This is the sixth installment of the Palace series.
It occurs sometime after Shon and Deck leave the palace (the second time).
I gave the manacles another good, angry kick.
"Looks like you're good to go again," the smart voice said. That one liked head-games.
I didn't say anything. Just rolled my head around. A cigarette hung there, waiting for me to take it. Eventually, I did.
The lighter came and went.
"There ya go," the crazy voice snickered.
I didn't have their names - if they even had names. The careful one, the crazy one, the excited one. And the smart one. That's how I kept 'em apart in my head.
I never saw them. Just the stuff they picked up and wore.
They let me smoke for a minute. Think about what was coming. Easy enough, since I'd been there for a few days.
Once again, I forced myself to stop replaying the more vivid memories. Instead, I took the longest drag I could, trying to focus on it, enjoy it -
"Hey, Brass." The careful voice. Their nickname for me. "Got a proposition for you."
Yeah, I bet they did...
"You're too sensitive to let go," the smart one said. "So we're not going to insult your intelligence. There isn't any deal you're going to like. Your future is filled with... more of what we've been doing to you. No question about that."
Nobody said anything. After a while, I couldn't take the silence any more. "Uh-huh."
The pack came up again. I took it to be a good sign, of sorts. A reward. Five more minutes of rest...
"He gets it," the excited voice says.
"He's gonna get it," the crazy one shot back.
"The question is, where are you going to get what's coming to you, Brass? Here... or at the palace?"
"What palace?"
Two of them laughed. I wasn't sure which ones...
"It was going to be your new home. Still could be," the crazy voice murmured in my ear. "Serves you right."
"Yeah, yeah," I sighed. That last dig was referring to my guilt, supposedly. Why they went after me in the first place.
I'm a cocky son of a bitch. They actually said that. Too ambitious. I used people, and fucked them over. I didn't get close to anyone - but that just made it easier to grab me. My staff was relieved I was gone.
That was obvious. I knew they were all sitting around, getting nothing done. I'd never been AWOL before. Noreen had just enough brains to cover for me. Not for my sake, of course. They wanted to enjoy their little holiday. Stretch it out. They hated me. They were jealous. All of them -
"You have a gift." The careful voice. "It must be... exercised."
"Oh, totally," the crazy one added.
"Like this," and I felt the contact. Feathers. Oh, shit. Here we go. And I couldn't do a fucking thing about it...
They played with my feet. Very light work. It wasn't enough to make me laugh. But it always got me thinking, very much on purpose, about how horrible it was going to be when they dug in again. Over and over.
"There," the excited one said, stifling giggles. "Take that."
"A lot more of that. Coming right up." The smart voice, from somewhere in front of me. "We were going to hand you off to some experts. They handle the travel arrangements for the palace. It's down south. Way south. Brazil. Guys - guys like you - go down there, and they stay awhile. Long-term. Long enough to break all connections with their old life. You getting this?"
"Oh yeah," I said wearily, blowing smoke.
"Good," the careful one barked. "That's very good."
"After another few days with us -"
"Make it a week," the crazy one laughed.
"Okay. After another week here... all these hours of doing what we like best... you're going south. To be worked over. They might cut you loose before you turn thirty."
That got me. I was afraid to... move. They couldn't be serious. Could they?
I was only 27.
Two or three years of this... torture. Maybe more. Every day like this one, or yesterday -
"Or?" I finally managed to say, swallowing hard.
"Or," the excited one said, "You come to work for us."
A small glimmer of hope.
The feathers were bugging the shit out of me, but I didn't even want to chuckle right then. I took a hard drag and said, as casually as I could, "I'm listening."
"Brass." It was said with approval. The careful one -
"We have a plan for... expansion," the smart voice continued. "More cells, like this. Flawless privacy, security. All ready for receptive fuckers like you. And it occurs to us that you might be able to assist us."
"But we're doing it with or without you." The excited voice.
"Oh yes. While we've been exploring your... untapped potential, we've come to a decision. You might be just the man to get our project on the fast track. If not - well, they'll have a fantastic time with you. At the palace."
"I got that," I said, trying to sound humble.
The voice chuckled. "Sure you do. If you want to miss out on that incredibly long party, you'll listen very closely. We have more ideas than we can possibly try out on you. Some of them are brand new. You're a real inspiration, Brass. And you could be our agent."
Another meaningful pause.
"Agent?"
"Yeee-up," the crazy one said.
"Our agent with the human world. Point guy, with the real estate hacks. Certain wholesalers..."
"Ah," I said, nodding.
"Make no mistake - we're already doing just fine, without you. With patience, we can do everything we need to do electronically. But after starting in on you... Brass... we don't especially want to be patient."
"Not anymore!" the excited voice yelled.
