This is the fifth installment of the Palace series.
It occurs sometime after Shon and Deck leave the palace (the second time).
The letter - it's gotta be, well, too good to be true.
I didn't even know I had an aunt in Ecuador...
The only lawyer I know is the one who got my possession-with-intent busted down to reckless driving. If you had the kind of summer I had that year, you'd wanna stay stoned all the time too. Trust me on that one.
He was busy. I told his paralegal I just wanted a referral to somebody who handled estate stuff. How totally weird... me, coming into some money. She gave me a name.
From the way the guy answered the phone, I would've sworn he was drunk.
I feel a little better now. He's okay, I guess. Cut me a deal... I didn't know lawyers do that. So he might be hungry.
Hey, as long as he doesn't fuck this up, I don't care.
Yeah. Jerry's a lush, but I can work with him.
His office is okay, I guess. He looked at the letter and made a copy of it. Said I could reply, but it'll be safer if he does it. Lawyer-to-lawyer. It looks legit to him. When I said I want a copy of everything they send back and forth, he didn't bat an eye.
I'm out two hundred bucks already - for a letter. Shit. Fifteen minutes in his office. But he says if it goes smoothly he won't have to do anything else, really. They should respond to his letter - the lawyer in Ecuador, handling the will - by sending the right forms. My guy says he'll try to go easy on me, if I let him handle my affairs after I get back.
I never had "affairs" to handle before. The usual thing with land, when it's inherited by somebody in another country, is for the lucky bastard to go and get all the paperwork straightened out in person. That's what he says.
Finally, I'm the lucky bastard...
Hot damn, I'm rich. I wanna smoke, for some reason. Been a while. Aaahh, I'm gonna get shitfaced instead. I thought about takin' the guys out, but I don't wanna let anybody know until it's a done deal.
"How does a trip to Quito sound, my man?" That's what Jerry said. Wow...
This is unbelievable. I can't help but stare at it. That's my name. It's all mine. Travel money.
Fuckin' international money order for four thousand bucks!
Everything's working out. Jerry didn't see anything unusual with the legal papers. He called the other lawyer. Got him, but it wasn't a real good connection. Cell phone or something.
This is sweet... All systems go.
He says I can ask for a videoconference - over a satellite hookup! - and get a look at the Quito lawyer-dude. It's up to me. Man. I just sat there and stared at the money order. The best thing I could come up with to ask Jerry was, hey, you got any bad feelings about how this is all going? And he thought for a second, and looked the papers over again. Then he said, uh-uh.
So I started thinkin', four grand... I'm definitely tellin' my boss he can go fuck himself. Go see South America. I buy a round-trip ticket ahead of time, leave some money in the bank here. No way they're gettin' it back out of my hot little hands.
So, worst case, I get to go to the coast, there. Spend all of January at the beach. And if this deal doesn't fall through, I get whatever's left after the ranch is sold off.
Didn't know what to ask the dude anyway. If it looks okay to Jerry, I gotta let that be good enough for me. So I told him naaaah, forget the satellite conference-thing, that's a few hundred bucks more for me. And he laughed.
Money makes the fuckin' world go round, alright. Even with passports - they put a rush on it. For another ninety bucks, of course. But they say it'll show up in a week.
It feels great to know I'm outa here. No more rent checks - I just told the old fart at the office. Seeya...
I was gonna get a storage space. Looked around, though, and I really don't have that much shit I wanna keep. So I got this plan. Chaz is gonna shit.
Takes care of the other thing I totally forgot about - my car. And he's always been jealous of me... So here's what I'm gonna do. The day before I leave, I'm gonna catch Chaz right after work - I wanna leave on a Saturday, or a Sunday - and let him in on the secret. I'm gonna say, look, if I come into some real money I want you to have my car. Here's the keys.
Can't fuckin' wait to see the look on his face.
Here's the title. It's gonna be so cool. What I need, though, is for him to store eight or nine boxes in his garage. But he's got a big garage, so that'll work. He can have whatever else he wants from the apartment, or let Donnie take it. But not Freeko. Freeko's a sleaze.
Chaz was the only one who believed me. I know I sounded like I was nuts, summer before last. I've known Donnie longer, but he just couldn't handle it. Too weird. I took it personally for awhile, but he had a point. Trying to imagine him telling me the shit I was saying - and I'd probably be more comfortable thinking he was just fried. But it really happened to me. That's the difference.
