The penultimate chapters of the continuing sequel of "Team Spirit" by Janice Dreamer. Honey must return to the Club after spending the Thanksgiving holiday with Bob, where she meets one of Dr. Hanson's Special Clients. Chapters 40 through 44 of 48. Rating and Elements listed apply to entire story. The final posting will be 11/20/10. Enjoy.

TEAM SPIRIT: THE SECOND HALF
By Meps98

CHAPTER FORTY

When I woke up, I was face down in bed, Bob lying next to me on his side, his hand on my ass. He was still asleep. I roll back against him, draping his arm across my shoulder. I was kinda cold but his body heat quickly warms me up. We stay that way for about twenty minutes. I’d be happy to stay right here for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I’ll be back in the club in ... I check out the clock ... three hours. I’ll worry about that later. For now, I’m with my lover.

My lover. God, who would have thought that even possible three months ago. I link my fingers with his. I’m a woman who just spent the last night madly, passionately fucking with the man who loves her, the man that she … I love. How could this have happened? I snuggle back against him, not caring how it happened but thanking God that it did.

Bob’s hand flexes around mine as he kisses the back of my neck. I kiss his hand.

“Good morning sweetheart. Have a good time last night?”

Bob reaches down, grabs my waist, and rolls on to his back dragging me with him. I laugh all the way as I roll to my stomach, my boobs pressed against his chest, my legs spread wide. “Good morning to you Honey and yes, I had a very good time last night.” He caresses the sides of my tits. “How about you?”

“Only the best time ever” I giggle.

“And what do you think about your breasts now?”

“Huh?”

“We talked Thursday about your changed breasts and you said that you did not know what to think about them. Have you made a decision yet?”

“That’s not a fair question. After last night, what can I say?” Bob had spent a lot of time last night concentrating on my tits, driving me absolutely wild several times. I wouldn’t trade them for a million dollars right now and he knows it. “Of course I love them, you played them like a harp last night. Hell, I love my entire body from the tips of my tiny cute toes, the bottom of my sweet ass, my tight cunt and my green eyes.” I lightly drag the tips of my fingers down the side of his leg. “I’m also pretty fond of your body mister.”

He chuckles at that. “I know what you mean Honey. Now that you have said it, I can tell you that I love your new breasts also. I did not want to sound like your typical, boob obsessed male.”

“Which you are.”

“Oh completely. I’ve always been a boob man. That is not to say that ...” he runs his right hand along my thigh “... I do not appreciate a stunning pair of legs ...” he tenderly squeezes my butt “... or an astounding ass ...” he touches my hair “... or luxurious, golden hair ...” he lifts my chin off his chest with a single finger “... or the most beautiful face since Helen of Troy.” I slide up his body and kiss him hard. He rolls over, pressing my back into the mattress. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, humping against him, trying to find that glorious cock of his.

“Honey, we have run out of condoms.”

“Screw the condoms, just fuck me stud!

“Please Honey, you know that I would like nothing more, but I just cannot. Perhaps I can visit you at the club. Anthony did make that offer.”

“OH GOD that would be so great! You have no idea what that’d mean to me! Just seeing you every now and then could make my crappy life bearable!”

“We can see what I will be able to work out with him.”

“Don’t worry, you want it from Anthony, you’ve got it. He’s scared shitless by you.”

“You don’t say?”

“Uh-huh. In fact, the more time you spend there, the better I’ll probably be treated, at least by him.”

“I assume Amy will not like it.”

“Probably not.” He kisses me, then pushes himself up off me. I reluctantly let go.

“Where you going?”

“I thought I would take a shower.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Wait for me.”

“Alright but no sex, promise?”

“Not even a blowjob?” I pout. “You don’t need a condom for that.”

“I thought that you did not particularly like giving oral sex.”

“It all depends on whose cock I’m sucking on.”

“You do not object to mine?” I roll off the bed, move up behind him, reach around with both hands and gently grip his dick. He doesn’t try to stop me.

“I love your cock. I’ll take it however I can get it, my pussy, my mouth ... my ass.” It jumps when I say that. So that’s how Bob rolls.

“What other cocks don’t you object to sucking?”

“None, just yours Bob, only yours.” He’s clearly thinking about my offer.

“Thank you, but no Honey. I will be happy to share the shower with you but that is all... for now.”

Oh well, I tried.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

I did enjoy the shower, Bob lufad me all over. He also insisted on making breakfast while I packed. I decided to leave most of the new clothes here, except for the lingerie. Even though a lot of the tops and dresses are pretty sexy, they just won’t work at the club.

Bob made pancakes, which is good, because no matter how hard he tries, his eggs are still a little greasy. Normally, this is the time during my visits with Bob when depression usually sets in, but his promise to see me at the club keeps things from looking so bad. He notices the change.

“You seem to be in a fairly good mood today Honey, much better than usual for the end of one of your visits.” I shrug.

“The club’s still a crap hole and I’d rather have a root canal every day than keep working there but there’s nothing I can do about it. The difference is that you’ll come visit me there sometimes and that’s enough to keep me from going nuts.”

“I know we discussed this before but how do you feel about yourself?”

“You mean being a woman, a dancer or a whore?”

“Any or all.”

I’ve thought about this for sometime, but have been afraid to admit it to myself or any one else. “I hate working at the club ... but I can ... live with ... being a woman. There were parts of being Josh Thomas that were great but there were other parts that weren’t so hot. I was basically a jerk and an idiot. Even if I could go back to being him, I don’t know if I would.”

“Why not?”

“What would be the point? I can’t continue as a quarterback, even if I could explain where I have been for the last few years. There are the pending drug charges. All my money is gone. I was just a couple of years from being a washed up jock trying to live off my fading fame. Now, I’m a young girl, the prime of my life still in the future. I’ve got all the experience from my past life and a chance to make up for those mistakes. Besides, the sex is waaaayyy better now. Doesn’t matter though. Amy’s never going to give me a choice in any of this. I’m a stripping whore and will be until the day I die, whenever that is.” I reach across the table and take Bob’s hand. “But it’s all good, as long as you are with me now and then.” He pats my hand with his free one.

“I will do what I can Honey. There is always Christmas.”

“Oh wouldn’t that be fantastic?! The club shuts down two days plus the weekend. Christmas with you would be a dream come true. We could have a tree and everything. I’d only let you out of bed to piss.”

He stands up. “And on that romantic image, we need to go.” My bag is already by the door. He picks it up and we walk to the car. We get in and he starts the car.

“Do you have your cell phone?”

“Stashed in the bag. I think there are two or three places I can hide it at the club.”

“That is good. Call me anytime you need to talk. I will not try to call you. If there is an emergency and you cannot reach me, leave a message and I will get to you ASAP.”

“Thanks. I feel much better knowing you’re out there for me.” I reach over and hug his right arm. We drive off in silence until we get to the club. Bob stops in the front.

“Honey, have you given any more thought to apologizing to Amy?”

“Not really. She doesn’t deserve it, you know.”

“I know, but it is more for your benefit than hers. An admission to her of regret on your part is one more step on the road to recovery.”

“It would probably just piss her off.”

“You could be right. It’s just a suggestion.” He leans across the seat towards me and we kiss.

“Take care Honey.”

“See ya soon, I hope.” I get out, sling my bag over my shoulder and enter the club.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

By the time I get back to the club, Hanson has left three messages for me, all basically the same, what the hell is going on with Honey and why is she with Bob. Naturally, I’m supposed to call her as soon as I get the message. Fuck that shit. I’ll call her when I feel like it. First, I gotta talk to Tiffany about giving out my cell phone number. I pick up the phone to page her when Honey knocks on the doorframe to my office.

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m back, Sir.”

I put the phone back down. “Come in Honey, have a seat.” She walks in, drops her bag and sits down in the chair across from my desk, leaning back and crossing her legs. Damn, she has great legs.

“So, how was your long weekend with Bob? Do anything special?”

“It was fine. I went to a dance.”

“You went to a dance? Didn’t Bob go with you?”

“It wasn’t that kind of dance, it was just for kids, well, teenagers actually.”

“So how did you get there?”

“I was invited by some people I met while shopping. Bob told me that I should go, so I did.” Why would Bob send her to a kids dance alone? Is he tired of her?

“Did you enjoy it?”

“It was OK. Really good food.” She seems better, not as down as she was last week.

“How are you feeling Honey? You seemed kinda depressed last week.”

“I’m much better now, Sir ... How was your vacation?”

“Great, just great! I should take more time off from this place. Talk about food, there was this buffet where they had these enormous bowls of shrimp ...” my phone rang. I picked it up.

“Hello”

“Anthony?”

“Speaking”

“I assume you are back at the club?”

“I just got back.”

“So why did you not return my many calls?”

“Hey! Hold on, I wasn’t ignoring you, I just hadn’t gotten around to calling you yet.”

“If I leave you a message, it is your first priority to return my call immediately as soon as you get it, understand. Where is Honey?”

“Yeah, sure. She’s sitting right in front of me, you want to talk with her?”

“No, I want to see her, to assess her state of mind.”

“Whenever you want, you know that”

“I will be there within the hour.”

“Fine.”

She hangs up. I slam the phone down, “BITCH!” Honey flinches. “Well, looks like we’ve got company coming Honey. Hanson wants to see you.”

She looks concerned. “What about, Sir?”

“Damned if I know, something about your state of mind. It’s not like anybody ever tells me anything that’s going on around here. You better take your stuff to your room and wait for her, she said she be here in an hour or so. Before you do, find Tiffany and tell her I want to talk with her.” She nods at me, picks up her bag and walks out.

Hanson sounded pissed, don’t know if it was at me, Bob, Honey or the world in general, hard to tell with her. I rub the palms of my hands against my closed eyelids. Just what I needed today. Couldn’t that vacation feeling have lasted at least one day?