"We want you on the team."
"Yeah," I sneered, "well, that's a real attractive offer -"
A hand curled around my, uh, favorite body part. Just holding on.
"Do you believe us? About the palace? That's the deciding factor. Isn't it, Brass? If there is such a place - and if there's any chance in hell we won't ship you down there... What do you think? You ready to take a chance that we're just bluffing?"
The fingers repositioned, very slowly.
"No."
"Smart guy. Very smart. We don't have any pity for you, Brass. None at all. You've been a grade-A bastard to everyone who knows you. You've ruined people in order to get ahead. And until we started playing with you, the world was your oyster. No one could slow you down." The hand let go of me. "But you won't be missed. If fact, a lot of people will be glad you're gone. You pride yourself on being hated - riding people hard. If only they knew how your day was going... and what all your days will be like, down at the palace. They'd be so happy. But they'll never know. You just vanished, Brass. Gone. And good riddance, too."
They all shut up while I thought it over. Even the feathers stopped moving.
There had to be a mistake. Right? An error they made somewhere...
I took a drag, and kicked it out slowly.
A water bottle came floating up. This was the decision point. They were about to force an answer out of me. I knew how the game was played.
The feathers were pulled off me. I sighed with relief. Absurdly pleased. Even knowing they'd be back - sure of it, endless feathering yet to come - I was just so damn glad for each second without any contact on me. I drank all the water, and tried to look defeated.
And I played it right, because a big candy bar came next, unwrapping magically. Basic positive reinforcement.
After I ate, I started another cigarette without a fight.
A larger object came out around from behind.
I just stared. They had to be kidding...
It was a clipboard.
There was a single page of paper.
"Contract for employment." As I glanced at it, something dawned on me. I recognized the language. Hell. I should know it - I humiliated the snobs in Legal for a month until they got it right.
It was the contract I wrote.
And it was bulletproof. None of my worthless employees could blink without my permission.
This copy had my name on it.
"You've gotta be kidding," I groaned.
The excited voice clicked its... uh... tongue. "If it's good enough for the troops -"
"Good enough for the boss," the crazy one said.
"Ex-boss," added the careful one.
"You have new bosses now," the smart voice said smugly. "Either here, or in the heart of the rainforest."
"Fuck," I spat, before I could stop myself.
"We can't force you to do your best work," it continued. "That's up to you. If you don't, you go to the palace. Next month, next year... It's up to us. If you ever try to cross us - it's off to the palace. If you try to run..."
"Palace."
"You got it. But you can avoid that, maybe. if you put that cold-blooded mind to good use. And we'll even pay you -"
I closed my eyes.
"Two hundred a year. To start."
That got my eyes open again. "No shit?"
"Paragraph nine," it said. The clipboard moved even closer. "Third sentence."
Employee will be compensated at a rate of no less than two hundred thousand dollars (U.S.) per annum. There it was.
"Well, shit," I managed. "Too bad I can't trust any of this."
"Oh, it's binding. Isn't it, Brass?"
I opened my mouth, and shut it again.
"If you decide to sign on, we're stuck with each other."
"Or years of... of this fuckin' torture, in Brazil."
"That's right," the excited voice said.
"Some choice -"
"The money will be transferred to any account you name. Set up a new one. Offshore... we don't care. But we will pay for your services. That is a solemn promise."
It was insane. Services. I snorted.
A pen came up.
I felt something odd. New...
It was behind me. The cuffs - being adjusted.
Oh shit. Loosening. My right hand. This hadn't happened once ever since they caught me. No wonder I didn't recognize the feeling.
My hand dropped. Out of the cuff. It was the most wonderful thing that had happened in a long time.
I brought it around front, slowly. My arm ached. New muscle, from all the tugging.
I stared at the leather glove they'd pulled over my hand. Flexed my wrist carefully, my fingers...
It moved. Not my doing. They made it reach across me. The pack rose up to meet it.
For the first time in days, I lit a cigarette myself. Such a little thing. But it worked - on me. Just the way they wanted, and I knew they knew it. But the reminder of freedom was... incredibly nice.
The lighter was taken away. I took a drag, and studied the glove.
"You won't be able to move that hand... down south," the crazy voice said suggestively.
I nodded slowly. That was the stick. Here came the carrot.
The pen came within reach, and froze. I held a smoke between my fingers. Such a pleasure. It had been so long...
"But we'll let you," the smart one said, right on cue. "Most of the time."
"Most...of the time?"
"When you're not in this cell."
"Or one just like it," the careful one added.
"Oh," I sighed. "Shit."
"Your primary job duty will be... Well, you already know, don't you? What you've been doing all this time?"
That just fuckin' figured. I took another drag.
"Yeah," the excited voice announced. "Oh yeah. He knows."
