by Wol-vriey
“What did he do?” Posh asked. She had the feeling she was about to witness something bad.
Sookie released her crippling grip on the man’s testes.
“Idiot Emil steal dragonreich stock. Kill guards. Pretend triads commit crime.”
Posh looked Emil over. He looked East-European. Russian, maybe.
“Sookie, this guy doesn’t look like he could rob an open fridge.”
Sookie snorted. “He do.”
She glanced fiercely at Bulldog. “Tie robber down.”
Bulldog secured Emil in a chair, roping him around the midriff and neck and binding his arms behind his back.
(Posh found this scenario doubly odd. Bulldog’s working for Sookie? Taking orders from her? Hell, Sookie used to be scared shitless of him.)
Sookie tapped a little dragonreich powder into a glass and mixed it up with water.
Once again, revulsion filled Posh at the sight of the drug, but it was less than before. Thoughts of the high dragonreich gave assailed her will.
She broke out sweating. Hell, no, I’m not taking that shit. I’ll break this habit even if it kills me.
Sookie fetched a hypo from a cabinet. Without bothering to sterilize the needle, she drew the reich mixture into it.
Damn, Posh thought, she’s going to OD him. And she still didn’t see how the hell this dweeb of a guy could take on Sookie’s thugs, talk less of kill them.
(Sookie Ling was all cuteness and sleazy-sex as a madam, but drugs were another matter entirely. Sookie was a lioness where reich trading was concerned.
Posh had heard rumors that Sookie didn’t mind murder. It looked like she was about to discover the truth first-hand.)
“I didn’t do it,” Emil moaned from the chair he was tied in. Snot dripped from his nose, over his lips, down his chin. He looked disgusting.
Bulldog, his ugly face fierce, yanked the man’s head back. “Shut up! No one here believes ya, and the sooner ya get that straight—”
Gorgeous silenced Bulldog with a light touch to his hand. An almost invisible caress that told Posh their relationship was a strong bond.
“He did it,” she told Posh. “He has a strange reaction to dragonreich.” She nodded to Sookie. “Do it, aunty.”
Sookie ripped the seated man’s dirty shirt open and jabbed him in the chest with the syringe. He squealed as she depressed the plunger.
Sookie jerked out the syringe. Blood dribbled after it. She patted Emil on the cheek.
“Look, see how steal,” she told Posh.
Posh looked.
Emil’s mouth suddenly filled with huge jagged teeth. His aquamarine eyes turned red, his skin blue-grey and crawling with purple veins.
Posh was horrified by the transformation. Now she believed he’d killed those people. A horrible guilt flooded her. Shit, is this what I’m like as a dragon? And Malone still loves me?
The transformed Emil began thrashing to get free. Bulldog placed the muzzle of his blaster to his ear.
“Easy now, man. You don’t wanna lose your head now, do you?”
Emil instantly stopped fighting.
“Interesting,” Gorgeous said. “The monster remembers that guns are dangerous.”
The erupted veins on Emil’s blue face throbbed like red maggots. He foamed at the lips like a rabid dog.
Gorgeous peeped behind the chair. “His hands are just like his teeth,” she said in mixed fear and admiration. “With him like this, none of our dealers would have stood a damn chance.”
“Bastard ripped through them like they were sausage,” Bulldog said, his finger twitching nervously on the gun trigger. “You should have seen the warehouse—looked like a dragon’s den. Chunks everywhere.”
Sookie gave Posh a cold smile. “Yes, like dragon house. Maybe eat sweet flesh too. Delicious long pig.”
Posh got Sookie’s point. She nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She was still seeing herself in the monster opposite.
She’d twice seen the results of her ravages at home—living room/bedroom awash with blood and strewn entrails. The other times, Malone had mercifully cleaned up before she awoke. She had no idea why she kept taking her victims back to their apartment. She just emerged from her meat lust to find herself there.
Sookie was talking to her:
“Not give asshole much reich,” she said, putting the syringe away again. “Turn normal soon.”
They waited. The room was packed with tension, with the fear that, unlikely as it was, the monster tied in the chair might get free and rip into all of them.
***
Five minutes later, Emil was human again. Same druggie drool, wasted look, shivers. In addition, he was visibly thinner.
