567 lines
25 KiB
Groff
567 lines
25 KiB
Groff
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... The Flesh Man
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by Richard Avis
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>>> a cDc publication.......1989 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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_______________________________________________________________________________
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The whore rolled over, pointing her broad backside at the Flesh Man,
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and without needing further invitation he guided his potty-plunger into her
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gaping glory hole.
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"You like, yes?" she asked, using three of the five English words in
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her vocabulary, the other two - "Pay now" - having begun their meeting.
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"It's okay," he grunted, "but Jose said there was going to be something
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special."
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"Si, si, senor, en un momento."
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"Make it quick, I won't last much longer. You've got a pretty tight
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butt-hole for a whore your age."
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"Gracias, senor."
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Suddenly, the Flesh Man felt a warm sensation at the head of his cock,
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and a blast of hot air enveloped his shaft. He came with a shuddering jerk,
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grabbing the whore by her prodigious love handles and thrusting his spurting
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tool into her, fighting the seemingly endless blast of air that blew his cum
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back out of her ass. Finally spent, he plopped out of her and collapsed back
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on the bed.
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"That was pretty good," he said. Then, lest he drive up the price next
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time, he added, "for a local whore."
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"Gracias, senor."
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Tired of talk, the Flesh Man pulled on his pants and stained Guyabera
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shirt. The whore hurried to the bathroom, turning as she switched on the
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light.
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"Hasta la vista, senor - Oh!"
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For the first time she saw his face illuminated by the bathroom light.
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The narrow, nearly closed left eye, the two misshapen holes that passed for a
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nose, and the bloated, puffy lips that seemed in a perpetual sneer and were, as
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always, decorated with a fine lace of spittle.
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"Hey, I said lights out, you bitch!"
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He lunged for her, but the working girl darted behind the door and
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bolted it. Then the other door flew open and Jose entered, a machete that
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meant business gleaming in his right hand.
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"Que paso, senor?"
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"Your whore turned that light on."
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"Oh, pardon, senor. Marta, she makes a mistake. Please do not hold it
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against her," he said, slipping the machete into its sheath and extending his
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arms to his best customer. "Perhaps you satisfy her so much, she forgets
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herself, eh?"
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"Cut the crap. I've got about as much interest in satisfying her as in
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marrying the bitch and opening a taco stand."
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"Does she satisfy you, though?" the burly pimp asked.
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"Not bad, not bad."
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"From you, an afficionado, that is high praise, senor," Jose replied,
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guiding the Flesh Man into the waiting area.
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"How does she do that, anyway?"
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"Well, same as we all do, you know," the pimp laughed, stirring a
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vile-looking pot of refried beans.
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"Sure, but that much?"
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"Well, senor, Marta has always been prone to gaseousness. It was a big
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problem with the customers, and I was going to fire her, when I thought of a
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way of taking advantage of it. Now she makes me many pesos and gets to enjoy
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her favorite foods!"
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Jose tasted the fetid concoction, offering some to the Flesh Man.
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"No thanks, Jose. Anyways, tell me about this girl from Arabia.
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What's so hot about her?"
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"I myself do not know much, just that she is good, very good and very
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expensive. Her name is April. She travels by private jet, always with
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bodyguards. Today she is in Los Angeles, tomorrow, maybe London, Paris, Hong
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Kong. They say every man who has her wants to keep her as his concubine or
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marry her, but she is strictly on a one-time basis."
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"How much?"
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"Oh, senor, she is out of your range. She is for the jet set, Arab
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sheiks, Greek shipping tycoons, even American politicians. You could never
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afford."
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"Cut the crap, Jose, just name a price. Ten grand?"
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"Oh, no, senor, much more. You could never...."
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"Just tell me how much!" snapped the Flesh Man.
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"One-quarter of a million dollars, American, payable in cash - in
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advance. As I say, she is a dream, a fantasy."
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"Call her. I gotta run now, but I'll raise the dough."
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"But senor, where will you...."
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"I'll find a way."
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"Of course, senor, I should have known. I have never met a man who
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craves the women as you do, and this is why they call you the Flesh Man, eh?"
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"Yeah, right." If only he knew, thought the Flesh Man, stepping out
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into the sultry Acapulco night. If only he knew, it would turn even his
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chili-hardened Mexican stomach.
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****
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The Flesh Man entered the dingy back room of the Caballo Loco cantina,
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where Poco, a fat Mexican, was talking to a depressed-looking young American in
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a leather flight jacket.
