back to Part 1
This was perfectly typical of Doke's luck. If there was one hyperticklish man in sight, it immediately and correctly picked him out... and this was so much worse, because Denny had come back for his sunglasses. Walked right up to Doke's pet. That was close enough to volunteering for a life filled with tickle-torture and Doke would never, ever let him live it down.
There were probably people watching 'em right now, but Push figured no reasonable person wanted to see these gloves heading their way.
"Easy," Doke ordered. "You better sit down, hyena." It made him lurch toward the bench, turn, and land heavily. His arms flew out in front of him.
With a speed that never failed to impress Push, leather cuffs curled and buckled around Denny's wrists. His giggles hadn't even started to fade when one arm, then the other, were stretched across the top rail of the bench.
Big carabiners looped around the iron trim, and hooked a D-ring on each cuff.
Presto.
And before he even had time to start tugging, Denny was caught. There was no way he'd get up before Doke, or somebody, unlatched the carabiners for him.
Doke's newest acquisition blinked at Push, clearly baffled. He looked stoned too.
"Looks like you upped the THC," Push suggested.
"No," Doke protested. "Wait. Okay, I take that back. It's a new mix, and you're right, sorta. It's a derivative. This formula's all about calming 'em down. Not so much muscle relaxant in it either. But that's more than enough smart talk for you, scumbag. I'll try it out on you later. Hey, who's ready for a beer?"
Push's right wrist slipped down.
It had uncuffed his hand. A can of Heineken came floating over, and he grabbed it.
Behind his back, Doke closed the loose cuff around a metal bar that was part of the bench.
Denny reacted at the sound. His head was wobbly.
Push rolled his eyes and leaned forward, so Denny could see the handcuff that tethered him to the bench.
The new guy finally nodded.
"I'm Push."
"Denny."
"Yeah. Got that."
"Is this really happening?"
"'Fraid so."
A pause. "How the fuck are you doing this?"
Great, Push thought. My fault again, directly or indirectly. He opened his mouth -
But Doke piped up. "He's not. I'm the so-and-so who tickled you... and now I caught you."
"Like hell," Denny said, pulling at his cuffs. "And you are?"
"They call me Doke."
Denny looked from the apparent source of the voice, all around. "Poke?"
Both men flinched when a loud burst of laughter sounded just above them. "Fuckin' A. Tell me this wasn't meant to be," it said to Push.
He He rolled his eyes. "Doke," he told the new captive. "D-O-K-E."
"Oh. Okay." Denny looked at Push again, deeply worried. "I gotta be imagining all this." A beer can cruised to his head and opened.
Push shrugged. He opened his own beer and drank up.
"N-no," Denny said to the beer, trying to rear back. "No thanks." He moved almost calmly, and his eyes looked this way and that for help. Pretty much the standard response, considering what was happening and all. If Doke hadn't dosed him, Denny would be probably be freaking out right about now. The confusion on the other guy's face reminded Push of just how twisted life had become -
A glove grabbed Denny by the throat. Not cruel, really. Doke didn't generally encourage too much sass though.
"Dude," Push said, getting his smokes out, "turning down its hospitality isn't really an option. You're gonna be okay." He still had a handcuff trapping him right there, so Doke expected him to help the new guy out. Answer his questions, reassure him. Within a couple hours Doke or one of its friends would be tickling the shit out of him - sorta like celebrating another victory. A successful hunt. The number of pets had increased by one.
"Right out in public?" But the can moved right to his lips, and Denny didn't really hesitate too long before slugging down a good half of the beer.
"You're not from around here, I'm guessing," Push said, clanking his lighter closed.
"Dammit," the new guy said, coughing a time or two.
Behind him, an open pack of cigarettes waggled in the air. Marlboro Lights, or whatever they were called since "light" was legally recognized as a crock of shit. There must've been only a few smokes in there, since a big black Zippo slipped inside while Push watched. He frowned, but Doke went right ahead and snuck the cigarettes into Denny's shirt pocket.
"Hanford," he finally said. "Shit."
