Woman Scorned

by Fritz, K. Edwin

  The counselor droned on like she was wont to do, but in truth neither the head hunter nor the head trainer continued listening past the first few moments. In her mind, Rhonda was already contemplating the wonderful case study that Josie would make for her manuscript. She could do a whole chapter just on that one girl. Of course, she thought, I’ll have to find a way to incorporate Josie’s favorite torture methods and perhaps how these choices affected her rise through the system. Torture, after all, was the overarching theme of her life’s work. Its subtleties and thousand nuances wormed their way through every page of her massive manuscript, which was already nearing two thousand pages.

  In her own mind, Gertrude was ruminating the complex political ramifications of her intricate plan. There were many possible outcomes of the upcoming meeting, indeed of the upcoming raid, and she’d need to carefully control every thread of every tapestry. God, how she yearned for even one of her maps to be whole again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to count on them, and she was unnerved to realize this could be considered a weakness. I’ll have to wean myself from them, she thought. I can’t allow the likes of Lorraine to knock me down a peg. Of course, if all goes well Lorraine won’t be a problem any longer. Josie, on the other hand… Josie I need to keep my eye on. I can never fully trust Monica. She is a strange mix of idiocy and brilliance after all. I just hope she’s gotten this one right.

  “And the day I first got her call,” Monica blathered on, “I just knew she was a potential island girl. I have a knack for this sort of thing, you know. She was crying, of course, they nearly all are crying when they call. But she has strength behind those tears, too. I think that’s what I picked up that first day…”

  Beneath them all, the prone body of Charles DeSalvo lay face down on the concrete at their feet. The drugs with which he had been injected would keep him asleep for another full hour. It was at that time, just minutes before Josie, Steph, and the other training girls arrived for their day’s work, that his life would change forever.

  CHAPTER 4

  STRATEGEM

  1

  Obe woke thinking he was still in the fortress and under some new, strange form of torture. Something was wrong with his eyes. He was virtually blind. He saw only a bright wash of light and there was definitely something wet on his face.

  They threw acid in my eyes! he thought crazily. But why doesn’t it burn? Oh God, that’s bad. Did they pluck my eyes out?

  A few moments later his eyes focused and he realized the sun was spearing a streak of light directly into his face through the slats of the bridge that had saved his life.

  He could see his little haven in detail now. The dirt he lay on was a darker brown than the surrounding area, and softer. Tufts of dry grass sprouted here and there, and a large brush of it extended upward over his head and into the trash he had noticed earlier. Upon closer inspection of this mass of jumbled rubbish, he saw what had cut him. It was a small section of an old steel chain-link fence that had been rolled and shoved under the bridge. The galvanized edge of one jutting wire was bent down and caked with dried blood.

  Behind it, a flat cardboard box had some words printed on it. Curious, he pulled at it and it tore easily like rotten bark. From inside the box a handful of red and blue plastic tokens spilled out and into his lap. He picked one up and saw it bore a figure of a top-hatted man with a handlebar mustache and the letter ‘S’ in one corner.

  He’s the spy, Obe suddenly thought, though he had no idea what this meant.

  He looked at the soft cardboard in his hand. The word ‘Stratego’ was written in faded yellow lettering on a pale gray background. For a moment he had another stirring in his mind. It felt as if a memory was trying to come forth but wasn’t strong enough to make the trip. Frustrated, he tossed the box top aside and wondered if this was one pre-island memory that he had lost forever.

  Obe touched the long facial wound the oddly-placed garbage had created and marveled that his eyes had in truth been untouched. This newest injury had no doubt seeped into his dream. The scratch ran from jawline to forehead and felt deep enough to scar, and probably would. Everything seemed to scar him these days. He remembered the shadow man’s advice about cleaning it to avoid infection, and knew that he had to find the blue sector’s stream of fresh water.

  I can’t even get to the ocean water safely, he realized. Not if I expect to get back up those cliffs again.

