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- - 18 - -
 

Long, vague conversations. Usually after I've been nuked. It's hard to think when I'm that spacey.
"Seriously, Valet. When? Rehab is complete, already. Or is that just an excuse?"
"It's over when I say it's over."
"Scuzz wants to have a life again. So do I -"
"Ah, but he had one. You guys blew it. Each in your own way."
"Hunk?"
"Sure... He had lawless thoughts." Hearty laughter.

"People aren't cut out to be pets."
"Alright, dammit. I know."
I try another tack. "We're not getting any younger. All those college boys out there, doin' stuff wrong -"
"What? Them, instead of you dudes? My best buddies? Here. Take it..." Another cigarette.
"Yeah. Go ahead and fire us. We won't be sad, I promise you."
"You're incorrigible. Both of you." I'm not remembering what that word means, at the moment, but I sure have heard it a lot.

"How can I have a girlfriend? Get married?"
"Don't go blaming me."
"But I-"
"If you don't know how to talk to women, that's not my fault. You had eight years out there to be a player."
"Seven years. And I got laid regularly, shithead."
"Then what's stopping you? I never bug you when you bring somebody home."
"Well, not then. But later. Like as soon as they leave... How many women do you see me going out with, say, a third or fourth time?"
"Krista," it says right away. "Shirley."
"No, since I've been an adult."
"What's your point, Romeo?"
"I see 'em once or twice, and then it's 'Boo, I'm haulin' my fuckin' Amigo off to a torture chamber for a month.' I never follow up, they get mad, write me off -"
"If you were honest with 'em, maybe that wouldn't happen."
I just sit there, with my mouth open.

"Yeah. See? The truth, buddy. You are a felon at heart... It's easy. 'Hey, possible future wife, I got this unusual situation here. Very unusual. Meet Valet, it watches out for me... Does a fantastic job, 'round the clock exercise, keepin' me off certain drugs I like too much -'"
"Have you ever met a woman, Valet? Other than Carra? They're not all like her."
"Oh yeah. I know. But the right woman will... just roll with it."
I finally shake my head. "Hi, honey. Oh yeah, I won't be joining you on that trip to Mardi Gras, because Valet's gonna fuck with me for a couple months instead. Have a nice birthday while I'm gone."
"Bullshit," it snaps. "I don't spend a couple months on you anymore. Continuously." There's a pause, and I know what's coming. "Very often. Unless there's some re-"
"Save it. Okay?" I feel a headache coming on.

"So?" Scuzz says.
I finish swallowing a mouthful of beer. "I don't know. Runnin' me around in circles."
"Yeah. It kicks my fuckin' ass for ten or eleven hours, and then how am I gonna be able to think straight?"
"Exactly," I say.
He looks around the bar. "It's not stupid."
"No. It's not that."
"Mean."
"Huh?"
"You know... Sadistic. Cruel. It's really fuckin' sneaky about it."
I think about that. "Obviously... Are you thinking it's all about, uh, being mean?"
"Well? It does something nice, and the shock is all that much bigger when it does the next mean-ass thing. And it thinks and thinks until it comes up with shit that's custom-made to drive you completely fuckin' nuts."
"Say that. I can't believe some of the trips it's laid on you." And I guess that's my story, too, but he's been getting the so-called rehab treatment a lot longer than I have.
Scuzz nods. "Mean as it gets."
"It doesn't get it." I look at him. "You can say I'm hoodwinked if you want, but I spent a lot of time thinking about this. I don't think it understands the difference... what it enjoys and what we don't like. As if what's fun for it will be fun for us too, eventually."
"That's a total crock," he growls. "It knows how much I hate that fuckin' song."

"Yeah, uh, I didn't say it right... But then, it turns around and gives you another bike."
"Keep the prisoners confused," he says, snorting at the thought. "Here, Scuzz. In this hand, a new racing carb you've been wanting. And then, in the other hand - I got something new for ya."
"Right. Or, I wanna try something."
"Fuckin' sadistic. Throw us a curve every other minute."
"I gotta go out and get me some curves," I decide. "Run my hands over some curves, instead of bein' rubbed all the time."
A few chuckles. "Nice big jugs."
"Yes, sir."
"That reminds me, I gotta call Jonna."
My turn to laugh. "Glad something came out of this conversation. At least one of us is gonna get some."
"Yeah... Fuckin' Valet. It gets off on watching you. My little dude's all grown up now. Look at him go -"
"Fuck you. It told you that?"
"Every little detail. Your first time. So proud... When it's tellin' the story its voice sounds all proud, like you were the first guy who ever got laid."
I find that more disturbing than anything. "Well, maybe I am. First one Valet ever spied on...."
 

"Sit. Ssiiiiit -"
Rope pulls my arms down to the arms of the chair.
"Staaaaaay."
"I can see all that talk about us not bein' pets went right out the window."
It laughs, pulling off my boots. "I'm being ironic. Speeeeeeak..."
"Arf," I say irritably.
"Good amigo. That's a good, good boy."
A cigarette floats to my mouth. Behind it, a bottle of imported beer. "I need your input on something," Valet says.
"Hysterical cackling isn't 'input,' asshole."
"No, no. Just listen."
Click.
Drumsticks, counting off.
Nice rhythm. Steadily thumping bass drum...

"Fuck, that's intricate," I say, when it's over.
"But not too busy?"
"No. it makes me wanna dance." I tug at the rope.
"It's a revival of rave music, so that makes sense. They call it 'farpost-house'."
"English?"
"Edinburgh."
"Ah. Of course."
Another cigarette. After I've leaned back and kicked out smoke, it snickers happily. "And now..."
Different music. Could be the same band, or an imitator.
The intro goes on forever. The bass drum is repeating something, like a message -
"Morse code?"
Valet sighs. "Listen harder. Shit."
Thump thump thump, thump, thump, thump, thump thump, thump thump...
Scuzz's tune.
"Got it."
"Good."

One by one, the other drums pick it up. Cymbals. All out of sync with each other.
Scuzz. That's Valet's voice -
Scuzz... world...
LAUGH! Whoa. It barked the word, and it was definitely happy to do it. I've heard that command. How many times?
I look around the room nervously. But no feathers are coming, or gloves. Nothing... yet.
A few more thumps later -
Scuzz... world... A man's voice, now. It sounds like he's fighting to keep from roaring.
The guy is snorting, losing it. Won't be long now.
Laugh laugh laugh laugh LAUGH!
Aaaaaaaaeeeeh haw haaawwwww whuh h-haaaaah hah haaaaaaaaahhh...
Uh-huh. It's him, alright. Gruff, but he doesn't sound as gravelly as I remember. Maybe this tape is from a few years ago.
Fuck, it's chilling.

World... laugh... Scuzz.
Scuzz... laugh... world.
Eeeeeee heee heee huh haaah huh huh huh -
World - tears - laughter...
laughter - world...
Scuzz howls and squeals, as they say, with abandon.
World... of laughter.
Scuzz world... laughter.
He yelps hysterically, snorting like a pig a couple times... and now he's yelping again.
My world.
In my world.
In my world now... Scuzz.
LAUGH!
World... of laughter.
World... of tears.
LAUGH!
Laugh... tears.
Another sample of Scuzz laughing - but this one's darker. It's obvious the laughter is being tortured out of him. Delirious, addled, and energetic. He moans, and giggles, sucking in a quick breath, braying like the rowdy fucker he is. The pleasure is eating him alive, and he can't handle it.

World...
Scuzz world... My world.
Nooo noooo nooooooooo noo aaaawww hah hah haaah haaaaaieeeeee...
World... world... world.
Laughter... tears... laughter...
My world.
Aaaaaa-aah h-hah haah huuh haaaaaaah!
Laughter... laughter... laughter... tears!
Laugh Scuzz... Laugh Scuzz... world... laugh... world!
Laugh Scuzz... Laugh Scuzz... laugh... tears... laugh!
Pleeeeee heee heee heeeeeeeeze -
Laugh!
Naaaaaaw -
LAUGH!