And he's got a nice truck already. Chaz gets the car. I mean, I like it - but just thinkin' about how jazzed he's gonna be! It's worth it. Just store my boxes, dude, and give me a ride to the fuckin' airport. Then, enjoy.
I tell ya, this is just too cool.
Jerry paged me back, so I called him at lunch. He was definitely plowed. Probably it's good he didn't have to do anything too strenuous. I'd hate for him to fuck this up.
I stood there, at the pay phone, and he actually got the Ecuadoran lawyer on the line. While he was doin' that I was so nervous I bummed a smoke off from Andy. Got all dizzy, but I liked it. I miss 'em... The guy sounds real cool. Lousy phone line again, though. Jerry says that's the way they are down there.
And I'm gonna find out for myself. Yeah! The lawyer was real smooth, but I think it'll be okay. Guy's name is Mudo. Abogado Mudo, and the first word is his title. It means 'lawyer.' Weird. And he called me "Señor".
He booked me a room for tomorrow night. The lawyer apologized because his English isn't very good, but I didn't laugh or anything. Told me to bring my luggage when their car shows up, and Sunday he'd put me up in a real exclusive place, the best staff around, all kinds of fun shit to do. Don't worry about a thing.
It was good to talk to him myself before I leave. The whole thing seems more real now. Shit - tomorrow I'm gonna be in fuckin' Ecuador. Round-trip ticket, a thousand bucks in my pocket and another grand in the bank. And then I get the deed to my ranch - huh... my ranch, that sounds weird. I'm gonna turn right around and sell it. And I don't care if I ever see this place again.
Chaz is the only one here I'll miss. Heather's gonna be so sorry she dumped my ass. Aaaaaww... Y'know, I could get Chaz to come down. At least to Mexico. If I send him a ticket, he'll definitely come. Sherri will let him. She's cool. Yeah. I gotta keep in touch with ol' Chaz. See how the the car's running. He's a good guy.
Shit, I'm more relaxed already. I've been lookin' over my shoulder for a year and a half. Just expecting it to get me again. And I couldn't afford to move before. Now I'm gonna be way far away from Connecticut. Safe.
Whenever I hear somebody say... that fuckin' nickname, I start to panic. It all but said it was gonna get me again. And I believed it. Fuck. I just stayed high. Waiting. Heather got on me about the pot. So I laid off, but it was fuckin' rough. Any second now - I walked around for months like that, braced for it - tap me on the shoulder, I turn around and see nobody there, and hear that voice again, chuckling. Grabbing me -
Fuck. I don't wanna... That's all behind me now.
I did it. That was so excellent.
Outa here. Unemployed... and rich.
Porky looks like he's gonna bust a vein. Nope, I'm gone. No two weeks' notice, you fuckin' bootlicker. Ain't never coming back to this hellhole - and you can get on the phone and have Jadine cut my last check now. Right now, jackass.
Oh, he's fuckin' pissed. I love it.
Get the hell off the property? Hey, that suits me just fine.
Yeah. Cash this check, and then I'm goin' to get some clothes. Then, over to Chaz's. Last night he said he'd be home by five...
Ow. I feel like shit...
Must've smoked a whole pack. Dammit. Over a year clean, and it was so hard to leave 'em alone.
Screw it. I'll quit again later. I wanna enjoy this. Fuck the headache.
I'm flyin' to beautiful South America. Chaz is real happy - so Sherri had a good time too, last night - after he got home. I know him. Freeko and Donnie drank more than me, because I was paying... so they're hurtin' even worse than I am right now. Serves 'em right.
It's all working out.
No shit? You can even smoke on the airplane. Excellent...
So this is Quito. It's hot here.
Going through customs wasn't as bad as I thought. They were real nice. Hooked me up with a cab and everything.
The hotel room is okay - nuthin' to write home about. I don't know why the lawyer-guy picked a place that's a few miles out from the airport. This is okay for tonight, but if I'm really getting all this dough I definitely wanna do better. He lined this up, just like he said. There was a message waiting for me. A black car's gonna be here at ten. I could definitely get used to this.
