Duet for the Devil
Page 37
“What do you call her, for short, Lover Man: which is it—‘M.I.S.S.Y.,’ or ‘M.I.S.S.I.E.’…?”
Frank’s whole body, but in particular, his belly & his groin, are wracked by a chill, chill shudder of utter despair… He feels himself plunging into the very depths of The Great Abyss, &, for a split-instant, he sees Asmodeus, Lord of Lechery, beckoning from the yawning rift of The Bottomless Pit… & Lord Asmodeus lifts his long & bony middle finger, the FUCK FINGER of his right hand, & he gestures an obscene salute…as the Mark of The Beast flickers in blue flame in the palm of his upraised hand…
[ 217 ]
“Awwwhhh, SHIT! Ohhhhh, SHIT!” O’Malley gasps, choking on his mouthful, coughing a flurry of powdered sugar & gobs of blue goo & bits of half-chewed dough all over his shirt, & right in Boston’s face.
“Awwwhhh, SHIT! ’Scuse me, Sarge. Sorry!”
His superior zaps him a look that would fry bacon.
“BUT. THAT. AIN’T. THE. BOZO. I. SEEN. NO. GODDAMN. WAY!”
Caldwell looks like he just caught a fistful of crow feathers in his craw.
He gives the Coke machine a violent kick, & it issues forth a low, moaning rumble & a clunk, & an avalanche of crushed ice gushes out of the hopper, splattering off his groin, burying his shiny black shoes, & mounding up around his ankles…
[ 218 ]
Returning from his latest waking nightmare, Frank tries desperately to lead Cherry’s train of discourse back to safer ground(?), but at least away from Missy Lynn…
But to no avail. Her hands. Her tongue. Her wriggling body press lasciviously to his…
& her whispers. Ooooohhhhh, her infernal, taunting whispers…
[ 219 ]
A straggling thicket of willow trees partially encircles what once was a respectable if somewhat modest farmhouse & barn. Now they stand in disrepair, ramshackle & weathered, red paint peeling away in brittle, flaking strips, oxidized to a shade of rust that blends, chameleon-like, with the equally disreputable, corroded & dented rain gutters & galvanized troughs & sheets of corrugated metal.
Once-prim stakes of a white picket fence now are little more than kindling remnants, & the yard is over-spilling in a lush tangle of dominant native flora that dare a “make my day” showdown with any top-of-the-line Weed Eater, & challenge the concept that Agent Orange is all downside.
The windmill still stands, blades pinwheeling in a lazy spin urged by the unseasonably warm breeze.
The white Olds & the black Ford shimmy & lurch along the last gasp of what laughingly passes as a driveway. Then pull to a halt in front of the double barn doors. Snuff throws open the passenger door. Scrambles out. Walks up to the barred entrance. Bends as he flicks a brisk left-right-left to the combination padlock’s tumblers.
The doors grate open. The idling Olds rolls forward into the cool darkness, followed by the Ford. & the doors close, swallowing car & passengers from sight.
[ 220 ]
Sensing he’s so far into his torrid, tormented reminiscences there’s no turning back, Cherry segues back into the line she’d been pursuing— “OOOhhhhh, Frank! That’s sick—” she mewls in Frank’s ear, momentarily raising herself up on her elbow, letting her mane of flames tickle softly against his back & shoulders, “—that’s cradlerobbing— & you’re getting so fucking hot thinking about that tight little CUNT I can feel you twitch & tremble…
“How would you feel if that was somebody doing things like that with your own little daughter… MISSY Lynn…” & feigning innocent of her earlier & very tacky tack: “OOOhhhhh, FUCK, Frank! I hadn’t thought of that before—talk about Freudian, huh…? & you said your wife doesn’t know about this little escapade, huh…?” she whispers in awe of her own perceived on-the-couch analytical astuteness.