  He was soon up and wandering through the streets of the mysterious black sector, but his walkabout ended up being a short one. No cars chased him or even made an appearance, and he didn’t come across the shadow man or anyone else. The streets themselves felt empty. Deserted. As if no one ever walked those streets anymore. He saw more trash and debris than in the blue or green sectors, but it took him a few minutes to realize the biggest difference was the actual roads.

  The roads were entirely bare of the long black tire marks and fading dark maroon splotches of previous murders. This, more than anything else, was what made the black sector look and feel so void of life. It was the first time he realized how sad the island itself was. Once upon a time it had been filled with thousands of happy tourists, but now it felt like a disease had spread through it and left behind this abandoned place of death and foreboding.

  The exploration didn’t sit well with him, and as the day moved into the early afternoon, Obe began thinking more logically about the new plague on him. How was he going to safely find his brother? He would not be able to describe him to other men of the green sector. Obe himself couldn’t remember his face. He wasn’t even sure he would recognize him if he saw him.

  He also noticed the hollowness developing in his stomach as the day wore on. Though he was expecting the inevitable hunger, it was coming on quicker than he expected. He longed for another tomato, but it didn’t come.

  The entire day passed without incident, and Obe slowly became more and more aware that the black sector was a very safe place to pass the time. No cars rolled through its streets. No men beat or stole from you. However he was also completely alone. By the time he snuggled under his bridge again for some sleep, he still had no idea how he would find his brother. He only knew that blindly walking the streets of green sector would be far more dangerous.

  That night, he did not dream.

  2

  In the relative seclusion of the island’s black sector, a man who wore a black jumpsuit- and also the only set of black sneakers anyone had ever seen- wandered the empty streets in search of food.

  His hunger waxed and waned much like the tide or the moon or the front line of civil war, but he didn’t plan his forays any more than a falcon plans when to dive upon its prey. Both act upon instinct, and both were extraordinary survivors.

  The city streets in this sector were utterly empty of life. No man truly walked here, and no woman thought to ever find her game within the maze of unused streets. Yet on rare occasions each used these abandoned concrete pathways as means to another end.

  Perhaps once every few weeks, man and woman would happen to meet. Perhaps once every five months, that man was the one who wore black sneakers.

  Today was not one of those days, and the man passed through into the streets of the blue sector not knowing he had violated a rule, for though he saw the white line painted on the road he did not understand its meaning.

  This man, known as ‘Sta’ by both women and men alike, had come to the island long before certain methods had been perfected. Like a mutated lab rat, he was the product of failed tests. Like a character of ancient mythology, his mind had been ripped from his soul more than a decade before. And like a falcon on even the cloudiest of days, he was also the island’s greatest survivor.

  3

  Elton pulled his battered LeSabre into Silk!, parked it on the far side against the fence, and repeated the key part to the lines over which he had agonized.

  “You should see ‘er. She’s cute. You should see ‘er. She’s cute. You should see ‘er. She’s c
ute.”

  Pinned to the driver’s side visor was a photograph of a puppy. He didn’t know what breed. He had simply googled “kute pupy” and picked one from the second row of images. Google, of course, had shown him images for “cute puppy” instead. Elton hadn’t noticed the correction. The thing was, he really did think the puppy was cute. He hoped one of the girls inside Silk! would think so too.

  A minute later he was sitting down to a cushioned stool and rested his hairy forearms on top of the brass bar at his chest. An empty glass and a saturated napkin were already resting on the wood before him. He hoped no one would clear them away. They made him look like he’d been there a while. Reluctantly, he fished in his wallet for a handful of dollar bills.

  In moments, a topless woman with large breasts and stickers over her nipples sauntered up from behind him and took the empty glass and napkin. “What can I get you, stud?”

  “You should see ‘er!” Elton blurted. That’s bad, he thought. What a cock up. What a bunderfuck. “I mean a beer,” he said. He tried to look the girl in the eyes, then remembered where he was and dropped his gaze directly to her full right breast. The woman didn’t bat an eye.

