Dom Wars Round Five (12 page)

He scrubbed his face and groaned a little, putting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.
"Pretty soon, I was going back and forth to the US, raising money for these kids, and back to Kenya to do what I could. But now, the economy is tight and the money isn't coming in. Corporate donations have totally dried up, and so have celebrity donations." He was silent several seconds. "This game…is a last resort." He lifted his hard gaze to mine then slowly sliced it to Steve. "Failure…is for those who give up fighting. I will never stop. I will die fighting to help those kids."

He turned his gaze back to me, a twinkle hinting in his eyes.
"Hey Bane," he said, like I was his childhood friend. "In this world you will have troubles…" he chunked his chin at me with a grin, "but take heart, my brothuh… God has overcome this world."

I
sat in shock. Immobile. To hear this from him was… mind boggling beyond description. There was nothing inside me but confusion.

I
realized we were parked in the lot of the Funeral Home now. Steve gave one more sob, a bitter burning sound. He hurried out of the car with the box and we scrambled to catch up with him. He made it half way, and came to a complete halt, did a one-eighty and headed back to the car. We followed again.

He opened the door and got on his knees before the preacher.
"Would you please…pray for me?"

The preacher was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped and looking down when Steve had entered. And now he angled his face at Steve.
"I already was, my brother."

Steve remained there for a few more seconds then gave a reverent nod.
"Thank you. You have…truly inspired me," I barely heard him whisper.

"
Not me, my brother."

Steve hurried out the car again and headed back toward the Funeral Home. If determination was a fire, he was leaving an inferno behind him.

Chapter Fifteen

We followed Steve through the extravagant interior. Despite the fancy décor, the smell of some strong cleanser covered with the heavy perfume of funeral flowers burned my nose. God what a sorry business to be in. Did you ever become accustomed to death working at a place like this? More accepting? Immune? How hard was it to appear like you gave a shit at all, after running dead bodies for twenty years?

With delivering life, I could see how you
'd be able to appreciate each new life. But dead people? How did you find the spark, the joy, when your business was sadness and sorrow?  It was just fucking creepy. Like a show. A creep show. And now we were waltzing in with the cherry on top. The icing to this fucked up cake. It all lurked eerily close to necrophilia in my mind.

Steve knocked on a door that read Private.

"Come in!"

Steve gasped at the cannon of a voice from the other side of the door. He suddenly looked like the lion on the Wizard Of OZ just before he ran and swan dove through the window.

I held my hand on his shoulder and nodded.

"
You DEAF? I said come in!"

Steve opened the door and we followed him in.
He hurried to the man's desk and stretched a hand toward him. "Mr. Pierson? I'm Steve Harrison and I'm going to have to just be plain ole frank with you."

The man across the desk glared at him from a cracked leather chair that had to be a family heirloom.
"What the hell do you want? I'm not in the mood for chit chat, I run dead bodies here." He lit a cigar, eyeing Steve, then me, then Tara. "What the
hell
you all sellin?" He stated it like he knew it wasn't anything good.

He worked his Zippo lighter into the top pocket of his western shirt, complete with the fancy pearly snaps, his brown gaze as keen as his cataracts allowed.

Steve looked around the office quickly, as though trying to find a sales angle.

"
I see you hunt," I said, nodding at the buck on the wall above his head.

He snapped his vicious gaze my way.
"You see my name on that son?"

"
Uhh, no sir."

"
Look," Steve said, setting his box on the chair. "I'm not going to take any more of your time." He opened the box.

"
Good, you've already wasted too much. State your gawddamn business already. You better not be a travelling salesman either, I'll shoot you where you stand and bury you in my own personal graveyard. I got everything I need to do it." He burst out in laughter that sounded a lot like hacking up a quickly chewed chicken wing. "Boy!" he yelled. "I'm teasing, stop looking like a damn gut-shot dog.

"
Mr. Pierson," Steve said, boldly. "Brace yourself, because I am selling something. But nothing you'd ever guess."

This seemed to get the old man
's attention. "Fine, fine, show me, aint' got nothing better at the moment any gawdamn way. But be quick, my neice'll be here any second."

This hurried Steve up.
"I need room, do you mind?" Steve didn't wait for an answer as he slid items to the side on the man's desk, then began laying out his nasty packages. "Sir, now, I know what you must be thinking, what on earth is this man doing with these insane adult sex toys on my desk. First I'd ask that you not shoot me, and second I'd ask that you hear me out."

The man stood up and Steve took a step back. Then he looked down at all the stuff.
"Are you meaning to tell me you're trying to
sell
this gawdamn shit here?"

We all stood there, looking as stupid as we felt.

He stared back at us like we were the strangest anomaly he'd ever set eyes on.

The door opened and in walked I
'd guess his niece. Steve gasped and quickly began gathering the items into his arms.

"
Leave it!" the man bellowed. "You came here to sell that, now go on. Sell it. What you got there, big
boy!
"

The old man
's grin and devious look said he knew that feat was a lot to ask of Steve.

Steve slid the items back in place and stepped back.
"Well, first we have… musical condoms."

