- - 29 - -
We wake up in the infirmary.
A big wooden bowl is being stirred...
"What's up?" Shon mutters, after he starts his first cigarette.
"Tell him, Liebre."
"Uh... Well. The good news is, they're keepin' one of their promises."
He stares at me like I've gone nuts. And the bowl moves lower -
A roll of tape rises up.
"Oh no," he says automatically.
"If you want to keep the artwork," Vex says helpfully, "I could just tickle the shit out of you. Instead."
"No. Aaaaw, fuck."
The tape slaps over a tattoo on his right shoulder, right on the ball-joint. "This one, you don't want to get rid of."
"Yeah I do."
"D," I say quickly, and I try to rotate my arm. So he can see.
"Oh. Oh, yeah..."
It's the only tat we have in common. I mean, sure, the same themes are all over us. But we both have the same little picture in the same place. A wall of black bricks, curving as if it's round... the fingers of a white glove, reaching over the top of the wall. And underneath it, in classic gang-tat style, a number.
His is 1. Mine is 2.
"A little reminder," Vex says, "for those too ticklish to think straight. This is your palace tat. I want you to have this one. For good. And to make sure it stays on, you're going to listen real good. Other ticklers will be eager to get at you. Originators. If they don't see your palace tat, Buck, your chances of drawing a free breath are damn near nonexistent. But this will remind them -"
"They won't dare touch you," Tor growls. "Our conejos." I hope it's right about that.
"Uh-huh."
"Got it," Shon says, at the ceiling.
The bowl floats over his chest, and starts to tilt.
"Now... this might itch a little," Vex says - and it cracks up, hooting away.
"Don't you worry, Buck," Tor laughs. "Liebre will keep you company. He will laugh along with you."
"Swell," I groan.
"You want I should take some tats off you? Huh?"
My knuckles. And my neck. That wouldn't be so bad. "Actually, I-"
"Aaaaaaaaah, " it laughs. At me. "Not a chance. I like you just the way you are. Big ol' badass."
"Oooo," Shon hisses, squirming around. "It feels weird."
"Hang in there, buddy." I feel so sorry for him... and at the same time, yeah, I'm really glad it's him and not me.
"To keep him company," Tor says, all excited, "I will give you el gusano. All afternoon."
"Fucker," I snap - quietly. "Shon. Keep thinkin' about that Oscar. That statue... see it. Hold onto it. Okay? This is your way back... to the movies."
"I know," he whines. "But thanks."
Gloves - a lot of gloves - rise over him, and over me. Tandem tickling.
"Let's just spread this around," Vex says.
"Son of a... Vex. It itches."
Just you wait, I think -
"And I've got plenty of oil for you," Tor promises me.
"Fuck," Shon yells. "Aw fuck..."
"You know, I could help you get your mind off this unbearable... growing... itch."
"Vex. No - you are a total fuckin' bastard. You know that?"
"Sure," it says, soothing him. Mocking. "So what do you say?"
"Here we go," Tor tells me - and gloves grab my feet. "Lemme hear it."
I start laughing, good and hard.
"Go!" Shon yells. "Do it, then!" And he starts to laugh - strained cackling, intense and yet... distracted.
Both ticklers start chuckling.
"They're staying here," D says. He's poking at his now-untattooed arm... but I know who he means.
"I know." And it's true. After all, that was the original plan - if they couldn't call off Ciuna. A prison for us to return to, year after year, where they wait for us with an intensity too consuming for words.
We both sit and think.
I'm imagining the bunker, with no magic gloves there. Even after Tor told me what it wants to do, I still want to go. Seriously want to ride up to it, dig out the key and unlock the door, push the door open with the front tire of my hog. By myself. It's everything I want, now... if Tor stays at the palace. I don't even care if it's all a lie.
"Bunker?" D says. I look at him. He's grinning.
"Uh-huh. Beach-house?"
"You know it."
"They're good." Meaning, the ticklers -
He gets it. "Persuasive."
"I... know it's a trap, and I still can't wait to get there."
"Me too." He grabs my arm, and squeezes it. Grits his teeth, even as he grins. "We're so close..."
I shake my head. "You can do it."
He exhales, real hard. "Man."
"I give you a lot of shit... but I have to say, I'm proud. To know ya."
"Why... Aw, D."
I look at my moccasins. "Shit. The kind of pressure you're under. Vex. I can't even imagine." And I mean it. As clever as Tor is, mind-fucking me, it doesn't change the fact - I'm not the one who can throw our freedom away...
He opens his mouth, and shuts it again. Squeezing my arm, harder and harder.
- - 30 - -
Pulling. Trying to twist.
Lying on my back.
Moaning to myself. "No. Oh, no. Oh, no..."
Spread, and naked, and I have to get away. Get up.
Cuffs. Straps, holding. Tight. Stuck there. I have to get loose!
The room, and the feel of the air in here, are familiar.
Candlelight - weak - tells me just enough about the room's dimensions, and where the door is. The closed door.
Off to my left, the barely discernible outline of a rack... and a swing. To my right, a chair with a headrest leaning back. And the stocks.
I see the carton, and the ashtray...
Small red light by the ceiling, above my crotch. Another high on the facing wall. Cameras. Taping me. Recording -
Pulling harder. Trying to kick, and slide, and arch.
