Benjamin's Parasite

by Jeff Strand

  Benjamin didn't have the nerve to wait until eight or seven. He walked toward the jet, moving at a deliberate pace so Mr. Smith knew his spirit wasn't broken, but not a deliberate enough pace that he wouldn't make it to the jet door by the time the countdown reached one.

  Pedro moved in front of him just before Benjamin reached the three steps leading up into the jet. "Arms out."

  Benjamin held his arms out at his sides. Pedro gave him a generous pat-down that thankfully stayed outside of his clothing and orifices, then nodded, satisfied. Mr. Smith got back into the plane and Benjamin followed.

  Margaret and Cindy sat in adjoining seats. The pilot, a bald man in sunglasses, turned around in his seat to look as Benjamin walked on board.

  Joey stood in the center aisle, with the barrel of a gun pressed against the side of Cindy's head. Their looks of elation at seeing Benjamin again were quickly replaced by looks of horror at his appearance. He gave them a reassuring smile, which obviously made things worse.

  "Where'd your teeth go?" Joey asked.

  "Long story. Point that gun someplace else."

  "Sure thing." Joey removed the gun from Cindy's head and pointed it at Benjamin. "Ha! How does that feel, huh? Spoke too soon, didn't you?"

  "No. That's what I asked for. Thank you."

  Joey looked confused.

  "Sit down," Mr. Smith told Benjamin, gesturing to the seat in front of Margaret.

  "Don't you want to put on a plastic seat cover first?" asked Benjamin.

  "I'm not afraid of your leakage. We'll get you some bandages and antiseptic to take care of those wounds. Sit down."

  Benjamin sat down. He was tempted to make a show of rubbing his sores all over the armrests, but didn't want to repulse his family. "I'm glad you're okay," he told them.

  "I'm glad you're..." Margaret seemed to struggle to find the appropriate word. "...here."

  "It looks worse than it is," Benjamin explained.

  "It would have to."

  "You shaved your beard," said Cindy. "I don't like it."

  "What's taking Pedro so long?" Mr. Smith asked.

  Benjamin froze. He'd allowed Julie to attempt to follow them, but he made her swear not to pull any stunt that might endanger his family's life. She'd promised not to do anything unless she was sure it would work. He'd said, no, that wasn't good enough. She'd said that he could trust her, that she would get as close as possible without being seen but wouldn't do anything stupid. He'd asked her to define "do anything stupid." She'd tried to evade the question. He'd persisted. She'd finally promised that she wouldn't take any kind of action to rescue them unless Benjamin gave her a signal. He'd agreed to that plan.

  Now he kind of hoped that Julie had ignored his instructions and was pointing a shotgun at Pedro right now.

  Pedro stepped on board the jet, pulling the steps up behind him. "We all set?"

  "We're all set," said Mr. Smith.

  "How about this?" asked Joey. "Let me cut off her hand. Just one hand. It can be her left hand—I don't care—I just need to cut off something from somebody or I'm going to go absolutely berserk!"

  "I'll make you a deal," said Mr. Smith. "If any of them try anything, you can cut off Margaret's left hand."

  "Not Cindy's?"

  "Margaret's! Don't argue with me!"

  "I wasn't arguing! I was just asking! Cindy has better hands, is all."

  "You're lucky I'm allowing you that much. If they try to escape, you can saw off her hand, but only if I personally see the attempt to escape. If you try to make something up just so you can cut off her hand, I'll let Margaret cut off your hand. Are we clear?"

  Joey glared at Margaret. "If that bitch tries to cut my hand off, I'll cut off her—"

  "Enough!"

  Pedro pulled the jet door closed and turned the handle to seal it. The pilot started the engine.

  * * *

  Julie cursed as Pedro retreated into the jet. She could've crawled out from her hiding spot amidst some bushes and informed Pedro that she had a shotgun pointed at him, but what would that accomplish? Mr. Smith wouldn't give up his hostages just to save an employee. All it would do is lead to a shootout, and possibly get Benjamin and/or Margaret and/or Cindy killed.