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"Hola, Flesh Man. Meet my friend the pilot, Keith Felcher. He was
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just telling me his troubles."
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The young American shook his hand, trying to hide his revulsion at the
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Flesh Man's face, and almost succeeding.
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"Isn't there a chance the airline'll find you innocent?" Pocco asked
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the fly-boy as the Flesh Man sat down.
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"Pretty unlikely. These investigations are just a formality. Everyone
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knows I caused that crash. I'm out of a job. Lucky for me, they're so short
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of decent pilots they've got me flying until then."
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"One little mistake, your career's over," sympathized Poco.
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"Fuck my career. I don't give a rat's ass if I ever fly. I'm up to
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myh ass in debt. I'm in hot water with some badass dudes if I stop making
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payments."
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Inside the Flesh Man's devious mind, an idea was taking shape.
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"What size planes you fly?" he asked, casually.
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"DC-6s, mostly," answered the pilot. "Small stuff, 50 to 60 passengers
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tops."
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The Flesh Man smiled and asked, "When's your next flight to this area?"
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But before the pilot could answer, the Flesh Man's pager beeped. He
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sprang up and, without a word to his puzzled companions, bolted out the door.
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****
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He arrived at the site before any medical vehicles. This was not
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uncommon; he had sources at all the hospitals, and his Land Rover could take
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the steep mountain roads much faster than any ambulance. He could tell as he
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pulled on his blood-stained white lab coat that it would be a good night. The
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bus had burned, but several bodies had been thrown clear. He adjusted his
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official-looking hospital ID as he hurried over, lugging a carrying case.
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Nimbly, the Flesh Man darted past the moaning, bleeding survivors, dodging as
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they grabbed at his legs, ignoring their pleas for help.
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He reached his objective, a half dozen lifeless bodies bearing no signs
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of damage. "Severed spinal cords," he thought, "the best kind; sometimes the
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heart is still beating." He knelt down among them, opened the ice-lined case,
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took out a gleaming scalpel and went to work cutting, probing, extracting with
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the quick efficiency of a master surgeon.
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The first ambulances arrived on the scene just as he had filled his
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case. The Flesh Man snapped it shut and strode purposefully past them, waving
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his ID.
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"Dr. Morgan, American Hospital, Mexico City. I'd stick around to
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assist, but there's an orphan in Guadalajara who needs a kidney."
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He threw the case into the back of his Land Rover and raced down the
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road, weaving through the onrushing parade of emergency vehicles.
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Three hours later, in a grimy back office in Acapulco, Raoul the Turk
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tossed a wad of hundereds at the Flesh Man, who counted them.
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"This is 19, Raoul, a grand short."
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"No, one of those livers was not good.
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" "Bullshit, Raoul, those bodies were undamaged."
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"Not in the accident, Fleshie, cirrhosis. Alcoholism. In six months,
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he would have needed a transplant himself."
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"People should take care of themselves," grumbled the Flesh Man.
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"If they did, we'd be out of business. But since they treat their
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bodies like toilets, wreck their livers with booze or their lungs with smoke,
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we can sell them replacement parts and pay for our own vices, eh, Fleshie?"
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The Flesh Man smiled, pocketing the bills, then leaned forward, a
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conspiratorial gleam in his eye.
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"Yeah, but this is nickel-and-dime stuff, Raoul. Say I got 50, 60
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complete bodies, unmarked, no trauma, no burns, refrigerated from the instant
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of death. What could I get?"
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"All organs fresh? This would be very valuable. The genitals, for
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instance, spoil quickly, and the demand for them in Scandinavia is always high.
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You could do nicely, perhaps a half-a-million American dollars. Why, do
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you...."
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But the Flesh Man was out the door.
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****
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"So let me get this straight," Keith said, sitting at his regular table
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in the rear of the Caballo Loco, "I just depressurize the cabin, fly around
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'till everyone asphyxiates and freezes back there, then land?"
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"Exactly," said the Flesh Man. "I'll make it look like a crash, and as
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far as anyone knows, you went down with it. I do a little business, you walk
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away with 200 Gs."
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"I like it, but I'm not a murderer."
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"Keith, the people I work for ship organs to hospitals all over the
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world. Now they're underground, but that's just because of the red tape.
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They're still saving lives. For every person who dies on that plane, many
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lives will be saved - a kidney here, a heart there, maybe a pair of eyes so a
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little blind girl can see, or a set of ears so some old deaf woman can hear her
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son play the violin."
