Plebs

by Jim Goforth

  "Grab his feet Corey," said Pete, stooping and lifting the dead weight of Drake by his sizable shoulders.

  Corey did so, slinging Drake up by his legs.

  Together they placed the comatose thug face down on the floor of the back seat with his arms curled behind him. Despite the discomfort of the position it didn't deter Drake from his slumbers.

  He lay prone where he was put, grunting and groaning to himself in the Blaise assisted sleep, refusing to budge.

  "One down," Peter commented.

  Dennis King was sitting up now with his arms wrapped around his knees.

  He dared not make any untoward moves for both Desiree and Blaise lurked nearby, either one of them close enough to lash out with a furious kick if they sensed he was about to launch into any more harebrained escape plots.

  "You fuckers aren't gonna tie me up," Dennis declared with probably a great deal more bravado than he felt.

  "You sure about that Dennis?" Pete asked him. "See from where I'm standing I don't think you have much choice."

  "Errol is going to kill you faggots!" Dennis raged impotently. "And rape all your sluts!"

  That senseless remark earned him a solid boot in the back from Desiree, swiftly followed by a cuff to the back of the head which toppled his cranium lopsided.

  "Is that right?" Corey queried, fixing King with an expression of interest. "Here's the story Dennis. Here is what is really going to happen. You don't shut the fuck up soon and we won't bother tying you up, we'll just fucking lynch you and be done with it. Because either way you are liable to wind up deceased aren't you?"

  Dennis blanched a little whiter than he already was, but he still had enough bluster in him to fire off another comment.

  "As if, Somerset. You won't kill me."

  "That is true. I won't kill you," Corey conceded, placing a strong emphasis on the 'I' section of his sentence. "But I can sure as hell guarantee that either of my fine lady friends will kill you. Without batting an eyelash. They will kill you so slowly you will scream for them to hurry up and end your misery. And then they'll forget about you and go eat dinner. Ain't that right ladies?"

  "That's right," Blaise and Desiree answered in chorus, both of them crouching as one entity, one on either side of Dennis.

  Blaise had a knife held almost reverently in her right hand. She tickled the razor sharp blade of it along Dennis King's jugular.

  "Ah leave me alone!" Dennis screamed. "I don't know anything!"

  "Why are you here Dennis?" Corey asked. "Coincidence?"

  "Yeah, coincidence."

  "I don't believe you. Cut off his thumbs Blaise, he doesn't need them."

  "No!" Dennis bellowed before Blaise had even reached for his hand. "No! I'll tell you!"

  Corey smiled to himself, pleased with the simple ruse.

  "Tell me what Dennis?"

  "Look, Errol just told us to come out here looking for his van. He said you fuckers stole it from him this morning and we were to try and help him find it. That's it, that's all I know."

  "Did you see the van anywhere?"

  "No. But you've hidden it somewhere."

  "That isn't the point Dennis. If you couldn't find the van why didn't you go back and tell Haskell so? Why are you still here?"

  "'Cause we knew you were inside. Your car was still here."

  "So Drake just figured he'd tinker around with it then?"

  "I guess. I don't know. He didn't tell me."

  "Where is Haskell then?"

  "I don't know. He rung us on the mobile. Didn't tell us where he was."

  "This mobile?" Desiree held up the telephone Blaise had earlier confiscated from King.

  "That's the one," King confirmed.

  By this time Ryan and Jess were returning, both of them with arms laden with sections of rope and cord.

  Ryan even had a full roll of thick black electrical tape dangling precariously from a crooked finger.

  CHAPTER 31

  "So let me get this straight," Corey said slowly to Dennis King. "Errol Haskell rang you and Drake sometime today and told you that we-meaning me and Lee-had stolen his van, and you two were to come out here to Bodyworx to look for it? Is that about the size of it?"

  "Yep."

  "He didn't say anything about any further plans? Nothing about any girls, or any strange creatures he might have met along the way?"

  "Nope. Nothing like that."

  "What were his exact words Dennis?"

  "I don't know!" The captive whine plaintively. "He spoke to Wes."

  "Well, you tell me what Wes told you."

  "I can't remember."