  So now what? Climb on top of the jet?

  No. She was not going to climb on top of the jet.

  Follow it with the truck?

  No. She was not going to follow it with the truck.

  Julie wasn't one to admit defeat, but what was she supposed to do? Chain the truck to the jet and let it carry her along to its destination?

  Maybe she could sabotage the jet. Create a gas leak or something. Force them to land right after they took off.

  Unfortunately, the jet was in a wide-open field. No cover for her to sneak up to it. If somebody was watching—or if Joey had his head dangling out of a window like a dog—she'd be screwed.

  She was pretty sure that blowing a hole in the fuel tank with the shotgun would not be an appropriately stealthy plan of attack.

  Julie cursed. She couldn't just let the plane take off without her. Her window of opportunity to pull off some highly dangerous plan that would save the day was rapidly dwindling, and she had nothing. The last thing she wanted to do was end this adventure by sneaking up toward the jet, having somebody see her from a window, and casually shoot her before they flew away.

  Well, she did have one plan. The proper course of action would be to open fire, disable the plane, and shoot the bastards. They wouldn't kill the specimen. They might threaten to, but they wouldn't really do it, and she'd get Benjamin back.

  They might kill his wife and daughter, though.

  Acceptable losses, yeah, but...she just couldn't do it. She didn't much care about her promise to Benjamin not to put them at risk, but he had come back for her in the cabin when his best course of action would've been to leave her ass to die. She didn't feel like they'd bonded or become best friends forever or anything like that, yet Julie just couldn't bring herself to do something that would almost certainly get his family killed.

  The jet began to move along the runway.

  Screw it. She couldn't do anything. There'd be no exciting rescue from her. Shit.

  Julie punched the ground a few times as the plane took off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "That's just nasty," said Joey. "People are supposed to have more teeth than that."

  Benjamin shrugged. "Bite me."

  "Was that a reference to you not having enough teeth?"

  "No, it was a request that you bite me."

  "That doesn't make sense."

  "Not to you."

  "What do you mean, not to me?"

  "What I said."

  Joey paused. "What did you say?"

  "Bite me."

  "Yeah? Well, screw you!"

  "Classy."

  "He's toying with you," said Mr. Smith. "Don't let him."

  "He's not toying with me. I'll tell you who he's toying with. He's toying with himself." Joey smiled and glanced around at the other jet occupants, presumably to make sure they'd heard his devastating slam.

  "You're an idiot," said Mr. Smith.

  Joey's smile disappeared. "But he was! You heard it, right?"

  "Enough, Joey. Just sit down and enjoy the flight like everybody else."

  Joey paced up and down the narrow aisle a couple of times, then stopped and ran his hand through Cindy's hair. "Hey, girlie, how's it going?"

  "Get your hand off her," Benjamin said.

  "Oh, yeah? What're you gonna do?"

  "Don't touch the girl," said Mr. Smith.

  "I only touched her hair."

  "I said hands off!"

  Joey pulled his hand away. "Jeez. You people need to lighten up. This is like being on a plane with my grandma. We should just play some Bingo and get it over with. Uhhhh, does anybody have B-18?" he asked, in a feigned dumb-guy voice that wasn't too far removed from his real voice.

  "There's no B-18 in Bingo," said Pe
dro.

  "And you don't ask for it like that," Margaret added. "You're thinking of Go Fish."

  "I hope you all die in a fiery plane crash," said Joey. "And yes, I know that we're on a plane and that I'd die too on the crash! Don't act like I'm dumb!" He returned his attention to Benjamin. "Does your mouth hurt?"

  "Yeah. A lot."

  "That just weirds me out. What about all those sores? Do they hurt or do they itch?"

  "Both."

  "They look more like they itch."

  "I'll take your word for it."

  "Open your mouth."

  "Thanks, but no."

  Joey poked Benjamin in the chest. "That wasn't a request. Open your mouth."

  "Not with my daughter present."

  "Don't try to make this seem like I'm trying to turn this into sexual favors and stuff," said Joey. "I told you to open your mouth. Now are you going to open it, or am I going to have to open it for you?"

  Benjamin turned to Mr. Smith. "Could you put a leash on him?"

  Mr. Smith didn't look up from his magazine. "Open your mouth so he'll shut up."

  "You heard him. Open up."

  Benjamin opened his mouth. Joey peered inside, looking both fascinated and sickened.

  "Look at that tooth that's broken in half. I think that would snap right off if you tried to eat something. That hurts my own teeth just to look at it. Ow. How come you didn't stop after the first one?"

  "Couldn't tell you."

  "I would've stopped after the first one."

  "So you're saying that you would have pulled the first one?" asked Pedro. "Because I would have known not to even start the process."

  "No, that's not what I meant," said Joey. "I wouldn't have pulled the first one, but if I had, I would've stopped after that."

  "Why even start?"

  "I didn't start! He did!"

  "Okay."

  "He did! Do you see any missing teeth on me?" Joey showed off his pearly whites. "I'm not the weirdo here."

  "Okay."

  "I hope you die." Joey poked Benjamin in the chest a second time. "Open your mouth again."

  "You've already seen it."

  "I don't care."

  Benjamin opened his mouth again. Joey leaned in even closer. He lifted his index finger and tentatively touched Benjamin's gums, then quickly recoiled.

  "Stop touching his mouth," said Pedro.

  "Screw you. I'll touch whatever I want." Joey flicked Benjamin's gums, making him wince. "Did that hurt?"

  "What do you think?"

  "I was asking you." Joey flicked again.

  "Yes, it hurts."

  "A lot?" Another flick.

  "Yes, a lot. Stop it."

  "Maybe I will." Joey smacked him in the chin. Benjamin managed not to cry out in pain, but Cindy let out a horrified gasp. "Maybe I won't." He smacked Benjamin again.

  "Knock it off," said Mr. Smith.

  "Why? The bug's not in his face." Joey leaned into Benjamin's mouth, close enough that they could French kiss if Benjamin was so inclined, which he was not. "Hey, parasite! How's it going in there? Why'd you make this guy rip out his teeth?"

  Benjamin felt a disturbing rumbling in his stomach.

  "That wasn't very nice, you know. You should be more considerate in the future. Can you hear me, Mr. Parasite? Do you speak English? Hellllloooooo!"

  "Seriously, give it a rest," said Pedro. Even the pilot looked annoyed.

  "Hellllloooooo! Para para parasite! I'm talking to you! You're being very rude by not saying hi to me! Para para parasite!"

  Food...

  "Joey Smith, sit down," said Mr. Smith.

  "Aw, all right." Joey plopped back down in his seat. The rumbling in Benjamin's stomach stopped.

  "Fuckin' retard," Pedro muttered.

  Mr. Smith very slowly lowered his magazine. "What did you say?"

  Pedro looked shocked and flustered, as if unaware that he'd made his comment out loud. "I...nothing."

  "Did you call me a retard?" Joey asked, standing up again.

  "That's not what I meant," said Pedro.

  Mr. Smith frowned. "Then what did you mean?"

  "I didn't mean anything. I was just saying that...I meant...I mean, look at the way he's acting. We were all thinking it."

  "Pedro," said Mr. Smith, "I'm still mourning the loss of my son. How do you think it feels to hear you disparaging my other son like that? Do you think that's acceptable?"

  "No, sir. I apologize."

  "So what are we going to do about this?"

  Joey stomped on the floor. "Throw his ass out of the plane!"

  Benjamin watched the encounter carefully. Conflict amongst his enemies was a good thing, though he didn't really want them to start shooting at each other.

  Pedro stood up. "Okay, there's no reason for this to get out of hand. It was a dumb comment and I'm sorry for it. But let's not blow it out of proportion."

  "Sit down, Pedro."

  "I'm one of your best men."

  "I realize that. Sit down."

  Pedro remained standing. His fingers twitched as if he were trying to decide if he should go for his gun.