Frank would no doubt argue if he wasn’t so far gone…too gone to care about anything in a sense approaching rational…
[ 221 ]
George Brittain, Expert of Extermination, boneshaker, fleshraker, backbreaker, heartstaker, bloodslaker, widowmaker, soultaker, Medic of Mutilations, Philosopher of Psy-War Ciphers & Stone Slaying of Cainite & Carpocratian Cabal & Caribbean Cults. To HIM, words are things of power, each invested with its own potent magicks to be tapped by their Enlightened wielder. Places, too, have their magick, deep & resonant, ancient & sacred to those cults who share the slumbering dream-sentience of earth & stone & wind & water. Those with eyes to trace the hidden Dragon Veins & to will their flow into the self…
To George Brittain, this humble crib is a Place of Power, wakened by the spill of blood, the shaping of savored pain, & the passage of transient Life into the conjured World of Death a thing to open Gates. It is a water place. Empowered by its symbolisms. Nearby is Rathbun Lake. & the Words of Naming have created Correspondences & Conjunctions transcending the Natural Order of existence, a focal point of energies subverted, inverted & perverted to serve the will of Darkness. It is located at near-perfect midpoint between the towns of Bethlehem, Mystic & Brazil, equidistant from Promise City & Confidence, forming a Great Pentahedron of Earth Lines…
& what rough Beast, His hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born…?
One monstrous fragment of twisted cosmic humor, akin to the vision of a rude black billy goat miraculously dropping a dump in the shape of a cross right upon the Holy Manger of that pathetic, epileptic infant martyr…
[ 222 ]
“Have you ever looked at your daughter, NAKED, Frank, & thought about her that way…? Did you get hot staring at her little titties & her pussy… & her ass…?”
“FUCK NO! SHE WAS ONLY PRACTICALLY A FUCKIN’ BABY WHEN JUDY LYNN & ME GOT OUR GODDAMN DIVORCE!” Frank wails…as if his response absolves him… He’s busted sickos who’re into that…
“How about now—?” Cherry asks, gently squeezing his bloated testicles & stroking his penis as she queries him, “—how old is she—twelve…? thirteen…? She’s probably already FUCKING with the boys from school… Do you ever imagine her naked & being felt & sucked & fucked…?”
Frank lets out a low, tormented moan, & Cherry can feel his huge erection jerk & twitch, despite his shame… & that beckoning finger of Lord Asmodeus beguiles him into his next confession: “Ooooohhh, FUCK, Cherry… I…I’ve…never even admitted it to myself, goddamn it… I keep tellin’ myself it just didn’t happen…when I know it did… But sometimes at night… I wake up, tossin’ & turnin’ & drenched in sweat. & the sheets… & my shorts are all soaked & sticky with my cum…drenched… & I know what I’ve been dreamin’ about— & I try t’ tell myself it’s some woman I’ve seen that really shook her stuff…or Judy Lynn, my ex…but it isn’t… I’ve been dreamin’ about my own fuckin’ daughter, Cherry, & maybe some of her little friends… & I’m doin’ sex things with her or them…just like we did with Missie & Lois… & she’s all naked & hot for my big cock!” He buries his throbbing head in his hands, & groans: “& it makes me feel so sick inside, I can barely stumble to the john before I puke…”
“You’ve gotta get this all out, Frank, everything, it’s torturing you…repressing it just isn’t healthy…” Cherry cajoles. “Tell me everything that you jocks DID to those poor little girls…every detail, don’t leave out ANYTHING…”
Frank slavishly obeys, sliding back into his lewd memories…
[ 223 ]
The land & buildings were purchased for a pittance, paid in Yankee greenbacks, one month shy twenty years ago. Acquired from some god-fearing simpleton Fundamentalist of Austro-Hungarian ancestry, his wife & horde of brats, alas, fallen upon hard times.
This “summer shack” is but one of the Maldoror’s crashpads.
Hideout & supply depot.
Self-contained & isolated.
Cut off from the mainstream flow of Time & Order & the ever-upturned palm of consolidated conjob corporations, & needle-in-the-arm, of PITIs & utility/futilities…
A generator & the windmill replace the meter-reader scam of Ready Kilowatt. No A.T.&T. No M.C.
I. No Sprint. A well & pump provide the water. An outhouse relieves the need for a more elaborate throne room. Taxes tendered by mailed money orders, purchased cash on the barrelhead at convenience stores across state lines, drawing no scrutiny from local prying eyes & gushing gossips.
Yet another mask. Even the name upon the deed assumed…
He can walk away from this, untainted by any link of paper trail or circumstance that ties Him to this place.
