Suckers

by J. A.

  "Is that who you’re supposed to rescue against their will?"

  "You're a smart-ass," the man noted. "I can relate to that. What's your name?"

  "Andrew Mayhem."

  "What's your real name?"

  "Andrew Mayhem."

  "Pretty stupid name."

  "And you are...?"

  "Harry McGlade."

  I quickly tried to think up a hilarious comment (preferably something obscene) that rhymed with "McGlade," but nothing came to mind. And then I decided it wasn't a good idea to be making fun of his name, considering that I was still the one being held at gunpoint. And then I decided I should really be more mature than that anyway, given the circumstances.

  "So we're going to call the cops, right?" I asked.

  "I'm thinking no."

  "Then can we at least get out of here? I'm not real comfortable hanging around a dead body."

  "What part of the corpse is bothering you? Is it the ripped-out throat? I bet it's the ripped-out throat."

  "I take it that 'respect for the dead' is not a phrase you use on a regular basis?"

  He titled his head. "You know, if I look at the wound on an angle, it reminds me of a stripper I know."

  I amended my "complete asshole" assessment to include the words "from hell."

  "So this is where we part ways, slowly drift apart, and eventually fail to keep in touch altogether, right?" I asked.

  "No dice, Andrew Moron. We gotta search the place. I’m looking for a girl, not a naked dead guy."

  I glanced at the corpse and slapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh, God..."

  "What?"

  "There's a roach crawling out of his mouth..." I dropped to all fours and dry heaved.

  Harry shook his head. "I thought you Florida guys were cool with roaches. You call them palmetto bugs, right? It was probably laying eggs in his—"

  I spun around and threw a punch that struck him in the stomach. He let out a loud

  " oooomph!" as he staggered backwards a step, tripped over the dead hand, and then landed butt-first on the corpse. The sound was unbelievably disgusting and does not warrant a phonetic description.

  "Aaahhhhh!!!" Harry cried out in a most refreshing sissy-like manner. I punched him in the face, knocking him flat on his back. His butt remained seated on the corpse. The gun remained in his hand.

  He sat up a bit and pointed the gun at me. I was pretty sure that Harry McGlade was the kind of guy who would indeed shoot an innocent person such as myself, so I dove at him before he could pull the trigger.

  I landed on top of him and we struggled frantically for control of the weapon. Punches were thrown. Head-butts were exchanged. Obscenities were uttered. I'd been in vicious fights before, but this was the first one to take place on top of a mutilated corpse.

  I grabbed the corpse's arm and smacked Harry in the face with it. That seemed to anger him for some reason. I tried to knee him in the groin, but he moved out of the way just in time and I kneed the corpse in the groin instead. I had a flash of the poor dead guy standing in front of the pearly gates, suddenly doubling over in agony.

  Harry got in an admittedly good punch to my chest. I got in a much better punch to his jaw.

  His eyes crossed in a most unattractive manner. I wrenched the gun out of his grip, punched him again, and then pressed the barrel against his forehead.

  "You're a dick," he said.

  "Behave," I warned him. I eased myself off the dead body, keeping the gun pointed at him.

  "These were new pants."

  "I weep for your loss. By the way, there wasn't really a roach."

  "I guessed that."

  "I bet you didn't."

  "Look here, Malox—"

  "It’s Mayhem. You don't get to make fun of my name unless you're holding the gun."

  "Whatever. Give it back to me before you hurt yourself."

  "I don’t think so."

  "What are you gonna do? Shoot me? You don’t have the stones."

  I would have loved to shoot him to prove him wrong. But he would've been dead and the irony would have been lost on him.

  "Why do people always say that in the movies?" I asked, using my free hand to massage my aching jaw. "It's sort of like saying 'I double dare you to kill me.' I once ate spoiled oyster on a double dare, and let me tell you, the nightmares from that were a hell of a lot worse than any nightmares I'd get from killing you."

  "Put down the gun."

  It wasn't Harry who said that. I wished it had been. Instead, the voice was to the left of me.

