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- - 13 - -
 

I kick out smoke. "So... Why do you hate bikers so much?"
"I don't."
"Alright, fine. Don't tell me."
"Watch your mouth, amigo. You mean Scuzz? We go way back. He's the fourth guy I ever tickled."
"So what could he possibly have done to deserve all this?"
"Well. I was lookin' for you, one cold night. Not a happy Valet... Cruising over a depressing part of town. Out near the airport. And I hear this guy, uh, yelling. In pain. I go down and look. This young black guy is in an alley, and Scuzz has him down on the ground. He was a mean drunk, and I -"
"Hey, look. I gotta be at the lawyer's at two."
"Don't be such a smartass. You know I'm keeping score."
"Yeah," I sigh. "I do."

"Besides, you're wrong again. I rescheduled your appointment. Monday at three-thirty."
"Dammit, Valet -"
"Didn't I tell you? How forgetful of me."
"Why?"
Hands get my arms. The old forced-escort thing.
"Why else? Hee hee... Let's go."
I squirm around. "Do you mind?"
"I want you to see a video... and I got just the place."
"So, what - I don't get to go into the city today?"
"You don't have to be there until Monday. That's seventy-two hours. I'm gonna enjoy it."
"Is today Friday?"
"Yup."
I sigh. "Then I'm calling in a marker."
"Oh you are, huh?" It keeps hustling me along.
"If today is Friday the 11th... yeah."
The hands finally stop, so I jerk backward. "What are you up to? Huh?"
"I had somethin' I wanted to, uh, do. It only happens a few times a year - and anyway, fuckwad, I've been looking forward to this for days, mostly getting out for a while because you already said I could, and y-"
"Westlure?" it says suddenly.
I just stand there with my mouth open.
Fuck. I'm busted.

"What's that?"
"Ameeee-go. You liar. Your eyes darted back and forth. And your pulse jumped. You little pervert." Barbaric laughter. "This is so cool."
"You're not gonna follow me there," I warn it.
"Oh. I'm not? Okay," it scoffs. "Yessir. Glad we got that straightened out." It continues pulling me down the hall, to one dungeon or another. "You never know if I'm tailing you, unless I want you to know."
I sag a little...
Wait. What, exactly, is so cool about this? It's too pleased. That makes me tense up. "You wouldn't."
"Randy used to say that. And I mean, all the time."
"Then I'll ask nicely."
"Well, that would be a refreshing change," it fires back.
"I really, really, really do not wanna be, uh, tickled. At Westlure."
It says nothing.
"Tonight. While the place is still open. All those guys."
There a pause...
"Dammit," it finally says.
"Please?"
Valet growls - with frustration. "Took you long enough to figure it out."
Into the big white Scuzz-room I go.

"Strapped down right," Valet sighs. It sounds happy. "Out of harm's way for a few hours."
My right arm is free, so I guess I'll get to smoke. I can't get at my left wrist. It's out of reach.
"Wow. I get a pillow," I say sarcastically.
A pack of cigarettes floats up, and bobs toward me. "Catch or gag." And I lift my hand. If I drop the pack, it'll gag me. Sometimes it throws 'em real hard, or oils the pack. Laughing like a psycho -
But it just lobs 'em to me this time. An ashtray and lighter dart up from under the bed.
"Oh, wait. Yeah. I got it. Fuck, yeah." And it chuckles.
Another bright idea. Oh, shit. "Am I off the hook tonight?"
"Sure," it says. "I mean, you're gonna go there. Just to watch. If you're sure that's what you want."
"I don't wanna get tickled there."
"Goofball... Alright. I promise. Not until you're back here. Of course, I could just make you forget it all." Its voice has that I'm-yanking-your-chain tone.
I blow smoke out of my nose. "I know you're after some big reaction with that. But really, you need to think it all the way through."
"Huh?"
"If I take that to its logical conclusion, anything could happen at any time, now, with your fancy 'bots. I can't stop it, and I won't even necessarily remember it... and your promises may or may not be worthless. There goes even the illusion of me being anything except a slave."
"Well, what's... Oh," it says quietly. "Fuck. I get it. Yeah."
"I mean, I'm used to you - and let me quickly add, insert any number of smartass responses here about how you're familiar with every inch of me. All of 'em true. And I know you aren't gonna... seriously, uh, permanently drive me so bugshit I'll end up in a real insane asylum. You wanna tickle me too much to let -"
"But nobody else really knows that," it fires back. "Hmmmm. Not until they get to know me better. Got it."
"Good."

Rubber hands float up to my feet. "Thanks. Amigo number one."
"Uh - that does not look like gratitude to me -"
"Foot massage," it says. "Heh heh."
"I help you, so your prisoners don't all go catatonic on your ass, and this is the thanks I get? Did you give up on positive reinforcement completely?"
"This is... Anti-negative reinforcement. You've earned it."
"Sheeeee-it," I wail. "Valet."
The gloves shrug. "Later, then. I got an absolutely great idea, for tonight."
I'm actually watching the fingers go away. Without tickling me. How amazing. "You do, huh?"
"You go to Westlure, and watch. You don't have to... play. All of your reactions have gotta be authentic."
"Neurorecorder."
"And a few microcameras, taping you. And the action. It'll be so cool."
"You mean, so useful."
Hearty laughter.

I nod grimly. "You can use it again and again."
"Please? Amigo?"
This is an extraordinary day. It's really listening to me, not tickling, and now I got the fucker saying please? "I want my marker back."
"Hmmmm... Okay."
"What's that make?"
"Fourteen."
"Oh yeah? Try fifteen," I say real loud.
"You just used one! I was gonna make you squeal tonight, but you want to go to Westlure."
Aw, c'mon!" I yell at the gloves. "You're gonna tickle me when I get home! I'm not gonna use it, then. Let's see you get your voyeur kicks now."
"Okay, okay. Fifteen."
I get another cigarette out. "Thank you." "Fuck you too. I'll get even with you later," it laughs. "Right now I gotta make a couple calls. Shouldn't take too long. Ooooo, this is gonna be so great!"
"I mean it. Don't tickle me in front of that crowd. Or turn the crowd into tickle-zombies."
"You crack me up. I can't control a whole crowd of total fuckin' strangers. Tickle-zombies... You need anything?"
"Bring a beer back with you."
"Real tough guy. You just lay here and smoke, then. Oh yeah, buddy..."
The door opens fast.
Hmmm. It looks like I caught another break.

Markers are the only leverage I have. If I use one and Valet refuses to honor it - reasonably soon - I get two more markers. If I find hard evidence it didn't honor a marker-request, I get ten more.
When I get up the number up to twenty-five, we renegotiate the terms of parole and I'm back down to zero. That's how I managed to wrangle my first seven-day furlough. And that twenty-one-day pass! Wow, that was great...
I cooperate over the long haul, stay off the coke, and it trusts me more. Extends the length of the leash again.
I'm getting more sure, all the time, that Valet knows it can't really keep guys as pets. Forever.