It’s because he didn’t eat anyone, Posh realized.
Clearly relieved, Bulldog holstered his gun again.
“Welcome to living again,” Sookie said. “Now tell, or go Hell.”
Emil gaped at her. He looked sleepy.
Sleepy like me, Posh thought.
Gorgeous slapped him fully awake.
“Where is drugs!?” Sookie snapped. “No more joking!”
“I don’t know!”
Sookie gave him a chilling smile. “Stupid wonderful idiot.” She smiled all her teeth. “Untie foolish hands.”
Gorgeous and Bulldog did so.
Sookie strutted back and forth in front of Emil.
“Now. Last time ask. Where keep reich?”
“I’m telling you—”
“Truly BIG fool. Great stupidness—massive like horse penis.”
She nodded to her niece. Gorgeous pulled over a small table and arranged it in front of Emil. She placed his right hand on the tabletop.
“No, no,” Sookie said. “Likely he right-handed, use left hand.”
Gorgeous complied.
Sookie handed Bulldog a knife.
Watching the slim blade shimmer, Posh felt chilled, refrigerated. Yet she couldn’t leave. Not that she didn’t dare; she had to see this.
Emil tried to move his hand. Gorgeous stunned him with a hard punch. “I’m serious, Sookie,” he mumbled. “I don’t know—”
Sookie nodded at Bulldog. With infinite slowness, he cut off Emil’s left thumb, slicing through its second joint. Emil screamed and gibbered as blood spurted from the wound.
Posh cringed. She felt like she was the one being cut.
Bulldog forced the knife all the way through the digit.
Emil sputtered in disbelief at the blood spurting from the stump. Sookie picked up his severed thumb and waved it in his face. “One finger less now. Still have nine. Toes too. Afterwards nose, then ears. Lips. She leant in close enough to kiss him. “Now tell—where fucking drugs!”
“Sookie, I don’t—Yeooooooowwww!”
Bulldog had sliced off his index finger.
Sookie smiled coldly. “Underestimate Sookie, yes? Think I bluffing. Ah.” She looked angrily at Gorgeous. “Tie wrist, foolish girl, stop bleeding. Not let asshole die.”
“Yes, auntie.” Gorgeous made a tourniquet from a handkerchief.
Emil eyes were almost bugging out of his head now with pain and terror.
Posh felt incredibly conflicted. On one side she felt for the tortured man. But she also remembered the monster he’d just transformed into and what it had done. Shit!
But I’m a monster myself; one can’t judge another.
“Talk now?” Sookie asked.
“I don’t get what you’re being so hardheaded about,” Bulldog said. “Just tell us who the fuck sent you and we’ll let you go.”
Emil looked to Gorgeous, who nodded coolly.
Sookie retreated to her chair and crossed her legs. She looked like a movie director. She took a snort of reich and scrutinized Emil expectantly with green-flashing eyes.
“Okay,” he gasped. “It was the Big Circle Triad. Yue Sheng ordered—Motherfuckerrrr!!!!!”
On a subtle nod from Sookie, Bulldog had sliced off Emil’s middle finger. He gaped at Sooki
e in confusion, tears pouring from his eyes. “But I’m—”
“You fucking liar!” she yelled back, leaping to her feet and kicking her chair away. “Not triads! Triads not dare fuck Dragon Lady. All know dragon cunt poisonous cobra! Truth, asshole, or liar lips next!” She glared at Bulldog. “Whole mouth one time next!”
Emil was defeated. He visibly crumpled in his chair as all bluff left him. His expression one of utter agony, he stared at his ruined hand, his separated fingers in their pool of blood. He looked back up at Sookie, his eyes honest and pleading.
“Okay, I’ll tell you the truth.”
“Good asshole. Tell Aunty Sookie. Best Chinese doctor repair fingers.”
“It was just me and Lucy Tang. We planned to—”
“Lucy Tang?” Sookie gaped incredulously at Emil, then at Gorgeous. “Lucy Tang?”
Gorgeous shrugged. “I told you she always had ideas above her status, auntie, but you always said she’s your highest earning rent boy.”