"Job interview?" Doke asked. Push felt a finger tap his breastbone - huh, see, what did I tell you, dumb nutria, and so on.
"Uh... yeah."
Well, of course Doke was right about that too, Push thought, just like everything else. So unfair. From bad to mutherfuckin' worse...
"How'd it go?" the tickler said. Teasing him.
"Alright." Denny looked at Push, and it was fairly obvious he wanted to be more upset than the drug was letting him be. "Look, I meant it. Forget 'em."
"Huh?"
"The sunglasses. I don't need any trouble. Just let me go and I... Let's just be reasonable here."
Push took a drag and studied Denny. "You feel high, maybe? Fairly baked?"
"No." And after another second or two, "Kinda."
"Remember getting sprayed in the face?"
"What?" Denny thought on that for a few seconds. "Yeah. You did that."
"I was sitting right here," Push said patiently.
"No -"
"Then some black gloves grabbed you. Nobody was wearing 'em. Well, Doke was - no arms, though. And they confirmed that you're ticklish."
Denny's eyes got a little bigger. Recognition. "That wasn't you?" Stupidly, he scanned the area. "Some - at least two other guys. Four hands. Or was it six? Aw, hell, nobody else was close enough."
"No people," Push agreed. "Humans."
The new guy stared for a bit. "I have always hated this place. San Fran-fuckin'-cisco. Total weirdness. No offense."
Push shrugged. "I'm from Mendocino, myself."
"So you never took a... an un-stoned breath in your life."
Zing. Push had to laugh. He nodded. Denny was alright, maybe. Didn't deserve what was about to happen to him. Hanford, for fuck's sake...
"And now I'm cuffed to a park bench."
"Yeah," Push said, with a sigh. "Figure out why yet?"
Denny mulled that over. Eventually his eyes got big again. "No," he scoffed. "Not a chance. I dunno."
"Doke," Push said, looking well above Denny's head, "I can't do this today. C'mon."
"Such a big baby. Sometimes."
"Tell me," Denny begged.
The gloves cruised back up... and slowly took possession of Push's ribs. Just holding on -
"Aw, no. Shit!" Denny's eyes were huge.
You got your answer, Push thought, and right now you're fighting like hell to deny it. Been there, brother.
"Aw, yeah," Doke crowed.
Denny shot Push a look - well, what the fuck do we have here - and Push returned a knowing, longsuffering type of frown.
Then the new guy smirked. Real quick, and then gone.
Push immediately felt much better, and worse too, about the hick's upcoming ordeal.
It reminded him that there had been a time - nine years ago, almost, but it felt like nine hundred - when Push himself had no idea that bastards like Doke existed... when he was the only one who decided if his dick would get some attention. And he was young and reckless, with just the one little cobra-head tattoo on his right shoulder blade. And he was doin' okay, really, back when he could use the name his daddy gave him.
He felt the wet-blanket feeling weigh him down again. Denny had almost grinned at the thought of what was coming.
"It's magic," Push said, "right here in the middle of the Castro. Tickling is a mutherfuckin' science for these... phantoms. Now it's got your number, bud, just like it's got mine. Fer sure. Oh, there's some perks. Such as weed, and E. But it still comes down to slavery."
"Oh, now," Doke teased. "That's such an ugly word. I like the 'pet' analogy, myself."
Denny didn't seem to care for it too much. "So - you're saying, get out while you can."
"If you can." Push looked around expectantly, but Doke didn't interrupt with a gut-curdling taunt. So maybe -
Well, Denny hadn't howled through that first night's initation yet. With any luck he had a heart murmur or something...
"But more likely, it's 'welcome to the club,'" Push sighed. "You stepped right into it, Denny. It was thinking about you ever since it took your sunglasses, and then you walked right up to it. To us. And that was perfectly reasonable. You wanted to get your shit back. And Doke the Magnificent took that in the most fucked-up possible way."
"Nobody mangles a compliment like you do, hotshot," the tickler said. "Far too cute for your own good."
