Boston Posh

by Wol-vriey

  Malone had the feeling Sara was thinking of pulling down his pants right here and now and wrapping her silver-lacquered lips around his cock.

  “I should ask you the same question,” she replied, licking them at him. “Why are you still living out here?” She pointed to his arm. “You could get killed?”

  Malone shrugged his remaining shoulder. “I planned on moving under The Grid; then I realized there was no way to let clients know where I’d moved to.” He groaned. “How else would you have found me now?”

  He levered himself upright in the stuffed-gorilla chair and looked around.

  There were two Forks in the room, hovering either side of his front door.

  Malone was struck by sudden certainty that his already messed-up existence was about becoming yet more so. First Posh getting stoned on reich and killing someone, then his losing his arm, and now Sara Fischer bringing Forks to his office.

  All on the same morning. And he still had his tryst with Yang Yang today.

  Sara laid a gnarled but perfectly manicured hand on his surviving elbow. “The Forks wish to hire you,” she said with a cool smile.

  Malone smiled insincerely at the cutlery pair. Hire me? Thank goodness I have the perfect excuse to escape whatever they want me to do for them.

  (Like most other people, Malone felt the safest place to be around Forks was as far away from them as possible.)

  “I’m glad at least that you don’t want me to rescue Rachel from the Afterwife,” he quipped weakly to Sara.

  She giggled. “You’re quite a man if you can still make cracks like that.” She licked her lips at him again.

  Malone grinned back. Maybe today wouldn’t get any worse after all.

  Then the Forks floated over and told him what they wanted.

  ***

  Malone noted that both kitchen gods were golden. That meant this was serious business. Light shimmered off the female’s Forks flawless breastensions.

  “My name is Lord Tav and this is Lady Yaz,” the male Fork said. “As Sara has just mentioned, we wish to hire you.”

  “We are very impressed with the display you put on against the dino outside,” Lady Yaz added, “We never knew humans were that brave.”

  Malone wondered if the Forks were blind or just plain dumb; couldn’t they see he’d just lost an arm? Who the hell in their right mind hired a one-armed private eye?

  “I’d like to help you,” he said politely (one was always polite to Forks), “But—”

  “Your injury? Please hear us out first.”

  It was more a gentle command than a request. With Sara seated across from him, Malone settled himself back in the stuffed-ape chair and listened.

  “We want you to retrieve the president’s liver from Frank.”

  Malone stiffened. Frank?

  Then he laughed, a humorless sound like sandpaper smoothing wood. “Let me understand this—Sara has a grudge against me over Rachel’s death, and you two are here to help her kill me off. Why not just come out with it?”

  The Forks laughed in unison, the sonority of tuning forks sounding in harmony. “No, nothing like that, Malone. Frank specifically demanded that you come get the president’s liver.”

  Malone looked at Sara.

  She nodded. “It’s true; the asshole did.” Her expression turned angry. “He also stole Rachel's head.”

  Frank stealing Rachel's head made sense to Malone. Sara’s first statement, however—confirming the Forks’—didn't.

  “I’m confused,” he said. “What is the ‘president’s liver?’ And it’s Frank, remember? If it’s liver—he’s probably already eaten it.”

  “He has not, Malone,” Lady Yaz sang at him. She floated closer to Malone, till he could see his reflection in her breasts and sense her distinctly feminine aura. “He would not dare anger us to such an extent. He could damage it however, as could we, if we decide to forcefully retrieve it.”

  “Okay, un-confuse me. What’s the Fork president doing with a liver? As far as we’ve been led to believe, you’re not flesh-and-blood.”

  “It is not our president’s liver. It is your president’s.”

  Malone turned to gape at Sara.

  “Jefferson Lincoln,” Sara said miserably. She was unhappy whenever reminded of Jeff’s death; though in the intervening months she’d come to derive pride from her actually fucking a US President into his grave. “After President Lincoln died three months ago, the Forks kept his liver. Then Frank stole it.”

  She burst into tears.