Posh knew Lucy Tang. A drop-dead-gorgeous drag queen smuggled in from Hong Kong on a North Korean food-produce submarine. Lucy wasn’t just a prostitute, she was also an incredible actress and singer—she wowed every audience she performed for.
Posh looked at Emil’s hand and winced. She didn’t think Lucy Tang would remain as good-looking after this revelation.
Sookie calmed down. She smiled at Emil. “Tell loving Aunty Sookie more,” she cooed.
Emil nodded. “Lucy found out how I transform and suggested we hit your warehouse for the dragonreich. She plans to corner your drug trade.”
Sookie nodded. “See, truth easy. No lose more fingers. Okay, where drugs now?”
“Lucy has a place over in South Boston, on Summer Street. All the dragonreich is there.”
Posh nodded. It made sense. South Boston was across the Fort Point Channel. Dragon-infested territory where only a Chinese would dare venture.
Unfortunately for Lucy Tang, those who’d be hunting her would be Chinese too.
Gorgeous smiled. “What’s the house address?”
“Yeah, punk, you expecting us to go round knocking on every door so the dinos get us?”
Emil shook his head vigorously. “Four-ninety-five Summer Street—the Barnes Building at the D Street intersection. Sixth floor, apartment nine.”
Posh had the clear sense that Emil was lying on this last. Or wasn’t telling the whole truth. She kept quiet however—no one else seemed to think so.
“Okay,” Sookie said. “I let go now. But last questions.”
“Yes . . . anything.”
Sookie retrieved her chair and sat in it. “Now, truth: you fucking Lucy?”
Emil looked embarrassed, then nodded.
Sookie giggled. “Ah, yes. Tell me: how Chinese asshole compare western? Tighter or slacker?”
Gorgeous, seated on a low stool, looked scandalized. “Auntie!”
Bulldog looked confused. Posh felt the day switch from the violent to the surreal.
“Shut up, always troublesome niece. I research anus. Maybe use more western men buttholes. Quality priority as madam.”
She looked at Emil. “Talk, or fingers. Which anus tightest?”
Emil shuddered. “Chinese is much tighter. I can’t explain it, but, Lucy’s ass squeezes—”
“No need to explain,” Gorgeous interrupted him. She licked her silvered lips, then smirked. “It’s like I always tell you, auntie. “Male or female—Chinese pussy is the tightest in the world. Ask Bulldog.”
Bulldog turned red with embarrassment. “Aw, Gorgeous, not here.”
“Oh yes,” Gorgeous enthused. “All women should learn kung fu. Such a tight vagina makes a man your slave for life.”
“Too much tightness not good,” her aunt retorted. “Man come too quick, woman not come at all. What use have slave, master unsatisfied?” She smiled, then added: “Kung fu not fuck technique anyhow. Ask Jackie Chan. Best for fight and blockbuster.”
Posh was grateful when Emil, apparently as perplexed as she by this surreal interlude, said: “Can I go now? I need a doctor.”
Sookie looked intently at him. “You not lie this? Lucy tighter than American boyfriends?”
Emil nodded.
Sookie smiled. “Okay, let go. But stay hour till find Lucy.”
“Thanks, Sookie. It won’t happ—”
Posh was as surprised as Emil when Bulldog slit the man’s throat.
Emil gaped at Sookie as he died. “Bu . . . bu . . . but . . .” he gurgled piteously.
Sookie smiled. “Ah yes, forget tell. If let go, what stop become dragonreich monster, kill me, everyone here?”
Traumatized as she was by what she was witnessing, Posh couldn’t argue with Sookie’s logic.
But does it have to be so fucking gory? Shit, Emil’s blood is pouring everywhere like Sookie intends painting her office floor with it.
CHAPTER 46
Posh
Posh drove away from Sookie’s brothel. She was relieved that Bulldog hadn’t asked for Herbie’s pimpmobile back.
There were three cars ahead of her. Bulldog and Gorgeous led the convoy in Sookie’s pink Porsche. They were followed by a red Corvette and white Lexus carrying six of Sookie’s men.
The gangsters were headed for South Boston—the address Emil had given them.
Posh didn’t want to be Lucy Tang when they found her.