"This is crazy," Denny insisted. "And I'm listening to it with my arms cuffed to this damn bench." He took a ragged breath, and looked around. "And all of these people don't care, or just let it happen. 'Cause it's the Castro."
"A lot of 'em don't know what they're seeing. I mean, if you were across the street from us, would you really believe there's an invisible tyrant keeping guys -"
"Tyrant?" Doke said. "Hmmm."
"Asshole, then," Push shot back. "That better?"
"I think those guys over there know," Denny said. "I swear the one with the... the white leather harness was grinning at me."
"Yeah, well, those cuffs aren't invisible. Some are on to the weird juju that's caught - um, that runs guys like me around," he added quickly. "And there's always some that are gonna go home and jack off while they're thinkin' about what's in store for me."
"Seriously?" The new guy stared. "So they're not gonna help."
"They might sorta wish they were in our shoes. Or be the ones holding the leash. Whatever. That doesn't make things any worse, here, 'cause nobody can get us out of this jam even if they wanted to. Doke's been at this for... at least nine years -"
"So ridiculously cute," it said. "And so doomed."
Push cocked his head. "You got any ideas for stopping a sadistic cuss who's invisible and strong and quick, well, lay 'em on me. I've had enough."
"I'm a cuss now?" Doke laughed.
"More than enough," Push growled.
"Too weird," Denny said to himself. He was getting annoyed - and then he saw the cigarettes in his pocket. Right away he tried to stand up, almost as if there was a snake on his lap. "What the hell!"
"Don't mind us," Doke said. "Help yourself."
A cuff creaked. The poor guy had started to reach up. Out of reflex, maybe. He stared at the pack. "Magic. Huh."
"I know it's weird," Push said awkwardly.
"Yeah," Denny laughed. "It is that." He looked at Push. "And once again it gets weirder. I used to smoke those. That's my brand."
"Yeah, I knew that," Doke said quickly.
"You're a liar!" Push shot back.
"Damn, I'm good."
Every single time. Things always broke just the way Doke wanted 'em to, and it never seemed to fail. After all these years it still pissed Push off sometimes. No wonder Zhao had totally bought into the complete fuckin' inevitability of what they went through...
Denny looked at Push, and back to the cigarettes in his pocket. He gulped. Putting things together, alright. "I don't suppose there's any way I can turn down -"
"Sure you can," Doke said. "It's not like I'm gonna be offended. I mean, it won't rock my world if you turn down a gift from me."
"Now, Doke, just wait," Push urged -
"It's not like I'll just fly into a rage," the tickler said. "That wouldn't be too neighborly. I'm sure not gonna pull this bench up out of the concrete... Carry it to the water, steal a boat, see how deserted Angel Island is lookin' this time of year. No - even better, the Farallons. Now, you're from podunk-shitburg, Denny, so you may find this particularly interesting."
"C'mon -"
"There's this wildlife refuge. Offshore. Maybe ten miles west of the Park - oooh, and a couple of these islands are so small that Google doesn't even map 'em. One's just big enough to set this bench down. Hide it in the trees. So peaceful, though. Remote. Of course, the downside is that it could get... kinda thirsty out there -"
"Wait," Denny interrupted, "alright, I'm ready - hell, I need a fuckin' smoke now. I don't know what I was thinking, there. Bring it. Uh, you're gonna help a brother out, right?"
"I sorta forgot how cool that island is," Doke said. "You should see the breakwater -"
"Please?"
Push just sighed, barely controlling his anger.
He remembered the mosquitoes out there on that little dirt-clod most of all.
Wearing himself out trying to shake 'em off, because Doke had staked him out tight on the ground. He'd gotten water, though, and several layers of greasy hydrocortisone cream - when Doke came back from the mainland to tickle the shit out of him all night. Every night. He lasted six days until he broke, weeping like a little baby, and signed the power of attorney and some other legal documents Doke wouldn't even let him read... and he was still convinced that it really didn't know he was awake when it opened the big plastic jar with the screened lid, restocking the mosquito population on that overgrown rock that probably wouldn't have a single bug on it. Unless Doke brought 'em there.
It took him years to work through the dependency - and the gratitude -
"You sure?" it teased.
