll pay for every word. Now... you so fuckin' dumb you can't read, puppy? Answer."
"No..."
Some gloves turn and point at the banner. "Magic Fingers. You think you're gonna play in our yard? Bad doggie. Long way from your pack of mutts, aren'tcha?"
I have about ten urgent questions, and decide what the hell, go for it. I open my mouth, and right then a glove comes from behind. Dragging something -
It's my jacket.
The glove lifts it off the ground, turns it over. I see a big patch on the back. Dusty... Another glove grabs a side, and they hold it out for me.
HYENAS
And an animal - looks like a scrawny wolf, baying at the moon, only with this big grin -
"That ain't mine."
"Five words. Keep it up, punk. We'll keep track."
I don't care, I gotta make 'em understand. "That's my jacket, but I've never seen th-"
They bring it a little closer. "Sewn on. Grease stains, mud. At least you lie like a dog."
"C'mon -"
"Real hot shit. You fuckin' dogs got no business running away from home. This ain't Berdo. You're MF property. We check you out, you make it through... you're our punk. Laughin' for us."
"Laugh? Wait a -"
"Up to sixteen. Water him up. Let's get to it."
A whiskey bottle is brought to me. Clear fluid in it. A glove pulls the cigar, and throws it down. The neck of the bottle is shoved against my chin, and the nearest gloves make fists. I want to persuade 'em some more, but right now it seems smarter to drink. Slight whiskey taste to it.
"Chug it."
I'm not that thirsty... but I go along.
"Listen real good, puppy. We're a maniac club. You got those in Berdo, right? Know what that means?"
"No."
"Means we're maniacs. We don't give a fuck for stop words." I wait for more... "You look like that's a new one. What do you got up there, fuckin' posers? No stop word. We don't stop. None of that horseshit. You want a little rest break, think you gotta lift your leg and piss on a wall - too fuckin' bad. We don't stop. MFMC says when you get to rest up, smoke, toke, or say anything. We say. And you got seventeen words to work off, too. Alright, boys. Let's rock."
Gloves take the banner, and carefully lift it up.
More gloves -
Eight white, empty... shiny gloves. Floating over to me.
"Awwwww, shit," I end up yelling. I think I get it now, all of this. But I can't be right.
"Eighteen. Just keep it up," the voice snarls.
The leather gloves move in first. Grabbing my shirt, undoing my jeans. My socks - where'd my boots go? My feet are pulled under me, tied tight. They rip my socks off, and my shirt, at the same time. Pull my jeans down, stuffing 'em around my shins.
The white gloves keep on movin'. Right on up.
I shake my head, and they take hold. Watching 'em settle on my ribs and belly. No! Cool material sliding under my hair, closing on the back of my neck.
And fuck! Oh, fuck no! Feeling 'em take hold of my feet!
"Let's test this puppy. See if we're gonna keep him."
"Nooooooooowaaahh hah haaaaa haaaaweee eeeee heeeee heee heeeee nooooo whooo hoooo hooo hoooowaaaaah haaaaahh..." Can't believe this, they're - aw, it's too much -
Sharp, so hot, so much it hurts, but it's so... way too sweet.
They can't.
I'm roaring, howling, this is insane...
31jan01