More couches outlined the room near the walls. The grunting noises came from four couples engaging in acts of raunchy sex.
One woman stood spread-legged by the arm of a couch, bent over, with her face on the seat cushion. Her partner stood behind her, penetrating as far as his bulging beer gut would allow.
As Lisa’s eyes adjusted to the faint light, she saw the woman was missing her jaw.
Another woman sat on her knees, straddling a man on a couch, bouncing up and down as he gripped her hips. Chunks of meat were missing from her back. The woman was so thin Lisa could count all of her ribs even in the low light.
On a large, plush, white rug, a woman with a skeletal face and a flowing blonde wig lay on her stomach as her partner thrust his hips against her backside.
The last couple laid flat on a couch, copulating in old-fashioned missionary style. The woman had no arms.
“What in the hell is going on in here?” Lisa rose to her feet and stormed toward Normie. “What kind of perverted shit is this?”
“This is business. It has nothing to do with morality—strictly business.”
“You told me the men couldn’t touch the girls here.”
“I told you the men couldn’t touch the girls out there,” Normie said, pointing. “Those are Living girls. They can only strip and give lap dances. No touchy no feely by the patrons. I’m licensed to sell the services of Sub Z and Sub Y Non-Dead for prostitution.”
“But this is so sick.” Lisa waved her hand toward the couples. “This is no better than modern-day slavery.”
One of the men called, “Hey! Get that piece of ass dancing again. I’m losing my boner!”
Normie ignored the man. “These girls? Heck, they’re nothing more than mules. Not much going on upstairs. They just follow orders and don’t complain. Well, they don’t know enough to complain. But why would they if they could? We feed them well and grease them up real good before a job to keep them from wearing out. I protect my investments.
“I offer Sub Z companionship for those who can’t afford the Sub Ys. Some will pay a little extra for live entertainment. That’s why I have a stripper stage in here. It helps the men keep it up for the game, if you catch my drift.
“The next stop for these girls is the oven. I’m at least finding a way to collect tax dollars for the government on a product that would otherwise have been trashed months ago. I consider myself an entrepreneur in recycling, making the planet greener.”
“I consider you a fuck-faced, pig motherfucking, slime bucket.” Lisa pushed past Normie and bolted through the curtains, and down the stairs. She opened the door, dashed into the light of the hall, and started to panic when she realized she was totally naked.
Normie was right on her heels.
“Stay away from me. I’m getting my bag, getting dressed, and getting the hell out of here.”
“Wait, you’re just upset. Why don’t you come in my office and sit down for a while? We can talk this out.”
Lisa turned and got in his face. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you fucking fuck.”
Normie smiled, and said, “I bet your pussy gets all wet when you get mad.”
Lisa raised both fists to pound into his chest.
Normie grabbed each wrist and shoved her against the wall. “That’s no way to treat the man who paid you three thousand dollars.”
“You’re hurting me,” Lisa said, thinking he was much stronger than he looked.
“This isn’t pain. This is business. The three grand wasn’t a gift. It was payment. You only danced one dance. I must say, you got a lotta potential. I can get twice the price for what I’m getting for my top Sub Y.”
“For dancing?”
“No, for fucking. Boy, you are naïve. The three grand was a prepayment. In this business the real money comes in when a guy gets to blow his wad.” Normie shoved the erect cock bulging in his pants against her leg.
“Normie, don’t. I’m not feeling well. I’m going to be sick.”
Whispering, he said, “I want to blow my wad in you.” Normie stood on his tiptoes, covered her mouth with his, and tried to stick his tongue between her lips.
Lisa gagged and hurled a stream of vomit right into Normie’s face.
He quickly spun away and bent over, tossing his stomach contents all over the floor. “You bitch.” Normie spat. “You stupid cunt.” He spat twice more. “Your ass is mine!”
Rick Poundstone burst through the door leading into the hall. He came to an abrupt halt when he found a naked woman hiding her face against the wall and Normie Cantrell dry heaving over a pile of vomit on the floor.