Both men watched the pack slide out of Denny's pocket...
And pause. "I mean, shit, you seemed pretty reluctant."
"Not anymore," Denny shot back. "All this crazy bullshit - I need a smoke. You want me to smoke. Right? Stuck 'em in my pocket. And man, I've been kinda craving one -"
"Well, don't be doin' it on my account. I mean, sure, I love to make you fuckers chain-smoke. Reminds you of who's boss."
One cigarette was slowly pulled out of the pack.
"Doke," Push said. "For fuck's sake."
"But I forget," Doke said thoughtfully, "that you don't know me like Push does. I hand him a cigarette, and boy. He's hardcore. When I want him to suffer, I just pull those boots off and go to town." It laughed quietly.
Denny's eyes had sorta glazed over, and they were locked on the 'Boro. His facial expression had changed, and Push knew it all too well. Denny was getting played but good. After another minute or two of that cigarette being dangled out of reach, he really would start to need it. He'd beg more and more...
Push wanted another smoke himself, after seeing somebody else get that kind of taunting for a change - well, damn, it brought back some lusty memories, and they always ended with him yelling at Doke to just shut up and bring the fuckin' pack over already! And yet he didn't want to give his owner the satisfaction, just then, of seeing how the teasing had hit home.
"Denny's gonna accept my offer. Yeah. He's gonna enjoy this cigarette," the tickler said. Arrogant bastard. There was a note of triumph in its voice - basically, the same way it sounded when it was vowed to tickle Push until his nuts fell off...
Shit. He had to lighten up. If his mood was too dark, Doke would be all over him like a shot. Actually it was still on him, because the gloves were in position. All it had to do was start the gloves moving, and he didn't particularly want to give it a reason.
The bastard actually brought jars full of mosquitoes out to where he was trapped -
No, quit that, keep it together. "S-so how come," he said, "you can leave cuffs just laying around here and nobody swipes 'em?"
"They weren't laying here," Doke said patiently. "They were on the roof. Thai Chef. See that tall smokestack, or whatever? That vent? It's not hooked up anymore - or at least it stays cold these days - but it's tall. I had a bag set up there. None of you nosy critters could see it, if you were standing on the roof."
"So clever."
"Yeah. I know," it said. "What's got into you, Push?"
"Nothing," he shot back - too quickly. "Uh, tell you later."
"Suit yourself."
One of the gloves came up and flicked Push's nose. It traveled behind him and was pulled over his hand.
The other gloves finally let go of his sides, and one pointed at his jeans. He took the hint and got himself another Lucky.
Denny looked pretty damn worried, there, staring at his next cigarette...
Push didn't want Doke any more curious about his mood than it already was, so he got his lighter out and flicked it open. "A bag full of stuff close by, just full of toys to torture me with."
"Well, somebody's awfully full of himself. It was also for Smiley."
"A-ha." Push lit up.
There had been this young blonde kid that Doke had been stalking last year - no, shit, it was two years ago. It was convinced that the guy had really exceptional physiology for tickle-torture, but Push had mixed feelings whenever it became clear that Doke was actually holding back. It was always right, dammit - and eventually he remembered some passing remark about temperament. He'd had to ask Doke to explain the word.
Came down to Smiley needing a different kind of owner, maybe, for maximum results. Romp, maybe, or Conbreaker.
The whole idea of the ticklers practicing anything like self-restraint gave Push a lot to think about, and he could only hope he hadn't blabbed all about his theories when Doke or any of 'em pressed for intel during one whacked-out session or another.
Denny watched Push kick out smoke, and his 'Boro was finally stuck between his lips. This little power-play had more to do with testing his reactions than he ever would've believed now.
"Man, it was hard to quit these things," he mumbled.
"Aw," Doke said, egging him on. Nuthin' but mind-games here -
"I quit a long time ago. Three years. Well, in April it'll be three years."
"You fuckers are always quitting," Doke said. "All you guys are lame now. 'Uh, yeah, I used to smoke, but I quit.' Honestly."