"No, oh shit... no, oh no, aaawww..." I can't believe it, but it's obviously true. Bunker.
Back. Again.
I had to do it. And now I'm gonna pay.
No!
It's here. Hanging back...
I feel it. The happiness is so thorough it's tangible, depthless. Different only in degree. Terrifingly calm.
Came back. Infuriatingly stupid. So fuckin' dumb. Raced across the country to be here. I didn't get drunk once.
I didn't even get laid!
And now I won't be getting any. Not for a long time. I know that. Absolutely sure. No pussy for me.Squirming, and lunging around. "Aw, no, no, no!..."
The word "long" means something, but I don't really understand it anymore. All the time at the Palace, and start it over again. All those months. And then, maybe, again and again? I have no idea.
Shon does not remember how to get here. Vex has seen to that. Another certainty, too clear to question.
No one knows where I am.
There are no neighbors close enough to have heard my bike last night, when I rolled up. They will not know where to look for me. And there's nothing outside this place to warrant a second look.
This place exists only as a record in the county tax assessor's database, and an electricity account in a false name. Both bills are paid promptly, scrupulously, with money orders. I'm positive of that, without remembering why.
The building is cinderblock and brick, with a steel garage, and official visits are very, very rare. No sign, from outside, of any inhabitant.
I just had to come back here.
Pausing, in front of the door - on the outside of the door! - and listening. The exhaust pipes clicked and pinged, behind my heels. Otherwise... silence.
And I knew, somehow, that it was a trap.
But I dug the key out of my glove.
The key. My hope. Riding on the back of my left hand. Reassuring me.
And I used it.Now I'm laying on my back, satin under me, cuffed here... Prepared.
The supplies will come. No end to the food, the Camels, the massage oil.
Durable leather gloves, resting in boxes. Full boxes.
A personal palace.
What was I thinking?
Straining at the cuffs. Shaking my head -
The carton... floats off the floor.
"Aw nooooooo! I... didn't! Do this!"
One quiet, easy sigh. Contentment.
Victory.The end flaps pop open, and a pack slides out.
"Tor! Please..."
The cigarettes freeze, right where they are.
"What are you doing here?" it says, simply, quietly.
Cruel. So unbelievably fuckin' cruel. I don't know - well, in one sense, it's all too clear.
Why didn't I see, before, that this is the perfect fuckin' trap?
And it's too late now.
The cuffs hold me down.
Cellophane and foil peel from the pack.
I thought I'd be safe. It just defies belief. Safe - not caught! Trapped.
Exactly the opposite of why I raced to get out here. This isn't safe. Obvious, and absurd, but I can't get over the surprise. Not right. This place is supposed to be safe.
A Camel is free of the pack. Waiting.
Safe from Tor. Hidden... from others.
"No. Aw no. I didn't."
"You are trespassing," the familiar voice says. Rumbling. Dangerous, and wild... Savoring a flawless plan. Relentlessly happy.Trespassing? I stop writhing and look at the red light. Above me. Recorded, for later review - my confusion. Breathtaking stupidity. There is no doubt in my mind that this video, the one being shot right now, will be an all-time favorite, viewed hundreds of times. I ran back here... and fell asleep.
No one else here, when I rolled up. And I was right. Never thinking of the obvious fuckin' alternative. Even though it had told me! Spelled it out, nice and clear - I get here, go inside, and it shows up after that. Locks the door while I'm laying there, fast asleep...
The cigarette slides between my lips.
A lighter is next. Moving slowly. Deliberate ease, sending a well-known message. This cigarette means something. They all do, and this one is no exception. It will be followed by something outrageous and shocking and totally beyond anything I can tolerate. I lived with that message for hundreds of days.
I thought I was leaving it behind. Forever. Every mile putting it further away from me.
The lighter kicks over, and the flame moves ever so much closer. I look at it, held steadily for me, and suck in. Reflex. Like thousands of times before. Flame, with no hand holding it up -
"I own this place now," Tor says. "It is mine."
I stare at the lighter, as it sets down. Look at the red light on the wall. Over at the stocks -
Snapping at the restraints. Bucking. Exhaling smoke.
Shaking my head, slowly -
"Far... more... fun. For me. Here."
More?
I think of the palace. Far more fun. Here.It's gonna be a long fuckin' time before I get laid.
But no, I had to ride straight through. So I could be safe. Tor even told me its fantasy. And I came in anyway.
Here to stay.
I picture the bed of a new pickup truck, piled high with boxes. Backing into the garage. The door closing, as if by magic. Repeated an uncountable number of times -
Taking a long, full drag.
No getting away now.Zero chance of escaping Tor -
"I think I will give you a new name." And it pauses - not out of indecision, or a clumsy attempt to intimidate. We're so far beyond that now. It waits, for effect, because it enjoys reminding me. There is no hurry here. Absolutely none. Time doesn't even have to exist in this windowless bunker...
"Liebre ladrón."
I try to remember that word, and tug on the cigarette -
"Ladrón, of course, means... 'burglar'."
"Aw fuck," I whimper. "Please, don't, please..."
The shape moves - close to the mattress. Two of them.More, and more. Twelve. It will start with a dozen, a nice even number. Flickering gleams of yellow-orange light play across their curves. Fingers, and palms.
Pulling, without hope, at the straps.
They are poised, relaxed... and they indicate a determination unlike any I've ever felt or seen before.
