by Paul Blades
Darla carried a .32 caliber NAA Guardian. It was small and light but packed a punch. She had had the handle customized with mother of pearl and her name etched into it in gold. It was small enough for her smallest purse and she never went anywhere without it.
She pulled the car into the garage. When the door clanged shut, she gave a sigh of relief. She was going to take a nice hot bath and then curl up in bed. Tomorrow morning early she planned to go out to the stables where she kept her palomino and do some riding. Then there would be lunch with Sal and a couple more hours at the condo. He was clear all afternoon.
She got out of the car, slamming the heavy door shut. The garage light was on a 3 minute timer and she knew she had plenty of time to get to the code box and key in the combo that would open the door to the house. Something made her hesitate before she walked to the front of the car to cross over in front of it. It took a second to realize what it was. It was a man. He was tall and heavily built. He had jet black hair and a face that looked like it had seen plenty of trouble. His pants and t-shirt were jet black and he was wearing black combat boots. He was standing about 15 feet away from her. He seemed to have emerged from the shadows. He was carrying a big ol’ knife. His right hand gripped it tightly. He had a satchel slung over his left shoulder.
Darla’s heart skipped a beat. She started to sweat right away. Her purse was in her right hand. She only needed to swing it towards her middle. She could open it with a little snap. Luckily, she was a lefty. She had practiced it a hundred times. All it took was three seconds to get the little pistol up and firing. Darla was cool. She knew that she had to distract the man somehow, put him off his guard.
“Man, you scared the piss out of me!” she drawled bravely. Darla was from Texas and proud of it.
“Don’t do it,” the man said. His voice was low and gravelly.
“Do what, honey?” she asked. “I’m just going to go in the house now. You can have the car and whatever you find in the garage. My credit cards and a little cash are in my purse. Let me get them for you.”
She couldn’t believe how fast the man moved. He was on her in a second. He grabbed the purse and snatched it out of her hand, tossing it away. He was no more than two feet from her now and the knife was poised and ready to use. Her heart started pounding in her chest and she felt weak all over. She thought for a second how long it would take her to get in the door. Then she realized that she wouldn’t even get around the car. He was fast and sure of himself and big. He looked as mean as a rattlesnake. She cursed Gerry. She was in a fine mess and all because he didn’t want to spend the $250 a month it would have cost for real security.
“I can show you where the safe is, honey,” she told the man, knowing that bargaining was the only thing left to her. “I’ll bet there’s 20 to 40 thousand in there. It’d be a good haul for ya’ll. I’ll give you a head start. Shit, you can tie me up if you want to. The maid don’t get here until around 7. You could be in Mexico by then. But if you hurt me, they’ll be lookin’ for ya’ll all over. Your picture’s on the video outside already.”
Jack knew that his picture wasn’t on the video. The maid/housekeeper had given them all the information they needed about the house. She had disabled the video herself. She had told them about Mrs. Chavez’ schedule, her comings and goings and all about how Mr. Chavez loved the ladies.
She hadn’t wanted to give that stuff up. She had worked for Mr. Chavez for 17 years. But her daughter who was attending county college hadn’t been home for 7 days. They had let her talk to her on the phone and promised that they weren’t harming her, yet.
Actually, Ike had taken quite a shine to the girl. She was quite pretty and somewhat innocent for a 21 year old girl in this day and age. He hadn’t been her first, but he told the boys that he didn’t think he was that far from it. Rocker ran a nice house over in Silver City. If he stashed her there he could still see her once in a while and bring her down to the clubhouse for parties. They would let her call home from time to time so that the old lady kept her mouth shut. I mean, really. Once they let the girl go, the mother would blab to the cops. The cops would almost certainly peg it as an inside job. But as long as they had the girl, the mother wouldn’t dare identify them.
“Shut the fuck up,” was all that Jack said. “You talk too much.” He was using his most unfriendliest voice. It put a chill through Darla.
“Lie down on the floor,” he told her. “Now.”
Darla hesitated. She was wearing one of her favorite cocktail dresses. It was blue and gold and hugged her hips like a glove. It had a deep neckline that was a good showcase for her breasts. It had cost a little over $3,500 with tax included. She looked at the floor. It was dusty and dirty. The dress would have to be cleaned.
“Can’t I do it inside on the rug?” she asked hopefully. Silly girl. She still thought that was somehow going to work out ok.
Jack placed the tip of the knife under Darla’s attractive chin and pressed it up. She pulled herself to her tallest height on her sapphire blue pumps. The point stuck in deep. She tilted her head back. “Please don’t,” she said unhappily.
He pulled the knife back. “Floor,” he repeated. “On your belly.”
Darla felt her eyes watering. She didn’t want to cry, but the guy scared the shit out of her. Keeping her eyes on his face, she sank to her knees. It was at this point that she realized that she shouldn’t be looking at his face. And then she had the corollary thought that if everything was going to turn out all right, why didn’t the guy have a mask on or something. Now she was really scared.
She had to look down so that she could lower herself to the floor. It was poured concrete finished off with a nice glaze, smooth, not rough, thankfully, for her dress’s sake, and not too dusty. The guys from Gerry’s pool company always gave it a nice sweep and mop when they came out to service the pool.
