The Red Mohawk

by AnonYMous

  Whatever Clarisse was looking for in the plant pot (and Baby suspected it was her underwear) she gave up on it pretty quick. She made a run for it instead. In a blind panic she attempted to race up the stairs only to catch her foot on one of the dead henchmen. She tripped and fell face first onto the pile of dead men. It provided yet another unwelcome view of her ass as she struggled to get up, but she was soon on her feet again and escaping up the stairs, screaming for all she was worth.

  The Red Mohawk stood up. ‘This way,’ he said heading for the corridor that led to the elevator.

  Baby hurried along behind him, doing her best to stay within touching distance and out of sight behind his hulking frame. When they reached the elevator he pressed the button in the wall to call it down. Behind them, Baby heard someone shout. ‘There they are!’

  Before Baby could react, Joey Conrad’s arm came across her. He hauled her around behind him and squared up to whoever had shouted out at the other end of the corridor. ‘Get down,’ he said.

  He pointed his guns down the corridor and opened fire. Baby crouched down behind him in a ball with her hands over her ears. The last wave of gunfire had practically deafened her and she had no desire to hear any more at such close range.

  She closed her eyes and waited for the gunfire to come to an end. The noise went on for five or six seconds before it went quiet again. She pinched her eyes open and peered down the hall. In amidst a plume of smoke she saw yet more dead henchmen. She heard the Red Mohawk replace his guns in their holsters. A ping from the elevator followed. She turned around in time to see the doors opening. Their carriage had arrived.

  But it wasn’t empty.

  There was a large man inside the elevator. Baby froze and stared upwards as the huge figure of Mack bounded out of the lift. She wanted to shout out to warn her masked rescuer of what was to come, but she was too late.

  Mack hooked an arm around The Red Mohawk’s neck from behind. He hauled him back into the elevator with him. Baby watched open-mouthed as Mack squeezed his huge hands around the Mohawk’s neck and slammed him up against the wall inside the elevator. The lift doors closed abruptly, ending her view of proceedings and leaving her all alone once more, stranded in a corridor in the Booty Parlour. She watched as a dial above the elevator doors indicated that it was moving upwards again.

  Baby’s plan of escape was suddenly in tatters. She was undecided about what to do. Wait until the elevator came back down, or make a run for the stairs?

  Find some music.

  It was possibly the dumbest idea she could think of, but it’s what she’d been told to do if she got separated from Joey Conrad. The Cry of the Celts music was playing in one of the rooms near Clarisse’s reception desk. Baby turned and ran back towards it, not really sure what she was expecting to happen.

  Fifty

  Munson peered through one of the windows by the side of the front door to The Beaver Palace. There was a reception lounge inside with a set of double doors at the far end. As he was staring through the window he saw a figure charge into the lounge through the double doors. It was a woman and she was headed for the front entrance, screaming her head off.

  He could have hugged her because her timing was impeccable. She flung open the front door and raced out of it and down the front steps. Munson leapt across to obstruct her. She crashed into his chest and stared up at him. She screamed in his face. Munson looked her up and down. She was wearing a black lacy bra, but absolutely nothing else. He grabbed her by her arms. She continued screaming and struggled to break free but he was far too strong for her.

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ he yelled, loud enough for her to hear over her own screaming.

  ‘The guy in the mask, the Red Mohawk, he’s inside! Let me go!’ She attempted to wriggle free, her sights set on Randall’s truck at the end of the driveway, but Munson refused to release his grip on her and instead hauled her back towards him.

  ‘I’m looking for a girl named Baby,’ he said. ‘Is she in there?’

  ‘Baby?’

  ‘You know who I mean.’

  ‘Baby. Yeah, she could be dead. The killer was in her room. I just saw him come out. That’s when I ran.’

  ‘Where’s her room?’

  The woman continued to struggle in vain to try and break free from Munson’s grip. ‘Let me go!’ she screamed.