I used to keep track of how many markers I had, but it seems to be a matter of honor for Valet. Probably it can't resist trying to cheat me, now and then.
But the day I quit keeping my own tally, on paper, and trusted it not to cheat - at least, not to reduce the total for no good reason and adjust my memory at the same time - it was so damn giddy I was almost embarrassed.
Ain't nuthin' twisted about this relationship. Naaaaah.

It's laughing when it comes back in.
"What now?"
"You're not gonna believe it... Well, you're my Amigo, you can believe anything." Four gloves grab my arm and cuff it down.
"Yeah?"
"You're going to Westlure -"
"And coming right back here?"
"Yeah, yeah. Quit worrying. I get the neurorecording, and I get to videotape you. Watching the action. You just forget all about me and enjoy yourself." It gives me another cigarette.
"And?"
"I've got a major-league surprise."
"Fuck. Tell me."
"You'll be so impressed by how devious and clever I am."
"Always," I drawl, kicking out smoke.
"Then get ready."
Click - the ceiling is moving. Part of it slides.
"When did you do that?," I ask, watching it.
"Six months ago," it says. "Where have you been?"
"In one fuckin' cell or another."
"Uh-huh."
A flat-panel screen is swinging down.
"Where'd the remote go?" Valet mutters.
"You too, huh?"
"Ah." It flies up from under the bed. "Play, dammit. Hee hee hee..."

Animated logo and everything. A butler, or the midsection of a butler, holding a silver tray. The uniform fades away, the gloves become plump and shiny, a rose in a bud-vase turns into a big black feather - and the covered plate is a pile of restraints and riot chains.
Grungy block letters.

VALET REHABILITATION AUTHORITY

PICKING UP THE TRASH -

"I still sorta like 'Emptying the trash'," it says doubtfully.

Introducing
SCUZZ

And the music starts. Piano, the lowest keys, slowly picking it out. Pausing, and then repeating it. I know it's a kid's song - or part of one. Hearing it played with the low notes, and a little reverb, I get goose-bumps.
"Good," Valet says. Gloves dart up and rub my arms. They don't get too close to my pits, so I go ahead and exhale the smoke I didn't even know I was holding...
On the screen, the words fade away.
"What is that tune?"
"Sssshh. It'll come to you."

Night. The music is quieter, but it doesn't stop.
City buildings. An alley. Sound of a motorcycle turning over, revving quickly.
Gloves on the grips, one of 'em hitting the throttle. The sleeves of a leather jacket come right up to the gloves, so you can't see the rider's arms. But I'm pretty sure who's gunning that bike.
The camera pans down. Headlight on, black paint job, shiny wheels -
A man. Big white guy. Seen through the spokes.
Lying there. Blood all over his face, head almost touching the ground. His cheek is resting on a used rubber.
"Eeee-wwww," I groan.
"It gets better."
That makes me snort. Better - for who?
There's broken glass all around the guy. The neck of a bottle.
He's not moving. I hope he's unconscious -
The motorcycle starts to roll. Forks, boot-toes, chaps go by. Roaring off.
"Was that you?" I say. "Riding?"
"Uh-huh."
The piano is getting a little louder. Finally, the camera moves up, as if it had wings...
Showing the body, with the snapped chain that probably used to be attached to a wallet. Broken glass shining a little, trash everywhere, dark walls. Another tune...
No. The same one. Like a merry-go-round is playing it. Quicker tempo. Happy music.
Slowly getting louder.
The camera stops moving away.
Headlights swing into the alley. Louder music.
I see a bumper... and the nose of a van, light-colored - brakes squeaking quickly...
Swooping down, now, the camera ends up near the dirty windshield.
And there's no one driving it.

Then a view from inside. The steering wheel. The calliope-version of the song is louder in there. Monotonous, almost manic. But of course the focal point is the biker laying there, almost under the glare of the van's headlights.
A box on the dashboard moves.
Rubber gloves start getting pulled out. Like magic. They fill up, and the driver's-side door opens.
Eight of them - one pair at a time - meet over the biker. One sweeps down and presses against his neck, checking for a pulse. It finally lifts off - And makes the OK gesture.
The other gloves high-five each other, rub together noisily. And take hold of his arms.
They carry him to the van and prop him up in the driver's seat. Slam the door.

Gloves wrap rope around him, pinning him to the bucket seat. Another loop holds his head against the backrest.
One of 'em sticks a cigar butt between his molars.
His wrists are caught and tied together - but there's a good yard of slack. That looks really odd until they put his hands on the steering wheel. It's really bugging me that I can't remember the name of this song.
And then I see the view from outside the door. The window is dirty enough... Yeah, it could work. Unless somebody got a really long look. The van shifts and rolls backward. Watched, by the camera, as it exits the alley, stops, shifts again -
Close-up of the side of the van. Seriously faded paint.

VALET
HAZARDOUS WASTE MANAGEMENT

Peeling out. Racing off.
Side-view, from the passenger side seat, of Scuzz. Outside his window, you can see the buildings getting smaller, and fewer of them -
Then open space. Water. It was taking him over a bridge.
Out to the country.

Miles of open road...
Then it fades to another shot. An old barn - owned by me, I suspect, feeling sick - as forgotten as a building can look. The van is rolling around to the back.
Now the camera's showing me a bunch of little TV monitors. In some of them, the van's progress is seen. Others have static shots of the surrounding woodland -
And there's a click.
Same tune, loud. A ska version.
Back to the van, as seen from the top of a rough stone ledge. It rolls right up, headlights just above the level of the camera. They go dark, and the engine dies.
That same carnival version of the tune, faintly heard.
A motor whines. The van starts to... sink. How much of my money is Valet spending on all this, anyway?
The next shot is looking at an empty garage, apparently. Cinderblock walls. The thick shaft of a hydraulic lift, coming down -
The music gets louder again as the van descends.
It rolls off the lift and out of view, almost right at the camera. Scuzz isn't moving. The surface of the lift looks just like any other patch of land.
Back up it goes, now. Hiding the whole operation.
Locking him in.

The picture fades to black, and then turns white. Slowly, to the piano version. Ghostly and unnerving.
The camera pulls back to show me the white thing is a butterfly bandage... on Scuzz's right temple.
He's sleeping. All cleaned up. It shaved him - well, just his face. His hair is still messy, but it doesn't look all dirty. No glass shards in it. As the camera keeps going, I see a big pillow under his head. White sheet, pale skin -
Black leather. Keeping him laid out, there, on his back. The cuffs are chained down. I guess Valet wasn't talking any chances with ol' Scuzz. The bottom line is that he's all ready for tickling now. When he wakes up, his life will change. Don't I know it.
Gloves come into view. They have a little tube - of superglue. The fingers stick something to his hair, fuss with it a little, and glue it down. Then they move to his chest and glue a big black speck well below his left nipple. They drift away.
His head moves a little. A soft grunt. Waking up.
"Aaaaaannd... pause," Valet sighs, making the remote bob a little.
 