"Getting worked over, just like you have been. Four, five hours a day - every workday. Maybe six..."
"On salary," I said. A statement, not a question.
"Brass. Too smart for your own good," the careful one said mournfully. Then a couple of them laughed.
"You can read just fine," the smart voice teased. "It says 'salary', doesn't it? Most of your workday will be spent... helping us experiment. New techniques, custom tools. But it's only half of the workout you'd get at the palace. Each day. They don't really take days off, down there..."
It paused, but I decided there was no point in saying anything. As impossible as it was to imagine walking into a cell like this for six hours of intense ass-kicking... the thought of not even being able to walk in and out, of being cuffed down and played with all day - every day -
"Afternoons. After last call, sometimes. And there will be double shifts, from time to time. As we see fit. In the mornings, you'll take care of administrative business. At night, you can keep feeding that handball addiction of yours. Keep your body in perfect condition, Brass. And you're going to network. For that, you'll need to develop a personality. Make some friends - don't you roll your eyes, little man. It's a requirement if you work for us. And you'll work to get much better at it. Strike up a friendship with your competitors, on and off the courts. Drink with them. Pick a few other bars, to broaden your horizons -"
"You think I'll help you find more victims?"
"To save your own ass? No doubt about it."
Dammit... These sons of bitches really knew me.
"How long have you been watching me?"
"Long enough. You're easy. We know your type. You're old news. And your pride is nothing short of amazing, Brass. Don't think we need you to fill those new cells. Use your head. We're not exactly new at this. We nab who we want to nab. Our surveillance techniques work just fine. That's why you're here."
They paused. Waiting for me. "Well, then -"
"What we want from you is... their words. Easy conversation. You hang out with some interesting prospects, drink with them, swap stories. Secrets. Bond a little."
"You're crazy," I blurted.
"No, it'll work. After they get to know you... You're going to become a great handball-buddy. You know that? Upbeat, generous. A great listener. You're already a mean competitor. You need to be more candid. And a lot more fun. But you'll learn. Won't you, Brass? You'll learn, or else. Chase women with them, go to ball games. Just let them open up to you. We'll study what they have to say, and make our predictions. Haul 'em in. Work 'em over. And we'll get even better at sizing up future prospects -"
There it was.
"Arrogant ones, like you. Wild artists, lowlife thugs. Leathermen. The better we can predict how they'll perform, just by looking at them... and listening to them, well, our efficiency will increase. Not just any captives - extraordinarily fun captives."
Efficiency. I got it. What was worse, I couldn't find any holes in it. Hell of a plan.
If they'd been tailing me and I didn't even know it - invisible, undetectable... No way to protect anybody else. Or warn the losers they were after.
Losers... like me.
The pen moved a little.
"It won't work," I said, forcing myself to stay calm. "Let me tell you why y-"
"Brass," the careful voice said.
"You're not fooling us. We saw it on your face -"
"I have to try to... persuade you -"
"Of course you do," the smart voice said, soothingly. "We know that. That's to be expected. It proves you do have a conscience in there. Somewhere. And a healthy sense of self-preservation."
"Good," I muttered.
"But we're already doing it. Cells, scattered around the city. They're occupied tonight. Men are laughing as hard as you were... It's simply a matter of getting better at what we do. Your face already gave you away. Employee. You know. And you tried to convince us, so we're not listening to that. Put your guilt aside and sign the contract. Or go to the palace. There are plenty of other guys we could interview. Smart, ambitious... and shockingly vulnerable to feathers. You can't stop us, Brass. We won't let you. So get on board - under our thumb, you might say." They laughed at that. All of them.
"Or... we'll have to get you out of the way. Out of town, so nobody else gets warned off. Which will it be?"
I looked at the clipboard. Time seemed to stop, there. They left me alone. Just let me smoke, and think. Thinking hard...
Bad, or worse.
Not a sound out of 'em. No feathers, getting back to work on my feet -
Oddly, that made the decision seem like a real one. They could have made me sign it. Just start back up, doing what they'd been doing to me all along... Or the glove could move my hand, reaching, fingers curling, signing my name. With a flourish, no doubt. For whatever twisted reason, they were waiting for me to choose.
Slavery. Or a jungle cell.
I took the pen, and signed my life away.
But at least I have one.
I guess.
The celebration went on forever. The post-signing party. Of course...
They took the clipboard, and cuffed my hand back down.
The pen returned to the paper. Magically writing, up close to my face. Making sure I wouldn't miss it. "EFFECTIVE DATE:" - and they talked it over. Joking around. How long would they keep me right there, getting the business, until the start of my "normal" workdays?
They had all the time in the world now. We had a deal.
They pen scratched a date.
First of the month. Next month.