Coasting. Down.
I sat on my motorcycle, a yard from the front door of this place, and thought maybe I'd better not go in...
Knowing I will stay here. Absolutely clear on the reason, too.
"No, no, oh no oh no oh c'mon! Naw... Naaaaaaaawwwwww...-"
I am Ladrón, now, and the master of the house has caught me. The bait was the trap itself. And it worked beautifully.
Seven gloves pause, but only long enough to let the first two pair land first. Very gently. So light, and slow.
Ribs, and armpits.
An oiled leather hand eases around my throbbing cock.
Tor chuckles a few times. Quietly.
"Deck... Deck! Hey..."
I can't move. Several guys, holding me down - No. Hands I can't see, as usual.
"Wake up."
Daylight. Outside the window. The dorm.
Palace. But I was just... in the bu-
"Uh - Shon? Hey!
"Unavailable, right now."
I was t-there. It felt... so real -
"You gonna stop thrashing now?" Tor asks.
"Tor?"
It snorts once. Replying with a thought instead of words. Conejo excito...
That's not a real word, "excito", but Tor's used it before. I look out the window and gasp for air, as it pulls invisible hands off my arms, one by one.
"I am never going back to the bunker." Then I get mad. "You got that?"
"Aw, Liebre -"
"Don't you 'aw, Liebre' me." I yank at the wrist-cuffs.
To my great surprise, they start unlocking. I watch them open and let go of me, start rubbing my wrists -
A pack of Camels lands on my chest.
"Ain't never seen you like that, dude." A lighter bumps against my knuckles.
"I gotta talk to Shon. Please, Tor."
"He's out. Long night for Buck. And Vex gave him a little sleep-juice -"
I shiver, thinking of the bunker again. Tor, telling me its plans. Drugging me, so I sleep through all the setup, the kitchen being walled off. That sleep-juice?
"Why?"
"Well... He's getting fitted. Trying on the bigger stuff from the shop." Bigger... I get it. Body-suits, straitjackets, hoods, elaborate sleeves and cuffs. All leather. Redundant. Restrictive. Full immobilization - and so tight, it undoubtedly has to keep oiling him up to pull the shit on. Probably whistling as it does.
"Shit!"
"Bad dream?" Tor asks.
I just smoke. Fucker. Like you don't know...
"Are you... angry?"
This must be rhetorical question day. "Are you a heartless torturing son of a bitch?"
"No. At least not the 'son' part. Hey - I came out of you, esse, so I think you just insulted yourself -"
"Save it," I bark. "Something to laugh about with Vex. Later."
"Hmmmmm..." It brings me an ashtray. "I get it now. Hell of a dream." And it snickers at me.
"Stay out of my head," I say wearily. Just wasting my breath.
"You got it wrong, D. We're good... but not that good."
I count to five. Calm down. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"We don't give you dreams, big Marrón. Not directly. I swear to you this is true."
"Hah," I shoot back.
"You are just now thinking about this? D, I can play with your mind - when you're awake. Drifting off to sleep. Sure. And fuck, do we like to play with your bodies. That is the only way we can influence your... nightmares. By touching your conejo-sides. Liebre-feet."
"Bullsh-"
A finger pokes me in the breastbone. "Think. C'mon. All of the dreams you have had - you make them up. Not me. If I had that much power, how do you think your dreams would go? All of them?"
"Much the same as they..." Oh. Crap - I get it. "Every night."
"Si. Every fuckin' time you close your eyes. Uh-huh."
If Tor could do it, every dream would be like the one I just lived through. Or, if they were smart, random dreams. Keep us off-guard -
But then we'd be afraid to go to sleep. Nervous rabbits have less energy, they get sick... Less fun to tickle.
If they could, though, we'd be having dreams - that vivid! - at least some of the time. Fuck yeah. The logic is solid, no matter how much I wanna blame Tor...
"Okay, I was going... overboard," and it just kills me to even think about apologizing to it. Overboard - the irony is suffocating.
"Hey, that's alright," it says easily. "We're all still learning, here."
"That's a comforting thought, Tor. Thanks. You just keep on honing your craft -"
It laughs. "Poor ol' Liebre. You need to talk about it, huh? The dream? That must be why you want Buck."
I do want to tell it. Warn Shon - hell, drive it into my own thick skull. Do not, under any circumstances, go back to the bunker! Tor is ready to pounce. I'm convinced now...
"It'll keep," I say. Until Shon is conscious. No way I'm gonna tell Tor. More ammo -
Two feathers bounce up from the side of the bed.
"Hey -"
"You wanna tell it to somebody," Tor says. Way too happy. "And I wanna listen."
"Put those down," I order it.
"Tell me."
"No!"
The feathers amble over... to my feet. I look at 'em, and then at the cuffs. Ankles, still caught. "Dammit. C'mon."
"I can make you tell me."
"You can just suck it out of my head -"
"Not all the little details. I want the whole thing, Liebre."
"That's just mean."
"Pleasure gigante. For me. To hear you say it out loud. Everything -"
"No."
It makes a noise - oh, well - and puts the feathers to work.
I yell, and giggle, and pound the mattress with my fists. When I try to sit up - as if I could even reach my feet to shield 'em - a hand pushes me back down on my back. The feathers brush and poke and saw back and forth... and I whoop at the ceiling.
It keeps tickling for, oh, two minutes.