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

I slam my phone down. Anthony is a lying bastard. He was dodging me. If I had not called him, I would not have heard from him for several days, if at all. This current situation is completely unacceptable. There was a time when Anthony did exactly what I told him to do. Now, it seems as if he questions everything I ask of him. Admittedly, our interests were fairly similar initially. The more Honey danced, the more men she had intercourse with, the happier I was and the more money Anthony either made or saved. When I added the “Special Clients” and had him videotape them for me, I agreed to increase the frequency of her rejuvenation treatments so that she would remain young and attractive despite their brutal treatment of her. We had gone more than three years like this without any serious problems. My control of the situation was absolute.

And then Bob James arrived. Ever since he walked through Anthony’s door, my authority has been constantly challenged, my control slipping away until Anthony is actively avoiding me. As for Honey, I have no idea what is happening with her. Initially she feared me, which was exhilarating. I lived for that fear. She was afraid of me, of Anthony, of the scum who fucked her at the club. Dancing was a complete embarrassment for her. Unfortunately, she adapted, as human beings tend to do. I had to make some changes to bring back the fear and despair I so dearly loved to see in her emerald eyes. Hence, the introduction of the men I recruited to abuse her with rough, violent sex. The more exotic, the better. Bondage, sadism, fisting, waterworks, sometimes just purely vicious fucking. The tapes of these encounters kept me warm and happy at night.

Now, things have shifted. It is possible that my interests and Anthony’s are no longer the same. Honey seems to have adapted again, thanks to Bob James. It is clear that changes must be made, I just do not know what they will be yet. I will deal with it after I return from Stockholm. Right now, I need to see Honey and determine how much damage Mr. James has done.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

The club is rather quiet when I get there. Some young girl is performing an uninspired dance in front of a small audience of dull-eyed drunks. Par for the course for this dump. As I approach his office, I can hear Anthony berating someone for providing his private number to someone else. I knock, then open the door. There is a wide-eyed girl sitting across from him, clearly frightened.

“I would like to see Honey, Anthony, where is she?” He seems upset, probably with the girl he was shouting at.

“Dr. Hanson, so nice of you to knock before coming in. Honey is in her room.” I close the door and head for her room. As I draw near, I hear music. I can hear it over the music from the dance area, so it is quite loud. I cannot recall Honey playing music before. I don’t recognize the tune but believe it is some kind of currently popular song. I turn the knob and crack the door open so that I can peek in.

Honey has her back to the door. She is dancing. Her radio is tuned to a top forty station and she is dancing. Not like a stripper but like a young woman, happy and carefree. She spins around, her eyes closed, a smile on her face, lost in the moment. I quietly close the door. It is much worse than I thought. In all the time since her transformation, I have seen Honey relieved when she had an orgasm, grateful that a particularly stressful round of sex was finished, thankful that Anthony stopped beating her and pleased at her successful completion of one of her cheerleading routines but I have never seen her happy, never expected to see her happy, never wanted to see her happy. It sickens me. This is not adaptation; it is acceptance, embracing her circumstances. What did Bob James do? How do I undo it? I need to question her but must be careful, not overreact to what I have seen. I don’t want to give away anything that she could reveal to James. I knock hard so that she can hear it over the music. Nothing. I knock again. This time, the music stops and the door opens. Honey stands there in the doorway, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry Dr. Hanson, I didn’t hear you knock.” She stands aside and I walk in. I walk around the room while she eyes me suspiciously. I sit down in the chair and indicate with my hand for her to sit on the bed. She sits down, one leg crossed under her, the other dangling off the side of the bed.

“I understand that you spent the last few days with Mr. James.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“I don’t know. I think Anthony suggested it, but I’m not sure.”

“Do you know why he suggested it?”

She does not answer right away. “I think that he was worried about leaving me alone in the club over Thanksgiving.”

“Why was he worried about that?” She pauses again.

“I ... wasn’t feeling ... very good and he thought ... something might happen to me ... if ... if I was by myself”

“Like what?”

She shrugs her shoulders, eyes downcast. “Don’t know.” She knows, she just will not admit that she was depressed.

“Are you feeling better now?” She looks up, eyes bright.

“Oh yes, much better. No problems.” She is not aware I saw her joyously dancing just minutes ago.

“What did you do while at Bob’s?”

She looks back down. “Just hung out, watched TV, made a Thanksgiving dinner, shopped a little.”

“Sex?”

She looks up slightly. “Yes, but I had to talk him into it.”

That seems odd. Bob struck me as a typical man as far as sexual activity goes. I designed Honey to be extremely attractive to the common, average man, the type who would value large breasts over a superior intellect. “Why did you have to persuade him to have sex with you?”

Honey seems embarrassed at this question. Good. “He said that your treatments likely protected me from my ‘client’s’ diseases but that he might not be protected.”

Hhhmmm, smart man. “He’s right. Your immune system would protect you but not actively kill any viruses or organisms still alive in your vagina, mouth or annus. His treatments would likely prevent damage but not infection. How did you overcome his objections?”

“I had some condoms so we decided to risk it on the last night. I only had four though.”

“Only four? How many did you use?”

She gives me a knowing smile. “All four Sunday night. I coulda used several more.”

Well, that explains some of what he did to make her happy. “I understand that Bob is ... proficient as a sex partner.”

“If proficient means that he is the best lover any woman could ever want, then yeah, he’s damn proficient.” Her big smile says it all, particularly given that the changes I made to her sexual responsiveness should have made it much more difficult for her to achieve satisfaction. If Bob could overcome that, he might be very proficient.

“It’s good that you are feeling better Honey. We can’t have you hurting yourself or doing something I can’t fix.” I stand to leave. She stares at me, a conflicted look on her face.

“Is there something else Honey?”

“No ... no, nothing else.” I nod to her, turn on my heel, walk to the door and grab the knob. “Yes ... there is.” Honey whispers. I turn back.

“Yes, there is what?”

Honey appears to sink back into herself, getting smaller, slighter. “Something else.” I return to the chair.

“What is it?” She just looks at me, clearly undecided about what to do. “Honey?”

“While I was at Bob’s, I went to a party. It was just for high school kids, so Bob stayed home. I was invited by some guys I met while shopping. Actually, I was invited along with three girls I met while shopping. They were really nice girls and they wanted to go so I went with them. Long story short, one of then almost got raped but we stopped the guy before he could finish. He drugged my friend before stripping her naked. We got there just in time.”

“We?”

“Me and my other two friends.” Friends? “I kinda worked him over after we got her out. She didn’t remember a whole lot but was hurt emotionally by it, along with the other two girls.”

“Who are these girls? Where did this happen?”

“I don’t want to say, I promised I wouldn’t. I’m telling you this because ... I felt really bad about what happened to this girl and how it hurt her and her friends. It hurt me too. I was also really pissed at the guy who did it ... so ... I ...” She stopped talking

“You did what?” I quietly urged.

“I tasered him in the balls and forced a drugged drink down his throat.”

Impressive. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I know it won’t make any difference, I know it is way too late ... I just have to say that I’ve seen what a terrible thing rape is and how it affects the victim and her friends ... and ... I’m sorry for what I did to you back in high school.”

I wasn’t expecting that. I sense that she really means it. Seeing the pained expression on her face and her withdrawn posture makes me believe her. She’s also right that it doesn’t make any difference, not now. I intended that she learn that lesson. She was supposed to learn it when I raped her years ago. What can you expect from a jock, they are all slow learners. She has many more lessons to come. For now, it is probably best that I accept her apology, let her think that there may be some kind of reprieve before the next course of torture begins.

“I appreciate that Honey. This apology comes as a surprise, particularly at this late date. I will have to give serious consideration to your current situation and future in light of your statement of contrition.” She doesn’t react but I believe I detect a little bit of hope in her eyes. Excellent. “Is there anything else?”

“No, Dr. Hanson.”

I go back to the doorway, step through and look back towards her as I slowly close the door. “Then I will see you in two weeks Honey”

“Yes, Dr. Hanson.”

I shut the door and pause in the hallway. She is clearly not currently depressed, which may not be a bad thing. The higher she climbs, the further she has to fall and the greater the impact when she reaches bottom. Let the tiny flame of hope grow in her heart. It will be that much more enjoyable when I snuff it out. All of this will need to take place later though, after my return from Sweden. For now, nothing has happened that I can’t undo or take advantage of, no matter what Bob James may think.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO

The club is quiet for a Monday evening but it’s early, only 8:55. Rain’s been falling all day, which always reduces the crowd, no one likes to come out on a cold, wet night in December. I’m working the bar tonight, my regular guy had another lost weekend and called in “sick”... for the last time. Honey’s on stage right now, putting on a better show than this small crowd deserves. She’s really working her ass off up there. That’s one thing you can say about Honey Sweet-Lay, she takes pride in her work. Of course, I’d beat her if she slacked off but that’s never been necessary as far as her dancing is concerned. The whoring yes, at first, but then I just kept away from her and the addiction took care of the rest. After that, she enthusiastically fucked anyone or anything. Those were the days.

She’s been in a much better mood since coming back from Bob’s last week, which leads to satisfied customers and repeat business. If I knew what he did for her, I’d bottle it and give it to all my girls.

“Hey pard, can you tell me who’s in charge around here?”

I look over to my left. There’s a guy standing next to the bar, leaning on his left elbow. He’s about 6’ 1”, 180 pounds, mop of dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, big nose and tattoo snaking up his neck. He’s wearing a long duster type coat, jeans and work shirt. Doesn’t look like a biker but not a cowboy either, sounds like one though.

“That would be me. What can I get you?”

He fishes around in the pocket on his shirt. “This crazy sexy bitch was passing these out.” He hands me a crumpled yellow card.

Damn it! Honey just got back from her tune-up; I can’t really afford to have someone work her over now. “She said that if I brought it here, you’d have a girl for me, someone who can take care of my ‘special needs’, if you know what I mean. Thought it sounded kinda crazy, but hey, might as well check it out, ya know?” He’s looking around the room, a leer on his face. His eyes land on Honey, upside down on the pole. “She wouldn’t be the one, would she?”