  "Here's what's going to happen," said Mr. Smith. "You will finish this job. You will not be paid for it. You will apologize to my son, and when we land, I will decide whether or not you will continue to be employed by me."

  Pedro considered that. "No offense, sir, but I'm not that naïve."

  "No, but you're dead!" shouted Joey, standing up and firing off three shots in a row.

  Benjamin, Margaret, and Cindy screamed.

  Whether Joey was blinded by rage or merely a crappy shot, Benjamin was uncertain, but none of the three bullets struck their mark. Pedro, who was apparently taken completely by surprise, hadn't even really tried to dodge.

  In the frenzy of the moment, Benjamin wasn't quite sure where the first two shots landed. He was mostly distracted by the third shot, which struck the pilot. The pilot slumped forward, a big red splotch on the back of his bald head.

  Joey slowly lowered his gun, looking sheepish.

  "What the hell did you just do?" screamed Mr. Smith, jumping to his feet. He yanked the gun out of Joey's hand and slapped him across the face.

  "I didn't mean to!"

  Pedro hurried into the cockpit. The pilot slid out of his seat and tumbled to the floor.

  For a few seconds, Benjamin joined everybody else in the plane in expressing some blind panic. It just seemed somehow appropriate. Then Cindy asked the most important question of the flight thus far: "Does anybody else know how to fly?"

  "I do," said Pedro.

  Benjamin's heart stopped freaking out for an instant. "Really?"

  "No. If I knew how to fly, I'd be a goddamn pilot instead of working with morons!" Pedro sat down in the pilot's seat. "How hard can it be? We're only going, what, three hundred and fifty miles an hour?"

  Margaret pushed into the cockpit next to him. Benjamin, Cindy, and Joey huddled around the control panel as closely as they could. Benjamin stared at all of the cryptic dials, knobs, lights, and levers, none of which were labeled "Pilot Has Been Shot In The Head Emergency Landing Switch."

  "We're losing altitude really fast," said Cindy.

  "Where do you see that?" Benjamin asked.

  "The window."

  As Pedro picked up the radio handset, there was a huge rush of wind throughout the plane. Benjamin's first thought was that a hurricane had suddenly formed inside the aircraft, although he quickly switched to the more reasonable thought that somebody had opened the door. He spun around just in time to see Mr. Smith leap from the aircraft.

  Unless Mr. Smith had opted to plummet to his death, he'd found—

  "Parachutes!" Margaret cried out. "Get parachutes!"

  Parachutes were not, to the best of Benjamin's admittedly limited knowledge, standard issue on private jets. Either Mr. Smith was a skydiving enthusiast or seriously paranoid about aircraft safety—not that Benjamin was complaining.


  "Dad!" Joey wailed. "How could you leave me?" was implied in his tone although not explicitly stated, probably because the howling wind made it hard to say much beyond "Dad!" Benjamin threw out his arm as Joey rushed for the open door, catching him in the neck. Joey stumbled backwards, dropping his gun as he clutched at his throat. Benjamin immediately went for the gun. Joey went for it an instant later. Their heads collided. Though Joey's cranium probably wasn't all that heavy, Benjamin did have a couple of big sores on his forehead, so the impact hurt like crazy.

  Joey snatched up the gun. Benjamin tried to grab it out of his hand but missed, then quickly changed strategy and punched him in the nose. The punch worked out better than he'd anticipated, and Joey cried out in pain, clutching his bleeding nostrils. Sadly, it didn't appear that a bone fragment had shot up into his brain, killing him. That would've made things a lot easier.

  Benjamin grabbed for the gun again. Even with his gushing nostrils and screams of rage-tainted pain, Joey was able to keep the weapon away from him. In his peripheral vision, Benjamin saw Margaret and Cindy dart behind him, hopefully to grab parachutes. Benjamin got to his feet at the same time Joey did, but the wind—and his whole draining experience since being kidnapped from the hospital—made him fall again just as Joey pulled the trigger. Sparks fired from the control panel.