My cigarette is stuck between my fingers. Must've dropped it -
"More where that came from," Tor says.
Now I'm embarrassed... and really annoyed. I open my mouth to tell it to fuck off -
Reverberating, like it's bouncing off the sides of my brain - Tell me.
Irresistible. Fucker didn't even have to tickle my feet. It just flips the switch, in my head.
My hand brings the cigarette up, and I sneak a drag first. "I'm pulling, and squirming. Not like I think I'm really gonna bust loose. I know better. It's like I'm in shock. Just keep saying, 'oh no, oh no' -"
"To me?" it asks eagerly. "Are you begging me?"
"No," I say. "Uh, not yet." My hand reaches for the pack. Gets me another smoke. I try real hard to make it stop moving. But it doesn't.
A bottle of beer lands in my left hand. Already open.
"Just not believing it, huh?" Tor prompts me.
"Yeah. Exactly. There's only a couple candles, but I've recognized the room. Swing, rack, that angled-chair... stocks."
"Whoo hoo hoooo," it says, omniously. Like it appreciates the scene. As well it should.
I'm telling it how to make my future match this dream exactly, I think to myself. It came up with the plan - to catch me in the bunker - and I'm helping it tighten up the plan. A hundred details that don't mean shit to me, but Tor sifts them and shuffles them, unlimited hours to analyze and tweak the plan it's obviously been enjoying... I wonder how much time it's already spent fantasizing about the bunker. Getting me in there.
My mouth keeps right on talking. "Carton of cigarettes, lighter, ashtray."
"Of course."
Maybe it's already too late. I'm going back there, and I just don't know it yet. Convinced it's a good idea, the only safe place I can be. Talking to it, right now, may seal the trap. Or it's, like, already impossible for me to avoid -
Inevitable. That's it. It's on to me, what I'm thinking. And it chuckles... No way I'm letting you go. When we beat Ciuna, I'm gonna drag your ass into my bunker. Same result. Years of fun.
Way too clever. Outmaneuvering me. Foregone conclusion -
That's right, conejo. No matter what. Bunker.
My thoughts change, all of a sudden.
That word. Bunker...
I picture the main room, the kitchen, my old room. Nobody else around.
Safe.
Wouldn't it be perfect. I could relax. Safe, and secure. And they're making Shon forget all about it - which is good. My bunker.
I'm so there...
"Satin under me. And these two red lights, on the video cameras -" Oh. I'm still talking.
"Ooooo. Where are they?" it interrupts. "You've got a lot better feel for that shit than I do. Tell me exactly where they are. Okay?"
I nod, and light a smoke.
Thinking of a place Tor will never go back to. Not a chance. It's perfect...
I can't help but smile.
"Curious," Vex says thoughtfully. "I thought I'd really hate this day."
We're afraid to say anything. It hasn't sunk in yet. Not really. Going home.
"The last few days have been... hot." What an understatement. Red-hot. "Partly 'cause we knew it wasn't going to last."
It's been nonstop, lately. Five days, after Shon got his tats itched off. Or maybe it was six days. I'm not sure.
His legs buckle suddenly, and he starts lunging around. Giggling.
Vex sighs. "But it made each minute... I don't know, sharper. Real sweet."
"Weird, huh?" Tor says.
I don't dare talk, so I nod a couple times.
"We had to get us some memories. Great ones. Ones that'll last. And that's just what we did."
Shon starts to squeal, and the noise turns into a distracted moan. "You can still change your mind, Buck. Any time. Before we get back to civilization would be ideal."
The tickling stops, apparently. He fights for breath. "Whuh... w-will... let you know."
"Uh-huh. I'll be listening. It'll take a good week to raft out of here, if we stretch it out. We're gonna enjoy it... Hard fun for you two. Nonstop... But that's still not the same as having you here. Is it?"
Tor picks me up. I kick my feet - and hands catch 'em, easily, clamping around my ankles. All that practice. One of my moccasins starts unlocking...
Tor growls happily.
As soon as the moccasin lands on the grass, its fingers are digging in. I whoop and throw myself around, until it gets my wrists and slams 'em against the back of my head.
The other moccasin falls off. Oh no. No...
Tor slows it down. Fingers land on my other foot, and - carefully - they're both traced and stroked. Down to the heels, and up under my toes.
I have to force myself to laugh quietly, so I can hear...
Taunts. "You can stay. Fucker. Or head for the bunker. Ain't anywhere near done with you."
A big, melodramatic sigh, somewhere near D. "Afraid not, Tor. We'll just have to make do with the memories. As soon as your boat shoves off, we'll get us a couple more rabbits. Bring 'em here. And so on. But you know... Shon... They're just substitutes. We'll make them howl, but you know who'll always be in our thoughts."
A cigarette heads for his mouth.
"You, and me. Here. Next time."
Tor finally stops tickling me. A pack of Camels pokes out of the loincloth pouch.
"I'm gonna plan the most insane two weeks you ever had. So's Tor -"
"Got that right."
"And you rabbits better keep your promise. Come on back to your palace. Or it'll be eight insane weeks."
"Don't be late, neither," Tor says, poking me in the belly-button.
D nods, exhaling smoke as he looks at me. No anticipation to be found, anywhere on his face. "If."
Vex's tone changes, very suddenly. "What do you mean, 'if'?"