  A bald, overweight guy in his mid-thirties dressed entirely in black. He held a shotgun.

  I lowered the revolver. I really should've considered that there was probably somebody else in the house besides the corpse. Of course, Harry should have considered that too, so he gets half the blame.

  The kitchen lights came on, revealing two goons behind the bald guy. Younger guys who were also dressed entirely in black. The one on the left had one of those ridiculous curved collectors’ knives, the kind they sell on the Home Shopping Network that looked like they’re used to skin buffalo. Glinting in the overhead florescence, it didn’t look ridiculous at all.

  His partner had opted for the maniac implement de jour—a sixteen inch chainsaw.

  Suddenly Harry didn’t seem so bad.

  "I said drop it," the bald guy said.

  I dropped the gun.

  The man pointed the shotgun at Harry. "Get off my prey."

  "Thank God you showed up," said Harry. "This guy was breaking into your house. I'm part of the neighborhood watch and—"

  The man bared his teeth, revealing fangs. "I told you to get off my prey."

  Harry scooted off the body and got to his feet.

  The man looked back and forth between us, and then smiled. "Which one of you is Harry McGlade?"

  "He is," Harry said, pointing at me.

  "No, I don't think so," said the man. "I know who you are. We’ve been watching you for a long time."

  "Groupie, huh? You must be Vlad."

  "I am indeed."

  "I'm Andrew," I said, raising my hand. "I'm uninvolved."

  "Not anymore. But you will be soon." Vlad grinned. "Harry, you and I are going to have a pleasant little chat. We have a lot to discuss. Andrew, you're going into the Pit."

  "How come Harry gets to have a chat and I have to go to the Pit?"

  The two guys behind Vlad simultaneously came at me. I tried to pretend that I wasn't seconds away from losing control over one of my bodily functions. Or perhaps even two of them.

  Vlad chuckled. "If you resist, my friends here will cut off your feet, and then they'll drag you to the Pit. I'd advise against making them do so. You'll survive a few minutes longer if you can run."

  "I was just getting spaghetti sauce."

  Crazy Knife Goon got me in a headlock, and Crazy Chainsaw Goon put his hand on his starter cord.

  "You're at least going to smack Harry around a bit, right?"

  "He’ll get what’s coming to him."

  I smirked at Harry. He shrugged. Crazy Chainsaw Goon fondled his cord.

  "Okay," I said. "I like my feet. I’ll come quietly."

  They grabbed me by the shoulders and tugged me into the next room.

  Chapter 4

  Harry

  The stoolies carted away Andrew Maudlin, and Vlad gave me his full attention. His bald head had an unhealthy sheen of sweat on it, which dripped down past his double chin and onto the black leather silver buckle bondage vest he wore. What I thought were leather pants were in fact chaps, and under them he wore a black bikini pouch.

  Fabio wouldn’t have looked good in that getup. Considering that Vlad resembled Ernest Borgnine, the overall effect wasn’t pleasant.

  "You seem like a reasonable man," I said, watching him play his tongue over the tips of his fangs. "Why don’t you just give me Tanya and let us go?"

  "What about your little boyfriend?"

  "He’s not my boyfr
iend. We’ve only gone on a couple of dates. He doesn't put out until the third."

  He laughed, a high-pitched noise that sounded like a squeaky wheel.

  "Ah, the great Harry McGlade. Always quick with the quip. Just like on the TV show."

  There used to be a cable series called Fatal Autonomy based on my adventures. Lasted three seasons. Even earned an Emmy nomination for best gaffing. I think. I might have imagined the Emmy nomination during a drinking binge.

  "Are you a fan? I could get you Daniel Baldwin’s autograph. We’re tight."

  "I already have what I want, Mr. McGlade."

  "An overbite?"

  "You, Mr. McGlade. I have you."

  A scream, from deep inside the house. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female.

  "Was that Tanya?"

  "That came from the Pit. I’m guessing your friend isn’t enjoying himself."

  "He’s not my friend. He’s just some idiot who bumped into me when I was breaking into your house. I think he’s also mentally retarded. You should let him go—he’s too stupid to tell the police."

