Contents
Title
Special Thanks
Fair Play
Preview Title
Raising Hell Chapter 1
Appearances
About the Author
Also by John G. Hartness
Fair Play
By John G. Hartness
Falstaff Books
Charlotte, NC
Originally published in The Big Bad:
An Anthology of Evil
By Dark Oak Press
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Acknowledgements
Super-thanks to Emily Leverett and Allan Gilbreath for making
The Big Bad series happen in the first place!
Fair Play
John G. Hartness
There she goes, Herman Walker Jones thought as he watched the girl’s ass sway under her plaid miniskirt. He could almost see the curve of her cheeks as she walked, the skirt was so short. She’s the one.
Maybe not. Herman thought, then shook his head violently.
No, look at her. She’s the one. She’s a whore. Just look at her.
She looked like a parody of a good girl, with her uniform skirt cut shorter than decency allowed, all flap-flapping and flouncy-bouncing, giving just enough of a peek to make you want to see what was under there, then turning to smile at you when she caught you looking, looking like you were still a little boy that shouldn’t be seeing these things instead of a man, yes a big, grown man that knew what to do with whores. She wasn’t a good girl, not with her white dress shirt tied at the belly like that and unbuttoned, flashing all that cleavage, showing the swells of her woman-pillows, and flashing the stone in her belly ring at him, winking like a little fairy. A little fairy to show him the way to her happiness. But Herman knew better than to touch the whores there. He knew what to do with whores.
He got up from his table outside the King’s Palace Café on Beale and stepped onto the sidewalk after the girl. He didn’t blend in, no more than the girl in her black patent leather knee-high boots and the skirt so short you could almost see her business. No, Herman cut a wide swath through the tourists checking out B. B. King’s bar and the other blues clubs. That’s right, he thought. Get out of the way, sheep. Let the lion pass. Baa-Baa, little sheep but don’t mess with the lion.
She flounced and bounced and bobbed along, earbuds blaring some Justin GaGa song or some other whore music. Herman heard no music. Herman heard nothing, not the blues coming from every doorway, not the slight gasp of the woman who caught a glimpse of his eyes, not the sniff of distaste of the businessman who caught a whiff of Herman’s scent, a roiling miasma of damp laundry, old sweat, and unwashed skin. Herman saw nothing. Not the disgust in the eyes of the teenage girl waiting at the bus stop, her nose wrinkled at his spotted tie, his muck-splattered raincoat, his unshaven face. Not the pity on the face of the old woman who offered him a dollar, only to pull her hand back quickly when he snarled his lion’s snarl at her. Herman saw only the whore and her little red plaid skirt, flouncing, bouncing, teasing, promising, and leading him along. Well, he would follow. He’d follow the whore, and he knew what to do with her.
He followed her for blocks, watching her bounce. He never got too close, for the lion could stalk its prey from afar. But he never hung back too much, either, for the lion feared no other predator. There was no other predator. But soon enough the hunt was over, and she stopped in front of a rundown apartment building. They were in a sparse neighborhood near the river, but not so close as to be trendy. She fished a key out of a tiny purse, still bouncing on her toes to the music blaring into her ears. Herman closed on her, never hurrying, never slowing, always moving, like a shark. A lion shark, that’s what he was. King of the seas and the jungle. The most feared predator in the world. She unlocked the door to her building and stepped into the foyer. Herman stepped up and grabbed the door before it closed, following her into the small entryway.
“Forget your key?” She asked, smiling up at him. It was a smile full of flirtatious promise, a smile that said Look down my shirt, Herman, don’t you want to touch me?
“No. I’m staying with a friend. She works nights and if I don’t have to wake her, that’s better. I have my apartment key, just not one to the front door. She didn’t have a spare.” Herman didn’t look at her, looked at his feet to keep from spooking the sheep. It wasn’t time yet. Almost. Almost time.
“Cool. Well, see you around.” She turned and walked to the elevator. Herman stepped between the sliding doors and watched as the girl pushed the “8” button.