After a second, he says, "You know. If she doesn't... succeed. All bets are off if she wins -"
Tor starts el gusano on my ribs. With four hands. I howl, and drop my smoke. My wrists are still pinned against my fuckin' neck.
"Of course," Vex says. Those two syllables sound real creepy. Dangerous.
Shon looks defiant for a second, but then he lowers his eyes... "Aawwwww fuh huh huh naaah haah haaaw -"
"Liebre, he thinks the same," Tor says. Finally, oh, fuck, oh hell yeah, the fingers let up... start lifting off me. My cigarette wanders up from the grass.
"Bring it on," Vex says. And then it laughs. "It's a standoff. Her, and us. All of us. If she works reeeeeeel hard... maybe she'll get lucky. I'll betcha she won't muster up the discipline to make us stand down. And before next year? Forget it! Originators. You'll be back."
"Us, and you - here," Tor growls.
It laughs. "Damn right. I'm confid-"
"An' you know I am too."
"Next year, and the one after that, and the one after that. And so on. Poor rabbits gotta go all those months, in between, without us strapping you down... makin' you crazy -"
"Enloquecidos," Tor adds.
"Or... you can still avoid that, y'know. Stay here. Buck - I mean it. The offer stands. It always will. Next time, you decide to stick around... we'll keep you around. We'll keep you delirious."
There's a pause. The wind is whistling through the grass, but it doesn't make much noise. Jungle paradise. Eager fingers surrounding us -
D tenses up again, restless all of a sudden. Then he snorts once. Dismissal. A very wonderful sound. "Pass."
"And the Oscar goes to...," I say, all relieved.
"Okay. We'll wait for you. Just say the word, and we'll fix it up. Take good care of you."
"Excellent care," Tor adds. "Aw, don't go, Liebre. Conejo del campo... I like taking care of you. Gonna give you the business."
"S-some other time," I say, sucking air.
"Originators... No matter what else you wanna believe, boys, you gotta be clear on this - we're really lookin' forward to your next visits here."
Visits.
Plural.
The raft trip is every bit as feverish as I expected.
It couldn't hardly be more different than our trip to the palace. When our voices are shot, they rarely bother with the gags. Gliding through the water, as the hands tickle me so hard I can't fuckin' laugh anyway...
At times the raft is being carried or dragged over the ground. Tall grass. Over to another little river. My sense of direction is completely shot, and the trees hide the path of the sun.
Hell, I'm too busy anyway. El gusano. We're spending very little time just lying around chain-smoking. They have better uses for the remaining time.
I count five days and nights... but I know how fucked up my sense of time is.
- - 31 - -
A sound. I'm having a dream...
Lying on the beach. Santa Monica, probably. Drowsy, on the sand, with the ocean always talking to me. A lifetime ago. No ticklers, back then.
A lighter clinks, and snaps shut.
I open my eyes. Night is coming.
Sand, all around. As I roll over, I see a figure next to me. Crouching. Sucking hard on a cigarette...
Looking out to sea.
The last light of the day gives him a stern look. Like marble. Or iron -
"Hey," I whisper, loud as I can.
He looks at me - and smiles. "Dude."
"What happened... to your hair?"
His smile gets bigger. "Hacked it off." He parks the cigarette between his lips, and reaches down. A knife. Then I get it. His hair was halfway down his back, and he really butchered it... but it's above his collar now.
Collar?
I sit up. We're both dressed. Full leathers. They fit me... so well, it's like I'm not wearing anything. And boots! I'm so glad to see 'em -
Chuckles burst out of my mouth.
Shon frowns. "I know. Stamp your feet." I shake my head. He grabs my right leg, and bends it. The pressure, of the boot-sole... on my fuckin' foot. I just gotta laugh -
"Stomp," he orders. "Stomp, stomp. C'mon."
I do, and eventually I stop laughing.
"Whew. Thanks."
"Have a smoke," he nods. "It helps. Somehow."
I fumble in my pockets - tight leather gloves, slowing me down - and find a pack of Camels.
Much better...
"Where are we?"
He shrugs. "No idea."
The boat's on the way. Waiting for dark. Or so Vex said...
"So, they just dumped us here? Gringos, dressed like this?"
He picked up the knife. "Check your boot. Right boot."
I pull out a 9-millimeter. Small, and shiny.
D watches my face as I look it over. He laughs. "Yeah. Tor didn't trust me to carry the gun. Now I know why."
I ask him to cut my hair off. In the dark. Not my best decision. He doesn't point that out, though. "O-kay, sure..."
It hurts. He keeps apologizing, and the knife is sharp enough, but it's more like having the hair pulled out. Sometimes, though, pain is sweet. I cuss at him, only able to whisper, and he tells me he's sorry - again. And we laugh...
I want it short. Shorter than his. No doubt it looks like shit, when he gets done.
Near my boots, the hair is laying on the sand now, dark and thick and damn near a meter long.
He finds a joint in his sleeve pocket. A big one.
When the rowboat grounds on the beach, maybe fifty yards from us, we're both so fucked up we can hardly walk.
As we're riding out to the yacht, Shon dozes off. Leaning against Ciuna... with his left hand around the back of my neck. Leather fingers, again, only they're relaxed.