  Another wheel-squeak giggle. This creep needed a squirt of WD-40.

  "Let’s walk into the next room, Mr. McGlade. Keep your hands where I can see them."

  Vlad didn’t strike me as a quick guy, and I might have made a try for him if he had a regular gun. But shotguns didn’t require much skill. Even if his aim was off, I’d catch some pellets.

  Catching pellets sucked.

  So I raised my mitts and let him lead me out of the kitchen and into the den. The décor was Goth-chic; black lights, zebra fabric, words like ‘blood’ and ‘death’ spray painted on the walls.

  We walked past two black-clad Pires stoned on the couch. They didn’t even glace up at us—the lava lamp was far too engrossing.

  "Nice place, Vlad. You rent or own?"

  "Own. Balloon mortgage. I’m thinking of refinancing."

  "Now’s a good time. Rates are low."

  From the den we went down a short hall, through a doorway festooned with hanging beads, and came upon...

  "What is this? A porno movie?"

  "It’s an orgy, Mr. McGlade. In your honor."

  I stared at the writhing, squirming pile of naked flesh stretching across the floor, most of it female. The participants ranged in age from teens to mid-forties, but everyone I locked my eyes on was pretty, trim, and athletic. Some were also tremendously flexible.

  "In my honor?" I glanced at Vlad. He gave me an ‘aw shucks’ smile, somewhat hampered by his fangs.

  "The Pires have followed your exploits, Mr. McGlade. You’re a legend. We’re honored to have you here at the Den."

  One of the undulating naked women glanced in our direction and let out a squeal of delight when her eyes met mine. She disengaged from her partner with an audible pop and crawled over to me, locking her hands on my upper thigh.

  "Honored, huh?" I said, though in my head I was already composing my letter to Penthouse.

  "More than honored. This is indeed a sacred day."

  Two more naked women scuttled over, pawing my masculine parts. Though the lighting was low, I could tell by the facial jewelry that one of them was Tanya, the girl I’d come to rescue.

  The other was her mother, Josie.

  I’d been set up, and good. But why? And did I really care?

  "So, you’re not going to kill me?"

  "Kill you?" Vlad laughed. "Mr. McGlade, we’d be honored if you joined us. But let’s not talk of business now. Why don’t you spend some time getting to know the warren." Vlad nudged me into the room with the shotgun. "They certainly seem eager to get to know you."

  I shrugged. "Well, when in Rome..."

  Then I unzipped my pants and waded into the sea of decadence.

  If I were a nicer guy, I perhaps might have wondered what was going on with Andrew Mahogany and the Pit.

  But I’m not a nicer guy.

  Chapter 5

  Andrew

  "Nobody would have to know if you didn't really throw me into the Pit," I explained to the goons as they led me down a gloomy hallway. "Your boss would just say 'Hey, did you throw that guy into the Pit?' and you'd say 'Yep, we sure did,' and he'd say 'Great, thanks,' and you'd say

  'No problem.' It's a win-win situation for everybody."

  "Shut up," said the goon with the chainsaw.

  "I'm just trying to save you some labor. You could go take a smoke break."

  We reached the end of the hallway. The goon with the wacky knife pushed past me and opened the door. "Get in there," he said.

  It was too dark to see clearly inside the room, but one element was rather obvious. "That's not a pit," I said.

  "So what? Get in there."

  "Why do you call it the Pit? It's got a regular floor."

  "Vlad wanted to call it the Pit, so we call it the Pit."

  "But it's not a pit. A pit is concave. That's a room."

  "I know it's a room. But what're we gonna call it, the Room? That's not scary."

  "How about The Scary Room?"

  "Shut up."

  "Are there, like, peach pits or cherry pits scattered around the floor or something?" I asked.

  "If you want to come up with an intimidating name that exaggerates the terror, that's fine, but to call it the Pit when there's no actual pit involved is kind of asinine."

