Chapter 3: MA makes a break

Her captors didn't confide in her, of course, but after a few days Ms. Americana had two things figured out: Flag Girl had escaped — or was dead. And Betty had been taken off the job.

"Where's Nurse Dyke?" MA asked one morning, when Bohner arrived to take her down to the recreation room for another session in sexual degradation.

"We've given her another assignment," Bohner replied. "I'm afraid she had gotten too emotionally involved with you. I can assure you I don't have that problem." He grabbed MA's arm and pushed her toward the doorway.

"Another assignment? Does it involve Flag Girl? Betty hates her."

"No," said Bohner, "it doesn't involve your little pal. She's safe and sound."

MA could tell he was lying.

Perhaps because she had forced him to lie, Bohner was particularly nasty that day. He shoved the wand deep into her ass and turned the power to level nine. This was way beyond the pleasure zone. She screamed in agony. Then, for the first time since she had been taken captive, he fucked her himself. He did it slowly, in her pussy and from behind, while she was chained to the wall. The whole time he whispered hateful messages in her ear.

After he came, he said, "By God, I wish I could afford to kill you. I haven't performed surgery since my residency, but I'd slice you open and take out every organ and line them up on a table. I'd turn you into a fucking anatomy lesson."

Later, she was taken out on the veranda, to join Moulton and Tasher for lunch. She was so weak from the session with Bohner that her knees buckled and she landed face-first at Moulton's feet.

"My dear, what's the matter?" the old man said. "Here, let me help you up."

MA ate little and said nothing during lunch. Afterward, when Ludwig had escorted MA from the table, Moulton said to Bohner, "I think you're overdoing things. Ms. A is a beaten, defeated shell of her former self. There's really nothing more to be gained by these sessions. I think it's time to put her on the market."

Ludwig had been instructed to handle MA with great care. No rough stuff. No rape. Not even consensual sex, in the unlikely event she asked for it.

Ordinarily, he followed orders with Prussian exactitude. But today he was very horny, and his charge's vulnerability made her especially attractive to him. On the way back to her room, he pulled her aside and into Moulton's study.

"How about a quickie?" he asked.

MA looked at him blankly.

"Come on, honey. If you don't want to take off that sexy costume, just make a blow job." He spoke in the cajoling tones of a man on a date, not someone guarding a defenseless captive.

"A blow job?" MA said. "Okay." She knelt in front of him.

"Nice and slow," he instructed, unzipping his pants and pulling out his prick.

She caressed the head of his prick with her tongue. Then she slid her mouth down his shaft. He moaned softly and rocked back and forth on his feet.

What happened next came too fast for him to prevent it. MA pulled her head back from his crotch and drove her fist into his scrotum. He gasped, clutched his balls and fell to the floor. A quick karate chop to his throat finished the job. He was out cold.

"How can a 'quickie' be 'nice and slow, ' asshole?" she said in a low voice. She gave him a parting kick in the stomach, then went to the French windows. The study overlooked the Garden. She tried the handle on one of the windows. It was unlocked.

Where to next? She had tried the woods the last time she was free, and that hadn't worked. A long, meandering driveway led to the front gate, but she knew the gate was guarded.

She'd try the Garden. Those strange structures might provide some good hiding places.

Moulton, normally the most cheerful of men, was in a sour mood. To lose one superheroine, because of a blunder by a colleague's underling, was merely unfortunate. To lose a second, because of someone he had hired and trusted, was an outrage.

The only reason Betty and Ludwig weren't chopped up and dumped into the marine tank was that ichthyologists who ran his aquarium told Moulton that so much red meat would be bad for the sharks. Moreover, Bohner argued that the Clinic always needed organs. So Betty and Ludwig were dispatched with fatal injuries consistent with a high-speed traffic accident, and their innards were dispersed among those who could put them to better use.

But while getting rid of these two incompetents brought Moulton a certain satisfaction, it didn't bring back the two beauties who had brought him so much pleasure, and who had the potential to bring him so much money.

To make matters worse, that evening Taggart and the men who worked under him rebelled at his order that they search every square inch of the estate — including every bush and building in the Garden.