“Yeah, she is, but look ... ”

“Well sheeeeiiitttt! This is my lucky day! Damn, that’s one fine looking bitch! My God, those tits are fucking huge!”

“Hey, hey pipe down! She’s the one, but there are some ground rules.”

He shoots me a wary look. “The crazy bitch said I could do whatever I wanted. You telling me different?”

“Look, you can do what you want, but I don’t want her hurt too bad. I’m not dealing with police or paramedics, you understand? If she loses days, I lose money and I hate to lose money, you got that?”

He looks me up and down, then smiles. “Yeah, I got it hoss, have fun but not too much fun. It’s only fair.” He claps his hands together, rubbing them. “Now, when do I get her?”

I’m getting a bad vibe from this guy, but he’s not much different than most of the nuts that Hanson digs up. If I toss him out, she’ll be on my ass, which I don’t need. There’s not much choice here ... doesn’t mean I have to like it though.

“You can have her after her set is done and she’s had a chance to clean up.”

“She doesn’t need to clean up, I like em’ hot and sweaty.” Honey is just finishing, picking up her costume and heading for the back.

“Wait here, I’ll go get her.” I leave the bar and walk to the back stage dressing room. Honey is sitting at the make-up table, toweling off. She looks up as I enter the room.

“Sorry Honey, you’ve got a ‘special client’ out here.” She looks like I punched her in the gut. I may not like these guys but she hates them. Can’t say I blame her, it’s one of Hanson’s more devious moves. Looking for perverts and abusers, giving them a free shot at Honey and I can’t stop them. Usually it’s my job to protect the girls from out of control customers but not Honey when they’ve got those fucking yellow cards. On top of that, I’ve got to tape it for Hanson to watch later. She’s got more than fifty tapes by now.

Honey stands up. “Can I clean up first?”

“No can do, he likes them ‘hot and sweaty’.” She shakes her head in defeat, so much for that good mood. She slips on a robe and we walk out. He’s waiting by the bar. I bring her over to him.

“This is Honey. And what’s your name?”

“Uhh, ... John Smith.” Right.

“Fine....Mister Smith. Honey will show you to the room. Remember what I said.”

“No problem pard.” He reaches out, grabs her robe and opens it up. “You are the finest piece of ass I’ve ever seen! This is gonna be fun.” Honey just stands there, taking it. She knows that Hanson won’t tolerate any resistance with the “special clients”. I close her robe.

“Save it for the room....Mister Smith.” He laughs and Honey leads him away.

I quickly walk to my office, open the closet and start the VCR. It’s connected to the receiver for the wireless camera hidden in the clock/radio bolted to the dresser in Honey’s room. Normally I watch a little while, just to make sure everything is OK but I’ve got to cover the bar tonight.

She’ll probably be OK.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

This jerk is grabbing my ass as we walk to my room. I can smell the booze on him, hope that means he won’t last long. The sooner one of these guys leaves, the happier I am. I open my door and he pushes me in ahead of him. I stumble but don’t fall down.

Great, he’s into abuse. That is the worse. He looks around the room, then checks under the bed. What is he looking for? Apparently he’s satisfied because he pats the bed with his right hand.

“It’s Honey is it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I like that. ‘Sir’. You keep that up bitch. Come on over and lay yourself down. Oh, lose the robe.”

I slip out of my robe, naked except for my heels. I climb up onto the bed and start to lie down.

“Nope. On your back, head hanging off the end. Spread your arms and legs wide.” I move around so that my head is upside down off the foot of bed, arms and legs spread eagled. He steps up and straddles my head, legs on both sides. He starts to knead my breasts, pinching my nipples. “Damn! These tits are real! Sooooo nice! Best pair of titties I’ve ever seen in person. Your mother got a rack like this Honey?”

“No, Sir.” He keeps working on my boobs.

“You not a talker?”

“No, Sir.”

“Screamer?” I don’t like where this is heading.

“No, Sir.”

“We’ll see.” He lets go of my tits, steps back, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of pliers.

OH, PLEASE GOD NO!!

He walks out of my sight and I turn my head to try and follow him. Being upside down is disorienting. I think he has gone over to my floor lamp, unplugged it and cut the electric cord off it. What is this guy into? He then cuts the cord in half and walks towards the head of the bed. I can’t see him anymore but I can feel him grab my right foot, tie the cord around my ankle, then tie it to something else, probably the bed frame. He walks back up towards me, past my head and down the other side, where he does the same thing with my left foot. He walks back up to the end of the bed and out of my sight. I hear my dresser moving and the snip of his pliers. He must have cut the cord on my radio. Amy’s going to be pissed at that. It’s her own damn fault, bringing these psychos into the club to fuck with me.

I try to move my legs. There’s a little movement but not much. I’ve been tied up by experts in the past but they used yards of rope. This guy did pretty good with just a little electrical cord. Now he grabs my right hand, ties the cord around my wrist and ties it to the bed frame. I can see what he does this time. He doesn’t use ordinary knots, so he’s a pro of some kind. In a few seconds, he’s done the same to my left wrist and I am immobile except for my head. I hear his coat rustle and jingle.

“I know you said you weren’t a screamer but I can’t take any chances, don’t want to attract any attention, particularly from that big son of a bitch downstairs.” He squats down next to my head, showing me an 8” penis shaped gag with straps. Shit.

“I won’t scream. I promise. Please don’t ...”

“Quiet bitch. Open up.”

He squeezes my jaws, forcing them open and then starts to shove the gag slowly past my mouth and down my throat. It doesn’t hurt like I thought it would. It’s uncomfortable but not terrible, at least for now. It’ll probably hurt like hell in a few minutes when my jaws start to cramp from the strain. He tightens the straps around my head until the gag is securely lodged in my mouth and throat. At least I can still breathe through my nose. What is this bastard’s deal? Is he into bondage, sadism, something worse? He’s gonna have a hard time fucking me in this position and I can’t do anything tied up like this. What’s going...OOWWW, he just stuck me in the arm with something! He squats back down next to my head, holding a syringe in his hand.

“Good night, Honey.”

This fucker just shot me with something! I try to get loose, twisting and straining at the cords but they don’t budge. I try to call for help but it’s hopeless, I can barely make any noise at all. As I keep pulling on the cords, my arms and legs grow weaker by the second. I’m still awake but they won’t respond. It only takes a minute or so before I can’t move at all. He standing over me but I can’t move my head or even my eyes. I see his hand come down and push something on the back of the gag in my mouth. It starts to quietly hum. I feel another stick in my arm but can’t even flinch. My breathing is very slow and shallow, but I’m getting plenty of air from somewhere.

This is soooo strange. It ... doesn’t hurt ... but I’m ... completely ... at the ... mercy of ... this ... nutcase ... who ... who ... knows what ... he’ll do ... Oh ... God......where’s ... Bob ... when ...

* * ** * ** * ** * *

It’s been almost 90 minutes since that blonde son of a bitch went to Honey’s room. Hanson’s crazies usually take much longer than the usual guys but this is pushing it. I’ve got two other guys waiting for her now. Hanson doesn’t want me to interrupt one of her “special clients” but it’s starting to cost me more than it normally does. It can’t hurt to just check the video camera and see what is happening in there.

“You guys wait right here, I’ll go check and see how much longer it’s going to be.”

“Tell him to hurry up, we aint got all night.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Trust me, this is one bitch who’s worth the wait.”

I quickly walk back to my office and switch on the TV. Nothing. No picture of any kind. The VCR is on, so is the camera receiver. I jiggle the cables but nothing changes. Looks like I’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Striding towards Honey’s room, I don’t hear anything, other than the music from the stage. I put my ear to the door, still nothing. Maybe he finished and left her tied up. It’s happened before. I loudly knock on the door several times.

“HEY, MR. SMITH, TIMES UP! I GOT OTHER CUSTOMERS WAITING!” Can’t here anything, no movement, no voices, nothin’. Oh well, I’ve seen it all before in this job, so I open the door and stick my head in.

Blood.

Everywhere.

The floor, the walls, the bed. God, the bed is red with it. The room stinks of it. Honey is on her back, arms and legs splayed out, covered in red slashes. Her head is at the wrong end, flopped back off the bed, throat sliced in half. The blood had poured out of the cut, soaking her long hair and pooling on the floor. Mr. Smith isn’t anywhere to be seen. Jesus Fucking Christ!! The bastard kills my best dancer and runs for it!

I carefully step in to the room, trying to avoid the blood on the floor. Easing towards the bed, I can see that Honey has something stuffed in her mouth and strapped around her head. Her eyes are open but glassy and blank. Her chest isn’t moving. I can’t get any closer without stepping in the blood puddle that surrounds the bed. I can reach her right hand. Her wrist has a long, shallow cut just above the electrical cord tied there. Her hand and arm are slick with blood. I can’t find any pulse. Suddenly, I remember something Bob had said, that none of us knew what was in Honey’s blood. This may not be the safest place to be. I let go of her hand, then backtrack out the way I came. When I get out of the room, I close the door, lock it and check my shoes to make sure I’m not tracking any blood.

Time to take stock. I’ve got a dead girl in one of my rooms, two guys waiting to fuck that girl, a crazy doctor who lives to torture that girl and a maybe crazy ex-assassin who may love that girl. First thing is to get rid of the two guys, then pass the buck to the crazy doctor. I hurry back to the bar.

“Sorry guys, the last customer damaged the merchandise. I made sure he won’t do that again but she won’t be available for a couple of days. You can have free drinks for your trouble.”

That did it for them, now to call Hanson and drop this problem in her lap.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

“The number you have dialed is not currently available.”

