Painless
Page 21
The trip down was dark and musty, the temperature dropping sharply. It was hard for Beth to tell how far it went down, but it was at least a few hundred feet. They exited into a well-lit tunnel. It appeared to be one of many tunnels that branched out like octopus arms. They were met by two men dressed in fatigues, carrying semi-automatic rifles.
Some utopian environment, Beth angrily mused, and was again frustrated by her inability to roll her eyes.
Jordan made small talk with the armed guards, listening intently to them as if they were patients at Jordan Children’s Hospital. After introducing his muted guests, Jordan strutted proudly down one of the tunnels, Beth and Chuck forced to follow, Regan and Poindexter pushing their chairs. They soon arrived in a futuristic looking laboratory, filled with computers, test tubes, and glass beakers.
“Welcome to Operation Anesthesia’s research facilities,” Jordan beamed. Then with a sparkle in his eye, and a game-show host wave of his hand at what looked like a fertilization clinic full of frozen embryos, he added, “As you can see, we have the top facilities in the world here.”
Jordan began rambling a tangent about the success of their research and development. But Beth cut through the doctor-speak—he was talking about breeding humans. Jordan was especially proud of a type of in-vitro fertilization where one specific sperm was attached to the egg, allowing the sex of the child to be pre-determined, along with features like eye and hair color. He claimed that they’d been performing this method for decades, though it is considered to be a new breakthrough in the outside world. He also claimed to have been responsible for scientific advances that allow the human sperm to live longer, widening the opportunity for conception.
“Please don’t be alarmed,” he cautioned with a smile, acting like he was reading their paralyzed faces. “We believe in creating life in the old-fashioned way. So you can expect to quite enjoy yourself during your stay. Your new children will not be created in a beaker or a test tube. I grew up working at a farm that trained thoroughbreds—a stud farm, if you will—fascinating stuff. I try to combine it into my medical research. The first thing I found is that the health and happiness of the stallion and mare is key to the whole environment. So much of this is psychological—I learn that every day from the children I work with.”
Beth felt sick. Please God—help Carolyn, she prayed.
“Chuck, I know you’re a big sports fan, so I’m sure you’ve heard of Seattle Slew, the great thoroughbred who won the 1977 Triple Crown.”
Jordan paused as if waiting for an answer. When he received no response, he continued, “What made Seattle Slew a true legend was not winning the Kentucky Derby or the Preakness, it was that he sired over a thousand foals. By studying horses like Seattle Slew, we’ve made amazing advances in human fertility, especially in regards to libido, and physical capabilities such as diet and exercise, along with learning the importance of stressing personal management and promotion.”
The tour continued down another corridor. This tunnel had a different look and feel to it. Gone were the cold, stainless steel research facilities. This hallway was lined with rows of wooden doors, almost like a hotel.
“This is the residential section of Jordan Plantation,” Jordan again read their paralyzed stares.
Behind one of the doors was a room that looked like the Presidential Suite at the Waldorf. It must have been five hundred square feet with a spacious living room, a luxurious bedroom with king sized bed, and a marble bathroom. On the bed were two his-and-hers bathrobes. A bottle of champagne was chilling in the wet bar. Jordan described the room as, “Having the classic sophistication of 18th-century plantation life mixed with modern luxurious comforts.”
“This is where Beth will reside,” Jordan continued. “Chuck, you will stay in what we call our stables, but it’s really a row of apartments on the other side of the property used to house the stallions.” With a sly smile he added, “We have found the old saying remains true—distance makes the heart grow fonder. It’s just not a Hallmark card, it’s science.
“But don’t worry, we encourage families in Operation Anesthesia to spend as much quality time together as possible. And soon Carolyn will arrive, and you’ll be together again.”
Beth’s heart had turned into a lava lamp, a new piece breaking away at each mention of Carolyn’s name. She was screaming in her head, but nobody could hear her. If she really were dead, then she had gone to hell and Jordan was Satan himself.