"Tell me you didn't really break a bottle over that poor bastard's head," I said.
"Me? You know better than that. I'm not taking any chances with Scuzz - 'cause I'm going to keep punishing the poor bastard. It's all faked. Movie magic."
"Then I would applaud, if... you know." I move my fingers around, since I can't reach my left hand with my right.
"Thanks," Valet says warmly. "This is the most elaborate show I've made. I just love it."
"What is that fuckin' song?"
"Hmmmmm. Think of the real happy version."
I'm still confused. "O-kay."
"The problem is you're not hearing the chorus. That gives it away, so fast -"
"Oh, shit!" I yell. "Small world. Mutherfuck. It's a real small world you got here. A whole damn... galaxy of laughter. Tears of joy. Forced -"
"Hee hee. Yup. Tears, from when Scuzz laughs and laughs so fuckin' hard."
"You are so incredibly twisted," I tell Valet, shaking my head.
"Thank you," it laughs. "I am, aren't I?"

"Wow."
"See? Look at him. Being a criminal didn't work out so well. Now things will go much differently for good ol' Scuzz. Nice clean sheets under his ass. The best possible care. No more bleeding in an alley somewhere. No more dangerous living for him - not ever again. I'm making sure he gets... rehabilitated!"
I try to whistle. But I'm all shaky.
"It's a long process," it adds, chortling.
"Yeah. I figured."
"Hold on a sec." It lights me a cigarette, as if it's in a hurry. The door flies open.
I get two drags in before Valet returns. Carrying... a notebook?
"How many Scuzz videos are there?" I ask quietly.
"Counting this one? Nine."
And it's so proud of that answer.

The video starts playing again.
As he starts to come around, the camera moves over him. Tats under thick brown hair. He's uncircumcised. Legs like granite -
Three chains anchor each foot. Hanging there.
My cock is getting hard. Old memories. I've woken up in that room -
"Hey," I say suddenly. "Wait. that was shot in here. This room."
"Yeah. Now be quiet, amigo."
The camera shows his upper body. Arms way up there -
Click. Steady thumping. Not very loud, but it competes with the tune a little bit. Oh, fuck, it's just diabolical. I'm going to hear what happens to his heart rate when it starts - no! Before that. As he realizes what's coming.
Music - an intro. The cheesy sound of an old kids' record. Same song -
He grimaces. Frowning, Scuzz shakes his head a little. He looks up. The music is repeating again, as if a needle was stuck. A world of laughter, a world of tears.
I exhale smoke nervously. Valet just cackles like a lunatic.
Scuzz's heartbeat is speeding up.
He tries to roll... and slowly looks over his head. Wiggles his fingers - yeah, he's figured out that there are cuffs pinning him. Looking at one tattooed arm, and the other -
Big ol' jump in his pulse.
Well past his hands, a big peacock feather is standing, perfectly still, in midair.
Tight shot of his face. Mouth hanging open.
And I swear his heart rate doubles.

The music gets a little louder, and then the camera moves in closer to the left side of his head -
Suddenly the picture is grainier. Seeing the feather, upside down. Hanging in the air.
"That's his... hair-cam," Valet whispers.
It whizzes around, apparently - as he moves his head - and shows a view of his feet. Right foot in particular.
"One finger just slid down his sole," it tells me. "Heh. But it's invisible."
The camera jumps, and he squawks suddenly, sounding a lot like a rooster. Immediately after that, he seems to be staring at his left armpit, or trying to. Nothing there -
"Naaaah!" He starts to thrash, giving me views of the ceiling and the walls.
"Left thigh," it tells me helpfully. The notebook opens, and a few pages flip over. "And next, ummmm, right nipple."
Scuzz starts to shout. Whiskey-voiced, angry. He's just about the last person I'd expect to see in that position, in an all-white room, panicking for no visible reason...
Flailing wildly. He goes rigid again, hissing in air -
"Left knee."
His heartbeat reminds me of a machine. No - a machine gun. That's it.
"Fuck, Valet," I murmur, "whatever made you think he's ticklish?"
It laughs, and messes up my hair.
The music gets louder still.
"Okay. Here it is."
A shot from over his feet. The toes on his left foot - they stop moving. Oh, they're still trying. But they stand up, and bend back just a little bit. Clearly something is holding his toes up, so he can't flex 'em.
And the same thing happens to his right foot.
"Watch this carefully," Valet says ominously.

Now the screen is showing me a tight shot of his face. Or it would be, except he's frantically trying to move - and then he looks down. Oh, shit, I think to myself. That moment of recognition. He squints - in the direction of his right foot, and now his left. Yellow teeth clench again. Part of his right front tooth is missing, and I remember how Valet bargained with him to get him to go to the fuckin' dentist.
His head bobs up and down. I finally realize he's kicking. Very serious, desperately stomping. Get the hands off me? Or maybe I've gotta break these cuffs right fuckin' now, or else...?
He stops kicking.
And his face...
The tough-guy disappears. Eyes opening wide. Jaw dropping again - and thirty years fall off him. It's the expression of a little kid. Pure amazement on his ruddy face. Worry, too, in those big eyes.
It's a ghost.
Going to tickle me.
I can't believe this is happening.
Tickle me real good.
His pulse starts dropping.
"Nooooh," he whimpers, looking from one foot to the other -
His head slams back.
"Naaaaah hah haaah aaaaaah fuuuuuuck..." Pure desperation makes him lunge around, rolling his head all over the pillow. Panic.
But he keeps shooting a look at one foot or the other. Nothing down there.
Forlorn, deranged laughter.

After a minute, his head isn't flying around like it was. I think his pulse hasn't increased much. Oh, it's still pounding away, but the peak seems to have been reached just after he saw that feather. Understood the signal.
"Noooooooooooooooooooo oouuwhaaa-aaaaaah," he squeals. Focusing on his navel.
The skin is pressing down, as if fingers were traveling back and forth.
That gets his head flying around again. But he ends up looking. Belly, right foot, left foot -
Right side. Shaking his head frantically, as he looks at his ribs. That makes me gulp. Pure reflex.
Roaring harder, with the camera almost buried in the pillow for a few long seconds.
A jerk - left ribs. Nothing there! He shrieks and rolls his head around, pounding it three times, shaking it. Bouncing. Looking at his feet - legs trying to move, in any direction, so intensely trying to get up. Right side, right foot, left foot, belly, left side.
There's less and less random flailing.
Looking at his body parts, shaking his head so slowly. Gulping air, cackling it back out. Baying like a wolf. Yelping.
The pounding heartbeat isn't heard as the music gets louder still.
Left foot, belly, right side, left side, right foot, ceiling, an upside-down look at his hands clawing earnestly, his belly, left foot, right side, right foot, belly, left side -
The image pauses.

"Well?"
"Uh... Amazing. Literally. It's... just insane."
"Yup."
What did he do, Valet? To end up here? I wanna make sure I don't do it."
Dangerously happy laughter. "Don't you worry, amigo. The only thing I could find on you was 'drunk in public'. Vagrancy..."
"Mexico."
"Yeah. A couple nights in jail, down there, was a good start. I got my own anti-vagrancy program goin' here... Okay. I'll tell you what Scuzz did - what he was like before I started rehabilitating him. But I'm not sure I'll let you remember it."
"Shoot."