And by that time Denny had moved the cigarette to the corner of his mouth - probably where it felt right. He looked over at Push - dazed, uncertain, sorta cowed.
"No choice, now," Push said. "And no turning back."
"Those two things don't go together," Denny said immediately. "Contra... contradictory."
"Yeah, welcome to my world," Push snapped. The lighter floated out of the pack and hung in front of Denny. "It's gonna make you do this. And damn, dude, are you gonna do it. Hardcore. Now play that tape out for awhile."
"Shut up, Push," Doke said.
"I don't get it. Oh." Denny stared at the lighter. "Wait. I think I do. Fuck."
"Got another gift for you, buddy," Doke said. "This lighter is yours now. See this engraving? That's a pair of my gloves, ready to grab you thugs. Property of Doke."
"Holy shit," the new guy said quietly. Then his cigarette quit bobbing up and down. He wasn't trembling at all, though, and that sorta bugged Push...
The lighter clicked open and closed. Impatiently. "This is whole new exciting life, starting today. If you got what it takes." The appeal to vanity, Push thought, and timed just right. "I don't need your input. It doesn't matter if you like lifting weights, or want a bunch of fine-ass tattoos. Or if you mind gobbling a few tabs of speed so I can drill every ticklish spot - all night. What happens now is what I want. From now on. So... are you gonna keep stalling, or do I go ahead and light that smoke?"
Yeah, it was definitely some kind of ceremonial thing. Push had been set up much like this - as if it was a real important decision. The same contradictory logic, topped off with a question that sounded more like a challenge. Go for it, hyena. Be a bad guy.
He'd shied away, though. Agreement was unthinkable.
Doke had just laughed and kicked his ass. So many fingers, tickling away, for an hour or two. Then it sent a glove to grab his hair, reefing back good and hard, and forced him to smoke most of a pack. A few beers had been poured down him, while that was happening. Before long Doke put him through a test-run on more drugs than he ever knew existed...
As Push watched, Doke eased a glove down over his right hand.
Denny was still staring at the lighter. Shit - he hadn't answered Doke yet.
Normally it was real dangerous to make it wait like that. Push wondered if there was some... different kind of power handoff happening right before his eyes. It could be the poor guy was lost in thought, but Denny wasn't - well, shit, he didn't look miserable enough. The collar was about to lock, you could say -
Playfully tortured in one dungeon after another. So screwed up, all of it.
The hick was still staring at the lighter like it was the key to getting out of all of this weirdness, instead of - of fretting how there was no right move now, dammit, and he really wouldn't ever be slipping out of Doke's clutches -
Denny leaned toward the Zippo... and toward Doke.
Then he made a little gesture with his head. Okay. Let's do this.
Bring it on.
"Mutherfuck," Push sighed, as the lighter scritched to life and served Denny up.
"Can I pick 'em," Doke whispered back, happy as it could be, "or can I pick 'em?"
Denny took a little drag, coughed out the smoke, groaned... and tugged again, easy but longer this time. So thoroughly screwed now, Push thought -
"Aaaugh," the new tickle-pet said. "This tastes like shit. How did I ever..."
He shut up quick when the remaining pair of gloves floated toward him.
One shook Denny's captive right hand - and the stupid, stoned, condemned fucker kicked out an easy, dismissive laugh.
"Pleasure doing business with you," the tickler said, "even though I take things much more seriously than businessmen do. And you're totally under my control now."
"Yeah, I guess I got that part," Denny said.
They watched the gloves get pulled over Denny's hands. Push sorta expected him to hear a low, taunting laugh in his ear. He's done for, now. Just like another phenomenal son of a bitch I know. Crazy-ticklish, all over. And his body is all-llll mine.
"This is... really stupid," Denny said, perhaps to himself. "It was hard enough to kick these things when the kid came along."
Push's head flew up.
He stared at Denny, feeling as if a ray of sunshine had just punched through the clouds. Oh, this was major!
"Kid?" he asked, trying to stay calm.
"Kids. Three, now. Two girls and a boy."
"Three kids," Push repeated innocently, looking around.