“What a coincidence. I’m on eight as well.” Herman said, still not looking at the girl.
“Wow. Well, maybe you can come visit sometime while your friend is asleep. We could hang out. I’m at the end of the hall.” She was close to him now, and he could smell her whore perfume. It reminded Herman of the perfume the other whore had worn, the one who’d borne him. The one who taught him how you take care of whores.
“May-maybe.” Herman hated it when he stammered. Lions don’t stutter, you worthless piece of trash! He stopped himself before slapping his own face, but he didn’t look up at the whore again. He’d see plenty of her soon enough. Soon enough he’d see all her secrets.
The elevator dinged for the eighth floor, and the doors slid open. The girl looked at him and said “You sure you don’t want to come hang out while your friend sleeps? I need to grab a quick shower, but then we could watch TV. Or something.”
Herman pretended to think about it, and nodded shyly. “Th-that would be nice.” That’s good, idiot. Stuttering is g-g-good now, Makes you look harmless. She doesn’t need to know you’re a lion. Yet. They walked together down the dingy hallway with faded wallpaper and threadbare carpet. She stopped in front of the last door on the left and fished out a key. As the door opened, Herman made his lion move—he shoved her into the room, hard, knocking her to the floor and charging in after her. He turned and locked the double deadbolt, then his right calf exploded in a lightning strike of blue-white fire and pain coursed over his entire body like a waterfall of fire. He collapsed to the floor in a twitching heap and stared at the whore, who wasn’t on the floor anymore. She was standing over him holding a small black plastic device with two prongs sticking out of it. She pressed a button on the side, and sparks leapt from one metal post to the other.
“Feel good? This is my little friend. Why don’t you say hello?” Then she leaned over and pressed the stun gun to his neck, and everything vanished.
***
Herman woke up to darkness. His eyes were open, but he could see nothing. He opened his mouth to speak, but realized that his mouth was already open, and there was something hard wedged between his teeth. He felt around the obstruction with his tongue and realized that he was wearing a ball gag. The filthy whore put one of her nasty sex toys in my mouth! He swallowed hard, then again, and again before he finally got his revulsion under control. He took a deep breath through his nose and smelled leather. He was blindfolded, gagged, and tied to a chair. He couldn’t move his arms at all, and his legs were bound at the ankles.
“Are we awake?” came a voice from the darkness. He recognized it instantly as the whore’s. The memory and humiliation came flooding back to Herman, washing over him like a tide of pain and fear. The whore had tazed him and tied him up, now she could play her nasty sex games with him. Herman felt himself stirring down there, where good boys don’t touch, and his cheeks flushed.
“I know you’re awake, Herman. Don’t bother trying to fake it. If you pretend to be asleep I’ll have to hurt you.” A ringing slap to the back of his head shot starbursts through the blackness that surrounded him. Then he heard the click-click-click of her whore shoes as she walked around him. She paced slowly, giggling quietly as Herman craned his neck and turned his head trying to get a glimpse of her, trying to see something, anything at all in the darkness that wrapped his head in the blackest night.
There was a sudden pressure on his right eye, and suddenly light streamed in. He jerked his head back from the sudden brightness, but a hand held him fast. Something pressed against his other eye, then he could see. He blinked furiously, trying to adjust to normal light after being in such complete darkness, and a tear escaped the corner of his left eye.
“Don’t cry, Herman. I’m here now.” The whore crooned. He could see her now, still dressed in her too-short whore skirt and her dress shirt tied up to show off more of her chest than any decent woman ever would. She had pulled her hair up into pigtails, and put on even thicker makeup, painting her face almost like a clown with fire engine-red lips and perfect circles of Betty Boop blush on her cheeks. She looked like a demented sex toy, only real.
She slid into Herman’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck in a parody of a little girl, and nuzzled his neck. “Is this what you wanted, Herman? Did you want to love me? Is that why you followed me for six blocks? Is that why you made up that stupid story about your friend in this building? Is this what you wanted?” She wiggled her bottom on his lap and Herman struggled to control it. He fought with himself but couldn’t help it. He started to get hard.
