Sherbet Riley
Registered User
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2022
- Messages
- 13
- Points
- 3
Paul Silverman yawned as he checked his watch, confirming his suspicion that he’d been kept waiting for nearly fifteen minutes now. Taking another sip of his complimentary tea, Paul glanced around the well-appointed office, waiting for his contact, Ms. Peters, to arrive. Thus far he had been impressed with the level of professionalism on display. To his knowledge these sorts of arrangements were made in a hotel lobby or crowded diner booth, somewhere public and noisy where they wouldn’t be noticed or overheard. But here he was, on the 29th floor of a midtown skyscraper, sipping on a pleasantly warm English breakfast tea.
It wasn’t like him to show up in person to discuss delicate matters like this. Usually he delegated such tasks to a fleet of assistants and lower-level executives, but this was a special case. It amused him to think that as recently as last week he had never even heard of Ms. Peters or the services she provided, despite having walked past this very office building hundreds of times over the years. In fact, Equitol Solutions headquarters was less than a mile from where he was sitting. Small world.
But Paul was not the kind of man to be kept waiting, and as pleasant as this office was; he was starting to get agitated. Less than a decade ago he’d become a billionaire seemingly overnight after his company, Equitol Solutions, went public. Since then it seemed he never had to wait very long for anything. In fact, he often got his hands on the latest gadgets and experiences before anyone else could. But now he’d been waiting 15 minutes and began to believe he was wasting his time – which was valuable, after all, and in quantifiable terms. He ran the numbers in his head and did not like the figure he arrived at.
Fuck it, he thought, this was a stupid idea. I can find someone else.
Then, just as he stood up to leave, the door to the office swung open to reveal Ms. Peters.
“Mr. Silverman?”
She must have been in her late 40s; her still (mostly) brown hair pulled into a tight bun and held in place with chopsticks. She had a slender face, thin lips, and a freckled chest well framed by a tasteful gold necklace that shimmered in the afternoon light. After all Paul had been told about Ms. Peters, he was caught off guard by how ordinary she seemed. She was dressed in standard business attire, a clone of every other career woman he’d shaken hands with in any number of boardrooms: dark blazer, white blouse, dark skirt, high heels. It was genius really, when he thought about it. This was a woman who knew how to blend in and move through the world undetected. He’d have never known she oversaw some of the most accomplished blackmailers in the business.
Paul held out his hand for her to shake.
“And you must be Ms. Peters?”
They shook hands and Paul was surprised by the strength of her grip. She looked him in the eye and smiled pleasantly as she pulled her hand away.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I assure you it was not my intention. It’s a very busy time of year for us. I’m sure you understand.”
Paul didn’t understand but smiled and nodded anyway. “Of course. Though, I must admit my time is fairly limited now.”
“Then shall we get down to it, then?”
Ms. Peters took a seat behind her desk and let out a little sigh as her butt hit the chair. She leaned forward on her elbows and looked at Paul expectantly.
“You told me a little bit over the phone but I’d like a clearer picture. You said you were having some problems with the press?”
Paul squirmed in his seat, unaccustomed to this level of exposure. Usually it was someone else dealing with unsavory types like Ms. Peters. He rarely ever got his hands dirty. Besides, Ms. Peters was a consummate blackmailer, he needed to be on his guard and choose his words carefully.
Seeming to sense his reticence, Ms. Peters smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you aren’t being recorded. It’s actually why I insisted we meet in person. I need to be sure nobody can listen in on our conversation. Well that and…” She paused a moment, looking Paul up and down, “well, I guess I wanted to get a sense of you.”
Paul smiled. She was thorough, an encouraging sign, if a little unsettling. “And?”
Ms. Peters leaned back in her chair, “I don’t think you would’ve stepped foot inside this building unless you were in serious trouble. You can speak freely. I wouldn’t be able to afford this office if I was in the habit of burning clients. So…” she said, extending her arms theatrically toward Paul, “the floor is yours. Tell me how we can help you.”
Paul cleared his throat and took one last sip of his tea. Everything Ms. Peters had said made sense to him, but that didn’t put him completely at ease. She’d said all the right things, which in his experience meant an angle was being worked. Paul needed to be judicious with the specifics, but he figured that if he left without saying a word now it would be a costly waste of time. Sunk cost fallacy and all that. He decided to trust the seasoned professional across from him and began to offer details.
“There’s a reporter who’s been, well...”
“Doing their job?” Ms. Peters was smiling. It seemed she was perpetually amused
“More or less. You might know him. William Minnow.”
William Minnow had become something of a star the last few years. He’d gotten his start in blind items and gossip rags before miraculously becoming one of the most celebrated investigative journalists of his day. Just last year he’d penned a lengthy expose that brought down a major fracking operation in North Dakota. Most recently he’d finished an exhaustive 6-part investigative series that had wiped out an entire executive floor at a prominent TV network. His byline all but assured his target’s swift and ignominious downfall. Even if his reportage didn’t bury you outright, once caught in his crosshairs it was hard to shake the impression you’d done something wrong in the first place, a stink you couldn’t wash off. And now, according to a few trusted sources, he’d set his eyes on Equitol Solutions.
Ms. Peters’ eyebrows shot up at the mention of Minnow’s name, allowing a small burst of air to escape from between her lips. “Yes, I’m aware of him. I don’t blame you for being nervous.”
“So you understand.”
“I do. And what has he found that’s so damaging that you’ve decided to come to me?”
Paul sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He’d barely slept all week. How could he with Minnow’s investigation hanging over him?
“Well that’s just it. I’m not exactly sure. I’ve recently been informed however that he’s been sniffing around and asking questions, specifically reaching out to early investors in my company. I don’t think there’s anything for him to find but…”
“But you’re here.”
“Yes.”
Ms. Peters nodded thoughtfully, her well-manicured fingers absently playing with a fountain pen on her desk. After a moment of careful consideration, she looked up and met Paul’s gaze again. “So what would you like us to do?”
This was the tricky part. So far Paul hadn’t said anything incriminating, just facts and vague descriptions. He’d seen this documentary before. This was the part where the mafia boss was caught on tape ordering a hit or the politician pocketed an envelope on camera. The truth was he didn’t really know what he wanted. He didn’t even know what options were on the table. He’d been told by a friend – the same one who’d referred him to Ms. Peters’ agency – that Ms. Peters and her associates had a way of making trouble disappear. He hadn’t said anything more than that and Paul’s mind had been left to reel at the possibilities.
“I-I mean, I don’t want you to, know you…”
Ms. Peters looked at him with what appeared to be a genuine moment of concern before bursting into a melodic little chuckle. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. What is it you think we do, exactly? Sweetie, we’re not hit men.”
Paul’s cheeks burned at the condescending way she said “sweetie” but decided to ignore it. “Of course not. I didn’t…”
Ms. Peters leaned forward and spoke to Paul deliberately, as if she’d rehearsed. “What we do is use various incentivizing techniques to reduce the…friction in our clients lives. And depending on their needs we can use a variety of methods to get the job done. Nothing drastic but certainly persuasive.”
This piqued Paul’s curiosity. She’d made it sound like she was reading copy off a PowerPoint but there was something in her tone, patient and pleased, that made him stiffen in his chair.
“It just so happens that you’re in luck. Not two months ago I had a client in a similar bind that also wanted Mr. Minnow…handled. Unfortunately it seems the enterprising young journalist published his piece before we could act. The ink was barely dry on the contract before my poor client found he could no longer afford our services.”
“Oh my god…” It had just slipped out. Paul hadn’t even realized he’d said it until he saw Ms. Peters shrug in response. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to check his phone. For all he knew William Minnow had gone to print and his world might already be crumbling.
Seeming to sense his momentary panic, Ms. Peters brought him back down to Earth. “But luckily for you, we’re already sitting on some potent oppo research we’d already conducted for that client. I can assure you, Mr. Minnow will only require a soft touch. We could get him off your back within the next 48 hours if you so chose.”
Paul’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s a pretty fast turn around. Not to be crude but might I ask how much this will cost me?”
“Twenty million dollars.” She’d said it without even blinking. She might as well have been ordering a Coke.
Paul scoffed. That figure was absurd. But he figured this was all part of the negotiation, a number he’d whittle down before he left the office. This wasn’t his first rodeo. For now, he’d play ball. “And what does that 20 million buy me?”
Ms. Peters seemed confused for the first time since their meeting began. “I thought I told you? That money buys you peace of mind. For that sum we’ll make sure that whatever investigation Mr. Minnow may be conducting is never completed. That’s simply what our services cost.”
“Yes, but you’ve already done all the oppo research before I even stepped through the door and I doubt you provide itemized receipts. I need to know what that money is actually being used for. Are you planning to blackmail him? Intimidate him? I just want a clearer picture of what it is I’m buying before I hand over such a large sum. Surely you understand.”
“A clearer picture…” Ms. Peters muttered. “Of course.” Leaning over, Ms. Peters opened a locked drawer on the far side of her desk to retrieve an iPad. Her fingernail clicked against the screen as Paul patiently waited for her to pull up whatever it was she was looking for. Seeming to find it, Ms. Peters smiled and reached across the desk to hand Paul the tablet.
On the screen was a video, a close-up on the face of a young Latina woman in clear distress. She looked to be in her late 20s, baby-faced with freckles, her head strapped against a black, leather headrest.
The first thing Paul noticed were her eyes. They were big and brown and wide with panic, darting this way and that, seemingly unable to focus on any one thing in particular. Strands of dark hair were plastered against her face, which was slick with sweat and tears. What really caught Paul’s attention though, was the manic looking grin on her face. Though she was obviously in distress, the woman appeared to be smiling.
Upon closer inspection, Paul realized that she was, in fact, laughing hysterically. If not for the fear and tears in her eyes, you’d think she was having fun. Glancing at the time code near the bottom of the screen, Paul could see that whatever ordeal this woman was going through, she’d been enduring it for more than four hours now.
Paul looked back up at Ms. Peters, confused. “I don’t understand. What am I looking at?”
“Unmute the video,” Ms. Peters said calmly.
Paul tapped the microphone icon on the screen with his finger. Suddenly, the sound of desperate, hysterical laughter crackled through the tablet’s tiny speaker.
“-lready tohohohohohohohold yohohohohoouuuuu! Pleheheheheheease I dohohohohohon’t knohohohohow whahahahahhahahat mohohohohorre yohohohou neehehehehee – “
Suddenly the woman’s eyes bugged out, growing even wider than they’d been before. She began to lamely shake her head about and scream. Paul got the impression that had the young woman not been strapped down, she might have jumped right out of her skin. Her voice reached a new desperate pitch, as her unseen tormenter began to work her over again off camera.
“NO! NO! STOP! GET IT OUT! GET IT OHOHOHOHOHOHOUUUUTTTT! IHIHIHIHIHIHLLLLLL BEEEHEHEHEHEHEEE GOOOOHOHOHOHOOHOOOOOOD! I PROHOHOHOHOMISEEEE! PLEEEHEHEHEHEHEHASSEEE! MAHAHAHAHAHKE HER GOHOHOHOHO AWAHAHAHAY!”
