Ted cawed. “Body parts? What the fuck?”
Nick tittered. “Spelled something, too.”
Henry asked, “What?”
“Demon.”
Henry tapped the countertop, shook his head. “Sounds like a regular, satanic, good fucking time. Ted. Round on me. And the good shit.”
Ted brought out four shot glasses, poured whiskey up to the rim.
Joe took two of the glasses, and handed one to Nick who rose from his chair. Henry saluted, “Fuck Rikers, and to a life of good fucking.”
The corner of Joe’s mouth curled up and he clinked his glass. Nick did the same. The glasses all tinked together.
Nick sighed after drinking. “Shit. That’s really fucking nice.”
Joe closed his eyes and breathed out.
Henry twirled his finger. “Another, Ted.” He sat down on a barstool, and Nick and Joe joined him.
After the fourth shot, Henry’s headache receded, his joints feeling not so creaky. Nick told him his old joke about a nun getting butt-fucked by three priests.
Henry laughed, slapping the table. His stomach gurgled, and wind wanted to explode out from his ass. He scooted off the barstool, telling Ted, “Give us another. I think it’s just one of those nights. No one’s coming in.”
He strode down the corridor, a staccato series of farts burping out of his ass one after the other. The bathroom was in the hall close to the entry to the large spacious room. He stopped at the worn wooden door with a bronze metal plate sign sitting at eye level, “MEN” barely visible on it. Inside, he waddled quick toward the toilet, swinging open the stall door and grimacing at the shit floating inside the bowl. He snatched a handful of toilet paper, wiped off the seat, and plopped down. A blast erupted from him, a stream driving out, and water splattered up onto his ass cheeks. Fuck.
After a good ten minutes, he flushed and came up to the sink to wash himself off. He stared at the mirror where a crack wound through the middle, the tip of glass missing. Pronounced horizontal lines stood out in his forehead, creases showing at the sides of his eyes. A sphere of light shone off from the middle of his head, through his paper thin hair. The tuffs of hair thick on the sides. He didn’t have a five o’clock on his face, but a four days late. Under his eyes, black sagging bags hung. How the fuck did I age this fucking fast?
The water from the faucet burned him and he winced, and flicked his hands. No towels. Fuck. Great, Ted. Do your fucking job, maybe?
He opened the door, flipping his hands in the air to dry them, and came out into the bar area. Nick and Joe sat on their bar stools, chatting to one another. Ted talked to a thin black man with gray hair who wore a tattered gray vest, his rain jacket drooped over an arm dripping water onto the floor. Must be that fucking Jarv. Ted looked up over Jarv’s shoulders, and pointed. “That’s Boss.”
Jarv turned and offered a quick grin, showing off a silver front tooth. “Oh, it’s so good to meet you. Sorry I’m late.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Damn swamp outside.”
Henry shook his hand, said, “Ted said you just sprouted wings and flew out of Rikers?”
Jarv shifted his eyes to Ted, and nodded. “Yes, sir. Served my time.”
Henry looked down, noticed the gold pocket watch inside a pocket, the chain wound up to a button. “My paps had one like that.”
Jarv opened his eyes wide, bent his head down, touched the pocket watch. “Oh. Won it in a poker game.”
“Oh, where at? Love to play.”
Jarv coughed into his hand. “Well, up at the joint. Rikers.”
“Right. So, I hear there was some fire over there?”
Jarv’s eyes widened, but he gave one perceptible nod. “Bad one.”
“You saw it?”
Jarv swallowed. “Heard them. People shrieking. They moved me and others to another section.”
“Huh. What about this creature?”
Jarv repeated gingerly, “Creature?
Ted said from his side. “Boss read there was a creature there.”
“Uh, not sure about that. I really don’t know much what happened. We were on East end. I was packed with a bunch of guys. Our room faced some street.” His tongue came out, glided over his top lip. “But someone came down the sidewalk.” His face was spooked, his eyes vacant.
Henry raised his eyebrows, and glanced over his shoulder. Nick and Joe had quit talking. “And?”
Jarv shook his head. “Nothing, I guess. It looked huge at first. But it was just some kid.”
Henry laughed. “You freaked out over a kid?”
Jarv’s lips quivered, just enough to be noticed. “Probably the fumes from the fire. He didn’t look like a punk at first. But he stopped outside my window. Sure enough. Just some white-boy punk.” He stopped then, and said, “Sorry.”