"There was this one night," it says happily, "when I was on the lookout for bad guys. Randy was resting up for another day of fun, and so was another little street-rat I had... So I follow this black guy down the street. Seems like a workin' guy, on the way home. And this big piece of shit steps out of the door of a sleazy little bar and looks around. Drunk. But very determined, y'know? And he blocks the sidewalk, and maneuvers the black guy into the alley. Cat-and-mouse. He's out of money, but the black guy isn't. Fifteen bucks, I believe it was. A five and a ten. The smaller dude is quick to get it out, and doesn't say a word. The thug takes it... and latches on to his wrist -"
"I think I get it," I say quickly.
"No," and its voice is way too calm. "I think you don't. Get your mind out of the gutter. Scuzz forced this black guy down to his knees... and broke his arm. Even though he'd been handed the money. And his face, amigo - lookin' just as natural and unbothered as if he was takin' a piss." It stops talking.
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. It's an ugly story."
The cuffs start loosening.
"What's this?" I mumble.
"Aaaaah, I don't feel like tickling you now," it says.

"You don't feel like ti-"
"After you get back from Westlure," Valet says quietly. "And I decided I will let you remember... what Scuzz did to earn his punishment. It'll pay off later. You'll see."
"How much later?"
"You'll know," and it chuckles slowly. "Soon enough. Oh - one more thing, rich kid... I'm sure you were wondering. The black guy's arm is good as new. Between that, and paying for him to go to grad school, you're out a cool four hundred grand."
Another pause. And this one is a test...
"Money well spent," I say quietly.
It snorts once. Approval. "Damn right."
 

- - 14 - -
 

I get to Westlure, and the room is filled with tickle-vibes. It's the most amazing thing, because Valet isn't responsible for any of it, far as I can tell. People are friendly, but not pushy. And it all feels a little like, oh, any one of the cells.

As time goes on, I'm enjoying it more and more. There's no point in trying to figure out if Valet is goosing me or not. To see otherwise sensible-lookin' guys walk up and allow themselves to be restrained... knowing what will happen. It's beyond fascinating. I'm one seriously spun puppy.
I have to assume it's watching me. Also that we'll have endless fuckin' conversations about tonight, as Valet digs further into my fantasies.

Out on the patio during a break - halfway through a pack I don't even remember opening - it occurs to me that I'm not the only one deep in thought, smokin' like a fiend. Maybe about ten other guys are standing alone, in their own little trance. I wonder if they're dreaming, or remembering, or planning... Maybe just getting up the nerve to walk over to one of the clusters of people working each other, splitting off into new groups that dissolve and form again. I've watched some of these loners finally walk up, and grin real big - suddenly attacked by hands, or watching those who are doing the tickling move over a little and make room for ten more fingers.
Three times, I've gotten beckoned... but that particular finger-gesture reminds me of Valet now. It's confusing, in a voluntary setting like this. There were two guys that cocked their head, inviting me to join in. Real friendly. But I make a point of being just as friendly as I turn 'em down, and luckily that seems to be acceptable here. I never had any fuckin' idea there were places like this -
The announcer, with his chilling, barbaric laugh, announces the main event. I don't believe... who I'm seeing.

Wolf-like, steady as anything, he stalks up to the rack. Tugging hard on a smoke, he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to a guy who's waiting to catch it. Then his shirt...
This is not real, I keep thinking. Valet's got me dreaming again -
A last quick drag, and he sticks his hands in range of the cuffs.
Some bleedover from what it does to me, maybe? I can't be seeing who I think I'm seeing up there.
As the cuffs are buckled down and other straps are cinched around his upper arms, the doomed man chuckles - arrogant as hell. That's his laugh, alright. But he would never set foot in a place like this.
Unless...
Applause. The leathermen who bound his arms are taking a bow.
Caught. Oh, no. His wrists are cuffed down. Tattoos I recognize, outstretched arms, leaving his torso completely vulnerable. There are dozens of guys in here who like to tickle...
No. Who love to tickle.
I wrestle with the idea that Valet can't be capable of something this cruel.

Guys relieve the victim of his boots, jeans, underwear. Socks. All peeled off, as the announcer makes him repeat, over and over, that he's willing to be there... bound, and worked over, no stop word, no time limit, for any and all players, nothing out of bounds except penetration - oral, or anal. Hours of torment, pausing only in order to check how he's holding up, or give him a little something to keep him conscious and reactive.
He nods his head again, eyes shining. Big ol' toothy grin.
Ankle-cuffs and thigh-straps are being tightened now.
I should do something. No, it's too late. He "agreed". By the time I realized this is... really gonna happen, it was already too late. The dude's been enthusiastically agreeing to this, all along. No one would ever believe the truth.
Four guys start reaching for his body.

Right before they make contact, I see what I least wanted to see. But I knew...
His face changes. Maybe it looks to everyone else like he just realized how intense the tickling will actually be. But I know better. I've seen too many guys snap out of Valet's little puppet-game before, after the restraints were set.
"Ah-ah-ah," the announcer booms. "Too late. Get 'im, boys!"
Eight skilled hands start tickling him. Human hands. Smart enough to pace themselves...
Scuzz flops around hard, shouting laughter.

A bunch of people are lining up at the stage. They want in... But at least they abandoned their chairs. My legs are all rubbery, and I just gotta sit down now.
It's repulsive, and fascinating. I see Scuzz get nuked too often as it is - but not by human hands. It's mesmerizing.
Also, I wanna look out for him. If I can. So I signal for another boilermaker, and watch. Stare at him, and them. Enthusiastic hands. Devastating tools.
I've never heard Scuzz squeal like this.
Or smile that much when he's getting the business...

The night becomes surrealistic. Long, exciting.
I tend to forget it's Scuzz, up there. Involuntarily.
Valet must be watching. And studying me too. With the way those people are tickling him, I can't believe it would miss the show. Wasn't it going to tape me? Watching?

By the time the number of ticklers is seriously starting to dwindle, I can't get a handle on how long it's been going on. My watch says it's almost seven in the morning, but I wonder if it broke or something.

"Anybody know this guy?" another guy shouts, from the stage.
"I know his nuts real well," somebody laughs.
"I'll take him home," a big hairy dude barks. A dozen other guys laugh.
"Me! Meeee!"
"Let me have him!"
"I got a place all set up for him. A cell, his new home, waiting..."
All I have to do is stand up, and hold my hand up. By doing that long enough, and not begging, I get summoned up there.

Scuzz is as fried as I've ever seen him. Another dude slaps him a few times, and his eyes finally open.
"Hey. Prisoner. You know this boy?"
He can't move his head, so I get closer. Saying nothing -
"Out... Amigo," he whispers. Shit, he looks dazed. "Get me outa here."
"Right now," I say.
The other guy makes a disappointed sound. "Aaaaw. And you almost got to go home with Loki, the locksmith. Lots of fun there. You sure you wanna turn that down?"
"Yuh... Yeah, y-"
"He's burnt good. I declare the prisoner can be released. And rest up - for our next party."
They start removing the cuffs, and the guy who's apparently in charge leans close to Scuzz's face, puffing on a cigar butt. "You're always welcome, bitch. Standing invite."
Scuzz looks at me. I shake my head, just a little. He slumps again, totally relieved.
One sneaky-lookin' bastard lifts Scuzz's right arm - now free - but it flops back down. "This boy needs a jump-start." He looks around again, and pulls out a vial...
A line of crank gives Scuzz enough "energy" to sit up. I know better than to watch him snort it, like he was starving, but I can't help myself. It's a good thing Scuzz needs help getting dressed, because I really want a line of whatever's in that vial - no matter how many years Valet kicks my ass, later.

