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JENNY
When I was a little girl, I would watch spy films and old serials that prominently featured a young heroine being tormented by the caped, mustache-twirling villain. In those pictures, the heroine has endless amounts of energy and spunk. She stands up to her tormentor and challenges him; she won't be beaten.
In real life, it is a bit more complicated.
I'm sure I could get through this if I knew it were going to end, but it goes on and on. I have no idea what day it is anymore. In lieu of days, I have as markers only the endless torture sessions. I believe I have slept maybe 2 hours since I arrived.
The sweat drizzling down my face wakes me this time. It's not normally this hot down here. I am in my usual position in the cage: arms manacled above my head and legs spread widely apart and secured by manacles clamped to the sides of the bars. A thick Lycra collar secures my head to another manacle that is attached to the bars behind me. It is then that I become aware of where the heat originates. Looking down, I can see what looks to be a small barbecue kettle loaded with white-hot briquettes. Two long pokers protrude from the sides, long enough to extend through the cage bars.
One of the two guards assigned to me looks up finally from the Car and Driver magazine he is thumbing through and stares at the kettle. He sighs disgustedly, gets up and walks toward the cage, agitating one of the pokers impatiently. I can't help but moan as the heat increases exponentially, sparks and black soot rising in a brief explosion. He then returns to his post and begins to chat amiably with the other guard about mortgage interest rates.
Suddenly, a loud clanking noise is heard from the back of the room, and a man even shorter than the Commandant enters. As he approaches, I recognize him as Gunter --- the Commandant's personal toady. Unlike the other two men in the room, Gunter carries a swagger stick and wears a more elaborate uniform: Gold accents on his collar and cuffs, a few medals, and a lanyard that hangs beneath the gold braided bars on his shoulders. He always seems to have a smile fixed to his disturbingly young, handsome face. The two guards suddenly snap to attention, staring straight ahead at nothing.
Gunter clasps his leathered hands together and leans toward me eagerly. "How are we?" he asks cheerfully, seeming, as he always did, to be genuinely interested in what I had to say.
I exhale loudly, blowing wet wisps of hair from my face. "Hot" is all I can manage.
He laughs delightedly. "Wonderful! That is the way his Excellency wishes you to feel! I am always happy to please him."
He glances over his shoulder for seeming approval at an expensive-looking Sony camera, attached to the wall in the corner of the room. It whirrs briefly, and the large, telescoping lens elongates.
"The Celestial One is watching, of course," he explains needlessly, turning back to face me. I imagine for a moment what the horny, fat prick is doing, and am depressed to realize that it's probably most accurate. I imagine him lounging in a plush chair with his drink and cigarette holder, no doubt, working the remote control with one hand and jacking off with the other.
"I imagine you are getting quite thirsty," Gunter states, tapping his elegant stick slowly into the palm of his hand. "Wouldn't you like some refreshment?"
I say nothing, shake my head, and stare down at the mini-inferno below me and then immediately avert my gaze.
" No? " he asks, appearing shocked. "My dear Fraulein, if I were in your shoes, I would reconsider your answer. In a matter of minutes, the rest of your lovely form could be roasting as surely as your pretty pussy is right now."
He sets the stick down on a small stool nearby and claps his hands. One of the guards opens the cell door for him. Within seconds, the little man is almost face-height with my pubic hair. He removes one of his gloves slowly, and then begins to finger me lightly, staring up at me in a trance. He extracts his finger and then, with a demonic gleam in his eyes, places it delicately into his mouth, slurping hungrily.
"Ah, yes! Exquisite! Just the right temperature," he beams, wriggling his glove back on. "The vagina is a magnificent orifice, don't you agree? All this heat, and there is still a plethora of juice to be had." He turns toward the guards and jerks his head, motioning them into the cage. One is carrying a small rubber bucket containing crystallized cubes, and one is carrying two step stools. Gunter nods soberly, and the two men place the stools on either side of me and climb the steps. I attempt to twist my head from side to side, but can only make small movements due to the strap.