There was something about the way the woman was pleading with her torturer that sent a chill down Paul’s spine. All he could see was her face, nothing more. He could only imagine what her tormentor was doing just off camera. When he thought of torture he imagined electrodes hooked up to nipples, fingernails being removed with pliers, waterboarding, etc. But seeing this type of wild desperation combined with such unhinged laughter unsettled him greatly.
Then, through the sound of the young woman’s frenzied laughter, Paul could just make out the voice of another woman in the room, soft, melodic, and patient. Maternal. The unseen woman let out a delighted little squeak when she heard her captive refer to ‘her’.
“’Her?’ Oh what wonderful progress! See? I told you. Mrs. Cotton is just as real as you or I! You’re doing so well, baby girl. But Mrs. Cotton isn’t done exploring the cave yet! She needs to be very thorough. She and I have that in common, you know. Besides, Nana wants you to be happy, and you’re always such a happy girl whenever Ms. Cotton comes to visit! You don’t want to be rude to Misses Cotton, do you? Do you? Tell Mrs. Cotton you’re sorry. Come on, be a good girl for Nana. Tell Mrs. Cotton. Tell her...”
“Fuhuhuhuh…fuck y-“
“Uh oh! Earthquake near the cave! PBRBRBRBRBRBRTTT!”
A loud, raspberry-like noise could be heard off camera. The young woman’s laughter reached a new maniacal pitch, screaming and pleading for her unseen tormentor to give her a moment’s respite.
“NOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH OHOHOHO GOD! NAHAHAHAHAHANNNANAAAAAA STAHAHAHAHAHP! I’M SOHOHOHORRRREEEEEEEY! NAHAHANNA PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”
“Oh, don’t apologize to me, silly! You never have to apologize to Nana, you know that. It’s Mrs. Cotton you need to say sorry to. Oh no! Do you hear that? Aftershocks! PBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRTTTTTTT!”
An even louder, prolonged raspberry sound could be heard now. Fresh tears leaked from the corners of the young woman’s eyes as she squeezed them shut, shrieking with renewed force as she broke down under the careful supervision of her keeper.
“Ihihihihi’mmmm sohohohoreeeeeeey mihihisss cohohohottton! Ihihihilllll behehehee a gohohohod gihihihirl! Ihihihihillll tehehehehelllll! Ihihihihilllll teeeehehehehlllll! AH! FUCK! PLEHEHEHEHEHEEASE! I PROHOHOHOMISE! I’LL TEHEHEHEHEHLLLLLLL!”
“Good girl,” her tormentor cooed.
The torture must have abated because all of a sudden the young woman’s laughter began to subside. She lay there panting, a few stray chuckles escaping from her throat as she gasped for air. She looked absolutely exhausted, a serene little smile creeping along her face after finally being granted a moment’s peace.
From off-screen, a woman’s hand entered the frame and began to stoke the young woman’s face, wiping away her tears and brushing strands of damp hair aside. The gesture seemed almost…tender? Plump and soft with bright pink fingernails, the young woman appeared to recoil from the hand’s caress, but it seemed there was little she could do to avoid this unwanted affection. Her tormentor spoke again, softly, as if she were soothing a fussy child.
“Then tell me. Tell Nana and I promise Mrs. cotton goes away.”
“Zero…two…seven…”
“I can take that back from you now.”
Ms. Peters was reaching across the desk, her open hand waiting to take the iPad back from Paul. He obliged without a second thought. Paul felt like he was on autopilot, clearly rattled by what he’d seen.
“Jesus Christ, that was…intense. You’re not going to…you’re not going to do that to Will Minnow, are you?”
Ms. Peters shrugged. “That’s more or less the idea.”
Paul was having second thoughts. His eyes were wide open now. “I don’t know about this. Look, I want this investigation to go away, obviously, but I don’t want you to hurt him. I don’t want…THAT!”
Ms. Peters seemed perplexed by his reaction. “Hurt him? What are you talking about? I told you, Mr. Minnow only needs a soft touch.”
Paul was incredulous. “You call that a soft touch? You were torturing that poor woman!”
Ms. Peters smiled. “Yes, I do. You won’t find a softer one in the business. And really now, ‘torture?’ No court on Earth would call that torture, I can promise you that.”
“You’re out of your mind. Did we see the same video? Whatever happened to that woman?”
Ms. Peters stood up from her desk, briefly checking the watch on her wrist. “Would you like to see?”
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Paul could feel his stomach doing somersaults as he followed Ms. Peters down a long, nondescript corridor. Unmarked doors dotted the walls on either side, Paul was amazed at how anybody could figure out how to navigate this maze of identical offices and corridors. Periodically, Ms. Peters would look over her shoulder at Paul, as if to make sure he hadn’t gotten lost.
“Is it much father?” Paul asked, “I have to get back to the office before too long.”
“I assure you, you won’t be missing a thing.” She stopped in front of a large oak door near the end of the hall, identical to all the rest they’d passed thus far. Ms. Peters turned the knob and pushed the door open. “After you.”
Paul stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the unmistakable smell of baby powder, which struck him as odd if inoffensive. The room looked not all that dissimilar from a doctor’s office: linoleum floors, harsh overhead fluorescent lights, beige walls with generic art, and of course, what looked like a dentist’s chair in the center of the room. Immediately, Paul recognized the black leather headrest. There were straps for the ankles as well as two meant for the wrists – one meant to secure them above the victim’s head and another to lock them in near their sides.
Standing beside the chair was a large woman, easily over six feet tall, wiping the chair down with a disinfecting wipe. The pink nails were a dead giveaway, this was who had been torturing the young woman on camera! She had dark hair and bangs, short, barely reaching her shoulders. She was on the heavier side too, a few pounds short of needing an extra airplane seat from what Paul could tell at this distance.
Ms. Peters cleared her throat. “Bethany? I’d like you to meet Paul.”
Paul felt his throat tighten as Bethany turned around. She had a beautiful, kind looking face, with big blue eyes and a little button nose. Paul guessed she must have been in her early to mid 50s. She was wearing a denim dress with snap-buttons, the top three of which had been left undone so as to accommodate her prodigious breasts, which still seemed to struggle against the fabric even now. Bethany smiled warmly at Paul and he felt his ears get hot in response. She looked like a pre-school teacher or a mascot for a butter company. This was the person who had brought that poor young woman to the brink of sanity? If it hadn’t been for her telltale nails and the chair, Paul might have thought Ms. Peters had led them to the wrong room.
“Oh is this him?” Bethany asked, all smiles. She put her hands on her hips and gave Paul a once over, sizing him up. “Oh he looks scrumptious! We’re going to have so much fun together, aren’t we cutie? Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be right with you.”
Ms. Peters cleared her throat. “No, Beth. Paul is the client.”
Bethany’s hands flew to her mouth and her cheeks burned red, clearly embarrassed by the mix up. She’d reacted more like a cartoon character than a hardened interrogator and blackmailer. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Please excuse me. I guess I thought…”
God she was adorable. Paul felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease. “Oh, that’s quite alright. Nothing to worry about, really.”
“Bethany here was head of psychological operations at New Pinnacle when she first appeared on our radar.” Ms. Peters said, proudly.
“New Pinnacle? You mean the mercenary group?” Paul asked.
“Your words, not mine.” Bethany shrugged.
Ms. Peters turned to Bethany expectantly. “Paul here wanted to check up on your most recent patient, make sure she’s none the worse for wear.”
“Wait, she’s here?” Paul asked.
Bethany nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I just let her out. She’s having a little nap next door.”
Holy shit. Paul suddenly realized that it wasn’t a recording he’d been watching, but a live video feed!
“Would you like to see her?” Bethany asked, with real concern in her voice. When Paul nodded in response, Bethany crossed the room and flipped a light switch. The overhead lights dimmed, and suddenly Paul noticed that one of the framed artworks on the wall was suddenly translucent. Without a word, Paul walked across the room and stood before the trick picture frame.
Through a faint haze of paint and oil, Paul could see the young woman lying on a full bed on the other side of the wall. She was sound asleep and lightly snoring, her sweaty hair matted against the soft-looking pillow. She was dressed in comfortable sweats, her damp tank top riding up ever so slightly to show her pink and exposed belly. Paul was shocked. The young woman seemed totally at peace, utterly relaxed. Had he not seen the feed himself, Paul would never have guessed that just minutes ago this very same woman had been screaming at the top of her lungs for Bethany to stop…whatever it was she’d been doing.
“Wait, I don’t get it, what happened? Did you drug her?”
Bethany looked as if she were offended by the question, so much so that Paul momentarily felt guilty for asking.
“Oh! Not at all. She’s just all tuckered out from our time together. She’s a fighter that one, it took a lot out of her.”
Ms. Peters stepped beside Paul and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Once she wakes we’ll offer her some fresh clothes and a ride home. The info she gave us checked out so she’s free to leave whenever she’d like.”
“But I still don’t understand,” Paul said, “What took a lot out of her? What did you do?”
Ms. Peters turned and nodded at Bethany, who smiled bashfully as she met Paul’s gaze. “Oh, nothing special. I just tickled her.”
Paul couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry, did you say you tickled her? Like…?” He wiggled his fingers in the air for emphasis.
“That’s correct,” Bethany nodded, not at all troubled by Paul’s dismissive attitude.
“So, Mrs. Cotton…?”
Bethany smiled and wordlessly reached into a little pouch in the front of her dress to retrieve an ordinary household Q-tip. Paul’s mouth fell open. That is what had reduced Bethany’s victim to a quivering mess? He didn’t even need to say it; Bethany seemed to sense his incredulity.
“To be frank, most of what I do largely takes place in the imagination. Yes, this is only a Q-tip, indistinguishable from any other number of ordinary Q-tips you’ve encountered in your life. But when you give it a name, a personality and intention, then it can be absolutely devastating, especially when dipped in baby oil and swirled around your belly button.” She nodded at the young woman napping in the next room, still visible through the frame of the trick painting. “When Maritza here referred to this inanimate object as ‘her’, I knew she was close to breaking. Once she’d bought in to the world I’d created in this little room, I only needed to push her a bit further and, well, then it was over.”
“See?” Ms. Peters said, amused as ever, “Soft touch.”
Paul chuckled and shook his head, briefly wondering if he was on the receiving end of an elaborate practical joke. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. Really, I don’t.”
Bethany shrugged innocently, “Lot of that going on in this room today.” There was an edge to the way she’d said it that stopped Paul’s chuckles cold.
“I’m just not sure if I’m comfortable giving you 20 million dollars to tickle William Minnow. Are you kidding me?”
Ms. Peters sighed, clearly a little frustrated. “Well which is it, Mr. Silverman? You’re not comfortable with violence and now it seems you’re not comfortable with Bethany’s methods either. You came to us because we are very good at what we do and we’ve shown you firsthand how effective we can be. Do you want us to halt Mr. Minnow’s investigation or not?”
Paul considered it a moment. She had a point. Ms. Peters and her associates were his only option at this juncture. Either he trusted them to do their job or he needed to batten down the hatches and pray that Will Minnow’s investigation didn’t turn up anything too damaging. But Paul knew what skeletons were in his closet, and given the choice between having them brought to light and trusting a cabal of blackmailers and spies to handle things, the choice was clear.