The poor guy's actually gotta lean on my arm as we walk out. This has to be totally killing his pride... I carry the rest of his clothes. There's only about six or seven people left in the place, but happy whoops and catcalls still follow us out.
"My car," I tell him. "This way."
"Crash," he says thickly, stumbling.
I'm not sure what he means. "No, I'm sober enough now."
"No." He groans. "The C-R, it's bunk shit. Gonna fade fast. Already..."
I drag him faster. "Oh no, you don't. Stay with me, Scuzz. C'mon, buddy -"
"Everything's grey."
"Ten more seconds. You hear me? Gonna make it."
"If I'm f-fuckin'... lucky."
I lean him against the car, and open the back door. Hmmmm. If I can slide him just right -
"Duck your head!"
"Uhnnhh," Scuzz growls, flopping down.
I pick up his boots and shove 'em inside. Close the door.
Damn. I think he's already asleep. His skin is so red, against the black leather of the seat, that I would've thought he was painted or something. I get in and drive us carefully to a diner. Get me some coffee, and more cigarettes.

For a good forty-five minutes I sit in the car and watch the traffic on the street.
Then I take Scuzz home. Well, to my home - shit. Our home, I guess...
And right now I'm so far beyond horny that I don't have the energy to enjoy it properly. I wanna hit the sack now, and deal with the extraordinary backup of semen when I wake up. If Valet is okay with that, of course.
 

"That was, by far, the most evil thing you've ever done," I say to the floating coffeepot.
"No," it says simply. "You'll see."
"Great. Fuck..."

When Scuzz finally comes out of his cell...
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Anything I can get ya?" I ask him.
"An atomic bomb," he finally says.
"Yeah. I know the feeling."
Carefully, he sinks down into one of the recliners. Groaning.
"I, uh -"
"Listen," he grunts. His voice is just shot. "Before you embarrass yourself more than usual, there's somethin' you gotta know."
"Okay."
It takes him a good fifteen seconds to get his thoughts together, and even then he can't open his eyes as he says it. "What you saw last night was... uh, my birthday present."
Dead silence.
"Your birthday present?"
"Yeah."
"Your..." And I look around, as if Valet's gloves are actually gonna jump out or something. Ha ha, Amigo. Surprise... "You asked for that? You?"
"More or less." He finally shoots me a quick glance. I guess I don't look disgusted, so he heaves a sigh. "It got me talkin', one night. Middle of a two-week fuckin' ride. On me. You know, stoned, and shooting off my mouth. And I said, just once - once - I'd like to fuckin' understand how anybody could like this shit. And Valet, it don't miss a trick. You mean, like Hunk does? And I thought, y'know, what the hell. Yeah. Like fuckin' Hunk does. It wasn't a bad example, 'cause there you got qu- guys like Hunk, and tickling, both wall-to-wall."
"I get it," I say softly.
"And the next morning I thought, what a fuckin' dumbass thing to say. But, dude, the more I thought it over... Well..."
"You weren't forced into thinkin' that was your own idea? I saw your face change. Right before they started in."

He smirked. "I don't blame you for bein' suspicious. Fuck. And I couldn't walk in that place, and say yeah, do me... without help."
"But when did Valet's 'help' really start?"
"Shut up. Let me finish. I wanted to know what it was like to be into... that. But not when our fuckin' master was tearing into me. So it says hey, I know a place where tickle freaks would be glad to drive you nuts. You won't ever have to see 'em again. That's a stone-cold promise." He looks at my shirt, and gestures for a smoke. I hand 'em over. "And I go, dammit, there ain't no way I'm gonna go along with this plan unless, y'know, it makes me eager to do it. Just at first."
"Except that it can fuckin' jigger our thoughts," I said bitterly.
"Well, it sure did that. So I'd eat it up. See how the dudes feel who love that shit. Anyhow, you were there. If anybody 'round here - any human - knows what I look like when the heat's on..."
He waits me out.

And I finally sigh. "Bro - you looked like you were having the time of your life up there."
He looks at me. I wish he hadn't done that, or I would've been looking somewhere else so I could miss the look in his eyes...
"Oh."
"Yeah," he sneers. "Oh."
"That, uh, good?"
A shudder runs all the way down him. Big one.
"Holy crap," I mumble.
He chuckles a few times. "I walked right into that one, huh?"
"Let's try this again. It gave you what you wanted. Last night."
Scuzz bobs his head - his version of "more or less" - and takes a hard drag.
"It's still fucked up to make you... enjoy it."
"Yesterday," he grins, "I would've agreed with you."
"C'mon -"
"Hunk makes more sense to me. A lot more."

I stare at him, trying to decide how much of what he says is genuine Scuzz. "Is that so."
"Yeah." He looks around, and leans closer to me. "Up there, on the stage, I got so I would've agreed to anything they said, just so they wouldn't... stop. Any-fuckin'-thing."
"Uh, I don't think all of Hunk's preferences can be explained away like th-"
"Not all of 'em, shithead," he says easily. "But, the tickling."
"Oh."
Valet clears its... throat. "In my defense -"
"Shut up!" we both say, together.
Finally - "Breeders," it scoffs, like it's some kind of insult.
He looks at me, puzzled for a second. And then he nods, remembering the word, or maybe figuring it out.
About fifteen seconds pass. No gloves coming, and no cuffs.
"You know we're fuckin' gonna pay for that, later," Scuzz says quietly. Big ol' smile.
"Oh yeah."
 

- - 15 - -
 

It makes us a really incredible dinner. That worries me...
"You can all go out tonight."
We look at each other, all puzzled.
"Why?" I ask.
"Well," it says slowly, "I've got some news. It's not bad news, really..."
"O-kay," Scuzz drawls.
"Some of the 'bots are misbehaving."
Hunk closes his eyes. Can't say I blame him for looking kinda sick, right now.
"Lay it on us, chief," I say, watching Hunk.
"I was working on... uh, a present. Something to help you guys quit smoking. It's the damnedest thing."
Scuzz starts to grin. Figuring it out already -
"They were supposed to go after the neuroreceptors in your brains and plug in there, as if you were getting your fix. Right? So they look a lot like the things they were going to plug into. And they're a little too good at what they do."
"Ah," Scuzz nods, as if that solves a mystery or something.
"So, guys, you've got a lot more of those neuroreceptors than you, uh, used to have."
"How many more?" I ask.
"Three or four times."
Hunk looks relieved. "What drugs are they covering for, Valet? Give us the whole list. Please."
"Of course, Hunk. Tobacco and THC. That's all. I swear it."
This explains why we're all smoking so much more. "What's the solution for this?"