"Don't do that!" the little man says sternly. "Hold you head still or we will hold it for you." He straightens his uniform prissily and folds his hands. "Now" he says, in a more conversational tone, "I will ask you again, where is Janice Palmer?"
I sob, choking, and manage to shake my head only slightly.
Gunter's swarthy face darkens, and he nods his head. One of the guards holds my nose while the other begins to shovel the cubes into my mouth. Immediately, I realize it is rock salt. I clamp my eyes shut, anticipating the misery and wondering how long it will last. When my mouth is packed to capacity, it is secured with thick duct tape.
"Nasty, aren't they?" Gunter grins. "A word of advice: just allow them to melt and don't swallow them…. It will take a while. They are edible, but we don't wish for you to choke and die. If that happens, I can assure you, your daughter will suffer a lingering, cruel death when we find her. And we will find her, with or without your assistance. Of course," he admits almost ruefully, "we will find her much more quickly with your help."
He steps out of the cage, followed by his henchmen, who stoke the coals one last time before exiting. "I now bid you abschied ," he states grandly, then halts at his unintentional use of his native language, "er… farewell… to ponder the answer to his Eminence's question. I doubt it is far away." When the cage door is locked, he gives me a final perverted grin, retrieves his stick, turns on his boot heel, and stalks out of the room.
As the rancid salt engulfs my every sense, the camera silently swivels in the wall bracket.
TONY
What did I tell you?
It's now 7:30 in the fucking PM, and Julie and the kids are at home sitting in front of a full spread. Aunts, uncles, and cousins…. everyone is there: watching the game, shooting the shit, relaxing, everything is warm and cozy. Right? Oh yeah, I forgot. Everyone except yours truly. I'm driving out to fucking Boulder , tailing Mr. Fuck-Face, who don't pay his bills.
I asked his Holiness why he couldn't send Vito, who don't got no family except his girlfriend. "Vito isn't as adept at following as you, Tony," he says. Adept. I'll show him fucking adept.
I'm in a Silver Town Car, that I'm pretty sure ol' Phil has never seen before, and we're coming to where Route 36 runs through town. It looks like old schmuko is set to go to the college, which doesn't make any sense at all. Some other guy was supposedly keeping tabs on this Janice broad (not a bad looking piece of ass for a 19-year-old, by the way) when suddenly she was "dis-enrolled" or some shit from all her classes. No trace at her dorm. Nothing. Now that I think of it, I don't know what happened to that guy. Don't wanna know.
I follow Phil for a few blocks into town and he pulls up next to an ordinary looking ranch house. I stop about 500 feet back and pull out some binoculars and a map to hide behind. I watch for a few minutes as he rings the bell and talks to some babe in a White sweater. As I hoped, he enters the house. After about a minute, I get out and casually stroll towards his car. Unlocked. Stupid fucker. I quickly attach a bug under his steering column and return to my car.
Once he drives off, it doesn't take long before the speaker on the seat beside me belts out some static and ol' Fuck-Face's whiney voice comes through.
"Oliver…. It's your Dad. Pick up. It's an emergency…. Oliver? I just talked to Sabrina; she said Janice left their house last week on some ski trip. Do you know anything about this?"
Silence follows for a few beats. I can see him holding the cell phone to his ear, and I'm thinkin' I'm probably followin' too close. I drop back a few cars. Interesting. I find I'm laughing to myself. He don't know where she is either. Stupid son-of-a-bitch. I'd be at a goddamn bank right now getting the cash together if it was me, not out chasin' the ghost of this chick.
I call Steve. Boss is gonna wanna know this ASAP. I also tell him I'm calling some contacts in Vail, Aspen, and Breckenridge to start searching up there.
Steve says the big man is at some wine tasting or cheese tasting deal in Cherry Creek tonight, but I should arrange to meet him in the back of his limo at 10:30 sharp at the restaurant.
Well, it's McDonaldsland tonight, motherfucker. Now who do you think deserves a fucking break today?