“Ten million,” Paul said, standing up a little straighter. “You’ve already done your oppo research on Mr. Minnow so I know you don’t need funds for additional background. And you have to admit, ten million dollars for a tickle fight is pretty generous as it is.”
Now Bethany seems frustrated. She didn’t like it when her methods were dismissed out of hand like this. She’d honed her techniques and personas through years of intensive trial and error. Above all else, she was a professional. She opened her mouth to speak but Ms. Peters cut her off.
“Paul, come on now. You can’t expect to pay half –“
“Mr. Silverman.” Paul corrected her. “It’s Mr. Silverman.”
Ms. Peters pursed her lips, clearly doing her best to remain professional in the face of Paul’s rudeness. “My apologies. But our rate is our rate, Mr. Peterson. Twenty million dollars. That is our price. Anything below that is, frankly, insulting.”
“Ten million. Take it or leave it.” Paul smirked.
Ms. Peters sighed and checked her watch again. “What time are you due back at the office, Mr. Silverman?”
“1 pm,” Paul replied. “Why?”
Ms. Peters looked to Bethany and gave her a little nod. Bethany grinned, understanding immediately.
It all happened very quickly. Bethany placed her palm against Paul’s chest and gave him a little shove, causing him to fall back onto the chair with a THUD. Ms. Peters was ready, quickly fastening Paul’s left wrist into the restraints above his head, once again surprising him with the strength of her grip as she held him in place and tightened the strap.
“Hey! Get off! What the fuck are you doing?” He reached for the restraint with his free hand, hoping to undo it as quickly as it had been fastened. But Bethany rounded the chair with surprising swiftness and grabbed his other wrist, effortlessly pulling it above his head and locking it in place. Now both of Paul’s arms were restrained above his head. He began to panic as Bethany and Ms. Peters made short work of locking his ankles in as well. In just under 20 seconds, Paul had been well and truly locked into Bethany’s special chair.
Both women took a step back to briefly admire their handiwork. They hadn’t lost a step, even after all these years. They watched Paul for a moment, amused by his futile attempt to escape his bonds. He yanked and pulled against his restraints but couldn’t move an inch. He was well and truly stuck.
“Okay, very funny. You’ve made your point. Let me out of here this instant!”
“So you agree, 20 million?” Ms. Peters asked, cocking her head to the side.
Paul glared at the women before him. “Not on your life…”
Ms. Peters shrugged and turned to Bethany. “You heard him. He’s due back at 1pm. Don’t take too long.”
Bethany grinned as she looked over the bound man in front of her. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling this’ll be quick.”
Ms. Peters gave Paul one last look as she took a step toward the door. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Silverman. I look forward to working with you.”
“You gotta be out of your mind if you think I’m giving you a cent after this shit!” Paul spat.
Ms. Peters shrugged. “We’ll see.” And with that Ms. Peters stepped out of the room, leaving Paul alone in the room with Bethany.
“Alright, show’s over. Let me out now and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Oh no, young man,” Bethany breathed, “the show’s just beginning.” She stepped closer and pulled a leather strap across Paul’s forehead, continuing to talk to him as she locked his head in place against the headrest. “So, tell me sweetie, where’s your most tickly spot?”
Paul just bit his tongue. He’d be damned if he gave his chipper tormentor even an inch of ground. From what he could tell, his captors were planning to let him go. They were savvy enough to know people would be on alert if he didn’t return to the office. All he had to do was tough it out and outlast Bethany’s matronly offensive until they had no choice to let him go. He figured he had less than 30 minutes before he was due back at the office. Half an hour of tickling? That didn’t sound so bad. Maritza had been under Bethany’s fingers for more than 4 hours before she broke, surely he could handle 30 minutes.
“That’s okay,” Bethany chirped, unbothered by his stonewalling. “You don’t have to tell me.” She leaned forward now, watching Paul’s face closely as she spoke softly to her captive. “Neck. Belly. Ribs. Knees. Feet. Armpits.”
What was she doing? Paul wondered. It seemed she was just naming obvious spots. Paul didn’t even look at her, choosing to stare straight ahead and focus his attention on the framed art on the opposite wall – an oil painting of a pig standing in an open field.
Bethany ran through he list of spots again. “Neck. Belly. Ribs. Knees. Feet. Armpits…Neck. Belly. Ribs. Knees. Feet. Armpits.” She paused, studying his face carefully. “Armpits, huh?”
Paul’s blood turned to ice water as his body filled with dread. How did she know that? He hadn’t moved a muscle, given nothing away. So how did she know his armpits were his worst spot?
Bethany clocked his reaction and patted his head affectionately, as if she’d read his mind. “Oh don’t feel bad honey. Everyone gives themselves away. You’d be astonished how often our bodies betray us.”
Bethany stepped behind the chair now, positioning her mouth right by Paul’s ear as she reached around the back of the chair and began to unbutton his shirt from behind. “When I went through training at New Pinnacle I was taught how to read micro expressions. A flare of the nostrils, the dilation of an iris, quickening of pulse, an imperceptible intake of breath. It’s a bit of a curse, really. I can almost always tell when someone’s lying to me. Each time I said ‘armpits’ you gave yourself away. You didn’t notice it. But I did.”
Paul tried to pull against his restraints once more, hoping that he might manage to slip out of his bonds, or at least find room to maneuver. But to his mounting horror, Paul found that he was indeed held tight. The only way he was getting out of this room now was when – no if – Bethany let him out.
“Bethany, listen, we can talk about –“
“Nana.” Bethany corrected him. Her tone was warm but firm, like a school marm instructing an unruly student “As long as you’re in my chair you’ll refer to me as ‘Nana.’ Understand?”
Paul grit his teeth. “I’m not fucking calling you that.”
“Yes you will.” Bethany said matter-of-factly. “Everyone does eventually. Boys like you are usually quite stubborn. I’m used to that. But that’s okay. Nana’s patient.”
Paul’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as Bethany undid the last buttons of his shirt. He could now feel the cool air of the room against his bare torso, causing his nipples to pucker. His breathing began to quicken as it hit him that he really was at this cheery interrogator’s mercy. For the first time in many years, Paul felt well and truly helpless.
“Nana could see how curious you were about her special little room. Even though you had such a clear picture from what Ms. Peters had already shown you, you just couldn’t help yourself, huh? You asked to be brought here, didn’t you? You wanted to see. You wanted to meet Nana. You wanted to meet the woman who had reduced poor Maritza to such a helpless, giggly state, didn’t you? Well you’re in luck, because Nana wanted to meet you too.”
Even with all that build up, even though he had been told exactly what was going to happen to him, Paul inadvertently let out a small yelp of surprise as he felt Bethany’s fingers touch his armpits. Even though she’d unbuttoned his shirt and could have gone in for the kill, Bethany had elected to instead rub the soft fabric of his unbuttoned shirt against his armpits. She was only using her index and middle fingers. She was barely touching him. That was the point.
“Upp! What was that noise, honey bunny? Did Nana find a sensitive spot?”
Paul couldn’t believe he’d given himself away this quickly! He was mad at himself for getting caught off guard like that. He needed to focus, find a way to keep the ticklish sensation under his arms at bay. But that was proving difficult between Bethany’s babying teases in his ear and the soft circles she was rubbing into his armpits through his shirt. Paul clenched his teeth and did his best to keep his breathing under control.
“You’re a very special boy, you know that?” Bethany sing-songed as she pressed her fingers a little harder against his armpits. She could feel his muscles tensing, trying to deny her any indication that her devious tease was working. But Bethany knew better, she’d been doing this long enough to know all the signs. She was getting to him. “You’re part of a very exclusive club. Not many boys and girls get invited into Nana’s giggle room. You know, there are some people out there that would pay good money to be locked in here with little old me. Did you know that? It’s twue! Some people out there genuinely enjoy their tickle time with Nana. If only they could see you now. They’d be so jealous!”
Keep her out. Keep her out. Keep her out. Paul kept repeating that mantra to himself, determined to keep Bethany out of his head, to distract himself from the awful teasing at his armpits. A few minutes must have passed by now, they must have. Maybe 3 minutes so far? That’s 10% of the time limit. He could make it. He just needed to hold out a little while longer.
Suddenly, he heard a small gasp from behind. “What am I talking about,” Bethany muttered, feigning disbelief without once slowing down the torturous circles under his arms. “They CAN see you now, can’t they?”
A fresh spike of panic rocketed through Paul’s chest. Fuck, the camera! He’d almost completely forgotten about the camera. He glanced upward and noticed one installed in the ceiling just a few feet away from his headrest. His stomach sunk when he noticed the blinking red light. Was there someone watching his feed right now, just as he’d been watching Maritza’s just a short time ago?
“Why don’t you give them a smile, huh? Just an itty-bitty smile? You know, it’s free! Come on, give Nana a smile…”
Paul was starting to freak out. How had he been so careless as to allow a notorious blackmailer and corporate spy to get him in this position, and on camera no less! He was finished. Forget William Minnow’s investigation. If a video of the founder of Equitol Solutions being tickled and treated like a child made its way out into the world…Paul couldn’t even go there right now. It was just too much.
“P-plehease…” Paul whimpered, his bottom lip trembling as he spoke. “W-what dohoho you want? J-juhust tell me. Please…” A few giggles managed to escape as he spoke. He sounded pitiful and felt a fresh layer of shame being draped over his shoulders.
“Why I thought you knew, silly boy,” Bethany said. “Just agree to pay our full fee. That’s all. Just agree to pay the full 20 million and Nana will let you out of the giggle room. Can you do that for me, huh? Can you do that for Nana? Come on, use your big boy words.”
Paul shook his head furiously, knowing that if he opened his mouth to speak again there would be no keeping the laughter at bay. He heard Bethany click her tongue in disappointment behind him.
“Aw, is Paulie a shy little boy? That’s okay. I can do the talking for both of us.” Bethany slowed down the circles under his arms without ever once letting up on the pressure. “Let’s do a little thought exercise. Can you remember the last time you were tickled like this, hm? Not for some time, I bet. After all, you’ve been the boss for so long. It must be exhausting making all those big decisions all day. I bet you miss being young, with no responsibilities. I bet you were tickled a lot back them, weren’t you? I wonder who it could have been. Maybe…your mommy?”
Paul tried his best to keep calm, to clear his head, to control his breathing. But for whatever reason, the circles were even more devastating now that that Bethany had slowed down. It was as if she were slowing down time itself in an attempt to keep him there even longer. Keep her out…Keep her out…
Bethany shook her head, “No. Not Mommy, I don’t think. You were so rude to Nana and Ms. Peters earlier. No Momma’s boy would ever think to talk back like that. Maybe a babysitter? Hmmm, I don’t know...”
Keep her out…Keep her out…Keep her o-
“Oh! I know!” Bethany gasped, “Was is your big sister?”
Without meaning to, Paul reflexively tried to pull his arms down but found his wrists once again tugging against his firm restraints. Shit. He hadn’t meant to do that…
“Oh goody!” Bethany exclaimed, “Nana is never wrong about these things, you know. Aw, did your big sister used to pin you down and gitchy her poor baby brother? Oh yes she did. I bet she was ruthless, wasn’t she? I wonder how she’d do it. Did she tickle you like…this!”