There's a pause. Scuzz shakes his head, smirking at the table. "Not sure yet," Valet finally admits. "We didn't expect the damn chemicals you guys smoke up to be that much more addictive than cocaine. And since we were surprised by what happened, obviously the big thing for any remedy is not to make your addictions even worse."
"Obviously," Hunk mumbles.
"I've got derms that'll tide you over for a few hours, if you really need to hold off for a date or something," it says quickly. "We'll fix this. Don't worry about it. Got it stabilized now. You're not gonna need, say, four packs a day and ten hooters to keep from getting hysterical. Nothing like that..."
I'd been thinking my concern about being able to smoke enough was all in my head, a stress reaction or something. Turns out it's... all in our brains.
 

It's a world of laughter, a world of tears.
Valet says it's commissioned about sixty CD's, so far. Just to torture Scuzz. Those two lines of the song, or variations on a theme.
Blues, death-metal, speed-metal, country line-dancing, mambo, hypnoambient versions...
He says he hates the classical versions the most - really elaborate orchestrations. I've heard different works done in the style of Bach, for harpsichord, for string quartets, choral singers 'Ooo'ing or celebrating louder, fast or slow...
I guess he hears one classical version or another, every day it's tickling him, mainly because they get to him so much.
 

Hunk and some big Asian guy are playing video games.
I get introduced to Deng. He's got a few hours left before Valet drags him back into the attic.
"Ameeeego," it calls.
"Whaaaa-aaat."
"Come to the weight room. I want to play."
"Got a date," I say quickly, darting away from the sound of its voice.
"Break it."
"You wanted me to get out more."
And there's a pause. "Shit."
"Already got the tickets, the dinner reservation -"
"When do you pick her up?"
"Uh, six," I say, subtracting an hour.
"Great. That gives me two whole hours."
"No way."
Hands lock around my ankles. "March."
"I'll be all worn out -"
"Sexed up, you mean. She'll love it."
"Tomorrow night."
"No."
"All night."
"Hmmmmm. Okay. But I still want an hour on ya now. Right now."
"Valet."
"A full hour. Go."
It starts picking up my feet and moving them, so I start walking away from the living room. "Just don't make me cum."
"I know, I know. You got a date."
"This is the most fucked-up place I've ever seen," Deng shouts at my back.
 

I'm standing out in the driveway, enjoying a cigar. Motorcycles are rumbling -
Ah, here they are...
Scuzz and Hunk roll on up. Cool as anything. I point at one of the newer secret garages Valet built, where my car is parked. Scuzz nods. Hunk shoots me an easy salute. Well, they look happy, I think to myself.
Scuzz walks out of the garage... alone.
"Already?" I say.
He chuckles. "A straitjacket got him. Shoulda seen it. Kicking, giggling, down through a trap door."
"Aaaaaawww," and we both laugh. "So that's why there are only two guests in the pool."
He perks right up. "Snatch?"
"All you want."
We slap hands, and get going.
"Damn," he sighs. "I'm in a great fuckin' mood."
"Me too. So what if it's artificial... You bring the smoke?"
He pats his chest pocket.

I overcook some steaks. Trying to barbecue, but I've only done this like two other times. Almost everybody on the house staff has gone home. A beautiful Saturday to take off early.
So it's Scuzz, me, two stunning call girls who act as if they love landing a gig like this, and some fine weed...

Scuzz and I are sitting in the shade of the awning, passing a bomber back and forth while we joke about the first-rate titties bouncing in the pool -
A hand slaps down on my right shoulder.
Scuzz looks over, and then at his left shoulder. I swear, it's almost like I can see Valet there, sometimes. Right now he'd be behind us a little, the gracious host - a criminal mastermind greeting his henchmen...
We glance at each other.
"You're stoned," I blurt out. "Valet, Scuzz is smokin' pot."
Since he's holding the joint - at that particular moment, anyway - he frowns. "Asshole..."
Valet laughs. "You two."
"Yeah. Well," he shoots back. "I think snitches should be dealt with... Real harsh. Maybe in the room next to Hunk. Or under it. Sounds like big fun - don't it, Valet?"
I shake my head, smirking.
"I like the way you guys think."
"You should, butt-wad," I say carelessly. "It's your work. Thought control. Enger... engener..." And I have to look over at Scuzz.
He shuts his eyes for a second. Then, finally, "En-gin-eer-ing."
"You're welcome. For the weed."
"Did I say - thanks?" Scuzz grins. He's looking up and behind us, where Valet's voice is coming from - about the place a guy's head would be. "Huh? Thanks, Valet."
The hands squeeze our shoulders.

"We gotta talk," it sighs. "But not when you're this fucked up. Tomorrow."
A whistle. As if it took its fuckin' fingers and had a mouth to put 'em in. Amazing. The women look over, laughing about something.
"Go get 'em," it snickers.
"You ready to play?" the blonde says.
"I am," Scuzz says, standing up. "This guy, though, he's into pokin' chickens. Something like that."
"Hey, now," I yell at his back. "I've heard it said you're unbelievably ticklish, Scuzz. That right?"
"Really?" the blonde says doubtfully.
He shoots me a look - even glazed-over, he looks worried, puzzled - and shakes his head a little.
I got him good with that one, so I can afford to be generous. "Nah. Kidding."
The black-haired swimmer is climbing out of the pool now. She gives me a smile.
"Don't try to tell me you don't do any modeling," I say to her.
"Flatterer."
 

- - 16 - -
 

Hunk is falling asleep at the table. Every couple minutes he has a giggling fit. Voice cutting out, squirming...
Scuzz looks disgusted. "Makin' it kinda hard to eat, here."
"Yeah," Valet says.
Hunk's head goes back, and his mouth opens wide. Two white pills fly into his mouth, and he closes it suddenly. His eyes are big, and both hands pull at something that's got him by the neck.
"Swallow... Do it, sweetcakes, or you know what I'll do next..."
"Is there any more ham?" I say.
"Fry it up yourself," it snaps. "I'm kinda busy."
"Aye, aye." I get up and go into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, the dishes have all floated away. A rack has come and caught Hunk at a sixty-degree angle. The speed has kicked in, and he's fidgety as hell, smokin' his cigar as if he's pissed off. Oiled up, stretched tight, and it sure looks like he'll be delirious before the hour is up. Hell, probably all three of us.
"Coffee," it says, setting the pot down with a thump. "Now. You ready to listen?"
"Always," I shoot back.
"After yesterday, yeah," Scuzz adds.
"You're welcome. I got something new to lay on ya. And if it works, you're actually gonna like it."
We've all heard all the variations of "I wanna try something" before. Too many times. It doesn't generally mean anything good. More sensation than before. Scuzz looks over at Hunk, scowling. Hunk rolls his eyes.
"I'm calling 'em... 'backlog-bots'."