As if waking from a waking dream…
[ 224 ]
Cherry whispers: “So, tell me, Lover Man—how would you like to shove this great big old poontang-poker up your little girl’s hot tight little CUNT, Big Man…?” She gives his hardness a lewd, knowing squeeze, & skins the prepuce back & forth tauntingly, circling his thick shaft with her outstretched fingers, deftly simulating the rhythms of coital thrusts… “How would you like to fuck your little MISSY…? Up her PUSSY like Buddy did…? Or would you like to do it to her in her ASS…?”
[ 225 ]
“‘Welcome. To. My. Parlor.’ Said. The. Spider. To. The. Fly.” Mal gestures to the interior of the barn.
A battery-powered shop lamp dangles from the rafters, illuminating a confined space little wider than a two-car garage, but perhaps three times the length. Pitchforks & scythes & rusted chains are hung along the walls. & there’s an acetylene rig set up next to a sturdy wooden workbench at the far end.
A white Ford pickup truck fitted with a prefab camper shell is parked beside the Olds. The truck is several years old but well-kept. The camper is one of those Cavalier models with a door with a little window centered at the rear.
A real “Mr. Middle America” special.
Nice & homey.
With one of those familiar chrome Jesus-in-a-fish emblems mounted just above the back bumper.
A sticker on the right side of the bumper:
“PROTECT YOUR INVESTMENT
HIRE A LICENSED CONTRACTOR”
A decal decorated with a tiny picture of Old Glory plastered on the camper’s window patriotically proclaims:
“SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL
LAW ENFORCEMENT”
& on the left-hand side of the bumper is another sticker, this one saying:
“I’D RATHER BE FISHING”
Just right for exploring the highways & byways of “god shed his grace on thee,” all the way from sea to shining sea…
[ 226 ]
“I wanna hear all the wet details about what you & those other jocks did to ’em…got it, Mr. Hardguy…?” Cherry whispers hoarsely.
“Okay. Okay…” Frank mumbles, his face buried in her hair, nibbling her neck & ears, teasing her, stoking her fever of twisted passion, “Bite me! BITE me HARD…” she moans, shaking her flaming mane to & fro, whipping it about the sleek, tanned, shoulders, the rippling muscles hard beneath the flesh only serving to seem so dangerous & feral, so wild & female & leonine…
[ 227 ]
Snuff lifts aside several bales of the hay stacked along the left side of the barn, nearest to the house. Mal pulls out His pocket calculator. Taps in the required sequence. Exposes the hidden back panel. & enters the code that pops open the concealed trapdoor in the floor & deactivates the trigger mechanism linked to the charge of C4 & the metal footlockers filled with TNT & the cylinders of white phosphorus.
The property straddles the dividing line between Appanoose & Wayne counties. Had the boobytrap detonated, it would have blown the flaming remnants of barn halfway across both counties & into Lucas & Monroe to the north, as well.
Snuff grasps the rusted pendule hook & chain hanging from a swiveling boom & block & tackle setup mounted among the lattice of beams & roof joists overhead. A grating noise of pivoting metal & the clattering & clanking of swaying links echoes in the hollow stillness, as he swings the rig into place above the vertical tunnel mouth exposed by the open trapdoor.
He handles the pulleys while Mal hoists the Bible salesman up to almost chest-level, catching the loop of the manacles’ chain over the “U” of the hook, then lets him fall free, dangling in midair.
There is a loud popping of savagely twisted vertebrae, & his shoulders are nearly ripped from their sockets as Gilmore’s 250-pound bulk suddenly drops floorward, then yanks taut. He tries to scream, but can’t, the bondage gag effectively silencing him.
George Brittain crawls into the pit, clambers down the wooden ladder bracketed to the side of the shaft, & disappears down this mad, leering rabbit hole into the Dark Wonderland of Waiting Horrors below. A Wonderland of His devisement, & fashioned by His henchman’s labors.
Snuff lowers Truman into the mouth of the Hell Hole.
[ 228 ]
“Ooooohhhhh, Frank Baby, that’s so fuckin’ SICK, it makes me all WET & STEAMY & CREAMY…!” Cherry moans. “There’s nothin’ I love to see like some WELL-HUNG STUD eatin’ out a naughty little angelbaby’s hot, tight little ASS, & gettin’ it all slithery & slick & ready for him…”
[ 229 ]
Snuff returns to the Ford, lifting a bound & drugged girl from where she lies on the carpet behind the front seats, & carries her over to the pit. She barely whimpers at this new torment inflicted upon her helpless body. Her mind has already snapped, too fragile to endure what has already transpired, let alone the terrors & torture that await her soul & flesh…
She is a young girl. A very young girl.