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"Yeah, but...."
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"Look, all these people will die eventually, right? So why not have
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them die in the right place, at the right time, so the gift of life can be
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passed on? The way I see it, you'd be a murderer if you didn't kill them."
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"I never thought of it that way. I guess you're right."
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"One week from today, then," the Flesh Man replied, rising to leave.
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"Don't screw it up, and I'll make you a rich man."
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Back at Raoul's, the Flesh Man told the Turk just enough to convince
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him he meant business. He hated to tell him anything, but a deal this size had
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to be set up in advance and only the Turk could supply the refrigerated truck
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the job required. While he did some calculations, the Flesh Man called his
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pimp.
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"Listen, Jose, I can have the money in a week...." But the Mexican cut
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him off.
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"Bad news, senor. I call my connections and they tell me April, she is
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retiring. She has one last job in Moscow, and then she is no longer in the
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business."
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"No, there has to be something you can do!" screamed the Flesh Man.
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"When does she leave for Moscow?"
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"Day after tomorrow."
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"So get her here tomorrow!"
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"But, senor, this is impossible. She must have the money in advance.
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You tell me you will have it in a week."
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"You'll have it in an hour."
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When he hung up, the Turk was already shaking his head.
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"No, Fleshie, I know what you will ask me, and it is impossible. I
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work cash-on-delivery; you know that."
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"But, Raoul, I know you loan-shark. You've lent money to every lowlife
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in this town; so why not to a guy you've done business with for years?"
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The Turk leaned across the desk.
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"Flesh Man, we are friends, we trust each other. These people I lend
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money to, I don't know from Mohammed, and I would not trust with their own
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sisters. But they pay me back because they know, without a doubt, that if they
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do not, I will find them, or my people will: here in Acapulco, in the interior,
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anywhere in the world. No one has even missed an interest payment and lived to
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see another sunset. If I lend you money and something happens, I have to kill
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a friend. And I have too few as it is."
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"Don't make me cry, Raoul. Here's the deal, take it or leave it, and I
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bet you can't leave it. Lend me the 250 now. In a week when I make the
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delivery, it's all yours. Half-a-million bucks worth of bodies, fresh as a
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truckful of daisies."
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Two minutes later, the disfigured Anglo was running down the street
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toward Jose's, clutching a bulky satchel like a tailback carrying a football.
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Everything was going perfectly - well, almost. He could no longer afford to
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pay Keith and would have to kill him. But that was not all bad; the pilot
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talked too much, and killing him would take care of a loose end.
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****
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The penthouse garden suite at the Hotel Del Golf was dark when the
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Flesh Man walked in, which pleased him. The last thing he needed tonight was
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to become impotent, as he had in the past when women gasped at his gnarled
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face.
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When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw the slender figure of a
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young woman no older than 18. She had soft olive skin; slender legs rising to
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a perfectly proportioned butt; a dark, downy bush whose subtle perfume he could
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just smell and a tight stomach with just enough silken baby fat to give her
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youthful navel a sensual pout. This was topped by a pair of breasts that would
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have made a master architect throw down his drafting pen in despair. Though
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full and rounded, they seemed to float before her of their own accord.
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But what struck the Flesh Man were her eyes; eyes of a deep tranquil
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blue that seemed to gaze into his soul. As he stood transfixed, a shaft of
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moonlight streamed through the glass roof onto his hideous face, but to his
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amazement, her eyes gave no hint that she was revolted by what she saw.
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And then she was on top of him on the huge, satin-covered bed, pulling
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his clothes off, covering his body with kisses, licking and nibbling every
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inch. In his hurry to make the final arrangements, he had neglected to bathe.
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As a result, his body carried several days of accumulated stink, but she seemed
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not to notice. Her nimble tongue darted into dark corners even the crustiest
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Acapulco whores shied away from.
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She continued like this for what felt like an age, seeming to know his
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body better than the American himself did. He shut his eyes, and it seemed as
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though three or four young girls with the curiosity of children, but with the
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understanding of women, were caressing and adoring him.
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Just when he would have cried out that he couled take this teasing no
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longer, she took his shaft in her mouth until its head was well down her
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throat. To his amazement she even got her lips around his bulging, cum-filled
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balls. The slightest motion would have brought up a torrent of hot jizz, but
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she didn't twitch, just held his manhood motionless in her mouth as he writhed
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at the brink of ecstasy. Occasionally she would swirl her tongue around his
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balls, always stopping before they released their load. She somehow knew just
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how far she could bring him without pushing him over the edge.