When she was lying on the floor, she looked up at the man. He looked even bigger from this angle. She looked up at the light. Sooner or later, the timer would kick off and plunge the garage into darkness. She decided that when it did, she would make a dash for the garage door. There was a button on the wall that would send it upwards. Once she got outside, she would make a run for it.
Jack slung the bag off of his shoulder. He reached into it and removed a set of manacles connected by an 18” chain. Quickly, with a practiced move, he clipped one end around the woman’s right ankle. When he clicked the other over the left, Darla knew that she was doomed. It was then that the light went out.
Jack was startled for a second, but only a second. He put his hand on the woman’s ass, making sure she remained in place. It was nice and tight and was throwing off a welcoming warmth through her thin dress. She shuddered and released an unhappy noise. He reached inside the duffle bag and drew out the handcuffs. “Put your hands behind your back,” he told the lady gruffly.
Darla knew she was fucked. She knew exactly what he was going to do. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he was going to cuff her wrists. Once he did that, she would be completely helpless. For a moment, she thought of trying to get up and shuffle away, maybe hide under the car or something. But she was smart enough too, to know that she wouldn’t get away with that. No, her best bet now was cooperation. Then maybe he wouldn’t hurt her too bad.
She drew her hands reluctantly behind her. The man straddled her legs and took hold of one wrist by finding her arm and sliding down it. The cuff went on tightly. He found her other arm and brought that wrist to the center of her back. The other cuff went on.
Darla heard herself release a long, high pitched whine. She cut it off as soon as she realized it was coming from her mouth. But she knew the man heard it and would make the correct conclusion that she was scared out of her wits.
The garage was pitch black, lit only by a slight glow from the half moon outside on the frosted garage door windows. The way he was situate, his cock was lying up against the crack of the woman’s very attractive ass. His
cock was hard, as it usually got when he had a beautiful women at bay, under his power. It nestled in so well that he had the idea of letting it sit there for a little while. All he had to do was scrunch up the woman’s dress to her hips and lower her panties to her knees and he could be in. She would screech and wail in the absence of any lubrication. So maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. It was pleasant to think about, though.
Darla was laying stock still aware that her rear entrance was sitting, so to speak, on the edge of a precipice. One wrong move and the man might decide to make use of it. She held her breath, waiting for him to make his next move. Her breasts were squashed against the floor. Her dress was getting ruined, she just knew it.
Jack finally rose up. He needed to do something about the lights. He figured that the woman was smart enough to know that she should stay put and just cooperate from here on in, but to make it official he told her, gruffly, “Stay here. Don’t move or I’ll hurt you.” She released a muted affirmation.
Luckily, he had a cigarette lighter in his pocket. It was just a little, cheap butane one, but it provided just enough light for him to guide himself to the back of the garage and along the wall to the door. He found the switch easily and flipped it. The room was, once more, bathed in light.
Darla had been happier when the room was all dark. For some reason, her situation had seemed less threatening. But with the light restored, reality came streaming back into the room with it. She was lying belly down on the floor of her own garage, handcuffed and a chain on her ankles. And a mean motherfucking looking guy was calling the shots. Suddenly, she had to pee.
Jack came over to her. He stood there for a moment taking stock of the woman’s charms. She was in damn fine shape. And she looked good in chains. There was no rush about doing what he had to do, but there was no sense in letting it take all night so he decided to get started.
First he walked over to where the pocketbook had landed. He picked it up and opened it. It was a little snap open thing, blue and gold to match the dress. He took the pistola and put it in his pocket. He flipped through the wallet and noted a plethora of credit cards. He would hand them over later tonight to one of Ike’s boys, a fellow named Norm, who would have them all busted out by noon tomorrow. There was about $750 in cash. Jack pocketed that too. He put the wallet in the satchel and then rifled around a little more in the purse to see if there was anything else of interest and, having found none, tossed it aside.
He turned back to the woman. “Get up on your knees,” he told her gruffly.
She gave him a forlorn look and then struggled to raise herself. Since she couldn’t use her hands, she kind of had to slide her torso towards her knees and arch her back. Once she was doubled over, her forehead to the floor, she was able to lift herself up. There was a smear of light dust on her dress. It made her hot to think that the guy may have ruined it. And there was probably a big dust spot on her forehead. But she held her temper. She had to concentrate on how to bargain with the man or to seize upon an opportunity to escape if one came up.
Jack took hold of her arm and pulled at it. “Okay, now get on your feet,” he ordered. This was a little bit easier with Jack’s help, but she still felt the toes of her pumps scraping along the floor. They would have to be polished now and Darla doubted she would be able to get a polish with the exact same color tone of blue. It was another thing to add to her reasons for hating the motherfucker.
Jack pulled the woman over to the door. He didn’t need to ask her the code. The maid had already given it to them. But why make it obvious? He took hold of the woman’s fine, whiteish hair behind her head and told her firmly to give him the code.
“Seven, nine, three and then two and four at the same time,” she answered tremulously.
“Bullshit,” Jack told her. He knew that that was the emergency code. He would have to convince the woman not to fuck with him anymore.
