Twisted City

by Jeremy Mac

  Yeah, maybe, Mongoose thinks to himself.

  Tank is the first friend he’s ever had. Mongoose has always been leery of people, doesn’t trust too easily, but when he met Tank he felt an honest credibility in the old man like no other. Maybe it’s because he gave Tank the social chance that he would not give others. And for that he still doesn’t understand why? But what he does know is that he enjoys Tank’s don’t-give-a-damn attitude, a winning trait in the eyes of Mongoose. Although the old man probably won’t bust a grape in a fight, it sure as hell doesn’t mean he won’t try and give it his all. He confided in Tank about Vincent’s proposition a few days ago and for any and all purposes he doesn’t feel much like discussing it now.

  Mongoose carries his cup down to Max. “Want some, Boy?”

  Max sniffs the cups contents and recoils.

  “Didn’t think so. Here you go, Tank. I’m taking a walk.” He digs out several pistol cartridges from his pocket and tosses them on the bar – bullet money. “Have yourself a couple more. I’ll catch you later.”

  “All right, my boy, will do.”

  Tank notices the direction his young friend is heading and hollers out behind him, “Don’t let them whores take you too fast!”

  Mongoose spins around, smiling mischievously, and hollers back, “They can take me any way but loose!”

  To be young again, the old man thinks to himself. If only to be young again.

  40

  Ocean waves lapping to and fro. That’s the best he can describe it. Even though the two are quite dissimilar, and he’s never even been in an ocean anyway, only seen them on TV and in the movies. Maybe it’s because her mouth feels so smooth and warm and wet and her tongue is the wave by which he glides across and that’s the way he thinks the ocean ought to feel. Yes, that sounds as good as this feels. It won’t be long before his own tidal wave comes roaring out. First starting as little spasmic waves from the far reaches that build into bigger ones as they close in and collect into each other until they engulf him and shoot out of him in one shuddering geyser.

  “Mmm,” Jizell murmors deliciously, steady at it until she’s sure he is totally drained. She tilts her head back to face Mongoose, licking her lips. “Third time in a row and still shooting like a loaded forty-five.”

  “With at least one more in the chamber,” Mongoose boasts his young vitality.

  “You better have. You’ve paid very little attention to momma cat since you came in and you’re not going anywhere until you make her purr.” Jizell rolls her tongue with the last word.

  She stands before him, wearing a short silk robe and nothing else. Slipping it off, she lets it fall into a puddle of fabric at her feet. Her body is beautiful. He’s seen her naked before but every time he does it’s like seeing her nude for the first time all over again. Her large breasts are perfectly round with caramel brown nipples, a flat stomach, hips slightly narrow, and a small nest of hair between her legs. She lets him get a good eyeful and then crawls over him like a jungle cat. She smothers his face between her melons; he grasps both between his hands and suckles.

  She mounts him and starts out with long, slow strokes, winding up and down. Her exquisite sugarwalls work wonderfully on him, squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing. She practices her Kegals daily.

  When he first came to see Jizell he was so nervous that he almost busted prematurely in his pants from the anticipation alone. He’s only been with one other girl before, long ago, and that itself was an awkward experience, so he’s hardly had any sexual experience. Everything is practically new to him but Jizell is a great teacher. She’s already taught him a great deal of things yet there is still so much more to learn. She enjoys having a cute young buck as himself to teach the ways of sexual gratification. Although in the beginning there may have been ulterior motives on her part, perhaps there still are, it doesn’t change the fact that she has ended up genuinely liking him, and although she no longer cares for him to pay, he still leaves her something.

  Jizell’s mounting gasps grow closer and closer together until they become one long descending moan. She collapses onto Mongoose, her big boobs smooshed against his small chest, she is sated. The cat has purred.

  Afterwards they lie sprawled naked on the bed and have their pillow talk; usually about each other’s past lives, good to the bad, bad to the good. Past lives gone in the blink of an eye as if God slammed down his fist, bringing the world to its knees, shaking it down to its original foundations and forcing it to start over by way of survival of the fittest. For Mongoose the cataclysm made his life no harder and no more easier than what it already was. Jizell is fascinated with his stories, just as he is with hers. Neither have ever spoken to anyone about their past lives so freely and unabashedly. It’s kind of like therapy only with better benefits. Two different people with two different backgrounds with over a decades age difference, but both share a common thread – the struggle.

  There is something specific that has been on Mongoose’s mind lately and he isn’t sure how to go about bringing it up. Everything is all still so new to him and he isn’t sure if it is lust or maybe something else entirely. He definitely feels a bond. Or maybe it’s because he’s deprived himself of human social contact for so long and all of a sudden here she is, like Aphrodite herself came to ease him of all his woes with her powerful sedatives of coital medication. But there’s also that mental connection. It’s all so confusing, yet within that haze he knows it can be a detrimental mistake to possess such feelings but in such a situation it is easy to push that negative to the side. Funny how you can simply ignore a flashing red light in your head when it concerns feelings like these but if it has nothing to do with the heart that same flashing red light can and will be taken into immediate consideration. It is human nature to not only want to be needed but to be personally desired as well. To have that is worth more than anything else, especially in today’s world.

  Max’s head suddenly appears at the side of the bed. He stands on hind legs with his paws on the bed cushions, laying head on paws and giving his master and his master’s mistress some serious pouty eyes.

  “Awww, hey Max,” Jizell says sympathetically, reaching over to pet Max on the head, massaging his ears and jowls. “You want some attention? Is that it? He’s really a great dog, huh?”

  Mongoose rubs Max behind the ear. “Yeah, he’s all right.”

  He shooes Max back down and Jizell says unjustly, “Wha’ cha being so mean for?”

  “I want to ask you something.”

  Attention sparked, she says, “What’s up?”

  He gazes directly into her eyes and says, “If you have a chance to quit, would you?”

  She considers this for a moment and then says, “This is all I’ve known since I was fourteen. What else would I do?”

  “Anything. Nothing. Whatever you want. I mean, you’re also like a doctor, right. You told me yourself you were going to school to become a nurse so you could get away from the life.”

  “Yes, but that was before. It’s different now. And even if I wanted to quit this, I couldn’t. Vincent isn’t about to let me quit. He made it very clear that he wants me as a doctor and a madam. And everybody knows that whatever Vincent wants, Vincent gets.”

  “What if I told you that I can take care of all of that? You won’t have to do this anymore. You can do anything you want.”

  There are things that sound too good to be true and then there are things that sound sincerely true. In the short time the two spent together he has never once bullshitted her about anything. He isn’t the b/s’ing type. And aside from that she can smell b/s a mile away. She should know; she’s had to spend years within its company. He has been honest in everything he’s told her and all that she’s asked him. He even told her without hesitation his real name when she asked him.

  And now, looking back into his eyes, she feels he has spoken nothing but the truth.

  “You can do that?” she asks.

  “If it’s what
you want.”

  She crawls back on top of him, kissing him long and deep. She rises up, arching her back, jugs on full display and takes both in her hands and squeezes them together, massaging inward and outward, readying him for what is about to be the ultimate lay of his young life.

  Then again, even if it is just lust, who cares?

  41

  Vincent sits still on a chair, arms resting on his lap, thinking. He’s been in one of his moods for the past few days. Mostly from the slow crawl of anticipation. He’s gone over it a hundred times and will go over it a hundred times more before it comes to fruition. The one thing that concerns him most is his masked comrade. The doc said that his arm needs a minimum of six weeks to heal. Vincent will undoubtedly wait that long if need be but his loyal comrade insists he will be ready in four weeks. When the time comes Vincent doesn’t want him to be anything less than fully recovered, even though if he weren’t at his best he can potentially out-do any one of Vincent’s men, but at 100% he is nearly unstoppable. The surprise altercation with the dark swordsman, as the masked man calls him, has lit a fire under his ass and he has kept himself secluded within his own chambers since their return from The Pinnacle’s front yard. Vincent assumes he’s been mentally willing himself to heal faster and preparing himself for the next two weeks. Whatever works.

  A hand appears from behind Vincent’s head and seizes his chin, lifting it. A razor sharp edge is pressed against his neck under the jaw line where the carotid artery rests beneath the skin. Pressure is applied and then the straight razor is brought upward in a slow even stroke collecting a roll of white foam as the whiskers are shaved from the skin. The blond haired woman dunks the shaving razor in a bowl of water, rinsing it off to use again. The blond was beautiful once, model material, but like many others who fell victim to unfortunate accidents during the beginning of the end of the old world, one side of her face is severely scarred. That doesn’t matter to Vincent, or to anyone else for that matter, not in this day and age, especially since her body is immaculate, and like all of Vincent’s personal women she is to keep her body exposed at all times. Strictly enforced.

  While he gets his shave he confers with one of his generals about their new elite force of men and women.

  “I believe you will be more than satisfied,” the general tells him. “Most of them were already fully equipped with their own weapons and those who weren’t didn’t need much schooling about how to use a knife or sidearm.”

  “Do they know the logistics?” Vincent asks, stretching his upper lip down under his top teeth, allowing the blond to carefully swipe the blade over it.

  “For the most part they do. But it’s just like anything else, they were given only certain specifics to keep any anxiety held at bay. Any further information can wait until the time comes when you make an announcement.”

  “Excellent.”

  This is the blonde’s week to shave Vincent. She is among three other girls who are rotated on a three week basis, and although she’s been doing the menial job for a long time, it always keeps her on edge. After each clean swipe relief sweeps through her, but with each new swipe made another ripple of dread replaces the relief, and on it goes. Thankfully she’s able to hold a steady hand, but even so, mistakes happen. Only one swipe from being finished and then she can leave, get dressed, and go back to her little girl. Her daughter is three years old. So many men have unbiddenly been inside her that she doesn’t know who the father is, nor would she like to know. It’s just her and her daughter and she does her best to provide for her.

  She gasps to see a small nick across Vincent’s cheek, a trickle of blood forming there, but for a slight moment she’s hopeful that she may be able to wipe it away without Vincent ever knowing about it, but she hesitates a second too long and Vincent catches the distressed look in her eyes.

  Vincent holds out his hand and tells her to hand him the mirror.

  “Let me wipe the rest of the shaving cream off first.” She tries her best to keep the quaking fear out of her voice.

  “Mirror first, love.” He waves the fingers of his open hand inward.

  She retrieves the hand mirror and towel from the table and hands over both.

  He gazes at his reflection – Ah, what a handsome reflection it is – and his eyes lock onto the small line of blood across his cheek. His gaze averts to her and she quickly downcasts her eyes.

  “I – I’m so sorry. I – I didn’t mean to. I promise it won’t happen again. Please forgive me.”

  Vincent presses the towel against the cut, it is very small and will heal fast, then cleans off the remaining cream. He places the hand mirror and towel on the table and then slides the shaving razor from her fingers.

  Her whole body starts to tremble and her throat seems to shut off the air going into her lungs.

  Vincent reaches up to her hair and delicately runs his fingers through it, and snatches a fistful at the back of her head and slashes the razor across her cheek.

  She gasps, instinctively reaching up to her face, and Vincent releases his grasp.

  “All’s forgiven, love. You may go now.”

  Vincent roars with laughter as the blond tearfully and hastily goes out the door.

  The general stood watching the whole thing. He’s seen Vincent do much worse for less. To be honest, he himself has done much worse for less.

  “Ah, I feel a little better,” Vincent says to the ceiling. He stretches his arms and legs, then goes to his recliner and plops himself in it. Pointing a finger at his general he says, “Do you know what the shortest battle in recorded history was?”

  The general does not know.

  Vincent rests the back of his head on his recliner and gives his general a blank stare, his voice devoid of emotion as he says, “The battle at Jaxstone Valley.”

  At this moment Vincent goes far away from here. Although he is staring directly at his general, he isn’t seeing him, he is seeing something entirely different.

  “It was said to have lasted approximately eight minutes with over two thousand men killed. Simple enough story. The people of Jaxstone were stubborn, they stayed when they should have gone, so they were given no mercy. After the battle was over the remainder of Jaxstone men were killed, their sons were executed, the women’s lives were spared, turning them into playthings and their daughters grew up to become loyal to those who had slaughtered their own people. Eight minutes to eradicate an entire community. Eight minutes.”

  42

  It took most of the day to remove the SUV’s engine and strip the body. Then they went to the salvage yard to search for springs and reinforcements to accommodate the new, heavier additions that will be built within the body and frame.

  Three men are on the project; Loak, Nick, and Kent. Nick and Kent are old friends of Loak’s and know their way around the shop. And also not to forget little Matthew, who does most of the gofer work. They work in a corner in the back of the underground parking garage of James’ building where they won’t be bothered, and whatever Loak needs they get. Anything and everything is at his disposal. He and his crew are allowed to come and go from the building as they please but are still required to stop at mandatory checkpoints.

  Lathan comes down to help with what he can when he can but sometimes it becomes unbearable for his shoulder and he’ll need to ease off, so he sticks mostly to the light work.

  Loak took to the project like nobody’s business. Lathan soon quit telling him what he wanted done because it seems like Loak already knows. It’s as if he’s gone inside Lathan’s head, mapped it out, and is now putting it all in motion.

  Recording live music is no longer an available art but the general enjoyment of music is something that will never die. When Kent brought his portable stereo with several CD’s it is a real treat for everyone. It brings a sense of the old world back into the new, and one time that old feeling hit Nick so deeply that he jumped up on a table and blasted off on his air guitar as if he were on a real live stage. Everyon
e cheered him on.

  Once when they came back from a trip to the salvage yard, hauling in large sheets of steel cut from an armored truck, they saw someone hastily leaving through the stairwell door. The door closed behind them too quickly for them to see who it was. Normally someone would have stayed behind to hold the fort down but being they were cutting and hauling in heavy steel they needed all hands to help take the load. The stranger was gone before they could catch him. They checked the area to see if anything was tampered with or missing but everything appeared to be untouched. Lathan asked the sentry if he’d allowed anyone in and he assured him that he did not. He told James about it. If anyone somehow entered the building and parking garage unauthorized then that is a breach of security and someone will need to answer to that.

  At Lathan’s request another more thorough search was made, checking for anything peculiar. Again, nothing turned up. They continued their work but it stays on Lathan’s mind, nagging at him. Something happened while they were gone and not knowing exactly what it was irked him.

  43

  Nothing like a close call to get the juices flowing. He knew he wasn’t going to be caught, he heard the truck pull in just as he got finished, but he is positive that he was seen. Maybe not clearly seen but enough for him to move his ass. He kept having to remind himself that there was no need to snoop around, he’ll be able to see plenty later on, but the urge to take a quick look here and there was too strong to ignore. It took longer than he expected, especially without the knowledge of the layout beforehand, but near to the last minute he found a perfect spot to hide the small camera. The guard on post at the back of the building made sure he was in and out without a problem. He has recorded documentation of the male guard doing things with another male guard that neither wants made public.