Just the kind Mal likes… Julie muses. How easy it is… Snuff spotted the kid strolling down the deserted block, at daybreak, so close to home & yet an eternity away from safety… Some grade school kid skipping down to the corner convenience mart, running some petty errand for her mother, a grey carcoat & a little knitted cap, & the breeze is tugging at the hem of that knee-length grey wool skirt & lifting it up around her thighs giving quick flashes of soft, innocent young flesh, & Snuff is already slowing the car, & then a sudden gust raises the skirt immodestly up above her hips & waist, & it’s just a split second before she pulls it down to cover herself but Snuff gets a quick peep of her panty-clad bottom, & Julie’s already psyching herself up to run her verbal tap-dance…
Yeah, & it’s all over now Baby Blue …
Julie follows, eager to join in Mal’s little games.
“I’ll take the Olds apart, first,” her father says, pulling on a welder’s mask, & firing up the torch. “While you two take the bitch & see what she’s made of…”
He giggles, low & shrill & brittle as ice.
“Yeah, sugar ’n’ spice…just save at least one slice f’r me…”
[ 230 ]
“SO, YOU DID IT, DIDN’T YOU…? YOU SHOVED YOUR BIG COCK RIGHT INTO HER BACK THERE… IN HER BOTTOMHOLE… & YOU FUCKED HER TIGHT YOUNG ANUS, DIDN’T YOU— WAS SHE GOOD? DID YOU RAM IT ALL THE WAY HOME…? DID THE LITTLE SLUT TAKE THE WHOLE FUCKIN’ THING UP THERE IN HER BEHIND— DID SHE TAKE IT ALL THE WAY…? DID SHE CUM FOR YOU THAT WAY?” Cherry moans, stroking Frank’s huge, jutting penis with both hands, the bright cold steel of the manacles clicking with her lewd, frenzied motions…
“NO…”
[ 231 ]
A team of plain clothes silently surround the sleazebag motel in Quincy, IL. Officers O’Malley & Caldwell accompanying to ID the GTA/Kidnapping suspects.
Two of them burst in on Mr. Bruce Davids, Motel Clerk. They catch him in the act. Spanking his monkey while he eyeballs his latest stack of sickoid stroke books. Flustered, & trying desperately to re-zip his dangling doodle with one hand & hide his hardcore with the other, he fumbles his bobbing balls, catches his meat in the metal teeth, lets out a howl of horror, & the stack slides, scattering his stash of smut face-up on the floor, their lurid covers exposing his pet perversions… Hard Metal Honeys, The Quarterly of Pierced Tits & Clits… Rubber Vixens in Chains… Dildo Dolls… Corraled Cuties… Prize Pussy & The Contest Canines…
Somehow, the innate humor in the situation is lost on them. They Mirandize him for Public Masturbation & Possession of Pornography.
[ 232 ]
“�
�WHY NOT…? WHY THE FUCK NOT…? YOU WANTED TO… DIDN’T YOU, BIG MAN?” Cherry suddenly stops frigging Frank, her hands clenched stiff & still. Shocked at his perceived stupidity: “YOU TURNED DOWN WHAT THAT LITTLE SWEETCHEEKS WHORE OF A TWELVE YEAR OLD WAS OFFERIN’ YOU…? WHAT’S THE MATTER, BIG MAN, COULDN’T YOU GET IT UP AGAIN EVEN FOR YOUR ANAL BABYANGEL…? NO FUCKIN’ BALLS, BIG MAN?”
Frank flushes, fists bunching into knots of fury. He wants to smash this red-haired BITCH in the face for scorning him. He wants to punch her belly with short hard jabs & smash her in the face with a roundhouse right & drive home a couple of uppercuts to her jaw & MAKE HER SHUT THE FUCK UP… & MAKE HER BLEED… & THE FURY & THE LUST ARE SO TWISTED UP INSIDE HIM & SHE’S RAISED THOSE TERRIFYING NEEDS IN HIM HE HAS SOUGHT SO FUCKING LONG TO BURY… ALL THAT REPRESSED SHAME & WANTING IN HIM THREATENING TO SPILL…