Without warning, Bethany’s hands quickly slipped under Paul’s shirt and began scratching at his bare armpits with her fingernails. The response was violent and immediate. Paul squeezed his eyes shut as he exploded with a hearty belly laugh, the force of which surprised even him.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHOHOHOHHHH SHIT! AAAAHHH! NO! NOHHOHOHOHO! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHITTT! GEHEHEHEHET OHOHOHOHOHUT OHOHOHOF THEHEHERE! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHORE!”
In an instant everything melted away. There was no chair, no Bethany, no room, no pending investigation. Suddenly Paul was a little boy again, pinned to the ground by his older sister on the 2nd floor landing of their childhood home.
Paul’s sister, Isabelle, was six years older than him. While he’d catch the odd punch, slap or Indian burn from her – they were siblings, after all – tickle torture was Isabelle’s preferred form of retribution when provoked. She’d learned early on that it wasn’t worth it to actually retaliate against her brother with violence. Inevitably he’d cry, causing their parents to intervene and punish her accordingly. But soon Isabelle realized that if she tickled Paul instead she could still torment her brother and get away with it. To the untrained ear of their parents downstairs it just sounded like they were playing, that Paul was having a blast with his big sister. The reality, though, was far worse than any punch or kick she could send his way.
“What’sa matter bubba? I thought you wanted to plaaaayyyyy!” Isabelle had taunted, sitting on his arms to keep them in place while she poked his armpits with her fingertips.
“Nahaahhahahahahaa! Nohohohohohohoooooo! Ihihihihizzzzzeeeeeeheheheheee stahahahahahahap ihihihit! Ihihihhi hahahahaffta peeheheheeeeee!”
He’d pound his feet against the floor and shake his head wildly, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Isabelle would only release him once she was satisfied. Paul would scream and cry and carry on until he made himself hoarse. He’d promise her all sorts of things: to clean her room, to do her chores, to let her give him a makeover, anything. Anything to make her stop.
He couldn’t have articulated this in the room with Ms. Peters earlier, but this is what had unnerved him so about the video of Maritza. It reminded him of how completely he’d fall apart under his sister’s practiced fingers, the desperation he felt, the helplessness. He was all too familiar with the sounds of desperate laughter.
And now here he was, bouncing up and down in Bethany’s giggle room, once again learning that there was little he could do to make the tickles stop.
“Don’t worry, Nana will keep you safe from your big sissy. We can hide here together and play tickle for as looooong as you want. She’ll never find us here.” Bethany said sweetly, her fingernails twirling and caressing the wispy hair of his underarms to devastating effect. His laughter spiked again as her fingers wandered upward, teasing a fleshy little spot at the top of his arm just above the armpit. “Oh, my widdle Paulie’s in such a state! Did the mean old tickle monster find a new happy spot? Did she? Did she? It’s okay, you can tell Nana. Your secret is safe with me.”
“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHORE! STOP! STOP! I CAHAHAHAHAN’T! I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T! IHIHIHIHI’LL DOHOHOHOHO AAHAHAHANYTHIHIHIHING!”
Bethany’s ears perked up, “Anything?”
“YEEEHEEHHEHEHEESSSSSS! I PROHOHOHOHOMISE! I SWEHEHEHEAR IHIHIT! JUHUHUHUHUHST STAHAHAHAP! PLEEEEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”
Tears were forming in Paul’s eyes now. His neck was flush from laughter, his cheeks beet red and shiny. He had no idea how much time had passed now. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Time wasn’t real in the giggle room.
“Ask Nana nice,” Bethany said, “And I’ll see what I can do.”
She pulled her fingers away from his armpits a moment, allowing Paul to suck some much needed air into his lungs. Bethany stepped in front of him now, huffing like a disappointed parent.
“That’s it. Good boy. Nice deep breaths…”
Paul tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, his body sore from struggling against his restraints, his voice strained from laughter. His brain was scrambled. Paul wasn’t sure if he remembered what it felt like to not have Bethany’s awful fingers softly scratching against his hollows.
“Look at me. Look at Nana.” Bethany said sternly.
Paul’s head felt so impossibly heavy against the headrest. Of course, Maritza hadn’t been drugged. She’d been exhausted. Now he understood. He could fall asleep right now. Nevertheless, Paul found the strength to look up at his maternal tormenter, his vision blurry through his tears.
“What do we say…?”
“Please…” Paul rasped.
Bethany crossed her arms and gave Paul a knowing look. “Please…what?”
Paul’s heart sank. He knew he had no choice. “Please…Nana…” he whimpered.
Bethany cupped a hand to her ear and leaned in close, pretending she couldn’t hear him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Had Paul’s head not been firmly strapped to the headrest he’d have let it hang low in defeat. But he had no choice to look at her directly and say it again. “Please Nana. Please let me go. I’ll - ” His voice caught in his throat, he couldn’t believe he was saying it. “I’ll be…good.”
Bethany smiled and patted Paul’s knee affectionately. “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well, baby.”
“So…so you’ll let me go?” Paul croaked, hope creeping into his voice.
“Well, I don’t know…” Bethany sighed. “Will you pay us the 20 million to make the big bad journawist go away? Huh?”
Paul was once again aware of the camera and blinking red light just overhead. He nodded as much as the strap across his forehead would allow. “You delete that video…you got yourself a deal.”
Bethany looked disappointed and shook her head. “Oh honey, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. That video is our insurance policy. You know so much about us now. Too much. What’s to stop you from just leaving and never paying us?”
Paul couldn’t believe this. She was still playing games! But he was so close now, so close to getting out. “I wouldn’t do that! I promise! I’d never! I’d -”
“Shhhhh….shhhhhh…I know baby boy,” Bethany whispered, caressing his face with her soft, warm palm. “Nana knows. But we need to keep that video. I’m sorry. It’s just up to you how long it is, and how it ends.”
“H-how it ends?”
“Of course. It could end right now if you wanted. We could go into the other room and sign a contract right now. It’s already written up, just waiting for your signature. Then we’d send you home, or to the office, wherever you wanna go.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Or…it could end with you having your little pitties tickled by Nana until you wet yourself. Then the video would be even more damaging, don’t you think? If you were worried about it falling into the wrong hands now…”
Paul suddenly felt his body go hot with rage. Not only was be being forced into paying these harpies 20 million dollars, but they planned on blackmailing him too? Who the fuck did these people think they were?
“Oh fuck you! Let me out! Let me out right now!” Paul was bellowing at her now, summoning strength he’d thought had been tickled out of him some time ago.
Bethany sighed. “I was worried you’d say that.” She knelt down beside Paul now, getting real close. He could feel her breath against his skin as she talked. “Tell me, baby, did you and your big sister ever play Operation?”
Paul was confused, “Operation?”
Bethany nodded. “Mhm. Like this – “ Suddenly Bethany’s hand shot out and poked Paul in the side, causing him to jump.
“AH! SHIT!”
“BZZZZT! Touched the sides!” Bethany sang. Suddenly, without warning, Bethany started poking at and grabbing Paul’s ribs and sides, immediately reducing the exhausted businessman to a ticklish plaything again.
“NOOHOHOHHOHOHOHOHOOOOO! GEHEHEHEHHET OHOHOHOHFFFF OHOHOHOHF MEEEHEEHEEHEHEHE!”
“Not until you agreeeeee to do whatever Nana says.” Bethany was tweaking his ribs now, playing them like an accordion as her ticklish charge shook and trembled in her grasp, straining this way and that to avoid her devilish touch, but it was no use. Paul belonged to his Nana, and he knew it.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHA NOOOOOOO! STOP! STOP! IHIHIHIHIHLL DO IT! ILLLLL SIHIHIHIHIHGNNN! JUHUHUHUHST STAHAHAHAHP!”
“Hmmmm….Nana doesn’t belieeeeeeve you.” Bethany responded as she pinched up and down his sides. Occasionally, to keep him on edge, Bethany would grab at his hips, which would cause Paul to laugh at a higher, girlish pitch. He was bouncing so much now that his butt was rising an inch or two off the chair. Bethany was impressed. But as spirited as Paul was, the game was over. She knew that. Now it was just a matter of making sure Paul knew it too.
“WHAHAHAHAT? IHIHIHIHILLLLL DOOOOO IHIHIHIHIT! AAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHRE! NOT THAHAHAHAT! PLEHEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHIHI’M BEHEHEHEGGING YOUOUOUOUOU!”
“I wonder what would happen,” Bethany mused, “If your sister could see you now. I bet she’d have all sorts of tricks she could teach me, huh? Imagine all the fun we could have together! I’d hold you down and she could show me allllll the tickle spots on the happy boy. Would you like that, huh? Being tickled by Nana and your big sissy? Huh? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Bethany had willed the image into Paul’s head. Now it was all he could think about. It was no longer Bethany’s fingers probing at his ribs and sides, but his big sister’s. He couldn’t imagine a world where he spent one more minute under the fingers of his playful tormentor. And the thought of having both Bethany and Isabelle working him over was too much to take. That image, that possibility, is what broke him.
“AAAAHHHHHH! NAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHANNNNA! NAAAHAHAHAHNA! IIIIHIHIHIHILLLLLL BEHEHEHEHE A GOOOOHOHOHOHOOD BOHOHOHOY! IHIHIHIHII’LLLL SIHIHIHIHIGN! JUHUHUHUST STAHAHAHAHP!”
Bethany grinned from ear to ear, not letting up her ticklish assault for a moment. Her hands shot up to Paul’s armpits once more, raking her fingernails up and down his trembling hollows to make sure he was well and truly hers. “Do you mean it, honey bunny? You’ll sign? 20 Million?”
“YEEHEHEHEHEHEESSSSS!”
“You’re not fibbing are you? Because you know what Nana will do if you’re fibbing…”
Paul shook his head as much as the strap would allow. “NOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOO! NOHOHOHOHO FIIIIHIHIHIHBBBBIHIHIHING! PLEHEHEHEHEASE NANAAHAHA! NOOOHOHOHO MOHOHORE!”
With that the tickles suddenly stopped.
Paul was only vaguely aware of his restraints being removed. He just lay there a few moments, his body limp and useless as the last residual giggles bubbled out. Bethany slowly buttoned up Paul’s shirt and offered him a cold glass of water. He drank it gratefully, allowing the cool water to trickle down his chin and onto his already damp shirt. When he’d calmed down and gotten his bearings again, Bethany helped him to his feet, rubbing his back as she led him across the hall to sign his contract.
Ms. Peters had watched the whole episode unfold in her office, the video streaming live to her iPad while she sipped on a mineral water. All in all, he’d lasted just over 20 minutes in the giggle room. Had he held out a little longer Bethany would have let him go. They’d still have the video, yes, but they’d have gone without their fee. Of course, Paul would never know that. It would only hurt him if he did.
Perhaps one day they’d need the help of Equitol Solutions to sweep one of their own problems under the rug. Or maybe a client would pay an even higher sum for compromising material on Paul himself. But who could say if that day would ever come. For now a deal is a deal. Now that Paul had agreed to pay their fee they needed to get to work on William Minnow. No matter the outcome, Paul was firmly in their pocket now.