  "Your memory better start getting better real quick or you'll have no tongue to lie with. And I'm not kidding; Blaise will cut it out and wear it for a necklace."

  Corey firmly believed that Blaise would do no such thing, but the moronic King was an easy target to bully and possibly would have believed Blaise and Desiree were goddess aliens from the far rings of Saturn.

  "Okay, okay! Christ! Wes said that Errol wanted us to find you and Hunter and whoever else and sort you out. He said that you had a whole bunch of really hot sluts with you and once we got the troublemakers-that'd be you and your friends- we could share the sluts."

  The final statement was uttered in little more than a hoarse whisper as King lowered his voice immeasurably, possibly for fear he would be dealt a violent retribution from either of the hovering princesses.

  They heard the comment anyhow and Blaise burst out laughing.

  "Share the sluts? I like that. Listen fuckbrain, the only thing you, your mate Drake and this numbskull Haskell are likely to share is a shallow grave.

  The sluts already have their men and you little pal are not on the guest list."

  Dennis shrugged as if to say he knew all along that regardless of what Haskell told them no sluts would be forthcoming for him.

  "That's what he said," he said almost apologetically.

  "You still think it's gonna happen?" Blaise pressed.

  "Since we haven't sorted Somerset and co. out I guess not," said Dennis wistfully.

  Everybody fell about laughing.

  It was almost enough to make Corey feel sorry for the pathetic figure of Dennis King. Almost.

  In the back of the Big Wes Range Rover Pete had Big Wes himself trussed up like a Christmas turkey. He was selecting another piece of rope and was aiming to lash this one around the ankles of his captive when Corey stopped him.

  "Leave his feet untied. We'll make the bastard walk inside. I don't fancy expending energy carrying the jackass."

  "Fair call. If he wants to kick like a mule when he comes out of it we'll stomp on him."

  "Precisely," Corey nodded then glanced around at his fellows. "We about ready to blow this Popsicle stand?"

  "Yeah," Ryan said. "But what about Dennis? Gonna tie his ass up too?"

  Corey cast a long hard look at the pitiful King, who looked miserable and almost certainly wishing he was anywhere but where he was.

  "If Dennis promises to behave, we won't tie him up," Corey said. "Hear that Dennis?"

  "Yeah. I'll be good."

  "Ha!" Pete snorted. "You'll never be good dumbass."

  "I meant I'll behave."

  "Good, you do that. Corey, you driving?"

  "Yep. Pete, you can ride shotgun."

  "Let's load up!" Pete clapped his hands.

  "We'll ride in the middle," Blaise decided. "Corey's slut, you wanna ride with me? With our feet on Drake, and Dennis between us?"

  "Why yes, Pete's slut, that sounds like a plan," Desiree responded with a grin and then to Jess she said, "Ryan's slut, you gonna ride right up back with your slutmaster?"

  "Of course. Come on slutmaster," Jess spoke to Ryan.

  "Slutmaster," Ryan chuckled. "Haven't been called that before."

  "No, it's more like manslut." Pete said.

  "Manslut? I think you mean Tim..." Ryan started to say and let his voice trail away, again being put in mind
of Tim's untimely demise. "Fuck...sorry Tim, rest in peace buddy."

  "Amen to that," Corey murmured. "Don't worry; Tim's going to be avenged."

  Dennis King gazed enquiringly from face to face as Blaise hauled him to his feet.

  Clearly Errol Haskell hadn't made King and Drake privy to everything he knew.

  "What's that? What happened to Hayworth?"

  "Never mind," Blaise snapped brusquely, Tim's death obviously a sore point with her also.

  After all she'd earmarked Tim from the beginning as her partner to be and up until he'd ventured off with Lee and Corey to relocate the missing girls they'd been hitting it off nicely. "Get in the car."

  Dutifully Dennis obliged, clambering in to sit alongside Desiree who had her pistol resting across her thighs, aimed at him. Blaise hopped in next and with Ryan and Jess already seated up in the very back of the six door vehicle, the door was ready to shut.

  On any other occasion Dennis King would have been living out a dream fantasy, squashed in between two of the sexiest women imaginable, but in this case it was more of a nightmare for him. Both women were pointing guns at him and according to Corey wouldn't hesitate to empty them in his body if he were to make one tiny wrong move.