  Munson let go of one of her arms and pulled his gun from its holster. He pointed it at her face. ‘Where’s Marianne Pincent?’ he growled.

  The woman stopped struggling and stared first at the gun and then up at Munson. Then, as if suddenly realising she was missing her underwear, she placed her free hand between her legs to cover her modesty, before answering him. ‘She’s downstairs. Through the reception lounge. Head down the stairs in the next room and it’s the first door on the right. She’s probably dead though. Don’t go in there.’

  Munson looked the woman up and down. ‘You should really put on some pants,’ he said. Then he let go of her arm and watched her run towards Randall’s truck.

  Randall’s face was no longer hanging out of the side of the window because it had slid back inside. The naked lady grabbed the handle on the truck door and pulled it open. Randall’s dead body fell out on top of her, knocking her to the floor and pinning her down underneath it. She screamed again although this time the dead body on top of her muffled her high pitched yelling.

  Munson took a deep breath and stepped inside the main building. He was greeted by the sound of many more women screaming, and the sight of them running for their lives in all directions. It served as the perfect distraction for him to find his way downstairs to Baby’s room. He hurried through the reception lounge, checking in all directions for a girl with a blue birthmark.

  All around him was chaos. The sound of men and women of all ages crying and shrieking filled the air. From somewhere downstairs he heard a lot more gunfire and some music from a Michael Flatley show. Munson carefully made his way through to the room where he’d been told the stairs were. He saw a staircase on his left. It led down to where most of the noise was coming from. He stopped in his tracks at the top of the stairs. Down at the bottom he saw a pile of dead bodies. Someone had killed a bunch of henchmen. He had a pretty good idea who that someone might be. With his own handgun at the ready he made his way down the stairs. As he neared the bottom he saw a young girl in jeans and a red sleeveless shirt running along a corridor towards him. She had a blue birthmark on her face. It was the girl from the photo on Fonseca’s phone. Their eyes met and they both stopped in their tracks.

  ‘Are you Marianne Pincent?’ Munson shouted above the din.

  She looked surprised, but replied quickly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Jack Munson. Your Uncle Jack from a long time ago. I’m with the FBI. I’ve come to get you out of here.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come on. Quick, there isn’t much time!’

  Fifty One

  Silvio Mellencamp leant back against his desk and took a sip from his giant glass of cognac. He stared at the door and listened to all the chaos coming from the other side. People were dying downstairs. There was a heck of a lot of screaming going on and a great deal more gunfire than he had expected.

  He hadn’t had any reason to be afraid of anyone for as long as he could remember. But this psychotic Red Mohawk nutcase had given him some real cause for concern. Mellencamp’s town B Movie Hell, his own goddamn town, had been taken apart by this guy, in less than a day. And the fucking nutcase was somewhere within the four walls of The Beaver Palace.

  Mellencamp had locked the door to his private study the minute Selena had left. It had been over two minutes since he’d sent his best henchman, Mack downstairs on a seek and destroy mission with a bunch of others. He’d expected to hear maybe one or two gunshots and for that to signal that the whole episode was over and done with. But the sound of gunfire just kept coming. That could only mean one thing. The Red Mohawk wasn’t dead yet. Every second that passed made him more nervous. He foun
d himself staring wide eyed at his door and wondering who would arrive to see him first, Mack or The Red Mohawk? A loud knock at his door made him jump.

  ‘Who is it?’ he called out.

  ‘It’s Jasmine. Selena said you wanted to see me.’

  ‘Oh, hang on.’

  He breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to the door, swilling his cognac around in his glass as he went. He turned the key in the lock and opened the door inwards. Jasmine was standing outside in a bright red basque with black stockings and a pair of high-heeled stiletto shoes. He looked her up and down and gave an approving wink. Even in the face of mortal danger, he could appreciate such a fine form. He ushered her inside and closed the door again, locking it and then checking to make sure it wouldn’t open. Just having Jasmine in the room with him calmed him down immensely. She didn’t seem in the slightest bit panicked by all the noise coming from downstairs. And he knew that once she started performing fellatio on him she could take his mind off anything. Even mortal danger.