MR. G
With the remnants of a particularly ripe Stilton Blue cheese lingering on my palate and the after effects of a fantastic bottle of Chateau Margaux taking any remaining edge off, I settle into the comfy Italian leather of my $110,000 custom-built 6-passenger Black stretch limousine. After an unbelievable 9-course gastronomic orgy at the Barolo Grill, I find myself feeling a bit bloated and reach down to undo another button on my silk Brioni tuxedo vest and then fish a Havana out of my breast pocket.
Brantley, my private chauffeur, exits the front of the car and opens the rear door as Tony steps in.
"Hi boss" Tony mumbles.
"Tony, my good man, what morsels of information do you have for me about this Palmer bitch?" I say, realizing I'm probably slurring my words. I chomp on the cigar and face him. He's looking tired, poor guy. I wait for him to give me a light, which he finally does. He then heaves a great sigh, as if he was doing the job of a rocket scientist, and faces the front of the car.
"As ordered, boss, I tailed his car and put the bug in. He went over to some girl's house and was in there for about ten minutes."
"Some girl….? So Phillip hasn't improved his stamina I see? Heh, heh. Oh, well, can't begrudge a man some fun. She good looking? Maybe we should pay her a visit sometime, Get the address?" I can't help but laugh. Everything seems funny after 3 bottles of $500 wine.
I take a long drag from the stogie and blow a thick cloud of smoke into the wood and leather rear compartment of my land yacht, as I sometimes call it.
"Ah, no, boss" Tony says, smiling wanly. "I think she's some friend of Janice's. The friend told Phil that Janice went on a ski trip."
"Pour me some Brandy, Tony," I say, thinking of some of our contacts in the mountains.
Tony hesitates, sighs again, and then retrieves a Waterford crystal decanter and a matching snifter the size of a fishbowl from the side of the car.
"I've called our contacts in that region" he says, pouring the beautiful, fragrant liquid. I take the snifter and inhale deeply.
"Good. Good."
"I also am thinking, that given the background of the family… you know… Phil and his wife are kinda on the skids, kids stuck in the middle, all that crap you know…. Jenny might have been told about that trip. Probably was told, if the kid's as straight an arrow as I've heard she is."
I consider this, and smile, resting my head on the seat back and puffing languorously, enjoying the leathery flavor of the Pre-Castro Davidoff.
"I would agree with that. Call our contacts and feed them the information. Let's see if they can get specifics." I sigh contentedly, feeling very good. "Thanks, Tony. Good work. Oh, I'll need you at the suite at 7:30 tomorrow morning to help with my bags. Esteven has to take his wife to the doctor, and I don't trust the bellmen at the Brown with my Gucci bags. Damn peasants scuffed up the last ones I brought here."
Tony sits for a while and says nothing.
"Well, good night" I say. Then, into the intercom: "Brantley?"
"Don't you have something for me, Mr. G?" Tony says, looking at me expectantly.
"Oh yes, I've got some free tickets to the Ice Capades if you want them." I open my Alligator-skin wallet and hand them to him. "I got them as a comp from the owner of Coors Amphitheater."
He looks at them like they were dipped in shit, which highly annoys me, as Brantley holds the door open. Whatever.
I switch on one of the two flat-panel TVs ensconced in the side wall of the car, select the DVD I received by courier late this afternoon, and begin to watch the bimbo with the salt in her mouth, laughing uproariously when she vomits on herself.
PHIL
I can't sleep, predictably.
It's been almost two days now with Jenny gone, and I find that even though we rarely talked anymore, I still miss her company. And that surprises me.
Getting out of bed at 11 PM, I dress quickly and drive into downtown Denver, entertaining myself with lively fantasies of breaking into Mr. G's suite with the Marines and force-feeding him that fucking cigarette holder. But he's probably gone by now. Maybe I'll get a handgun.
This thought causes me to think of Natasha, quite out of the blue. Well, maybe not so out of the blue. It was her handgun that started the domino effect of the events in motion. The trigger effect, ha ha.
And suddenly, I find myself driving towards the Red Light, a bar on the West side of town where I had heard she was waitressing. Sandy, one of the very few "freelancers" working the streets of Denver, had been a friend of Tasha's. After an aborted attempt at a trick with her, she had pitied me enough to disclose her whereabouts. She knew I was no threat, even though at the time I was furious with Tasha.