On cue, his grin turned devilish. “Chuck has an appointment right now for what we call a ‘Daily Reproductive Report,’ along with fertility tests and a full physical. But we will bring him right back to you when the tests are done, and by that time the drugs will have worn off. I took the liberty of setting up a romantic dinner to welcome you to your new home. The rest is up to you.”
Chuck was wheeled away, unable to put up a fight. Beth caught his sad gaze. She knew that he felt like a failure for not being able to help her and Carolyn. A tear rolled down her frozen face. He could always comfort her with just a look, but not this time. She wondered, if this place were so great, then why would a man choose to burn himself to death rather than come back?
The door shut, leaving Beth alone. But she was sure they were watching and listening. She envisioned Jordan and a bunch of creeps looking forward to watching her and Chuck make love like clinical porn, getting their jollies. She felt sick.
The effects of the heavy drugs began to slightly wear off. She still couldn’t talk, but now had use of her hands. She wheeled by her bed, noticing a wall chart hanging above the headboard. It read:
A
B
Carolyn
D
E
And so on, all the way to Z. She had no idea what it meant, but just seeing Carolyn’s name caused another piece of lava to break off her heart. She still couldn’t talk, but she screamed out in her mind, “Run Carolyn! Run to the light!”
Chapter 50
Billy pondered his options, searching for one that didn’t involve bringing Carolyn inside. But there were none. He couldn’t risk Bronson sneaking out a back entrance while they were watching the front. Plus, a man and child staking out a place like this were sure to attract attention. As if going inside wouldn’t.
Billy held Carolyn’s hand as they entered through the front door. He hoped when Carolyn described her Montreal trip to Beth, she would emphasize the visit to the church.
Their path was cut off by a brawny man with a shaved head. The bouncer. He wore a tight black T-shirt that read Multiple Sex Offender across the chest, and looked like an NFL middle linebacker who snacked on human growth hormone. He peered at Billy. Then at Carolyn. And a troubled look came over his bloated face.
He spoke perfect English. “I’ve seen some sick shit doing this job, but you win first prize, buddy.”
Billy pointed at Carolyn. “Can you watch the language around the kid?”
The bouncer shook his head with disgust. “What she hears in this place is the least of her worries. You do know what this place is?”
“I know how this looks,” Billy conceded.
“Yet you did it anyway. I hoped you were mentally ill, but actually you’re just a pervert.”
Billy nervously fidgeted. His eyes continually left the bouncer as he spoke, distracted by thoughts of Bronson in the next room. He came off like a crack-addicted pedophile and he knew it.
“It’s a long story. I don’t have time to explain, but I need to get in there.”
“Fine, go ahead before you make a mess in your pants, but the kid stays with me.”
That wasn’t an option—she couldn’t leave his sight. Everybody’s a suspect.
The man crossed his arms across his heaving chest. The answer was a resounding no.
“What if she promises to put her hands over her eyes? We won’t be here long, I swear. I just have to meet someone.”
“Your dealer?”
“I have to get in there,” he pleaded.
Billy had one last option, outside of trying to fight the man who looked like he would enjoy pummeling his “perverted ass.” He reached into his wallet and scrounged up a hundred and twenty-five American dollars, the last of their traveling money. He slipped it to the bouncer.
Money talks and pervert walks. The bouncer pocketed the money and said, “Just don’t come blaming me when she’s dancing the pole for drug money.” He then waved them in, a disgusted scowl on his face
Billy instructed Carolyn to put her hands over her eyes until he told her to take them off. She followed his orders.
Les Princesses looked like a sports bar with mounted televisions and colorful beer advertisements littering the wall. But a couple of things were different. First, there weren’t football or hockey games playing on the television. From the moans and groans alone, Billy knew it was hardcore pornography. A typical strip club would’ve been the lesser of the evils. He looked down at Carolyn, her hands still plastered over his eyes. There weren’t enough hands to cover her ears. God help me, he thought.