Damn! That’s the fifth try in the last hour! Where the hell is she?! The longer Honey’s in that room, the better the chance someone will find out what happened. No one answers the number at the clinic and it’s after 11:30 p.m. I did not sign up for this shit. She is going to freak when she finds out what happened, but it was her damn fault, so I can handle her. If I have to go to Plan B and call Bob, I don’t know what he’ll do and I sure as hell can’t handle him. I press redial on my phone.

“The number you have dialed is not currently available.”

Shit! Shit! Shit! Times up. Plan B it is. I dial Bob’s number.

“Hello, Bob James speaking.”

“Hey Bob, it’s Anthony ... look, I’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“It’s a big problem Bob.”

“Alright, what kind of big problem?”

“It wasn’t my fault, I swear Bob.”

“Now you have me worried Anthony, what is this problem?”

There is no good way to do this. “It’s Honey.” He doesn’t say anything right away.

“What about Honey?”

“I want to make sure you understand that ...”

“ANTHONY! What about Honey?”

“She’s dead.” I’m waiting for the explosion.

“Where is she?” I can hear the cold anger in his voice.

“Her room at the club. I didn’t do it; it was one of Hanson’s god damn fucking perverts. Said his name was ...”

“Excuse me Anthony, I don’t mean to interrupt you. I am sure that it is a very interesting story and I will be happy to listen to it later, but right now I would suggest that YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ANSWER MY QUESTIONS!! ... Understand?” There’s the explosion.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing Bob, whatever you want.”

“Thank you Anthony. Are you sure she is dead?” That cold anger again.

“Oh yeah, she’s dead.”

“How was she killed?”

“The guy cut her up real bad, slit her throat. The room’s a mess.”

“Have you spoken with Dr. Hanson?”

“I tried to call her first, but can’t reach her.”

“That’s not a surprise; I believe that she is in Sweden.” Sweden?

“Why the hell is she in Sweden?”

“We can talk about it later. Does any one else know?”

“Not yet.”

“Good, keep it that way. Turn off your backdoor security camera and the lights in the back parking lot; I will be there in a few minutes. Meet you at the back door.” He hangs up. Well, the worst is over, at least for now.

I walk over to the security control panel and switch off the back camera. I need to go to the utility room to kill the parking lot lights. After that, I go to the back door and wait for him. It looks like there are five or six cars parked in the back. In about ten minutes, I see a pair of lights swing into the lot. The car drives past the door, then backs up so that the rear bumper is nearly right against it. Bob gets out and I open the door for him. He walks in, turns, opens his trunk and takes out a medium sized sports bag. He marches off towards Honey’s room with the bag in hand, doesn’t say a word. I follow along behind him. When we reach the door, he just points at the knob. I unlock it and gently push the door open.

He stands there in the doorway, staring at her body on the bed, one hand on the doorframe. All I can see is his back. I can hear his breathing, slow and deep, like’s he’s trying to keep control. He says nothing, just stands there, looking. After about a minute, he speaks.

“Correct me if I am wrong Anthony, but is it not part of your job description as pimp that you are supposed to protect your whore from this sort of incident?” He turns his head to look at me, his eyes bright with tears. “Am I right about that Anthony?” I think he wants an answer.

“Your right, it is, but this guy was not a regular, he was one of Hanson’s ‘special clients’. I’m supposed to leave them alone.”

He drops the bag, bends over and opens it. I look inside but don’t recognize anything. He pulls out a flat, thick, white square and shakes it out. It’s a paper coverall, which he unzips, steps into, pulls up his body, puts his arms in the sleeves and zips it up to his neck. Then he takes out three small packages, opens them and flicks them out one at a time. He puts the first over his hair. It’s a shower cap. The other two go over his shoes. Next, he puts on a pair of latex gloves and a paper mask over his nose and mouth. The last thing he removes from the bag is a large, rectangular, flat, black, nylon bag’ which he drops on the floor.

“What’s that Bob?”

“It is a suit bag. I plan to use it as a body bag if rigor mortise has not advanced too far. It will be tight but she should fit. Hand me that multi-tool please.” He points back into the bag. I reach in, grab the tool and hand it to him. He slips it into the pocket of the coverall, then walks into the room. Once he reaches the body, he first checks for a pulse in each wrist, then the neck. He doesn’t say anything but his head drops to his chest. It’s clear he didn’t find one. After a few seconds, he takes the tool out of his pocket, opens it, then cuts the cord around Honey’s right ankle. He works around the bed, cutting the cords as he goes. He stops to check several cuts on her arms, legs, body and tits. He puts the tool back in the pocket, unzips the coverall, reaches in and takes out his cell phone, which he uses to take several pictures, some up close and some from further away. After putting the phone away and zipping back up, he walks back to the door and holds out his hand towards me.

“The suit bag please Anthony.”

I pick it up and hand it to him. He returns to the bed, unzips the bag and turns it partially inside out. He starts with her head and works the bag down the body, unrolling it as he goes. When he reaches her waist, he rolls Honey onto her side, tucks her legs under her torso and continues unrolling and tugging the bag over her body. By the time he reaches her knees, he’s out of bag; it’s not quite long enough. He picks it up about a foot and jerks it several times. The body slides down a little, which gives him enough room to zip it shut. Frankly, I didn’t think it would work but I’m not dumb enough to say anything, at least not with the way Bob’s feeling. He leaves the body on the bed and comes back to the doorway.

“There is a plastic trash bag in there. Hand it to me.”

There’s actually several bags, along with at least one more coverall and several shower caps. I give him one of the bags. He unfolds it, then opens it by holding the mouth open and shaking it. He rolls it down like he did the suit bag, spreads it out on the floor and steps inside. Unzipping the coveralls, he pulls them down to his ankles, then steps out of each leg, leaving it and the shower caps that were on his feet in the trash bag. He takes the shower cap off his head, removes the gloves and mask, drops them all in the bag, then closes the bag with a twist tie.

Very neat, very clean, very professional. Got to hand it to him, Bob knows his shit. He sits the bag just inside the door way, then closes the door.

“Lock it.” I do. “We need to talk Anthony. You have some decisions to make.” Me? That’s why I called him! He steps away from the door, moving down the hallway about ten feet.

“Here is the situation as I see it. Stop me if you do not understand something. You have a dead woman in your club, brutally murdered by someone who has likely done this before.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it takes a long time to do what he did to Honey. There were approximately eighty cuts of varying depths and length, not counting the slit throat. There was no sign that he rushed the job. That means that he was either a remarkably poised and level headed rookie or that he has had practice. I vote practice. Assuming I am correct, the police are probably looking for him due to his prior offenses. This will not be written off as just another dead whore. If the prior murders are not all local, then other police agencies will be involved, maybe even the FBI if the prior offenses are out of state. I have not heard of similar murders in the Dallas area, have you?”

“No, I haven’t, but the cops could be keeping it quiet.”

“That is possible, but if our man is preying on working girls, the local rumor mill would have gone active, which it hasn’t. My guess is that this is his first local kill. If the police are brought in, there will be an in-depth investigation that neither you nor Dr. Hanson can stop or likely influence. That means that Honey’s paper thin false identity will be discovered very quickly.” CRAP! “Even if you could control the police, the press will become involved. If it bleeds, it leads. God knows there is enough blood in there to attract more than the local paper. Some bright reporter will want to do an up close and personal story about the poor victim. Bingo, same problem with Honey’s false ID.”

He’s right, as usual. “OK, we keep the police out, take care of it ourselves.”

“That is one option, but you have not taken Dr. Hanson into consideration. She may want you to do something else.”

“Didn’t you say she was in Sweden? What’s up with that?”

“I believe she is there for this year’s Nobel Prize ceremonies. The actual ceremony is December tenth but there are a number of events leading up to the final ceremony. Dr. Hanson is participating in one of those today, the eighth. She is not scheduled to return to Dallas until the twelfth, four days from now. It would be very difficult to keep this under wraps until she returns. The smell alone would be practically impossible to hide.”

“Why would we have to wait four days?”

“I believe that Dr. Hanson will insist on viewing the scene herself, instructing you to touch nothing until her return. I also believe that she will consider her time at the Nobel ceremonies more important than coming back early to deal with this problem. I do not suppose you have a large freezer where we could stash the body for several days?”

“No. Besides, that still leaves us with all that blood.”

“Very true. I assume that you still have not been able to reach Dr. Hanson.”

“Yeah, still not available.”

“I imagine her office has a number where she can be reached but you will not be able to get that until at least 8:00 a.m., which is …” Bob checked his watch “… slightly more than seven and a half hours from now. There is also the time difference between us and Sweden, which is I believe eight hours. If we were to try and clean this mess up and dispose of the body, we would have to wait for the late night, basically twenty four hours from now, even if Dr. Hanson gave her approval at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. The longer Honey’s body rots in that room, the longer the blood decomposes, the better the chance someone will discover it or call in the authorities to check it out.”

“So, exactly what are you saying, in simple, short words that I can understand.” He smiles slightly, for the first time tonight.

“You can either wait until the morning and contact Dr. Hanson for her opinion or you can get rid of the body and clean up tonight. At best, Dr. Hanson will agree with your decision to get rid of the body, at worst she will demand that you keep everything as is until she returns, which would greatly increase your risk of exposure. Besides, Honey is dead. Your business relationship with Dr. Hanson is also dead. The only thing she could do when she got back would be look around the room, agree that Honey is dead and tell you that you could now clean up. She would probably want the body for herself.” The look on Bob’s face when he said that told me a lot.

“You don’t want Hanson to get her hands on Honey’s body, do you?”

He hesitates. “Frankly, no. She put her through hell in life, Honey should at least have some peace in death.” Can’t argue with that.

“So Bob, what would you do?”

He grimaces. “You know what I would do. We are all done here, there is nothing left. Regardless of your decision, my relationship with Dr. Hanson is likely at an end. It is you who will face her wrath, such that it is. Honey died on your watch, she will blame you for that.”

“But it wasn’t my fault!”

“Whose fault was it?”