It's made nanobots that will let us remember. Everything.
Valet told Scuzz and Hunk about that discussion we had - about worthless promises. Turns out it made a real big impression. You never know.
So - it thought and thought about it. If ol' Amigo, here - that's me - was sure Valet kept its promises, he'd trust it more. Relax. Work with it. Help it, even. Go along with the program...
But messing with my thoughts is too useful - and enjoyable - to give up. It didn't want me aware at the time that it was rewriting my memory, or mood, identity - all that. Not at the time it was doing it. And naturally I'd want to be positive that it had followed through when it did promise something.
It says I need something called an "audit trail". I gotta be able to go back and review what happens, in order to assure myself that Valet didn't... I don't know, make me pull my pud in a board of directors meeting. Or beg a Westlure-full of people to tickle me. But it has to be a record that can't be tweaked. And it still wants complete control over what goes on inside my head -
"Ain't givin' that up," it chuckles.
"Yet," I add.
A long sigh. "Yet."
Scuzz grunts happily.

"Sooooo, these things will keep a permanent record. I won't necessarily let you get at it at the time I'm doin' something to ya -"
"Even if we could think straight, when you're... doin' it," Scuzz mumbles. I have to nod.
"But later on it'll tell you everything that occurred."
Silence.
I break it. "Uh..."
"What?"
"Why do I feel like I'm walking into a real big trap?"
"You've been in the trap," it says, puzzled. "Living in it. Nothing new."
"No, no. I have a question. About these new 'bots."
"Well, shoot, Amigo."
"But it seems real fuckin' obvious to me, and I..."
"Immunity," it says right away. "No matter what you say. Ten minutes, start-"
"You are the worst... most cruel, sadistic, mindfuckin' monster in the world." It's Hunk, going off! "I can't fuckin' stand all this, it's too much tickling, even if I do like it more than the other guys do and you just go right ahead and keep doin' it anyway. I wish you'd die. Disappear. And let me go."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Valet says. "Somebody's been looking forward to immunity, huh?"
Scuzz and I crack up. I don't mean to, but damn. it is funny. Hunk looks disgusted with us. Real tough. It must've been a really harsh night. "Aw, you can go fuck yourself," he says. "And thanks for backing me up. Dicks."
"Nine minutes," Valet says softly.

We decide there's no way to know for sure if it's tampering with these memory-'bots. Without knowing they're compromised, how can we trust anything?
That wastes a good five or six minutes...

"Oh, you're not ever gettin' away from it," Scuzz says to me. No smirk, no eye-rolling.
That chills me to the bone.
"I think... you're wrong," I finally say.
"You want me to be wrong. Hell, Valet might even be okay with it. Way down the fuckin' line. But you're the money machine."
Valet hisses quietly, but doesn't say anything.
"Immunity," I say, looking around for... furious gloves. Furious brushes, or something. "Right?"
"Y-yeah," it grumbles.
Scuzz sits up. "No, you got me wrong. I'm not sayin' you'd keep him down just so you can spend his money. Alright? I mean he's worth too much to just disappear again... Aaaah, I don't know how to say it right. There's always gonna be something else that comes up, to put off cuttin' him loose a little bit longer. One more fuckin' 'bot you just gotta have. I know how that is. And he signs the checks. If he disappears, the money, and shit - the resources, is that the word? - goes away. It could take a while. But some fuckin' court will grab it all..."
He looks back at me. And I think the bastard is pitying me. "So you've gotta be available to trot out, from time to time, and you've gotta be controlled... well, excuse me, but like a glove Valet can wear whenever it needs to. Or wants to."
"I don't know," is the best I can say.

"Good intentions be damned," he says, sitting back. "Right? You open too many damn doors for it. Your name," he says, sitting back. "I don't see you ever gettin' parole, slick." And then he shrugs. "Hope I'm wrong."
There's another long pause, and I realize again how smart the fucker is. Not because of his theory - hell, I have that same thought every other day - but for planting the seed when Valet was definitely listening. Subtle, cool and collected. Another country heard from.
We may get out of this yet.
"Time," Valet says, with a sigh. "Any other questions?"

"Not yet," I drawl.
"Let us think about it," Scuzz mutters.
"Fair enough." A deck of cards is lobbed unto the table. "I got things to do. Right now."
"Noooooo," Hunk wails.
"Correctional therapy for a couple of wayward dudes," it says, sounding more and more cheerful. "There's a cell with your names on it."
"End the suspense," I say dully. "Which one -"
"Draw for it?" Valet asks.
"What?"
"If I just do what I want, now, somebody might say I was dishing out some mighty fine payback for what y'all said."
Scuzz looks really baffled by all of this.
"So... One of us walks?"
Valet laughs. Real sinister, far too happy. "Oh, wait. Yeah. One of you gets a vacation! One week, anywhere you want. Unlimited spending money. Then he can come back and get on with his usual ticklish life. The other two will be thinking about him as they get, oh, let's go with four full days of possibly lethal excitement."
I shake my head. This isn't being presented as an option. I shuffle the deck. "What do you guys think?"
Scuzz doesn't look too happy. "Five-card stud?"
"Like it matters," Hunk says bitterly.
"Face up," I nod. And start dealing.

The cuffs are coming off Hunk. He keeps nodding. Enormous smile.
"Fuckin' son of a bitch," Scuzz says.
I stare at his cards. "If that six was a diamond..."
"Aren't you gonna blame me for rigging it somehow?" Valet says. "Prisoners?"
I don't like how wild its voice sounds.
"Felons..."
Oh yeah. We're gonna be screamin' -
"Tahiti!" Hunk yells. "Seeya later. Assholes. Give 'em an extra hour of pure hell, Valet. Do it for me."
"You heard the man. Stand up."
Music - soft jazz. One sax joins in. It's a world of laughter...
We get to our feet, and I glance at Scuzz - clenching his teeth, eyes closed.

Panting, too many hours later. Accordion music. A world of tears, a world of laughter, a world of tears, a world of laughter, a w-
"Hah hah hah haaa-aaaaah," Scuzz roars, head thrown back, tears running down his face.

Later, his hoots are airy, almost silent, despite how forcefully his chest heaves.

- - 17 - -
 

"Amigo loves to smoke," it chuckles. "All you dudes. So, if I can't tickle some sense into you and get you to quit buying the damn things whenever I'm not watching, then I guess we gotta turn the problem around..."
Some days I have a lot of trouble believing I'm even awake. Valet, Carra and Shane have worked hard on this, apparently. They could become very, very rich.
Not just safe cigarettes. Better than safe.
Negative-emission tobacco. Genetically engineered, with the little bugs dormant through the curing process - until the tobacco is lit or soaked with water, as in the saliva between cheek and gum. The particulate matter and resins which result are broken down into bits too small to remain in the lung sacs or the exposed skin.
They gently scrub the tissue, actually. Not too hard. Boosting white blood cell production to go after certain pre-cancerous tissue signatures...
No affect at all on the taste, or the burn. All of the cigarettes and cigars have been lower-emission for a long time now, but this tobacco smoke disperses immediately - and it's full of really small particles that are healthy for whoever breathes 'em.
The ramifications of this are stunning.
Valet's invested most of my money into it.
Some of the technology will apparently click right over for users of pot, liquor, recreational drugs...

"What do you think?," it says.
"About what?"
"That smoke. In your hand."
Scuzz and I finally look at each other. "You didn't."
Valet giggles.
"These," Scuzz finally says, raising his eyebrows. Then the asshole lights one.
"Hey! Don't you get it?," I yell. "It's experimenting on us."
He kicks out smoke, looking totally unruffled. "They're bad for us anyway."
"Not these cigarettes," Valet says. "Look."
A box floats in. Binders, reports...

