Rachel and Jeannie jerked their bodies 180 degrees. They turned so fast and so violently it was a wonder they didn't pick up a splinter or two in their feet or bare butts from the ancient floorboards of the rickety porch. They pressed their bare backs hard against the outside wall of the shack, as though pushing over the structure was an option for escaping the guy with the high-caliber pistol aimed in their general direction.
Speaking was definitely not an option. The young women suddenly learned the origin of the cliche about having one's heart in one's throat. The fear that shot through their bodies was visible, visible in the spastic quivering as they pinned themselves hard against the weathered cedar shingles of the house where some woman they didn't know was being tortured.
The man with the gun said nothing. He trained his weapon on the frightened girls. The barrel of a pistol was worth a couple of thousand words, anyway. The gunman was young, not much older than Rachel and Jeannie. He was mulatto, perhaps a decendent of the black Cape Verde natives who mixed with their Portugese overlords before settling in the same part of America as the all-white "peninsulares." His hair was done up in thin braids, not quite dreadlocks, more like Bo Derek in the film "10," only shorter. He was naked save for a pair of madras Bermuda shorts and a belt with an oversized buckle worthy of a country music star.
The anguished screams, laugher and pitiful cries for mercy no longer escaped from the shack. Only a few minutes later Janet's interrogator emerged from the little gray building.
"You said there'd be no one here, goddamnit!" screamed half-breed.
"Hey, it's just a couple of stupid broads who don't know enough to mind their own bus..."
"YOU SAID WE'D BE HERE BY OURSELVES!!!" the mulatto screamed at even greater volume.
"Will you get a grip. This is no big deal. We can make these little sluts sorry they ever butted in."
The other man -- shirtless, barefoot, dressed in khaki trousers, possessed of a head of short, curly blond hair -- glared at Rachel and Jeannie. He clearly had a plan. Neither woman had the courage to ask what that plan was. Both were afraid of the answer. The men obviously needed poor Janet. She had information he so badly wanted. Jeannie and Rachel were disposable.
"Get up, both of you," curly hair demanded. The girls rose, slowly. Half-breed drew closer, his gun still trained on the intruders.
"Put your hands behind your heads." The girls obeyed.
"Get in the house."
Jeannie and Rachel walked into the shack, hands clasped firmly behind their heads. The floor of the shack was comfortably cool on their sore feet, a nice change from the boards on the porch made scorching by the high-noon sun. The room was nearly dark and the friends squinted before adjusting their eyes. They stood in the middle of the room and waited for the next order from the two men. Janet sat motionless on the table, her head hanging to one side in a gesture of resignation to her horrible fate. She now had a gag in her mouth.
There were two cots set up in the room, with two blankets and pillows on the floor. It seemed the men had spent the night in the shack. Janet had been there, too. But a chain in the corner of the room bolted to an eye-hook in the floor told Rachel and Jeannie of the considerably less pleasant sleeping arrangement for Janet.
"You, raghead," curly hair said.
Rachel knew that meant her. She had put her long curly locks in a ponytail that morning and tied a scarf around her hair to protect it from the sun she figured was going to be murder on her hair, her beautiful hair, the one part of her body for which Rachel was justly proud. Jeannie had opted for a baseball cap to protect her short coif.
"Get on that bed and lie on your stomach," curly hair barked.
Rachel did what she was told, too afraid not to. She lay with her arms close to her sides.
"Put your hands together behind your back."
Rachel obeyed. She knew they were going to tie her up. She crossed her wrists, like she had seen in the movies when the bad guys were tying up their prey. Curly hair grabbed a fistful of ropes from a gym bag. He tossed them at Jeannie's feet.
"Hogtie you girlfriend," curly hair demanded of Jeannie.
"No." Jeannie had barely gotten the word out when half-breed slapped her face so hard he knocked her to one knee.
"You'll do as you're told," said curly hair, his voice now cold and evil.
"It's OK, Jean," said Rachel in a soft, reassuring voice, not wanting to see her best friend get hit again.
Jeannie sat on the cot, next to her friend's prone body, and began tying Rachel's wrists together. The two men watched, making sure the knots were sufficiently tight. Rachel lay motionless. Jeannie took another rope and and began tying Rachel's feet together. Four times she wrapped the rope around her friend's ankles.
Make a cinch knot," curly hair ordered. "You know how to make a cinch knot?"
Jeannie said nothing, but shot a somewhat sardonic look at curly hair. She then finished off Rachel's ankles with a perfect cinch knot. The daughter of a fisherman knew all about knots.
Curly hair and half-breed ordered Jeannie to tie Rachel's knees. She did, with no cinch knot this time. She began finishing the hogtying with the rope that would connect Rachel's wrists with her ankles.
"Pull it tight...tighter...c'mon tight as you can."