“Hanson and her fucking ‘special client’, Mr. Smith!”

“And you believe that Dr. Hanson will agree with you on that point?”

Of course she won’t, she’ll go nuts no matter what I do. Time to look out for Number One. “Alright, we do it now. What’s first?”

“The first thing is for you to go back out to the club and act like nothing has happened. Keep this door locked and every one away from this area but do not appear paranoid about it. Once you close for the night, we can move the body, the mattress, linens and anything else stained with blood out of here in your cargo van.”

“Where can we take all that stuff?”

“Remember our conversation a few weeks ago about whether or not I would have killed you? I said I never moved to an area without making arrangements for disposal of a body if it became necessary. It is now necessary. I have a place. While you keep the club running, I will go obtain the supplies I need to finish the job.”

“Who’s open this time of day?”

“Thank God for Wal-Mart. They are truly a full service store. They have everything I need, except for one highly specialized item, which is already on reserve for just such an emergency.”

“What about ‘Mr. Smith’? Are we going to let the son of a bitch get away with this?”

Bob clenches his right hand, slowly rolling his fingers back and forth, jaw taught.

“It is part of the price we pay for making your problem quickly disappear. We would need a full forensic team to come in and gather evidence to identify him. You cannot afford that kind of attention. I might be able to get some of my past associates here pro bono but that would also take time we do not have. If I am correct that he has done this before, then he will likely kill again. I will put out some discreet feelers. Should he resurface, I will speak with him concerning tonight’s events.”

I bet you will. If “Mr. Smith” knew what was waiting for him, he’d hide in the deepest hole he could find. I guess that it is the best we can do for now.

“Make sure you do not go back into that room until I return. I took those precautions because I did not want to spread evidence through the club, which would make the clean up more difficult. I also did not want to risk any potential contamination by Honey’s blood.”

“Yeah, I remembered you said something about that weeks ago. I got out of there fast when I did. Don’t worry,” I patted my pocket where the key to her door was “that door stays locked until closing time.” He holds out his hand, offering to shake. He must not blame me for what happened. I take it. He’s got a grip like a gorilla.

“I will be back by 2:00. Lock the back door behind me.” Bob releases my hand and we walk to the back door. Bob glances out at the lot. “Is this lot covered by any of your neighbor’s security cameras?”

“I don’t think so, no reason for them to look this way.”

“It is best to assume they are, better safe than sorry.”

He gets into his car and drives off. I look around the parking lot, still a half dozen or so cars back here, hard to tell without lights. I look up, it’s a cloudy night. Seems like we’re catching a break for once. I pull the door shut, lock it and head back to the bar.

If I just stay cool, it should all work out in the end.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE

It’s 1:50 a.m. I had the girls stop dancing half an hour ago and sent them home, told them it was just too dead a night. Without the girls, most of the crowd split. Unfortunately, there are always stragglers. I can’t make too big a show of kicking them out. Just then, Bob walked in and had a seat near the stage. Our eyes met and he gave a subtle nod of his head. Everything must be going as planned.

I finally managed to get the last two guys out by 2:05 a.m. After locking the front door, we went to the back door. I unlocked it. Bob’s car was right there, just as before. The parking lot is empty. He opened the trunk and we started to unload it. There was a Shopvac, a dozen bottles of bleach, a big bundle of rags, assorted cleaning products, four big metal buckets, two five gallon jugs of kerosene, several plastic tarps. The back seat had four sponge mops and two large metal canisters, like big five gallon thermos jars. The front seat had a couple of bags with paper coveralls my size and more masks, gloves and shower caps. We set everything off to the side and switched my cargo van for Bob’s car. After getting dressed in the protective gear, we went to Honey’s room. I unlocked the door.

Everything was the same as we left it, though it seemed to smell worse. It might have been my imagination. I’d never admit it to Bob, but I’d never actual killed anyone. Sure, I’d roughed up a whole bunch of guys, broke a few arms, legs, ribs and faces, but they all lived to see another day. They often bled but I’d never seen a mess like Honey’s room. It made me kinda queasy. Didn’t seem to bother Bob much, though I did catch him staring at the body, lost in thought. I may have seen him wipe away a tear or two. We bagged all the clothes, towels, bed sheets, anything that was made of fabric. I emptied all the drawers of her dresser while Bob cleaned out her makeup table and bathroom. Everything was set just outside the door. We then removed the covers off our shoes as we stepped out of the room, put them in the bags and carried it all to the back. We did the same thing with the body and finally the mattress. The only things left behind were the empty furniture and the bed frame.

Bob had covered the floor of the van with a couple of plastic tarps and we loaded the bags and body in, putting the mattress upside down on top of everything. We stripped off our protective clothes, bagged them and tossed the bags in the back. The last stuff loaded were the Shopvac, kerosene, two metal buckets and the canisters, which Bob carefully handled, padding them with the bags of clothes and linens.

“What’s in those things?”

“The one thing Wal-Mart did not have in stock. It is a little volatile, so we need to take care.”

“What’s a ‘little volatile’ mean?”

“Nothing to worry about, as long as the containers do not leak, and they are top of the line so they should be fine. You can drive.”

“Where to?”

“I will direct as we go along.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“You have probably never been there before. Let’s go, we need to be done well before dawn.”

We both climb into the van and drive off. Bob gives me directions and asks questions about what happened with “Mr. Smith”, what he looked like, sounded like, even smelled like. I told him everything I could remember. He asked about the yellow cards and how they worked, how Hanson distributed them and what some of the other “special clients” had been like. There was no reason not to tell him the whole truth now. I had plenty of stories about some of the other freaks Hanson had found, God knows where.

We were in an industrial part of town that had seen better days. Most of the buildings had started as one business which eventually failed or moved and was replaced by something else. Bob points to a wide driveway to my left.

“Over there. Stop in front of the garage door, I have the key. When I open it, pull in all the way and I will shut the door behind you.”

“Got it.”

Bob hopped out of the cab, trotted to the door, pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the overhead door and pushed it up, catching the attached rope as the door rode up. I drove in through the door and stopped as soon as I cleared the entrance. Bob pulled the rope down, closing the door behind me. The building was completely dark except for my headlights. I just sat there, engine idling, then saw a flashlight ahead of me, signaling me forward. Turning towards the light, I saw Bob as the headlights swung his way. He had me move forward about thirty feet then stop. There was something about the size of a portable air conditioner at his feet. He reached down and pushed a button. There was a whirring sound, then an engine fired, settling down to a moderate hum. He pushed a second button and several sets of portable lights scattered around the room switched on. It was a generator, creating a dome of light in the gloom. Bob walks up to my door.

“There is a grease pit over there” he points to a pile of oil drums “that’s where we will dispose of everything.”

“What is this place?”

“It is an old auto repair garage, been out of business for about eight years. Back the van to within about ten feet from the edge of the pit.”

I swing the van around and back towards the concrete pit, Bob signaling me with his hands until the van is where he wants it. I turn the engine off and get out. The pit’s about five feet deep, ten feet long, four feet wide, straight on all sides except on the front, which slopes down to the bottom. It’s a bit steep but not too bad. We unload everything, starting with the mattress, then the bags, tarps, and finally Honey’s body. We tossed everything else in the pit but Bob insisted we carry her body down ourselves, carefully placing it on top of the pile. He rested his hand on the bag for a few seconds, head bowed. I think I heard him sniff back a tear or two. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and walked back up the slope. I followed about ten feet behind, giving him some space. Bob put the kerosene, buckets and canisters on the edge of the pit, then picked up the Shopvac and set it down next to the van.

“Anthony, take the van all the way back to the door. I do not want it near the pit when the fire starts.”

“You’re going to try to burn everything? We’ll be here all night and still have a bunch of crap to dispose of.”

“Trust me Anthony, I have done this before. Just move the van as I ask and then come back.” He’s been right so far, might as well stay to the end of the ride.

I drive the van to the far end of the building. It’s about two hundred feet long, like a big quonset hut, half-circle arches for the roof and no center supports. It would be great for a basketball court. By the time I walk back, Bob has attached a pole and rope to each bucket.

“What now?”

“There is liquid oxygen in the metal containers. It is extremely cold, you do not want to get any of it on you. Your clothes and shoes will provide little protection. I have heavy gloves for both of us but they will only protect against splashes, not immersion. I will soak everything with the kerosene, light it and then we add the oxygen by dumping the buckets over the flames. It makes the fire burn much hotter.”

Bob unscrews the cap on the kerosene jug and starts to pour it in the pit when he suddenly stops. “I almost forgot.” He sets the jug down, walks back down into the pit and unzips the suit bag slightly at the end near Honey’s head. He reaches in, grabs something and pulls. He removes his hand, holding a clump of her hair. I know she’s dead but I wince anyway. He takes a clear plastic bag from his pocket, puts the clump of hair in it and zips it shut.

“What the hell is that for?”

“In case Dr. Hanson requires proof of identity of the body.” He throws the bag to me. “You keep it. You are more likely to need it than I will.”

I look at the bloody clump of hair and flesh in the bag and shudder. It’s gross but he might be right. Bob climbs out of the pit and goes back to pouring the kerosene, dousing everything. I can’t really smell anything different, the whole garage stinks of gas and oil. Bob puts down the empty jug and opens the second. He returns to pouring it in the pit. After a minute or so he stops and brings the jug back to me, about thirty feet from the pit. Bob tosses me a pair of really thick gloves and puts on a pair just like them. He unscrews the top of the canister, picks it up and carefully pours the contents into one of the buckets. Fog is rolling out of the container and bucket, flowing across the floor. He does the same with the second bucket. I walk over and look in. There is so much fog, it’s hard to see inside but it appears to be a clear liquid. Frost is building up around the outside of the bucket. I turn back to look at Bob, who is now wearing a very dark pair of sunglasses.