Whoa. Maybe drinking that rum wasn't such a good idea. I'm not hung over, I just feel... thick. Slow on the uptake. The lawyer sounded pretty casual, though. He'll understand.
There it is. Cool. Black car. Black windows - lookit that. Can't even see the driver. I check to make sure I packed everything, and step outside...
The trunk pops open. After a second, I just put my stuff in there, and close it. That was pretty rude. But I remind myself I'm in another country, maybe they do shit differently.
Opening up the back door - all ready to take a load off, soft seats and air conditioning - I jump in. Very nice. Not a limo or anything, but it's classy. There's a phone... on top of a box on the floor. The minibar, I hope.
I pull on the door, to close it -
Freeze.
No driver.
Not on either side of the front seat.
My arm starts to push. Before I even know what I'm doing, my fuckin' hand starts pushing the door open. No driver... Get out. Get out now. Too weird. The motor is running, and I didn't see nobody get out when it pulled up. I slide back toward the door.
It swings... shut.
And it locks.
"No," I say, real loud. Thinking about the bad time, two years ago. The only time I ever saw shit moving around, all by itself - or I couldn't see the fucker moving 'em around.
"Yeah," a voice chuckles. Right in front of my head. "Slugger."
No! No, oh no. Aaaaah, shit no...
I'm on that fuckin' door. Pulling on the handle. Nothing. And I kick off, other side, and I just whale on that one. Pound 'em -
The car starts rolling.
"Nooooooooooo -"
Hands clamp on my shoulders, and pull me down. To the seat. Down on my back.
"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaah!"
"Fuck you," I yell. "Lemme go -"
More hands pull my arms up. Hold 'em there, over me. I pull for all I'm worth...
"Eventually," it says, way too friendly. "You bet. Gonna be a long time, though."
The minibar opens. A black thing floats up. Two black things. Oh, fuck. No.
"No! Forget it -"
"Long fuckin' time."
They're... aw, they can't be. This is so fucked up. Cuffs. I can't get my arms to move. The damn cuffs are goin' on me.
"You... Listen, I got an appointment. You can't do this. The guy's gonna look -"
And the bastard clears its throat. If it had a throat. "Uh... Señor. Señor Slugger? Abogado Mudo calling. I am most apologize, but is time now to take you to the exclusive hotel..." Then it laughs.
That's the voice. I sag back. My fuckin' lawyer in Quito. "That was you?"
"Si," it says.
Two more cuffs are heading up for the ceiling. A bunch of hands pull my right leg up there. Somebody's gotta see this - me, gettin' cuffed. It's so obvious -
Until I shoot a look at the back window. Solid black.
"Aw no, no, no..."
"Oh yes, yes, yes."
Straps pop out from under the edges of the seat.
"Please don't... do this."
I watch my arms go down. Right down, to the clippy-hooks. All the fighting I can do doesn't hardly slow 'em down. One strap reaches up and catches the hook. Then, the other -
"Why?" I yell. "Why? There's millions of other people to grab. Right?"
"I missed ya, Slugger."
"Fuc-"
"The perfect place. I got just the place for a man of your... talents. A slot opened up, and right away I thought of you, buddy."
"No. I wanna go home."
"Okay." It laughs again. "Sorta. Your new home away from home. I told you I was gonna put you up, tonight, in a place that'll impress the hell out of ya. And it will."
"Pleee-"
My legs are getting pulled down. Caught.
"We got a little drive, to the airstrip. Then I'm gonna have to put you into a box. But there's all kinds of air holes in it. Gonna take a chopper, then. Helicopter. One stop, for fuel..."
The straps tighten, one by one. I end up with my hands way out, above my head, pulled hard into the seat. My legs are bent - but my feet got me fuckin' worried. I can't budge 'em. A couple more inches, and I could plant 'em right on the door. Or one on the door, one on the sidewall. Hold 'em there. But I can't! The straps are so short that I can't move 'em. There's this gap - two, three inches - and it's scary. That's plenty of room for this fucker. That's why they're strapped down the way they are. Oh shit -
"Dude. You're squealing... and I haven't even laid a finger on ya."
"No I wasn't -"
"Maybe you need some good news, huh?"
All the fuckin' head-games. "What, you're gonna pull the car over right now and lemme out?"
My shoe. Oh... fuck. There it goes. Fucker's taking off my shoes.