“Who the fuck are you, and what in the fuck are you doing here?” Normie turned and said. Two of his bouncers were to either side of the interloper. “What the fuck? Get him outta here.”
“Boss, he’s a member of Congress. He came with two motorcycle cops escorting him. He says he’s looking for a woman and doesn’t want any trouble,” one of the bouncers said.
“Well, I don’t care who he is. This my territory. I own the cops. Grab him!”
The two goons latched on to each of Rick’s arms, securing him in place.
Normie wiped his mouth with his hand, then looked around as if to find something to wipe his hand on. “Stupid shit. You’ve got some nerve busting in to my place and giving me orders.” Without any warning, Normie stepped up and punched Rick in the solar plexus.
Rick stiffened and heaved as the blow took the wind out and left him limp in the goons’ grasp.
“Stupid cocksucker, motherfucker. Stupid shit. I pay enough damned money that I don’t deserve this kind of disrespect. I’m going to throw your ass outta here. If you give me one ugly look, or rat on me to the cops, I got friends who’ll find you and kill you as a favor to me. Am I making myself clear, Congressman shit-for-brains?”
Rick coughed, and cleared his throat. “Y . . . yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, you’ve made yourself clear,” Rick said, composing himself.
“Good. I’m glad you’re seeing things my way.” Normie straightened his jacket. “People just need to learn respect around here.”
Rick’s right heel smashed down on goon number one’s left foot. The goon let go of Rick’s arm, and Rick’s elbow slammed into his sternum.
Goon two tightened his grip and jerked Rick sideways. Rick’s right uppercut crashed the man’s glass jaw, and he collapsed to the floor.
In one swift movement, Rick whipped out a gold plated Colt .45 from the holster hidden in the small of his back. “This ends now!” Rick pointed the gun at Normie and waved it to the side.
Normie lowered his head, shaking it. “I don’t know how you figure in with the rest of them. Put that thing away. I own you.”
“I don’t know what you’re alluding to. You don’t own me, the police out front, nor do you own Police Chief Collins of Dallas County.” Rick lifted the cell phone he had been holding in his left hand toward Normie. “In fact, he’s on the line now, listening to our conversation. If you don’t cooperate, I can have you arrested for threatening a United States Congressman. If you’re ready to shut down for the night and go to jail, we can go that route.”
Normie continued to give Rick a go to hell stare.
“Let me speak to Lisa Goudard. I need to make sure she’s okay. If she tells me to leave, I’ll leave. Where is she?” Rick said.
“What, are you fucking blind?” Normie jerked his head toward Lisa.
Rick quickly turned in surprise. Lisa’s face was hidden against the wall. He let his gaze drift down her back to her round ass and down her long perfect legs. “Incredible,” he said to himself.
“Lisa, it’s Senator Rick Poundstone. We met at the therapist’s office.”
Lisa’s mind drifted in and out of reality. She pulled her hair in front of her face, hiding. She leaned against the wall more to keep her balance than to maintain her dignity. Hearing her name called in a soft, caring voice, she turned her h
ead toward Rick, trying to focus on his face through her hair.
“Are you okay? Would you like to go home? Can I take you home?”
Unsure of who was speaking or what was going on around her, she grabbed the two words which offered salvation. “Go home? Yes, I want to go home.”
Rick shot Normie a stern glance and raised his eyebrows.
“Take her and get the fuck out,” Normie said
“I know she didn’t come here naked. Where are her clothes?” Rick asked.
Normie huffed noisily and went in a dressing room, retrieving her gym bag, and a gold satin robe. He returned and tossed the bag toward Rick, who caught it, and draped the robe over Lisa’s back.
“This isn’t over,” he whispered in her ear. The bulge in Normie’s pants returned.
Chapter 26
Mack judged the original construction of the neighborhood to be sometime in the 1950s, considering the size and architecture of the houses. All houses were single story with front carports and on lots the size of quarter-acre postage stamps. He wondered if he could jump roof to roof from one end of the subdivision to the other.
