Stan sat in his ratty recliner and took a pull off his third beer. It was his day off, so he was blowing off some well-deserved steam. It wasn’t even noon yet, but he’d have plenty of time to slow down before customers started arriving that night.
He smirked as he lifted his beer high. “A toast to Kat,” he slurred. “Bes’ pussy in town. Or so I hear.” He laughed like a hyena at his wit and his obvious business acumen. Things were going well but he was itching to start the next phase of his master plan.
Harley. She was going to be his secret weapon to fund his tropical retirement, and all she had to do was show up. He’d take care of the details. Getting her here, though, that was the conundrum. Luis was killed by King, who was in love with Harley, who knew all about how Luis was killed by King. But the police didn’t know Luis was killed by King. And Stan was sure they’d be interested to hear all about it from an anonymous source if the cartel didn’t go along with his demands for money. The cartel would pay dearly to avoid that sort of drama.
Sure, everyone feared the cartel and with good reason. But he’d be long gone before they ever realized who had hoodwinked them, and Harley would be rotting in the ground by then. Sure, he and Harley would enjoy each other for a time but, sadly, their affair would have to be brief. He knew her routine by now, so he just needed to pick his moment to distract her on her way to her car, subdue her, and bring her home to play. And if she didn’t want to play with him? If she had the fucking audacity to reject him? Well, he had a lovely basement that had plenty of room. The cartel would pay him to keep quiet and return Harley to their fucking zookeeper, and he’d gladly take their money. Then he’d leave; if Harley didn’t want to come with him, she could just rot in the basement with Kat.
“The more, the merrier,” he muttered as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set his beer on the side table. “Motherfucker!” he bellowed when it tipped over and spilled. “Fuck,” he hissed as he stood on wobbly legs and attempted to mop up the spill with a t-shirt he found on the floor. “Good enough.” Luckily, his customers weren’t fussy and wouldn’t mind the smell of stale beer. He tossed the t-shirt in the corner and aimed his stumbling feet toward the basement door. He needed to check on the merchandise.
He found the girl exactly where he had left her, still in the stocks with her body draped over the sawhorse. Later, he planned on letting her out briefly so she could clean herself up and pee before he opened for business that night. But for now, she’d keep.
“Sucks to be you, doesn’t it,” he said as he sat on the bottom basement step. She barely turned her head now whenever he deigned to come downstairs to check on her. What was the point? She knew better than to ask for a hit; she only got that after the men had left for the night. That was their reward system and so far Stan thought it had worked fine. It kept her compliant for his clientele and it shut her up during the day.
He wasn’t sure how long she could keep up this pace, but he had never envisioned this as a long-term operation. As soon as he got his payoff from extorting the cartel about the murder of Luis, he wouldn’t need her anymore. That’s why he didn’t bother providing clothes or makeup. His customers didn’t care about any of that. It was a no-frills operation and he liked it that way.
“Fucking cartel won’t know what hit ‘em,” he muttered to himself. “They think they can do what they want and no one will ever find out. Well, I found out. I figured it out all by myself.”
Kat frowned. What was he talking about? No way would the cartel be doing business with him. She was already jonesing for another hit but knew better than to ask; knew better than to hope. There had been a time when her life was good and full of hope. She couldn’t remember much about it today, but she could see friendly faces in her mind’s eye. A man and a woman. They were her friends. Thank God they couldn’t see her like this.
Stan rolled his eyes as Kat whimpered nonsensically from her perch on the sawhorse. He fingered Harley’s business card and pulled out his cell phone. She didn’t have his number, but he sure had hers. He planned on maintaining the element of surprise before taking her and contacting the cartel, but what was the harm in calling her just to hear her voice?
Harley’s phone went straight to voicemail, which had him seething. Did she not know who she was dealing with? No, of course she didn’t. But she would. She should. Later he’d wish he hadn’t had that last beer.
“Harleeeey…I know what yer fuckin’ zookeeper did to poor old Luis.” He started snort-laughing and nearly forgot who he was calling, then cleared his throat. “Luis was an asshole. He fucked Valentina over when he tried to trick her into making one of those dirty movies. He tried to turn her into a whore! But now she’s with that Ramirez boy and he’s made her his whore.
“But Luis? He had it coming, but we both know tha’ was no accident or natural causes as you high n’ mighty medical professionals like to call it,” he said, his slurred speech dripping with sarcasm. “It was a cartel hit. Ha! I know it, you know it, and I’ll make sure the whole world knows it soon enough. You wan’ your boyfriend to stay outta pris’n? Then I guess that puts me in charge. You won’t know when--”
“Help me!” Kat screamed the two words as loud as she could, and Stan nearly dropped the phone as he struggled to his feet. Kat was half out of her mind but knew this would be her only chance to let anyone know she was in trouble. “Please, somebody help me! I’m in his basem”—it was all she got out before Stan backhanded her.
She had no idea who he had called, but maybe someone had heard her scream for help. As the blackness closed in, she wept, knowing all was lost. Her mind conjured an image of the man and woman from her past. They would have protected her if only she had let them. “Diego…I’m so sorry. So sorry…”
“See what you made me do?” he slurred, leaning down to look at her face as he dropped the phone to the floor. “Fuck. Tha’s gonna leave a mark. But what do I care? What does anyone care? You’re already a fuckin’ mess.”
He staggered across the room, holding onto the railing of the rickety stairs for support. After several false starts, he made it to the top of the steps. He would fall asleep in a drunken stupor, which gave Kat a brief but welcome reprieve.