"No way. Uh-uh. I meant... the money."
"Don't care. Keep it -"
It laughs, again. My left shoe - off. No. It's falling. My right one, now. "That wouldn't be right. You got your hopes up."
"Fuck the money." No. No. I stare at my right shoe, floating over me. Dropped, like it's just gettin' thrown away.
My shirt moves - and a button pops off. And another...
"You're gonna make out real well. But you're gonna earn it -"
"I don't want -"
A hand lays over my mouth. Not heavy, or anything. Fuck - not yet. "Listen, dude. Just shut up for a sec, and listen. As much as I like to screw with ya... I'm bein' that straight with you now. Four grand a month. Deposited into your account - 38662453. Pin number 6969. Right?"
I stop pulling at the straps, and try to catch my breath. Sorta wish I hadn't stopped, and listened, but it's too la-
"You took the bait. Slugger, dude... you swallowed it real good. So I feel a certain... responsibility for ya."
The cigarettes slide out of my shirt pocket - just before it's yanked open, pulling the buttons off. I snap my hands around, and try to kick.
"I'm dead serious now, Slugger." The hand slides off my mouth.
"The fuck you say." I watch a smoke slip out, and keep tugging the straps.
"You got it coming. For what I'm gonna do to ya."
"Ain't worth it," and I hate the way it comes out. Like I'm gonna start bawling. "Get somebody else."
"Too bad," it says, as my lighter fires up. "You ain't got a choice."
"So why pay me off, then?"
"Well... I don't want you drifting off into a life of crime. When I get done with you."
"Why would I d-"
"Oh, it's just... y'know... All that excitement. So much fun. You're gonna be all tribal, and shit."
I take another drag. Fuckin' cuffs. That feeling. And - flat on my back, smokin' again. I wanted this to be history. Over and done with. Dammit. "Tribal?"
"Well, yeah. Real nice work."
"Work... You don't mean... tattoos."
"Sure I do."
"Aw, no! Fuck... Haaaalllp!"
"You, uh, seriously think anybody can hear ya?"
"Shit. You wouldn't... Oh. Shit, no. Don't tattoo m-"
"All over. Got it all planned."
"But - uh... that's gonna hurt."
"Probably not much. So they tell me."
"No. Asshole. I mean... you, uh, got something else in mind. Right?"
It busts out with a low, cackling laugh. Real mean.
I get so scared I have to take a couple drags before I trust my voice to not shake. "So you can't do... that, and tattoo me -"
"Slugger. Dude. Sure I can. I just work slow."
That makes my guts jump again. "S-... Ssslow?"
"Aw, yeah. Do a little tat, boogie all around it for a couple weeks. Do a little more, on the other side. Whatever. I just do like a couple spots at a time. Connect 'em all up. And that way I get all the rest of you to..."
Don't say it, I think, aw please don't -
"...tickle."
My cigarette is taken away. I watch it go, and start tugging again.
"Such as... these endlessly rewarding... pits!"
Feathers! No! From the minibar, again. Two on each side. Just for starters.
I shriek at 'em, like a girl, and bounce on the seat.
They poke and drag around and scoot back up, way up in there, and it tickles. Oh, fuck. Already I'm barkin' like a dog. I know what this son of a bitch can do. The laughs just pop right out. It tickles. Just keeps going. Fuck...
"Hey," the voice barks.
I open my eyes right away. Oh, shit.
It's over! The nightmare's over. I'm not in the car anymore. Unbelievable tickling -
Moving... doesn't work.
Oh hell no. No.
It's sorta dark. But this is not the car... which is good. But I see straps. On me. Very bad.
Different, though. My hands are down by my sides. Cuffed. Big layers, pulled... around me?
My hands feel funny. I try, real hard, to sit up. Look. Gloves - on my hands. Shit. Leather gloves. This can't be good...
It can't do this, it just... can't.
"Soooooo. How ya feelin', Slugger?"
"Don't call me that." My... ankles are together. But I can't move 'em very far.
A cigarette starts heading my way. "It's part of the deal. You're the same ol' Slugger I got to know. Summer before last summer. That's your handle, fuckhead."
I take a light, and suck in real hard. Maybe if I don't keep talking to it...
"We made it. Welcome to the palace, heh heh."
"No... I don't remember any 'copter."