  Pete tossed the bag containing their various weaponry on the floor of the front seat and then tossed himself in. Last in was Corey, climbing behind the wheel.

  "You don't want me to take a look at the Beast?" Ryan called out from the back.

  "Nope. Don't worry about it. I don't want you getting injured if these fools have booby trapped it. We all fit into this one; it'll do to get us home."

  "Alright then. Let's roll! To the Coreycave!"

  "Bodyworx locked up?"

  "Yep. Sweet as a cashew nut."

  Corey started the engine, thinking how very kind of Drake to leave the keys in the ignition and reversed the Range Rover out into the street.

  "You know what?" Blaise said too Desiree as Corey put the car in drive and headed off.

  "What's that my love?"

  "Serena's nobody's slut is she?"

  "No, quite right. She's not is she?"

  "There you go Dennis," Blaise laughed, slugging him in the bicep. "We might have a slut for you after all."

  "Yeah?" Dennis said hopefully, possibly fervently praying they weren't yanking his chain.

  "Oh god yes!" Enthused Desiree, desperately attempting to keep a flood of insane laughter from engulfing her. "She's a right slut, Serena is. She loves it. Queen Slut of Slutsville that one."

  "Tash is Lee's slut so we'll have to rule her out," Jess chimed in on the joke from her far back seat position. "But there are others. Britt, Caroline. Hey what about Melissa? Reckon she's the kind of slut for Dennis?"

  "Come on, be serious now," Blaise laughed. "Melissa?"

  "I think I like the sound of Serena," Dennis King spoke up, a statement that had every occupant of the vehicle bar comatose Drake swamped in hysterical laughter.

  Desiree was practically weeping, such was the extent of her amusement; but to her credit, her aim with her handgun never faltered.

  Corey himself was in stitches, finding it difficult to concentrate on the street before him.

  Even Dennis joined in on the laughter, unsure why he was laughing, but not wanting to be seen as the butt of the joke, although unbeknownst to him he was.

  "Well, how could you not like the sound of saucy Serena?" Blaise said. "Wanton tramp that she is."

  "Oh come on," Pete spoke up. "Now you're just making me horny for Serena."

  That comment exacerbated Corey's hilarity, making him laugh out loud, trying to navigate the car whilst wiping his eyes.

  "Understandably," he said when he felt he could talk again.

  "You've already got a woman Pete," Ryan called out. "Leave off trying to steal one from Dennis."

  "Yeah," Dennis chimed in. "Serena is the one for me."

  Again Corey and his merry cohorts erupted in cataclysmic fits of laughter.

  Corey didn't know if he should feel sorry for Serena or Dennis, but he did know one thing.

  Right now, regardless of what threats were lurking elsewhere, what other horrible events may happen to lie right around the corner, he felt on top of the world.

  He and his cronies had managed to thwart Haskell once already, successfully overthrowing the trap that was Drake and King, all his boys were safe and sound, they'd all accepted that Melissa and her girls were on their side and weren't going to betray them, and best of all he had the luscious Desiree proclaiming that she was his woman.

  So despite all the bad, the good was plentiful and if everybody, including Dennis King were able to laugh so heartily things boded well for the future.

  "That's all well and good Dennis," Pete spoke up. "But you see, there is one major problem with you making a play for either Serena or any one of the unattached women."

  Corey glanced in the rear view, watching a puzzled expression steal over Dennis's visage.

  "What's that?" Dennis wanted to know.

  Pete lit up a cigarette and then tossed the pack back to Blaise.

  "You're playing for the other team Dennis."

  "What? I ain't gay!" Dennis protested, misconstruing Pete's words. "I love chicks!"

  "I didn't mean to infer that you were gay," Pete exhaled a plume of smoke. "I mean that you are on Haskell's team. See, you're not with us are you? You're with Haskell and in this scenario Haskell is the bad guy. We're the good guys and the girls are with us. Seeing as Corey introduced us to the girls and the girls are friends of Corey's it stands to reason that any enemy of Corey's, and anybody associated with Corey's enemies are not going to be seen as friends by the girls. See what I mean? If Corey hates Haskell, well so do the rest of us. Girls included."