  “We have Rolling Rock, Bud, and Sam Adams,” she said. Then a moment later, “I bet you’re a Bud man, aren’t you, cutie?”

  “Sure!” Elton blurted again. He had no idea which beer he liked better. They were all okay by him. Whatever got him drunk when he wanted drunk fucking was all he needed. Mostly he bought whatever was on sale at 9th Street Beer. Usually that was Keystone Light.

  “Be right back, honey. Welcome to Silk!” The burlesque waitress turned and wiggled her thonged fanny back toward the bar. Elton stared at her shifting cheeks unembarrassed. Already he had a hard on. Already his demon was whispering in his ear. This was going to be tough.

  On the stage in front of him another girl walked past. She was fully naked except for her four-inch heels and a garter on her right thigh. Elton stared at her glowing, glittery skin. She looked so warm and soft. So nice. She stopped, bent seductively, and plucked a lone, crumpled bill which had just been tossed on stage. She smiled widely, waving her little fingers at the man seated a few chairs down from Elton. The man smiled back.

  “See you, Cherry,” he said.

  “Bye, Randy.” She blew him a kiss and Elton melted. Why didn’t Cherry give him a kiss? Then he remembered. He hadn’t given her any money.

  She’s stupid, he thought. She thinks I don’t know Cherry isn’t her real name, but I do. I don’t want her anyway.

  The waitress came back and she put the beer on the table and flashed Elton an enormous smile. “Ten dollars, sugar. What’s your name?”

  Elton nearly choked. “Ten?” he said, then remembered himself and his mantra. “Okay. I’m Bobby. I have a cute puppy.”

  “Hey Bobby, oh yeah? You’re new here, huh? You like blondes?” The waitress was a blonde, though Elton thought maybe she wasn’t really a blonde. Real blonde hair was kind of brownish not lemonyish.

  “What’s your name?” he asked. The waitress looked down to her waist and thrust a hip toward him. On a tiny tag pinned to her underwear was the word ‘Candi.’ Elton looked up to her. “Never mind,” he said. He wanted to turn away, showing her just how upset he was at her fake name, but instead he realized he was staring at her breasts again. Candi said something and he didn’t hear. Then she said it again, a little more forcefully.

  “Ten bucks, Bobby.” The smile was gone when he looked back to her face. Reluctantly, he pulled two five dollar bills from his wallet and handed them over.

  For nearly twenty agonizing minutes, Elton sat and waited for another girl to come on stage. As more than two dozen more men entered the club, he began to doubt his strategy of the puppy picture. When men started to come in twos or threes, he was sure it was bad news. He didn’t understand at first until he saw one man carrying a small flyer featuring the Silk! logo across the top and the words Every Saturday Night! across the middle. It’s a special night, he thought. This was a bad idea.

  Three men who came in together went immediately to the far end of the bar and started talking and laughing loudly. Elton considered going home. Another man came and sat next to him, and Elton considered punching him in the face. Why did people have to sit next to him all the time? He sipped at his beer slowly, not wanting to buy another if he didn’t have to.

  He had already made up his mind to come back another night-

  Maybe a Tuesday, he thought. I bet Tuesdays are good for puppy pictures.

  -when the lights dimmed and a small disco ball he hadn’t noticed started to spin, dancing a thousand lights around and around the room. Various men cheered and a voice boomed as loud music blasted into Elton’s ears.

  “Aaaaaaalllllllllright boys, here she comes! The main attraction, the girl with the curl, the beauty… with… the… bouncing… breasts, the ob-ject of your greatest fan-tasies! Get out your wallets and open your flys for the mind-blowing, award-winning, dream-fulfiiiiiilllliiiiiiiiiiing…. Donnaaaaa… Double-Deeeee…Dilloooooooon!”

  The small crowd erupted as the music flared. Elton winced at the volume, thinking he had chosen the wrong place. The wrong place entirely. But then the curtains sprang open and a girl strutted briskly and confidently into the moving spotlight and Elton forgot all about his puppy picture.

