Posted by Menagerie on July 03, 2004 at 12:32:41:
FOR A GOOD TIME
The car horn was gaily tooting outside, a half-hour too early. Noira frantically finished what was supposed to be a forty-five-minute makeup job, checked her mascara and lipstick, and raced out the door, the two cockers yelping in her wake. “’Night, guys!” she called to them, and slammed the door behind her.
Just as the voice had promised; a late-model Saab. She felt more secure already, could see the outline at the wheel. “Hi, Noira!” proclaimed the voice, the third time she’d heard it. “I’m Ronnie! Slide on in!”
Ronnie turned out to be a regular-looking guy, short, neat black hair, tall and thin. He grinned at her, showing a lot of teeth. “Hey—you’re a cutie!” he announced. Noira blushed a little and grinned back. Cutie? Well, she’d been called cute; a little chubby, maybe, long, dark hair framing a square face, bright eyes peeking out through her glasses. “You’re pretty handsome, yourself,” she said, and that was maybe a stretch, too. He looked ordinary. She settled back, purse on her lap, clutching it tightly. “Where to?”
“Meet some folks,” he said, guiding the big, steel boat into the street. “You’ll love ‘em; lots of laughs.”
Noira’s eyes were fixed on her feet. There was an awkward moment of silence. “Cat got your tongue?” laughed Ronnie. “Oh, not a cat—two dogs, right? Right?”
Noira coughed, managed a feeble smile at him. “Oh, right, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m a little nervous; I’ve never done this before…”
“Well, like I said,” reassured the tall guy, wheeling the Saab past the light and onto the highway. “Any time you say, I’ll take you home. I don’t do this sort of thing, either, you know…”
The first call had been a week ago. She’d shushed the dogs, shuffled to the phone in her bathrobe. “Hello?”
“Noira? Hi. The name’s Ronnie. Ask you something?”
The voice was confident, brash; sounded like a salesman. “Yes? It’s”—she figured it was late, looked at the clock; just a quarter to nine. She’d been hitting the sack early lately. “Yes?”
“Well, Noira, I got your number from Tony. I haven’t been out in a while, and Tony said you might like some company…”
Tony? Who was Tony? She was trying to remember, for she hadn’t been out in a while, either; she had dated a few times after she split with Mike, but that was—my God, was it that long? “Tony?” she repeated.
“He said he had a lot of fun with you,” said Ronnie. “He’s sorry he never called again, but another girl grabbed him first; he’s getting married next month. Anyhow—”
Tony? Maybe he was that little guy with the bald spot; ate like a horse, paid for dinner with a lot of singles and change. “I’m sorry,” Noira said hesitantly, “I don’t really think so…”
“Well, listen,” Ronnie said; he sounded friendly enough. “I musta caught you at a bad time. What say I call back at a more decent hour? OK?”
She hesitated. “OK,” she heard herself say. “Cool. Great. Thanks. ‘Bye.” The phone went dead.
A blind date? Noira looked around, sadly. The job, the dogs, the Friday night girls…that was her life. She still couldn’t remember Tony. That guy at the office kept asking her out, and she might have taken him up on it, except that he was married. She’d had enough of that scene; Mike caught her one too many times. She had heard that the rat had been writing her name and number in phone booths up and down the Interstate. “For a good time, call…” She hoped he jackknifed.
Sure enough, Ronnie called again. Wednesday, six p.m.; she’d almost been waiting for him. “Wanna talk?” came the cheerful request.
This time, she would. She told him about the dogs, the office. “You sound cute, kind of mischievous, like,” he laughed. “Tony said you were an imp.” Actually, she thought she had Tony narrowed down, between the guy with the beeper and the fat, friendly one who told her halfway through the evening that he thought he was gay. “I’d really like to meet you. How about this Saturday?” Saturday was fine. Any day was fine. She had to get out of this place, away from the job, the dogs, the dullness…for a change, she was gonna do something exciting. A blind date!…
Ronnie motored the beast out onto the highway, out of the suburbs, out into the country. Gigantic trees were silhouetted against the twilight; the traffic got sparser until it was just the occasional oncoming car, headlights gleaming against the dusk. “These guys live out by the lake,” Ronnie explained. Noira had lived in the city her whole life, and had never been out this far; her date pulled off at an obscure exit, rumbled along a blacktop road…finally rolled to a stop in front of a ranch on an acreage, out in the middle of nowhere.
“Watch your step,” he cautioned, helping her out of the Saab. She got a bit of a thrill out of the contact, felt him squeeze her arm. “Dave and Freddie will be here, and some other folks. Hey, Dave!,” as a big guy squeezed through the front door, strode toward them with hand outstretched. “I’d like you to meet Noira, my date tonight.”