"Drugged ya. You're welcome. Oh, and I got another surprise for you."
Yeah. I just bet.
Something clicks. I look up - that thing. Over my gut. Looks like a tape deck. One of those real small ones...
Scratchy noise - then a woman's voice. "Thank you for calling Eighth Keystone Bank." Shit, I know that recording. It makes me homesick. Almost. "Please enter your account number, followed by the pound sign."
The voice rattles it off, as the phone keys are punched. And my PIN gets tapped in next. My PIN. Balance request...
Almost five grand. Fuck. More keys get pressed, and the amount is repeated.
The quality of the recording sucks, but I don't hear any sudden starts and stops. Or clicks. I don't think it's been edited...
The tape recorder clicks off.
"Now, the question you wanna be asking yourself, ol' buddy, is why. Goin' to all this trouble, for you. And faking the tape would be harder than just being straight up. Wiring that cash into your account."
I... can't really think of anything to say.
After a few seconds, it snickers at me. "Good. And stay quiet. For a minute." The tape recorder falls out of the air. "This is totally against the whole palace thing, you know. Electronics - uh, cell phones and the like just wrecks the Club Med angle. But I wanted you to know. Asshole. That's your first month's wages, there, sport - safe and sound. We'll call the first check I sent you a... signing bonus."
"Fuck off and die," I say, closing my eyes.
"Not yet. Oh, no. Not before I get every nickel's worth. Ain't goin' nowhere. And neither are you. That money's gonna just keep piling up... and since you won't be able to spend it, it'll still be there. Set'cha up real nice."
"I really don't want it -"
"Liar. Well, half a lie. You want it. You just don't want to go through what it takes to earn it. But I want you to. Been wantin' it real bad."
Another cigarette comes, and the first one presses against it to fire it up.
"Atta boy. Here's what I got in mind."
Something big, and black. I lift my head -
As soon as I make out a couple of holes... ankle holes... I shut my eyes real tight. Pull, as slow and as hard as I can, on the wrist-cuffs. No dice.
A whole bunch of hands get around each of my legs. Just - holding. And I hear those cuffs, loosening -
They're strong fuckers. My feet go up, the black thing moves... my feet go down. Padding. Another black thing starts coming down. The top of the stocks. I twist, with all the strength I have...
But they were all ready for that. It bumps against the bottom part of the stocks. Metal sounds, sliding.
"And the crowning touch," the voice says happily -
It turns a little, catching the light. Padlock. Oh, no, I can't go through this again, I just can't...
Nothing works. To get away.
It floats down - and clicks.
"There."
The hands let go. And I remember just how terrible it was, the last time. Feet stuck just like this. My legs. Stuck in the stocks.
"Oh, man. Dude. So good to have you laid out again..."
Another black thing... splits up. What?
Straps. A whole mess of straps. They start separating, like snakes. Snakes in the air. Sure. Leather snakes -
Clicking. More hooks. They're winding around my legs. My chest.
"You're probably wondering, what the fuck? All these straps?"
My toes - oh shit... Wait. Pulling. Like - thinner straps? That's right, it did that before. Tied my toes. Aw, fuck, I can't do this. I can't.
Some of the straps circle under my waist, and get snug. Around my thighs. Shins -
"Y'see, Slugger, I brought you here to find something out. I've always wondered about you. You're not the most ticklish guy in the world... but I feel like I cheated you, almost." It sighs. "Never found your limit."
"Oh no, now. C-c'mon, you can't - you can't! I -"
"Ssssssh. So that's why I wanted to tickle you again. You, in particular." It sighs, pretty damn pleased with itself... "At the Palace."
"P-palace?"
"The secret hideout... for guys like you. Increasing your sensitivity. And your stamina - well, hell. It's an art, here. No chance of getting away from me, as you'll find out. Later. Not tonight. No, tonight... you're spoken for."
I'm getting just totally covered with these straps.
"So this is gonna be hard. I know that. We're gonna go until I max you out. I just gotta know, dude. And I'm gonna check out your pits more thoroughly. And your knees. Everywhere. I won't bullshit ya... it's gonna get intense."
"Please, please, no. No... Please -"
"Yeah." The cigarette is taken away. I watch it go, and... I'm afraid. Really afraid now.
