“Jesus Christ,” Duke growled, “don’t interrupt her. I want to get this insanity over with and put it all behind us. Now, Girl, you were in your third favorite alleyway. Then what happened?”
I stuck my tongue out at Priest and refocused on Duke who I swear almost halfway smiled at me. “Right. I was minding my own business when someone grabbed me from behind. He put his hand over my mouth and tried to drag me into his van. He had a syringe he tried to stick me with, but I stuck him with it first. He had a little nap while I tied him up with his handy-dandy duct tape, loaded him into the van, and that’s when I saw it. He had a box, and I got totally evil vibes from it. I knew it was a bad box, but I opened it anyway. Inside, I saw hair. Lots and lots of locks of hair tied with sad ribbons. He had twenty-two locks, and I knew he planned to make my hair into number twenty-three. So, we went on afield trip to the desert, where Sheila and I bonded. I cut off his hands and shot him in the head. He’s buried in the desert, and so is his serial killer caboodle.”
As I finished my story, I realized all three men had gone as still as statues. Turned into pillars of salt… like Steve Jobs’s wife in the Bible level of still. That was really freaking still. Finally, Duke blinked and leaned forward, saying, “You killed a man who tried to drug and abduct you? And he had a trophy case filled with locks of hair. You’reabsolutelysure he had hair?”
I giggled smugly. “I think I know what hair looks like, Duke. Did Priest call you prez because you’re the president of a country? Am I still in America?” Duke ignored my questions and turned back to look at Priest.
“Go. Now. I want the body found; we need to know if it’s him!” Priest and Bones swiftly exited the dungeon. Duke remained seated, but he was also gone. His body might have been right in front of me, but I’d disassociated so much in my life that I knew what it looked like. Mentally, Duke was somewhere else, and given his harsh tone with Priest and Bones and the look of despair on his face, it wasn’t a nice place.
In an attempt to bring him back to the here and now, I spoke in a calm, polite voice to ask, “Mr. President Duke sir, may I have that cerveza now? Or some water? Or better yet, you could untie me, and Sheila and I can go get our own. Nothing against your beverages here, but a girl likes options, ya know?”
Duke startled at my voice, blinking back into reality. Instead of thanking me for helping him back to the present, he stood and walked away. Over his shoulder, he called back, “You will stay where you are until we corroborate your story. Someone will come down to give you water.” And then he was gone. Alone at last. I wonder what Sheila’s up to?
Chapter 3
The Girl
Some people might not know this, but a large part of being held prisoner was learning to manage your boredom. Once you got over the terror of being held captive and whatever pain your jailers might dish out, it was really just a waiting game. Lucky for me, I was thebestat games. Growing up, I had to be. I was born in captivity and have been inside one prison or another my entire life. I didn’t remember a time when I wasn’t at the mercy of Uncle Roark, being tortured and trained until I became useful to him and the family. If Duke thought leaving me all on my lonesome in his discount dungeon tied to a chair was a hardship, well, that was just adorable. I played along for a while so I didn’t hurt his feelings. I didn’t want him to think he was a bad captor and get performance anxiety! So, I spent some time pretending to cry, and I threw in a few dramatic pleas for help or mercy just to really look like I mean it. That got boring really quick, so I took a little nappy-nap. When I woke up, I sang a few of my favorite songs.
I was in the middle of crooning some old Frank Sinatra standardsto the security camera when I heard the dungeon doors open. A man sauntered into the room like he was King of the Dungeon, placing a bottle of water on the steps. I stopped my song and was about to politely offer to start from the beginning so he could experience my melodiousness from the top when he walked close,too close, to me and leaned down to peer into my face. Up close, I could see that this guy was very unfortunate-looking. His poop-brown eyes were red-rimmed, his nose a bit too long and bulbous at the tip, and he had a huge wine-stain birthmark covering his left cheek. His lank black hair looked greasy, and it flopped into his eyes as he looked me up and down. Looks weren’t everything, though; maybe he was an absolute delight of a person, but somehow, I doubted it. I squinted my eyes and tilted my head a bit to try to decide what his birthmark reminded me of. It was kind of like finding shapes in the clouds, but not as fun.
“What are you lookin’ at, bitch?”
So…he wasn’t an absolute delight, then.
“Well, Sir Snarls-a-lot, since you asked, I was looking at you. You know because your face was so close to mine.”
“I had to come see for myself what all the fuss was about. You ain’t much of a looker, are you?”
I snickered. “Says the pot to the furnace.” Sir Snarls-a-lot looked confused. Maybe he wasn’t used to witty women like me? “Plus, if you hadn’t bathed in days and spent who knows how long strapped to a chair, I doubt you’d be runway-ready, either. Now sashay away, meanie.” I turned my nose up and my face away from him, indicating as well as I could that I was done with this conversation. Jerk face.