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Then, deep in the back of her throat, she began a slow swallowing
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motion that playfully tickled the very tip of his cock, and he strained to bury
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it deeper inside her. The swallowing motion increased, and soon her whole
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mouth was alive, swirling and sucking as he shot thick jets of semen down her
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throat. The whore swallowed like a hungry baby getting her first taste of
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mother's milk, and she didn't release his member from her mouth until she had
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gently, lovingly, milked it of its last precious drop.
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Usually, he needed half an hour before he could get another erection,
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but his cock was barely dry when it was rock-hard again, ready to be pleasured
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by her two other fuck-holes.
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First she guided him up her tight little ass, which tugged and teased
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his helmeted intruder just as her mouth had - only for twice as long - pumping
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back and forth in an ever-increasing crescendo until he exploded inside her.
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The writhing sex machine seemed to adore the ass-reaming as much as she
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had cherished the liquid lunch the Flesh Man had treated her earlier.
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No sooner had he eased out of her rectum than she took his cock in her
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mouth. Within moments it was stiff once again. She spread her slender legs,
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and he knew it was vagina time.
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He slipped easily into her slick, swollen cunt - gaping and red like a
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cut on a boxer's face - and they fucked for hours. Her twat seemed to have an
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endless supply of pearly lubricant that dribbled in shiny rivulets down his
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cock, around his balls and along the crack of his ass, collecting in large
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puddles on the king-size bed. Finally, she picked up the pace; her pelvic
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thrusts becming more urgent, his breath coming in short bursts. As she clawed
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her way up through layers of pleasure, finally breaking through, her loins
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slapped his as they strained together toward orgasm. But even as she came, the
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high-priced prostitute managed to hold him back.
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Then, with a smile that told him the best was yet to come, she split
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her legs like a gymnast and began to revolve on the end of his tool, propelling
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herself around with her hands, spinning faster and faster on her
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well-lubricated vulva. This drove the Flesh Man even closer to the brink and
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kept him there, helpless, a prisoner of her masterful cunt.
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Finally, when he felt his heart could take no more, she let him come
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and gratefully, shuderingly, he climaxed inside her; his powerful, jerky
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thrusts bobbing her still-spinning body up and down on his pulsating pink
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pivot.
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A few minutes later she broke the silence. "You are not like the other
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men I have been with."
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"What do you mean?" he snapped, thinking she was talking about his
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face.
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"I have never met a man who takes pleasure like you. The other men,
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they strut, they preen, they try to impress me; always asking, 'How do I look?
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How does it feel? Do you mind if I do this or do you mind doing that?' But
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not you. You are not afraid to just enjoy me."
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"You - you like that?" stammered the Flesh Man.
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"Yes, it is so honest. I am a whore; my job is to bring people
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pleasure, but most of them, they try to satisfy me. They never could, and they
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insult me by trying."
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"But, just now, you..."
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"Yes! With you, yes, because you are the first honest man I have
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fucked in a long time."
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"but my face - it doesn't bother you?"
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"I am sorry, what do you mean?"
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"You can't honestly tell me you don't find me ugly."
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April pulled her head back from his shoulder. "I see I can have no
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secrets from you."
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The Flesh Man had seen a lot of strange things, but nothing could have
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prepared him for what April did next. She reached up to her beautiful blue
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eyes and deftly pulled them out, setting the turquoise glass balls on the bed.
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"The man who trained me from birth to be his concubine, live in his
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harem, did this to me. He caught me looking at a servant boy and swore I would
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never look at another man again. So one night as he climaxed I killed him.
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The servant boy helped me escape. For the past five years, I make my living
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the only way I know how."
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"So that's why you have the plane, the bodyguards, the privacy...."
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"Yes."
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"And the way you seem to know things, to know when...."
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"Yes, this too. When you are blind, the other senses, they get
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better."
