“Bad Guy One, do you have a name?” I refer to Carrot Top. Fucker responds by howling a curse and spitting at my feet. I sidestep just in time. “I guess not. Names aren’t important, but for my own amusement, I hereby name you Fucknuts, but don’t get too comfy with it, because we won’t be getting to know each other that well. I’ve just got some questions I need answering, and then we will be on our way. Not unless you want to attempt to draw this out?”
He ignores my words, baring his rotten teeth through his pain like a wild animal. I don’t blame him; that’s gotta hurt like the blazes of hell.
I’ve got things to say, so I pistol-whip Fucknuts across the face to make sure he is gonna pay attention to me, and remind him who’s in charge, which of course has him cursing at me on a raging cacophony of anger.
I check the old lady’s body language because I don’t want to do too much to this asshole in front of her. She appears to be handling my behavior fine. All I get is a disapproving look for pistol-whipping the guy. I roll my eyes because she thinks I’m only playing with him.
Think again, lady. This is a PG-rated show just for you. You don’t wanna see what I can really do.
I can be a scary fucker when I want to be. I need to get her away from here so I can get down to R-rated business. Every minute spent here is taking its toll on Whisper’s wellbeing.
“Miss Catherine, could you go back inside the hangar and wheel out that comfortable looking office chair, so we can make Fucknuts here a bit more amenable. I was gonna tell him to get on his knees, but I can see that isn’t gonna be conducive to him thinking straight, ‘cause that knee’s gotta be hurting like a son-of-a-bitch.”
I have to hand it to her; she’s a trooper. She goes and gets that office chair and wheels it back in front of us. I know I’m ordering her about, but I have to be the strong arm here because he would have that gun out of her hand in a shake.
I give her a tight smile because I know she must be worried about what my next move is… and so she should be. I’m only just getting started.
I would definitely label these guys wild cards. They have no self-preservation. I doubt there is a kindergarten IQ between them. They are cleanup boys, and sickos to boot.
I hand Miss Catherine the keys to the Beamer. “Bring the car back around behind me.” She listens and does as I say without any deviation of her own. I think she has registered this guy is still a danger, and I need to keep him under control, and we need information.
“Now, Fucknuts, load yourself onto that chair without any fuss, and you may just make it out of here alive today. Let that be your incentive.” I place the mouth of the silencer, trigger cocked on my gun, against the side of his head, so he fully understands the position he’s in as he gets himself seated.
The car is parked behind me, and the old lady waits beside me for my next command. She knows I’m dealing with a sick fucker who needs to be kept on a tight leash.
“Fucknuts, before we get down to business, as there is a lady present and I don’t want any surprises, do you have any concealed weapons on you?”
“No,” he growls at me. Grumpy prick.
“Miss Catherine, pat him down for me, but stay behind him or the side of him at all times. Fucknuts, I need you to listen to her when she tells you which way to move, so she can make sure you’re telling the truth. If you’re not… the other knee gets blown out. Understand?”
“Yes,” he snarls. The fucker isn’t very happy with me. Miss Catherine does an excellent job of patting him down and he comes up clean. Then she pats down the sleeping beauty. Stupid bastards were too confident and turned up without reading the Thug 101 manual properly.
“Miss Catherine, there’s a little black bag in the trunk. Could you get it for me? There are some things in there that will come in mighty handy.” She walks to the trunk, opening it, and holds up No Mercy. I nod my head.
The guy is now death-staring me, which is kinda amusing, considering who has the gun trained on them. You would think he would wisen up to his predicament.
I repeat, No self-preservation.
The old lady brings No Mercy over to me and places it on the hood. “Unzip it and take out the duct tape.”
I enlighten Fucknuts, “Miss Catherine here is just gonna tape your hands and feet as a precautionary measure, and also your good buddy, just in case he wakes up from his snooze. It will also stop any wayward thoughts you may have of being heroes and getting your heads blown off.”
I shift my body slightly so I can lean up against the doc’s car, trying to unburden my fucked up foot, while I watch as Miss Catherine starts duct taping his hands together behind the chair good and proper, and then each foot gets taped to its legs.
“What… the… fuck… are you two… doing here?” Which comes out in a deep-south, toothless twang.
My guy is a real trooper, pushing through the pain, panting out his words, and somehow coming to the conclusion that an old lady and myself might not be that big a deal, and he thinks we owe him an explanation.
He would be wrong.
I ignore his question and watch Miss Catherine do a pretty neat job of taping him up, and then she moves on to unconscious mullet-man and binds his wrists and legs tight until he’s trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
“Fucknuts, you might wanna stop moving about so much, because the gun could accidentally go off.” I shrug. “No loss to me. I’ve still got another guinea pig to interrogate. I can wake him up from his nap easy enough.” He grudgingly cooperates and keeps his head neatly on his shoulders.
These two rednecks have proven they have game. I’m not taking any chances with a conscious one around the old lady.
Miss Catherine has finished and joined me, resting against the Beamer, waiting patiently, if not looking slightly at ease with my behavior.
“Are you the cleanup crew? Are there more of you coming, and did I hear you two sick fucks straight? Were you two playing rock, paper, and scissors to see who was going to stick their dick inside the female corpse?” I nudge his head with the gun for good measure. “My hand is feeling mighty shaky at the moment.”
“Okay… I’ll answer… you crazy fuck.” Pot calling kettle black.
No self-preservation. He’ll learn soon enough.
“Be warned I’m very good at judging a liar. If you still have a head on your shoulders after you give me your answers, that means I believed you. Up to you if you wanna hedge your bets on whether your lie passes the test. The one thing you’ll get used to in the time we’ll get to know each other is… I only ask once, and then if I don’t like what I hear or don’t hear, I take action. I don’t give second chances or respond well to pleading or begging, so man up and we will get along like a house on fire.” I know the answer to the last question, but I gotta hear this cocksucker say it.
His mouth starts to open, but I’ve forgotten my manners. “Before you answer, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Edge, and I’m the enforcer for the Soulless Bastards Motorcycle Club. Ever heard of them?”
The fucker registers in that fucked up head of his the deep shit he’s in. Is that a wet spot I can see on his pants? Did he just piss himself? He’s definitely looking at me with a newly found respect.
“I thought you might have heard of us.” I give him a pleasant smile, lean forward, and press my hand down on his shattered kneecap, his pathetic whimpering an embarrassment. “Now you can answer.”
“Yes… Homer… was gonna get… to fuck the corpse.” He lets out a hiss of pain as he talks through those ugly gritted teeth. “And we’re… the only ones coming. We’re the… cleanup crew.” From the look of fear in his eyes, I know the quarter has hit the bottom of the gumball machine, finally, and he registers the deep shit he’s in.