Half-breed pushed down Rachel's lower legs so Jeannie could make the final rope as taut as possible. Rachel's fingertips were almost touching the bare heels of her immobilized feet.
"Your turn," curly hair said. "On the other bed."
Jeannie lay down on the other cot and immediately crossed her wrists behind her back, ready for the inevitable bondage that was certainly meant for her. A small bit of blood was drying on the fat lip she got courtesy of half-breed.
Curly hair undid Jeannie's wrists. Rather than have them cross, as the way Rachel had been tied, curly hair made Jeannie put her palms together. He then tied her wrists tightly, finished with a cinch knot.
Curly hair took another rope and tied her elbows, again tightly, until they almost touched. It hurt. It hurt bad. Jeannie let out an "ahhhhhh." She was ashamed of having given her captors the satisfaction of knowing they had inflicted pain.
Curly hair then grabbed her legs and crossed her ankles, so that the bottoms of her bare feet were facing opposite ends of the room. He wrapped yards of rope around Jeannie's ankles before applying the knot, with the leftover end of the rope he tied Jeannie's ankles to the rope that bound her elbows, pulling the rope as tight as he could to position her feet as close to her back as he could.
Both girls were gagged. The gags were handkerchiefs with big ball-knots in the middle. "No, please," whimpered Rachel as ball-knot was stuffed in her mouth. Jeannie said nothing as she received her gag. The kerchiefs were tied behind their heads. Instinctively, Rachel and Jeannie tried to speak.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmmmmmmuuuuuhhhhhhhhh, wwwwuhhhhh," was all that was audible. Curly hair and half-breed chuckled, then turned their eyes to Janet.
"Let's get her gag off," said half-breed.
"Leave it on," curly hair answered.
"What?"
Curly hair sat by Janet and began caressing the middle-aged woman's naked breasts.
"Janet, that gag will stay on you for 20 minutes. You won't be able to tell me what I want to know for that long, even if you wanted. And you know, 20 minutes of non-stop agony is soooooooo long."
He continued to stroke her breasts, and Janet seemed too weak to try to pull away.
"By the end of what I'm going to do to you you'll tell us everything. Why, you might even confess to being the real killer of O.J. Simpson's wife."
Curly hair took a jar from his bag and removed the lid. Using a tongue depressor, he lifted some sort of jelly-like substance from the jar and slathered it thickly on the bottoms of Janet's feet. He then got on the table, straddling her legs and and facing her feet. He twisted slightly to face his torture victim.
"This little procedure of mine, my dear, is just so delightfully unendurable."
Speaking was definitely not an option. The young women suddenly learned the origin of the cliche about having one's heart in one's throat. The fear that shot through their bodies was visible, visible in the spastic quivering as they pinned themselves hard against the weathered cedar shingles of the house where some woman they didn't know was being tortured.
The man with the gun said nothing. He trained his weapon on the frightened girls. The barrel of a pistol was worth a couple of thousand words, anyway. The gunman was young, not much older than Rachel and Jeannie. He was mulatto, perhaps a decendent of the black Cape Verde natives who mixed with their Portugese overlords before settling in the same part of America as the all-white "peninsulares." His hair was done up in thin braids, not quite dreadlocks, more like Bo Derek in the film "10," only shorter. He was naked save for a pair of madras Bermuda shorts and a belt with an oversized buckle worthy of a country music star.
The anguished screams, laugher and pitiful cries for mercy no longer escaped from the shack. Only a few minutes later Janet's interrogator emerged from the little gray building.
"You said there'd be no one here, goddamnit!" screamed half-breed.
"Hey, it's just a couple of stupid broads who don't know enough to mind their own bus..."
"YOU SAID WE'D BE HERE BY OURSELVES!!!" the mulatto screamed at even greater volume.
"Will you get a grip. This is no big deal. We can make these little sluts sorry they ever butted in."
The other man -- shirtless, barefoot, dressed in khaki trousers, possessed of a head of short, curly blond hair -- glared at Rachel and Jeannie. He clearly had a plan. Neither woman had the courage to ask what that plan was. Both were afraid of the answer. The men obviously needed poor Janet. She had information he so badly wanted. Jeannie and Rachel were disposable.
"Get up, both of you," curly hair demanded. The girls rose, slowly. Half-breed drew closer, his gun still trained on the intruders.
"Put your hands behind your heads." The girls obeyed.
"Get in the house."
Jeannie and Rachel walked into the shack, hands clasped firmly behind their heads. The floor of the shack was comfortably cool on their sore feet, a nice change from the boards on the porch made scorching by the high-noon sun. The room was nearly dark and the friends squinted before adjusting their eyes. They stood in the middle of the room and waited for the next order from the two men. Janet sat motionless on the table, her head hanging to one side in a gesture of resignation to her horrible fate. She now had a gag in her mouth.