“Swell!” Dave beamed, grinning down at her; she smiled, a little nervously—he was about six and a half feet, weighed over 300 pounds. “Pleased to meet you!” he shouted, grasping her hand in both of his paws and shaking her arm till her teeth rattled. “Come on in! We’ve got a full house, tonight!”
The three of them piled in; the place looked like your typical bachelor pad—stereo blaring rock ‘n roll, couches and overstuffed chairs flung against the walls, a 27-inch TV with the sound off, a ball game of some sort in progress. A short, dumpy guy with a goatee squinted as they came in. “That’s Freddie,” chuckled Ronnie; the little guy waved, turned back to the TV. Two other guys were in the corner, passing a joint back and forth and shouting to be heard over the stereo between tokes. There were two women; one, short, neat, trim, peered at her over a drink with wide, pixie eyes, took a sip. “Hi, Nadyne,” greeted Ronnie; she nodded slightly, never took her eyes off Noira. And another woman was sitting on one of the couches, kind of huddled within herself, a drink in her hand.
“Gene and Phil over there,” Ronnie gestured to the tokers. “And the lady, Dave--?”
“C’mon over and meet her; this is Xena,” announced big Dave, plopping next to her; she looked up shyly. “My date tonight. You know where the booze is, Ron; Noira, why don’t you chat with Xena.” He leaned over and whispered. “She seems a little self-conscious.”
Ronnie had disappeared into another room; he emerged with two drinks. “One for you, one for me,” he grinned. “”Chug-a-lug!” His disappeared; Noira sipped hers. Wow! She held the plastic tumbler of murky liquid out, examined it, glassy-eyed. “What is it?”
“You’ve heard of Virgin Marys and Bloody Marys?” her date called over his shoulder, on his way for another round. “That’s a ‘Hail Mary’!”
Cute. Very cute. She took another sip, shook her head to clear it. Xena was large, dark, big-eyed, and excessively bashful. “How long have you known Dave?” Since last week. Blind date. Hmm. Another sip; Noira’s eyes were watering…
She felt the cup being pulled from her reluctant hand, a new one in its place. “Here’s to Cardinal Puff!” exclaimed Ronnie; this time, reflexively, she took a gulp. She vaguely felt it burn, all the way down. The music seemed to be getting louder…then, seemed to be coming from far away, throbbing through her head. Through half-closed eyes, she realized the circle of people in the dingy living room were crowding closer. Gene and Phil had stopped talking and were edging toward her. Nadyne hovered behind them, openly staring at her. Xena whimpered, hugged herself…
The cup was taken away, again; this time, she felt strong arms lifting her to her feet. She felt hands pulling at her clothes, peeling them away; pulling her slacks down to her ankles, ripping off her blouse, unlatching her bra, shredding her panties. The floor was coming, behind her; laid down so hard she almost lost her breath. She closed her eyes, a tear trickling down from each corner; a body weighed her down, and then was in her, pumping furiously. She couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, was barely aware. The body stiffened, then relaxed; then came another, then another, this one smaller, lighter. She looked up, saw the pixie eyes, still wide and staring; felt something enter her, hard, unyielding…
Consciousness ebbed, then suddenly flared. She was in a dark room, lying on her back, on a hard, cold surface; her backside was numb. Tried to move; couldn’t. Hands and feet wouldn’t answer her. What had they—?
A dreary light came on, bathed the room in a pale yellow. Hi, Ronnie.
“Hey! You were great!”
Noira blinked, slowly focused. She still had her glasses; other than that, totally nude. She tried her hands again, then realized they were tied at her waist. Two ropes led from her wrists behind her, scratched at her back and the crack of her ass…then wound around her crossed ankles. Two more lines bound each ankle to her upper thighs. A web of cord held her tightly; she was completely immobilized. And, she realized why she was so cold—she was laying on a slowly melting block of ice! She writhed; tried to talk, croaked a bit, then swallowed some spit and continued. “Wh-what…?”
Noira’s blind date hovered over her. “We’re just havin’ some fun, cutie.” He reached down, pinched a nipple. “You’re the fun; you and what’s’er name, the big gal Dave got.”
She squirmed at the hard pinch; started to get defiant. “You bastard!” Tears of anger. “Let me go!”
“No way; you’re the centerpiece.” Playfully, Ronnie slapped her ass, hard. “Nadyne!” he called out, looking down at the helpless, naked woman. “Time to decorate her!”
