Preamble — a delivery.
The six foot, 210 pound guard dragged the captive blonde across the room. "Take your hands off of me, you goon." She yelled as she raked a heel down the shin of her assailant. He manhandled her towards the small dark room that was to be her home for the next weeks. "Hey you great lunk, be careful with the merchandise," her kidnapper admonished. "We don't want this one bruised."
Chapter 1 : He Ain't A Heavy ... He's My Bother
Just listen to that, will you? That's the sort of thing I have to put up with all the time and I'm telling you, it ain't fair.
The fucking captives feel they've got free reign to take a pop at you for the slightest thing and the snatch kings think that anyone who's not in the field is a waste of space. Oh, yeah, and Doctor Evil or whatever smart arse is running the show always knows where to look to pass out the blame if anything goes wrong. Like I say, it ain't fair.
Goons, thugs, cohorts, henchmen (what is a hench anyways?), heavies, that's what they call us. We don't get the respect that we deserve, I reckon. We don't get any respect at all. No respect, just swearing. I think it's about time to put in a good word for us.
Hey, it's not like just anyone can do this. I'm telling you some of the guys would go out of their mind if they had to do this job for a day. What the suits upstairs don't realise is that if we weren't doing this, their lives would be a whole lot harder.
Take me for a start. I didn't just walk in from the street to do this. I had to learn my trade, same as anyone else. And I had to work my way up. I've got twenty young ladies back here, prime meat, real assets. Even I know that means about $15 to $25 million depending on the markets. You can't take care of a pile like that until you've learned a thing or to.
Let me tell you. Our name-calling, shin raking friend for a start. First, the suits bring her in without any warning and, of course, no paperwork. Well these things happen. But ... if I ain't got the papers from them, then I'm going to have to write them up and that means I got to get my information from somewhere and I'm sure I can rely on her to let me know the details can't I? I mean she's going to be real co-operative after what she's been through isn't she? See what I mean?
Well anyway they turn up, with her kicking and struggling over a shoulder. They drop her down and its, "OK — pen her for now, we'll be back for her later."
Lucky I've got a spare cell — that's not always the case most week-ends coz we're pretty busy these days — and I sit her down in there. I check out her ropes — sometimes the stuff that's put on in the field is a bit slapdash but hey, they work under pressure, I know that. Still this time they've done an OK job on fixing her wrists and ankles. I've got no information on who or what she is. From the way she looks, I guess she's just some corporate secretary that they've grabbed to get at her boss or something — white shirt, black skirt, chain store clothes, nothing special. So I dump her down in Cell 17, leave Alicia, a colleague of mine, in charge and let our guest stew while I go clean up the groove she's put in my shin.
Anyway. Ten minutes later I come back to find the stupid bitch out of her cell with a knife at Alicia's throat as she's backing out of the cell block. At which point, I stop giving the girl the benefit of the doubt and deal her a quick chop to the back of the head that takes her out and sends the knife spinning across the room. My colleague is sufficiently pissed to make sure she does a real good job at making sure that little miss shin-raker stays put this time. As a result she's hog-tied on the floor of her cell with a mouthful of panties, her elbows cinched together and a serious headache. When our friends, the suits, come back to collect her, they accuse us of playing with their toys! Turns out she's some private eye that had been getting in their way and the knife was a folding piece she had hidden in the waist band of her skirt.
Now of course, this is all our fault isn't it? It's always down to us. Blame the goons. Never mind that our friendly pick up team didn't:-
(1) Frisk her properly, cause they knew she was likely to be smart, or
(2) Strip her to make sure she wasn't hiding anything, or
(3) Tell us what she was so we'd have a clue to keep an eye on her, or
(4) Tie and gag her so she couldn't pull a stunt like that.
So that's the sort of thing I get upset by. Still, thanks to the fact that this "goon" has served his term and knows how to drop a knife wielding lady with one chop we're all in the clear. Any thanks? Nope. You guessed it, not from the suits anyways.
Alicia? Now that's another matter. She was really grateful for being extricated from her unfortunate position — she'd gone in to the cell to do a regular check and the smart cunt had jumped her. Anyway Alicia was real keen that the rest of the team shouldn't get to find out what a dork she'd been, so she's been showing me just how grateful she is in one of the spare cells during one of the quiet times this evening.
What an interesting set of talents that girl has. There's always some benefits. Tee hee.
Chapter 2: Oh, Won't You Stay? Just A Little Bit Longer?
Then, if there's no emergencies, the other problem is the boredom. I'll let you in to a secret. Why do you think that in the movies you only get to see Dr Evil's terrifying lair at the end when the 'hero' breaks in to blow it up?
I'll tell you why. For the rest of the time there is nothing going on. Nothing! Let's talk about tonight's shift.
I come on at 22:00. Tania, the outgoing guard, gives me her clipboard and together we check the cells against the list. In the first one is our heiress. Her ransom is not due for a week so she will be here at least that long. Current thinking is she's going to be returned so she's on what we call the "dark routine" with either a blindfold or masked guards. She's keeping quiet and she has done since she came in. Then there's two other cells with girls on their way to auction. Stripped naked, shackled to the walls and ball-gagged - they don't give too much trouble. Then there's two "casuals" — girls that have been picked up during other operations without previous research — they're being held here until we can work out what we've got and what we're going to do with them. Casuals are always held in the tightest security — the risk's highest when you don't know what you're dealing with.
Anyway that gives me five guests to be signed for. Tania and I have a flirty chat and she goes off duty leaving me with the five girls and a clip board.
Sure I've got a bank of video monitors but they don't play MTV, sports or re-runs of Harmony Videos, just shots of our five friends. Since they ain't moving around much there's not much fun to be had there. They're cute enough I guess but I'm getting jaded. I need something more than a naked piece of arse in shackles on a TV screen to turn my wick up, these days.
Just about the only action is feeding and watering the guests at around 2:00 a.m. We keep moving the times around to make sure they stay disorientated. It gives us a change too. I can't be bothered to mask up so we keep the heiress blindfolded for that too. She ain't too keen on trying to eat that way but I don't think she'll be complaining to the hotel management about that.
With this five there's not even an opportunity to play. The heiress is behaving herself and if we're giving her back she only gets touched if she's acting up. Auction lots can't be messed around with and casuals are off-limits until they've been assessed. Maybe the rules make sense but it don't leave me much chance of fun. No sign of Alicia or any of the other girls on guard duty either - shame we could have played truncheon hide and seek. So nothing to do except make sure the files are up to date.
There's a phone on my desk. It doesn't ring. What do you expect? It's three in the morning - anyone with any sense is in their bed and we don't expect any new admissions until at least 6 o'clock.
The time drags by. Four o'clock and the guests are all asleep as far as the video screens show. Every so often one of them will turn in her sleep, pull against her chains or whatever and wake herself up for a few moments. It usually only takes a day or so for them to learn that it ain't no good making a fuss, so they just lie there quiet. I sometimes wonder what they think about but, hey, I should worry about them? At least they're getting some sleep.
That reminds me — five o'clock and I grab some coffee, black and strong. I need it that way — there's still another three hours of this shift and there isn't anything going on here to keep me awake.
It's cold. Why do they always make these cell blocks underground? (Well, yeah, all right, I know it's harder for the guests to get out that way but what about looking after the guards? The walls are always hi-tech which means steel or concrete and that means cold. It's worse still if you get involved with some mastermind that's got the whole mountain eyrie idea. Then you end up with dripping stone walls — even worse. Why can't we have a bit of carpet at least? A radiator wouldn't go amiss, either.
.... There is more of this story ...