A Wicked Haven

by Barry Smith

  “Hell yeah, tonight! That’s thirteen tons of pure goodness, worth over four hundred fuckin’ million dollars! You bet your sweet tight ass we want it back!”

  And with that, Damien jumps out of bed naked, to slip back into his underwear. While getting into his trousers, he reaches for his gun, a revolver gilded with gold while still ranting,

  “They got some fuckin balls taking our shit and thinking they were going to get away with it. Do they know who the fuck we are? We are ‘InfliXion’, the largest and most bad-ass gang in Corbindale Bay. We get our shit back tonight. Gather the best of our best men, this is ‘Operation Take Back’. Those fuckers fucked with the wrong people.”

  ***

  “I hate shirts,” complains Bryce, as he and Ryan drove to A Wicked Haven later that evening.

  “Personally, I am glad you have one on,” replies Ryan, “Can’t have all those girls drooling after you; I want to close this case up, as quickly as possible.” He himself had simply left his tie behind for the outing, and exchanged his suit jacket for a stylish blazer.

  “Sounds like someone doesn’t have the competitive spirit,” whistles Bryce.

  Ryan laughs and says, “Just point out the way, kid.”

  “Don’t you have a GPS in this fancy car they gave you?”

  “It is pretty fancy. It was part of my transfer deal. They got me the make and model I wanted, and pimped it out with this technology that unfortunately, I don’t know how to use.” Ryan laughs.

  “What’s this button?” Bryce questions.

  “I thought you would never ask,” says the feminine voice from the car sound system.

  “Gloria?” they both ask.

  “Yeah silly, they installed me in your office, home, car and on your watch.”

  “Well, good, maybe I’ll no longer get lost finding my way around this city. We’re going to A Wicked Haven; tell me where to go.”

  “As you wish. Take the next right turn,” guides Gloria.

  “Onto that… thing?” asks Ryan, as he peers through his windshield.

  “Yeah,” responds Bryce, “And that ‘thing’ is the best bridge in the entire West Coast.”

  And indeed, it was. The lone bridge that led to a Wicked Haven’s gates was an architectural marvel; it was an eight-laned road; flanked, on both sides, by rib-cage-like curvatures that bent outwards. The curves were then illuminated from within with pink and purple neon lights, thus exuding an ethereal ambiance.

  “It is quite something,” admits Ryan, as they speed through the undulating protuberances that stretched as far as the eye could see. Eventually, they reached the entrance into the island, where the vehicle went through a thorough, but swift, check at the gates.

  “Seems like they are expecting trouble; look at all these guards and gizmos,” comments Ryan.

  “Well, the franchise doesn’t exactly have the support of the City, and you know, that Zion movement; fellas gotta be ready when trouble comes knocking at the door,” explains Bryce.

  “I guess you are right,” ends Ryan, before navigating a left turn after which the cityscape of ‘A Wicked Haven’ opened wide in front of them.

  “Wow,” mutters Ryan, under his breath.

  “And you thought the bridge was something,” smirks Bryce.

  “Place looks like mini-Tokyo meets Hollywood,” observes Ryan.

  “Smaller but waayy better.”

  A Wicked Haven is more than just an island; it is another city in its own rights. Everything, from the buildings to the streets to even the skyline, is colorfully lit. The display of colors makes the renovation done on the mainland look like child’s play. Its atmosphere brings nostalgia of a retrofuture we envisioned when we were young, back in an era when home computers and video games were the newest technology craze.

  “Drive two blocks, then make a right, and another right; we should see Quist,” directs Gloria.

  Ten minutes and a parked car later, both men stand at the club’s red doors, where a doorman welcomes them,

  “Welcome to Wicked Haven, where life is a little more colorful; if you have a guilty pleasure, I’m sure you’ll find it here. Are you gentlemen members or staying at one of our property resorts?”

  Ryan and Bryce flash their doctored identity cards, which bears the data of their undercover persona: Renly Green and Brent Fleming respectively. Bryce, being no stranger to the place, already had an established character, but Ryan has to come up with a believable backstory for himself, which he has to commit to memory.