I pulled into the parking lot, entered the bar, and seated myself at a small booth in the way back. The Red Light was a traditional neighborhood bar, save the sleazy name, and the owner, Rory O'Bell, was a boisterous old Irishman. When Tasha and I had been "dating" we had spent many nights closing the place.
"Mr. Palmer! How in hell are ya?" Rory asked, strolling up to the table, still wearing a grease-stained apron from manning the fryers.
I wince a little at the formality, since the only times I've been called that in the past few days have been when my family or my life was being threatened. I smile weakly, trying to act cordial.
"Why are you hidin' back here? Did you know Tasha's workin' for me now?"
"Yeah, that's… great Rory. I'm sure she really appreciates it."
"Hell, I appreciate it, Phil. That girl's one damn fine waitress. Want me to snag her for ya?"
"Yeah, would you?" I said, and then immediately began to look for an exit. What the hell was I doing? I braced myself for a slap in the face, a thrown drink, maybe even a punch in the mouth.
"Hey! How are you?"
And there she was. Tasha. Gorgeous, shoulder-length hair pinned up in an efficient bun, the creamy skin on her face just as flawless as ever. That's one thing G and his monsters had not taken from her. That and her pride, something I no longer had the luxury of.
"Come give me a hug!" she's now shouting, pulling me to my feet. I feel the sudden urge to collapse into her arms and release everything, all of it, but I can't. I embrace her warmly but still in a gingerly, friendly way.
"I'm so glad you came to see me, Phil. I really am. How are you?"
"I'm… good. How are you ?" I say, completely unconvincing.
"I'm great. Just great. This job's the best. It doesn't exactly pay as much as, well, you know…"
"Yeah, I know."
"But I can come in here and know I'm going to walk out at the end of the night in one piece, so that means a lot. Stopped drinking too."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Wow, so a couple shooters for old time's sake is out of the question, I guess."
"Well, for me, yeah. But I'll get you a few if you want."
"No…. no… I'm fucked up already."
"You look pretty sober to me. I bit too sober, in my opinion."
I sighed, and stared at the table. "Tash, I need to talk to you."
"OK" she says, sitting across from me. "So talk."
"You got the time?"
As she nods, the reasons I felt like I could chuck everything and spend the rest of my life with this girl come pouring back, something I had tried for the past year to shut out, but to no avail.
"Tash, our old friend Mr. G is making trouble for me again."
Instantly all the lightness drained from her face. " More trouble? Are you serious? You told me that was finished last year." She stares at me, confused.
"After the thing last year, one of his goons threatened to hurt you badly. Seems just the fact that you were still in Denver was enough to piss him off. He wanted $10,000 to leave you alone. I gave it to him."
"You… what? Phil! That was a bonehead thing to do!"
"Tasha, what the fuck was I supposed to do, huh? You told the guy everything about my financial situation, so he knew I had some liquid assets. Maybe you two were trying to set me up, maybe not. I still don't know. Combine that with his vengeful nature and what did you expect would happen after we pulled that little number on him?" I had not intended for the conversation to go in this direction. An argument, at this point, I did not need.
"You know, no one's holding a gun to your head now, Phil. If you think so little of me, then why are you here?"
"I….. I'm here because, I…"
"Yeah?"
"I need your help. You worked for this maniac for 5 years, and you know him about as well as anyone can know a true psychopath. You were one of his best girls. I need that insight right now. And…. I'm still in love with you."
"Oh for Christ's sake!" She stood up. "I've gotta go."
"Tasha, don't…."
"I can't do this Phil! Don't you understand? I can go out of the house now without looking around like some sort of paranoiac headcase. I can watch someone light a cigarette and smell the smoke without having a panic attack. I can have sex…. Yeah, sex with someone I care about and not feel the urge to run away afterwards. I'm almost normal ….."
"No!" I shouted, too loud even for Saturday night at the Red Light. I exhaled deeply. "Look, nothing's ever gonna be 'normal' as long as that maniac is ruining innocent lives. The 10 grand wasn't a fraction of it, baby. I've paid this fuckhead a quarter million in the past year. All my savings… gone. All my equity… gone. I had to take a loan out to keep Janice at U of C this year."
I found myself out of breath and once again on the verge of tears.
Tasha's face suddenly crumpled, tears rolling, as she slumped back down in the booth. "No…. no…. you didn't."
"I did."
"How…. H-how could you think that I set you up? Why would I do that? Why…?"
"To get him to leave you alone?" I said, even though it sounded absurd in the context of her genuinely horrified reaction.
"Listen to me, Phil. Listen good. I got that son of a bitch to leave me alone by threatening to take all the info I had compiled against him to the Feds. I doubt if I would have done it, because I'd be dead now if I had. But it was enough to ward him off. And he obviously found someone else to exploit in the meantime, and you were making a hell of a lot more for him than I ever was."
I looked at her and shrugged. She was right. It made sense. And I had to trust her; I had to trust someone.
"It gets worse."
"How… is that possible?" she asked.
"He's going to destroy me and my family" was all I could say.
JENNY
I came to on the cell floor, lying in my own vomit, suffering from a pounding headache and massive dehydration. I tried to shut everything out and concentrate on the cool stone floor beneath me. When that failed, I tried that old trick of focusing on one thing, to block all the others out. It was then I noticed the shot glass filled with water. It was sitting in the corner of the cell, obviously having been placed there while I was unconscious. I crawled over to it after looking back at the guards, who were half asleep. As I made a reach for it, the thing came to life, shooting up in the air and zooming across the cage. Wires, and not a real shot glass either.
"You bastards!" I screamed and the guards began to laugh, one holding a fishing rod that was attached to the trick glass.
"Come now, where is your sense of humor, Fraulein?" the Commandant cruelly taunted, backslapping the two soldiers heartily and stepping forward toward the cage.
Although I had thought I was near collapse, I managed to make a delirious rush at the bars of the cage, causing more wild hoots from the men.
"You cruel sack of garbage!" I screamed. "I told you I don't know anything… nothing! Why won't you believe me? "
The fat man placed his monocle over his left eye, and sighed mock-wearily. "Because you are lying. And now we have proof."
"Proof?" I sputtered.
"We have received word from our… ah… operatives that your daughter is on a ski trip. The precise details are not known at this time, but investigations have been launched. Your husband is obviously ignorant of the same details. But I have a hunch that you are not."
He paused to attach a cigarette to his holder and to light it.
I looked at the floor.
"Yes," he continued, "that is what I thought." He blew acrid smoke toward me. "With your husband on the trail as well, it seems that stronger methods of persuasion are now in order for you, my darling. You're going on a little field trip. Major, show her to my playroom."
Enrique stepped from the shadows and, along with his two guards, unlocked the cell door and quickly overcame me, shackling my hands and feet. A blindfold was placed over my eyes. We walked for maybe three minutes from the room, and then I found myself borne aloft by gloved hands and placed roughly on a cold table. Leather cuffs that creaked sumptuously were placed over my wrists and ankles, and a large band was secured tightly around my torso, legs splayed wide. A threadbare blanket covered the bottom half of my body.
Then the blindfold was removed. The two lackeys stood at the foot of the table, regarding me ominously, while the Commandant himself relaxed in an overstuffed leather chair, to one side of me, enjoying a cigarette.
"Major, I think champagne is in order, if I'm not being too premature" the bastard gloated. Enrique presented a bottle of Dom, and then uncorked it ceremoniously, filling a crystal champagne flute for the villain. My mouth, with what little moisture was left, began to water at the sight of the liquid.
"Oh yes, you're still thirsty, aren't you?" he jeered, giggling, while tossing the icy contents onto my belly where it pooled and fizzed derisively at me. "Major, refill my glass, please. What's that saying you Americans have? Champagne everywhere but not enough to drink?" He smirked hatefully.
"Just get on with it, you fat pig!" I gasped.
Anger flashed momentarily in his steely Grey eyes, and he said evenly "Very well."
With a nod to his henchmen, the blanket was removed. I found myself staring into the teeth of a very sharp table saw.
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