Payback, Inc- Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

I jerked.

Saw the streetlamps.

Saw Schi lightly snoring in the passenger seat, breath fogging up the windows.

My side hummed again. Looked down. Lights dancing on the phone. Annette.

Laid my head back; tried to understand.

A dream.

Premonition.

Precognition.

I wasn’t superstitious. My mind refused what I could not understand. I existed on the real, the seen, the known.

But my butt throbbed like I’d had anal sex.

I moved my hands up my face to my hair. Stopped as fingers felt moisture. Pulled a strand to my nose. Sniffed.

Lemon pudding?

Like that pooled on the plastic.

In Annette’s apartment.

That I hadn’t been too yet.

Heart thudded; arm hairs stood at attention.

The unknown had shown up at my doorstep.

I stared at the sidewalk, the streetlamp; craned my neck to see up the front of the
building. Everything appeared quiet as expected on a weekday night.

Get yourself together! You too old to believe in boogeymen. It was just a dream.

Yeah, I’m dreaming like heck but all I remembered were disjointed anatomical parts—eyes, the
feel of a hand—not the entire Technicolor episode. I needed total recall to understand what the hell was going on with me.

Was this some subconscious shit, some role-play I’d suppressed, playing out in dreamland? Or real intuition, genuine psychically vibrated intuition I needed to heed?

I felt my hair and smell the wet spot again. Naw, this was past subconscious. It was tangible, touchable…the real deal. As my grandmother used to say, “Somebody tryna tell you something, Baby.”

Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t but I couldn’t focus on that right now. Right now I had a job to do.

I shook the memory away and woke Schi.

“Is it time?” She yawned and stretched.

“Yeah.”

Schi wiggled around on the seat some more.

“Ready?”

I was edgy. Fingers gripped, ungripped the steering wheel; stopped my hands from shaking. I felt her watching me.

“Hey, you all right?”

She needed an explanation, but what?

I already know what’s about to happen?

We’re about to get fucked?

Our shit is gonna be whack in less than ten minutes?

Which one was appropriate?

None of the above..or all.

I nodded. “I’m cool.”

“You sure? You look…strange.” She leaned forward, stared through the darkness at my silhouette.

I blinked a couple of time. “I’m cool.”

She nodded. “All right, then, let’s get the party started.” She held up her wrist. “Watch check”—I held up my wrist—“Start.”

We exited the van and moved quickly to the back. Schi pulled out the magnetized crosses and I lifted the two six foot magnetic strips from the van.

My hands trembled as I anchored them to the sides.

Déjà vu.

Ten seconds.

Heart triple-timed as we rolled out the gurney, sat our supply bag on top. We looked each other over before grabbing an end and moving forward.

Blood pounded in my ears as we rolled towards the rear entrance.

Mind spun; wondered how to cheat the future…if it was, indeed, possible at all.

Nothing beats a failure but a try.

I stopped, threw Schi off-balance.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s up with the rear elevator. We need to hit the front one.”

Schi looked around. “What do you see?”

A man with a poodle watching us like hawks.

“Nothing. Got a feeling.”

She took a deep breath before nodding. “Ok. Let’s do the front.”

We reversed our steps and headed to the front entrance.

Unchartered territory.

I knew, or rather, I thought I knew what would happen but was it real or only a dream? Was I being a girl, using the female intuition thing? Wasting seconds for nothing?

You’ll know in a minute.

Schi stopped in front of the double doors, scanned the lobby. “Clear.”

We jogged inside, Schi wasting no time stabbing the elevator button.

Forty five seconds. My palms dripped.

The elevator crawled down to us. I kept watch on the hallway to my right which led to the rear elevator.

Heard off-pitch humming before I saw the back of a white head, a fluffy, wiggling dog under his arm, shuffling to the rear door to the outside.

One point for Mo!

I let the air out of my lungs. Our elevator dinged then opened.

Empty.

Fifty-nine seconds.

Schi hustled inside and pushed at the button to Annette’s floor. I wish we’d had a bypass key;
didn’t want to risk stopping at any other floors but we didn’t.

No stops.

One minute, nineteen seconds.

Flash sweat coated my upper lip; felt a rivulet run down my spine as the doors sprang open. The hallway was void of tenants. We stopped at Annette’s apartment. Schi turned the knob and we were inside.

The scene was as it had played out in my dream. Plastic sheeting covered the floor and bits of food were littered across it.

Les hung spread eagle, back to us, from hooks in the ceiling. Blind-folded.

Schi scrunched her nose as we side-stepped a puddle of what looked like lemon pudding.