"With all due respect Mr. M," said Taggart, "you can't expect these boys to risk their lives uprooting all the freaks in the Garden — leastways, not unless they are authorized to shoot in their own defense."

"No shooting," shouted Moulton. "There will be no shooting. It cost a bloody fortune to create what you call 'freaks, ' and I'll not have them shot like so many possums and coons."

"They're bigger and more dangerous than possums and coons," said Taggart's sidekick, Lee. "You know that. You know what they've done to some of the girls you've sent into the Garden."

Moulton couldn't dispute that point. Some of his parties had gotten rather out of hand, and there had been a few "incidents," as he called them. But it had all been worth it, to turn Bosch's vision into a reality. What were the few lives of a few hookers compared with the opportunity to create great art?

"I'll go myself in the morning, you bloody cowards," Moulton said. "And I'll go unarmed. They won't hurt me. Without me, they wouldn't exist, and I think they know that."

Bohner, who had been silently listening to this conversation from a corner of the study, cleared his throat.

"Let's all calm down and think this through, Mr. M," he said. "We've already lost two very valuable commodities. But losing you would be a disaster — for the clinic, for all charities you support, for all of Delta-City."

"Do you think I can be dissuaded with a little flattery, Richard?" said Moulton. "You are wrong. I will go into the Garden, and I will return with our two missing captives — or with their remains."

'Boared' to tears

Moulton was premature in mentioning "remains." Ms. Americana and Flag Girl were still alive — and in the strangest predicament either had ever found herself in.

They were in an underground chamber over 100 feet below the Garden. For reasons she didn't understand, Flag Girl was being treated as a goddess by the strange creatures that dwelled in and beneath the Garden. She sat on an alabaster throne on a low, circular stone platform, surrounded by a myriad of human-animal hybrids. They murmured and chirped in what to Flag Girl sounded like adulatory tones.

But MA, who had been captured by "Moulton's monsters" soon after entering the Garden, was enjoying no such exalted status. She had quickly been incapacitated with fumes from an herb that grew only in the Garden. Then she was stripped and carried to the torch-lit, underground chamber. There, she was held aloft by dozens of hands, her arms and legs spread and her head and dark hair hanging down. Thus she was presented to Flag Girl, like some sort of sacrificial offering.

Flag Girl rose, stunned by the unexpected appearance of her mentor. She wanted to rush to MA's side, to embrace and protect her. But something held her back. It was if the communal will of this band of monsters somehow controlled her actions.

Instead of coming to MA's aid, she merely nodded, as if giving assent to some plan she and the group had earlier agreed on.

The chirps and murmurs became louder, and MA was passed from one group of outstretched hands to another, until she reached an arched doorway, beyond which the torchlight did not reach. Seven humans with pigs' heads came out and carried her through the doorway.

As MA regained consciousness, her first sensations were intensely stimulating. Many tongues were licking her. Her entire body was being caressed by these soft, wet, undulating instruments of pleasure. Gravity seemed to have disappeared. She floated in the darkness. Her only contact with the environment was the licking of this multitude of tongues. Her breaths became more rapid and shallow and suddenly she came with a loud moan. The licking slowly ceased, and she lapsed into a post-orgasmic torpor.

After a while, she was roused by an excited flurry of voices. MA somehow sensed that the creatures the tongues belonged to had retreated — and that something huge and monstrous had arrived.

She felt a massive body with coarse hair press against her belly and breasts. Whatever it was had accomplices: Strong hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her legs apart. Suddenly, a huge, wet phallus entered her. She screamed and tried to wiggle free, but she was helpless. Gravity had returned, with a vengeance. She felt as if a ton of bristle-covered flesh was crushing her, even as the beast's prick split her open.

Light appeared, the light of torches only a few feet from her. And now she got a glimpse of what was raping her. It was a gigantic feral pig. And two of the humans with pig heads held her ankles.

The beast on top of her humped vigorously, and she felt as if the force of its thrusts would destroy her. Then it gave a mighty grunt and began to withdraw. As it backed away, its saliva dripped on her belly and its semen on her legs. Its head was massive and ugly. It was a prehistoric carnivore, a member of the pig family but a hundred times more dangerous than any boar alive today. She tried to turn onto her belly and crawl away, but the pig men still held her ankles, and now they lifted her ass off the rocky floor so that her lower body was exposed to the boar.

