Bad II the Bone

by Anton Marks

  Mr. Wong had taught her to grasp both her cultures and to be self reliant. He just never realised his lessons in freedom had led his daughter to want her own life in a new country just as his great grandparents had. As old school Chinese as he was, he still couldn’t say no to her, even if it meant not having his little lotus flower around him.

  Recovery from the pain of leaving her home and the comforting shoulder of her father was difficult but destiny had called and she was open to the adventure it had to offer her. Nothing could have prepared her to fully except the experience itself and even after everything she would do it all again.

  Remembering Mr. Wong’s parting words, a tear trickled down her cheeks.

  Deh answer to everything is always inside of you Lotus flower. Just step back an mek it come. Step back an let it in.

  Suzy was keeping herself busy trying not to think about her future and making her world on the outside as orderly as possible, hoping its frequency would impact on the conflict inside. Lynton had just called to say he was twenty minutes away from home and this was her chance to break the bad news. Correction, Suzy chastised herself – a chance to explain the new path she was about to embark on. Suzy met Lynton in Jamaica, and if her family’s wishes had gone to plan, Suzy would be married to a nice Chinese Jamaican boy who owned a thriving supermarket business. In no time she would be looking after kids and helping to run a Cash & Carry store somewhere in the corporate area. Instead, the flow of her personal history was dammed and redirected by a dark-skinned, caring, giant of a man. She had found a kindred spirit housed in the body of a Mandingo with a heart that drummed out the same rhythm as hers whenever they were together. Lynton had swept her off her feet and she had no choice - much to her father’s derision - but to follow him back to the UK. It was meant to be.

  Although her present lack of income could be challenging, that inner voice was calm and composed, almost optimistic. And when her inner voice emanated peace she stayed cool – nuh fret, cah everyting set. Even so Suzy couldn’t just break the bad news of her job loss just so-so suh. He would be disarmed in a haze of aromatic oils and scented candles.

  Her baby would be pampered, all of those rough kinks smoothed out after a night shift on the tracks, making sure that Network Rail’s infrastructure was intact and that he made a living. He wouldn’t be too suspicious of the treatment – he did receive TLC more regularly than most – and his male mind would be speculating on the possibility of pregnancy. Suzy would let him stew on that point though.

  The lounge in their small, one bedroom flat had been transformed. Towels were spread on the floor with a single bed sized sponge wrapped in terry cloth with aromatic candles burning around the perimeter. The bath upstairs had been run and the bubbles from the orange blossom bath mousse formed rolling banks of foam just beckoning to a weary muscle fatigued body to come hither. Even as she turned off the faucets the aromas were lifting her mood in the process and Suzy just relaxed into an easy wave of optimism induced by the smells.

  Step back an’ let it in.

  The door opened and her lover was home, his presence filling up their nest and spiking her libido like a Pavlovian trigger.

  “Suzy baby?”

  Tired or not, her mind ran rampant with the thoughts of making love to him as he stepped onto the threshold of home. Suzy would be manipulating all those stimuli she had stored away in her mind that she knew aroused her man and she would be withdrawing them all from her arsenal. The silk ruby long drop camisole was rocking and underneath she wore nothing. The subtle smell of Chanel Allure had misted her body and she let her long black hair tumble over her shoulders. With all of the boxes ticked poor Lynton was caught in this web with his actions mapped out before his own conscious thought could question.

  What deh …?

  She’d give him no time to shower or change, stripping his six foot two frame and kissing his musky sweat dried chest. To her his griminess and perspiration was a heady concoction that turned her on even more than the muscular sight of him. She was just caught up in dragging down his FUBU shorts to his ankles. He was a big man and his erection was magnificent thing to behold.

  She took every opportunity she got to hold it in her hand and accommodate its head around her lips and tongue, watching his eyes glaze over and those gruff moans of satisfaction leaving his lips.