"Pipe down," Doke said. Oooh, yeah, it was irked.
Something hadn't gone right for the all-powerful torturer. This was so rare.
The law of averages should've meant that Doke had shit go wrong about as much as anybody else. But the universe bent to accommodate the bastard. Lucky break after lucky break...
Push laughed. This was sweet.
His owner hated having to work around "clingy" family members, who got all pushy and mouthy just because the breadwinner of the house disappeared for a month or two. The cops wouldn't be able to find where Denny was hidden, but Doke got annoyed when a human so much as questioned what it did for fun.
An invisible hand dug into Push's right front pocket - hurrying, and none too gentle, so that meant Doke was irritated, alright! - and yanked his smartphone out. It floated in front of him and "woke up."
Denny's wallet flew up, behind his back, and started leaking cards...
"Don't believe everything you hear," Doke whispered. "Jackass."
Push watched the phone's web browser open up. Letters were tapped quickly -
www.deepdeeperdeepestbackground.com
The username was BOSSDOKE, and the password was entered... without the phone turning sideways. Doke always hid its passwords from Push - so it had to be really rattled. Well, as rattled as Doke could get. Push didn't catch the first few characters of the password - he hadn't believed what he was seeing! - but the last part was definitely "rub247".
"What's up?" Denny asked, exhaling smoke.
Wallet items shuffled in midair - and the hick's Social Security card came to the top of the pile. HUIZENGA had been typed quickly into the "last name" field of a form... and then nine digits were entered into the SSN box faster than Push could ever have typed them -
"Well," Push told Denny, "The stars were aligned against you today. I mean, fuck, you have no idea. And then you just... took a big ol' piss in Doke's soup."
"Didn't quite grasp the meaning of that bromide, convict, but you're gonna have weeks and weeks to explain how funny it is to me," the tickler grumbled.
"And you can explain what the fuck a 'bromide' is -"
The screen reloaded. Scrolled.
"Hah!" the tickler barked.
It stuck the phone in Push's face.
IMMEDIATE FAMILY
CHILDREN: 0
SIBLINGS: 0
PARENTS: James F. Huizenga (1946-2011), Maureen D. Huizenga nee Schumacher (1942-2009)
Push sagged. "Well. Uh. That could be wrong."
A hand clamped around the back of his neck. "And?"
He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. You win. Again."
The fingers gave him a squeeze. Not mean, just happy again. "Damn right. I always do. And - apology accepted."
The hand let go, and slammed down over his mouth.
"Let's just check a couple more things, here," Doke whispered. Way too calm now.
The screen rolled down a bit.
MARRIAGES: 0
"Aaaaaaand," it said, somewhat triumphantly... pressing a button labeled "Credit Score."
"What's it doing with your phone?" Denny asked.
Doke ignored him. Push considered looking over, but it would be hard to offer much reassurance when his was gagged like this. The screen refreshed -
"Waaaait for it," the tickler said happily.
SKAMLON CREDIT RATING, INC. SCORE (100 - 900)
And the last big gut-punch was in big red numerals...
267
Fuck, his credit is worse than mine, Push thought.
The hand peeled away from his mouth.
"And to think you doubted me," Doke said in his ear. Affectionately.
"Said I was sorry," Push muttered, pulling his head forward and getting his cigarettes out.
The phone slid back into his pocket -
"Well, the deal is," Doke growled, "that sometimes new captives lie to me. It's reflex. Right? Can't help it. Self-preservation."
Denny had a second or two of comprehension - and then he rocked back real hard, stifling a laugh. He looked down at his left side. Then his right. He started to giggle, and writhe around.
"But if anyone's gonna tell a fib 'round here, it's gonna be me. Your owner. And I think liars need to punished. I make 'em pay."
The hick stared at Push with that classic oh-shit look. Another cigarette floated to his lips.
Push sighed. "Well, you had me convinced," he said, unable to think of anything else that would be all that reassuring. "Kids. That makes things a lot less... lengthy. Drawn-out. And parents, brothers and sisters - even ex-wives... they tend to get curious, eventually. Nosy. Maybe report us missing, or even pull some strings. Raise a ruckus."