The waitresses wore only thongs and platform heels. Billy and Carolyn were seated by a naked French girl; her soft features said she was probably in her late teens. She had jet-black straight hair, sort of like Cher back in the day, and that’s where Billy kept his focus. She seated them, and cheerfully spread plastic menus on the table as if they were at the Olive Garden. “Your waitress, Angelique, will be with you in a moment,” she said in a sweet French accent and strutted away.
Billy looked around the dark, shadowy porn bar. The crowd was not the uppity French, leather crowd. It was the blue-collar, bad mullet crowd, almost straight out of a Steelers bar back in Johnstown. He spotted Bronson sitting at a table across the room. He was so glued to the porn that he wouldn’t have noticed Billy and Carolyn if they started doing naked Karaoke on top of their table.
Their waitress sashayed to their table. While most of the naked waitresses were in the “under thirty” age demographic, Angelique was older, although probably not as old as she looked, and gave off the impression she’d been livin’ the hard life a little too hard. Her bad blonde dye job couldn’t hide her tar-colored roots, she had a topographical map of lines on her face, and it looked like she’d gotten the senior discount on the boob job.
“Bonjour,” she greeted them.
“English,” Billy said.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Coffee for me,” he looked at Carolyn, hands still over her eyes, “and milk for her. Do you have strawberry milk?”
“Chocolate.”
“That’ll do.”
Angelique turned her attention to Carolyn. “Well, aren’t you a cute thing.”
“I’m actually a princess,” she said. It was a good thing she couldn’t feel pain, because it would be impossible to hold hands for that long in the same position if she did.
“Then you came to the right place,” Angelique said and turned her attention to Billy, “Is it your daughter?”
“No, she’s a friend.”
The woman didn’t blink at the strange statement, or even raise an eyebrow at the child’s presence. “I’ll be back for your order in a few moments, can I get you anything in the meantime?” she asked casually.
He remembered that he just spent his last money to scar Carolyn for life. “Do you a have an ATM machine?”
She turned her naked body and jiggled a point toward a far corner. Without taking his eyes off Carolyn, Billy moved to the machine and took out three hundred dollars with Dana’s ATM card, knowing he just did a big favor for those looking for them.
When Billy returned to the table, he focused on Bronson. Angelique was his waitress too, and maybe more, because the two of them went off to the bathroom together. Billy thought about following—what if he’s escaping out a back entrance?—but he decided against it. Cornering the Special Ops trained soldier in a small bathroom seemed like a good way to get himself killed.
Suddenly Carolyn blurted out, “Okay, I’m ready for my surprise! Ready or not, here I come!”
She removed her hands from her eyes and stared in wonderment. “Wow, I didn’t know Les Princesses didn’t wear clothes!”
Billy tried to cover her eyes with his hands, but the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. He rationalized that if she could witness a man burn himself to death, then how bad could a little nudity be?
“It’s just their birthday today, so they’re wearing their birthday suits.”
“I like birthdays.”
Bronson exited the bathroom with Angelique at his side, stealing away Billy’s attention. By the look on his face, he seemed to like birthdays also. And his preoccupation was working in Billy’s favor. Bronson hadn’t even as much as glanced in Billy and Carolyn’s direction since they arrived.
When Angelique returned to their table, Billy requested a move to a “porn free” section of the place, if there was such a thing. She obliged, leading them into a corner room. From there, Billy could still strategically view Bronson, but could shield Carolyn from the debauchery. Angelique replaced the porn on their television with the Canadiens game, which enthralled Carolyn, even if she did mention multiple times that they were sposed to watch it in person.
They then ordered food. Just a late night trip to Denny’s, Billy tried to convince himself. Pancakes for Carolyn, while Billy got the le Camionneur—French for “The Trucker”—that featured three eggs, three meats, French toast and feves au lard.