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Listening to this, the Flesh Man felt sensations he hadn't felt in
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years, sensations like pity, even love. It was April who noticed he was also
|
||
growing hard again.
|
||
|
||
"Perhaps you would like to do something I have never let any man do."
|
||
|
||
The Flesh Man lay there amazed as she moved her head down to his
|
||
crotch, eased the head of his cock into her right eye socket and began bobbing
|
||
her head gently up and down. This new fuck-hole had a soft, spongy warmth, and
|
||
soon he was ready to come.
|
||
|
||
"Do you midn if I...."
|
||
|
||
"Come in my brain? No, not at all. Please do."
|
||
|
||
As she spoke the words, he fired one last salvo of semen, which
|
||
dribbled out of her other eye socket and onto his tired balls. She hungrily
|
||
licked it up before lightly kissing his cheek and falling asleep beside him.
|
||
|
||
|
||
****
|
||
|
||
|
||
A few weeks later, the Flesh Man drove the shiny, silver refrigerator
|
||
truck the Turk had lent him up to an abandoned airfield he had staked out in
|
||
the mountains high above Acapulco. He wlaked to the runway and sat down to
|
||
wait, thinking about April. She had been gone when he awoke, and he had not
|
||
forgotten what Jose had said about her belonging to no man. But he would never
|
||
forget that night, and he resolved to track her down in her retirement and
|
||
marry her.
|
||
|
||
His reverie was broken by the reasuring whine of the DC-6 as it broke
|
||
through the clouds in a steep descent, then bottomed out into a perfect
|
||
approach over the cracked, weathered strip of tarmac.
|
||
|
||
Not until the plane was a couple hundred feet off the runway did the
|
||
Flesh Man realize what was wrong. He started waving franticaly. But Keith
|
||
just waved back, a half-empty bottle of tequila in his hand. "The drunken
|
||
fool," the Flesh Man thought. "He forgot to lower the landing gear." The
|
||
plane touched down with a sickening scrape, spinning sideways, catching a wing,
|
||
flipping over and bursting into flames.
|
||
|
||
The Flesh Man spung to the truck, reviewing options as he ran.
|
||
Acapulco was out; the Turk would be waiting for him. He would drive up the
|
||
coast to Mazatlan, board a freighter for the U.S., raise some money, get a new
|
||
identity, and head for - wherever.
|
||
|
||
Only after he had climbed into the truck did he see Raoul, and the gun.
|
||
"He must have been hiding in the back," thought the Flesh Man. The game was
|
||
over.
|
||
|
||
"I warned you, Fleshie. I told you not to do this. But the Flesh Man
|
||
must have his flesh at all costs, hmm?"
|
||
|
||
"Look, Raoul, just get it over with. Do you want me to step outside so
|
||
I don't mess up your nice truck?"
|
||
|
||
"Don't be silly, Fleshie. You are worth nothing to me dead. I still
|
||
aim to collect my half-a-million dollars."
|
||
|
||
"But didn't you say...."
|
||
|
||
"The principle, I can wait a week for." It would be hard, but somehow
|
||
he could raise the money in a week. This seemed too good to be true. It was.
|
||
"But you are not off the hook, Fleshie. Your first interest payment is due
|
||
now, $10,000."
|
||
|
||
"I can raise it in an hour once we get back to town."
|
||
|
||
"Now, Fleshie. Cash - or merchandise."
|
||
|
||
"Merchandise? But - you saw the plane. Those bodies are history."
|
||
|
||
"I'm not taling about those bodies, Fleshie." In a blood-curdling
|
||
instant, he understood.
|
||
|
||
"I got a call from Scandinavia. They'll pay $10,000 tonight. One way
|
||
or another, your... equipment will be on board. It is up to you whether the
|
||
rest of you will be alive, or dead and in the freezer down in my office."
|
||
|
||
Several minutes later, in the refrigerated compartment of the truck,
|
||
the Flesh Man made the first incision and tried to look at the bright side: he
|
||
would survive. This trick with the planes could be a gold mine if he chose his
|
||
pilots more carefully. A few hauls and he could pay off the Turk, maybe afford
|
||
to track down April. He would temporarily be incapable of enjoying her
|
||
talents, sure, but perhaps this place in Scandinavia could attach a new set on
|
||
him. Unlike their other clients, he could choose his own donor, and he might
|
||
even move up a size or two. The possibilities were endless. He was, after
|
||
all, the Flesh Man.
|
||
|
||
_ _ _____________________________________________________________________
|
||
/((___))\|The Convent..........619/475-6187 The Dead Zone.........214/522-5321
|
||
[ x x ] |Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362 Greenpeace's IGB......916/673-8412
|
||
\ / |PURE NIHILISM........517/337-7319 The Toll Center.......718/358-9209
|
||
(' ') |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194 time centre...........312/377-0359
|
||
(U) |=====================================================================
|
||
.ooM |1989 cDc communications by Richard Avis. 06/26/89-#110
|
||
\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away.
|
||
|
||
|