Chapter 29: Painful Questions and Capital Punishment

Sunday June 8 through Wednesday June 11

Chapter 29 involves unpleasant events. (Note: I read Orwell’s “1984” in high school, but things have changed since then, and some may have an INTENSE reaction.)

(The events here deal mainly with the guests in the sub-basement at the safe house. The dates intertwine with some of the time covered in chapter 26, but they are presented together. The actions are presented with minimal graphic detail, I want to color in the characters and their motives with minimal specifics. The sexual activity is very limited.)

June 8. Sunday Afternoon The Apartment Building

At the apartment house I held Abril’s hand a lot Sunday afternoon. After we knew about the roommate’s exit strategy I assigned people in all three ports. They reported (honestly) that the thieves did not make their scheduled boarding. I had them keep watch, and said that boarding the ship later was possible. The orders gave Abril some hope of getting her gold back.

Confessing the loss to her mother may have been the worst part of the whole experience for Abril. Her mother hated “Martha and her pet girly-boy” profoundly, plus her mother agreed with me, the gold never should have been brought building, and she never should have trusted those two. “Family is important ... blood counts more than anything. When you have children you will know!” (Abril refused to talk about marriage with her mother, she knew her mother thought I was a prince and a golden opportunity that she could actually marry.) I was not there when they talked, but her mother asked Abril “what good is it to find a good man, to sleep in his great house, and then ignore his advice just because you are stubborn and liked to get your pussy licked by the overweight bitch? NO! You find a good man and stick with him, thick and thin. Like I stick with your Father.”

Abril took the abuse, she knew she was at fault, her damn pride and stubbornness were to blame. All she could do was hug her siblings and say she was sorry to them, because they meant the most to her.

Abril also wanted to torture her former roomies when we got them, but I put a lid on that, saying they were likely to be DOA if they got back to the Pablo at all. “My soldiers, they skipped the chapter of their training book on taking prisoners alive.” I asked it they had any weapons and Abril said “no” but then corrected herself and checked her room. It turned out her derringer and 9 mm were gone. Also, Martha had once had a cut-down carbine that jammed (Abril saw it). Martha claimed she destroyed the weapon, but she might have lied. I mentioned that a rifle could negate common body armor.

The Fort Sunday Night

It was late evening before I got to turn my personal attention to the Martha and the Greek in the Fort. They were in bad shape after 60 hours of confinement on an IV, unable to move much. It really was inhumane of me, the human body is not meant for such things. Still, they would suffer no long-term damage from anything - not ever again. I had chained them up Friday well before noon, and now at 9 Sunday evening I cut off their clothes and hosed them off. The 60 hour delay could not be helped; they set the schedule when they stole the gold.

For the last 12 hours they were just on curare, an organic drug from the Amazon my people knew well. In the past my maternal tribe gave it to visitors for headaches and for control purposes, especially before a rare tribal feast with company. Large servings of rare meats were hard to come by, and guests were served as fresh as possible. The dozen indian women who were the mothers to the colony also knew the drug well. Aa a result, all my South American people were experts with the drug before we were 16.

As it was Sunday I delivered my sermon to the pair of sinners. I explained that they were two stories underground, and would never see a cloudy sky again. They recognized me and thought I would bust a cap in their heads. I had to disabuse them of these pleasant notions, things would not be that easy.

I mentioned that I had some questions they would answer. It was tiresome, I would ask the same question of both, and it would be unfortunate when the answers did not agree. Then for inspiration I played a video showing some of the two “Mandela necklacings” from not long ago. They watched in abject horror as flames licked the living bodies. I kept it short.

“At that time I was making a point to others and speed with the target audience was an issue. What we do here is more along the line of a personal hobby. Things will not go that quick.”

Once I had their attention I gave them a dramatic reading of that section near the end of George Orwell’s award-winning novel “1984” where it refers to the use of rats and face-fitted cages to inspire “thought criminals” to revise their thoughts and denounce others. George though one hungry rat per customer was sufficient, but I mentioned several places where cages might work.

Next I also showed them some crime scene photos: Abril’s room, the busted empty suitcase that held the gold, and their new bank with them visible in the window. The last picture told them far more about why they were 20 feet underground, waiting for pain. They realized that they were not that clever.