  Suzy let the fantasy slide, moving instead down the stairs to greet him. Her bare feet taking the steps with the grace and sensuality her training afforded her. Lynton did not stand a chance. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, arms folded, leaning on the post, a sly grin on his face that slowly unfurled into the hungry stare as he saw something he craved. And at that very moment an idea popped into her head. Maybe she didn’t have to break the news to him just yet.

  Pink Kitty Kat Strip Club

  Central London

  21.10

  “Cleopatra darling, never thought I’d see you again.” The voice was cultured with an edge of private schooled confidence that reminded you of the late actor Denholm Elliot. “When Freddy said you were here, I had to come down and see for myself.”

  “Damn straight Giles, in the flesh, baby.”

  “And in the flesh I might add you’re looking better than ever.” He held her hand and kissed it.

  Giles Sinton, the seventy year old owner of one of the most sophisticated strip establishments in London. Porn elder statesman, old world gentleman, multi-millionaire and kindred spirit, hugged her warmly. They were in one of the Pink Kitty Kat’s VIP areas with its own minibar, pole and poker table. Giles was dressed in his trade mark Egyptian cashmere jumper and slacks.

  “You’re looking as handsome as ever you old coot,” she whispered in his ear, his favorite aftershave just as understated as she remembered. “Have you stopped dating women one fifth your age yet, G?”

  “Ssshhh!” he whispered, holding her by the shoulders to view her better, “That’s the secret to my longevity amongst other things. Keep it close to your chest. So what are you doing back? I know you enjoyed the job but the spirit of adventure was beckoning to you, I was told.”

  “And I listened. I got some juicy ass stories to tell you over a cigar and brandy but I was enjoying myself so much I lowered my guard and got jacked. My sisters and I have got some catching up to do, some serious shit to smooth out. I thought of you.”

  “I’m glad. Do they dance too?”

  “They’re thick enough and sexy as hell too but this ain’t their style. Besides, the fun stuff I got that covered. I leave the boring ass shit to them. They’ve got their strengths and I got mine.”

  “It sounds like you finally found a family. I’m glad. So when do you want to start Cleo?”

  Patra shrugged.

  “I think we may have a hitch, OG.”

  “Don’t be silly, there is no hitch. Just tell me when you want to come down and start?”

  Patra rolls her eyes over to the blonde in the business suit who was silently watching the reunion.

  Giles sighed audibly.

  The woman’s poise was confident but with her arms folded around her chest it was obvious she was expecting conflict and from that crooked half smile on her lips it was something she would enjoy. Detaching herself from the poker table she was leaning on, the gold stripes on her suit shimmering when she moved, the executive blonde took two strong steps in her black Jimmy Choo, slingback shoes.

  “As I was explaining to Ms Jones before you came in, Mr. Sinton, the last remaining positions have been taken by Jade, Smooth and Topaz. We have her details on our records and as soon as there are any vacancies we will contact her.”

  Patra’s gaze slowly drifted over to the three new recruits and felt the ice cold daggers of contempt directed her way.

  Skanky ass bitches don’t even know me, she thought.

  “Did you know that she holds the title for the most gratuities offered to a dancer in my club, Laura?” Giles asked.

  “I didn’t but...”

 
“Twenty thousand pounds, that was a damn good night,” his eyes went misty with memory and he grinned in Patra’s direction and she grinned back.

  “Do we have a problem with my decision making Mr. Sinton?” Laura asked. “This is what you employed me to do, right?”

  “Hey, it’s cool,” Patra interjected uncomfortable with where this was leading. ”I’ve got other gigs lined up OG, it’s no biggy.” Patra was reaching over to grab her backpack when Giles looked over to her, eyes sparkling.

  “Don’t go yet Cleo.” He signaled Laura over to him for a powwow and set about outlining some scheme he was hatching.

  Patra was beginning to feel guilty about her insistence that Giles delegate large chunks of his empire to able lieutenants who could replicate his success, so he had more time to enjoy life. From the youthful glow and exuberance he was showing it was working. Now she had to come back into his life to complicate it some more. The trio who had been slinging visual shots her way had shuffled a bit closer to where Patra was lounging, for no other reason than for them to make their ire heard and goad her into reacting.

  Who the fuck does she think she is?

  A Yankee bitch, coming in here demanding work.

  No working girls allowed, dike.

  Patra felt the adrenaline rush of conflict. That heady chemical reaction that was exploding in her cells generating that endorphin rush of pleasure she had anchored into her psyche when shit got twisted.

  Oh yeah, you beefing with the wrong bitch.

  She let the adrenalin seep into her blood stream savoring its power to make her fearless and competitive. Casually, Patra looked over to the three strippers trying their utmost to psyche her and just thought how ‘those dumb ass bitches’ were playing into her hands without even knowing it.

  Don't test me ladies, I was made for this competitive shit.

  If Patra knew how to do anything it was how to win and she was equipped to do so with talents they could never imagine in their wildest dreams. The smile crept up onto her lips, self assured and with an edge of dark humor to it.

  Bring it on, she thought.

  “Cleo darling, I think we have a solution to our dilemma. Laura...” Giles called over.

  “We...I have decided that the best way to resolve this situation is for you to compete for the positions.”

  The groans from the penny section reverberated in unison and Patra unfurled her fists and grinned.

  “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.” Patra mouthed the words to herself and met eyes with Giles who nodded sagely.

  “Just one thing before you ladies start on the pole.” Giles said. “Freddy, play that old track from Ludacris for me. ‘Stand Up’, I think it’s called.”

  The DJ nodded.

  Giles winked at Patra.

  “You like Luda, Giles?” Patra laughed all the way to the changing room. “Time to smoke some lame ass bitches,” she said confidently, making sure everyone heard.

  Wormwood Scrubs Prison

  West London

  Three weeks ago

  It was a rainy London day and Senior Prison Officer Wilson was looking forward to an uneventful evening on the blocks. That was until the HMS Prison Service iPad reminded him today was cell search for the prisoner they nicknamed Damian. Like an enema administered up the ass he had the whole day to look forward to that mouth watering prospect. His reluctance did not stop the event from happening much to his dismay.

  Enoch Lacombe folded the flannel neatly and placed it on top of the other folded towels on his bunk in the spartan confines of his cell housed in the maximum security D Wing facility. With his head lowered he placed the Holy Bible with meticulous care on top of his fabric constructed tower of Babel, lifted it from the bed he had lain his head on for the last four years and turned to face three of D Wing’s elite Prison Officers watching his casual ceremony.

  “Take one step forward prisoner 699, remain stationary and keep your eyes to the ground,” the Senior Prison Officer’s voice boomed in the confined space, its power trailing away suddenly as if it did not have the same supremacy in this place. Looking as if he would prefer to be anywhere else but here, he motioned to his colleague.

  The younger man took a deep breath and was surprised at how clean the cell smelt. Not fragranced to conceal the smell of shit and piss but an almost antiseptic reek, a morgue pong. He shivered involuntarily, his short stocky frame concealing the tremors breaking through his genitals and neck as he tentatively used his metal detector to skim the personal atmosphere around the prisoner, taking more care than was normal, making sure the detector did not have any contact with the Darkman’s skin. The officer was sweating, a cold perspiration gathering around his lips and trickling down his back although the confines of the cell were cool. Hurriedly he shuffled his big frame backwards, his metal detector unresponsive and made as much space between prisoner and Prison Officer as possible. The senior Prison Officer, Wilson, followed him out of the confines of the small cell just as careful not to have even casual contact with the inmate. They congregated on the landing, shoulders showing a wave of relief they would not admit to anyone and stood with two K9 officers and their dogs.

  Enoch Lacombe had not moved.

  “Sniff him out, boys.” He signaled the men to let the dogs do their job but their hesitant whines spoke of distress..

  “Come on girl, come on.” Officer Jacobs coaxed his bitch into the cell to do her job but she was whimpering, her intelligent Alsatian eyes almost begging for a reprieve. Her colleague was even more perturbed by the prospect of going into the cell to sniff out prisoner 699. The Labrador stiffened, whimpered and started making some pitiful cries. And no amount of tugging on his lead would get him any closer to the prisoner. Then they both started a chorus of whimpering and there was nothing their masters could do to control their panic.

  “I don’t know what’s up with them, Sarge.”

  “Jesus Christ. Okay, just take them back to the compound and we’ll finish up without it. I came prepared anyway.”

  “Poxy fucking mongrels,” he grumbled and opened up a reinforced plastic case that was leaning on the bars at his feet. He unpacked the E-Nose and let the Home Office’s new toy do the job the canines refused to. In moments he was satisfied that he had not been in contact with contraband and led Enoch Lacombe by a wave of his hands on to the landing so they could clean up and return him to his cell. Darkman stood patiently between two physically imposing prison guards this time his head held high, words floated up from his upturned lips.

  A silence fell over the landings. Darkman paused his former words resonating in the confines of D-Wing then his lips parted again and a final word exited. No one standing beside him understood what he was muttering; they only knew it had an Arabic brogue to it and that it almost crackled with a power they could all feel but could never understand.

  How could they?

  The force of the final piece of the incantation rippled from Darkman at its epi-centre and spread throughout the prison block. Everyone in the entire wing froze in position for a second, a subtle shift in perception as if something had switched off, held them in place, making the dogs who were obviously unaffected start whining nervously. Then as if nothing had happened the world resumed functioning and the warders closed the cell door, leading him along the landing away from his cell.

  Obediently, inmate 699 revolved his neck, cracking the bones of his vertebrae and walked with the casual sway of the Caribbean sun and cricket as his warders silently lead him out of the secure wing without a thought as to why they were doing it.

  Eyes in the depth of the cells that lined his path peered out. Desperate men who had not had yard time for 36 hours and others whose stint in solitary was just beginning, all followed his progress with mute relief or palpable fear. Murderers, armed robbers and gang members with nothing to lose, respecters of nothing, afraid of no one in heaven or on earth, remained dumb as inmate 699 made his way past them. For anyone bold enough to peer too closel
y through the shutters, just the merest flinch of Enoch Lacombe sent them scurrying away from his attention.

  The prison population even as desensitized as they were to a world beyond their five senses felt that prisoner 699 was not someone to be trifled with. Three men overstepped the mark and died inexplicably, horribly. Unbeknownst to the rumor mill that created the Frankenstein monster of Enoch Lacombe, the reality of his awesome capabilities was far, far worse than their limited imagination could ever create.

  Away from the inquisitive electronic eyes of the Prison Service surveillance system, Prison Guard Pete Jackson kissed the fingers of his master’s hand while he genuflected. The ingredients for the spell had taken almost a year to gather while his acolyte had to do his part by replenishing the choice ingredients in the Totems scattered around Worm Wood Scrubs’ structure. But the mind haze - a lingering hypnotic trance - would allow him to do what he needed to without the undue attention of the authorities and affected anyone who entered the institution. His ‘prentis’ would keep the efficacy of the spell until he was away from this place and back ‘a yard’ for good. Laying his hands on the Prison Officer as if giving him a blessing because his aid wouldn’t be forgotten, Enoch Lacombe turned away and stepped casually through the reinforced door within the reinforced siege gates into the moisture laden atmosphere, pregnant with ozone and carbon monoxide, filling his lungs immediately with air free of the taint of guilty men.

  The tall black man freed himself of the shadows flung from the building with an unhurried stride, almost scoffing with his casualness at the institution that had tried to hold him for a life sentence but succumbed, as most things did, to an Obeah man of his vast power. He stood on the edge of light and darkness and turned to face his home for four years, what was left of his worldly possessions stuffed into two black leather bags held by hard hands. He wore a dark striped suit and white shirt with no tie.