“I am sorry Anthony, but I only brought one pair. You will need to close your eyes. I will take one bucket and you take the other. After I ignite the kerosene and the flames have spread through the pile, we move the buckets over the fire and pull the ropes to dump the oxygen. Make sure you keep the buckets above the flames and pour quickly. Do not jerk the rope because it my spray the liquid, which could be bad for both of us. A simple, smooth steady pull will be adequate. When you are done, move away from the pit quickly because it will get very bright and very hot very fast. We will dump on the count of three. Do you have that?”

I pick up the pole and heft it, pulling the rope a little to get the feel of it. Seems simple enough. “Yeah, I got it, on three. Let’s do it.” I walk around to the other side of the pit and get set. Bob takes a flare from the bag at his feet, strikes it against the cap and it starts to burn. He pitches it into the pit. The kerosene instantly ignites. Bob watches the fire for a few seconds.

“YOU READY?” he shouts.

“YES!” We both swing our poles over the pit.

“ALRIGHT. 1 ... 2 ... 3.” We pull our ropes and the liquid oxygen pours out. There is a humongous WHOOSH as it hits the fire.

Suddenly, it’s as if the sun came up and I’m standing right next to it. I drop the pole and stumble away, blinded, banging into a couple of barrels. My eyes are closed but I can still see the light, feel the unbelievable heat, smell the stench of burning oil, my face totally dry and hot, my skin scorched. I don’t know where I am. It’s probably better to stop and not risk falling into the inferno. My back is to the fire; at least I’m sure of that. I open my eyes and blink several times. My sight starts to return. I glance towards the fire. It’s fading out. I walk back to the pit and stand next to Bob.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!”

“I told you it would get very bright and very hot very fast.”

“Yeah, but Jesus Christ, how hot was that?!”

“Between ten and twelve thousand degrees.”

“No fucking way! That is so cool!”

“I get that a lot, but only from men.”

“Women can’t appreciate amazing acts of destruction, which is exactly what that was!”

“The primary advantage to adding the oxygen is that the fire is so hot and intense, it reduces everything to a fine ash. Look in the pit.”

I sidle over to the edge and look in. The walls are completely clean. The accumulated oil and grease was burned off. There is nothing left of the pile, including Honey’s body. He’s right, it’s only ashes. The mattress, the clothes … everything gone. The concrete is popping and cracking as it cools off. I will have to remember this trick. I walk back to Bob.

“That is fucking amazing! Where did you learn that?”

“Where do you think? It is a little complicated, a tad exotic, but it does work. In about half an hour, the ash will be cool enough for me to pick up with the Shopvac.”

“I wondered why you brought that along. What are you going to do with the ashes?” All the color drains from his face.

“Sorry Anthony, that is my secret.”

“What if Hanson wants to know?”

“She and I will talk about it then. Either way, it is not your problem.”

Fine by me, I can live with one less problem. Bob has me bring the van back to the pit and we reload the equipment plus the extra kerosene and liquid oxygen. He brought the extra in case we needed it but the first try seemed to do the job. He took one of the poles, walked into the pit and stirred the ashes, said it would speed up the cooling. He did it every couple of minutes for about ten minutes.

“Anthony, plug the vacuum in and send it down to me. There is an extension cord next to the generator.” I plug everything in and roll it down to him, keeping hold of the cord. He turns it on and begins to methodically suck up all the ash. There is the occasional “thunk” where a clump of something gets picked up, probably metal of some kind that melted. He’s taking his time, getting everything. The vacuum fills up so he empties it into a double plastic trash bag. He’s done by 3:54 a.m. We’ve got probably three and a half hours until sunrise. He pushes the Shopvac up the slope and we put it in the back of the van, securing it to the side with bungee cords. I close up the van and Bob jogs back to the overhead door, lifting it up. I drive out as he runs back to the generator and switches it off, plunging the garage back into darkness. A few seconds later, he emerges from the murk, pulls the garage door down, locks it and climbs in the cab. We drive off.

Bob has me take a different route back to the club, just in case we were picked up by some traffic cams. In a few minutes, I’m totally lost but he seems to know where we are. Once we get to the main drag, I recognize some landmarks. We definitely are not taking a direct route back to the club.

We get to the club by 4:35 a.m. I back the van to the door, unlock it and we empty the back. We swap Bob’s car for the van and load the stuff in his trunk. He closes and locks the trunk and I do the same to the back door.

Bob picks up a bucket. “That is one job down, one to go. You fill one of those buckets with hot soapy water and take it to the room. I will fill this one with clean water.”

I realize that I’ve been running on adrenalin for the last few hours and am getting tired, fast. “How long is this going to take Bob? I’m beat.”

He frowns at me. “It will take as long as it takes Anthony. This is one job that must be done right if we are to erase all evidence of Honey living and dying in that room. Remember, we are doing this for your benefit. I can stop anytime you want.”

“Fine, fine, I got it. Let’s get started.”

We fill our buckets two thirds full and haul them to her room. After dressing in new protective gear, I unlock and open the door.

Oh yeah, the smell is worse. I almost gag. Bob starts with the soapy water and I follow with the clean water, first with the sponge mops on the floor and then rags on the wall, bed frame and furniture. When the water gets too bloody, we pour it down the sink in her room and refill from the bathtub. Everything gets washed and rinsed three times. After using soapy water, Bob switches to the bleach, full strength at first then diluted. The smell is so strong, I have to open the window. At least I won’t be falling asleep on my feet. We do it all over again, everything getting washed and rinsed three times.

When we are done, the place is completely disinfected. He pours straight bleach down each drain, then flushes with water. It smells like a hospital room but there is no doubt it’s clean. We strip out of the gear, bag it then carry everything to the back door. We fill up his trunk and back seat. There is just a hint of daylight on the horizon. I lean on the door to keep upright.

“I am so fucking tired right now I could fall asleep before taking ten steps. If it weren’t for that bleach, I’d have passed out hours ago. Why did you use bleach any way?”

“Chlorine bleach destroys blood evidence. Anyone investigating will know we used bleach, but there will be no evidence of blood, if we did it right.”

“Oh we got it all and more. You could operate in that room right now. It stinks though.”

“I would keep the window open, but the door locked. If you have a box fan, put it in the window, blowing out. The smell should fade in about a day and not spread through the club. If possible, smoke a few really cheap cigars in the next day or so, that will help cover the smell. When do you plan to call Dr. Hanson’s office?”

Shit! I forgot about that. Fuck! I’m too tired to deal with her right now. “I don’t know. I’d like to get some sleep first, at least a few hours.”

“I assume that you want me present when you speak with her.”

“Oh yeah.” Spread the blame I always say.

“I can be back here by 4:30 this afternoon.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to return the liquid oxygen canisters, then dispose of the rest of the equipment.”

“The canisters I understand, but can’t you just throw the rest of it in a dumpster somewhere?”

“I could ... if I was an idiot. I plan to scatter them over a very wide area in several towns. If I had the time, it would be several states. If I am not back by 4:30, get the number from her office and we can leave a message for her later.”

“Are you OK to drive?”

“I have felt worse ... much worse. Get that fan going if you have one. See you later.” He gets into his car and drives off into the rising sun.

I lock the door and sleep walk to my office. There is an alarm on my desk clock so I set it for 11:00 a.m. and crash on my couch. I’m asleep before I stop bouncing.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

It has been a really crappy day. Not enough sleep, too much coffee to stay awake, that damn bleach smell and questions about where Honey is. I tell any one that asks about Honey that she is with Bob or that it is none of their damn business. By the late afternoon, I’m down to my last nerve. Bob’s not back yet so I call Hanson’s office before they close for the day. The receptionist doesn’t want to tell me squat until I mention that it involves Bob and Honey. Now that I have Hanson’s contact number, it’s just a matter of waiting for Bob to show up.

When he does, he looks like hell.

“Hey Bob, you look like you need some coffee.”

“No thank you Anthony, I have had more than my fair share of that today. I am not currently in shape for these 36 hour work days. Do you have Dr. Hanson’s phone number?”

“Yeah, took a bit of work though.”

“Yes, I feel your pain.” Guess we’re all down to our last nerves. “If we call her now, it is unlikely that we will reach her, but we can leave a message. I am willing to wait here a few hours to give her a chance to return the call. Have you decided how to break the news to her?”

“No, I’ve thought about it though. Unfortunately, I’ve got no bright ideas. How about you?”

“I believe that I have the solution to that problem. Let’s go to your office and make the call.”

We head for my office, passing Honey’s room on the way. Bob pauses at the door.

“I still smell the bleach, did you put a fan in the window?”

“Didn’t have one so I had to go buy it. It’s only been on for about two hours.” He nods his head and we continue on to the office.

I sit down at my desk and Bob sits in the nearest chair. I push the phone towards him. He picks up the handset and dials the number.

“Yes, I would like to speak with Dr. Amy Hanson, room 539, please.... No, I understand, we assumed that would be the situation. Could I leave a message?.... My name is Bob James, the message is that Honey has died.... Yes, died.... we will be here at Anthony’s club for another four hours waiting for her call, after that she will need to wait until tomorrow.... No, that is all, she has the number.... thank you, it was a shock to all of us. Good evening.” He hangs up. “Problem solved.”

“That’s a little cold, don’t you think?”

“It could not be any colder, which is Dr. Hanson’s style. There was no good way to break the news so we might as well use the direct approach. If you do not object, I will catch some sleep on your couch while we wait for her call.”

“I spent last night right there so feel free. This is the phone that will ring any way. If she calls, I can put it on speaker and we can all talk.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

He walks over to the couch, sits down, wedges himself in the corner and props his feet up on a nearby chair. He closes his eyes and falls asleep. At least he looks like he’s sleeping, you can’t be sure with him.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

I’m sitting at a table near the stage. If the customers see me, they tend to not act up. They know that I’m watching, so they behave. I hear a whistle from behind me. Turning around, I see Bob by the door, holding a clenched fist to his ear. Hanson must be on the phone. I nod towards him, he nods back, then walks towards the office. I have not been looking forward to this moment. When I walk in the door to the office, Bob is sitting next to the phone. He points at my chair.