As the address neared, he coasted to a stop and parked the truck on the side of the street, being careful not to block anyone’s mailbox. Before making an exit, he pulled his cap low on his head, and checked his makeup in the rearview mirror. Good enough, he got out with a toolbox in hand.
Large trees dotted the yards adding charm as well as shade to the neighborhood. A sleepy little neighborhood, I wonder how the residents would react if they knew a monster lived among them?
The address on the paper was three houses down. The only activity on the street came from an agitated black Labrador, held at bay by a chain-link fence across the street. The vicious growls had Mack believing the dog would like nothing better than to have him for lunch.
The mailbox at the address had seen better days, but enough of the stick-on numbers remained to make it readable. He came to a halt and assessed the situation. There were no trees in the front yard, but there was one in the back. A large oak of some type that was sure to drop a huge limb on the roof one day. The carport was the only one on the street equipped with a garage door. Fortunately, the garage door was open.
No one was home. No one was outside. The coast was as clear.
The piece of paper went in his front pocket as he tramped down the side of the house and into the backyard, acting as if he had found his jobsite, and was ready to get to work.
Once in the backyard, a row of hedges on either side of the property and in the rear made a natural fence to hide his activities.
A 10’ X 10’ by ten patio lay in front of the rear door, uncovered. Harsh sunlight shone past the tree’s shade onto two plastic lawn chairs and an empty terracotta planter. There was no way anyone used the patio to relax.
Mack went to work, and selected a pair of straight jaw adjustable pliers, and a flat-end screwdriver from the toolbox. There was no deadbolt for him to deal with. The knob was old, and the pliers wrung it off in a few quick twists. Once that was out of the way, he used the screwdriver to pry the locking mechanism open.
The security alarm beeped to warned he would have less than a minute to enter the passcode Jarvis had given him or the main alarm would trip.
His finger went to work on the keypad, entering the code. The beeping stopped, and the flashing red light switched to solid green.
He was inside the rear of the kitchen and quickly made a run through every room in the boxy, little house. Not much in the way of furnishings—a kitchen table and four chairs, an old couch in the living room, a double bed in the master bedroom, and a computer on a pine desk in the second bedroom.
The screen saver danced across the twenty-four-inch monitor by the computer. Out of curiosity, he bumped the mouse, bringing the computer out of sleep mode. The screen lit the room with soft light.
At first, he couldn’t believe what his eyes saw. And as hard as his mind fought to comprehend the image, the graphic nature of the photograph left nothing to the imagination.
*
Mack peered out the front window through the edge of the curtains and watched the street. Each time a vehicle drove by his heart beat faster. Is this him?
The time was a little past 4:30 p.m. when a vehicle slowed as it approached the driveway. It came to a stop just beyond. The reverse lights switched on as it cautiously backed up the driveway and into the garage.
Mack’s pulse banged in his head from the anger blurring rational thought.
The hum of the idling engine stopped. The garage door clanked down the tracks until it stopped with a soft thump. The vehicle door opened and closed, then another door opened and closed. Mack waited to the side of the door leading from the garage to the kitchen, his back to the wall, the syringe tightly in his grip.
The keys jingled, and the door unlocked, the knob rattling as if were difficult to open. A muffled, “Damn,” uttered from behind the door as it slowly opened. A man stepped in.
Mack brought the syringe around ready to plunge in his neck and froze. The man cradled a young boy in his arms.
Walter gasped at the sight of the intruder.
The two locked wide, surprised gazes.
Walter made the first move, and slammed Ryan into Mack’s chest, pushing him backward.
Mack instinctively let the syringe fall to the floor and grabbed the boy, leaving him defenseless as he crashed into the countertop. His head whipped back and thudded against a cabinet.
Walter hurried over to a nearby drawer and jerked it open.