  She wasn’t just beautiful, she was unbelievable. Elton didn’t realize a girl could look like… well like that! Her hair fell in long, black curls all the way to her waist. Her eyes sparkled in the swirling lights. Her hips shot back and forth in time with the pulsing music. And her titties, good God her titties! They were bigger than Elton’s entire head, and she was even hiding them behind a whole suit and tie. He suddenly realized he liked that, a girl dressing like a man. He liked that a lot. But she didn’t look like a man. He wondered what those titties would look like when she was lying on his table and screaming at him. His demon would want to know too. His demon would want to know a lot of things about her. Would they jiggle like Candi’s fanny had? He bet they would.

  And her name is a real name! he marveled. Under the table, he reached past the waistband of his pants and began rubbing himself, again unembarrassed.

  Like so many of the other men in the club, Elton quickly counted the dollars he’d stacked on the table. Like most of them, he suddenly wished he had brought more. And like every man in the previous four years who had been witness to Donna’s entrance, he silently cursed when the announcer shouted that Donna would Bare It All! if only they’d throw her those dollars.

  Fortunately for Elton, there were plenty of men to help Donna reach her goal. In a couple minutes, another topless, nipple-covered waitress came out and scooped up the dozens of crumpled bills into a large black pouch. One man pointed and yelled over the din, “That’s a fifty! That’s a fifty!” In a moment, she was gone and the stage was bare again, waiting for the men’s money.

  Soon enough, Donna began to dance, and the crowd of drunken and drinking men cheered her on with shouts and piercing whistles. Elton watched her twist and gyrate around the chrome pole that bisected the front and back halves of the stage. He didn’t realize he was already stroking himself in time with thumping music.

  It took two more rounds of the announcer’s money grubbing for her to get down to a simple, white dress shirt and matching g-string. When she finally, almost explosively, revealed her massive breasts, the crowd roared and Elton ejaculated into his pants. Then she quite literally crawled toward his end of the bar and Elton repeated his mantra a dozen times.

  “You should see her,” he said. “She’s cute.” His voice was a mumble of nothingness under the pounding drums and screaming guitar. “I have a puppy,” he went on. “You should see her. She’s cute. I have a picture in my car. Do you want to see it?”

  For Elton, however, the words he had so struggled to write were for naught. Not only did Donna Double-Dee Dillon not talk to him when he’d shown her a small fan of dollar bills, Candi
the waitress had rejected him too when he later tried it on her.

  “No thanks, hon,” she said. “We’re not supposed to fraternize outside the club.”

  When the crowd thinned, Elton went home, more frustrated and more scared than he’d felt in years. Getting his first girl had been more of an accident than a plan. She’d come out of the back door of a club like this one and nearly fallen over as she’d stumbled to her car. Elton had watched it happen from the parking lot. Then she’d gotten in her car and just sat there, unmoving. Elton had watched her for ten full minutes before he decided nobody would notice if he just went over and opened her door.

  “It was the drugs,” he said to his empty basement. “It was easy because she was having the drugs. I forgot about the drugs. Donna wasn’t a drugs girl. Donna was too classy. Where can I get some drugs?”

  A few minutes later his basement door was locked and his computer screen was glowing. In the entry bar at the top Elton had typed ‘how too get drugs for girls to pas out.’ He clicked ‘Enter’ and started reading.

  4

  The next morning, a full day since he’d eaten the tomato and nearly two since holding the meager remains of his last bag of food, Obe

  like probe!

  woke feeling more refreshed and alive than he ever would have thought possible. His gurgling stomach protested the notion, but it was true he was alive, the sun was bright, and the grass under his feet felt soft.

  As he worked his way back through the white perimeter poles to blue sector, he discovered many of his wounds were healing. The slash down his face no longer stung when touched. His ripped toenail could now withstand the pressure of casual walking. Even his skinned knees felt better. It was like his entire body had partaken of great quantities of soothing, cleansing oxygen. Only the broken nose and stretched ligament in his left thumb were still constant sources of pain. Nevertheless, he felt on the road to recovery.