Once the ink on the contract was dry Paul would be put back in his town car, free to go wherever he chose. He would claim he felt ill and cancel his plans for the rest of the day. He’d go home, shower and collapse into bed soon after. That night, he would sleep more soundly than he ever had before. Not only due to the exhaustion he felt after going through such a ticklish ordeal, but because he was confident that Bethany would handle Mr. Minnow for him. She’d make the bad man go away.
Nana would take care of everything.
It wasn’t like him to show up in person to discuss delicate matters like this. Usually he delegated such tasks to a fleet of assistants and lower-level executives, but this was a special case. It amused him to think that as recently as last week he had never even heard of Ms. Peters or the services she provided, despite having walked past this very office building hundreds of times over the years. In fact, Equitol Solutions headquarters was less than a mile from where he was sitting. Small world.
But Paul was not the kind of man to be kept waiting, and as pleasant as this office was; he was starting to get agitated. Less than a decade ago he’d become a billionaire seemingly overnight after his company, Equitol Solutions, went public. Since then it seemed he never had to wait very long for anything. In fact, he often got his hands on the latest gadgets and experiences before anyone else could. But now he’d been waiting 15 minutes and began to believe he was wasting his time – which was valuable, after all, and in quantifiable terms. He ran the numbers in his head and did not like the figure he arrived at.
Fuck it, he thought, this was a stupid idea. I can find someone else.
Then, just as he stood up to leave, the door to the office swung open to reveal Ms. Peters.
“Mr. Silverman?”
She must have been in her late 40s; her still (mostly) brown hair pulled into a tight bun and held in place with chopsticks. She had a slender face, thin lips, and a freckled chest well framed by a tasteful gold necklace that shimmered in the afternoon light. After all Paul had been told about Ms. Peters, he was caught off guard by how ordinary she seemed. She was dressed in standard business attire, a clone of every other career woman he’d shaken hands with in any number of boardrooms: dark blazer, white blouse, dark skirt, high heels. It was genius really, when he thought about it. This was a woman who knew how to blend in and move through the world undetected. He’d have never known she oversaw some of the most accomplished blackmailers in the business.
Paul held out his hand for her to shake.
“And you must be Ms. Peters?”
They shook hands and Paul was surprised by the strength of her grip. She looked him in the eye and smiled pleasantly as she pulled her hand away.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I assure you it was not my intention. It’s a very busy time of year for us. I’m sure you understand.”
Paul didn’t understand but smiled and nodded anyway. “Of course. Though, I must admit my time is fairly limited now.”
“Then shall we get down to it, then?”
Ms. Peters took a seat behind her desk and let out a little sigh as her butt hit the chair. She leaned forward on her elbows and looked at Paul expectantly.
“You told me a little bit over the phone but I’d like a clearer picture. You said you were having some problems with the press?”
Paul squirmed in his seat, unaccustomed to this level of exposure. Usually it was someone else dealing with unsavory types like Ms. Peters. He rarely ever got his hands dirty. Besides, Ms. Peters was a consummate blackmailer, he needed to be on his guard and choose his words carefully.
Seeming to sense his reticence, Ms. Peters smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you aren’t being recorded. It’s actually why I insisted we meet in person. I need to be sure nobody can listen in on our conversation. Well that and…” She paused a moment, looking Paul up and down, “well, I guess I wanted to get a sense of you.”
Paul smiled. She was thorough, an encouraging sign, if a little unsettling. “And?”
Ms. Peters leaned back in her chair, “I don’t think you would’ve stepped foot inside this building unless you were in serious trouble. You can speak freely. I wouldn’t be able to afford this office if I was in the habit of burning clients. So…” she said, extending her arms theatrically toward Paul, “the floor is yours. Tell me how we can help you.”
Paul cleared his throat and took one last sip of his tea. Everything Ms. Peters had said made sense to him, but that didn’t put him completely at ease. She’d said all the right things, which in his experience meant an angle was being worked. Paul needed to be judicious with the specifics, but he figured that if he left without saying a word now it would be a costly waste of time. Sunk cost fallacy and all that. He decided to trust the seasoned professional across from him and began to offer details.
“There’s a reporter who’s been, well...”
“Doing their job?” Ms. Peters was smiling. It seemed she was perpetually amused
“More or less. You might know him. William Minnow.”
William Minnow had become something of a star the last few years. He’d gotten his start in blind items and gossip rags before miraculously becoming one of the most celebrated investigative journalists of his day. Just last year he’d penned a lengthy expose that brought down a major fracking operation in North Dakota. Most recently he’d finished an exhaustive 6-part investigative series that had wiped out an entire executive floor at a prominent TV network. His byline all but assured his target’s swift and ignominious downfall. Even if his reportage didn’t bury you outright, once caught in his crosshairs it was hard to shake the impression you’d done something wrong in the first place, a stink you couldn’t wash off. And now, according to a few trusted sources, he’d set his eyes on Equitol Solutions.
Ms. Peters’ eyebrows shot up at the mention of Minnow’s name, allowing a small burst of air to escape from between her lips. “Yes, I’m aware of him. I don’t blame you for being nervous.”
“So you understand.”
“I do. And what has he found that’s so damaging that you’ve decided to come to me?”
Paul sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He’d barely slept all week. How could he with Minnow’s investigation hanging over him?
“Well that’s just it. I’m not exactly sure. I’ve recently been informed however that he’s been sniffing around and asking questions, specifically reaching out to early investors in my company. I don’t think there’s anything for him to find but…”
“But you’re here.”
“Yes.”
Ms. Peters nodded thoughtfully, her well-manicured fingers absently playing with a fountain pen on her desk. After a moment of careful consideration, she looked up and met Paul’s gaze again. “So what would you like us to do?”
This was the tricky part. So far Paul hadn’t said anything incriminating, just facts and vague descriptions. He’d seen this documentary before. This was the part where the mafia boss was caught on tape ordering a hit or the politician pocketed an envelope on camera. The truth was he didn’t really know what he wanted. He didn’t even know what options were on the table. He’d been told by a friend – the same one who’d referred him to Ms. Peters’ agency – that Ms. Peters and her associates had a way of making trouble disappear. He hadn’t said anything more than that and Paul’s mind had been left to reel at the possibilities.
“I-I mean, I don’t want you to, know you…”
Ms. Peters looked at him with what appeared to be a genuine moment of concern before bursting into a melodic little chuckle. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. What is it you think we do, exactly? Sweetie, we’re not hit men.”
Paul’s cheeks burned at the condescending way she said “sweetie” but decided to ignore it. “Of course not. I didn’t…”
Ms. Peters leaned forward and spoke to Paul deliberately, as if she’d rehearsed. “What we do is use various incentivizing techniques to reduce the…friction in our clients lives. And depending on their needs we can use a variety of methods to get the job done. Nothing drastic but certainly persuasive.”
This piqued Paul’s curiosity. She’d made it sound like she was reading copy off a PowerPoint but there was something in her tone, patient and pleased, that made him stiffen in his chair.
“It just so happens that you’re in luck. Not two months ago I had a client in a similar bind that also wanted Mr. Minnow…handled. Unfortunately it seems the enterprising young journalist published his piece before we could act. The ink was barely dry on the contract before my poor client found he could no longer afford our services.”
“Oh my god…” It had just slipped out. Paul hadn’t even realized he’d said it until he saw Ms. Peters shrug in response. He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to check his phone. For all he knew William Minnow had gone to print and his world might already be crumbling.
Seeming to sense his momentary panic, Ms. Peters brought him back down to Earth. “But luckily for you, we’re already sitting on some potent oppo research we’d already conducted for that client. I can assure you, Mr. Minnow will only require a soft touch. We could get him off your back within the next 48 hours if you so chose.”
Paul’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s a pretty fast turn around. Not to be crude but might I ask how much this will cost me?”
“Twenty million dollars.” She’d said it without even blinking. She might as well have been ordering a Coke.
Paul scoffed. That figure was absurd. But he figured this was all part of the negotiation, a number he’d whittle down before he left the office. This wasn’t his first rodeo. For now, he’d play ball. “And what does that 20 million buy me?”
Ms. Peters seemed confused for the first time since their meeting began. “I thought I told you? That money buys you peace of mind. For that sum we’ll make sure that whatever investigation Mr. Minnow may be conducting is never completed. That’s simply what our services cost.”
“Yes, but you’ve already done all the oppo research before I even stepped through the door and I doubt you provide itemized receipts. I need to know what that money is actually being used for. Are you planning to blackmail him? Intimidate him? I just want a clearer picture of what it is I’m buying before I hand over such a large sum. Surely you understand.”
“A clearer picture…” Ms. Peters muttered. “Of course.” Leaning over, Ms. Peters opened a locked drawer on the far side of her desk to retrieve an iPad. Her fingernail clicked against the screen as Paul patiently waited for her to pull up whatever it was she was looking for. Seeming to find it, Ms. Peters smiled and reached across the desk to hand Paul the tablet.
On the screen was a video, a close-up on the face of a young Latina woman in clear distress. She looked to be in her late 20s, baby-faced with freckles, her head strapped against a black, leather headrest.
The first thing Paul noticed were her eyes. They were big and brown and wide with panic, darting this way and that, seemingly unable to focus on any one thing in particular. Strands of dark hair were plastered against her face, which was slick with sweat and tears. What really caught Paul’s attention though, was the manic looking grin on her face. Though she was obviously in distress, the woman appeared to be smiling.
Upon closer inspection, Paul realized that she was, in fact, laughing hysterically. If not for the fear and tears in her eyes, you’d think she was having fun. Glancing at the time code near the bottom of the screen, Paul could see that whatever ordeal this woman was going through, she’d been enduring it for more than four hours now.
Paul looked back up at Ms. Peters, confused. “I don’t understand. What am I looking at?”
“Unmute the video,” Ms. Peters said calmly.
Paul tapped the microphone icon on the screen with his finger. Suddenly, the sound of desperate, hysterical laughter crackled through the tablet’s tiny speaker.
“-lready tohohohohohohohold yohohohohoouuuuu! Pleheheheheheease I dohohohohohon’t knohohohohow whahahahahhahahat mohohohohorre yohohohou neehehehehee – “
Suddenly the woman’s eyes bugged out, growing even wider than they’d been before. She began to lamely shake her head about and scream. Paul got the impression that had the young woman not been strapped down, she might have jumped right out of her skin. Her voice reached a new desperate pitch, as her unseen tormenter began to work her over again off camera.
“NO! NO! STOP! GET IT OUT! GET IT OHOHOHOHOHOHOUUUUTTTT! IHIHIHIHIHIHLLLLLL BEEEHEHEHEHEHEEE GOOOOHOHOHOHOOHOOOOOOD! I PROHOHOHOHOMISEEEE! PLEEEHEHEHEHEHEHASSEEE! MAHAHAHAHAHKE HER GOHOHOHOHO AWAHAHAHAY!”
There was something about the way the woman was pleading with her torturer that sent a chill down Paul’s spine. All he could see was her face, nothing more. He could only imagine what her tormentor was doing just off camera. When he thought of torture he imagined electrodes hooked up to nipples, fingernails being removed with pliers, waterboarding, etc. But seeing this type of wild desperation combined with such unhinged laughter unsettled him greatly.