There was a pause.
"Yeah, I am ultra-royally screwed," the new guy said.
"Quick study," Doke said. "Maybe I'll let you live."
"Kidding," Push said immediately.
"But you'll wish you could, y'know, expire. To escape all the hours and hours of fun."
"Not... kidding," Push sighed.
"Oh hell no," Denny said, with alarm. He pulled at the cuffs, but his arms stayed caught. Then he took a slow drag.
"I am that good," Doke declared.
"Yes, you are," Push said noncommittally.
His owner had shifted into that utterly inhuman, payback / domination / merciless / totally amused torturer mood. Usually he had to do something really offensive to cheese it off like this... such as, for some unfathomable reason, calling Doke "you fucking cock."
"Denny - oh, is it okay if I call you Denny?" Doke sneered. "You bet your ass it is, because I'm way bigger than you. I'll call you whatever the hell I like. That job interview you had? You're turning that sucker down. No matter how much they want you, I predict that a few days of solid tickling on your ribs will make you do what I say. Now you got a much more exciting gig, right here on 18th Street. Amusing, mind-blowing... You walked your mutherfuckin' ass right up like a good, assertive candidate - and damn, son, you aced the interview. You start immediately."
"Is there any way to get out of this?" Denny asked Push quietly.
"No. Sorry. Uh, I wouldn't be here if there was."
The hick nodded. "Ah."
Push's wrist was grabbed - and the handcuff let go of the bench back. When his arm was freed and Doke didn't immediately recuff him, the gloves brought both of his hands around and clacked the open cuff around his left wrist, right next to the other one. That was a common fashion statement in that part of the City. It sure beat walking around like he was hoping for some punk-ass human dom to jump him -
"Phone," the tickler said curtly. Push got it out of his pocket, and it was taken right away. Ooooh, yeah, Doke was gonna boogie now. This time the screen was turned away so he couldn't see it. Lots of keypresses, though. Text message, Push decided. Messages?
"Why are you mad at me?" he asked defensively.
"Bottoms. Fuckin' lowlifes, all of you."
Push looked over at Denny. The hick was exhaling smoke and studying the glove on his left hand. Flexing his fingers, deep in thought. The new guy saw Push looking at him, and smirked. Then he looked over at the other glove Doke had "given" him.
Uh-oh.
"Not bad," he said. "I sorta like 'em."
It was like an alarm bell went off.
"Shut the fuck up!" Push said. He'd tried the same thing - everybody did - but it hardly ever did any good. And anyway now was definitely not the time...
"It can't be all bad," Denny said. "Right? You look... sane enough. Cool tats."
Push felt sick to his stomach. How the hell could Doke choose its victims with such... such success? And then twist 'em into whatever mindset it wanted -
"Look," he stammered, "there's intense, and then there's unbelievably intense. You get me? Reverse psychology is a non-starter, because Doke -"
The tickler's unseen hand pinched Push's mouth shut again.
"Let the man speak," it said. Way too plainly.
Push shook his head frantically, trying to stare Denny down.
But the dumbass idly watched his fingers curl and release. Fuckin' cock-of-the-walk. "Reverse psychology? Naw. Not me. I'm trying to wrap my mind around... how it's gonna be. From now on. This is a lot to absorb. I mean, shit, not even a half-hour ago I was at the ATM, pulling the last forty bucks out of my account so I could put gas in my piece-of-shit car and make it back to Hanford. I was really counting on that job. Didn't feel like I got it, either."
Push closed his eyes.
"You ever sleep in your car, dude? Because you had to give up the apartment?" Denny said casually. "And cigarettes are out. Who can afford 'em anyway?"
Baited, hooked and reeled right in - so smoothly that Push hadn't really seen when the threshold was crossed. If Denny was as ticklish as Doke seemed to think, their paths might not cross again for a long fuckin' time.
"Well, then," Doke said amiably, "being one of my pets might work out real well for you."
Push shook his head again, but the glove squeezed harder until he stopped.