Best I could remember, they jumped me on the sixth.
That meant I had a couple more weeks of marathon torment to go. Right there, in that cell. Worked over all day long. Not just six fucking hours a day...
I might as well have been at the palace already.
But I survived it, somehow. And now I do what I'm told.
They put me through my fucking paces. Don't they though. I still can't believe how long six hours can be. And six days a week - but I expected that. They never promised weekends off.
Compared to the insane schedule I used to work, this is nothing, really. If they did their homework on me, they already knew that.
They had nine locations picked out. Expansion sites.
Two of the original cells were discovered within the first six months. Dumb luck. I created a bunch of sub-tenants that didn't really exist. One cop got suspicious, but the others knew an ice-cold trail when they saw one. The prisoners were snuck out before anyone saw, so there wasn't proof of any crime having occurred.
They say one of those guys ended up at the palace.
Good.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but it's him or me. Right?
Besides, some of these guys are so stuck on themselves, I'd be lying if I didn't say I enjoy the thought. Sometimes. I get one of 'em talking - vain, perfect gym-muscles, and utterly sure of themselves - and if they're stupid enough to tell me how ticklish they are... Well, yeah. I picture 'em in their future home. And I like that. Poetic justice. Serves 'em right.
I understand better why my employees hated me. Arrogance - a big dog just seems to need a bigger dog to take him down. A firm hand. Skilled fingers...
I've signed papers on seventeen sites. So far. Four more have been found and shut down.
After the paperwork's done, I keep my distance. The one time I got curious, they hauled my ass inside it - and kept me there while they installed the soundproofing and the fixtures. Worked me over for a few days. Continuously. I got very little sleep...
So I rent commercial space, and drive out to one cell or another for the "research" part of my job. Six hours of "fun". Then I take a nap, eat out, and go play handball. Drink a lot. Smoke too much.
Go back to my house and crash. The front door locks as soon as I close it. Quietly, but I hear it.
I don't have a key for that lock.
The phone is dead, though they make me carry a pager now...
But I usually get to sleep in my own bed. The dreams suck, but I'm used to 'em. Once in a while I wake up and catch 'em - the blanket pulled up so my feet are exposed. The sensation of feathers, lifting off. Or fingers, on places where I least want to find 'em, there and then they're gone. Probably hiding in the sheets. Leaving me so worked up I can't possibly get back to sleep until I jack off...
Kicking my ass all afternoon just isn't enough. No, they just have to fuck with me when I'm in bed, too.
Bastards.
I get up eventually, and do whatever I'm told. Appointments - and a physical now and then, or a trip to the dentist. Or tat work. Oh, they love tattoos. Chains, detailed feathers. Photorealistic gloves. Elaborate nets and spider-webs.
And then I have to walk myself into one of the cells for another grueling afternoon.
Once a week or so, there's overtime. Mandatory OT. I come around, still in the cuffs. Handball is cancelled for the night because they have a new oil they want to try, some fucking vibrator, or a new type of brush. Maybe a drug. No hitting the bars, either. Usually they decide there's no point in my going home, only to turn around and come right back, so I'm staying put. In the restraints. And, what the hell, since I'm right there anyway... they might as well really kick my ass. All night.
On my day off, I'm usually too tired to go anywhere. It's hard to get out of bed. Wiped out, from the nightmares. Maybe a little hung over... and all I can manage to do is eat and get drunk again. Lie around.
My shoes are always off when I wake up. And my shirt.
Lately, I've been wondering if they even unlock the door on Sundays, so I could go enjoy my day off. But I'm afraid to check.
Maybe a dozen guys - no, actually, it's closer to twenty - have just disappeared.
I get to know 'em, and then one day they're gone. Everybody seems puzzled. Concerned... but eventually, they forget.
The targets - my fellow prisoners - they don't seem to make it back to the gyms I go to.
A good six months after he vanished, I ran into one of 'em at a run-down biker bar, getting shitfaced. He seemed real glad to see me, so I guess he didn't know what I'd done to him. Evasive as hell, though, when I asked where he'd been.
New tats wrapped around his arms. Chains. A white feather, here and there.
Monday morning, I'm signing the lease on another site.
I'm not gonna think about which of my drinking buddies - the ones who aren't in a cell tonight - will get to break it in.
I have other things to worry about...
Yesterday they gave me a bunch of shots. Injections. It was after they'd been playing with me for a while, and I was having a smoke, but I think I made out one word on the little bottle. One of the drugs they slammed into me.
The word was "antimalarial".
But that can't mean... what I think it means. I must've read it wrong. If I didn't, it's gonna be real hard to spend all this money I've made.
Next installment: Bodie
TM Origin - Variation P
The Bunker
The Palace
Stirrups
Slugger's Holiday
20oct02