She drove after the other cars for a while, along the Surface Road by Chinatown Park, then turned off at Lincoln. The gang cars sped on ahead, en route to Summer Street and the right/south turn towards Summer Street Bridge and South Boston.
Posh was also headed for Summer Street, from where a right turn led east to Beacon Hill. Her proposed route had originally been a no-driving zone, but since the fuck-up of everything, no one gave a shit about the traffic regulations that said no motoring through that part of the city. It was a straight way back home—that was all.
Approaching the intersection, Posh slowed.
She reached the spot where she’d picked up Malone on that cold, miserable night. Like on that night, the street was still deserted, two rows of burnt-out husks of building surviving over from before The Grid was built. The Grid’s support pillars stood out in stark gleaming metal contrast to the general burning down.
Suddenly, everything overwhelmed Posh. She parked, bent over her steering wheel and broke down in tears.
Fuck, she thought, I have to kick my habit. I don’t do that, Malone will dump me, then I’ll totally be screwed.
It wasn’t work/money, no. At worst shakes, if he kicked her out, she could start hooking again; Sookie would be overjoyed to employ her.
But Posh LOVED Malone now. She had to get clean for his sake, so as not to mess up the beautiful thing between them.
If I haven’t already done so. Of recent, she’d been seeing the strain on his face.
Ironically, she suspected that the one person who could help her kick her habit was Jade Cure. But she’d not dared go see Jade since the ‘incident’ that lost Ma her body. Malone had told her it was okay, that Jade bore her no grudge, but Posh simply couldn’t face the scorn she anticipated from the other girl.
Wow, I’ve a real problem here.
She wiped her eyes, started the car.
She turned left onto Summer Street, then instantly turned right again, heading up Devonshire.
Posh suddenly didn’t feel up to going home just yet. Unreasoning dread filled her mind and breast, fear that the ghost of the young man she’d roasted—murdered—last night awaited her at the bungalow, his eyes full of accusation.
She decided to drive around Central Boston, go check out her and Herbie’s old skyscraper on Water Street.
***
Posh parked on Water and got out.
Wow, she thought. Like she’d heard, her old residence was fully beetled now, about to take to the air.
She walked closer for a better view. Not too close though. Accidents happened.
A b
lock ahead of her, the monster bug twitched in pain. Its humongous wings beat the air, creating their own wind. Its lowest legs kicked against the ground in its fight to sever the final concrete/steel tendons rooting it to Earth.
Posh stood entranced, glad to have something to take her mind off her worries.
She wasn’t alone on the street. Others watched too, looking like bowling pins waiting to be knocked over.
Also watching were a detachment of military engineers on standby to instantly repair the hole in the Grid that the beetle would leave when it airlifted.
Posh didn’t envy them. The soldiers were bedraggled, but they had no choice, it was either keep a twenty-four hour alert or let dragons into Central Boston.
The constant demands of repairing the existing areas of The Grid was one reason its expansion had been halted. There simply weren’t enough resources—people and material—to cope with both.
Wow, Posh thought, as she watched her former home. I really hope no one overslept in it and wound up—
A familiar voice penetrated her thoughts. “Hello, Posh Lane.”
Startled, she spun around. She winced when she saw who it was.
Beth Riggs—the crazy ex prison warden. The chicken-sex lady.
Beth’s expression was a mixture of pleasure and anger, laminated with her usual borderline craziness.
Posh was instantly scared. Oh, damn, I should have gone home.
Beth read her fear and capitalized on it. She grabbed Posh’s arm, spun her around, and womanhandled her away from the sentinels watching the Beetle, back toward Herbie’s Lincoln.
Posh got some of her composure back. “Let go of me!”
In response, Beth licked her ear. Posh cringed as the woman’s tongue filled her ear hole with saliva.
“We’re going back to my place to make love first,” Beth whispered. “After that you can leave.” She scowled. “I really don’t understand you prostitutes. I always paid you excellently for your services. I don’t know why Herbie stopped you coming to me—I’ve not seen him for three months.”
She saw Posh’s determined look and smirked. “Don’t be foolish, honey. I’ve a gun in my pocket. If you dare call attention to us, I’ll shoot you. Remember there’s no longer any police force—no one will arrest me.”