“Anthony is here now, Dr. Hanson.” I sit down.

“This message had better be a drunken joke Anthony!”

Fuck it. “No joke. One of your special psychos cut her up bad. She was dead by the time I checked on her. He slit her throat, among other things.”

“What does that mean?”

Bob leaned in to the phone. “It would appear that he was torturing her. She had cuts all over her body of varying lengths and depths. It is called ‘Death by a Thousand Cuts’, quite painful and slow, also quite messy. He did severely cut her throat. It is likely that she was still alive when her throat was cut, there was a large blood pool below the cut, which indicates her heart was still beating, though, given the position of the body the blood could have simply drained out due to gravity, hard to say for certain.”

“And why are you there Bob?”

“Anthony contacted me when he was unable to reach you.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Anthony?”

“Yes?”

“How could you be so INCOMPETENT?! You had one simple job, keep her alive! You didn’t have to even keep her from being hurt, just alive! Apparently, that was too difficult for you ...”

“Don’t drop that shit on me Doc! I was just following your fucking rules! If I had my way, none of those sick bastards would have even been in this club! Sooner or later, something bad was going to happen so I don’t want to hear any crap about ...”

“YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY!”

Bob leans back towards the phone. “Dr. Hanson, it would probably be best for all of us to calm down. You are likely not in a location to freely talk about this matter, someone might overhear your end of this conversation.”

Silence. I think I can hear her breathing. “You are correct Mr. James. What’s done is done. I can deal with this when I return. I do not want anything touched until I get there.” Bob looks at me, that fucking smirk on his face.

“When do you plan to return Dr. Hanson?” asks Bob.

“The same as before Mr. James, December twelfth.” He called it, what a bitch!

“You don’t think returning early would be appropriate under the circumstances?” asks Bob.

“She is already dead; there is nothing I can do about that. I do want to view the body and murder scene.”

“How do you propose we preserve her body and the extremely bloody room until you get back? Decomposition will be well along by then and the room will be very ... aromatic.”

“That is your problem, solve it.”

“We already have.”

“What do you mean?”

“As you said Doctor, what’s done is done. The room has been scrubbed clean and her body cremated.”

“On who’s authority?!”

Enough of this. She doesn’t give a damn about me or my problems. “I made the call. She was dead. We knew what happened and we knew who did it. The longer we kept the body around, the better the chance of someone finding out she was dead. I wasn’t going to take the chance of the cops getting involved so we cleaned up the mess, all of it.”

“We should have discussed this Anthony before you acted.”

“I tried to call you but couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Was this your decision or Bob’s?”

“It was mine. Bob had his own opinion but it was my decision.”

“I am sure it was ... we can discuss this when I return. I will contact you.” She hung up. Bob slumps back in the chair and rubs his eyes. He looks beat. Actually, he looks more than tired, like he’s sad or depressed. He notices me checking him out and straightens up, then he stands up.

“That is it for now. I am going home and get some real sleep. Call me about the meeting time and place when you know something. I will make myself available regardless of the time. Good night Anthony.”

“Night Bob. Thanks for your help. It’s been a wild couple of days.” I hold out my hand.

“You are welcome Anthony.” He shakes my hand and leaves.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

This is utterly intolerable! Honey was MINE! Who are they to decide the appropriate course of action! If I was back in Dallas, I would ... I would ... I don’t know what I would do.

I had such plans for her. All my research, all my consultations, WASTED! The new regime of torture would have done the trick, finally, completely breaking her! Now, Honey has been ripped away from me, all due to Anthony’s incompetence! I am sure that Bob James also had something to do with this. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do from Sweden, but when get back, there will be hell to pay, that I promise!

* * ** * ** * ** * *

Hanson called me bright and early on the thirteenth, wanted to meet that morning. I told her to pick the time and place. She set it for 10:00 a.m. at the club, so she could check out Honey’s room. I called Bob and let him know. He said that he’d be there by 9:45, that we still had work to do to cover all the bases. I will be so damn happy when all this crap is done. If I had known at the start about all the shit I was going to have to put up with, I’d have tossed Hanson out on her ass when she came to me with her offer for Honey’s services.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

When I get to the club, the front door is locked. I ring the bell several times before Anthony finally unlocks it and lets me in.

“Come in, Doc.”

“I would like to see Honey’s room first Anthony, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem, be my guest.” He walks ahead of me all the way to the bedroom. He unlocks the door and steps aside so that I can enter. I march in and look around. It is empty except for bed frame, dresser, table with mirror, chair, bathtub and sink. I walk over to the dresser and open several drawers. They are all empty. Not only empty but utterly clean, no dust, no lint … nothing. The same for the table. The room smells faintly of bleach. There is no blood to be seen anywhere. I had brought something with me to test for blood residue. Removing the bottle of Luminol from my purse, I spray it on the floor around the bed. There is no reaction. Hhhmmmm, interesting. I return the bottle to my purse. I notice that the clock radio is no longer bolted to the dresser top. With any luck, Bob James did not discover why it was there.

“I have seen all that I need for now Anthony. Let’s go to your office and talk.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Doc.”

We exit the room and he locks it again. It is a short walk to his office. I open the door. Bob is sitting in the chair next to Anthony’s desk. I sit down in the chair opposite him while Anthony takes a seat behind his desk.

“Good morning, Mr. James. I do not recall inviting you to this meeting.”

“Good morning, Doctor. You did not but Anthony did. We have some issues that must be dealt with, some decisions that need to be made.”

“I should feel flattered that you are including me in the discussions. It was my understanding that you and Anthony were making all the decisions.” Bob smirked at that.

“Doctor, we did what we thought was best for all concerned. We attempted to reach you but were unable to do so. Even if we had, your request to leave everything untouched until yesterday was clearly impractical. I did take some photos with my cell phone to document the scene.” He hands me his phone.

I scroll through the pictures, each one more gruesome than the last. They are not exactly Hi Def. Most of the close-ups were adequate. There were several of cuts to Honey’s wrists, arms and torso. The wide shots show large quantities of blood on the floor and walls. Why didn’t the Luminol react? I remove the bottle from my purse and set it on the desk.

“Do you know what this is, Mr. James?” He picks it up and examines it.

“I believe it is Luminol, a product used by police to search for evidence of blood.”

“You are correct, can you explain why there was no reaction when I sprayed it in Honey’s room?”

“Certainly, Doctor. We triple washed and rinsed the entire room and contents with soap and water, then repeated the process with chlorine bleach. I assume that you know what that does to blood.”

“Yes, I do. What did you do with the body?”

“We burned it, along with the rooms’ contents, using a mixture of kerosene and liquid oxygen.”

“Liquid oxygen?! Where, in God’s name, did you get that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Which are?” He hesitates, tapping his finger on the desk.

“Normally I would not answer that question, but will in this case, as a sign of goodwill.” He takes a page from the notepad on the desk, writes a name and phone number, then hands it to me. “This is a welding supply shop. I had made arrangements with the owner when I first moved to town months ago for him to supply me with it on demand. I paid him a more than reasonable retainer.” He reaches into a bag at his feet. “Now, in the spirit of goodwill, perhaps you will tell me what this was doing in Honey’s room.” He tosses the clock radio onto Anthony’s desk. Damn! He knows.

“Clearly, you know what it is or you would not be asking the question. I had it installed so that Anthony could record Honey’s encounters with certain clients.”

“And who were these clients?” How much has Anthony told him? Probably enough to prevent me from lying about it.

“Clients that I recruited and arranged to have sex with Honey.”

“More than just simple sex, from what I have heard.”

“So, what have you heard, Mr. James?”

“That these particular clients specialized in abusive, exotic behaviors. It was just another form of punishment and torture for Honey to endure. You started documenting her encounters with regular clients then, when that became boring, raised the stakes. Her last client, Mr. Smith, seemed to be aware of the camera. He cut the electrical cord and used it in the murder, binding her hands to the bed frame with it. There is a brief tape of his activities.”

There is a combination remote on Anthony’s desk. Bob picks it up, switches the TV and VCR on and starts the tape. It shows a blonde man in a long coat directing Honey to lie on the bed, her head at the foot of the bed. He cuts the cord off the lamp, ties her ankles, moves out of the view of the camera, then the screen goes blank. He never once looked at the camera, always kept his head turned away or at an angle. I don’t recognize him at all. He looks nothing like any of the men I gave my yellow cards to this past month.

“I believe that he did not get the card from me. This ‘Mr. Smith’ is an imposter!”

Bob leans back in his chair. “And that surprises you Doctor? I am sure that after your painstaking research into the character and backgrounds of each of your recruits, you would have expected better behavior. You did thoroughly check each of them out before giving them unrestrained access to Honey didn’t you?” He knows that I didn’t.

“I do not appreciate the sarcasm Mr. James. What is your point?”

“My point, Doctor, is that Honey’s death was completely predictable. You robbed her of the natural protection a pimp provides his whore and then purposely exposed her to the most unbalanced , sadistic, psychotic thugs you could scrape from the bottom of the barrel. What little control you exercised was based on the naíve, myopic belief that your chosen vicious troglodytes would not pass those precious yellow cards off to someone even worse than them, either for money or drugs or just kicks, not to mention that they could have the card simply stolen from them. It was just a matter of time before someone truly deranged walked through Honey’s door. Is there any good reason why I was not informed of this insane, barbaric activity when I first became involved with you?”

Bob’s upset; normally he’s the poster boy for cool and calm. “I decided not to tell you because it was none of your business. It had nothing to do with my arrangements with the Wranglers. You were here to advise me on how to keep my operation out of the public eye, nothing more. How I used Honey beyond that was my business.”

“And you did not think that the almost certain death of the object of your hate and retribution for the last twenty plus years might not bring the attention of the public, including the police?”