Henry held his hands up in dismissal. “So, all you saw was some kid?”
“Yeah. Some freakin’ weirdo. He looked up at me and smiled.” Jarv spoke in a distant voice. “Just a fucking punk. He didn’t seem right, though.”
“Hmm. Well... Ted says you’re handyman? Can you fix a dishwasher?”
Something flittered over Jarv’s eyes. Relief? “Yes, sir.”
Henry jabbed his finger at the kitchen. “See what you can do? Fix that and I’ll give you fifty. When the Gods quit having diarrhea outside, we’ll have more customers.”
Jarv smiled, and took off his raincoat. “Oh, thank you, sir. I sure will.”
“Henry.”
Jarv stepped through the revolving door, into the kitchen.
Henry met Ted’s eyes. Weird guy. But you say he has more than one skill.
Joe asked, “Henry. What was the name of the place across the street? Had badass fucking burritos.”
Henry leaned up on the counter and poured everyone another shot of whiskey. What was that place? He smiled. “Beans and Toots.”
Joe grinned, his stained yellow teeth gleaming. “That’s it.”
The front door opened. Henry turned, and Nick and Joe glanced around.
A slender figure stood on the mat, wearing a green hoodie over his head. Water dripped from his baggy jeans, holes visible in his tattered tennis shoes. The person’s arms crossed over his chest, and he shivered.
If it’s a he.
An electric buzz tingled in the air and the hairs on Henry’s arms raised up. He cleared his throat. “Come on in, friend. Get out of the rain.”
The person pulled the hood from his head, revealing a youthful man with short blond hair, and rosy cheeks with silk-smooth skin. Something punched Henry in his stomach, the breath knocking out of him, and the shot glass slipped through his fingers and he flinched, gripping its rim just before it fell. Blood rushed from his head, and his dick grew in volume in his pants.
The young man stepped forward, offering a nervous smile. “Thanks.” He turned to Joe and Nick, nodding his head. He looked back to Henry then, and said, “Can I just get a Vodka tonic?”
Henry did not speak, mesmerized by the boy’s emerald eyes. He spoke, his voice hollow. “Sure. Ted.” He put down a coaster and said, “You’re twenty-one, right?”
The kid fished out a wallet from his back pocket and brought it up, though he did not remove the ID from the pouch.
Henry glanced down at the boy’s ID.
Daemon Nomed.
“Um, unless my math’s bad, says here you’re twenty... But no worries.” He winked at him.
“Ted, give him the good stuff.” He gave a thumbs-up to Daemon, saying, “No charge.”
Daemon jerked his head back, grinned, and dimples formed in his cheeks. “Oh, cool.” Daemon touched his soaked shirt. “Shit. You have like a shirt or something? I’m soaked to the bone.”
Henry nodded. “Here.” He grabbed a gray sweater with holes from near the register, tossing it to Daemon. “Try that.”
Daemon eyed it, and said, “Thanks.” He pulled his dark green hoodie up over his head
, revealing a ripped abdomen, a V-cut in his lower abdomen. His jeans fell down over a left buttock, a crack and a taut smooth ass showing in plain sight.
Joe and Nick gawked at the young man. Joe looked away, and pounded down his drink.
Daemon stood shirtless in the bar and clutched his waistband, his fingers flush on his ass. He wiggled the jeans up and fiddled with Henry’s shirt. He laced his hands through the arm holes, held the shirt over his head, and his eight pack flexed. He let the shirt down over his torso and smiled. “Much fucking better.”
CHAPTER THREE
The rain poured down without mercy. Even so, four customers came after the kid’s arrival. Regular, tough-nail men. They ordered burgers and Henry shouted into the kitchen. “Jarv. Let’s see what you can do!” He gave him the order.
The men waddled to a table, each glancing hard at the blond-haired model. Daemon stared forward, sitting three stools away from Nick and Joe. Joe glanced over at Daemon several times, and then grumbled and pulled out his cell, saying, “I need a good fuck.” He put the phone to his ear and soon his eyes lit up. “Hey, Kat. You busy – What?” Joe’s face reddened. “What the fuck you talking about? I didn’t take any of your fucking money.” Joe’s knuckles whitened. “Fuck you, Kat.” He brought the phone down to the counter and stared into the bar mirror. Nick shifted in his seat, and then glanced to Joe and pounded down his drink.