I must've nodded off, myself. The memory of climbing up the ladder, Barry grabbing my hand and shaking it hard, the door of a cabin opening - well, it's pretty fuzzy. A bed - with no cuffs anywhere in sight! - and I'm falling on it. So damn relieved. Jacket, gloves, boots still on, but fuck it.
Get to shore, have Shon buy me a bike. Run. To the bunker. Oh, yeah...
No. Bad idea. Trap. I don't know what else to do, but it's gotta be something other than that...
The boat rocks me to sleep.
- - 32 - -
The yacht swung way around, so we're approacing Catalina from the north.
Shon and I stand at the railing, staring at the mainland, the ridiculously overgrown city where we live.
Home...
First time I've seen it in twenty-one months.
It's a nice enough hotel, but I don't see much of it.
For the first, oh, five days or so, I can't keep my hands off my meat.
It's embarrassing, but I have no choice. Private room, all the booze I can drink. Cigarettes brought right to the door. And food. Nice bed - not a single restraint anywhere...
I lay there for hours, or in the tub. Remembering things Tor did to me, vivid and exciting. Crippling.
The only consolation I have - the only one I need - is that Shon's next door, doing the same thing. We call each other. On the phone. Close by, but not in the same room. Works for me.
Ciuna got pissed off, the third day. Went shopping. "You're a fucking machine," he crows, quoting her. "I need a rest..."
"Movie star," I tease him.
"Yeah. Well."
In her absence, he took matters into his own hands. The Originators are busy. Do not disturb.
I'd lay there, at first, and wonder. Look up at the ceiling...
You here? Tor? Watching me jack off? Enjoying what you've done to me?
No answer.
Or does it have one of its invisible buddies watching? Reporting in?
Shon and I talked about it. Until we know otherwise, we're gonna assume we're being watched. Listened to. All the time. Vex and Tor would never have let us go, if they didn't have a way to know we were going to stick to the deal. Obedient rabbits.
- - 33 - -
We ease back into life, and biz...
Shon rents a couple of houses. When the delivery guys bring my stuff from the storage place, I open the garage door - and stare at a sweet-lookin' Heritage Classic. All black...
He had 'em paint wings on the gas tank. Overly detailed feathers - under my crotch.
"You are such an asshole," I say into the phone. But we both just crack up.
Shon goes to a premiere, and the trade press just goes nuts. I hang out in his new living room, the next day, and watch the magazine shows. He could never buy publicity like that. Back from seclusion...
He's got his feet propped up on the coffee table, boot-heels denting a script. Four others are lying around the room.
Ciuna brings in a six-pack of beer, and sets it within my reach. Plopping down, next to Shon, she pulls a joint from behind her ear... and looks at me. Evil grin.
"I know somebody... you'd like to meet."
"No thanks," I say automatically. You've done enough already, et cetera.
Behind her, Shon raises his eyebrows. Be nice. She's your ticket to freedom, brah -
"Deck. She's your type..."
Forty-eight hours later, her friend and I were in my bed, rutting like ferrets.
I get a call. Barry gave somebody my number, who got it to a director I worked with before.
Same old shit. Deck, buddy, have I got the project for you...
Shon swears he didn't have anything to do with it. But he's glad to see me workin' again. Getting out of the house.
Over and over, my first week back in the mix, I get compliments...
Deck? Shit - is that you? Where the hell have you been? You look ten years younger...
Women who never even saw me before - even some actresses! - stop and look me over. They squeeze my arms. You are in such incredible shape, Deck. And the tats really work for you. Now, we just gotta get that cigarette out of your mouth...
Shon had bragged about shit like this, but it's totally different when it's happening to me.
A union steward I've known forever walked right past me. Didn't even hesitate. I called his name, and when he turned around, he stared for a good five seconds. Didn't recognize me. Hell, Deck, I don't believe it. Why'd you go and get all those damn tattoos? When you said my name, I figured maybe you were Deck's son...
- - 34 - -
"Dude, I mean it. I'm not takin' no for an answer -"
"Go to hell."
Shon frowns. "I can see it. I mean, nobody else can. Y'know. I can, because... I... Well, you know. It's so clear, D. It's all over your face."
I look at him. He's serious. Concerned. I open my mouth to say something, forget what it is, and just shake my head.
His eyes light up. I'm weakening, and he knows it. Probably knew it before I did. Fucking actors.
"It's me talkin', Deck. Not somebody who wasn't there."
I snort. "Okay for you to... to - aw hell, I can't even say it!"
He gets all thoughtful. "You think I didn't take a real hard look at that already?" Then his eyes flit around, making sure nobody's listening - even though we're sitting in my garage. "I like it. Yeah. Okay. That's one thing. But I'm tellin' you, this is a whole dif-"
"Aw, hell," I snap. I'm starting to believe him. See what he means. It gets me so frustrated I just wanna break down and bawl.
He sits back.
I chew on my thumb for a while. "The same chicks... you go to?"
"Uh-huh. And they listen to ya. Stop, ease off, move around -"
"I can't." Stop talking, I order my brain. That's a good sentence. Let it lay. "I... can't ask. Call somebody, and ask... f-for that."
"Okay," he says gently. And some people would accept that, what I said, as a clear refusal. Not the big-shot Hollywood star, here. "I'll set it up."
I close my eyes.
"I'll do it. Deck, I swear - I promise ya - before the first minute's up, you're gonna be so glad. No restraints. Or you pick 'em. No tools, if you don't want. Say the stop word, and they pull off immediately -"
"I don't want to."