Annette was fisting and stroking her strap-on; truly seemed to be as one with it. A smile moved onto Schi’s face as she watched. Good distraction.

One minute, thirty seconds.

I detached, moved down the dark hallway, hand on the shank in my pocket. The revised script said I had to check out the rooms; meet any enemy head on.

The first was a bathroom. Light reflected off the gleaming ceramic tiles; the mirror showed an empty shower.

The door to my left was open, a lamp burning on the night stand.

Bedroom.

Queen-sized bed in the middle, sliding-door closet stood to right. The depth was shallow, probably two feet deep.

Not enough room for the huge shape I remembered to hide.

Scanned under the bed from the doorway. Clear.

Two minutes.

Only one other room remained.

The door was closed.

I turned the knob.

Felt the temperature drop a few degrees.

Hesitated.

Gripped the shank tighter.

Mo, do the damn thang or take your ass home!

Pushed open the door.

Jumped back.

Blinked.

Blinked again.

Mattress on the floor.

Camera in front.

Wooden stocks to the side.

Whips—some with metal tips—hung on the wall alongside fly swatters, rump slappers and
spiked collars.

Table full of colorful dildos of varying sizes, strapons and lubricant.

Chains drifted down from the ceiling.

No closet.

No where to hide.

I relaxed, went back to the original plan.

Turned on the lights in all the rooms as I retraced my steps.

Two minutes, thirty seconds.

Annette had turned Les, his over-endowed cock now pointed towards us, as she smeared her hand into the mess on his back and over her plastic cock.

Schi rocked her pelvis back and forward; licked her lips. Bitch-in-heat mode was in full swing.
I bumped her shoulder; gave her the evil eye. No refunds. Do or die.

Annette grabbed Les’ hair; pulled backward. “Slave, what do you want me to do?”

Les’ head lolled around. “F—fuck me p—please.”

Annette nodded at us, spread his ass, pushed the strap-on roughly inside.

Up close, saying Annette looked like Chyna wasn’t quite correct. More like a male body builder drag queen masquerading as Chyna. If she was indeed a woman—and did the “bumping clit thingie” with women—she got my vote for Butch of the Year.

Bitch.

Cunt.

Fuckass.

Annette spewed out the derogatory words. Les pumped backward, hips rolling like a woman’s. Annette grasped his cock, stroked up and down the rigid length as she pistoned rapidly into his ass.

Chick has done this before.

In seconds, Les spurted come and hung limply.

Three minutes twenty seconds.

I looked down the lit hallway; needed certainty before we swung into action.

Clear.

Two points for Mo!

We pulled on latex gloves and moved the gurney across the mess of food. I slipped, thought I’d go down; caught myself before I met food hell.

Les was semi-conscious. He breathed but didn’t move a muscle.

Schi wiped Les down with a towel eliciting a mild moan. I positioned the gurney to catch him when Annette released the chains.

But first, roofing composite.

Extra tacky.

I smeared it across the front of Les from neck to feet—avoiding the cock— with a wide paint brush. I repeated with the rear, avoiding the lower back and hip region.

Schi still seemed enamored with Les’ cock so I did the honors. Slit the bag down the middle and poured feathers over his head.

The Abominable Snowman with a bare face, cock and ass. We definitely wanted him to be recognizable.

Four minutes thirty-five seconds. Time was running out.

Les began fidgeting. Tried to stand. I lifted his legs.

“W—what’s g—going on?” Breath sour, voice thick.

Annette jumped right back into character. “Shut the fuck up, Slave.” She gave his bare ass a whack with the slapper. “Be bad, Slave. I want you to be bad.” She grabbed the strap-on. “I’ll stuff this shitty cock so far down your throat, you’ll be pissing plastic.

A hellova visual.

Les relaxed; allowed us to place him front down onto the gurney, head cushioned by a pillow.

Schi grabbed the red spray paint and a stencil.

Positioned the plastic over his ass and sprayed inside the rings.

Grabbed the black paint.

Wrote on his lower back.

We all smiled at the red bull’s eye painted on his ass and the words above it: FUCK ME HERE.

“His wife is wrong for that shit there.”

I shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s what she wanted.”

Five minutes.

Time to go.

Threw a sheet over Les, tied his hands down and tucked in the edges.

Brushed off an errant feather, removed the blindfold and our “patient” was secure and ready for transport.

The hallway was quiet. We moved carefully toward the elevator. Our mission was three-quarters completed but we still couldn’t risk complications.

The elevator dinged and the doors swung open.

I stopped.

Old school stood in front of me.

Wearing dark glasses.

Dog under his arm.

Shit.