  Malone wondered at her melodrama. “Why’s this liver so important?”

  “They’re preserving it in Jeff’s honor,” Sara quickly replied, wiping her eyes. She knew Malone would reject the assignment if told the real reason the Forks wanted it back.

  Malone was suddenly very tired. “Okay, so what does Frank want with me?”

  Lord Tav spoke. “He speaks about unfinished business. He says you have a quarter of meat of his in your possession. Does this make sense to you?”

  Malone nodded. “Yes—” Frank wanted him so he could eat the remaining quarter of his liver.

  “—And . . . no,” he finished. “I’m not doing it, nor do I wish to hear any more of this insanity.”

  He glared at Sara, who’d composed her emotions again and was busy repairing her makeup from a stegosaur-shell compact. “Go away please, all of you.”

  “They’ll pay you very well,” Sara said, with an encouraging smile.

  “Yes we will,” Lord Tav and Lady Yaz added in unison. “We’ll pay you very well.”

  Malone smirked nastily from one to the other, all fear of the Forks temporarily forgotten. “What can you pay me that can possibly induce a one-armed man to set off on a suicide mission to hell knows where? And please remember I’m right-handed . . . sorry, I used to be right-handed—I can no longer either attack or defend myself from attack. There’s absolutely nothing you can offer me to make it worth my while to tackle Frank again.”

  Convinced he’d made an irrefutable argument, he sat back, glaring at the glimmering cutlery-beings.

  It was Lady Yaz who replied him, her words chilling him to his marrow.

  “You have a girlfriend named Posh,” she said, “a junkie pathetically hooked on dragonreich—what if we offer to cure her for you?”

  CHAPTER 44

  Malone

  What really swayed Malone to accept the Fork’s offer was his remembering the amount of blood he’d lost immediately after losing his arm.

  That was guaranteed bad news with Yang Yang later. Okay so they could screw with her on top since he couldn’t brace himself, but . . . but . . . the snake goddess had to drink his blood while they got it on. Malone was certain that if she leeched him in his current condition, she’d bleed him dry.

  Out that option, he thought, in the Fork-ing alternative. I’m really stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  “I’m still missing an arm,” he pointed out to the Forks. “Is this a simple pickup? Even if it is, I’ll need someone, Sara maybe, to drive my car.”

  Sara shook her head. “Not me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere near that sicko.”

  Malone couldn’t fault her pragmatism. He stared questioningly at the Forks.

  “It isn’t simple,” Lady Yaz replied. Frank says he has set up a number of riddles for you to solve; each one sequentially leading to the next. At the end of the trail you get the president’s liver back for us.”

  “Uh-huh,” Malone said slowly, “and my backup?”

  “None. He requests you come alone.”

  Malone scowled at the Forks. “If you think I’m walking into—”

  “We will however make you another arm.”

  “That’s a relief.” Malone replied. “How long will—Yeooooowwww!”

  It felt to Malone like the dino was eating his right shoulder all over again.

  Eyes wide in disbelief, he watched.

  Blood spurted from his wound, forming into a lengthe
ning liquid tube that congealed into a duplicate of his dino-eaten arm. The agony continued till the red arm’s fingertips—complete with fingernails—were completely formed.

  The pain shut off as abruptly as it had begun. Malone gaped at the Forks in horror. “What have you done to me!?”

  Lord Tav laughed. “That’s your new arm—a blood arm—made entirely of your blood. Try it out—though liquid, it’s stronger than the one you lost, with a few tricks that one did not possess.”

  “It’s self-regenerating too,” Lady Yaz added. “You cannot lose it again.”

  Malone touched the red arm. It felt solid enough. He applied finger pressure to it. The finger sank half an inch then encountered resistance. He flexed his fingers, noted he had full control.

  “It is your arm,” Lady Yaz insisted.

  “Yes,” Malone agreed numbly. “It is.” He looked up at the Forks, “What else does it do?”

  “Its fist packs quite a punch.”