  I had a couple of reasons for harping on the whole pit thing apart from trying to show off my rapier wit in the face of danger. First of all, it served as a nice defense mechanism. Otherwise I'd be rolling around on the floor sobbing and begging for mercy, and I didn't want that McGlade prick to find out about it. Second, I was trying to distract the goons while I figured out a way to escape from their clutches before they actually threw me into the Scary Room.

  But before I could make the funniest pit-related comment yet (which I've since forgotten) they pushed me into the inappropriately named Pit and slammed the door behind me.

  I stood there in the darkness, wondering if I should shout the comment through the closed door. I decided against it.

  A few seconds passed. I continued standing there. Really, this wasn't so bad. If nothing else, it was better than rolling around on a corpse. A lot better.

  What was that?

  I wasn't sure what I'd heard. It sort of sounded like a very quiet giggle.

  A very quiet giggle was not something I wanted to hear when I was locked in a dark room.

  Was I even locked in here?

  I turned around and twisted the doorknob. Yep, it was locked. That's what I figured, but I would've felt like quite the dullard if I'd been torn to shreds by the quiet giggler without ever bothering to check the door.

  More giggling, not so quiet.

  Crap.

  I had visions of a little angel-faced girl with golden curls hiding a bloody meat cleaver behind her back.

  "Is anybody in here?" I asked, using my "I'm extremely brave" voice.

  "Yes," somebody replied. My heart gave such a jolt that for a second I thought it had popped free of its tubing and rolled down next to my stomach.

  It was a woman's voice. She sounded like a grandmother.

  "I'm here, too," said another elderly-sounding woman, her voice coming from the other side of the room.

  Both women giggled.

  I heard something that sounded like chains rattling. I stayed put, hoping that my eyes would quickly adjust to the dark. C'mon, eyes, let's get a move on. Let me see the freaky grandmothers.

  Let's go. Aw, man, this sucks.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  More giggling. More chains rattling.

  "Who are you?" asked the woman to my left. She sounded like she was maybe five or six feet away. Not nearly far enough.

  "I'm Andrew Mayhem," I said. "I mean you no harm."

  The giggling turned into outright laughter. I figured I deserved it. I wiped some sweat off my forehead and continued to stay where I was.

  "We mean you lots of har
m," said the woman to my right.

  "Lots and lots and lots," her companion added.

  "I bet your blood tastes gooooooooood."

  "Real, real good."

  As I looked from side to side, I could now vaguely see the two figures. They seemed to be chained to the wall. I slowly backed up against the door, hoping that their chains were sufficiently short to keep them from tasting my blood.

  I knew they weren't vampires. I didn't believe in vampires. I did, however, believe in crazy old ladies with a blood fetish, and I found them rather unnerving.

  "Should we bite him?" asked the woman to my left.

  "Bite him and drink him all up?"

  "Yes, indeedy."

  "Mmmmmmmmmm."

  I clenched my fists. "I don't want to have to hurt you," I announced. "But I will. I'll do it."

  The women began to slowly walk toward me, chains dragging on the floor behind them. I was terrified, but at the same time I tried to convince myself that they weren't exactly unbeatable opponents. A halfway decent kick should take care of the problem, right?

  "Tasty, salty blood..."

  "Warm, sticky blood..."

  "So, uh, do either of you ladies know why they call this room the Pit? Seems kind of silly to me, don't you think?"

  The old women were now only a couple of feet away. I still couldn't see well enough in the darkness to be sure, but it looked like both of them had really long fingernails, almost claws.

  I tried to kick the woman on my left and missed. Not because it was a lame kick, but because the woman moved with unexpected agility.

  "Gooey, slimy blood..."

  "Spraying, showery blood..."

  "Spurty, sticky blood..."

  They’d already said "sticky" but I didn’t mention it. I threw a punch at the woman on the right that also missed. Both women let out a delighted squeal and pounced at the same time, pulling me to the ground. I felt teeth on my arms, and so help me I screamed like a little girl.

  Chapter 6

  Harry

  The problem with having so many naked women trying to hump me senseless was...

  Actually, there was no problem with it at all.