Then, through the sound of the young woman’s frenzied laughter, Paul could just make out the voice of another woman in the room, soft, melodic, and patient. Maternal. The unseen woman let out a delighted little squeak when she heard her captive refer to ‘her’.
“’Her?’ Oh what wonderful progress! See? I told you. Mrs. Cotton is just as real as you or I! You’re doing so well, baby girl. But Mrs. Cotton isn’t done exploring the cave yet! She needs to be very thorough. She and I have that in common, you know. Besides, Nana wants you to be happy, and you’re always such a happy girl whenever Ms. Cotton comes to visit! You don’t want to be rude to Misses Cotton, do you? Do you? Tell Mrs. Cotton you’re sorry. Come on, be a good girl for Nana. Tell Mrs. Cotton. Tell her...”
“Fuhuhuhuh…fuck y-“
“Uh oh! Earthquake near the cave! PBRBRBRBRBRBRTTT!”
A loud, raspberry-like noise could be heard off camera. The young woman’s laughter reached a new maniacal pitch, screaming and pleading for her unseen tormentor to give her a moment’s respite.
“NOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH OHOHOHO GOD! NAHAHAHAHAHANNNANAAAAAA STAHAHAHAHAHP! I’M SOHOHOHORRRREEEEEEEY! NAHAHANNA PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”
“Oh, don’t apologize to me, silly! You never have to apologize to Nana, you know that. It’s Mrs. Cotton you need to say sorry to. Oh no! Do you hear that? Aftershocks! PBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRTTTTTTT!”
An even louder, prolonged raspberry sound could be heard now. Fresh tears leaked from the corners of the young woman’s eyes as she squeezed them shut, shrieking with renewed force as she broke down under the careful supervision of her keeper.
“Ihihihihi’mmmm sohohohoreeeeeeey mihihisss cohohohottton! Ihihihilllll behehehee a gohohohod gihihihirl! Ihihihihillll tehehehehelllll! Ihihihihilllll teeeehehehehlllll! AH! FUCK! PLEHEHEHEHEHEEASE! I PROHOHOHOMISE! I’LL TEHEHEHEHEHLLLLLLL!”
“Good girl,” her tormentor cooed.
The torture must have abated because all of a sudden the young woman’s laughter began to subside. She lay there panting, a few stray chuckles escaping from her throat as she gasped for air. She looked absolutely exhausted, a serene little smile creeping along her face after finally being granted a moment’s peace.
From off-screen, a woman’s hand entered the frame and began to stoke the young woman’s face, wiping away her tears and brushing strands of damp hair aside. The gesture seemed almost…tender? Plump and soft with bright pink fingernails, the young woman appeared to recoil from the hand’s caress, but it seemed there was little she could do to avoid this unwanted affection. Her tormentor spoke again, softly, as if she were soothing a fussy child.
“Then tell me. Tell Nana and I promise Mrs. cotton goes away.”
“Zero…two…seven…”
“I can take that back from you now.”
Ms. Peters was reaching across the desk, her open hand waiting to take the iPad back from Paul. He obliged without a second thought. Paul felt like he was on autopilot, clearly rattled by what he’d seen.
“Jesus Christ, that was…intense. You’re not going to…you’re not going to do that to Will Minnow, are you?”
Ms. Peters shrugged. “That’s more or less the idea.”
Paul was having second thoughts. His eyes were wide open now. “I don’t know about this. Look, I want this investigation to go away, obviously, but I don’t want you to hurt him. I don’t want…THAT!”
Ms. Peters seemed perplexed by his reaction. “Hurt him? What are you talking about? I told you, Mr. Minnow only needs a soft touch.”
Paul was incredulous. “You call that a soft touch? You were torturing that poor woman!”
Ms. Peters smiled. “Yes, I do. You won’t find a softer one in the business. And really now, ‘torture?’ No court on Earth would call that torture, I can promise you that.”
“You’re out of your mind. Did we see the same video? Whatever happened to that woman?”
Ms. Peters stood up from her desk, briefly checking the watch on her wrist. “Would you like to see?”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Paul could feel his stomach doing somersaults as he followed Ms. Peters down a long, nondescript corridor. Unmarked doors dotted the walls on either side, Paul was amazed at how anybody could figure out how to navigate this maze of identical offices and corridors. Periodically, Ms. Peters would look over her shoulder at Paul, as if to make sure he hadn’t gotten lost.
“Is it much father?” Paul asked, “I have to get back to the office before too long.”
“I assure you, you won’t be missing a thing.” She stopped in front of a large oak door near the end of the hall, identical to all the rest they’d passed thus far. Ms. Peters turned the knob and pushed the door open. “After you.”
Paul stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the unmistakable smell of baby powder, which struck him as odd if inoffensive. The room looked not all that dissimilar from a doctor’s office: linoleum floors, harsh overhead fluorescent lights, beige walls with generic art, and of course, what looked like a dentist’s chair in the center of the room. Immediately, Paul recognized the black leather headrest. There were straps for the ankles as well as two meant for the wrists – one meant to secure them above the victim’s head and another to lock them in near their sides.
Standing beside the chair was a large woman, easily over six feet tall, wiping the chair down with a disinfecting wipe. The pink nails were a dead giveaway, this was who had been torturing the young woman on camera! She had dark hair and bangs, short, barely reaching her shoulders. She was on the heavier side too, a few pounds short of needing an extra airplane seat from what Paul could tell at this distance.
Ms. Peters cleared her throat. “Bethany? I’d like you to meet Paul.”
Paul felt his throat tighten as Bethany turned around. She had a beautiful, kind looking face, with big blue eyes and a little button nose. Paul guessed she must have been in her early to mid 50s. She was wearing a denim dress with snap-buttons, the top three of which had been left undone so as to accommodate her prodigious breasts, which still seemed to struggle against the fabric even now. Bethany smiled warmly at Paul and he felt his ears get hot in response. She looked like a pre-school teacher or a mascot for a butter company. This was the person who had brought that poor young woman to the brink of sanity? If it hadn’t been for her telltale nails and the chair, Paul might have thought Ms. Peters had led them to the wrong room.
“Oh is this him?” Bethany asked, all smiles. She put her hands on her hips and gave Paul a once over, sizing him up. “Oh he looks scrumptious! We’re going to have so much fun together, aren’t we cutie? Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be right with you.”
Ms. Peters cleared her throat. “No, Beth. Paul is the client.”
Bethany’s hands flew to her mouth and her cheeks burned red, clearly embarrassed by the mix up. She’d reacted more like a cartoon character than a hardened interrogator and blackmailer. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Please excuse me. I guess I thought…”
God she was adorable. Paul felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease. “Oh, that’s quite alright. Nothing to worry about, really.”
“Bethany here was head of psychological operations at New Pinnacle when she first appeared on our radar.” Ms. Peters said, proudly.
“New Pinnacle? You mean the mercenary group?” Paul asked.
“Your words, not mine.” Bethany shrugged.
Ms. Peters turned to Bethany expectantly. “Paul here wanted to check up on your most recent patient, make sure she’s none the worse for wear.”
“Wait, she’s here?” Paul asked.
Bethany nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I just let her out. She’s having a little nap next door.”
Holy shit. Paul suddenly realized that it wasn’t a recording he’d been watching, but a live video feed!
“Would you like to see her?” Bethany asked, with real concern in her voice. When Paul nodded in response, Bethany crossed the room and flipped a light switch. The overhead lights dimmed, and suddenly Paul noticed that one of the framed artworks on the wall was suddenly translucent. Without a word, Paul walked across the room and stood before the trick picture frame.
Through a faint haze of paint and oil, Paul could see the young woman lying on a full bed on the other side of the wall. She was sound asleep and lightly snoring, her sweaty hair matted against the soft-looking pillow. She was dressed in comfortable sweats, her damp tank top riding up ever so slightly to show her pink and exposed belly. Paul was shocked. The young woman seemed totally at peace, utterly relaxed. Had he not seen the feed himself, Paul would never have guessed that just minutes ago this very same woman had been screaming at the top of her lungs for Bethany to stop…whatever it was she’d been doing.
“Wait, I don’t get it, what happened? Did you drug her?”
Bethany looked as if she were offended by the question, so much so that Paul momentarily felt guilty for asking.
“Oh! Not at all. She’s just all tuckered out from our time together. She’s a fighter that one, it took a lot out of her.”
Ms. Peters stepped beside Paul and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Once she wakes we’ll offer her some fresh clothes and a ride home. The info she gave us checked out so she’s free to leave whenever she’d like.”
“But I still don’t understand,” Paul said, “What took a lot out of her? What did you do?”
Ms. Peters turned and nodded at Bethany, who smiled bashfully as she met Paul’s gaze. “Oh, nothing special. I just tickled her.”
Paul couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry, did you say you tickled her? Like…?” He wiggled his fingers in the air for emphasis.
“That’s correct,” Bethany nodded, not at all troubled by Paul’s dismissive attitude.
“So, Mrs. Cotton…?”
Bethany smiled and wordlessly reached into a little pouch in the front of her dress to retrieve an ordinary household Q-tip. Paul’s mouth fell open. That is what had reduced Bethany’s victim to a quivering mess? He didn’t even need to say it; Bethany seemed to sense his incredulity.
“To be frank, most of what I do largely takes place in the imagination. Yes, this is only a Q-tip, indistinguishable from any other number of ordinary Q-tips you’ve encountered in your life. But when you give it a name, a personality and intention, then it can be absolutely devastating, especially when dipped in baby oil and swirled around your belly button.” She nodded at the young woman napping in the next room, still visible through the frame of the trick painting. “When Maritza here referred to this inanimate object as ‘her’, I knew she was close to breaking. Once she’d bought in to the world I’d created in this little room, I only needed to push her a bit further and, well, then it was over.”
“See?” Ms. Peters said, amused as ever, “Soft touch.”
Paul chuckled and shook his head, briefly wondering if he was on the receiving end of an elaborate practical joke. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. Really, I don’t.”
Bethany shrugged innocently, “Lot of that going on in this room today.” There was an edge to the way she’d said it that stopped Paul’s chuckles cold.
“I’m just not sure if I’m comfortable giving you 20 million dollars to tickle William Minnow. Are you kidding me?”
Ms. Peters sighed, clearly a little frustrated. “Well which is it, Mr. Silverman? You’re not comfortable with violence and now it seems you’re not comfortable with Bethany’s methods either. You came to us because we are very good at what we do and we’ve shown you firsthand how effective we can be. Do you want us to halt Mr. Minnow’s investigation or not?”
Paul considered it a moment. She had a point. Ms. Peters and her associates were his only option at this juncture. Either he trusted them to do their job or he needed to batten down the hatches and pray that Will Minnow’s investigation didn’t turn up anything too damaging. But Paul knew what skeletons were in his closet, and given the choice between having them brought to light and trusting a cabal of blackmailers and spies to handle things, the choice was clear.
“Ten million,” Paul said, standing up a little straighter. “You’ve already done your oppo research on Mr. Minnow so I know you don’t need funds for additional background. And you have to admit, ten million dollars for a tickle fight is pretty generous as it is.”
Now Bethany seems frustrated. She didn’t like it when her methods were dismissed out of hand like this. She’d honed her techniques and personas through years of intensive trial and error. Above all else, she was a professional. She opened her mouth to speak but Ms. Peters cut her off.