  He turned around to find her leaning against his desk. She was checking her nails.

  ‘Did you bring the oven glove?’ he asked.

  ‘Was I supposed to?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t Selena tell you?’

  ‘No. But she did say that she’d heard the Red Mohawk was in the building. Is it true?’ she asked.

  Mellencamp pulled a face. ‘What do you think? Can’t you hear the gunfire?’

  ‘Oh, is that what that is?’

  ‘Yeah. Mack and the boys are down there dealing with him now. But don’t worry, you and I are perfectly safe up here.’ He opened up his dressing gown and waved his cock at her. ‘Let’s do something to take our minds off what’s going on downstairs.’

  ‘Don’t you want to wait until you know it’s safe?’ Jasmine asked, ignoring his waving penis.

  ‘For fuck’s sake! Not you as well?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Selena. She couldn’t shut up for five minutes. That’s why I called for you. You’re my favourite girl, Jasmine, because you know to take my mind off anything. So do me a favour, get down on your knees and keep your mouth shut. No wait a minute, I mean keep your mouth open, but don’t speak. That Selena girl was chatting to everyone instead of doing what she was supposed to.’

  ‘She’s just friendly.’

  ‘Well friendly can wait. You’re lucky I called you up here. This is the safest place to be in the whole building. The door’s locked, so no one’s getting in. So as a thank you, the least you can do is get down on your knees and quit with all the questions!’

  Jasmine didn’t do a great job of disguising her displeasure at what she was being ordered to do. She’d already serviced his cock, balls and ass twice that day. Three times in one day was rare.

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ Mellencamp sneered.

  Jasmine lowered herself to the floor and crawled towards him on her knees. She knew just how to get Mellencamp going. He liked a lot of the other girls but no one knew how to caress his balls like Jasmine, and her blowjob technique was unequalled. The cleverer girls had all worked out that giving good head to the boss meant giving lots of head to the boss. Jasmine either hadn’t worked it out yet, or just didn’t know how to give a bad blowjob.

  For the next couple of minutes as he sipped from a glass of cognac and looked down on Jasmine’s gorgeous dark hair, he forgot all about The Red Mohawk. Damn, this girl was good. She really could take his mind off anything.

  He was in the process of guiding her left hand around to his asshole when there was another loud knock at the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ he called out.

  ‘It’s Mack.’

  ‘Excellent. Did you get that guy?’

  ‘Yeah I got him boss. Broke his neck in the elevator.’

  ‘Great stuff! You’re a legend Mack. Come on in. I’ll get Jasmine to make you some sandwiches.’

  He pulled his dick out of Jasmine’s mouth and pushed her head back. ‘Wait here a minute, sweetheart,’ he said.

  ‘Have I really got to make sandwiches?’ Jasmine groaned.

  ‘Hey! Remember what I said. When you’re on your knees, I don’t want to hear you speak. You hear me?’

  Jasmine nodded. She looked like she wanted to complain but she had the good sense to keep her thoughts to herself.

  Mellencamp unlocked the door and pulled it open. Mack was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Come on in buddy,’ said Mellencamp. He stepped back and waved Mack in. ‘I’m just in the middle of a blowjob. You can tell me everything while Jasmine finishes me off.’

  Mack stayed outside. ‘Boss, I can’t see.’

  ‘What?’

  Mellencamp peered around the door. He looked up at Mack and to his surprise he saw blood pouring down the giant henchman’s face. He looked closer. Both of Mack’s eye sockets were empty. Blood was streaming out of the two gaping black holes where his eyes had once been.

  ‘WHAT THE FUCK!’

  Mack suddenly dropped to his knees. Mellencamp took a step back. ‘Mack? Mack?’