  Sara Fischer giggled like great sex. She rummaged in her purse for a while, finally extracting a sheet of notepaper. She handed it to Malone. “Frank’s first riddle or instructions for you.”

  Malone took the sheet from her.

  It read:

  ‘In the room above your office, lies a dead machine with a message for you.

  Eat you soon,

  Frank.’

  Malone turned the note over to see if there was any additional writing. There wasn’t.

  “This is a dead end,” he said. “This house is a bungalow. It doesn’t have an upper floor.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Sara Fischer asked.

  Malone rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m certain. I’ve worked here for—”

  “We suggest you make certain before being so certain you are certain,” both Forks said in unispeak.

  Malone didn’t reply. While turning the note over, he’d become aware of something strange about his blood hand—there was writing on its rear surface.

  He raised it for closer examination.

  There were three lines of black lettering each with a yellow-white button at its end.

  From top to bottom they read:

  Hetero Fist.

  Gay Fist.

  Lesbian Fist.

  Their trio of companion buttons looked sickening, like large pus-filled zits begging to be popped.

  “What is this?” Malone asked the Forks without looking up.

  There was no reply.

  “I said: what is this shit on my hand?”

  Still no reply.

  He looked up then, discovered he was alone. Sara Fischer and the Forks had vanished.

  Malone stared at the odd inscriptions on his hand for a long time. Instinct warned him not to depress any of those studs just yet.

  CHAPTER 45

  Posh & Sookie

  After leaving home distraught, Posh drove east to Kneeland Street, to Sookie Ling’s brothel.

  Sookie frowned on seeing how miserable Posh looked.

  “Come, talk in office.” She led the way, back.

  Sookie’s office was creepy—a small windowless room painted in garish contrasting colors.

  “What wrong?” Sookie asked once they were seated. “Look unhappy, like cunt missing.”

  “I fucking need help,” Posh replied. “I’m in so much of a mess I can’t believe it.”

  Posh explained how she became a dragon whenever she used reich.

  Sookie, eyelids painted black like shadows to her lime-colored eyes, listened, her thick lips set in a cool smile.

  Sookie hid her shock when Posh mentioned how many people she’d eaten.

  “No wonder always look well-fed now’days,” she said nonchalantly when Posh finished. “Human meat tasty, yes?”

  Posh glared at the Chinese woman’s superior smile. “Stop joking, Sookie. I’m in serious shit here. I love Malone, but unless I find a cure for this addiction of mine, our relationship is worse than fucked.”

  Sookie grinned. “Ah, yes. Relationship always fucking. Fucking make wonderful relationship.”

  ***

  Posh was still horrified by yesterday evening’s events. She’d held off snorting the drug for as long as she could—this time she’d lasted three whole weeks before succumbing to its lure.

  It was clear sign of her weakness however, that she hadn’t flushed the powder down the toilet. She’d pretended to, but instead stashed it in the toes of a pair of rolled up stockings.

  Like all the previous times, she’d told herself she was strong enough to resist the craving, strong enough to know the dragonreich was there but never use it.

  Yesterday—like she always did in the end—she’d succumbed again to the drug. She’d spilled a hill of the sparkling powder into her palm and snorted it up. Then she’d leaned back on the sofa with the living room spinning around her like the solar system.

  The rush had been supremely sublime, like an endless orgasm. But then, with her looking surprised like she’d forgotten it would happen, her body altered to china, her mind dissolved into a primal flesh lust.

  Everything after then was a collage of images that flashed across Posh’s mind in place of coherent memory—a series of freeze-frames marking her as one of God’s damned:

  Perching motionless as a pterodactyl on a skyscraper ledge, swooping down, and then up again, with a screaming man in her claws; bringing him home; roasting him alive . . .

  She blinked back tears. The most horrible image of all flashed through her head. Herself spurting fire at Malone . . .

  ***

  Posh realized Sookie was addressing her.

  “What did you say?”

  Sookie indicated her own eyes with a silver dragon-lady fingernail. “Me addicted reich too. Me sell you drug. How get you off it?”