I said that, after what they did to “my dear Abril” they had a choice. Really, it was more like a race. Things could get much, much worse. Or maybe we would have an easy conversation and, after checking, I would banish all pain forever. “I believe wet work is work, and I don’t like work. But I will do whatever is required to get the answers I need. Winner gets a prize.”

I had them. I had the gold. There was no disputing the basic facts. What I needed was secondary information and one of them would give me that. The other would meet some rats.

“But before that happens, I must say that I am an individual with some unfortunate personal issues to work out. Thank you for volunteering.”

With the situation clear in their minds I ended the lecture. But before I asked any questions or even gave them a chance to speak, I used a heavy flogger to exercise (NOT exorcise) my personal demons, to center myself and calm down. I can assure them I really needed the exercise so I could stay in control later. Maybe it also informed their mood. I did not ask. They stayed gagged.

Their accommodations were not like Gracie’s. In the deep sub-basement of the fort, twenty feet below ground, I had 4 soundproof cells that were bare concrete, designed to be easier on the jailer (me). Pairs of chains came down from high on adjacent walls, with very uncomfortable but secure metal cuffs for the arms. Using powerful motors the chains could be retracted to the point where the prisoner was suspended off the floor in agony, but usually they were loose and allowed a step or two of free movement around the concrete box. A pipe high on the wall dripped water, a drop at a time, for drinking purposes. A drain provided easy clean up. There was sufficient room to swing a short whip. Each room was equipped to hold up to three people if needed. But these were each kept alone in their own cell.

Curare insured they did not object when I cut off their clothing, attached the chains, shaved the attachment points for electrodes and saw to other details. After my talk I adjusted the chains and started to use the flogger. Because of the drug they could not move a muscle. This was “me time” so I did not give anybody a chance to break my chain of thought.

I had removed the guy’s cock cage, I could see where it was attached; there were scars from wearing it 24/7. I could not stand to look at it so I removed it.

After my workout I am sure they felt better than they had when I was working out. I considered that mercy.

I also felt better, but they say there is no rest for the wicked. I had disgusting business.

I drove to the Batcave. There I prepared some live traps. Parts of LA are ideal for rats, often they live in the tops of the palm trees, but at night the smell of peanut butter, popcorn and other treats can bring them down. The industrial area is a ripe hunting ground.

After setting the traps I slept in the Batcave.

Monday

I woke before dawn and checked my traps. Six rats had accepted my peanut butter and popcorn. That was probably too many, but I could cope. In the S-10 pickup I took my new guests back to the Fort. Without comment I put three of the rats cages in the cell with each prisoner.

Next I inspected the items my guys took when they caught the pair. The gold was there, plus a lot of tropical clothing. They had a cheap laptop computer in an unopened box (their home computer was a desktop). I recognized Abril’s guns. The cut down M-1 carbine was still there but I could see it was filthy and in poor shape. In my experience this type of gun jams or goes automatic at the worst times.

The one item that didn’t fit was one of those portable car-starter battery packs, a new one still in the package. It seemed like a heavy and expensive excess load to carry. Something to talk about.

I checked their cells before I left for work. The boy was still out. Martha was alert enough to yell at me how she wanted me to call the police, so she could be arrested and tried for her crimes. Also, she wanted a lawyer.

I explained my view on taxing our strained judicial system. “You know that a trial is to determine guilt or innocence when the guilt is in doubt. But we don’t have that issue, and any such claim I hear sounds like an invitation for more pain. Also, why should you get a day of food and AC at taxpayer expense? That is unfair to all of California. Now, say hello to your new roommates.” I pointed to the rats. She was not pleased, but the cell was soundproofed.

I got dressed, and went to work until mid-afternoon. After work I returned to the Fort.

Mid-afternoon Monday

The boy was awake, and after a few hours talking to the rats, he was quite broken when I looked in Monday afternoon, after work. The first long flogging exercise was bad, but when he woke up and saw those three rats looking at him like lunch for hours on end he resolved to give it up at our next conversation. His first words to me were his expressed wish to die in his sleep after giving me all I wanted. In fact he begged for the chance to tell me all I wished to know. That sounded good to me. I said I would have to confirm things, but for now he was “safe.” I promised to keep him the shortest time possible and then grant his reasonable wish.

With that I heard his confession.

First he confessed to being Jerry Pinske from Green Fields, New Jersey. The Greek passport was a pretty good fake suppled by Martha, she hated the New Jersey accent so mostly he stay silent. Their plan was to steal the gold - Martha found the inventory list long ago - then go to Thailand where they both would buy new identities and have their bodies modified. Jerry would become Jeri with an extra fun-to-fuck hole compliments of a top surgeon. With his unique extra fun ride Jeri could charge a premium, enjoy his work, and live a happy fucking life.

When Abril brought the gold home a week ago Martha’s default plan was to steal the money slowly, a handful at a time. It was gold, a handful had to be worth a lot. Abril would not count it without exposing it, so they figured they could swipe remove half before she noticed.

“What about when she did notice?” I asked.

He had not asked that, it was not his job. Martha did all their thinking.

Selling it without getting cheated or robbed was a problem, all the dealers sounded like crooks, so they got the safe deposit box. Jerry was glad to tell me which key to use, the box number and to sign a power-of-attorney giving me access. The box was paid up for the next 6 months.

Abril’s sudden announcement last Thursday of the upcoming weekend, plus Martha’s knowledge of a ship departure Friday night, changed the plan. The two took a walk Thursday night when “Ants In Her Pants” Martha insisted that Friday was too good an opportunity to pass up. They would steal all the gold right away and go buy their sex operations so they could start having fun. Most of the walk was spent arguing about Jerry wanting to leave Abril a third of the gold. That got Martha crazy, she finally told him “shut up or I will shoot you.”

In order to leave quickly Friday morning they had to leave most of their own stuff behind. However, some things like the new computer, the new battery pack and the tropical clothes were already in the station wagon, so basically they just needed to grab the gold right and leave in the ten-minute window after Abril left but before she got to her security desk.

Martha had all kinds of contingencies laid out, basically she had an escape plan for every day over the next three months, based on the departures schedules of various small freighters leaving California ports. Many of the ships would stop at 2 or 3 of the ports before they left.

To get to a port the pair had access to a second car, a Subaru parked in a storage unit in Long Beach. They assumed the old station wagon was a dead giveaway, that I would issue an all-points alert on the secret “bad people network” So their plan was swap out the station wagon for the Subaru at the storage unit; without knowing about that car I could not trace them. The second car was hard to notice, it was a ten-year old Subaru with low miles that Martha stole in Vegas. That explained the starter battery. Martha also had a “lightly used - always paid” credit card in a fake identity to buy gas. It was a plan with a chance of success, until they were at sea. Except I was quicker on the draw.

They both thought they were in email contact with a famous surgeon who would use cutting-edge methods for unique, life changing results - as long as they could pay. I rained on that rainbow parade, I said my guys had discovered the North Korean email server. I showed him the hard copy and he got super pissed.

He blamed Martha as a fool for pressing him to ask for the impossible. They should have waited until they were in Thailand to contact a doctor. But Martha could not wait.

I had to backup a bit. “You said Martha wanted to steal the gold when she found the inventory.”

“Yes, she has wanted that every since she knew Abril had it. She really had a bunch of different plans to try and get the gold, but none of them would have worked. The bank closing changed everything, because if Abril didn’t know ahead of time, she had to bring the gold to the apartment. Martha started her escape planing when she saw a notice of the bank closing in the online edition of the paper at the start of March. Abril missed that, and Martha destroyed the other notices they sent. Abril finally heard from talking to an old lady in the building.”

My next questions were about their sex life in the apartment. Jerry said it was almost entirely oral and reciprocal. He licked Martha on Saturdays, Martha 69ed Abril on Wednesdays. He was never with Abril or allowed to watch. Once a month when Martha was “in the mood” he was uncaged and allowed to penetrate her, but he had to use his mouth to clean her up after.

I had to ask, “Does Abril love Martha?”

“Hell no! Abril just needs her pussy licked, and after Vegas she had a problem with men. Martha has Abril’s number, plus she does the household shit and she doesn’t piss Abril off like her mother does. Martha is a sicko mommy substitute who licks pussy, a real manipulator. She does it in a calm voice that Abril can’t argue with, plus she never gets mad at Abril. That is her greatest power, but it also pisses Abril off so she goes to her mother, who upsets her more. Honestly, I think Abril brought Martha in just because it was the easiest way to deal with day-to-day shit. I came with Martha because ... well ... she dominates me 24/7. I’m like her pet.”

“Uhh ... aren’t you a man?”

“Well, since I was wearing a cock cage 24/7, Abril was able to see me as ‘not-a-man’ to her. Abril was always gone for the hour each month when I was let out, she never saw me hard.”

“Did you think of any plans to steal the gold? Maybe without Martha?”

“No ... you must understand ... I was Martha’s pet. You feed your pet based on what you can afford, your pet doesn’t tell you to make more money. Gold or no gold, Martha was my boss. She told me what to do, what she was going to do. I was a good pet who did what she said. I never had a part in any decision after she took me in. She saved me when I was in hell in Iowa, so I was her pet.”

Jerry stuck me as a low-life slimy guy, a leech contributing nothing so society would not miss him. A waste of life. He confessed that he left home after high school because his parents did not let him do “disgusting sex things” with guys. They said he had to go to college to become an MD, and punished him when his grades fell short. Shaving his head the second day of school and other humiliation games were their things. Before he left they had pre-paid for a year of college; he packed like he was moving into the dorm. Then he drove the family car in the opposite direction and never looked back. Before long he ran out of money and willingly became a truck-stop male whore doing disgusting things for a tank of gas. All the guys were dirty and smelly and unwashed. Some beat him instead of paying. Most of the rest beat him as they paid him. He had done it in Jersey on weekends during summers, then he didn’t get beaten often he knew the drill, and he needed the money. He met Martha at a truck-stop in Iowa, she took him away from that life and said that he was her pet. They made for Vegas where he sold the his car cheap because he didn’t have a title. His first purchase with the money was a cock cage, Martha insisted.

In contrast to “pet” Jerry, Martha started our Monday session with a lot of yelling and cursing until I introduced her tongue to a vise-grips. But she burned with hatred at how she was treated. She wanted me to turn her over to the cops. How could she think that would happen? It was basically a waste of time, so I didn’t waste much time with her.

When I was done talking I grabbed a vial of blood from each of the pair, then I left the Fort for some other business. As usual I carried my Glocks, including the large one with a silencer. On a hunch I also grabbed an old body armor vest and a piece of ceramic that had been shot - there was no visible crack but one can never trust them once they have stopped a bullet. I had a stage to set for later.

On the way home I stopped at the parking structure where the station wagon was. It was still there, and would be for a week since it was clear the car was disabled. The plates were still on it so Abril would get a call to remove it sometime. We would send a truck to drag it out before the LAPD got involved wasting time and asking questions. No good could come of that.

At the car I staged the fight. I splashed blood on each side of the seat, used a knife to slash some fabric and the seat belt on the driver’s side, and fired a light load bullet with my silenced gun through the passenger door so it looked like the driver fired it. The bullet went through the door’s sheet metal and I recovered it from the vest with the ceramic I strapped to a chunk of wood. I wanted to show a little chaos and “no honor among thieves” when the car was brought in. It looked like Martha shot Jerry on the way, then she escaped with all the gold.

I was still working on the story for the vest, but I had an idea. I also proved to myself the wisdom of the “don’t reuse’ rule for ceramic armor; despite going through the door driven by less gunpowder than usual the ceramic plate was now cracked.

Driving home I had to wrestle with how much of the gold Abril would get back. If all was lost she would be depressed which didn’t work for me. But to give it all back was not my natural inclination, because I am not naturally a good guy. I had to construct a fiction where Abril got some of it back, enough so I was her hero, but allowing me to keep some, because deep down inside I am a greedy SOB. Now I had to decide how much we would each keep.

I had a difficult decision to make.

A Moment Of Peace

Monday night when I got home I saw Zar. With one look she knew I had done something physical so she offered me a massage. It was great, just what I needed, and it turned into us making love in my bed. It was really “making love,” Zar may not be attractive to most folks, but she is a massaging machine, and I lived long enough with the indians to see the inner beauty in a strong, understanding and very sexy woman. I knew that if my grandfather gave me the chance to pick my true tribal wife - which was very unlikely - I would choose Zar.

Heck, if grandfather outlived his current wife, he might request Zar. She’d like that, and would kill him with sex.

Zar had seen my cock in many women, but she understood and accepted it, that was part of our culture. She knew that when I was with her this way it was different. So that night we both had love and joy in our hearts as we moved from the massage table to the bed where we kissed and loved and spoke loving things to each other in the language of our mothers. When I entered her she healed my body and my soul, giving me a better attitude for the next day.