The slender woman slipped into the room, silently; surveyed the trembling Noira for a second, then started pulling produce out of the fridge. “Dip right there,” suggested Ronnie, pointing to her shaved pubes; Nadyne complied, spooning a cold, clammy paste into the wriggling woman’s hole. “What the hell are you doing?” Noira cried; Ronnie smacked her one, open palm, across the mouth, then straightened her glasses back up.
“Shut up,” he offered, cheerily. “Pile the peppers up on her tits, huh?”
Nadyne stacked green and red pepper rings on Noira’s breasts, then pulled a can out of the fridge, shook it vigorously. Fluffy cream spurted out to a barnyard sound; Nadyne piled it high in a circle around her belly. Then came fruit chunks—pineapple, mango, kiwi, a few kumquats, resting on Noira’s stomach within the ring of whipped cream.
She looked up in anguish at Ronnie; he winked, raised a hand as if to backhand her, and she averted her eyes. “Carrot and celery sticks in the elbows and knees; aw, Noira, you oughta see yourself!” he exclaimed. “Looks like something out of a gourmet magazine!” She felt the veggies shoved in her pits, and looked at Nadyne. Their eyes met, and Nadyne smiled, and finally, spoke. To Ronnie, but her eyes never left Noira’s. “Kill her now?”
“Uh…” Ronnie thought. “How are they doing on—?”
“Oh, Freddie’s already cut her up,” responded Nadyne. “They’ve got her on the grill. It’ll take a good couple hours for rigor mortis to set in. We probably ought to kill her now.” Still looking into Noira’s eyes.
The woman began to panic, screaming and bucking against her ropes. “Pretty secure job,” Ronnie commented, wrapping a hand around Noira’s neck and squeezing; the scream died, the thrashing slowed. “Dave knows what he’s doing.”
“He’s done it often enough,” Nadyne responded, going again to the cooler, pulling open a drawer. “And he’s fucked up, too. One almost got away, remember?”
“Don’t remind me.” He kept the pressure on; Noira never felt such pain, couldn’t breathe. She made a fish face; her tongue protruded from lips drawn into an O. “Took an hour to find her, out in the woods. And she made such a shitty centerpiece, ‘cause of the shotgun.” Still tighter; then, Noira felt something stiff and cylindrical fill her ass.
“Don’t think your shit is going to spoil our picnic, babe,” said Ronnie calmly; Noira’s eyes were bugging out. Then, abruptly, he let go. She choked, coughed, sobbed, “Th-thank you…”
“Got the camera?” asked Ronnie, ignoring her. Through the red haze, Noira saw past him, saw Nadyne nod, hold the camcorder up, point it at her trussed feet, then sloooowly track up her body, the fruits and vegetables so gaily laid out on her, up her belly and breasts to her face…”Okay, now,” said Nadyne coolly.
Abruptly, choking again; this time, not a hand, but a wire, a wire stretched tight across her throat, cutting into her windpipe; bruising her, the blood vessels breaking, the wire working deeper…Noira could only make an “Ahhkkkk” sound as her air was cut off. She bobbed up and down impotently on the table, her face turning red, then purple…
“Quite the display,” Dave commented. They were walking in a circle around Noira’s body, nabbing a little fruit here, a crunchy veggie stick there. With an exaggerated swoop, Freddie dipped a cracker into the dip filling her vagina, munched it with gusto. Gene passed the roach to Phil, plucked a pepper ring off Noira’s breast. “You’ve really got her looking good, Nadyne,” he said.
Noira’s eyes were staring straight up in death; a fresh pear filled her mouth. The ballgame had disappeared from the TV; instead, the image was of the last moments of Noira’s life—the camera panning up her body, decorated with the condiments and snacks, up to her face, eyes wild in horror, spittle mixed with blood running down her lips, the garrote sapping her final breaths. Gene watched the show for a second, then picked a chunk of cheese off Noira’s bare shoulder, tossed it from waist level with ease of practice into his mouth. “How about the main course?”
“Coming up,” announced Ronnie, slamming open the sliding door to the backyard. He had large chunks of sizzling meat on a platter. “Thighs and ribs here,” he said, laying the platter on a table; they dove in, hacking slices of Xena’s flesh away with a huge knife.
“We’ll chop up Noira here tomorrow; the ice will hold her a day,” said Dave, frowning and poking the lifeless woman’s full thigh. “Finish her off next Saturday; playoffs start next week, remember? Plenty here for a big party.”
“Whose turn is it to find a new centerpiece?” asked Ronnie. Gene and Phil pointed to each other.
“How’d you find this one?” asked Freddie; another cracker between her legs, then into his mouth.
“Phone booth at a truck stop,” he said, pausing to swallow a shred of Xena. “‘For a good time, call…’”
And they laughed.