Henry did not speak, but nudged Ted, nodding at his empty cup. Ted refilled drinks for Joe and Nick. Joe gripped the glass, and gulped it and said, “Fucking bitch. Says I broke into her savings. Maybe if the bitch didn’t keep her wad holed up under the sink, I wouldn’t skim from it. But I fucking didn’t steal it. Probably her cracked-out asshole son. He blamed me for stealing the DVDs that I’m sure he stole. I’d like to put my fist up his asshole – let him see how he likes that.”
Daemon uttered from the side. “That’s gross.”
Joe’s head snapped over, his lips pursed.
Daemon stared forward with a blank stare, though, his shoulders slouched.
Henry swallowed, glancing to the two men sitting in the corner. Joe’s red face darkened even more, turning shades of purple. His shoulders tense, his hands fists. “What the fuck you say?” He glared at Daemon.
A knot formed in Henry’s throat. Shit. Let’s not beat the fuck out of him right here, Joe.
Daemon drank the rest of his glass and set it down. He looked over at Joe, his eyes widened. “W-what?”
You can’t be serious? You don’t know that’s rude shit?
Daemon’s tongue glided over his top lip. The boy’s bottom lip quivered. Henry’s dick hardened. Shit. Joe and Nick can’t be part of this.
Joe stood up; his stool toppled and clattered to the floor. He strode to Daemon, and leaned his hand on the counter and his mouth close to Daemon’s ear. “What. Did. You. Say.”
Daemon hunkered down, and glanced up at Henry. Henry looked over at the men in the corner. They kept their eyes on Daemon.
Daemon kept his head down. “I didn’t say anything.”
Joe’s fist slammed down on the counter. Daemon jumped in the air. “The fuck, you didn’t.” He jabbed his finger at Daemon’s face. “Look here, you fucking bitch punk. I’ll fuck you up real silly. You hear me?”
Daemon kept his head down. “Like you did Timothy Cox, or Sam Easten? The list goes on. Got cold harsh cash for them. But that pales in comparison to the organized, ganged rapes up in Riker’s. Sold some kid out to a gang who was beaten to death. Nick here was your sidekick, I hear.”
Joe goggled over at Henry.
Henry’s palms sweated. What the fuck?
Joe grabbed the front of Daemon’s shirt, jerked him to his feet, and his barstool wobbled. Daemon came up on his tiptoes.
“Who the fuck are you? Those your fucking girlfriends? You come here for some revenge, bitch?”
Daemon shook his head, his large eyes meeting Joe’s. They narrowed. “No revenge. Just flesh.”
Jarv came out of the kitchen holding plates balanced on his arms. A smirk was etched over his face. “Here ya go, Boss.” Jarv glanced at Daemon, and with that his eyes widened and his mouth went ajar. He whispered, “Fuck. It’s him.”
Lightning flashed outside, and a boom blasted nearby. Glasses rattled and the doorframe trembled. The lights went out.
Henry groped close to the cash register for his flashlight. His fingers slid over a cold metal rod, picked it up, and flicked on the switch. The beam of light strobed over a wide-eyed Ted and went over Joe and Nick who both shielded their faces with their hands.
The lights overhead flickered back on and Henry scanned the room.
Joe’s arms fell to his sides. Daemon was gone. The front door remained closed. Where the hell did he go?
Ted asked from Henry’s side, “Where’s Jarv?”
Henry looked to the corner of the room where the man had been, his lower jaw slack. “Where the fuck did those guys go?”
A creak echoed from the corridor and Henry leaned over the bar counter. Daemon stepped down the hallway, entering the empty dance floor.
Joe moved fast. “Where the fuck you going?” He disappeared down the hall, Nick on his heels.
Henry hoofed to the counter, and swiveled it up and told Ted, “See if those fucks sitting over yonder went through the side door.”
Ted nodded and hurried off. Henry flipped a sign, gripped a cord to close the blinds, and looked out the window. Rain poured hard out into the black street. Why is every light but here out? He regarded nearby darkened lamppost lights as a series of lightning flashed, followed by a kaboom. Silhouettes of human figures dangled from each lamppost by ropes. The body – a body? is that what it is? – that was closest had a small orb swinging from a chain between its legs. The night darkened. Another lightning bolt. He squinted, and caught a glint of gold. What the fuck?
Ted’s voice called at his back. “Boss.”
Henry jumped, straightened, and bolted the door closed, then closing the blinds. He turned to Ted.
Ted shook his head. “Nothing. And I didn’t see Jarv.”
Henry strode down the hallway toward the dance floor, and something thudded in the adjacent room. He came to the doorway, his mind going over the details outside the window.
They really looked like bodies. The one closest looked to have a pocket watch swinging between his legs. But that’s just my eyes playing tricks on me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Henry stepped onto the dance floor. Nick turned on the strobe lights overhead. Beams of light swiveled out over the floor. Daemon lay on the floor several feet away, cradling his head.
Joe stepped around the prone boy. Daemon’s shirt was pulled up over his stomach.
Joe cried, “Not so tough now! Get up.”
Daemon got onto his hands and knees. Holes in the back of his jeans showed smooth skin. No undies.
Joe looked over at Henry. “You cool with this?”
Henry stared down at his Daemon. No. Get them out. This is too many witnesses. His dick hardened, a lump forming in his throat. “Take him over there.” He pointed towards the wall close to a closet.
Joe drug Daemon by one foot in that direction.
Henry fumbled in his pocket for his keys and Ted spoke from over his shoulder. “We don’t have any plastic to put on the floor?”
Impatience seized Henry’s entire being. No. I can’t wait for that. “Just grab the stand.” He whipped the door open and Ted vanished inside. He came back out with the vertical stand, handcuffs dangling from its top end, ties on the bottom. Henry wiped slobber off of his bottom lip. “Lock him in.”
Daemon glanced over at the vertical pole, and then he writhed on the floor against Joe’s hold on him and shrieked. Joe bent down, yanked him over. He spoke to Nick. “Grab him.”
Nick seized Daemon’s wrist and the boy cried out sharply, “No. No. No. No.”
Joe brought his fist back, pumme
led it into his face. The boy’s cries turned to moans, his eyes dazed.
Joe and Nick held his arms up, the kid jerked to the side. A handcuff was clasped over each of his wrists.
Daemon wailed, “Noooo! Plllllease.” He jerked his legs in every direction.
Joe shoved Daemon’s pants down to his ankles. Daemon’s taut buttocks flexed as he bucked back and forth on his secure hold.
Ted scurried up behind Daemon and laced a gag around his head, the material squeezed between his lips. The cries became muffled.
Henry bent over, grabbed a garrote from inside the door, and turned around. His stiff dick made it hard to walk, but he strode quickly nevertheless, pushing Ted to the side. He undid his pants, pushed them down to his thighs. He put the noose around Daemon’s neck and tightened it. His hand clawed over Daemon’s silk-smooth ass, his breathing hitched. Henry’s fingers clutched Daemon’s inner thigh from behind, his crack flush on his wrist. Henry slid his finger up to Daemon’s anus, and he moved it in and wiggled it inside. Daemon stood up on his tiptoes, his body tensed, and made a muffle cry. Henry grabbed his hard staff, and guided the end of his head up to Daemon’s asshole and thrust his hips forward. Flesh squeezed over Henry’s rigid penis. He laced his hand around Daemon’s body, his hand firm on his hard stomach, and pumped his hips back and forth. Henry’s other hand held the end of the cord on the garrote, and drew it back so that Daemon’s head was bent backward. Wheezes came from under his gag.
Henry lost himself, the memory of his father asphyxiating his own young man flashing in his mind. He came. Liquid gushed inside Daemon and he thrust up hard, then again. His release lessened, becoming spurts. He staggered back.
Daemon slumped down with his hands over his head, his knees bent, and a whine drifted from him.
Joe came up; his fingers slid over Daemons’ butt and the boy tensed and shook his head, making high pitched screeches. He kicked out. Joe bent down, gripped an ankle, pulled his leg out, and clasped the tie over one leg. He secured the next leg.
Joe clasped the sweater he wore, and then he pulled in opposite directions and the material gave under his brute strength. Half of the torn shirt hung over each of Daemon’s shoulders.
FLESH STALKER: 1: The Dirty Hole (The Tales of Daemon the Demon Boy) Page 2