  Before he could ask Mack what had happened, the giant thug fell forwards. His face thudded into the carpet that he had accidentally pissed on earlier in the day. He had a meat cleaver sticking out of his back, right between his shoulder blades. It was embedded in a good three inches deep.

  Mellencamp looked around the door and spotted the meat cleaver’s owner standing behind Mack. For the first time he found himself face to face with the masked madman who had been terrorising his town. Mellencamp backed further away from the door. The Red Mohawk stepped into the room. He leant down and yanked his meat cleaver out of Mack’s back. And he took a long stride towards Mellencamp.

  ‘Wait. Wait!’ Mellencamp pleaded, back-stepping with great haste as he tried to talk his way out of trouble. ‘I’ve got money. If it’s money you want, I’ve got all you need. You can come work for me. Name your price.’

  The Red Mohawk didn’t respond verbally. He continued walking towards Mellencamp, with his blood-stained meat cleaver in his hand.

  ‘I’ll give you a million bucks right naaaa-aaagh….’

  Mellencamp’s foot knocked into something on the floor behind him and he toppled over onto his back. He had tripped over Jasmine who had been kneeling on all fours behind him. His head banged against the floor and he dropped his glass of cognac, spilling it over the carpet. He was too out of shape to get back up quickly. Instead he looked angrily across at Jasmine and yelled at her. ‘You stupid bitch! Why didn’t you say something!’

  Jasmine got up off her knees and stood up straight. She looked down at him. ‘You told me to keep quiet when I was on my knees.’

  The Red Mohawk walked over and stopped alongside her. Jasmine wisely backed away from him towards the desk.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ the Mohawk said to her. ‘I’m here for him.’

  ‘Are you going to kill him?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘Any minute now.’

  ‘In that case…’ Jasmine took a look down at Mellencamp. His dressing gown was wide open. His legs were splayed apart and he was on his back in a defenceless position. She took a run up and swung her right foot at his balls. The toe of her shoe caught him right where it hurts. His testicles damn near went right up inside his stomach. The expression on his face changed from terrified to agonised in a single frame. He closed his eyes and howled in pain. Before he could get his hands down to cup his aching balls, Jasmine followed up the kick with a hard stamp from her stiletto heeled shoe. The bottom of her heel dug down deep into his scrotum, right between the balls. She twisted it round hard, a full ninety degrees. It triggered a rather strange crunching noise. Mellencamp winced and cried out like a baby.

  ‘You ungrateful bitch! After all I’ve done for you.’

  Jasmine allowed herself a self-congratulatory smile. ‘Suck on that!’

  ‘Are you done?’ a voice behind her asked.

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  Jasmine tur
ned and walked past The Red Mohawk. She strutted out of the room with a confident stride normally reserved for dancing to a Beyoncé song.

  Mellencamp grabbed a hold of his balls and rolled over onto his side, wincing in pain. The shadow of The Red Mohawk loomed over him. The masked killer reached down and grabbed him round the throat. Mellencamp looked up into the black eyes behind the yellow mask. By now B Movie Hell’s infamous crime lord was too afraid to speak. He was crying like a bitch and his balls really hurt. He also had a feeling he’d just done a shit into his best dressing gown.

  The Red Mohawk lifted him up off the floor. He spoke in a gruff voice. ‘Bad news,’ he said. ‘No quick death for you.’

  Fifty Two

  Baby high-stepped her way over a string of dead bodies as Jack Munson dragged her up the stairs with him to the ground floor. He’d said he was her Uncle Jack from a long time ago. She didn’t remember that, and she wasn’t sure she could believe him. However, she’d never seen him in The Beaver Palace before so he probably was from out of town. And based on the movies she’d seen, he really did look like an FBI agent, albeit one wearing casual grey trousers and a black shirt. Maybe he was her Uncle Jack? It didn’t really matter in the end, because he had her hand in a firm grip and he had a gun. That was just about all the convincing she needed.