There were two cots set up in the room, with two blankets and pillows on the floor. It seemed the men had spent the night in the shack. Janet had been there, too. But a chain in the corner of the room bolted to an eye-hook in the floor told Rachel and Jeannie of the considerably less pleasant sleeping arrangement for Janet.
"You, raghead," curly hair said.
Rachel knew that meant her. She had put her long curly locks in a ponytail that morning and tied a scarf around her hair to protect it from the sun she figured was going to be murder on her hair, her beautiful hair, the one part of her body for which Rachel was justly proud. Jeannie had opted for a baseball cap to protect her short coif.
"Get on that bed and lie on your stomach," curly hair barked.
Rachel did what she was told, too afraid not to. She lay with her arms close to her sides.
"Put your hands together behind your back."
Rachel obeyed. She knew they were going to tie her up. She crossed her wrists, like she had seen in the movies when the bad guys were tying up their prey. Curly hair grabbed a fistful of ropes from a gym bag. He tossed them at Jeannie's feet.
"Hogtie you girlfriend," curly hair demanded of Jeannie.
"No." Jeannie had barely gotten the word out when half-breed slapped her face so hard he knocked her to one knee.
"You'll do as you're told," said curly hair, his voice now cold and evil.
"It's OK, Jean," said Rachel in a soft, reassuring voice, not wanting to see her best friend get hit again.
Jeannie sat on the cot, next to her friend's prone body, and began tying Rachel's wrists together. The two men watched, making sure the knots were sufficiently tight. Rachel lay motionless. Jeannie took another rope and and began tying Rachel's feet together. Four times she wrapped the rope around her friend's ankles.
Make a cinch knot," curly hair ordered. "You know how to make a cinch knot?"
Jeannie said nothing, but shot a somewhat sardonic look at curly hair. She then finished off Rachel's ankles with a perfect cinch knot. The daughter of a fisherman knew all about knots.
Curly hair and half-breed ordered Jeannie to tie Rachel's knees. She did, with no cinch knot this time. She began finishing the hogtying with the rope that would connect Rachel's wrists with her ankles.
"Pull it tight...tighter...c'mon tight as you can."
Half-breed pushed down Rachel's lower legs so Jeannie could make the final rope as taut as possible. Rachel's fingertips were almost touching the bare heels of her immobilized feet.
"Your turn," curly hair said. "On the other bed."
Jeannie lay down on the other cot and immediately crossed her wrists behind her back, ready for the inevitable bondage that was certainly meant for her. A small bit of blood was drying on the fat lip she got courtesy of half-breed.
Curly hair undid Jeannie's wrists. Rather than have them cross, as the way Rachel had been tied, curly hair made Jeannie put her palms together. He then tied her wrists tightly, finished with a cinch knot.
Curly hair took another rope and tied her elbows, again tightly, until they almost touched. It hurt. It hurt bad. Jeannie let out an "ahhhhhh." She was ashamed of having given her captors the satisfaction of knowing they had inflicted pain.
Curly hair then grabbed her legs and crossed her ankles, so that the bottoms of her bare feet were facing opposite ends of the room. He wrapped yards of rope around Jeannie's ankles before applying the knot, with the leftover end of the rope he tied Jeannie's ankles to the rope that bound her elbows, pulling the rope as tight as he could to position her feet as close to her back as he could.
Both girls were gagged. The gags were handkerchiefs with big ball-knots in the middle. "No, please," whimpered Rachel as ball-knot was stuffed in her mouth. Jeannie said nothing as she received her gag. The kerchiefs were tied behind their heads. Instinctively, Rachel and Jeannie tried to speak.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmmmmmmuuuuuhhhhhhhhh, wwwwuhhhhh," was all that was audible. Curly hair and half-breed chuckled, then turned their eyes to Janet.
"Let's get her gag off," said half-breed.
"Leave it on," curly hair answered.
"What?"
Curly hair sat by Janet and began caressing the middle-aged woman's naked breasts.
"Janet, that gag will stay on you for 20 minutes. You won't be able to tell me what I want to know for that long, even if you wanted. And you know, 20 minutes of non-stop agony is soooooooo long."
He continued to stroke her breasts, and Janet seemed too weak to try to pull away.
"By the end of what I'm going to do to you you'll tell us everything. Why, you might even confess to being the real killer of O.J. Simpson's wife."
Curly hair took a jar from his bag and removed the lid. Using a tongue depressor, he lifted some sort of jelly-like substance from the jar and slathered it thickly on the bottoms of Janet's feet. He then got on the table, straddling her legs and and facing her feet. He twisted slightly to face his torture victim.
"This little procedure of mine, my dear, is just so delightfully unendurable."