  The puzzled look on Dennis King's face turned to one of utter disappointment, his face completely crestfallen and dismal. He said nothing, but his mouth twitched spasmodically as if he had much to say.

  "It would be a different story if you were with us hey Dennis?" Corey added, constantly monitoring King's face in the rear view.

  "Wouldn't it just," Desiree put in. "See, Dennis, whatever happens there's gonna be a war. And we aren’t going to lose. Your friends, your Haskells and your Drakes, they've hooked up with some people who used to be friends with us. And we have to deal with these people because they've done some very nasty things to us. And ultimately they are going to get you killed if you persist in hanging with them."

  Dennis still said nothing, his face a tortured collage of indecision.

  He could see they weren't kidding; hell the two hot chicks were carrying guns and the bag Peter Molina had at his feet also appeared to be full of firearms.

  If there was going to be a war, and that seemed inevitable the way the sexy black haired chick was talking, then Dennis King didn't want to be on the losing side because that side was going to be littered with fatalities.

  Corey met the eyes of Dennis in the rear view.

  "You know where Errol Haskell is dontcha bud?" he said to Dennis.

  Dennis nodded once, a tiny almost imperceptible movement.

  "Where is he Dennis?"

  "What the fuck!" A strident hoarse voice bellowed from the floor behind Corey.

  Wesley Drake had awoken from his Blaise induced slumber.

  "Hey you, Sleeping Beauty," Blaise stamped on Drake's spine. "Go back to sleep. We like Dennis a lot better when you're out of it."

  "Dennis!" Drake shouted, his voice angry and threatening, and Corey witnessed Dennis visibly flinch as if the stentorian blast had physically lashed him. "What the fuck have you been saying? What did you fucking tell them?"

  "Nothin'" Dennis whined. "I didn't say nothin'."

  "Better fucking not have Dennis, I'm warning you," Drake threatened, though it was probably quite difficult to cut an imposing figure whilst lying face down on the floor of a vehicle with your hands tied behind your back. "Errol finds out you been bleating like a bitch and you'r
e copping one hell of a flogging. Or worse. What the fuck have you been saying to these fucks?"

  "You still got that tape Ry?" Pete asked of Ryan. "You might want to pull of a big strip and gag Drake's goddamn mouth."

  "Hear that numbskull?" Desiree needled, poking Drake's ribs with a booted foot.

  "I heard, bitch."

  The mere poking of Desiree's boot became a full blown kick as she whipped her foot back and administered a severe thump to Drakes torso.

  "Now why do you wanna be like that?" Desiree asked Drake. "Here we are trying to teach Dennis some respect for women, and some manners and you want to go and ruin everything by calling us names."

  "Ha," Drake snorted, his bloody mangled nose making him sound like he had serious nasal congestion. "Teach Dennis manners? What a fucking joke. The guy is a baboon; he wouldn't know jack shit about manners. He don't even know how to wash his hands after taking a piss."

  "Some friend you are," Corey said, still watching Dennis in the rear view every so often.

  Right now the face of Dennis was screwing up in a strange mixture of anger and embarrassment.

  He almost looked like he was going to cry.

  His alleged 'best mate' had just seriously trashed his already scant reputation and showed no remorse over it.

  "You know what Drake?" Dennis suddenly blurted and Corey detected barely restrained rage simmering in his voice. "Fuck you and fuck Errol Haskell too! Fuck all of those guys, fuck Vickerman, fuck all of them! You are all a big bunch of pricks. When have you been nice to me? Never, that's when. I'm always the loser in the group, the guy everybody makes fun of, the guy who takes all the blame for your shit, the guy who cops all of your shit and guess what? I'm fucking sick of it, I'm sick of you.

  And you can tell Haskell to blow me 'cause I'm done with him. I'm through. I hope you all get killed 'cause that's what you deserve. I'm supposed to be your friend, but you don't care about me, you just put me down all the time. All of the guys, everybody is better than me, I'm just useless Dennis King. Well, no more. Fuck you Drake 'cause I'm finished with you!"

  A profound silence enveloped the car as Dennis sat back, breathing hard, scowling intensely.