"Four years of clinical trials. Very top-secret. Animal-simulation, human-simulation - and hungry college students."
"No."
"They typically smoke almost fifty percent more, of my cigarettes, than they used to."
"You've gone over the edge," I say to the binders. "Mad with power."
"Aaaaah. Wrong again. I paid for solid research. It'll hold up."
"Why would you do this to us, Valet?"
It grabs my arm. "I told you. Amigo... there's no way I'd risk you guys. Never. I put these cigarettes in your hands only after I was positive it was a good thing to do."
Scuzz nods. The bastard...
"No," I start complaining.
"Amigo," he says, "Remember who's got a hard-on for ya."
"Fuck." I know that. And why would it -
And then I see his point. "Oh."
"Gettin' it?"
I sigh, and nod. He's right. Maybe it would take chances with a couple thousand college kids... but it won't even let us keep milk around one day after the expiration date.
"Pinch it," Valet says.
"Where?"
"Anywhere. You too, Scuzz."
So we do - and the damn cigarettes go out immediately.
"They'll also extinguish themselves if they're ignored for more than two-and-a-half minutes."
I don't know what to say. "'Bots?"
"No," it says gleefully. "Design. It's all in the physical structure."
"You're a fuckin' genius," Scuzz says, looking the cigarette over like he's amazed.
"Thank you!"

"Wait," I snap. "Just wait. You can't -"
Scuzz laughs. "Wake up, man. They're good for you. Can't start a fire, unless you want 'em to -"
"I don't like this. At all."
"Both of you - fire up another one."
He smirks and does it. I'm more reluctant, but I go along.
"Now tug on those things - hard - and you tell me any way they're different than a smoke you had last week."
So we do.
"Incredible," Scuzz finally mumbles.
"Gimme one of yours," I tell him. A nonfilter. And he does...

Valet is one happy son of a bitch, I'll say that.
"If there's an objection to cigarettes that I haven't addressed, I don't know what it is." A binder lifts up a little, and drops. "If the science isn't flawless, they'd rip you apart."
They'd rip... you -
"Uh-oh," I say. And Scuzz, he thinks it's real funny. "Me?"
"Yeah. I need you to be the point guy."
"You really have gone nuts," I say immediately.
"The two biggest tobacco companies don't think so. All those farmers -"
I wave my hand. "No one will listen."
It snickers. "I've got more data than they could possibly ignore."
"Don't make me do this, Valet. Please."
"Amigo! C'mon. I can't force you. This job calls for somebody burning with conviction -"
"Nice knowin' ya," Scuzz says. He lets loose with a couple belly-laughs and goes out into the garage.
"All I want," it says quickly, "or rather, all I'll make you do, is read this shit. Make up your own mind."
I look at the box. Sometimes I really hate this setup. What I want to say is, I don't want to read a whole box full of your crap. And if I say that out loud, I'll be tickled for a couple weeks straight. No doubt about it.
"Oh, you're gonna read it," Valet says sternly. It read the expression on my face. Wonderful. "Yes you will. You'd be the ideal man for the job, Amigo. Your family's made a lot of money from tobacco. Be the hero. Free the world of... bad cigarettes."
"They'll never, ever go along with this. Good cigarettes?"
"But they are. Good. As for the other..."
I wait. The other - what?
"That's how we're gonna pull it off. I've got lawyers on it."
"Okay, I'll ask. How, exactly, are we gonna pull it off?"
"What you're holding," it says smugly, "is not a cigarette."
"It isn't?"
"Nope."

I stare at the box, and finally catch on. "Legally."
"You're so smart."
"Not compared to you."
"True. See, there's these loopholes. We're gonna force our way through 'em -"
"No matter how much money it takes," I drawl.
"You're asking for it..." And fingers take hold of my ribs.
"No no no. I'm not! No. Sorry."
"I've had lobbyists at work for three months." The fingers knead, slowly. "Our first stop is North Carolina."
"Huh?"
"We get four key states, and the rest of 'em will follow. These aren't cigarettes, in the strict legal definition of the word, and it makes no sense to apply the old laws to 'em. Three Asian countries are very agreeable to the concept, too. Also Argentina, Spain, Italy - oh, Ireland is obvious enough."
My shoes are pulled off.
"Valet, c'mon -"
"Aaaaww. I wanna celebrate," it teases, in a tone of voice that can only be called... snuggly. "You're gonna fight my battles. Brilliantly. And you're gonna win."
"Let go of me."
"Open patent. They can't even accuse you of capitalism."
My socks are going. Hands lock around my wrists and pin them to my head.
"Don't -"
"I'm going to lock you in a cell," it growls, "and celebrate. Full-speed."
Lunging around doesn't keep me from rising out of the chair, or heading down the hall to the one door that's wide open. Valet laughs at me - an overly delighted sound, with an edge to it.
 

"Dammit, Valet."
"One more time. The nicotine delivery device argument."
"We've been over that a hundred times." I walk into the living room. Scuzz looks really stoned.
"Make it a hundred and one. Now talk."
"Hey," he says, snuffing a cigarette butt, "Now make him quack like a duck."
Uh-oh. I didn't get a chance to warn him before he shot off his mouth. Valet is really nervous about the hearing tomorrow in Charlotte. I make a face, but he's still grinning.
It growls - and his hands are pulled out in front of him. Scuzz flips over, arms extended on the couch, boots pinned against his ass.
"You first," Valet says. "Show him how it's done."
He starts to whoop and flail around.
"Hey," I sigh.
"Quack for him," it taunts. "You better do it." His t-shirt looks as if there's invisible snakes moving all over it. No way he can quack - it's just drilling him. He howls twice and cackles his guts out...
I fold my arms. "It's obvious - he can't."

He bounces once.
"Okay." Scuzz's laughter is slowly dwindling. "Then you do the honors."
"What?"
"Tickle him, Amigo. Or else - I'll level him."
"Y-yeah!" he pants. "Please. C'mere, now, Amigo -"
"You don't know what you're saying," I tell him.
"Better you than this f-fuckin' bastard."
"Kick all you want, Scuzz. You're gonna get it now."
"No," I say again. "This is disturbing in so many ways."
"Please! You know how it - how it gets. On me. You gotta do -"
"Scuzz, man, I can't."
"Tickle him," it orders, "or else I'll nuke both of you."
"Aw, shit."
His eyes are squinting at me hopefully.
"No way to win. But I'm not -"
"Bzzzzzzt! Too late."
A strap races around my ankles.
Scuzz floats off the couch, and I get turned upside-down.
"The double cell. Ready and waiting," it says. "I need to blow off some steam anyway."
"Thanks," he snaps at me. "Asshole."
"Hey! Don't blame me -"
"Ten hours of insanity, coming right up."
"Valet - no," I bark, "I gotta be at the hearing t-"
"Plenty of time. Torture ya, let you sleep, get you on the plane. And you better impress 'em. But now, it's... disciplinary tickling. Both of you. Side-by-side."

On to Part 5

Back to Part 3

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