"I know you got the money to think about, if you can hold on to a thought. But I'm even gonna sweeten the deal. There's another incentive here I think you might like."
It pauses, as if I'm gonna say something. I can hardly swallow.
A water bottle bobs right up...
"There ya go. You're gonna be one prime specimen when I get done. Cut, dude. Ripped. Full of beans. Nice, dark tan... And all that fine artwork. It'll grow on you. I'm that sure. Drink the rest of that water... buddy. Yeah. The tats are free. But if, for some dumb-ass reason, you don't wanna look that good... Don't want my artistry on your neck, or your fingers, wherever... This place has the perfect removal method. Totally gone, and skin just as ready for a good tickling as it was before I inked it. You, uh, following me so far?"
I finally nod. Just like a cocoon of straps on me -
"Good." A bandanna starts heading in.
"No. C'mon. Don't gmmmmff - nnnnhh! Cunnnnmff annnnh..." It moved fast. Wow. Rolled up, slammed right between my teeth.
"No distractions here, Slugger. I need to see just how far I can push ya... So I'll show you that later, too. A little demonstration. And you're gettin' covered with art, dude. When I'm done, you'll get the idea. Gonna look tough! That's a done deal. If it's too tough for ya, I'll let you come back here and get some of those tats taken off. Some."
Did it say... come back here?
"You walk around with 'em for, oh, a year or so. And if you still wanna go back to the dull, plain look, I'll take care of it. But it'll cost ya. Not money, either. I can get all the money I want."
Another bandanna? No. It's shaped - aw, no -
Blindfold.
"You know what a centimeter is, right? Not quite a half-inch. I'll take your tats off - and not all of 'em, just so we're clear on that - at the very enjoyable rate of one square centimeter... per day of tickling. And I do mean Palace-grade tickling."
I shake my head. Just so totally fucked. The blindfold has a strap of its own, and it pulls tight. It's not gonna budge...
"So you think about that," it says. "If ya can."
Something gets stuck in my left ear. I pull my head away - and hands slap my forehead down. Something big - spongy. That... just can't be an earplug. I refuse to believe that's what it is.
The voice has moved. Not far from my right ear. The open ear. "I'll be watchin' real close, dude. Don't worry about a thing. All you gotta do is let go. Run with it. You just focus real hard on the experience. And I'll be talkin' at ya later."
Another earplug.
At least I won't have to hear the fucker talk for awhile...
I start to really panic - and I catch myself. Sorta. I've, like, done this shit. It was horrible. Extreme - but I know what's it gonna do to me. Breathe...
This sucks so bad. But it wasn't, well, scary. Last time. Once it started. Oh, fuck. Fuck. I'm ticklish as hell.
Stocks...
I hate this. But c'mon, it's not like I'm gonna die or anything. This fucker's gonna take real good care of me. I can tell... Oh, this is gonna be bad.
It's not worth the money. Let me out of these things...
Money in the bank, and tattoos. Great. I'm gonna look like one of those ex-con biker thugs - for good. The idea of coming back here is totally beyond me. Even to get the tats taken off. I can't... even imagine volunteering for more damn tickling, on purpose. No -
What?
Oh, shit.
Feathers.
So... light. Slow.
I try to flop around. And yell...
Oh no. They're moving. Around. My feet. Oh, no.
Shouting, real hard, and I can't hardly hear it!
No, no, stop it, just... stop!
I can feel myself laugh. Right into this gag. Wet cloth. Man. I can just laugh as hard as I want. So fuckin'... hard.
They're not gonna stop. No way. It's got me again. In the jungle. All the tickling it wants.
This is gonna make last time look like a quickie. Fuckin' feathers.
I can't move.
Bet it's got a whole shitload of gloves -
That did it. Oh, I'm howlin' now. I have to. It feels so good.
Gloves. That fucking satin. Maybe other tools. Toys. Probably. Intense tickle-toys...
I am just roarin' my guts out. It isn't enough. Oh, this is unbelievable.
Dammit. Think. Just feathers. That's all. Stop laughing. Stop it! Stop. Now.
I can't. Shit. Gotta laugh. Howl. Harder.
It's just gettin' started. Then come the gloves -
Weeks and... fuck, no. Months and months here.
The gloves? Again? Now that's something to howl about.
Oh, fuck.
Next installment: Recruiter
20oct2002