  Once inside Quist, Ryan notices the festival of lights and colors continued. The bars are stocked with liquor he never even knew existed, the bartenders are men and ladies with alluring smiles and in outfits that did not leave much to the imagination. Even the clientele comprises of high profile individuals from all around, majority of whom are already under the influence of infamous narcotic, ‘Bliss’.

  “That’s Harold Redington and his son, Junior,” whispers Bryce, while subtly pointing in the direction of a private booth with a man with dark brown hair, with hints of grey, and a much younger copy of himself, with female dancers all over them.

  “Dude owns this island; so he’s practically treated like royalty here,” explains Bryce.

  “Yes, I see.” replies Ryan in return, “Let’s split up, check out the bars, and see what we can get from these people.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And umm, one more thing,” stammers Ryan, as he holds Bryce’s shoulder, who had already begun to walk away, “I’m going to need you to keep me in check, kid.”

  “With what?” asks the puzzled Bryce.

  “Bryce, you remember that problem I told you about? I’m gonna need you to keep me focus here.” repeats Ryan, “The way I see it, this place is going to be a total distraction for me, and that would not be good for this investigation.”

  “Come on, man! Tell me. How bad is it?” urges Bryce.

  Ryan then explains,

  “It’s always been an issue. When I was in my mid-teens, I was diagnosed with an overactive libido. In college, I banged so many girls that I had to request for repairs to my bed every week. I hoped the phase would pass, in my thirties, but my hypersexual urges are daily, if not hourly. My therapist recommended that I channel my urges into my passion for poetry, instead of scratching my ‘Itch’ for sex.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Yeah, for a while… before the itch returned. I got married, thinking settling down would change things, but my itch tempted me on a daily basis, and ultimately, the sex addict within led to my divorce. I’m 38 now, and the only thing that keeps my urges at bay, is staying busy at a tiring job, like being a detective.”

  Bryce then wittily says, “Yeah, I met Monique; it seems like the distraction is working well for you.”

  “Well, it’s still a work in progress….. Smart ass,” replies Ryan, as they both laugh about the morning’s incident.

  “Don’t worry, Ryan,” assures Bryce, as he pats Ryan’s back, “I got your back; plus, I’m sure we’ll need your itch to get some info from one of these people.” Then, he nudges Ryan toward a bar.

  After about forty-five minutes of charming their way through staff and customers alike, in order to elicit information, a voice comes on the speakers, announcing that tonight’s Guilty Pleasures show was about to begin.

  Ryan and Bryce make their way to the Guilty Pleasures Showroom, where the performances are to be showcased. They make their way to a table, fairly close to the stage.

  “Now, what do we have here?” comments Bryce, caught in the crossfire stare of a cocktail waitress sizing up Ryan. “Hey Ryan, she’s checking you out hardcore…wait, she’s coming this way.”

  “Hi, I’m Lydia; I will be your server tonight.”

  The guys chuckle under their breath like teenage boys. “Hi Lydia, I’m Renly, and this is Brent. May we get two Keydona Light Beers please?” asks Ryan, grinning widely.

  “Coming right up,” she replies, while lettin
g her stare linger as she walks away.

  “Well, if looks could fuck, you have already been laid,” exclaims Bryce.

  The Guilty Pleasure Showroom, as it was called, is essentially a concert hall. In far front, is a vast state-of-the-art stage; the likes on which most music artists cannot claim to have performed. There are also secondary stages that skirt the circumference of the circular hall; rectangular slabs that have their borders lit, and cannot accommodate more than three people at a time. Fitted on support beams that run overhead are spotlights, whose blinding rays of light shine through the fog, generated by the smoke machines, on the ground.

  Lydia soon returns with their drinks, placing one in front of Bryce, then taking the liberty to sit on Ryan’s lap, “And this one is for you.”

  “Looks like a good start to the evening Renly,” notices Bryce.

  “Oh, I am no fool to let a hottie like you slip through my fingers,” flirts Lydia, as she winks at Ryan. Assaulting his crotch with her rear end, she teases him right until all the spotlights in the room begin to flutter randomly, and a voice booms:

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Quist nightclub is proud to present ‘Guilty Pleasures’!”