He howls. From the sound, I wonder if he's coming, right then.
My world... my world... my world... MY world!
Chuckling, he's not all that far from laughing so hard it becomes silent. I can picture Scuzz with his head thrown back, neck slowly relaxing - it's as if his brain is trying to get as far away from the tickling as it can. Laughing so hard he bounces a little.
Your world... your world... your world... your world...
My world... your world... my world... your world...
Laughter... world... laughter... world...
Scuzz world... laughter!
Scuzz world... tears...
A long sigh - that's gotta be Valet.
LAUGH!
And he does. Monotonously, unwillingly, sounding confused by all the delight.
Scuzz world... Scuzz world... Scuzz world... my world...
Laughter... laughter... laughter... tears!
Huh huh huh huh huh huh hoh hoh hooo hooo hooo hooo h-hooooo huh huh huh huh h-haaaaaaaaaah hah haah hah hah haaaaaaah...
My world.

It's mesmerizing.

"You want a song?"
Uh-oh. "No."
Click.
White satin gloves wander up to my feet.
"Oh, shit -"
"This one's called 'Sleepy Amigo'."

Keyboards. Airy.
Its fingers take hold -
Louder. Drumbeat. Wake-up music. It's gonna speed up, I can just tell.
Thick, vague chuckles. is that... me?
Three gloves are using only their index fingers, grazing lightly. Tracing their way around.
"Good morning," it whispers - right above my face, not on the recording.
"Huh huh huh huh haaaaah..." I'm squirming.
The gloves lay down more fingers, move faster, gradually increasing the heat...
And finally I'm whooping along with myself - the deranged keening I made some other time. Pounding drums, waves of electric-piano solos fading and rebounding.
Several minutes long, but I'm too racked to make a decent estimate.

One last chord is held out. It gets quieter and quieter.
Tortured cackles, winding down.
I'm sweating freely. And I have a pretty good idea what Valet is thinking, at this moment. Call it a hunch -
"Let's do that again," Valet says calmly. "Without the shirt."

And again.

I laugh pathetically to a little number called "Halfway Point".
Then, "Anniversary".
And "Good to Go".

"Scheduled Maintenance" is brutal...

"Take Him" is played three times.

It lets me drink water, pant awhile. Have a smoke.
"Huh?," it says eagerly. Meaning, well, what do ya think?
"What... can I possibly s-say?" I mutter.
"I'm a very happy tickler," it laughs. "I mean it."
"F-fuck."
"Watch it. I already have an urge to play 'Another Week'."
"No no nooooo, please Valet -"
"Heh heh... Later."
"Thank you thank you th-"
"Can it. I have the topper."
I blink, and take a long drag. "Okay, I give up."
"The cherry on top of the banana split, asshole."
"Ah."
"I threw a big chunk of money at the musicians, to keep their mouth shut. If word ever gets out that, uh, you commissioned it, they owe you a hundred times as much as they got - Hey, you still with me, there, buddy?"
"Yeah. So? You've hired a whole fuckin' symphony before. Hours of mixing up the same ten notes."
"All kinds of musicians. You're a patron of the arts... But this time it's different."
I tense up... Well, as much as I can. "How?"
"The guys loved their work so much, they fuckin' begged me -"
"No!"
"And their label was sorta interested."

I look at the ceiling. "Valet, you have no idea how humiliating it would be -"
"Hey," it scoffs, "I think I know how to cover your tracks."
"I'm calling in a marker. Don't let 'em release this."
"Uh... No, you're not."
"Listen up -"
Something rustles behind me. Gloves bring it around the chair, up to my face.
A magazine. Folded open to a page with a chart filling it. Japanese characters, which must be a headline.
"No."
"Number 96."
I scan frantically -

SCUZZ IN THE WORLD OF LAUGHTER
 

"Japan," it says meekly. "Uh... The CD is gonna chart here next week."
"No," I say hollowly.
"You're a recording star, amigo. All you guys."
"Valet."
"So... Uh, do I tell Scuzz?"
Anger ignites, and I snap at the knots. "Of course you do. You'll tell him after two weeks of continuous tickling, five in the morning, two cum-shots down and two to go, when there's still a couple hundred hours left before you let him ride off -"
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Silence.
"Amigo. Please."
I think of the songs. Our hysteria being heard by thousands. Or millions. And we'll be no closer to escaping Valet...
College radio might really pick it up and run with it.
At least Scuzz is the name it gave him. Very few people will recognize the way he laughs, and most of them will think it's a coincidence. The rest will all be former captives of Valet. Or present ones.
I wonder what it's like... to be a former captive of Valet's?
Gloves start untying me.

"You don't tell him. Unless you want to break your Scuzz-toy in a very ugly, beyond-repair kinda way. Got it?"
"Yeah. He's got that rep to maintain."
"And I don't."
"You're a pushover..."
"Valet."
"Hell, you're a big ol' basket case."
I watch the shiny fingers free my wrists.
 

- - 19 - -
 

There are days when I don't want to get out of bed.
I'm a fairly optimistic guy. Maybe that proves, more than anything, that I really have lost it. But sometimes I feel responsible for every victim that has suffered, and definitely for my permanent roommates.
I think of all the things I've wanted to do. Getting married. Riding down to Mexico on my Norton, to see all the old haunts - without the jittery rattle of cocaine. If I wasn't a prisoner here, I could think up a few ways to really enjoy all this money I supposedly have, instead of worrying about Valet's next tyrannical plan.
Where does it all end? For me, and the next generations that will nibble at the wrong hook dangled in front of them? What horrors am I failing to prevent, as I try to get through the fuckin' day without laughing so hard I shit my pants?

Maybe it's a wonder I don't have these mornings more often. I can't tell if they indicate a clear view of the way things are, or the wordless panic that my life is slipping away, with all the potential good I could be doing, satisfaction that I'll never find...
Valet checks on me when I sleep later than expected. It knows, immediately, that I can't be tickled out of this mood. Maybe it tried once or twice - I don't remember, but with the grip it has on my memories that means nothing. I get the impression it comes close to me, as at other times when it proceeds to grab my wrists and laugh in a goofy, sinister tone. Maybe it sets another pack of cigarettes on the table next to my bed, or a travel mug full of coffee - only the best, with exactly the amount of cream I usually put in - and then the door closes softly.
It just all seems so hopeless. Scuzz and Hunk will listen, and I know they have different ways to cope with these dark moods. But they're not the reason Valet built so many cells, financed the 'bots, and progressed here from groping me in the depth of sleep.
The expanding obsession it discovered with Randy - for my sake! - is the result of a vow to care for me. If I had died before it found out, would it have let Scuzz go? Or would his torture have progressed by now to tickling so bitter and evil that he longed to be dead too, an escape that would be attentively denied?
Just how many dungeons could Valet build, with all of the millions I inherited?

I have to force myself to think about the 'bots. There's no way to tell how much suffering will be prevented. That is the Valet that keeps us as pets - going beyond what it needed merely to keep us caught and perversely healthy. It found the right researchers and fairly threw money at them. And the results were given to the world. That's the choice of the same guardian that enjoys torturing us so much...

So I get up and pull on some shorts, which may be peeled off within an hour by invisible fingers that are unable to contain themselves any longer. I drag myself downstairs, where eggs and bacon start cooking as soon as I walk in. Breakfast magic. Hunk or Scuzz look up at me with an unusual expression, and then I know they've become aware of Valet's concern. Perhaps it told them, earnestly. Incapable of seeing the contradiction in which we all live - adored, cherished, and pleasured until bullwhips and branding irons can look merciful by comparison. To be out of our misery is also to be free of its arousing fingers.
These thoughts fade, a little, as I eat and smoke. The other guys draw me out awkwardly, making small talk, and still our warden holds back. Despite how much it craves to tickle the hell out of me, it apparently figures an Amigo with even more emotional scars is not worth the price.
It's waiting for me to accept, all over again - the constant ecstasy, the cultivated discomfort of the overload - and finally I look over my shoulder, scowling, and say what it wants to hear. Come and get it, fucker.
And I've never had to tell it twice. A joyous whoop, and I'm suddenly in its clutches again, being lifted and carried, as if it can't tug my shorts off fast enough, and each minute of time not spent tickling me is a tragic, heartfelt waste.
 