“Ooooh, Herman. You do want this! I can feel how much you want this. But what’s wrong, Herman? Why are you struggling?” Herman was thrashing against his bonds, pulling with arms, pushing with his legs and flailing about like a fish on a pier trying to break free of whatever was holding him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break free so much as a finger.
“Don’t bother, Herman. You’re not going anywhere until I finish playing with you. And I think I’m going to play with you for a long time, Herman. After all, weren’t you planning on playing with me for a long time? You watched me walk for sooo long, I know you wanted a little happy fun time with Cindy. So now you’re going to get it. So why don’t we get started?” She got off his lap and walked away from Herman, tossing a leather wallet onto a small kitchen table. Herman realized with a start that it was his wallet. So that’s how she knew his name. Which meant she knew where he lived, too. Not that Herman cared about that. She wouldn’t live long enough to use that information, not once he broke free of his bonds and tore her whore body to shreds.
Herman watched her walk through the almost barren apartment into a back bedroom and close the door. He took in his surroundings, at least as far as he could see. He was in the cramped living room of a dingy apartment. Off to one side there was a small dinette table with two chairs, the pale green with gold flakes kind of crap formica tabletop with aluminum tubes for legs, matching chairs with split cushions taped together with yellowed tape, and a couple of circular cigarette holes. He could see a sofa, a heavy, wood-framed thing that looked like something off the set of Archie Bunker or some other TV show about poor people. Herman couldn’t see a television, but he was sure there was one somewhere. Whores and drones always had a television. Herman never watched television. Lions didn’t watch television.
Sitting in front of him, the focal point of the room, was a large free-standing floor-length mirror. It was oval, with dark wood, and the mirror itself was a good five feet tall. All around the wooden frame were roughly carved notches, starting at the center of the top of the mirror and proceeding clockwise. There must have been fifteen or twenty notches carved into the wood, but Herman saw with a shiver that there was room for several more. Looking into the mirror, Herman saw himself for the first time, and what he saw made him thrash against his bonds all the harder. His shoes were gone, as were his socks, but his pants and shirt were untouched. On his head was a leather bondage mask, the kind you found in the pervert stores where Herman sometimes did his hunting. It had zippers for the mouth, eyes and nose, all open for now, but they could all be closed at a moment’s notice, sealing him in darkness and cutting off most of his air. The ball gag in his mouth was bright red, and the whore had painted a yellow smiley face on it, so that as Herman looked at himself in the mirror, the perversion grinned back at him.
He was bound hand and foot to heavy wooden chair with stout arms. The chair was sitting in the middle of a bright blue tarp, like the kind you take camping. The tarp was taped to the floor at the edges, and there was a pile of towels sitting on one corner. He could see the plastic ties fastening his arms down, three of them at each wrist and more further up each arm. His legs were similarly bound, and thick leather belts wound around his waist and chest, holding him firm to the back of the chair. He pulled, and twisted, and yanked and strained, but nothing he did budged the heavy-duty zip ties. The apartment was bare other than that, no decorations, no clothes on the floor, nothing to make you think that anyone lived here. Maybe the whore didn’t live here, maybe she just worked here. Herman didn’t know. He didn’t care. But she would. Oh yes, as soon as he freed himself, she would care.
He saw the door into the back room open, and the whore came back out. She was stark naked except for her feet, where she wore big clunky galoshes, and her hands, which were covered in latex gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a single ponytail now, and all hint of the little girl makeup was washed away. Now Herman could see that she was a good ten years older than he had thought, at least thirty, and the stretch marks on her stomach said she had given birth at least once. Herman tried to look away, but his eyes betrayed him. His gaze was drawn to her porcelain skin, flawless except for the tattoo of a purple dragon running down her left thigh. Chinese in style, the dragon’s tail wrapped all the way around her waist and buried its pointed tip into the red curls of her hair down there. She had shaved the hair there into a triangle, so the whole thing looked like her hair was the dragon’s tail. Herman looked up, trying to focus on her face, but his eyes kept dragging down to her small, pert breasts, each with a small silver hoop dandling from the nipple. She reached up and pulled on each ring, closing her eyes in a mockery of passion, then strutted over to Herman and ran her breasts over his nose.