Events happened so fast it took a few seconds for Mack to get his bearings. His immediate concern was for the boy’s safety and moved him out of harm’s way into the living room, laying him on the couch.
The metallic clinks of drawer scrounging had stopped. As Mack spun around to face his assailant, a twelve-inch butcher knife drove deep into his chest, directly into his heart.
Walter’s face twisted in perverted satisfaction as he pushed in the blade, grinning with a wickedness that was almost debilitating in itself.
Mack screamed as he felt the thin blade cut into him and the burst of pain that followed. With consciousness slowly fading into dreamlike darkness, he grabbed the knife by the handle, and pulled it from his chest. It fell from his hand, banging on the tile floor. With the world spinning upside down in his head, he went to his knees, wobbling like a tree in a strong wind. Then he fell face down at the feet of his intended victim.
Walter let out a sigh of relief and stared at Mack’s lifeless body. His mind reeled with unanswerable questions and a situation that complicated the wonderful plans he had made to entertain Ryan.
Feeling parched and shaky, Walter left the dead to the dead and helped himself to a beer from the refrigerator. The pop from the pull-top brought him instant relief. He turned the bottom of the can up, chugging several gulps, and spilling some down his chin.
There was a dead man in his living room, and an abducted child on his couch. Calling the police was out of the question, even though he was totally justified in the killing.
The alcohol gave him a fresh perspective. The dead guy wasn’t going anywhere. Why worry about him? No, it wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be. He could still have his fun with Ryan. When he was finished, he would take them both to the city dump. Trash bags were cheap, and he had plenty of room in his van.
“You sick bastard!”
A mouthful of beer shot out of Walter’s nose at the unexpected cry. He turned and saw his intruder on his feet, with an obvious intent of revenge in his eyes.
“You . . . you aren’t human,” Walter said.
“Neither are you!” Mack slammed his fist into Walter’s nose. Blood squirted like a bursting ketchup pack. He followed with a punch to the stomach. Walter heaved and grabbed his gut. Then Mack’s hands latched onto the pervert’s throat. Veins throbbed in his forearms as he squeezed with every fiber of his being energized with hate.
W
alter’s cheeks flushed beyond red, and blotches of purple started to appear. His eyes bulged like grapes.
Before Walter passed out, Mack bit his right eyelid, and tore it off.
Walter tried to buck free.
Mack held him in check and did the same to the other eye.
The eyelid fell from his mouth when he opened it to speak. “Where you’re going I want to make sure that you see everything we have planned.”
*
After Walter passed out, Mack resisted the urge to finish him off. Fatigue weighed in, and he felt a little dizzy. The alien virus expended a lot of his reserve energy repairing his heart.
He put Walter in a deep sleep by emptying the contents of the syringe into his jugular. Once assured he was out, Mack went to the child’s side.
There was a small amount of dried blood on the boy’ nose. His lower lip was puffy and cut on the inside, as if from a tooth. Other than that, he looked perfectly healthy. The boy breathed in shallow rhythm, no doubt in the clutches of drug induced sleep.
Mack hurried outside to his truck, and backed it up to the front of the van, positioning his truck to block the view from the street.
Walter had a cell phone on his belt. Mack took it and stuck it in his front pocket. He then pulled the man by the feet out the door and into the cover of the truck’s camper shell.
His mission complete, Mack drove out, and parked at the end of the street. He pulled out Walter’s cell phone and dialed 911. “There’s a missing boy located at twenty-five twenty-one Monarch Lane. You need to send a police car over now.” Before the operator had a chance to ask the first question, he ended the call, and waited.
In less time than he thought it would take, blue flashing emergency lights headed up the street. Mack waited until the police car turned at Walter’s address, and then sped off to his destination.
“Thank God that’s over. I don’t know who you are little guy, but my prayers are with you,” Mack said, glancing in the review mirror. “You don’t have to worry about this piece of shit ever coming after you again.” Rage burned inside. “That’s a promise.”
Resurrection X Page 17