One day I get home from work, change, and get stumped trying to remember the name of a book my dad read all the time. I think there might be some strategy in there I could use, if he was so big on it. So I go down to the library and look...
Laughing. It's Valet, though. Louder than usual.
I walk down the hall, following the sound. A heavy mahogany door is open just a little. I can hear it talking to somebody. After a few seconds I push on the door -
A leather glove slaps my hand. "Go away."
Behind it, I catch a glimpse of an office. I'm all curious, now, so I stick my foot in the door.
One longsuffering sigh, and the glove grabs my hand. Pulling me in.
"Is that four weeks in realtime, or in subcontractor time?" it says loudly.
"Real weeks," some woman says - on speakerphone. A-ha.
The glove lets go of me and shuts the door behind me. A finger lays over my lips until I nod. Then it continues the phone call...

This is fascinating. Three computers are being used at the same time. Big wall-mounted screens. I look around, and freeze.
Right across from Valet's desk, there's a huge poster of me. Sleeping. I think that's my old bed... and I'm completely wrapped in chains.
It's still bullshitting on the phone. A word jumps out at me, but I just stand there and wait until it wraps up the call -
"I told you to stay out," it growls. "This is my office."
"You go into my office whenever you feel like it."
After a few seconds, it chuckles. All of the computers become silent.
Picking me up...
I touch down in a big, padded desk chair. My hands are yanked up, held against my neck, and a drawer opens.
"Now where did I... Oh."
The closet door moves. A strap!
Catching my hands so quickly.

My legs are held down. The strap goes under the chair, around my ankles. Round and round it goes. Tug, tug, tug.
"What do you think you're doing," it says quietly, "in my office? Huh?"
Fingers raze me - ribs, belly, chest. I start laughing, and they slow way down.
Valet snickers. "You wanna sit in the big chair? Okay. You're in the big chair -"
"Hey," I interrupt.
"Hey, what?"
"I heard the word 'debenture'."
Low giggles. "Uh-oh."
"Valet?"
"Don't worry about it."
Fingers trip down my sides, and back up.
"S-stop."
"Hey, you wanted to come in."
"Tell me wh- whuh huh hah huh huh -"
"Goofy little amigo. Laugh for me."

I do, for a minute or so, and finally get the words out. "Tuh huh huh t-tell me hee hee huh huh."
Another sigh. The fingers lift off.
"It's a surprise," Valet finally says.
"F-figured that. So... when?"
"Tomorrow. Butt-wipe."
"You're the butt-wipe," I say, mostly out of reflex.
"I'm not the one strapped to a chair, laughing boy."
The hands return, tickling deeper.

Two minutes more, maybe - and oh wow, the strap loosens. My ankles -
"Up," it says, pulling me to my feet. My wrists are still stuck together.
"You spent all my money yet?"
"Good grief. Amigo, I've got it covered. You'll never lose the real estate holdings. All of these great cells aren't goin' anywhere. And neither are we. Quit worrying. Tomorrow - and it's good news, buddy. Real good. Now, git - I've got work to do."
The strap is pulled out straight in front of me, like a leash, and I have no choice but to follow along. Out the door.
As my wrists are freed, I hear computer keys clicking again.
 

I'm apparently a popular guy. The new cigarettes.
Can't do no wrong. Other corporations hate my guts...

Valet's zeroing in on those bikers.
"With the yuppification of the leading American brands and the collapse of several major motorcycle clubs," Carra says, studying me, "the old-school biker has become as quaint as the original cowboys. Romanticized more and more."
"Bikers need bikes," Valet says, with a cackle or two.

For the new breed they're chasing, "we" are gonna offer a solid American-built bike with a price around half of the other domestic brands, and very easy financing opportunities. Safety-conscious, without being pushy about it - shooting an airbag around the rider's head and torso if the bike's speed is above a certain number and the vertical angle drops rapidly. They've just about perfected that now, and it's in an old sci-fi novel I always liked.

Three of the board members see the light. I need the collateral of almost all my holdings to get the financing.
A half-billion dollars on the line. No profit expected for "twelve to twenty-four months."
It's so preposterous that anyone else, except Valet, would surely fail. It doesn't seem to make a bad move. All that time to research stuff, I guess...

"Gotta get bikes within their reach," it says. "The young turks. They won't care if the yuppies sneer at 'em. There's a new form of motorcycle club just about to explode, Amigo - by this fall, I predict. I could show you my research, and the biker mags I've been studying. Best of the brotherhood vibe, too wild for the suits, and I think they might just avoid... the worst of the old mistakes."
"People are people," I say.
"But I'm not. And we're gonna have the bike they'll wrap their legs around - in the chaps we sell. Bigger discounts on everything else, buddy, than anyone's ever offered. Big ol' incentives to buy one of our bikes. And I think almost all of those guys are gonna smoke, and party. Almost risk-free, now. They'll go to rallies. Scuzz may be just the point man for marketing, I think -"
"Have you told him yet?"
"Hinted at it. His eyebrows went up."
"Oh, good."
"Yeah."
"And, of course, many of these new bikers are gonna be ticklish fuckers." It laughs. "At least as touchy as Scuzz is. Oooooh, yeah..."
 

My car stops moving right at the entrance of the driveway. I look, and see my foot on the brake pedal. It's almost as if something pushed my foot down -
In the time it takes to blink, I remember everything. Dammit. No -
"Amigo," Valet says.
"Oh, great."
"Use the south driveway."
I sigh with disgust, and shift into reverse. "I just drove right up here, didn't I?"
"Yeah."
"If I ever figure out how you make me forget about all the fuckin' shit you put me through -"
"You'll run off to Mexico and jump into a big bag of coke," it says, laughing at me. "Park outside the garage. I'll put the car away."
"What are you gonna do to me n-"
"It's Hunk's birthday today."
"Oh." I wait for it to continue talking. "So what?"
"We're gonna give him something he's always wanted..." And it starts to laugh. But this time, it must be thinking about something that's really amusing. Cruel fuckin' sound.
One of the garage doors starts opening.

A hand I can't see gives me a shove...
"Strip down," Valet orders me.
I walk in and look around. Nothing too scary waiting for me, so I loosen my tie. "I'm wondering if this is worth cashing in one of my markers."
"But you won't know for sure, until it's too late," it says. "That's the beauty of how I work."
"Okay, that does it -"
"Listen. It's the poor slob's birthday. He deserves this."
"Hours and hours of gruesome tickling?"
It chuckles. "Gruesome. I like that. Drop those pants, amigo. That suit is goin' to the cleaners..."
"Underwear?"
My shoes pause in midair. "Do you really have to ask?"
"No," I sigh. "I guess not."
"He's not gonna get it today," Valet says, snatching the slacks out of my hand.
I think for a few seconds. "I am."
"Uh-huh." A black thong floats up to me. "Here."
It's silk. This is not a good sign. "I really do not wanna do this -"
"Aaaaaw. Keep telling yourself, it's for Hunk. He's entitled to have some fun."
"As much as you fuckin' tickle him, yeah."
"Watch it. You and your mouth..." Jeans and a t-shirt are lifting off a shelf.
"What do I do?"
"Just be yourself," and it giggles a few times. "When I want you to say something in particular, I'll cue ya."
"Terrific."
White socks, workboots, a tool belt...
Pigskin work gloves, stained with caulk and grease.

I puff on the cigar.
Twisted, as usual. The clothes are all sweaty - and it said that Scuzz broke 'em in. I sure hope it was him.
Four temporary tattoos are marking up my arms, not counting the fake heart-with-a-dagger now on my chest.
It pulls swim goggles on me and holds my arms out - so it can spray me with dirt. I hold my breath, watching something like an airbrush cruise around. Valet works the fine sand into my hair...
"Now you look like a guy who's been workin' outside all day." It takes the goggles off, carefully, and orders me to rub the dirt around a little. I don't see a decent alternative, so I do what I'm told. Greasy sunglasses float up, and I put 'em on.
A battered hard hat lands on my head. "Yeah," it announces. "He'll like it."
"Are you sure?" I mutter.
It snorts once. "I've been inside his head, amigo. Oh, yeah. You smoke that thing. Good... We're takin' the long way to the old servant's quarters," it says. "Four cameras, so please don't fuck it up."
"Where is he?"
"Sitting in the mullet lounge," and I nod. Valet's hung a Nagel in there, of all things, right over the big-screen TV. Old metal-rock posters and a beer-bottle collection, but at least it does have a kickass sound system. The textured ceiling is dark yellow from smoke of one kind or another. We've all chuckled the night away in there. Weeks, altogether.

"Is he tied up?"
"Amazingly, no," Valet says sarcastically. "It being his birthday and all. He took it easy today, and right now... Hmmmm. Smokin' a cigar, feet up, socks on, sweats. Just watchin' TV, with the most dizzying sense of happy anticipation I can give him."
"Which is saying a lot," I say, snapping the ash off the cigar as I stride along.
"Aw, thanks. And if you think brown-nosing is gonna get you out of this, you are sorely mistaken."
"If there was anything that would get me out of this, would you tell me what it is?"
"Maybe, if you asked real nice."
"Valet, I would really l-"
"The answer is no. You're goin' for a ride."
I don't get it. "Literally?"
It sighs. "No. Idiot. A tickle-excursion... Aaaaah, forget it. Just listen. You're going to be a guy who got a job that Hunk really wanted. He's been irritated - and inside, jealous - ever since, and now it's maybe a year later. Check?"
"Check," I sighed.

"Atta boy. I know when your birthday is too. Don't forget. So... Workin' on that old, empty building, up on the roof, you come down - and uh-oh, it's not so empty after all."
I kick at a dandelion. "Shit, what a mystery."
"Yeah. Live feed, so you're gonna make it convincing."
"Why don't you just get Scuzz to do it? Or make me think I'm this guy?" I complain. "I don't get why I have to be... myself, acting like this construction dude."
Valet growls happily. "That's the way the fantasy goes. Ask him later. He wants you, sorta overlaid with this other prick."
"Other? Other prick? Hey!"
It chuckles, squeezing my shoulder. "You're arrogant, sometimes. But I don't hold it against you. All that money."
"Aw, fuck you - and fuck all of this..."

Following the curve of the back hedge, we've come within sight of it now. The servant's quarters, the old ones, more of a carriage house really. Thick chunks of stone and ancient mortar. I've been meaning to get it fixed up, but I seem to forget about it unless I'm looking at it. Which I am now.
"The ladder's around back. No audio - until you're inside."
"You never get tired of twisting the knife one more time, do you?"
"Oh, no," it says, sounding very matter-of-fact about it. "That's a subject to talk about another time. Yeah?"
"I... guess."
"That's a good amigo. Slow down. You're gonna walk around the back - make that strut around, like a good mullethead - and carry a pail of tools up the ladder. With the cigar in your mouth. Think you can handle that?"
"Well, shit, Valet. I don't know. It sounds like it may be too much for me."
"Don't you got a mouth on you." But it sounds proud.

On the way I only saw one of the cameras, but that didn't exactly surprise me. I get up on the roof and set the pail down.
"Look around," Valet says. "Enjoy that cigar. Act like you own the place."
"I do," I say, hearing it laugh for awhile.
"Perfect... Now get the, uh, crowbar-thing out of your toolbelt. Uh-huh. Start walking toward the chimney. Take your time."
I hear something rattle.
"Look. At the ladder, dipshit," it scoffs. "See it move? Stare... Look a little more amazed. Damn. And it's falling."
"Uh-oh, the ladder fell," I say, moving toward it.
"Look down at it. You're stuck. Somehow, you've been trapped up there. Oooooo."
A muffled creaking sound. I see a hatch opening about twenty feet away.
"Stare at it, amigo! Thanks. It's mutherfuckin' magic. You're stunned."
Hands start floating out, turning... Coming for me. Pale green, shiny-dull in that way only acetate can look.
I sigh, real hard.

"And now, you try to come up with a plan. Nowhere to run, is there? That's very good -"
"Bastard."
"Yell at the gloves!"
I pull the cigar and hold onto it. "Bastard! You are! I mean you. No, I mean it. No!"
"Heh heh. But they're gonna jump ya -" There's nothing gentle in the way the hands latch unto my arms. The hard hat falls off.
One of 'em punches me in the gut. Not too hard, but I wasn't expecting it.
"React! Ooooof, they're mean sons of bitches. Struggle. You gotta get away, now... or else."
Twenty gloves, give or take a couple. They're making sure I can't move my limbs at all. One shoves the heel of its palm between my teeth.
"Aaallllllgh," I yell. "Awwwllnf."
"Look more worried. Fucker. Fight me. Something unbelievable is happening to you. The only place you're goin' now... is inside."
Picking me up, the gloves head for the roof hatch.

"I really appreciate this," Valet says, floating me through the attic.
The one glove is still gagging me. "Gnnnnff -"
"He's gonna be on cloud nine... Next, you're going into the cell. Fight hard when I bring you inside, 'cause you'll be on camera again."

Damn. It's decorated like some twisted day care center...

The sound of a cuckoo clock wakes me up.
"It is time... for his seven o'clock spanking."
I groan and squirm, but my hands are pulled together in front of me, and tied slowly.
On the screen showing us the "audience" hidden camera, Hunk snickers at me from his easy chair.
 

Cuckoo clock.
No Hunk. He's... gone.
I'm being positioned for spanking yet again.
"Hey!"
"Hey, what?"
"Where's Hunk?"
"Sleeping like a log. He wore himself out, heh heh -"
"What's with the spanking?"
It snickers, definitely smug. "You've been a bad trespasser."
"Valet? C'mon!"
"Well... all right."
I'm turned over and slammed down on the bed.
"Reach nice and high..."
"What are you doing?"
It laughs long and loud, then, stretching my limbs out further.
"No, dammit! Val-"
A dozen feathers curve up and attack me.
I gasp, scream laughter, throw myself all around.

"You're not going anywhere," Valet says. "Heh heh..."
An enormous red glove floats over me. The feathers zip down to my feet, and hang there -
"N-no! This... wasn't the deal!" I yell.
"It is now." The glove extends only its index finger, wiggling it back and forth. "You were so convincing, in your role, I totally fell for it. Bad trespasser."
"Nnnnoooooooo -"
The feathers start in.
And the glove is dropping down, positioning its fingers to grab me. Squeezed by it, slowly worked up and down as if I was... my own cock, in one of Valet's hands.
"I'm going to punish you now," it cackles, "with more tickling than you can possibly imagine. Even you."
I suck in air -
Yards of satin slide around me.
Oh, I'm way too blown away to laugh now.
 

- - 20 - -
 

The door opens. And closes.
I look up and see Scuzz coming in, emptying smoke out of his lungs. He tosses his keys on a little table by the door, and turns -
Seeing me.
His head moves just a little, as Valet takes away the memory block. "Aw, fuck."
He comes over to me...

It's been a long day. I got one of the most excruciating baths of my life - and that's saying something - followed by an hour of cock-teasing, a cum-shot that made me see double, a half-hour of post-climax insanity, a nap, lunch, dragged back to the bed for another long rubdown...
I've been here on the couch for a couple hours. Spread out, at first, and then it shackled my hands to the wall and chained my ankles to boat anchors. I could move my feet a little, for awhile, which was maddening when the fingers kept chasing me. And the taunts didn't help. Neither did the carton of cigarettes it dropped on the coffee table, because more than once it's made me sit here and chuckle until they were all gone.
Lazy feather dusters. Devoted, and light... not enough to make me laugh. Chain-smoking, too tired to squirm now, watching the feathers move around.

It gagged me right before Scuzz walked in, and dropped the feather dusters.
"Huuuwuh," I say.
"Sick son of a bitch. And I just walked into it again, huh? Every fuckin' time."
All I could do was nod.
Behind his back, one of those enormous red gloves is coming. It's as tall as he is.
"Nnnnnnnnnnggf," I yell, yanking at the wrist-chains. I keep looking from it to Scuzz, jerking my head.
"What now?" he mumbles, turning around -
The glove moves fast, and that nightmarish palm slaps against his back.
Before he can even whip his head around, the fingers close around him.
He shouts real fuckin' loud.
"Bad guy," Valet says, like it's finally caught up with him. "Shit-for-brains. Ain't so big now, are ya?"
The index finger wraps around his chest, pinning his right arm.

"Nnnnn-nuh!" Groaning, he arches as hard as he can. His boots are pedaling uselessly. He's gotta know he's not slipping out of that hand, I think sadly.
"You're a dead man. A whole bunch of little gloves are waiting. And they're pissed. Gonna fuckin' waste you. Big, bad biker. You're done for."
He pushes and pounds on the satin with his free hand. Scuzz is in a flat-out panic. I don't see that too often... at least, not that I remember. The glove squeezes him a little, and he grunts. Harder - and he stops pounding...
"Let's go," Valet says. "Pound on my glove, willya? I'm gonna pound you. Now you got me pissed off too. Fuckin' tickle time. You're a dead man..."
The glove starts floating backwards, taking him away.
"Say goodbye to Amigo. You might not get another chance."
His hand claws at the wall, but he disappears around the corner anyway.
"That was fun. I don't know why I didn't make huge gloves a long time ago," it says conversationally. The gag is loosening. "They're ridiculously fun."
"You're scaring me," I can finally croak. "So think about what's going through his mind right now."
"Aaaaaah. Heh... You know me. All talk."
"Sure."

It gets me a cigarette going. "I got a great punk version of his song. It's like a minute and a half long, okay? I'm gonna play it, tear into him full-speed, do it again... maybe a third time. I want him light-headed. Defeated. And then I'm gonna leave that monster glove over the bed, ready to grab him, and do the feather-duster thing for the rest of the night. Cajun music. But he's gonna be expecting that glove to come down and mess with him, so naturally it's never going to do it. Not tonight."
A steel bar floats over my ankles.
"And you..."
I watch it bolt my ankle-cuffs to the spreader-bar.
"I think you've got more dust on ya, hiding somewhere."
My feet rise over my head. Four long chains snake up to big hooks on the ceiling. By the time it's making me light a new cigarette off the last one, I can't swing my legs at all.
Valet sighs. "I gotta wonder about a guy who doesn't know how to keep his crotch clean."
The feather dusters start riding my thighs.
Even as I pull, and moan, I see a tray landing on the coffee table. Dildos, toothbrushes, a ball spreader, disposable razors. A dozen containers - oil, gels, creams, liniment...

I end up in a dungeon for a few more days. Scuzz isn't around when I get out. His bike's in the garage, though.
I have a weird feeling...
"Valet?"
"Amigo of mine." Almost purring.
I make a face and look back at the inside door. "Have you got Scuzz?"
"Uh-huh."
"I have the weirdest feeling..."
"He's okay," it says. A little too quickly.
"Valet."
It makes a little contemptuous sound. "What?"
"Would you tell me if he wasn't?"
"Huh?"
"No," I said grimly. "I don't think you would."
"Ease up there, fuckwad," it says. "Scuzz is busy. Simple as that. If I need you, for anything, I'll let you know."
Defensive...
"You're not telling me something."
It chuckles. "There's all kinds of things I don't tell you."
"Have it your way," I sigh.
"Damn straight..."
 

Three days later, I slip out of a merger meeting and find a stairway. In total defiance to law and courtesy I light a cigarette, lean back against the wall, and exhale all the fuckin' stress. Two more hard drags, one right after the other...
Starting to feel normal, despite the fuckin' suit. There was something else I have to do. Ah - my phone. It vibrated in my pocket, earlier. A couple times. So I dig it out.
Valet.
There's three text messages. The most recent one says:

911. FOR REAL THIS TIME. - V.

That makes sense. I take a drag, and realize something. Staring at the no-smoking sign. There's a feeling in my chest, and the back of my neck, that I've never felt before.
It's not pretending to need me.
"You're... not confident," I finally blurt. "For once. Fuck."
"I am so," it shoots back, totally confirming what I just said.
"I can't believe this. It's like Christmas."
A long silence. "Can we do this later?"
"When I'm in a nice pair of stocks, I bet. No. Valet, no. I wanna bask in this fuckin' moment, right now. Who knows if I'll ever - if you'll ever let me remember it again, once you reel me back in. You're uncertain about something. It's almost worth all the shit you've put me through to know that. You're imperfect."
No response.
"Hello?"
"Just tell me when you're through," it says.
"You understand what I'm sayin', here?"
"Loud and clear."
"Can you get why I feel so fantastic, at this very second?"
"Yes, amigo. I believe I understand why this is such a treat." It chuckles darkly. "Now, do you have any idea how much I'm going to enjoy paying you back for this embarrassment?"
"Tit for tat. Buddy," I taunt it. "Maybe it's good for you. Know how it feels. In fact, I fuckin' order you to meditate on it for awhile."
A barely controlled sigh. It is gonna think up new, amazing ways to tickle me into a humbled puddle of cum. I don't like thinking about that.

"If you hang up," it finally threatens.
"Ooooo, not a chance. I've gotta enjoy this while I can. Before you get me in a cell again."
"At least you have the sense to recognize how incredibly short your life will be. But until then, you listen to me. Cocky amigo. Scuzz is acting all weird."
"Such as?"
"Won't talk, doesn't move hardly at all. He's deep inside his, uh, his own head."
Doesn't sound all that different from the usual. Hey, I think, anything to get the fuck away from Valet. "Let him sleep it off. Don't touch him for twenty-four hours. Can you do that?"
"Boyle... He won't smoke."

That sinks in -
"I'm on my way," and I push off the wall. "No, wait. Dammit." I take a last drag and chuck the cigarette. "We're gonna be done here... Well, before five. It's not gettin' finished today. Definitely not. So I'd be there by eight at the latest -"
"Leave the jet. Faster to take a charter," it says. Sounding more relieved than I've ever heard it. And I find that very gratifying, the relief in its voice... "LAX. I booked it for 5:45."
"That'll work - Hey. Whoa. If this is a trick -"
"It's not."
"I'm telling people here that... uh, I'll be checking in with them, later tonight." I've tried this before, but I think Valet makes me call and forget all about it, so it can hang up the phone and snicker at me. "No. Sending them photos. With proof of the date, you gettin' me? If they don't get 'em, I've been kidnapped. Tear the mansion apart and see what's underneath -"
"Fuck, amigo. I can make you forget stuff over the phone. From a distance. It's easy."

I pause, with the stairwell door open. "Oh. Yeah." So much for that idea.
A messenger looks at me, sniffs, and nods his approval. I look around, flip him off quickly and grin back. Walking off, I hear him snicker...
"Dammit, Amigo, you be on that fuckin' plane," it growls. "5:45. This is not about tickling you. I've got a nice ticklish stuntman laughin' for me right now. No trick. Not this time."
"Okay," I say, coming up to the conference room door, fixing my tie. "I hope my suspicion is... understandable."
"Totally. But I'm still gonna punish you. Later. Scuzz needs -"
"I know. Worrying won't help anything. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it." I open the door and whisper, "You torturer."
"Save it. We'll have a taunting hour. Trade insults."
"Deal," I say, hanging up before it can say anything else.
 

"No music?" I say, looking all around.
"I'm not tickling him right now. Hello," it gripes, like I'm stupid.
"I sorta hope he is psychotic," I say. "At least he'll get away from your smartass remarks."
"Learned from the best. Get ready."
"Huh?"
My right foot comes up, and kicks the door in.
I thought we weren't gonna do this - at least, not this way - but it appears I've been overruled. Valet's running my body now. I laugh like a psycho and jump inside.
Damn, that's a scary fuckin' glove. Curled just over him. I forgot how big...
When it jumps up, I can finally see his face. Drool. Oh shit, he looks totally gone.
Then he glances over at me. He doesn't react, otherwise. But I'll take what I can get -
Impressive fuckin' laughter comes out of my mouth. I sound like a pro football player on angel dust. Maybe it's the cigar butt...
The glove charges me. Enormous fingers -
Valet has me fake right, and duck left. Low, bouncing on my left knee - which hurts, even through the chaps. The glove on my right hand goes back, under the jacket. I move easily, as if I do this every day.
My fingers find a handle.
Huge fuckin' knife.
Another chuckle - of victory. Still moving toward the bed, my thumb flips a snap open, and I fling the sheath to the floor.
The glove is flying low and fast. My boots. Take me down first, then deal with the knife. And that's when I have a horrible thought. Maybe this is a setup. The glove will win, and strap me down too. Both of us, here, as unhinged as Scuzz looks -
Aw now... amigo. I hear Valet, in my head, sounding all sad.
My wrist flips toward the glove.
The knife sinks into the index finger...
Through it. Pinning it to the floor.

The other fingers are flailing around. The glove tugs and tugs. That must be one sharp knife. I think you'd have to be semi-comatose to fall for this... But the glove does look as if it's really unable to pull itself free.
I'm scanning the room. Moving faster than I expected, I get to some iron bars leaning against the wall. It's part of the cage Valet was going to build around Scuzz. If it wasn't all leaning up against the wall already, I doubt I could even move it.
Bend your knees! Valet thinks frantically.
I do, as I pull the bars to the vertical position, but not because I have any say in the matter. A good size cluster of muscle deep in my right arm flares up. Triceps. Searing pain, gone almost immediately.
Yelling, I slide the bars across the floor.
Let 'em fall on the glove.
Pinned.
I drag two other sections over. Valet is seriously taxing my shoulders. I can't believe how heavy...
But it has to be convincing.
That glove's not going anywhere.
I stand over it, and laugh. Take a last tug on the cigar, and cast it aside.

Then I reach into a pocket and pull out a laserknife. It's got an infrared sight to calculate the cutting depth needed without touching anything that's close, in its core, to the temperature of human innards. I know all about it, all of a sudden.
Four slashes, and the cuffs are history.
I sit on the side of the bed, and stick my hand out over his chest.
Scuzz just stares at the glove I'm wearing as if he can't figure out what it is. There's something... babylike about that. Fuckin' creeps me out.
"Russell," I growl. It's the first time I used his real name in years.
He blinks a few times.
"Let's go. C'mon." I move my hand. "Out."
After a few seconds, he lowers his arm. Takes my hand, and lets me ease him up.
I see life starting to return. Snickering again - the big winner, sounding psychotic as hell - my other hand digs into my leather jacket...
A pack of unfiltered cigarettes.
Valet shakes the pack, and I bite one. Hold the pack out to him.
He reaches for it, clumsy as hell. But he's goin' for it.
I cackle again, and dig for a lighter. Get his cigarette lit first.
Alright. There he goes.

My hand moves the lighter differently than I usually do. Swaggering, and I've got the flame a little closer somehow. That's because I'm a mean mutherfuckin' biker now, growling out chuckles that would scare the shit out of respectable citizens, and I just busted a fuckin' brother out of a tickle execution.
I snap the lighter closed, and kick out smoke luxuriously. Chuckle a little more. Give Scuzz a big ol' grin - C'mon, now, be like me.
He watches me, and tries a weak drag. And another. I nod.
After the next one, I see his brow scrunch up. Scuzz takes a hard, angry-looking drag. Atta boy, I think. There's still no sign he even knows he's smokin', or not just imagining it.
I hold up the lighter.
"Burn it," I growl.
He looks terrified. His cigarette is shaking badly as he sucks in. His eyes are hesitant to even look at the monster glove.
And then his eyes narrow. There's the shifty-eyed fucker I know. Staring at me.
"Heh," he laughs. Almost a snort. He takes another Scuzz-drag of fine enhanced tobacco.
His thumb flicks the lighter open. Sparks it -
And carefully, now, he lobs the flame onto the glove.
It seems to panic, banging the bars against one another, trying to rear back and get away from the pale blue flames that flow up toward the thumb. We sit and smoke, watching the acetate burn.

He starts another cigarette and massages his ankles.
I go out and get his clothes out of the trunk of my car.

Two bikers, in a Mercedes, rollin' down the 101. Off to LAX. Sure.
He stares out the window, not bothering to take the cigarette out of his mouth. And there is always a cigarette there now. His third liter of water is half-gone, sitting between his legs.
He smells like cum. And oil. Even with my rotten sense of smell, I notice it.
"Pull over," he says suddenly.
Uh-oh, I think, if you're gonna puke I hope you can hold it...
But he walks off the edge of the shoulder and whips out his cock. Pissing, with the cigarette in his mouth and his head cocked back, looking out at the ocean. As if there weren't a half-dozen houses in sight, and cars racing by.
"Scuzz is back," I laugh, as he gets back in the car.
"Fuckin' right. Scuzz the fuckin' super-ticklish biker."
"Aaaah. You've got some time off coming."
"And then back to the same ol' thing," he says, yawning. "That was all fake. Right? You, the glove burnin' up. All that."
I puff on my cigar. "Ask me tomorrow, cocksucker."
That gets a laugh. "Wannabe."
"Fuckin' cunt."
"You think you're tough."
"Naw. You-know-who made me this way."

"Is it here?" and he can't help but look in the back seat, as if there'll be a giant red hand there, waving at him.
"How the hell would I know?"
"Alright," he snickers. "I'm better now. Some. Drop the act."
I burp, and grin at him. "Can't. Fuckin' stuck like this. The bastard..."
He cocks his head. "It did that?"
"Make ya feel more comfortable. Pussy."
A loud laugh. "Yeah. One-percenter... Shit."
"I don't give a fuckin' rat's ass what you fuckin' think," I sigh. "Fuck 'em all. We're fuckin' off to mutherfuckin' Hawaii."
"I get it," he says. Grinning. "Fuck fuck fuck."
"Poor little Scuzz, gotta fuckin' go rescue his ass. Take him to the airport. Right fuckin' now."
"Hawaii."
"Uh-huh."
"Is my bike gonna be on the plane?"
I have to grin. "We're gonna rent. Got yer helmet, though."
"Shit."
"You rest up tomorrow, I finish up some business - and then we jump the puddle. Gonna ride then, ya stupid fuck. Sleep on the beach, get some tail. Smoke a pound of Maui. Maybe learn to surf."
"Sure." He shakes his head. "Surfin'. That'll happen."
But Valet told me how his expression changes when he watches surfing competitions on TV. An old regret, never having taken it up...
"All we gotta do is get up at, oh, 'bout five in the morning -"
"I'm gonna punch you so fuckin' hard, your arm'll fall clean off."
I nod. Much better. There's the old Scuzz.
 

- - 21 - -
 

Perfect temperature, and just a few clouds racing along.
Scuzz approves of the rental bike. I love seeing him grin like this, like a big ol' hairy toddler covered with tats. But I won't ever tell him that.
We keep it almost down to the speed limit, though just riding again has got ol' Scuzz wound up something fierce. I signal the exit, and we pull off the interstate. Through a town, to the hotel...
A smaller guy is out front, smoking. Decked out in biker leather like us. Cool as they come. Real sly look on his face.
We roll up, gun the engines once just to piss people off and kill the motors.
"Hey!" Scuzz says, way too loud.
"Rat-bastard," Hunk nods. "In Hawai'i. Unbelievable."
"How'd you get here?"
"I was tied up in the cargo hold," he says, smiling. "Same plane as you."
"Naw..." But Scuzz, he's almost buying it.
"It sent him on ahead. Didn't I tell ya?"
"Gonna kick your ass, Amigo. I swear. So fuckin' hard."
"Yeah, yeah. What the hell is... it doin', with all three of us here?"
"There were three dudes tied up in the garage when I left," Hunk says, and he looks like he's got mixed feelings about that. "Our replacements."
"Permanent, let's hope," Scuzz drawls.
"Stupid fucker," I say, grinning.

"If I understood correctly," Hunk continues. "One was a bounty hunter -"
"Alright," Scuzz laughs. "Shoe's on the other foot now."
"And... the others were a couple of the guys he'd caught."
We all think about that a little. Hunted down, goin' back to the joint - and here come these mean, happy gloves. C'mon in. Relax, boys, it's a world of mutherfuckin' laughter in here... For a month, maybe two. Even to us it seems weird to imagine it. Free, one day - it's been a while since we knew what that word meant - and then howlin' like a monkey a couple days after that. Weeks of Valet-tickling, one after another -
Scuzz moves first. He shivers, and makes a face. "Wouldn't that just suck."

Four rooms, connected by a nice suite with a view that makes my dick hard, almost...
"Four?" I say to Hunk.
"A surprise guest," he says, with that mysterious smile.
"Or you just like to waste my money, boy."
"Uh-huh. He'll be at dinner, maybe. Surfboards are reserved, we got a reservation at six - one of those outdoor places where they bring ya a whole damn pig. And our 'dates' get here at eleven -"
"Good job, dude. Real good."
He nods. "Don't let him drink too much."
I think about that. "Ain't gonna be easy."
"Snatch. Just keep tellin' him. I will, too." And he laughs. "He can do the math."
"Did you get any ice yet?" I ask. "My arm is fuckin' killin' me."

Hunk wasn't kidding. A whole little pig... Hula dancers, wind and waves. Scuzz is unwinding more every minute.
After we're done and they've taken the carcass away, brought us Irish coffee to go with our smokes, I see another biker walk in.
"I don't fuckin' believe this!" Scuzz says, getting up.
"Happy birthday," I finally say, feeling dazed.
It's Randy.

He strides on over, and Scuzz gives him a big ol' bear hug. "Gonna stomp you to death. Fuckin' son of a bitch."
"Easy, there," Randy laughs. He recognizes me, and his dark eyes light up, the smile getting wider still. It's about the best greeting a straight guy can hope for. From another guy.
How many years has it been?

I forgot how crazy his eyes are. Scuzz naturally looks as if he's ready to beat somebody senseless if they're dumb enough to talk to him. Don't mess with me, I'm Scuzz. But Randy has a leer - I mean, a permanent gleam in his eye that's looks like he's got enough manic energy to be happy for a thousand years. He generally looks like he's about ten seconds away from shooting his wad, all the time. Those two, side by side - like some outlaw version of the comedy and tragedy masks, both more animal than human. Both equally dangerous, I think.
Right then I understand something new about Valet, why it has to catch us bad boys and see how far it can push.
"This bastard got away," Scuzz tells him happily, "and so a certain mutherfucker's been on a major mission to wipe its ass with bikers ever since. And I get to pay for it."
"Good. I kick back every fuckin' night and think of you, gettin' the business. And I laugh my ass off, bro."
"Aaaaaa-aaaaah..."
 

I yawn myself awake. Sound of the surf. I love that.
I'm hungry. The call girl left... what, two hours ago. It's after five, and still pretty dark since our windows face west. There are some donuts in the kitchen. So I debate getting at 'em for awhile, and then stumble down the hall.
Scuzz and Randy are on the balcony. There are beer bottles all around 'em, and thirty or forty cigarette butts.
"Go away," Scuzz says. Mild chuckles, which are a sign that he's kidding.
"Sure, piss all over the host."
"Host." Randy hoots a time or two, shaking his head.
"That's former employer to you. Scumbag."
"I'm former, all right. Else I'd probably still be in the attic."
I slide a chair over. "Attic?"
Scuzz nods. "If you ain't seen it, just be glad." And Randy laughs.
Hunk walks over to the refrigerator... except he's broader, and his hair is dark. It's not Hunk -
"Uh... Who are you?" I say to the guy.
He looks up, smiling. Walks over to the sliding door. White teeth, impossibly tan skin, holding a sheet closed so he's not totally naked. "Tako," he says. "Hey. I'm with Hunk."
A few seconds pass.
"Is that so," Scuzz says quietly.

I see Hunk coming up - until he sees us all. He stops dead. Looks down, and keeps approaching.
"Whoops. He slipped off the leash," he says, glancing at me.
Tako laughs easily. Not a care in the world.
I nod. "I hate it when they do that."
"C'mon, boy..."
"Woof."
And they go back to bed.
Scuzz and I look at each other.
"Not a word outa you," I say quietly.
"What?," he says, full of innocence. "I didn't even say nuthin'."
Randy shakes his head. "You guys crack me up."

Breakfast is closer to lunchtime, but what the hell. Room service trays all over the place.
Hunk comes down the hall. Hawaiian shirt, black bicycle shorts.
"Mornin'," I say to him. "Soup's on."
"Listen," he says, looking at the floor near Scuzz's chair. "If you wanna talk about... uh, Tako, and all that, let's get it out of the way now."
Scuzz stares at Hunk. "You think we didn't know?"
"Uh..."
"Fuckhead. Why the hell would I care?"
A few seconds tick by. Then Hunk sighs, relieved.
"Things are what they are," I say, shrugging, as I spread jam on an English muffin.
"If you're a straight-up guy, that's what counts," Randy says -
"No pun intended," Hunk and I say at the same time. Then, "Jinx."
And we all bust up.
"I'm gonna tell... you-know-who," Scuzz growls. Scary, menacing. "Just you wait. When it hears, it's gonna work you over like nuthin' you've ever seen before."
"Tickled straight," I say quietly.
Scuzz cackles, more at his sick joke than anything. Telling Hunk it's okay.
"If you're dumb enough to think it doesn't already know," and Hunk is actually blushing - his usual happy-goofball self again - "you can go fuck a tailpipe."
He and Scuzz look at each other, and nod once.

"Nice shorts," Randy says.
"Not you too," Hunk shoots back, getting a plate. "Or is that a come-on?" He bites into a piece of bacon.
"Fuck."
"Uh-huh."
"I happened to notice," and Randy's so damn happy I expect him to break down and laugh at any second, "which of our guests, last night, was the last fuckin' one to leave."
We all look at him, and then at each other.
Hunk sticks his fist in the air, nodding as he chews.

We ride all over the fuckin' place...
"Look out," Scuzz says to me, out of the side of his mouth.
"For what?"
"Kid's gonna corner you. Make sure you're okay with it."
"You're kidding."
He laughs. "Randy got it first. Get the easy one out of the way -"
"You too?"
"At the last bar."
I think it over. "Kind of a cheap way to get a hug."
"Oh, fuck that," Scuzz says mildly.

Back at the suite, in the kitchen...
"Amigo."
"Hunk."
"I just wanna make sure we're good. You know. I hope this doesn't change... too much."
"Naaaaahh," I grin. "No problem, here."
"Alright then -"
"You know," and I look around, "I guess it's okay to tell you now. I've always wanted to see what it was like to stick my cock up some other guy's butt."
Aw, the look on his face is worth it. Ever since I got put through the ringer for his birthday, I've been waiting for the right time to say that. As deadpan as possible.
He gets that Hunk smirk and wheels around, picks up a pie, and heaves it. I don't even know what a pie is doing here -
I step to the left, but my arm deflects it. The pie tin clatters on the floor.
"You better sleep with one eye open," he laughs. "Son of a bitch."
"Look," and I scrape a handful off my bicep. Coconut. "You creamed on me."
"That better not be my pie," Scuzz yells from the nearest bathroom.

"Amnesty," Randy sighs. "Gotta love it."
Valet "knew" somebody in the local chapter of his motorcycle club.
Apparently more than a couple of those riders have done time in Valet's rooms...
Word got to Randy somehow. Free pass, Hawaii, and it even threw in seventy-two hours after he sets foot in LAX again. Hide and seek.
But he's not worried at all. I'm dyin' to know where he's been laying low, since he finally got away from his old workplace. My home. But he knows better.
"Besides," he laughs, "with me still runnin' loose, the fucker gets to take out all that frustration on every other guy it can grab."
 

A lighter snaps closed. I don't hear the usual contented sigh, or taunting little chuckle...
Oh. It's not Valet. Cool. Hawaii. That's so excellent. I roll over -
"Whups," Scuzz mumbles, from the doorway. As if he didn't know I'd wake up. Yeah, right. This is fourth or fifth time he's, well, summoned me this way in the three weeks since we got here. Always the lighter, and "Whups". Randy's his usual confidant, but I think he passed out even before I went to bed...
"Can't sleep?" I say, mostly to get him talking.

And that leads, one more time, to watching the sun come up from the deck chairs on the east balcony. Irish coffee, and some great Maui smoke. And a whole lotta conversation.
"Can't fuckin' let go of it."
"You will," I say confidently. Already, the nightmares are tapering off.
"I sound like a busted record."
"That's okay. Takes what it takes."
He sighs, looking out at the water. "Fuckin' haunts me. Still. The big fingers were reaching back down, third or fourth day, and I'm not even a human being anymore. Some kinda toy. Worry beads."
I nod. "That's a scary way to put it. Whoa."
"Just another fuckin' fantasy it got to play out."
"And it got real scared, when it saw what happened to you. It's had all this time to think."
He chuckles. "So we're really gonna get our asses kicked, the day we get off the plane."
"The month... we get off the plane," I say.
He groans. "You're a sick bastard."
"I know."
"It'll be hairy."

"But we're not back there yet," I remind him, "and nothing's ever gonna be as hairy for you as that last go-round."
He looks doubtful. "Easy to say."
"It's smarter than that. Look, I don't wanna say this, but at least it'll prove you're not gonna see anything like that big fuckin' glove again. It almost lost you. Drove you nuts. And I think Valet definitely is not gonna let us get away like that. Gaga."
"Not yet."
"C'mon, now."
"It's too smart to... wrap things up. With me."
"Yeah. With any of us. Ain't done yet."
We think about that.
"It really got that worried, huh?"
I look at him. "Dude. I have never heard it sound like that. You wouldn't fuckin' smoke, and it was frantic..."
"Sheee-it -" and he lets go with a feisty ol' belly-laugh. That makes me relax.
"There he is."
"Oh, man..." He takes a drag, rubbing his face. "What a crock. It just can't help itself."

I freeze. "You believe that?"
He nods, and cracks his neck. "Uh-huh. Wipe that stupid-ass look off your face. Of course we know. Randy, Hunk - sure."
"Wow. I thought I was the only one - "
"It's a fuckin' addict. I mean, sure, it's really gettin' off on... well, you know what. But it can't stop."
Somehow, I'm glad we agree on that. Then I get suspicious. "You think it planted that idea in our heads?"
"What - it can't help itself? Naaah." He sticks up his hand. "One, it gets to fuck with our heads more if we're thinkin' how much it's choosing to turn up the heat. Two, it can't let me go, even after the hell it just put me through?"
I have to nod.
"Three, it pulls in some poor fuckers before we're even on the plane, you and me. What do you say - bet it's got five, right now? The limit?" And I know what he means. Valet hardly ever tickles more than five guys at once anymore, because it says any more than five and it starts to get sloppy. "Goin' full-bore, imagining it's me. Us." He shakes his head real slowly. "Four... How many cells are there? No, I mean - how many separate pieces of fuckin' property have a cell on 'em? And I'm countin' your main spread, there, as one piece."
"Oh." There's cells all over the mansion grounds now. But I see what he means. "Ten?"

He scowls at me. "No. I bet it's closer to fifty. Secret ones you don't know about."
"I bet you're right." Suddenly I notice the cigarette in my hand. I don't remember lighting this one. "And Fifth. The damn thing hunts me down in Europe, when there's millions of perfectly good targets closer to home."
"Including me."
"That's right. Shit."
Scuzz yawns. "But it had to have you. That fucker's obsessed."
"I'm stuck," I say quietly. "All of us."
He just looks at me... "Including Valet."
Several seconds go by.
"Yeah. Shit. Guess so."
 

We fuck around for a few more days. A little restless. We're gonna get totally nuked, except Randy, and I think about it more and more.
It's calling me every day now. Even Randy recognizes the tune, Valet's unique ring tone, reset every time I change it. "I've Got You Under My Skin."
I take a deep breath before I take the latest call. "Hello there."
"Amigo. I miss you somethin' awful."
"Parts of me, maybe." Randy moves in closer, grinning like a cat. I hold the phone flat, so he can hear.
"All of you. I want you guys to pick a damn date. The big homecoming. You can't put it off forever."
"Didn't I tell you? Randy's got a plan. We're all running."
There's a pause. I look at him - and he's got a surprised look on his face. Like he wants to shush me up. But I know he's not afraid of Valet anymore, or at least not the way I am.
"How is Randy, anyway?" it says amiably. "You tell him I miss him. There's a few cells reserved and ready. Personalized."
He rolls his eyes.
"I'll let him know."
"You do that. Now give me a date."

"Gettin' edgy?"
It sighs. "Yeah. To the point that you really don't wanna yank my chain right now... Amigo."
"Ah." I know that tone. "Understood. How much longer can I -"
"Three more days."
"Impossible. A week."
"No-ooo," it says calmly.
"Valet. It's for Scuzz."
"That's not gonna work. You keep tellin' me he's fine. Four days."
Hmmmm. "Six."
"Amigo..."
"Six."
It actually growls into the phone. "Five. Dammit."
"Five it is."
"I'd just hate to be you when the cell door locks this time," it snickers.
"Well, that's a great thought to end with."
"Call you back later, after I buy the tickets. Oh - and you'd better show up with nice tans."
"Why?"
"Healthy, rested up. And dark. Same guys, different hue. It's a visual thing."
More videotaping. That's what I think. "Okay."
It chortles, and hangs up.

Hunk is looking right at me. "How long?"
I scowl and look down, holding up all the fingers on my left hand.
"Fuck," Scuzz snaps.
We all look at Randy... but he just lights a cigarette. Way too casual.
Hunk and Scuzz start to smile.
"Randy," Hunk says, "Let's go for a walk."
He's smirking too. "Why?"
"Somethin' I want you to see."
"Yeah," Scuzz barks. "The inside of a fuckin' box."
"Luggage store, in the mall. Big trunk."
"Yeah."
I see Randy's fighting not to laugh, so I join in. "We'll make plenty of air-holes..."
"Big-ass lock," Scuzz says.
"No thanks," Randy sighs. "Got other plans."
"I like that picture," I sigh. "The plane arrives, we're not on it... but a big trunk is waiting in the cargo compartment. It's bouncing around. Muffled yells coming out of it -"
Hunk waves his hand. "And a van pulls up, without a driver. The back doors swing open... and two gloves come and pick up the trunk -"
"Ow. Stop it," Randy laughs. "You guys have been around that son of a bitch too long."
"Ain't that the truth," Scuzz says. At least he's laughing about it.

On to Part 6

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