  All the lights dim, as the music kicks in and some female dancers simultaneously emerge from the wings of the stage, while others are lowered on platforms that descend from the ceiling. The female dancers are dressed like every guy’s bad girl fantasy. An energetic rap soon followed, which is delivered by a slender black lady, with edgy blue hair and highlights of black, dressed in a skimpy, shimmering, silver dress covered by a white fur coat.

  “That’s Phoenix,” offers Lydia in Ryan’s ear, “She’s a fantastic rapper.”

  She clearly is, given the way she cleverly manipulates words to introduce the dancers of the show. Male dancers, many of whom are clad in only studded, leather underpants that accentuated the massive bulges between their thighs, soon join their female counterparts on the stage. With each routine more erotic than the last, the audience erupted into applause, and was left drooling for more.

  “I’ll be back; I need to take care of these other tables.” says Lydia, getting up from Ryan’s lap.

  The applause is then followed by still and quiet, with the whole hall being thrown into darkness. A slow, sultry song begins with the lighting, being adjusted to highlight the silhouette of a voluptuous body, rising from beneath the stage, on an abstract metallic chaise lounge. The silhouette of her touching her body is enhanced by the sexual lyrics also being sung.

  Bryce gets Ryan’s attention, mouthing the words, “That’s Sage!”

  The slow-paced rhythm is then replaced with a funky beat, as all the spotlights illuminate the singing figure to reveal a gorgeous woman of a mixed raced, with jet-black hair. She is wearing a black leather bodysuit that clings tightly, and outlines her hourglass figure. Areas around her sensitive parts are replaced by perforated lace, while the bottom of the suit exposes her beautiful long legs that lead down to her sparkling heels.”

  Ryan, along with the audience, stares on in wonder. Bryce’s story about the breakup with Chase, under exaggerated her beauty, immensely; he is also never made aware of the kind of voice she has, rich and enticing, not to mention the sensual way in which she moves, speaks and seduces her audience. She may have been a hooker, but she is a hooker with class.

  “Chase buddy, you really lost a good one here, man!” utters Ryan to Bryce.

  Ryan’s loins have been fanned into an inferno by Sage’s performance. He now itches, even more, for Lydia.”

  “Oooo!” coos Lydia, returning to their table, discovering the bulge in his trousers, “Looks like someone’s rearing to go.”

  With heavy breathing, Ryan asks, “Is there somewhere we can go?”

  “Sure. Maybe one of the bathroom stalls?” she replies before gently tugging at the appendage in his pants, and letting go.

  “What’s that curtained-off room in the lounge?” asks Ryan.

  “That’s where only the VIPs go. Let me see if I can get access and give you guys a tour, before I take care of that,” says Lydia, eye gesturing Ryan’s crotch before heading to the bar to talk to a supervisor.

  “Couldn’t be better!” mentions Ryan, “I get to kill two birds with one stone.”

  Upon Lydia’s return, “Ok, we’re in. My supervisor owes me a big favor.” She soon leads Ryan and Bryce out of the Guilty Pleasures Showroom, and the audience who is still held spellbound by Sage.

  “Wait here!” orders Lydia, as she strides over to the seven-foot tall sentry that stands guard at the curtained entrance. As she employs her feminine wit and provides access credentials for the man to let them through, Ryan and Bryce notice the guard lets Harold Redington Jr walk through, with two ladies from earlier, tugging at his clothes.

  “If prostitution’s afoot in A Wicked haven, it’s definitely gonna be in here,” concludes Ryan.

  “Ooo, and with this girl being all over you, your itch is gonna get scratched gooood!” laughs Bryce.

  “Fuck off, kid!”

  Lydia beckons on both men to follow her, and they act accordingly, as they pass the intimidating guard.

  The trio, with Lydia at the lead, weave their way along a maze o neon-lit corridors to several private rooms on each side. Ryan notices all the walls have eye-holes for peeping. There is no shortage of moaning, as intense sessions of coitus are underway. A few people loiter in the corridors, with some coming out from a room and heading straight into the next.

  “You see,” begins Lydia, “These are the ‘Fantasy Rooms’; each room offers a unique, exhilarating sexual experience, unlike anything you’ve ever had.”