He tightened his grip on her hair until the ends started to strain. Darla released a sharp whine. “The next time you lie to me,” he told her, “I’m going to beat your face into a pulp! I’ll fuck you up so bad you’ll have to get a new driver’s license because everyone will think the old one’s a fake! Now give me the real code or I’ll beat it out of you!”
Darla was shaking. She believed what the man said. She knew that smashing her face into unrecognizability would be of lesser moment to this guy than squashing a bug. She released a new series of numbers. Jack entered them and the green light on the code pad turned on. He pushed the handle to the door and it opened.
He shut off the garage light and pushed the lady into the room. There was a light switch by the door and he flipped it open. The woman took little, unhappy, geisha steps as he moved her down a small corridor to the entrance to an expansive, well decorated kitchen. It had burnt red colored tiles on the floor and was appointed with deeply stained oak panels and faux beams. There was a large island with a wide variety of shiny, barely used first line pots and pans hung over it. The stove was commercial style, dark black iron with eight gas burners and three ovens. The refrigerator was industrial quality, about 3’ across and 7’ tall. The bottom third was a freezer that rolled out so you could see everything in it. The interior wall was lined with old, reclaimed brick and there was a 4’ wide gas broiler set into it. The kitchen was perfectly spotless and neat except for the three or four scribbled notes written on small scraps of paper fastened to the refrigerator with magnets made to look like little armadillos.
He pushed the lady through the kitchen and into the living room. It was lowly lit from a series of small highhats sunk into the pure white ceiling. The room, about 30’ by 40’, was covered by a deep pile, powder blue carpet and had luxurious matching French provincial chairs and sofas, tall, elegant floor and table lamps. The window treatments were lavish with long, dark blue drapes bordered with white lace. The doors and windows were edged by elegant trim.
He brought the woman to the middle of the room and made her turn to face him. She licked her lips nervously. She cast a sideways glance at the wide, stained, curving oak staircase that led to the bedrooms upstairs. He could tell that she was a sharp one. She was probably trying to remember every room in which they had guns stashed away. He knew that if she ever got a hold of one she would blast away at him without hesitation. She was a tough cookie. It was time to take some of that toughness out of her.
He pulled out his large, wide bladed knife. He let the satchel he had been carrying fall to the floor. Taking hold of the base of the neckline to her brilliant blue and gold dress, he brought the knife to bear on it and sliced downwards. The woman released a noise that sounded like a sob of anger and frustration. He cut it all the way down to the hem, cutting the fine garment in two. Darla’s heavy breasts were nestled in a lacy, little thing that cupped them from the bottom and extended just above her nipples. She was wearing matching, lacy panties. Her sheer, light ecru shaded silk stockings were self-supporting and had wide bands of black lace at their tops.
Darla was apoplectic. “You motherfucker!” she yelled. “That was a $3,000 dress!”
Jack saw red. Nobody called him a motherfucker! His right hand lashed out and he caught her across her left cheek with the flat of his hand. It made a loud slapping noise and launched the shocked blond woman across the room. Her braceleted feet got caught up with one another and she fell to the floor. Jack was on her in an instant. He cut the remnants of the dress from her body and flung it aside. He grabbed the moaning woman by her hair and dragged her back to her feet.
“Let’s get something straight, cunt!” he yelled at her. “You’re about an inch away from having your throat cut from ear to ear!”
Darla was sobbing. “Fuck you!” she yelled back. “You can’t do that! You need me to open the safe!”
Jack said nothing, but dragged the half dressed woman back into the kitchen. He brought her over to the stove. He turned on one of the burners in the front. A thick ring of yellow and blue flame jumped up. He brought Dar
la up to the stove. He bent her over the flaming ring. The heat was rising from it. She stared down at it in terror.
“Now,” Jack said. “Do you want to open the safe before or after I scorch your face?” he asked her angrily.
“Oh, god! Please don’t do that! Please! Please!” Darla screeched.
He brought her face a little closer. “I asked you a question, cunt!” Jack growled. “Are you going to keep fucking around with me?”
“No! No! No!” Darla screamed. “Please don’t burn me! Please! Please! I’ll do whatever you say! I’ll be good! Please! Please!”
Jack didn’t know if he would really do it. After all, he already had what he came for: Darla. The money was just a bonus. But the point was that Darla didn’t know whether he would either. And it was her that couldn’t afford to take the chance.
He pulled her face from the fire. And then he noticed that she had pissed herself. Her water had run all down her legs, over her stockings, and was puddled beneath her sapphire colored, shod feet.
“You stupid cunt,” he told her. “You’ve pissed yourself!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she said, sobbing.
Actually, it was better than he could have hoped for. Very few people could summon up moxie once that had pissed their pants. He turned off the gas and pulled her away from the stove. He pulled her through the living room, slowing down only to sweep up his satchel, and hauled her to the room that lay off of it. It was a combination den and game room. There were several comfortable looking brown leather easy chairs surrounding a deep stained oak cocktail table on one side of the room. Behind the chairs was an elegant bar. Before them was a 90” flat screen television screen. On the other side of the room was a regulation sized pool table with cool, green, unblemished felt.