The porcine monster paused, considering its next move. Its sex urge had been satisfied. Now another need, hunger, must be met. It lunged forward, and its jaws closed on MA's pelvis. The tusks of its lower jaw dug into her buttocks and lower back, while the upper teeth sank into her belly. The pain was unbearable. MA's vision faded, and the voices of the freaks became but a distant hum.

"Is she dead? She must be dead."

The voice sounded like Flag Girl's, but the tone was curiously detached.

Someone chirped in response.

"I see. Well, this is a most curious mating ritual. The beast was on the verge of biting her in half. Why spawn, if you're going to destroy what carries your offspring?"

More chirping, and now it almost sounded like laughter.

MA opened her eyes, and sunlight flooded in. She was lying on a balcony made of pink stone. Flag Girl and several humans with animal heads stood around her.

"You're awake," said Flag Girl. "We were worried about you."

We? Did she now identify with this flock of freaks?

MA tried to sit up, but a surge of pain sent her reeling back into unconsciousness.

When she came to, she was inside one of the pink structures, and the light from the window was fading.

"Be careful. Your abdominal muscles have been damaged," Flag Girl said. "But the oldest and wisest of the birdmen has examined you and found you sound. The baby will survive, too."

The baby! MA tried again to sit up, and again could not overcome the pain. She lay still, breathing heavily.

Flag Girl came and knelt beside her. "The pig would have eaten you, if I hadn't arrived in time," she said. "It has terrorized these creatures for years. They were offering you as a sacrifice, to placate the beast."

"Why didn't it kill me?" MA whispered.

"I shot it with a crossbow. The bolt hit right between its eyes."

"Where did you get a crossbow?" MA asked.

"It was dropped by a hunter at one of Moulton's parties a few years ago. These creatures, my friends, have treasured it as a religious icon but didn't know how to use it. They are grateful I killed the pig. It had eaten many of them."

"You can... you can talk with these..."

"Yes, I'm beginning to understand them. And I think they understand me. I don't know how. Their wise men said they have a legend that a child would come and lead them. They think I am that child."

Despite her pain and confusion, MA smiled. "You're an awfully well-endowed child."

Flag Girl frowned. "You should be more respectful of me. I saved your life."

"I'm sorry," MA said softly.

Flag Girl's face brightened. "And I killed Mr. Moulton. At least, I helped kill him."

MA forced herself to sit up. "What? When did this happen?"

"This morning. He came into the Garden, and the birdmen and the fishwoman and the little people asked what they should do. I told them to capture him and bring him to me. And they did. But he got overexcited when he saw me, and he died."

"Oh shit!" MA said. "Now they'll come with guns and grenades and God-knows-what. They'll come and destroy this place. We've got to get out of here."

"But where will we go?" Flag Girl cried. "Where can these creatures go? They'll be hunted and killed, or put in zoos. Or people like Bohner will do terrible experiments on them."

"You can't save them," MA said. "We've got to save ourselves. We've got to escape before they come. Where is Moulton's body?"

"We left it in the Garden — for the buzzards."

"My God! Whatever possessed you..." MA's exclamation of surprise and disgust was cut short by shouting outside, followed by gun fire. They rushed to the window. MA had been right: Men with guns had arrived. They had already shot two birdmen. Now they were headed toward the building from which MA and Flag Girl were watching.

"We could give ourselves up," said Flag Girl. "It's us they want, not these creatures."

"You're wrong," said MA. "Moulton was their protector, but I heard others — that security guard, Ludwig, and the fat one, Taggart — I heard them talk about how much they hated the 'freaks.' They want to kill them all. And now they'll want to kill us, too. Or charge us with murder."

"You forget, Brenda, they want to sell us as sex slaves. They won't kill us."

"So you'd rather end up a sex slave?"

Their quarrel was cut short by the sound of scuffling below. Then a shot was fired, and they heard a strange sound. It was the dying call of a birdman.

Seconds later, the door burst open, and MA and Flag Girl found themselves facing the shotguns of two of Moulton's security guards.

"Put you hands behind your heads and turn around," the bigger of the two guards shouted. MA and Flag Girl did as commanded. Someone grabbed MA's hands, pulled them down behind her and snapped on handcuffs.

"Take her outside," said the big guard. "I'll be out shortly. Me and blondie are going to have some fun first."

Flag Girl spun around and assumed a martial arts position. "I warn you," she said. The guard laughed and smashed the butt of his gun into her face.

MA and Flag Girl were taken to the concrete-block building that served as security headquarters. There they were beaten and repeatedly raped before being hauled back to the mansion and dropped at Bohner's feet.

"You girls look as though things have been going badly," he said. "Well, get used to it. Things are definitely going to go downhill from here. Mr. Moulton is dead. I'm sure you already knew that. In fact, I plan to tell Commissioner Stepford that you two planned his murder and used those freaks to carry it out. What I've got to decide — along with Stepford and others who have a financial stake in you — is whether to prosecute you or carry out our original plan."

Flag Girl struggled to her knees and looked up at him. "What about the creatures in the Garden?" she asked.

"Taggart's men have killed every one they could find. There were fewer than we expected. Taggart thinks they may have an underground bunker. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No," Flag Girl lied. Bohner looked down on her coldly, then kicked her in the groin.

"I'm not sure you're as dumb as you seem, but it really doesn't make any difference. Your pals, the birdbrains and the fishcunts, will soon be extinct. And I suspect you will, too. If we decide to prosecute, you'll end up in prison, where a lot of 250-pound dykes will be delighted to see you. You put some of them behind bars. I figure you two would be lucky to last a week." Now it was MA trying to get up. Bohner kicked her in the side, and she rolled over, groaning in agony.

"The other option, awarding you to the highest bidder, would also probably be a death sentence," he continued. "Oh, the buyer wouldn't kill you right away — not after laying out millions for you. But eventually he, or she, would grow bored. Sex slaves, even slaves as beautiful as you two, are, after all, only toys. And we all know how children tire of their toys and love to smash them. My guess is that you would be tortured for days, maybe weeks, then snuffed in front of movie and video cameras. The film and tape would, of course, have excellent production values and might fully recoup whatever was paid for you."

Bohner had been so occupied with his grisly scenario that he had paid no attention to his intended audience. Now, he looked down and sighed. Both women were unconscious.

"What should we do with them, Doc?" Taggart asked.

"Well, it looks like you've already had quite a bit of fun at their expense. I have no objections to gang rape, but I'm worried you and your boys will do permanent damage. Flag Slut has a nasty bump on her forehead. I want to have a look at that. After that, bring them upstairs. Tasher and I will take care of them."

Taggart thought this over, then said, "With all due respect, Doc, I think me and boys will hold on to these girls. With Mr. Moulton dead and us not having pensions or 401K plans, I figure these girls are our financial security."

Now it was Bohner's turn to do some thinking. He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. Taggart had men with guns. All he and Tasher had were hypodermics. The imbalance of power was obvious.

"Of course," said Bohner. "Do whatever you want with them, but remember, if you kill or disfigure them, they're worthless."

"Sure, Doc," said Taggart. "I understand. Me and the boys just want a piece of the action. We'll have our fun with them for a few days while you're arranging your auction, or whatever. Then you can draw up papers making us partners — junior partners, so to speak. We don't expect no more than, say, 10 or 15 percent of the gross."

"Very reasonable," said Bohner, "but I will, of course, have to consult the other members of the syndicate. And Mr. Moulton's estate will have to be settled. I believe he intended to leave most of his wealth to the Clinic, but we'll have to wait until we see his final will. Then, of course, there will have to be a coroner's investigation. I suggest we all agree that he died peacefully, the way he would have wanted — walking in his Garden."

"Yeah, that sounds fine," said Taggart. "You handle all that. We'll make sure our stories jibe. Meantime, we'll keep the cunts."

This means war

Bohner's acquiescence was purely a tactical move. He had no intention of giving up without a fight. Minutes after his conversation with Taggart, he used his cell phone to call Stepford in Delta-City. He explained the situation tersely.

"An interesting challenge," said Stepford. "I think we can handle it. This fellow Taggart has how many men?"

"No more than a dozen."

"And their arms?"

"Shotguns. Semi-automatic pistols. I think I saw a submachine gun or two."

"What about body armor?"

"I don't think they have any," said Bohner.

"Good. Our SWAT team can handle this. Since it's outside the city, I'll need to get authorization from the county commissioners. That shouldn't be a problem. They're all in Moulton's pocket."

"Yes," said Bohner, "but Moulton's dead."

"The commissioners don't know that. In fact, Moulton's death will give us cover for this operation. I'll announce after we've taken out Taggart and his men that they were responsible for Moulton's death. I'll say you and Moulton were being held hostage at the estate, but you managed to make a secret call on your cell phone."

"Which led to the rescue mission?"

"Exactly," said Stepford. "We'll just have to made sure none of Moulton's security detail survives."

"And that our twin treasures aren't harmed."

"Oh, right, the girls," said Stepford. "I had nearly forgotten about them. I'll instruct our boys to be very, very careful. And discreet. Now, where are the girls being held?"

Bohner explained the layout of the estate, and how to reach the security headquarters. "I'm pretty sure that's where they are," he said.

But Bohner was wrong. MA and Flag Girl were not at the security headquarters. Taggart and his men were bored with headquarters and decided it was time for rape alfresco. They forced the women to march into the woods. After a while, they came to a clearing with redwood picnic tables and benches. They started with MA. She was bent face down on one of the tables, and six men took turns fucking her from behind. Taggart himself used a different approach. He took of his thick leather belt, with its heavy brass buckle, and beat her bare ass until it was a mass of welts. Then he used the ribbed handle of a two-foot-long police baton to rape her.

Flag Girl had the cleanup detail — sucking the dicks of the men after they had fucked her mentor. Taggart made her lick the baton clean.

"All that talk about some magic wand," said his partner, Lee, "but it seems to me that the old-fashioned ways are best. What do you think, honey?"

Flag Girl turned her tear-stained face away.

"She don't seem very friendly," said Taggart. He slipped the tip of the baton under her chin and forced her to raise her face to them.

"My friend here was talking to you, bitch."

"Yes," she whispered. "I heard him."

"Then answer, cunt," Lee shouted. He grabbed Taggart's baton and started beating her.

Taggart pulled him back. "Watch it. These girls are gonna make us rich. You can fuck 'em all you want, but like the Doc said, no permanent damage."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Lee. "But I sure would like to finish this one off. There's something about her drives me wild."

MA, who had been lying face-down in the grass, managed to get up onto her hands and knees. One of the men took this as a signal that she was ready for more abuse. He kicked her over, onto her side, then knelt and slid his hand into her pussy. "Hot damn," he said. "This one's wet again." He turned her onto her back, spread her legs, and fucked her while gnawing on her ear.

"Control yourselves," Taggart yelled. "You boys are going into some kind of goddam frenzy. You get carried away, and we're not going to have anything to sell but a couple of beat-up whores."

He was right. The men seemed to have gone berserk. They punched and kicked the two battered super heroines, then began fighting each other.

Taggart pulled out his nine-millimeter pistol and fired it twice in the air.

It got the attention of his subordinates, but not in the way he wanted. The one who had been fucking MA rolled off of her and reached for his holster, which he had placed on a bench.

Taggart shot him in the chest before he could reach his gun.

This display of leadership by intimidation — actually, by homicide — did nothing to boost morale among the remaining members of Moulton's security force. They didn't know, of course, that they would shortly face a far more serious threat than internal dissension.

Taggart, for all his impulsiveness, had enough sense to figure out that Bohner was probably up to no good — and that the doc had important connections back in Delta-City. Still, he didn't expect what hit them at 2 o'clock in the morning: a full SWAT team that used a battering ram to smash into the security building, a stun grenade that left everyone, including MA and Flag Girl, dazed and temporarily deafened, and enough tear gas to leave a fair-sized town weeping uncontrollably.

Not one of Taggart's men had enough time to squeeze off a round. Taggart himself took a load of Number Two shot in the chest and died instantly. Lee dove under a cot. He was dragged out by two cops wearing full body armor and gas masks. They dispatched him with a bullet in the back.

The other seven men in the building died similar deaths. MA, stumbling through the tear gas, found herself staring at the business end of a twelve gauge shotgun, but the officer holding it quickly called out, "Follow me."

Flag Girl, who was in worse shape, was grabbed and thrown over the shoulder of a burly cop, who hurried outside. She was choking from the gas, and the EMT who checked her out yelled, "Get her to the chopper fast. She may not make it."

Someone threw a blanket over MA's shoulders. It was all she was wearing when an officer came up to her and said, "Looks like we saved your ass, hot stuff." He pulled off his helmet. It was Sam, the blond haired cop who had set her up for the beating and rape at police headquarters what seemed like ages ago.

"Yeah, thanks," she said in a low voice.

"Hey, guys," said Sam. "Believe it or not, this sorry piece of shit is Ms. Americana. Yeah, the same hot-shot bitch who was always making us look bad. Only this time, she ain't the one nailing the bad guys. Looks like they nailed her — over and over."

MA looked around for Sam's commanding officer. She just wanted someone to shut him up and get her out of here.

An older officer with a salt-and-pepper mustache came up to her. "I'm Captain Bacon," he said. She sighed with relief.

Then he added, "You're under arrest for the murder of Charles Moulton."

Bohner entered Stepford's office unannounced. A good-looking blonde secretary was on her knees in front of him, and he was fumbling with his zipper.

"What the hell do you mean, barging in like this?" he yelled.

"And what the hell do you mean, fucking up a multi-million-dollar deal?" Bohner yelled back.

The secretary wiped her lips, closed her blouse and hurried out.

"We had a plan," Bohner said, lowering his voice. "Your cops were going to rush in, dispatch Moulton's security guards, blame them for Moulton's murder, then turn the bitches over to us. Now you've charged Ms. Assfuck and Flag Tits with murder. How can we auction them off when they're in jail?"

"Money has its uses," said Stepford, "but political power is the ultimate turn-on. Consider this: 'Security guards turn on their employer' — interesting, but not much of a story. But 'Ms. Americana and Flag Girl involved in murder of billionaire' — now that's a story."

He waved a copy of the Daily Democrat. Under a banner headline proclaiming Moulton's murder was a four-column picture of MA and Flag Girl, their heads bowed, as if in shame, flanked by two of Delta-City's finest.

"The TV has been even better. I was great — subdued but firm, announcing sadly that these two superheroines had gone bad and expressing regret we hadn't gotten to Moulton's estate before they and Taggart murdered him."

"You'll never make this stick," Bohner said angrily.

"Of course I will. Moulton's security guys are all dead. Except for you and this guy Tasher, there are no witnesses to contradict my story about how all this happened. And I think I can count on you two not to fuck things up, since my version leaves you in the clear."

"You're forgetting the two bitches. They'll say they had nothing to do with Moulton's death. Hell, I don't know how the old man actually died, but I'm damned sure neither these two nor Taggart and his bunch was responsible."

Stepford smiled. "The two bitches won't protest their innocence. At least, Flag Girl won't. We've already got a confession from her."

Bohner appeared shaken. "What did she say?"

"Oh, it made no sense — something about creatures with human bodies and animal heads. The important thing is that she says she was involved in Moulton's murder. In fact, she says she feels real bad about it."

"Was her lawyer present when she said this?"

"No, and I know what you're thinking: The confession would never be admitted in court. Well, it doesn't have to be. I intend to win in the court of public opinion. I think the bitches are going to the pen. But if they aren't convicted, I'll blame the judge and legal technicalities. The important thing is that Don Stepford and his cops brought the jugs to justice. Has a nice ring, doesn't it?"

Things didn't get any better when Moulton's lawyer read his will. He called Bohner with the bad news: Not a dime for the Clinic.

Not a dime for any other charity, or for Moulton's nieces and nephews.

The whole goddam estate, $2.6 billion worth, went to Marietta Boudreaux, the sexy little housemaid who Bohner remembered serving drinks and bon bons. Uncle Sam would get an enormous cut, of course, but the little French tart would still pocket at least a billion.