  At that point, they run into a girl masturbating away on the floor in the hallway, without a care in the world.

  “That’s Nicole, the worst nympho I know,” adds Lydia.

  Bryce then leans forward to whisper in Ryan’s ear, “These are your people, Ryan. It’s like your own support group with benefits.”

  Ryan rolls his eyes, while Lydia continued talking:

  ”Ok, so you can either roam around and see what private room fits your fantasy, or I can give you a personal tour myself,” as she winks at Ryan.

  Bryce dismisses himself and tells Ryan, “I think you should take Lydia’s personalized tour.” Bryce then turns back to go explore the other hallways.

  As soon as he turns out of sight, Lydia pushes Ryan into a nearby room; clawing, kissing and gnawing on him, as they fight to strip each other of their clothes. Ryan kicks the door shut, then turns and presses Lydia against it, as she undoes the buckle of his belt, and unzips his trousers. He, on the other hand, rips her blouse open, and begins biting on her breasts.

  Lydia immediately reaches into Ryan’s trousers, and pulls his manhood inside of her.

  “Damn, she wants it bad!” thinks Ryan, as Lydia grabs his muscular ass and forces him deeper inside.

  What follows is an incredible series of powerful thrusts, accompanied by loud moaning. The wall behind the duo vibrated, with each thud sending picture frames clattering to the floor.

  “Oh fuck! Renly, that’s it. I feel it coming!” screams Lydia, as she reaches climax.

  Exhausted after several minutes, both fell to the floor, with Lydia on top of Ryan. They breathe heavily on each other for several minutes; each trying to regain their strength, and when Lydia has finally recovered, she made for her blouse before being stopped by Ryan:

  “Oh, I’m not done with you yet!” and with that, he is up, with Lydia in arms. He walks over to the bed, tosses her on it, and gets her on all fours, and begins to torment her honeypot with his tongue. Every one of her orifices screams for attention, as Lydia squirms and begs for more.

  When she is sufficiently moist and ready, Ryan re-enters her slowly, making her feel every inch of him. In and out, and out and in, Ryan goes; he initially drives slowly, before increasing the intensity of his thrusts.

  “Fuck!” she moans, as Ryan pounds away more ferociously, with
tightly shut eyes and a low grunt. Feeling his end was near, Lydia grips him tightly, and arches her back again, to allow him all the way in. As he nears orgasm, he reaches for Lydia’s breasts one more time, which she gladly offers. Fondling them, bringing him to an explosive ending.

  ***

  Back in Trouble Town, a handful of the Brothers of the Missionary have embarked on an outreach, to spread the teachings of the Disciples of Zion.

  The two sons of the Mission Patriarch, Tyler and Mitchell Covay, who had led that particular mission, have been out all night. They have been to about two dozen homes, and have had two dozen doors shut in their faces.

  “Tyler,” begins Mitchell, “I’m really worn out. Why don’t we just join up with the others, and head home?”

  “One more house,” speaks Tyler, as he tries to convince his brother, “Let’s go to one more house, then we’ll call it a night. I promise.”

  “Fine,” sighs Mitchell, “I see one up ahead.”

  The two brothers, with their evangelical manuals underarm, walk up the brightly lit driveway that lead to the house’s front door. There, they knock and wait for an answer, which soon comes as a man to the door.

  “Greetings to you, Sir,” greets Tyler politely, “I am Tyler and this here, is my brother Mitchell; we are from the Brothers of the Missionary, sent to you by our first apostle to share the news of liberation.” He then pauses, briefly, before proceeding: “Sir, if you don’t mind my asking; have you accepted the Lord Savior into your life?”

  “No, but please enlighten me.” the man says with sarcasm.

  Mitchell then asks, “Would you like us to read you a passage, Sir?”

  “Sure, wait a moment.” The door slams, and the boys look at each other, and hear the father say from the other side of the door, “Go ahead, you can start reading now.” Laughs are heard from multiple people inside. Tyler decides to go ahead and read the scripture anyways, but in mid scripture, the man swings the door back open, and empties his bowl of cereal on both of them, and slams the door again.

  The two boys stand for a while, dumbfound and unable to move, before Tyler spreads his arm around his brother’s shoulder and says: