"You mean," Glenda seethed with mutinous outrage, "that we've been doing contract work for the syndicate? That we've been arsonists and hit men and kidnappers for the mob? The same outfit that puts dope in the arms of ten-year-olds?"
"Check, double-check, and triple-check," Chinga replied with a slow drawl. He had dramatically changed his style now that the bottom-line had been established. He was meeting this challenge to his authority with cool. There was no doubt about it, the man had flair.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Glenda wailed. "You were supposed to be our leader!"
"They'd kill me," he responded with ironic smugness. "In fact, they'd kill us all. Once you're in with those guys, you can't retire – except involuntarily."
"But we didn't know anything about it…" someone protested.
"You do now," Chinga reminded huh. "Besides, that makes no difference to them anyway. Once you're on the inside they don't care how you got there."
"How did you get involved in the first place?" Glenda pertinently asked.
"We needed dough," Chinga took them into the past. "As you'll remember the muggings and purse-snatchings weren't bringing in enough. When this guy I met in a bar offered the deal to burn down that laundry, the dollar signs were all I looked at. And, as I recall, none of you had any complaints about our change in fortune."
"When did you find out?" the guy sitting to my left asked.
"When I tried to turn down the first murder they wanted us to do," Chinga answered, "I said it was too heavy for us – they said it would be heavier for us not to. When I didn't dig what the guy was getting at, he started raving at me in Sicilian. Then he said in English: 'Now do you get my meaning?'"
"The mob," several people gasped the obvious in unison. They sounded trapped.
"I never asked him any more questions after that," Chinga continued. "From then on, any job he offered, I accepted for us. Since you were all so busy enjoying the money, I didn't want to bug you with the details."
"How did the Parker kidnapping come about?" Glenda asked in a much more sympathetic voice now that Chinga had partially exonerated himself for leading his pack of petty thieves into the deep waters of crime.
"Simple," Chinga said. "They offered big money for a simple snatch. We were just supposed to deliver him to their people, and our hands would be clean. With the kind of dough they shoved in my face I knew it was something very big to them. Believe me, the worst thing we could've done was to fuck it up the way we did."
"And now to top it off, we're stuck with this fucking dame," some hothead reminded everyone of my presence. "As if it wasn't bad enough the mob will be after us, she's got us killing each other."
"Hey, cool it," Chinga brought all the grumbling to a halt, proving he was still the leader. "Emma and Tiny had to go. They disobeyed our rules. Tell me this – if we couldn't trust them with this chick, could we trust them with our lives?"
The last was a rhetorical question. Nobody had the nerve to interrupt him now anyway, he was so cranked up.
"Of course we couldn't," he answered himself. "On the other hand – I'm willing to agree that now we're all hip to the problem, there's no rule against changing an old rule."
He was beginning to sound like a politician. I guess you had to have the same capacity for bullshit to rise in the underworld as you did in the straight world.
"You're talking about the woman," somebody said.
"I'm talking about the woman," Chinga affirmed.
I knew all eyes were on me. I felt like I was on the meat rack. Sweat, seemed to pop from every pore in my body, I was so tense.
"What are you gonna do with her?" Glenda wanted to know.
"We're going to divide her up equally," Chinga sent a chill to my heart with his reply. "If this bitch is going to fuck around with our solidarity, then we'll have to retaliate as a group. Give her back what she gave our comrades – and then roll over her with it. Nobody doing anything to her behind anybody's back because we'll all be doing it to her at once."
I was freaking out. Christ, why all this torturous verbiage. Why didn't he just come out and say what they were going to do to me.
I knew. Chinga knew. Every body in the place knew what my fate was going to be.
"We're gonna gang-bang her," Chinga finally heralded the obvious in a raw slur.
To my horror, the small crowd actually cheered. This was turning barbaric. I had never felt so defiled.
"Then after we've fucked and sucked the shit out of her, so we know she'll behave," Chinga rapidly continued, while he still had their attention, "we'll play Let's Make a Deal. Only I'm Monty Hall and our lieutenant pal, Parker, is dressed up like a turkey."
He was a sharpie. I would have thought there would be a stampede when he sanctioned my gang-bang, but somehow Chinga kept them under control. He always had them guessing what he would do next. Even though he'd just ordered me raped, I couldn't help but be impressed by the force of his charisma.
"My plan is really very simple," he stalled the gang-rape to clue them in on his masterminding. "We get word to Parker that we're willing to trade this broad for none other than himself. To help him make up his mind, we threaten to go to the newspapers with the whole story of how we kidnapped the wrong person. They'll make it seem she never would have been kidnapped if it hadn't been for all the enemies Parker's made. That he's responsible in a way for what happened to her. He's got a moral obligation, and all that bullshit. Once the public reads that they'll never vote for the bastard for anything. If Parker is serious about being elected D.A., he'll agree to the switch and take his chances with us instead of the voters. Then we turn him over to the mob – as our end of the contract – and everything's cool."
It was a thrilling scenario. In fact, I became so involved with it that, blindfolded, I imagined I was seeing it on a screen. As victim and audience, I was a passive spectator at the unreeling of my fate as though I were watching it in a fast-paced B-movie.
However, it was only a matter of time before the film of my life became X-rated. Now that he had dazzled them with his latest scheme, Chinga felt free to turn his animals loose on me.
"Okay, troops, you can fall out," was how he coyly put it. Then he nastily added: "And nobody bite off more than they can chew."
Suddenly I had the grotesque fantasy of being chewed to death by their gnashing mouths and sucking pussies. I could see myself going under in a pile of gobbling orifices.
Then, the fantasy started to assume the dimensions of reality. The two people on either side of me leaned over and started attacking my tits with their rough tongues. Below, somebody had crawled between my legs, forced my thighs apart, and was sucking my cunt. Seconds later someone was doing the same to my asshole.
"Mmmmm, her pussy's still wet with Tiny's cum," a voice I recognized as Glenda's informed the others from my crotch.
"So is her ass!" the male tonguer from down there spat with disgust. "If I'd known I was going to get a mouthful of a dead man's stale cum I'd have let another chick go first along with Glenda."
"Oh, Tex, you're such a chauvinist," Glenda giggled in my box. "If cum tastes good for women, why shouldn't it taste good for men?"
"Because it's unnatural for man to drink of himself – I think that's a quote from the Bible," he defensively replied.
"So I suppose you're going to do something natural to her – like fucking her in the ass with your ten-inch prick."
"Right on!" he whooped, and suddenly I was pronged. He'd apparently been working his cock into position for penetration while he'd been talking to Glenda. Coming up at me from the floor, his loins powered his rigid cock straight up my asshole. It went two or three inches before it skidded to a temporary halt.
I hadn't spoken since I had puked. Now – I didn't speak, either – I screamed. The sound yowled from me like I was a cat being boiled alive.