"Room and board," the tickler said - oh, murderously calm now - "Cases of cigarettes. Drugs. You name it... and total, endless fun."
Doke's tone of voice finally rattled Denny enough to shut him up. That almost-smug expression started to fall -
A car squealed up.
It was a new white BMW, with really dark tint on the windows.
"The only question now is," Doke said, "would an new employee orientation be more effective if it was a solo deal? One-on-one?"
Both men watched the front passenger door of the car spring open.
"Or could you use a mentor? This first time? Hey, Push - what do you suppose a mentor who's worth his salt would do for a new guy like Denny? You know what I wanna hear."
The hand let go -
"Show him the ropes," he said tiredly.
"Exactly right." Fingers started to twist his right nipple, but Push slid away from it. "Got a big mouth, subbie, but we'll work on that later."
The carabiners unsnapped. Denny was pulled up - and kept rising. Then he rotated a bit... just as if Doke was a pro lineman, and it just slung him over its shoulder.
"Count on it," Doke growled. Sinister as fuck. "You go home now. Spotkick will make sure you get there."
"Hell, you just - Home? Oh. You bet," Push said. Spotkick was pretty damn fond of his legs. His knees. So thorough, all up and down him, that it was creepy. But he was ordered back to base, so he could rest up for whatever whacked-out marathon was in store later.
"HEY! HAAAALLLLP!" Denny yelled.
Push stood up. Catching a break - even a delay - in his own torment hadn't seemed likely. He decided to wait and see before getting his hopes up. Try to do something nice for somebody, and you end up in Spotkick's hands -
Doke paused, with Denny right at the car door, and even turned the poor hick around. How considerate.
The new guy was flailing around as much as he could. "Guy getting kidnapped here! Anybody gonna do something? Call the cops. Please? Anybody?"
"Get 'im good," a young hipster yelled from over by the flower shop. "You got a sweet ass."
"Damn," Push heard a woman say from further off. Maybe across the street. "They got another one."
"Wear him out!"
Push recognized that last voice. He shivered suddenly, remembering little buffing pads tracing the sinews under his knees...
Somebody started to clap. It could well have been Doke. By the time Denny was slung inside - still yelling his head off - a few bystanders were applauding, or whistling. Better that guy than me.
No such luck for Push. He was that guy too.
The car door slammed, and Denny was taken away from life as he knew it.
"It's a real laugh-riot here," he sighed.
"Push," Spotkick greeted him.
"What."
"Lookin' good."
He resisted the urge to cuss -
"Gimme your phone, and I'll call a cab."
Push rocked back on his heels. "It's like five blocks. To my place." But Spotkick knew that... so it was taking him to a dungeon. Just swell.
"I don't want you to get tired now. Unless it's me doing the... tiring. C'monnnn," it teased - cheerfully, like it was cajoling him to just go ahead and take a joint it was passing to him, because it knew he'd be glad if he gave in. "Let's ride."
He started to remember particular details of how Spotkick had worn him out before. No way it was escorting him straight home.
Some other dungeon, then. Prepped and restocked, hosed down. Quiet, now, and ready to cage him. Enabling a tickler to dig in, as long as it liked, with no one hearing him, and with those unbreakable locks on the door that he could never kick his way through, and so much deranged laughter trapped inside with him, all those grunts of relief as he shot load after load, with no one else having the least chance of marveling at how adroit and tireless and knowledgeable the tickler's gloves were, its floating brushes, its enigmatically active feathers, the spinning polishers that clicked to life and levitated to his skin as if they had a mind of their own -
Push shook his head, snapping back to the present moment.
No, wait, hold on. Doke had told him to go home. Spotkick knew that, sure as shit - and yet he was about to be kidnapped from his usual kidnapper. Well, fuck, that just figured.
It grabbed his arm and tugged him over to the curb. Hands slapped against his back and pushed, propelling him toward Collingwood. Next, both of his arms were yanked up in the air. Waving...
At a taxi, pulling up on this side of the corner.
"Dammit," he complained. Tickler-luck.
Back to Part 1
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