“Paul, come on now. You can’t expect to pay half –“
“Mr. Silverman.” Paul corrected her. “It’s Mr. Silverman.”
Ms. Peters pursed her lips, clearly doing her best to remain professional in the face of Paul’s rudeness. “My apologies. But our rate is our rate, Mr. Peterson. Twenty million dollars. That is our price. Anything below that is, frankly, insulting.”
“Ten million. Take it or leave it.” Paul smirked.
Ms. Peters sighed and checked her watch again. “What time are you due back at the office, Mr. Silverman?”
“1 pm,” Paul replied. “Why?”
Ms. Peters looked to Bethany and gave her a little nod. Bethany grinned, understanding immediately.
It all happened very quickly. Bethany placed her palm against Paul’s chest and gave him a little shove, causing him to fall back onto the chair with a THUD. Ms. Peters was ready, quickly fastening Paul’s left wrist into the restraints above his head, once again surprising him with the strength of her grip as she held him in place and tightened the strap.
“Hey! Get off! What the fuck are you doing?” He reached for the restraint with his free hand, hoping to undo it as quickly as it had been fastened. But Bethany rounded the chair with surprising swiftness and grabbed his other wrist, effortlessly pulling it above his head and locking it in place. Now both of Paul’s arms were restrained above his head. He began to panic as Bethany and Ms. Peters made short work of locking his ankles in as well. In just under 20 seconds, Paul had been well and truly locked into Bethany’s special chair.
Both women took a step back to briefly admire their handiwork. They hadn’t lost a step, even after all these years. They watched Paul for a moment, amused by his futile attempt to escape his bonds. He yanked and pulled against his restraints but couldn’t move an inch. He was well and truly stuck.
“Okay, very funny. You’ve made your point. Let me out of here this instant!”
“So you agree, 20 million?” Ms. Peters asked, cocking her head to the side.
Paul glared at the women before him. “Not on your life…”
Ms. Peters shrugged and turned to Bethany. “You heard him. He’s due back at 1pm. Don’t take too long.”
Bethany grinned as she looked over the bound man in front of her. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling this’ll be quick.”
Ms. Peters gave Paul one last look as she took a step toward the door. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Silverman. I look forward to working with you.”
“You gotta be out of your mind if you think I’m giving you a cent after this shit!” Paul spat.
Ms. Peters shrugged. “We’ll see.” And with that Ms. Peters stepped out of the room, leaving Paul alone in the room with Bethany.
“Alright, show’s over. Let me out now and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Oh no, young man,” Bethany breathed, “the show’s just beginning.” She stepped closer and pulled a leather strap across Paul’s forehead, continuing to talk to him as she locked his head in place against the headrest. “So, tell me sweetie, where’s your most tickly spot?”
Paul just bit his tongue. He’d be damned if he gave his chipper tormentor even an inch of ground. From what he could tell, his captors were planning to let him go. They were savvy enough to know people would be on alert if he didn’t return to the office. All he had to do was tough it out and outlast Bethany’s matronly offensive until they had no choice to let him go. He figured he had less than 30 minutes before he was due back at the office. Half an hour of tickling? That didn’t sound so bad. Maritza had been under Bethany’s fingers for more than 4 hours before she broke, surely he could handle 30 minutes.
“That’s okay,” Bethany chirped, unbothered by his stonewalling. “You don’t have to tell me.” She leaned forward now, watching Paul’s face closely as she spoke softly to her captive. “Neck. Belly. Ribs. Knees. Feet. Armpits.”
What was she doing? Paul wondered. It seemed she was just naming obvious spots. Paul didn’t even look at her, choosing to stare straight ahead and focus his attention on the framed art on the opposite wall – an oil painting of a pig standing in an open field.
Bethany ran through he list of spots again. “Neck. Belly. Ribs. Knees. Feet. Armpits…Neck. Belly. Ribs. Knees. Feet. Armpits.” She paused, studying his face carefully. “Armpits, huh?”
Paul’s blood turned to ice water as his body filled with dread. How did she know that? He hadn’t moved a muscle, given nothing away. So how did she know his armpits were his worst spot?
Bethany clocked his reaction and patted his head affectionately, as if she’d read his mind. “Oh don’t feel bad honey. Everyone gives themselves away. You’d be astonished how often our bodies betray us.”
Bethany stepped behind the chair now, positioning her mouth right by Paul’s ear as she reached around the back of the chair and began to unbutton his shirt from behind. “When I went through training at New Pinnacle I was taught how to read micro expressions. A flare of the nostrils, the dilation of an iris, quickening of pulse, an imperceptible intake of breath. It’s a bit of a curse, really. I can almost always tell when someone’s lying to me. Each time I said ‘armpits’ you gave yourself away. You didn’t notice it. But I did.”
Paul tried to pull against his restraints once more, hoping that he might manage to slip out of his bonds, or at least find room to maneuver. But to his mounting horror, Paul found that he was indeed held tight. The only way he was getting out of this room now was when – no if – Bethany let him out.
“Bethany, listen, we can talk about –“
“Nana.” Bethany corrected him. Her tone was warm but firm, like a school marm instructing an unruly student “As long as you’re in my chair you’ll refer to me as ‘Nana.’ Understand?”
Paul grit his teeth. “I’m not fucking calling you that.”
“Yes you will.” Bethany said matter-of-factly. “Everyone does eventually. Boys like you are usually quite stubborn. I’m used to that. But that’s okay. Nana’s patient.”
Paul’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as Bethany undid the last buttons of his shirt. He could now feel the cool air of the room against his bare torso, causing his nipples to pucker. His breathing began to quicken as it hit him that he really was at this cheery interrogator’s mercy. For the first time in many years, Paul felt well and truly helpless.
“Nana could see how curious you were about her special little room. Even though you had such a clear picture from what Ms. Peters had already shown you, you just couldn’t help yourself, huh? You asked to be brought here, didn’t you? You wanted to see. You wanted to meet Nana. You wanted to meet the woman who had reduced poor Maritza to such a helpless, giggly state, didn’t you? Well you’re in luck, because Nana wanted to meet you too.”
Even with all that build up, even though he had been told exactly what was going to happen to him, Paul inadvertently let out a small yelp of surprise as he felt Bethany’s fingers touch his armpits. Even though she’d unbuttoned his shirt and could have gone in for the kill, Bethany had elected to instead rub the soft fabric of his unbuttoned shirt against his armpits. She was only using her index and middle fingers. She was barely touching him. That was the point.
“Upp! What was that noise, honey bunny? Did Nana find a sensitive spot?”
Paul couldn’t believe he’d given himself away this quickly! He was mad at himself for getting caught off guard like that. He needed to focus, find a way to keep the ticklish sensation under his arms at bay. But that was proving difficult between Bethany’s babying teases in his ear and the soft circles she was rubbing into his armpits through his shirt. Paul clenched his teeth and did his best to keep his breathing under control.
“You’re a very special boy, you know that?” Bethany sing-songed as she pressed her fingers a little harder against his armpits. She could feel his muscles tensing, trying to deny her any indication that her devious tease was working. But Bethany knew better, she’d been doing this long enough to know all the signs. She was getting to him. “You’re part of a very exclusive club. Not many boys and girls get invited into Nana’s giggle room. You know, there are some people out there that would pay good money to be locked in here with little old me. Did you know that? It’s twue! Some people out there genuinely enjoy their tickle time with Nana. If only they could see you now. They’d be so jealous!”
Keep her out. Keep her out. Keep her out. Paul kept repeating that mantra to himself, determined to keep Bethany out of his head, to distract himself from the awful teasing at his armpits. A few minutes must have passed by now, they must have. Maybe 3 minutes so far? That’s 10% of the time limit. He could make it. He just needed to hold out a little while longer.
Suddenly, he heard a small gasp from behind. “What am I talking about,” Bethany muttered, feigning disbelief without once slowing down the torturous circles under his arms. “They CAN see you now, can’t they?”
A fresh spike of panic rocketed through Paul’s chest. Fuck, the camera! He’d almost completely forgotten about the camera. He glanced upward and noticed one installed in the ceiling just a few feet away from his headrest. His stomach sunk when he noticed the blinking red light. Was there someone watching his feed right now, just as he’d been watching Maritza’s just a short time ago?
“Why don’t you give them a smile, huh? Just an itty-bitty smile? You know, it’s free! Come on, give Nana a smile…”
Paul was starting to freak out. How had he been so careless as to allow a notorious blackmailer and corporate spy to get him in this position, and on camera no less! He was finished. Forget William Minnow’s investigation. If a video of the founder of Equitol Solutions being tickled and treated like a child made its way out into the world…Paul couldn’t even go there right now. It was just too much.
“P-plehease…” Paul whimpered, his bottom lip trembling as he spoke. “W-what dohoho you want? J-juhust tell me. Please…” A few giggles managed to escape as he spoke. He sounded pitiful and felt a fresh layer of shame being draped over his shoulders.
“Why I thought you knew, silly boy,” Bethany said. “Just agree to pay our full fee. That’s all. Just agree to pay the full 20 million and Nana will let you out of the giggle room. Can you do that for me, huh? Can you do that for Nana? Come on, use your big boy words.”
Paul shook his head furiously, knowing that if he opened his mouth to speak again there would be no keeping the laughter at bay. He heard Bethany click her tongue in disappointment behind him.
“Aw, is Paulie a shy little boy? That’s okay. I can do the talking for both of us.” Bethany slowed down the circles under his arms without ever once letting up on the pressure. “Let’s do a little thought exercise. Can you remember the last time you were tickled like this, hm? Not for some time, I bet. After all, you’ve been the boss for so long. It must be exhausting making all those big decisions all day. I bet you miss being young, with no responsibilities. I bet you were tickled a lot back them, weren’t you? I wonder who it could have been. Maybe…your mommy?”
Paul tried his best to keep calm, to clear his head, to control his breathing. But for whatever reason, the circles were even more devastating now that that Bethany had slowed down. It was as if she were slowing down time itself in an attempt to keep him there even longer. Keep her out…Keep her out…
Bethany shook her head, “No. Not Mommy, I don’t think. You were so rude to Nana and Ms. Peters earlier. No Momma’s boy would ever think to talk back like that. Maybe a babysitter? Hmmm, I don’t know...”
Keep her out…Keep her out…Keep her o-
“Oh! I know!” Bethany gasped, “Was is your big sister?”
Without meaning to, Paul reflexively tried to pull his arms down but found his wrists once again tugging against his firm restraints. Shit. He hadn’t meant to do that…
“Oh goody!” Bethany exclaimed, “Nana is never wrong about these things, you know. Aw, did your big sister used to pin you down and gitchy her poor baby brother? Oh yes she did. I bet she was ruthless, wasn’t she? I wonder how she’d do it. Did she tickle you like…this!”
Without warning, Bethany’s hands quickly slipped under Paul’s shirt and began scratching at his bare armpits with her fingernails. The response was violent and immediate. Paul squeezed his eyes shut as he exploded with a hearty belly laugh, the force of which surprised even him.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHOHOHOHHHH SHIT! AAAAHHH! NO! NOHHOHOHOHO! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHITTT! GEHEHEHEHET OHOHOHOHOHUT OHOHOHOF THEHEHERE! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHORE!”