He gets his smokes out. "D... my number-one best friend in the world... you need to. Way too hard on yourself. It's a normal reaction, considering what we went through. To miss it."
I just let him talk, and light a cigarette myself.
October is when we go back. It's eight months and, uh, four days from tonight.
Eight months is an impossible length of time. Unless Ciuna has a breakthrough, and that ain't lookin' good at all... back we go.
And dammit, a part of me is glad we have to go back. Strapped down, and just fuckin' lost in the fever of all that stimulation -
Torland, remembered. Not as real as it used to be.
If it was, say, already September, I could stick it out. I can't get my brain wrapped around how long eight months is.
Without... tickling.
Fuck.
"If it was scary," Shon says casually, like we were discussing baseball cards, "I wouldn't be after ya to do it." And then he laughs. Like what he said is so obvious, he's a dope for even saying it out loud. "If it wasn't the biggest fuckin' relief, esse... I wouldn't push it."
I suck hard on my cigarette.
"You get to call the shots -"
"Oh. Right. That's good. Real useful experience to have. That won't be confusing at all, in the jungle. Eight months from now -"
"Deck -"
"What."
"We... uh, we gotta make it 'til October."
Surely I am misunderstanding the words coming out of his fuckin' mouth. I shoot him a look.
"D. You're drinkin'... a lot."
"So what if I am?"
"It doesn't work."
I open my mouth again. But dammit. He's right. And I know how he knows. Same way I do - trying first-hand. I can't get fucked up enough to... scratch that itch.
Imagining an odd black feather, the texture all wrong, moving all by itself -
A chill runs through me, and I force myself not to think about it. Anything but that.
My cigarette's on the garage floor. I dropped it. I don't drop cigarettes. Not after twenty years...
Shon watches me pick it up.
I need an enormous drag. Then I spring it against the garage door, as hard as I can. "Okay."
Shon looks like he wants to hug me. I stand up real quick. "Aaaah, fuck you, I'm probably gonna end up... as just as much of a pervert as you are."
He looks confused, for a second. Then, he grins. "Trust me. Ain't gonna happen."
Which way am I supposed to take that reply? "What... I'm never gonna like it more'n you? Or I'm never gonna... cross over to the dark side?"
"The dark side?," he laughs. "Fuck you, too. Take it any way you want."
"Shit."
"I'm tellin' ya, D. Thirty seconds. Those wenches get goin', you're gonna feel a thousand times better. Pent-up energy -"
"You are so sick."
He tosses his cigarette down and steps on it. "Well. Took you long enough to figure that out..."
- - 35 - -
The project went pretty well. I started another one in June.
By the middle of July, Shon had done three pictures. He was in Spain for the last one, calling every few days to tell me what his dreams were. Harsh stuff, but we laugh about it now. Vex would be flattered.
When my phone rings at five-fuckin'-thirty on a Sunday, I know who to blame...
"Dammit, it's early."
"Hello to you, too. You up?"
I growl into the phone.
"Oh. Sorry. Look, I'm back home."
"Goody for you -"
"And we gotta do something about your lazy ass."
I open my eyes. "Oh, yeah?"
"You stepped on a scale lately?"
Son of a bitch... I'm probably pushing two hundred. Five pounds more than I weighed when I met this fucker, tops. "Wait'll I wake up enough to say something really mean."
He snorts once. "It's two months until we gotta take a trip."
Eighty-one days, I think. "And?"
"You want Tor pissed off at you? Huh?"
"Fuck Tor."
"Big talk. We gotta be in great shape. Not just okay. Great. And we're not gonna give 'em any more reasons to... uh -"
"I get it."
"If they're mad at you, I get an extra ration of shit. At the same time."
"You love it," I yawn.
"Yeah. Whatever. So I'm sending my trainer over."
I'm lighting a cigarette, and that takes a few seconds to sink in. "What? No way -"
"D. Asshole. It's my trainer - or yours. Meaning, Tor. You choose."
"Aw... shit."
"Huh?" Which means, am I right, or am I right?
"Okay..."
"Good rabbit. Eat all the shit you want today. She'll be there tomorrow."
"She?" Hmmmmm. "I'm working."
"At five."
"In the morning?"
He just gives me that weird croaking cackle. And hangs up.
- - 36 - -
Shon takes a drag, and grins at me.
"What?"
"Nuthin'."
We're standing outside the terminal, waiting for the jet. Lear jet. Chartered. And the ticklers strong-armed a helicopter pilot... so we'll be roaring our guts out by this time tomorrow.
He just shakes his head, over and over. "No, uh-uh, no way."
"Suit yourself," I mumble, knowing he's working up the nerve to say something dumb.
"You nervous?"
I just shoot him a look. Real skeered expression.
He laughs at me. "Yeah. I... love thinkin' about it. And the talented ladies in the Valley."
I have to nod at that. I've seen 'em... dammit, I think it's been eight times.. It's like getting a blood transfusion, or something. Dialysis. I can think again, afterward. The chicks have just been terrific - they had a client, before Shon, who'd been caught by Vex. At least we think it was Vex. Maybe one of the other ticklers.
It's so cool to have total strangers believe me. And it is kinda nice to see gloves coming, now, with a nice pair of tits there to focus on. It's like a bonus. When I started having good dreams full of gloves, I knew I'd turned some kind of corner. Still gotta go with the restraints, though. The thick ones.