“I object to your statement that Honey’s death was a certainty ... I will admit that this event has revealed some possible flaws in the plan but there were precautions taken that should have prevented ...”

“Doctor, do not talk like a fool. The only precautions were your ludicrously inadequate selection process and the assumption that Anthony was going to sit in his office and monitor each encounter, hoping that he could react in time if things went bad. The entire scheme was completely insane! On top of that ...” he picks up the clock radio, “... you did not even bother with using sufficient technology. You purchased a cheap, disguised wireless camera available at any tech toy store. Anyone remotely familiar with the technology would have recognized it in seconds, particularly the way it was installed. I think that it is clear that ‘Mr. Smith’ knew exactly what it was.” He slams it back onto Anthony’s desk. “It was broadcasting on a common band without encryption, for God’s sake!”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you even understand the limitations of your chosen technology? It is wireless, broadcasting an OPEN signal approximately three hundred feet, IN ALL DIRECTIONS! Anyone within three hundred feet of the camera with a commonly available receiver could watch what was happening in Honey’s room. There are hobbyists who do nothing but drive around and attempt to tap into those signals. How many people do you think have watched your supposedly private shows?”

“There are people who do that? Why?”

“High tech peeping toms. You should check out some of the ‘You Tube’-like porn web sites. It is eye opening. Honey may already be there, for all I know.” He is quite emotional about Honey’s death, much more than I would have expected. If he is too emotional, he may let something revealing slip. It is dangerous, but it could be interesting to push him a bit.

“What do I care if some techie perverts get off watching Honey get beaten up? I certainly did. She deserved everything that she received, every painful second.”

“You really have no concept of proportionate punishment, do you? At least the tapes could prove useful. You still have them, I presume.”

“Oh yes, safely locked away. I like to take one out and watch it every once and awhile. Very enjoyable.”

“I am sure it is ... for you. I have a more productive use for them though.”

“What is that?”

“We have taken care of almost all the lose ends, but at least one remains. Honey’s friend Candi is not currently in town, but will be returning within the next few months. She will expect to find Honey still working here, which obviously will not happen. She is suspicious of Anthony and likely will not accept any story he would tell. She might trust me but we can’t rely on that. It will be necessary for her to speak with Honey.”

“How do you propose to do that, a séance?”

“If your tapes contain recordings of Honey’s voice, samples can be taken and analyzed by a specialized computer program. Her voice can be reconstructed and then manipulated by that program, simulating a conversation by simply typing on the keyboard. You have probably seen the results of a more simplified version of this type of program when dead celebrities are inserted into modern commercials or movies. It is not perfect, but when combined with a slightly degraded cell phone call, it is very convincing. Is there much conversation on these tapes?”

“Only if you consider screams of pain and begging to be screwed conversation.” The muscles of his jaw tighten, he is clenching his teeth, and his hands tighten into fists. He’s trying to control his anger, without much success.

“Regardless Doctor, I will need to review these tapes to see if I can find some useful segments. When can you make them available?”

“Never.”

His eyes widen but his face stays blank, maybe too blank. He’s trying to look unemotional but is overcompensating.

“A very unhelpful response Doctor. It is in your interest to close this particular hole in our narrative. Why would you deny me access to vital resources?”

“Because I believe that you are systematically attempting to take every scrap of evidence of Honey’s existence away from me. You cleaned her room to the nth degree, you incinerated her body and all her belongings. Where are the ashes, by the way?”

“I have disposed of them.”

“Where? How?” His smirk returns.

“They are beyond all possibility of recovery Doctor, trust me.”

“Oh I do, Mr. James” I lied. “However, that just confirms my suspicions. I expect that you would destroy my tapes should you get your hands on them. I cannot permit that so you will never get the chance.”

“This makes my job much more difficult, Doctor.”

“Yes it does, Mr. James.” Just then, Anthony sits bolt upright.

“Shit! I forgot about her locker!”

“What locker?” I ask.

“Honey’s locker in the dressing room. She’d have her costumes, makeup and other shit in there. We forgot to empty it when we cleaned out her room.” Well, that is certainly good news!

Bob stands up. “We need to empty that locker right now; before the club opens for the day.” He looks around the office, “do you have a box or bag in here, Anthony?”

“No, but there are boxes behind the bar. I’ll go get a couple.”

“I will meet you at in the dressing room.”

I also stand up. “No, you won’t. I will take care of it. I want everything she left behind. I owned her and anything she used. Go get your boxes Anthony.” He glances at Bob, who sits back down.

“That is acceptable Doctor, though I insist that you bring everything back here so that I can inspect each item to make sure there is nothing that will conflict with our story.”

“Just as long as you remember that it is all mine and I am taking it with me when I leave today.” Bob nods his head.

Anthony and I walk to the bar and he points to the backstage door. I walk in while he acquires some boxes. It is a dingy, smelly crowded room with a small, lit makeup table and mirror, a few dilapidated chairs and a row of battered lockers against one wall. They all have locks except one. That one has a yellowed, peeling strip of masking tape on the door with “Honey” written in black eyebrow pencil. The entire room reeks of depression and ruined dreams. It warms my heart to think that Honey spent many unhappy hours here. Anthony comes in, a large box in each hand. I open the locker door. It is crammed with her dance costumes, shoes and props. We need to get this job done so I quickly remove the contents, hand them back to Anthony, and he stuffs them in one of the boxes. In the end, it all fits in a single box. He picks it up and we return to his office. When we get back, Bob is still in his chair. Anthony sets the box on his desk then starts to pull each item out, one at a time.

The first one is her maid costume, the next is the “Donna Reed” housewife costume, followed by an assortment of flashy bras and g-strings. Anthony hands each one to Bob. He inspects it and then passes it to me. I really don’t know what I am going to do with these things, perhaps I can have a mannequin made that looks like Honey and dress it in these costumes. It was a smart move on Bob’s part to burn Honey’s body. I would have had it stuffed and mounted on a platform, to stand in my living room. It would have been a small comfort, slight compensation for my loss. Anthony removes a wadded up scarf from the box. He holds it by an edge and it unrolls, dropping a small box in my lap. It is about 4 inches square, wrapped in Christmas paper with a red bow. There is a sticker on the paper with “To Bob, From Honey” written on it. Hhhmmm, what have we here? Bob reaches for it, but I pull back.

“Hold on Bob, this is mine.”

“What does the label say, Dr. Hanson?”

“To Bob from Honey.”

“Then it is mine, Doctor.”

“It isn’t even Christmas yet Bob. Surely, Honey wouldn’t want you to have it early.”

Bob reaches out with his hand. “Please give it to me, Doctor.” It wasn’t a request, it was a polite demand.

“I told you, everything of hers is mine.” I start to open the box.

“Doctor, I strongly suggest that you stop and give me the gift.”

“Or else what? Are you going to take it from me?” Bob was sitting forward in the chair but now leans back slightly. I can see the tension in his body though. I continue opening it. Once the paper is off, I lift the lid. It is a figurine of some kind with a string attached at the top. I lift it out by the string. It is a ceramic angel, white with glitter on it. Looks like a Christmas ornament of some kind. There is a second tag on it, “To My Guardian Angel”. I smile at that, what a saccharine sentiment! I can’t keep from laughing. “My God, did she get that wrong! Guardian Angel indeed! Honey always was weak but I didn’t think she was also a simpering, emotional child.”

He reaches his hand out again. “If you please, Doctor.”

“Not on your life. You don’t deserve this Bob. It is going on my tree at home.”

“I do not think so, Doctor.” I can feel the tension rising. So does Anthony.

“Hey, it’s just a lousy, cheap Christmas ornament. No big deal. There’s no reason to fight about it.” He doesn’t recognize what it is we are fighting about.

Bob eases up out of his chair and steps away from the desk. Oh no you don’t! You do not get to play the intimidation game with me! Not again! I stand up too and step closer to him, dangling the angel from my left hand.

“Come on Bob, Doc, don’t do this” says Anthony. We both ignore him.

“Well Mr. Angel, what now? Honey is dead and this is all that is left of her, you made sure of that. The only proof I have of her death are your pictures and your word. Would you accept that?”

“Anthony was there also Doctor. Don’t you believe him?” He moves towards me a step. I circle slightly to my right.

“Anthony is a fool. It wouldn’t take much to deceive him.” Anthony takes offense at that statement.

“Hey, screw you Hanson! I’ve been cleaning up your god damn mess for the past week! Honey was slaughtered right here by a fucking psycho that you sent. You don’t want to believe that, fine. Ain’t my problem anymore.”

“Anthony is right Doctor, Honey’s death is your fault, no one else’s. You created the situation just to increase the level of her torment when you grew board with just watching her whore her life away. Forcing her into a life of endless abusive sex was not good enough for you.” He steps towards me again. We are about six feet apart.

“Why do you care how I treated her Bob? You accepted my injections, you accepted the benefits. If I hadn’t helped you, you would be a cripple today. That was the deal. You get the treatments, Honey stays with me. Don’t be a hypocrite!” I slide to my right again. “Maybe your concern for her is more than moral outrage, maybe you had feelings for her. I saw how you looked at her, heard how you spoke to her. You promised to look out for her but now she’s dead, according to you. Where’s the anger, where’s the rage?” I dangle the angel in front of him. “She was MINE! To do with as I wished! Alive or dead! You tried to take her from me when she was alive.” I flip the angel up and grasp it in my hand. “This is now mine too and you will never have it!” I fling it down, the figurine shattering when it hits the floor, scattering white shards to all four corners of the room. Bob’s eyes are narrow slits, his mouth tight and thin. I step up to him, my face inches from his.

“Well Mr. Angel, what are you going to do now?”

It is risky, but I want to shatter his calm, controlled demeanor. Maybe then I will see the real Bob James. He pulls back away from me a few inches and shifts to my right slightly. His right shoulder dips about two inches. He wouldn’t dare ... everything goes white, then black.

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