As they munched on their food and watched the Canadiens take a one goal lead over the Boston Bruins, both Bronson and Angelique got up and left. Angelique had put on clothes, but not much.
Billy immediately picked up an exhausted Carolyn and began to follow, forcing her to leave the remains of her syrup-doused pancakes. They passed the scowling bouncer as they shot out the door. Luckily, it was hard to miss the peroxided locks of Angelique in the distance. But not so luckily, Bronson had also spotted them. He grabbed Angelique’s hand and began to run, practically dragging her in her towering platform heels.
“Calvin sent us!” Billy yelled in desperation.
But they couldn’t hear him. Angelique used her assets to flag a cab and they sped south on Hochelaga. And just like that, they were gone.
Chapter 51
Billy figured he could spend the upcoming days scouting out St. Joseph’s Oratory and Les Princesses. But he knew it would be futile. Bronson would be long gone by the time the sun rose over the St. Lawrence River. And with their own hourglass running out of sand, Billy had to find him, and find him now.
He studied a map in his travel guide. Where would they go? The heavily populated St. Catherine’s Street was close by, and the most obvious choice. Or maybe Bronson would return to the Oratory, looking for one final shot at a miracle. But Billy doubted that. Bronson was trained to be cold-blooded smart in these types of situations. He wouldn’t return to any location he suspected he’d been followed to.
According to Calvin, Bronson came straight to Montreal not long after they had escaped from Iran, looking for the miracle cure for CIPA. Using that timeline, he’d only been in the area a couple months and most likely didn’t have any money.
He again stared at the map, thinking that Bronson must reside close to Les Princesses. It wasn’t the kind of place you hear about, it’s a place you bump into one day. And since Bronson seemed to be spending most of his free time in a church that was on the opposite side of the city, he doubted he heard of it via word of mouth.
Then something gave Billy pause. Just a few streets to the west, running north and south, was St. Joseph’s Boulevard. Technically, Bronson came to Montreal to look for his miracle, but more specifically, he was making a pilgrimage to St. Joseph’s Oratory to find it. Billy could visualize Bronson, fresh to the world outside the camp, naively telling a cab driver to bring h
im to St. Joseph. The driver brought him to St. Joseph Boulevard, instead of the cathedral of the same name, and once there, any good soldier knows to set up camp first.
Billy knew he was grasping at straws, but it’s all he had at this point, so he instructed their cab driver to bring them to St. Joseph’s Boulevard. They exited in a section called Le Plateau. It was an eccentric neighborhood that reminded Billy of Greenwich Village. Even at such a late hour, there was an energy in the air. Street musicians strummed acoustic guitars, while ethnically diverse groups of revelers mingled about, seemingly in no hurry. The preferred form of transportation was bicycles of all makes and models. There were very few cars. It seemed like a place where a guy like Bronson Rose could fade into the eclectic background.
They didn’t walk far before hearing a sound Billy recognized. It had been over a month since he was with someone—Kaylee Scroggins—but he knew all too well the sound of loveless sex. It was different, almost like two animals wailing in the wild. Never the soft giggles of people in love.
He followed the sound toward a duplex apartment building. Under its exterior staircase, he found a shirtless Bronson Rose with his pants around his ankles, and Angelique kneeling before him.
“Is she praying?” Carolyn asked with a curious look.
Billy wasn’t touching that one. And he didn’t have time, anyway. In a matter of seconds, Bronson was zipped up and pointing a gun right at them.
“What do you want?” Bronson screeched. He kept nervously moving the gun back and forth between Billy and Carolyn. His paranoia was on the ledge, ready to leap.
Angelique didn’t appear the bit embarrassed by her somewhat awkward position. She methodically stood and re-attached her bra, then pulled her halter-top over her head.
“I need to talk to you,” Billy addressed Bronson.
“You’ve been following me all day. The church—the bus—Les Princesses.”
“Calvin sent me. I didn’t want to alarm you—I just need to talk to you.”