In an instant everything melted away. There was no chair, no Bethany, no room, no pending investigation. Suddenly Paul was a little boy again, pinned to the ground by his older sister on the 2nd floor landing of their childhood home.
Paul’s sister, Isabelle, was six years older than him. While he’d catch the odd punch, slap or Indian burn from her – they were siblings, after all – tickle torture was Isabelle’s preferred form of retribution when provoked. She’d learned early on that it wasn’t worth it to actually retaliate against her brother with violence. Inevitably he’d cry, causing their parents to intervene and punish her accordingly. But soon Isabelle realized that if she tickled Paul instead she could still torment her brother and get away with it. To the untrained ear of their parents downstairs it just sounded like they were playing, that Paul was having a blast with his big sister. The reality, though, was far worse than any punch or kick she could send his way.
“What’sa matter bubba? I thought you wanted to plaaaayyyyy!” Isabelle had taunted, sitting on his arms to keep them in place while she poked his armpits with her fingertips.
“Nahaahhahahahahaa! Nohohohohohohoooooo! Ihihihihizzzzzeeeeeeheheheheee stahahahahahahap ihihihit! Ihihihhi hahahahaffta peeheheheeeeee!”
He’d pound his feet against the floor and shake his head wildly, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Isabelle would only release him once she was satisfied. Paul would scream and cry and carry on until he made himself hoarse. He’d promise her all sorts of things: to clean her room, to do her chores, to let her give him a makeover, anything. Anything to make her stop.
He couldn’t have articulated this in the room with Ms. Peters earlier, but this is what had unnerved him so about the video of Maritza. It reminded him of how completely he’d fall apart under his sister’s practiced fingers, the desperation he felt, the helplessness. He was all too familiar with the sounds of desperate laughter.
And now here he was, bouncing up and down in Bethany’s giggle room, once again learning that there was little he could do to make the tickles stop.
“Don’t worry, Nana will keep you safe from your big sissy. We can hide here together and play tickle for as looooong as you want. She’ll never find us here.” Bethany said sweetly, her fingernails twirling and caressing the wispy hair of his underarms to devastating effect. His laughter spiked again as her fingers wandered upward, teasing a fleshy little spot at the top of his arm just above the armpit. “Oh, my widdle Paulie’s in such a state! Did the mean old tickle monster find a new happy spot? Did she? Did she? It’s okay, you can tell Nana. Your secret is safe with me.”
“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOHORE! STOP! STOP! I CAHAHAHAHAN’T! I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T! IHIHIHIHI’LL DOHOHOHOHO AAHAHAHANYTHIHIHIHING!”
Bethany’s ears perked up, “Anything?”
“YEEEHEEHHEHEHEESSSSSS! I PROHOHOHOHOMISE! I SWEHEHEHEAR IHIHIT! JUHUHUHUHUHST STAHAHAHAP! PLEEEEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”
Tears were forming in Paul’s eyes now. His neck was flush from laughter, his cheeks beet red and shiny. He had no idea how much time had passed now. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Time wasn’t real in the giggle room.
“Ask Nana nice,” Bethany said, “And I’ll see what I can do.”
She pulled her fingers away from his armpits a moment, allowing Paul to suck some much needed air into his lungs. Bethany stepped in front of him now, huffing like a disappointed parent.
“That’s it. Good boy. Nice deep breaths…”
Paul tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, his body sore from struggling against his restraints, his voice strained from laughter. His brain was scrambled. Paul wasn’t sure if he remembered what it felt like to not have Bethany’s awful fingers softly scratching against his hollows.
“Look at me. Look at Nana.” Bethany said sternly.
Paul’s head felt so impossibly heavy against the headrest. Of course, Maritza hadn’t been drugged. She’d been exhausted. Now he understood. He could fall asleep right now. Nevertheless, Paul found the strength to look up at his maternal tormenter, his vision blurry through his tears.
“What do we say…?”
“Please…” Paul rasped.
Bethany crossed her arms and gave Paul a knowing look. “Please…what?”
Paul’s heart sank. He knew he had no choice. “Please…Nana…” he whimpered.
Bethany cupped a hand to her ear and leaned in close, pretending she couldn’t hear him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Had Paul’s head not been firmly strapped to the headrest he’d have let it hang low in defeat. But he had no choice to look at her directly and say it again. “Please Nana. Please let me go. I’ll - ” His voice caught in his throat, he couldn’t believe he was saying it. “I’ll be…good.”
Bethany smiled and patted Paul’s knee affectionately. “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well, baby.”
“So…so you’ll let me go?” Paul croaked, hope creeping into his voice.
“Well, I don’t know…” Bethany sighed. “Will you pay us the 20 million to make the big bad journawist go away? Huh?”
Paul was once again aware of the camera and blinking red light just overhead. He nodded as much as the strap across his forehead would allow. “You delete that video…you got yourself a deal.”
Bethany looked disappointed and shook her head. “Oh honey, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. That video is our insurance policy. You know so much about us now. Too much. What’s to stop you from just leaving and never paying us?”
Paul couldn’t believe this. She was still playing games! But he was so close now, so close to getting out. “I wouldn’t do that! I promise! I’d never! I’d -”
“Shhhhh….shhhhhh…I know baby boy,” Bethany whispered, caressing his face with her soft, warm palm. “Nana knows. But we need to keep that video. I’m sorry. It’s just up to you how long it is, and how it ends.”
“H-how it ends?”
“Of course. It could end right now if you wanted. We could go into the other room and sign a contract right now. It’s already written up, just waiting for your signature. Then we’d send you home, or to the office, wherever you wanna go.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Or…it could end with you having your little pitties tickled by Nana until you wet yourself. Then the video would be even more damaging, don’t you think? If you were worried about it falling into the wrong hands now…”
Paul suddenly felt his body go hot with rage. Not only was be being forced into paying these harpies 20 million dollars, but they planned on blackmailing him too? Who the fuck did these people think they were?
“Oh fuck you! Let me out! Let me out right now!” Paul was bellowing at her now, summoning strength he’d thought had been tickled out of him some time ago.
Bethany sighed. “I was worried you’d say that.” She knelt down beside Paul now, getting real close. He could feel her breath against his skin as she talked. “Tell me, baby, did you and your big sister ever play Operation?”
Paul was confused, “Operation?”
Bethany nodded. “Mhm. Like this – “ Suddenly Bethany’s hand shot out and poked Paul in the side, causing him to jump.
“AH! SHIT!”
“BZZZZT! Touched the sides!” Bethany sang. Suddenly, without warning, Bethany started poking at and grabbing Paul’s ribs and sides, immediately reducing the exhausted businessman to a ticklish plaything again.
“NOOHOHOHHOHOHOHOHOOOOO! GEHEHEHEHHET OHOHOHOHFFFF OHOHOHOHF MEEEHEEHEEHEHEHE!”
“Not until you agreeeeee to do whatever Nana says.” Bethany was tweaking his ribs now, playing them like an accordion as her ticklish charge shook and trembled in her grasp, straining this way and that to avoid her devilish touch, but it was no use. Paul belonged to his Nana, and he knew it.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHA NOOOOOOO! STOP! STOP! IHIHIHIHIHLL DO IT! ILLLLL SIHIHIHIHIHGNNN! JUHUHUHUHST STAHAHAHAHP!”
“Hmmmm….Nana doesn’t belieeeeeeve you.” Bethany responded as she pinched up and down his sides. Occasionally, to keep him on edge, Bethany would grab at his hips, which would cause Paul to laugh at a higher, girlish pitch. He was bouncing so much now that his butt was rising an inch or two off the chair. Bethany was impressed. But as spirited as Paul was, the game was over. She knew that. Now it was just a matter of making sure Paul knew it too.
“WHAHAHAHAT? IHIHIHIHILLLLL DOOOOO IHIHIHIHIT! AAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHRE! NOT THAHAHAHAT! PLEHEHEHEHEASE! IHIHIHIHI’M BEHEHEHEGGING YOUOUOUOUOU!”
“I wonder what would happen,” Bethany mused, “If your sister could see you now. I bet she’d have all sorts of tricks she could teach me, huh? Imagine all the fun we could have together! I’d hold you down and she could show me allllll the tickle spots on the happy boy. Would you like that, huh? Being tickled by Nana and your big sissy? Huh? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Bethany had willed the image into Paul’s head. Now it was all he could think about. It was no longer Bethany’s fingers probing at his ribs and sides, but his big sister’s. He couldn’t imagine a world where he spent one more minute under the fingers of his playful tormentor. And the thought of having both Bethany and Isabelle working him over was too much to take. That image, that possibility, is what broke him.
“AAAAHHHHHH! NAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHANNNNA! NAAAHAHAHAHNA! IIIIHIHIHIHILLLLLL BEHEHEHEHE A GOOOOHOHOHOHOOD BOHOHOHOY! IHIHIHIHII’LLLL SIHIHIHIHIGN! JUHUHUHUST STAHAHAHAHP!”
Bethany grinned from ear to ear, not letting up her ticklish assault for a moment. Her hands shot up to Paul’s armpits once more, raking her fingernails up and down his trembling hollows to make sure he was well and truly hers. “Do you mean it, honey bunny? You’ll sign? 20 Million?”
“YEEHEHEHEHEHEESSSSS!”
“You’re not fibbing are you? Because you know what Nana will do if you’re fibbing…”
Paul shook his head as much as the strap would allow. “NOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOO! NOHOHOHOHO FIIIIHIHIHIHBBBBIHIHIHING! PLEHEHEHEHEASE NANAAHAHA! NOOOHOHOHO MOHOHORE!”
With that the tickles suddenly stopped.
Paul was only vaguely aware of his restraints being removed. He just lay there a few moments, his body limp and useless as the last residual giggles bubbled out. Bethany slowly buttoned up Paul’s shirt and offered him a cold glass of water. He drank it gratefully, allowing the cool water to trickle down his chin and onto his already damp shirt. When he’d calmed down and gotten his bearings again, Bethany helped him to his feet, rubbing his back as she led him across the hall to sign his contract.
Ms. Peters had watched the whole episode unfold in her office, the video streaming live to her iPad while she sipped on a mineral water. All in all, he’d lasted just over 20 minutes in the giggle room. Had he held out a little longer Bethany would have let him go. They’d still have the video, yes, but they’d have gone without their fee. Of course, Paul would never know that. It would only hurt him if he did.
Perhaps one day they’d need the help of Equitol Solutions to sweep one of their own problems under the rug. Or maybe a client would pay an even higher sum for compromising material on Paul himself. But who could say if that day would ever come. For now a deal is a deal. Now that Paul had agreed to pay their fee they needed to get to work on William Minnow. No matter the outcome, Paul was firmly in their pocket now.
Once the ink on the contract was dry Paul would be put back in his town car, free to go wherever he chose. He would claim he felt ill and cancel his plans for the rest of the day. He’d go home, shower and collapse into bed soon after. That night, he would sleep more soundly than he ever had before. Not only due to the exhaustion he felt after going through such a ticklish ordeal, but because he was confident that Bethany would handle Mr. Minnow for him. She’d make the bad man go away.
Nana would take care of everything.
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