She giggled at Herman’s discomfort and said “It’s just easier if I do my work in the nude, Herman. You don’t mind, do you?”
Herman closed his eyes, sealing her nakedness away from him to preserve himself from the image of her filth. He felt the rush of wind even before he felt the sting of her slap land on his temple.
“Open your eyes, Herman.” All the giggles were gone now, and her voice was cold. “I want you to look at me. Look at what you lusted after. Look at what you panted after like a dog. Look at what you betrayed your family for.”
Herman squeezed his eyes shut, wondering what the whore was babbling about. He had no family, not since she died all those years ago. He betrayed no one, lusted after no one. He was a lion, a predator, a hunter. Not a dog, a stupid pack animal.
He felt her hot breath on the side of his face even through the mask. “Open your goddamn eyes and pay attention or I will carve off your fucking eyelids.” His eyes flew open, and she smiled again, suddenly the coquette she had been just moments before.
“That’s better, Herman. Good boy. Now you get a treat.” And she kissed him, wrapped her mouth around the ball gag in his mouth and shoved it further into his mouth in a choking French kiss. She held the kiss just long enough for Herman to start to thrash against the ball gag, then she skipped away, twirling naked through the apartment.
She bent over, facing directly away from Herman so he could see all of her evil, and turned back to him holding a plastic yellow and black toolbox. She set the toolbox on the scarred surface of the kitchen table and opened it. She hummed a little tune
to herself as she pulled several X-Acto knives, a pair of needle-nosed pliers, a roll of duct tape, and several unmarked squeeze bottles of liquid from the box. She arranged her tools and bottles, and walked over to the refrigerator. She opened the door and took out a large pack of hamburger meat. The whore walked over to Herman and slit open the package with one of her knives, dumping the entire soggy, cold clump of meat in his lap.
“Now you just let that sit there and keep you company, Herman, while I do my work.”
Herman tried to talk around the ball gag, tried to ask the whore what she was doing, but she just turned back to him and waved the knife in front of his face. “No-no-no, Hermie. No talking, If you try to make any noise I’ll have to carve out your voice box, and who wants that? I certainly don’t. Now behave.” She flicked out her hand and Herman felt a thin line of fire burn across his chest. As she walked back to the table he looked in the mirror and saw beads of blood running down his chest where she had sliced him with the razor blade.
The whore cut me! She hurt me! I’ll kill her slowly for that. Just for that, I’ll make it hurt. That, that, that bitch! Herman was shocked. He never swore, not even to himself. This whore must have really shaken him to get him to behave so inappropriately. He leaned forward as far as he could, trying to rock the chair back and forth to maybe break the chair and free himself.
The whore turned back to him and strode over to him, the rings in her nipples bouncing with every step. Herman tried not to look but he could stop himself, she glared at him and said “I told you to behave!” Then she drove the X-Acto knife into the back of his left hand, pinning him to the wood of the chair. The small razor tip slid between the bones of his hand, followed by the dull cylinder, jamming through tendons and muscles as the tiny blade slid through his flesh into the soft wood of the chair. Herman’s eyes went wide as the initial blunt pain of the stabbing quickly transformed into an inferno of agony that radiated out from the back of his hand and sent lightning bolts all the way up his arm to the shoulder. He tried to scream, but with her standing right there he didn’t dare. All he could do was open his mouth and breath rapidly, then she poked the ball gag even deeper into his mouth and he felt his throat convulse. He was caught between trying to breath, trying to scream and his gag reflex forcing him to retch, all of which while thrashing against bonds that gave not an inch. Tears poured from his eyes and snot bubbled up from his nose and started to stream down into the corners of his mouth, making him retch even more violently.
Fair Play Page 1