  The uncontestable logic of her question flummoxed Posh. Sookie was right. She was both Posh’s pusher and an addict herself. How in the world was she supposed to help?

  Sookie smiled. “Ma Cure know how. Only she not herself at moment.” Sookie burst out laughing. “She lose body! How very careless!”

  Posh didn’t like being reminded of how Ma had lost her body.

  Sookie got a slim purple vial from her purse and spilled shimmering dust into her palm.

  Posh watched her snort the reich up. Her horror over yesterday’s experience was still sufficient in her to make her view the powder with repugnance, not longing.

  Besides she still had her own stash at home. And this time, oh fucking yes, this time I’m getting rid of it for good. But is that wise? Isn’t it better to keep it there so I can know I’m stronger than it? Like I’m doing now?

  Sookie’s eyes flashed like lighthouses. “Way view it, number one problem of reich—fucklessness desire.” She raised a finger for emphasis. “Myself not fuck, two years now. No boyfriend, so no trouble.”

  She flipped her blue skirt off her thighs to reveal her naked crotch.

  Posh’s eyes widened. Like a lizard’s crest, Sookie’s pussy lips were red and scaly.

  Sookie giggled at Posh’s surprise. She lifted her left leg so Posh could see the green tentacles ringing her anus, some tinted fecal-brown.

  “See, not you only reich fuck up.” She smiled, dropped her leg. “Now what say? Ah, yes . . . Malone love you. Not screw him, he love someone else.”

  Posh nodded back glumly. For a fortnight after each dose of reich she had no libido whatever. She never turned down Malone’s advances, but she hated faking the emotion she knew she should be feeling.

  A knock on the door. The door opened.

  Vicki Ho, Sookie’s secretary, entered. Vicki was tall and fat. She always wore hot pants that showed off her humongous thighs.

  She hurried over to Sookie and whispered to her. Sookie nodded. “Let come in.”

  Vicki looked pointedly at Posh.

  “She fine,” Sookie said. “Asshole tight friend.”

  Vicki Ho left. A moment later, she returned with Bulldog and Gorgeous Wong
. The pair dragged a shivering man between them.

  Posh froze on seeing them both. Oh fucking no, not here!

  Gorgeous scowled at her. “Hi, Posh.”

  Damn, girl, you need to lighten up some, Posh thought. She’d heard Gorgeous and Bulldog were an item now, but romance clearly hadn’t altered Gorgeous much. She still looked as severely secretarial as ever—hair drawn straight back and secured with a bronze pin, white kung fu suit.

  The only difference about Gorgeous was her silver lipstick.

  Well, that’s an improvement, I guess.

  Bulldog looked at Posh. “Haven’t seen ya since that odd night,” he grunted. “You keeping good?”

  Posh nodded, relieved. Bulldog looked like he couldn’t give a shit about her anymore.

  “You found Herbie yet?” she stuttered.

  Bulldog shook his head. “Nah, girl, he’s vanished off the Earth.”

  “Not odd Herbie disappear,” Sookie said. “Dragon eat up.”

  “We were all under the Grid that night, auntie,” Gorgeous said. “A dragon didn’t get him.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Posh added. “I drove from them directly to Malone; never passed Herbie on the way.”

  Sookie shrugged. “Him miss good pussy business now anyways.”

  She turned a cold gaze to the captive shivering between Bulldog and Gorgeous. He was thirtyish, with rheumy blue-green eyes and long stringy light chestnut hair.

  (Posh thought he looked like a wasted rock star. Either way, he was definitely a hardcore drug addict.)

  “Business time,” Sookie said. She stood up and walked over to the trio.

  “Now, Emil, where hide Sookie dragonreich?”

  The captive shivered some more. “I don’t know where it—yeoooow!” his face contorted in pain.

  Sookie had grabbed his testicles and was squeezing hard. Posh also thought her four-inch fingernails were sticking into his flesh.

  “Talk, bastard,” Sookie rasped. “Return big money shipment. Or biggest regret yours.”