Apparently, Sir Snarls-a-lot didn’t like being dismissed. He raised his hand, and I caught a swift backhand to the face. Bright, manic eyes caught mine as I turned my head to spit the blood out of my mouth from my teeth catching on the inside of my cheek. I bared my bloody teeth in a vicious smile and said, “Oh, Snarls, that’s one.” If he expected tears or pleas for mercy, he had another thing comin’. Sir Snarls-a-lot widened his eyes and backhanded me again on the opposite cheek. “That’s two.” Sir Snarls-a-lot lived up to his name as he growled at me, landing apunch to my stomach. Every hit he landed was counted, and my refusal to cry or beg seemed to infuriate him as his tantrum continued.
Once he realized his beating wouldn’t get him the reaction he wanted, Snarls changed tactics. He grabbed a handful of my dirty hair and pulled my head back, bringing a lighter dangerously close to my eye. “You wanna keep running that mouth now, whore?” Before I could respond, the dungeon doors burst open, and Sir Snarls-a-lot suddenly flew back from me. He hit the wall with a thud but was up again in a flash with one of his signature snarls. Bones stood before me, breathing heavily, and looking very miffed. Mr. Fancy Bat was with him, and I noticed he was walking just fine, which made me upset with myself. I must not have kicked his knee as hard as I thought I did. Bummer.
“I’m sorry, chica loca, I came as fast as I could,” he puffed out.
“What the hell, Bones! She’s a prisoner, and I want my turn to play with her.” Sir Snarls-a-lot still had a vicious gleam in his eyes, and he started flipping his silver lighter lid open and shut. I blew him a cheeky little kiss. Turd.
“You’re lucky I’m not shoving that lighter up your ass, Pyro. Duke and Priest aren’t done with her yet, so hands fucking off. Get back to the clubhouse. I’ll deal with you later.” Bones glared at Sir Snarls-a-lot/Pyro until the latter finally turned and exited the murder basement. Bones turned to me, his expression softening a bit when he saw my bruised and bloody face. “Again, sorry about that, chica loca. He didn’t have permission to question you, and as a rule, we generally don’t hurt women. If you permit, I’ll clean your face up a bit.”
I sighed, realizing that I now had a second problem. Not only was I captive in a slaughter cellar, but now one of my captors seemed to be falling in love with me. He wanted to give my face a sponge bath, he was giving me cartoon heart eyes, and he threatened to ram a flammable object into someone’s rectum in my honor. If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was. How the hell was I supposed to let him down gently now?
One problem at a time. First, free myself from my physical restraints, then I could free Bones from the shackles of unrequited love. I nodded my head magnanimously at Bones, who took a white cotton handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans and wet it with the water bottlePyro had left. After the blood was gently dabbed away, Bones held the bottle for me so I could get a drink.
“No worries, Bones. I owe Pyro ten, and I’ll make sure he gets his. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mr. Fancy Bat?”
The man in question smirked a bit before he replied, “The name is Cricket, actually. I was monitoring the security feed when I saw Pyro wailing on you. I got Bones and thought I’d come and see what you’re like when you’re not trying to cut me.”
A wide grin spread across my face. “Oh my BOB, you’re Cricket? Like Jiminy Cricket!” I was bouncing in my chair as much as my binds would allow. I gasped, “Are you my conscience? Where’s your umbrella? Or is that what the bat is for? ’Cause I gotta tell you, that bat won’t help you float around like in the movie.” As he listened to my very interesting observations and thought-provoking questions, his gray eyes got wider, and a polite smile spread across his face. The kind you smiled when you weren’t sure what to say, so you just decided to be quiet and civil.
Despite his conversational failings (he hadn’t answered any of my questions yet), I had to admit he was quite good-looking. He was handsome in the way shirtless models in fancy cologne commercials were attractive. Not really my type, but hey, he wasn’t ugly. Not like that human hemorrhoid, Pyro.
Cricket muttered to Bones under his breath, “Jesus, you’re right, Bones. She is bloody madder than a hatter.” I chuckled to myself; man, I wish I was as cool as the Mad Hatter. Guy knew how to carpe the diem. He also had a wicked fashion sense and tons of snacks. My kind of guy. Since Cricket brought Lewis Carroll into this, I decided to roll with it. Maybe this could be our conscience/human thing? I gave him my biggest Cheshire cat grin and said, “We’re all mad here.”
“Si, chica loca. In our own ways.” Bones helped me finish the bottle of water, and right as I was about to say thank you, the phone in Bones’s pocket buzzed. He took it out and quickly read the text message he had received. Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he turned to Cricket. “They’re back. Duke is calling church.” Without another word, Bones and Cricket stormed out of the torture basement and left me all on my lonesome. Church, huh? These guys didn’t really strike me as religious.Maybe Priest was converting them to his church of Scientism or something…
Hours later, I was still strapped to the chair. I had to pee so bad, my entire body was doing the peepee dance. Right as I was about to say screw it and release the tsunami inside me, the dungeon doors opened. “Thank Bob, I’m going to die if I don’t get to pee in the next five seconds.”