Shon's been there a lot more often. I suspect he's got a weekly appointment, but he won't admit it. Whatever else I can say about him, he was dead right there. Nothing else clears my head like a few hours of tickling.
"I mean, as a fantasy - jack-off fantasy - hell, it's great. But... But when it's actually... When it's got me... uh, strapped down, and it's got me there, stuck - "
He shudders. And then I do it too. I don't want to show it, but it just won't stay in.
We see each other's reaction, and crack up.
"Aw fuck," I say cheerfully, and finish my smoke. "Two weeks. Infinite, mind-bending weeks -"
Shon looks at his own cigarette, and drops it absently. "I'm... I... Uh, look. Seriously. I don't know."
I look at him, and search for a smartass response.
He looks like he's serious.
"Actually being stuck there. Again. I, uh..."
"Ironic," I drawl. "If I gotta drag you to the plane."
"D, just listen. Check it out. If we just said, y'know, fuck it... fuck them, rented a car, w-"
"Oh no," I end up saying. "No. You ain't pullin' this shit now. Too late, Buck-y. If you think there ain't ticklers watching us, right now, to make sure we get in that chartered jet, you're fucked in the head."
And eventually he sighs. "Yeah."
"And if you think I'm goin' there without y- Oh no. No. Fuckhead. You don't show up, they're still gonna thrash me until the end of the year! Or vice-versa. No, no."
"Dammit."
"Both of us. On time."
He puts on a brave face. Cheesy, and obvious.
I pop him on the shoulder. "Aaaah, you dig it."
He punches my arm, good and hard.
"We stall much longer, we're gonna be late anyway. Four times the fun."
"One more smoke -"
"Doran. Smoke on the plane."
"Oh. O-kay."
We take a step toward the plane. It's hard...
But the rest comes easily enough.
- - 37 - -
"Where does the time go?" Shon says, frowning.
"Same place it usually does." The rotors are still spinning down. I watch Manolo until he gives me a thumbs-up. He's not a bad guy. Trapped, like we are...
Palace visit number three, about to start.
Ten buildings here now. Looks like we have it all to ourselves again, just like last year. The current residents are at a backup palace. Manolo says it's even bigger. When we leave, I guess some of 'em come back here.
The ticklers want that old feeling back again. Just two-on-two.
The thrones are floating over.
"Stay tough, D."
"Y-yeah..."
We step down.
"Originators!" Vex says, too loud. "Welcome back. Again."
"Oh, yeah," Tor growls... Shit, oh shit, it's way too happy.
We're picked up, and parked on the floating seats. Looking at Manolo, out of reflex. Can't help it. Do something, we're gonna get shredded here.
But he can't. He stands in the cargo bay, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Angry expression...
The assholes have his lover - Horacio? Something like that - at some backup site. For safekeeping. Insurance. If I understood him correctly, there's couples that get worked over, real hard, while one or the other's got his, uh, flagpole planted. That's an image I wish I didn't have.
Some other pilot is lined up to take us back to Lima. Whenever that is. Now that Manolo delivered us back here - mission accomplished - he and his boyfriend get sprung. So that's good.
Shon's shoes fly off. My shirt tears -
Fingers land. Obscene... familiar. Tor gusanos me, even before the scraps of cloth have hit the grass.
Cuffs lock - and I can't pull my arms in. Cover up at all. Oh, fuck! I forgot how impossible this is...
"Liebre," it sighs.
We float over to the dorm. "Slippery rabbits," Vex laughs. "Stay awhile."
"For good."
Fuck that, I think - and it's difficult, right now, to think at all. That's an old scare. They did that last year. Now that you're back here, you're really back to stay...
Shon bellows out laughter. Already.
"Eight weeks of fun."
"Eight?" I yell. And then I start to laugh.
"Late rabbits."
"N-no."
"Made us wait." Tor, threatening me...
"Wait to tickle ya," Vex says.
I know they've gotta be fuckin' with us. We weren't late...
"Better check your clocks," and they both laugh.
O-kay. I get it. Tor is showing me a picture... the clock. On the helicopter. The hands are turning - backward. They messed with the clock! My watch, too? Some other ticklers helpin' out?
That shit doesn't count. We weren't late. It's not fair.
The fingers gusano - and multiply. Fuck. I gotta yowl. Sweat is running off me -
It's a joke. Head-games. Has to be, it just has to...
We float into the dorm. The futons are ready -
Our clothes are pulled off, and the tickling doesn't even slow down.
Two weeks, I think to Tor. Pleading. You know we were on time. Two weeks -
"Eight," Vex says. And they both start roaring. So jazzed.
The cuffs slap around my ankles - almost joyfully. Buckling down.
Last year... they stretched their two weeks. We were actually there nineteen days, but we didn't figure it out 'til we got back. Hey, Tor, I think desperately, you fuckers owe us five days...
A good, hearty laugh booms in my head.
"Ocho semanas," it growls.
It's gotta be kidding. Fucking with me -
Gloves and brushes and feathers rise up. A cloud. Splitting. They coast on down -
I hear something. It terrifies me, and I don't even recognize the sound. Just totally freaked...
Eventually, I figure it out.
It's the 'copter. Engine starting back up.
Back to Part 1
Next installment: Recruiter
20oct2002