"
Ohhh," the old man drawled, "is that so. What does it sing?"

Steve looked ill as he read the packet.
"The tune plays…'You Light Up My Life"," Steve's voice dropped to humiliated as the man's laughter boomed out again.

I stepped
forward. "And this here is our handy dandy Humiliator. Or poop shoot nightmare. Great for sadistic parties where you like your victims humiliated beyond recovery. And this." I held up the next package. "Is our highly favored Happy Bouncer." I pointed to the third handle on the ball and grinned. "Clearly this is what makes it so happy." I grabbed the next product. "Ah yes, for the avid foot fetish addict, we have this authentic looking Pussy Foot. Entrance to that paradise here," I pointed the laceration on the foot.

Tara stepped forward next.
"And this is a genuine classic. Perfect for those assholes you know could use a little religion? Well, plug this little Baby Jesus up their asses and you're sure to win a soul. Assuming they have one, that is."

"
And this," Steve snatched up the final product. "Last but certainly not least, the Area 51 Love Doll is a hot item with the…blind and such. Complete with three breasts and three
out of this world
gateways to a galactic paradise." He flashed his crazy grin. "Comes in pink, purple and blue."

We all stared at the two awestruck people on the other side of the desk, the girl
's mouth still hanging open. "Oh. My. God."

"
I'm sorry," Steve suddenly wailed. "I know this is nuts, I—"

"
Uncle Phil?" She looked down at the old man. "What if we added these to our business?"

"
What?!" He angled that vicious look at her but she didn't seemed intimidated at all. "I've got the gawdamn bloodsuckers selling me out, I ain't—"

"
Exactly! This is the answer. We sell a line of these products and attach it to our corporation. Remember who these people are uncle, why they're really buying us out?"

"
Because they're gawdamn lying thieves running guns and whores and are looking to clean their money buying up harmless businesses like Funeral Homes." He snapped his squinted eye to us. "They think I don't have connections?" he boomed at us. "Well I gawdamn well do. And I got enough crimes on them sums-a-guns it'd make a priest piss blood in a confessional." He tapped his temple. "They done messed with the wrong buzzard. They come over here to my gawdamn town, looking for small towners to take advantage of, blowin' more hot air than farts in a fan factory."

He
regarded his niece. "So explain yourself in English, girl. Lay it out for your Uncle and don't come with no cocktail of cock-eyed-confusion." He looked at us now. "Younguns these days don't know whether to check their asses or scratch their watches half the gawdamn time."

His niece slapped him on the shoulder and he shot out that laughter and patted her hand.

"Well, if this large public corporation is buying up funeral homes to clean money and hide their sexual exploitations, then my guess is, they wouldn't want to be buying up a funeral home running a chain of adult toy products. That would be the exact kind of thing they're looking to get away from." She grinned with several eager nods, beaming.

Again the man turned those
eager burning eyes on us. "What do you all think? She have a dad-gum-point or what? Does that sound legit?"

"
Well…" Steve began, smoothing both hands over his midsection. "I have a degree in marketing and…as far as I can tell. Yes, it does sound legit. They'd not want to involve any type of sexual anything, I'd imagine."

He let out a round of that horrendous hacking laughter before erupting in
"productive" coughing that ended with him spitting in the trash can on his right. He smacked his hand on his desk then and fished out his zippo in his pocket, not taking his crazy eye off of us. "This here'll have'em hightailing it back to NeYawk city where they come from." He lit his cigar and puffed several times, sucking long, hard, and fast until his head was obscured in smoke.

He suddenly stood up like a skeleton rising from the mist.
"You got a catalog son?" He stuck his hand out to Steve and Steve quickly shook it.

"
I do. I do have a catalog, yes, I do."

"
Good, cause I want to open an
entire
line of this shit. The more disturbing, the better. Carrie," he turned to his niece. "Call our lawyer and have him get the required paperwork ready." He turned to Steve. "And I want a supply sent here immediately for when I get their
inspection
next week." He gave a wicked grin. "Gonna set up a 'special room' just for it. Call it… Pierson Funeral Home's Gates of Paradise. He let another one of those laughs rip. "I can't wait to see the
looks
on their egg suckin' faces!" He made his way around the desk and patted Steve on the shoulder. "I'm awfully glad I didn't have to shoot you." Another round of hacking.

"
So am I sir."

We hurried out to the Hummer feeling like we
'd just played Bingo and won the blackout jackpot. Steve half ran and threw open the door. "I did it!" he yelled. "I did it! He bought
everything!
"

Preacher came out of the vehicle and stood, looking at him, then us.
"Everything?"

Tara and I nodded.
"Everything. He's opening a store for all the products."

Preacher looked right and dug in his ear a bit then looked back at us, perplexed.
"You fucking serious?"

I burst out laughing.

Tara stepped forward and punched Preacher in the arm lightly. "Musta been one hell of a prayer, sir."

Preacher suddenly howled, throwing his head back.
"Motherfuck!" he gasped, leaning and putting his hands on his knees with Becca closing her eyes and smiling, hands clasped. "I did pray hard, I really did." He stood and wiped his hand over his mouth. "I'm not going to lie, this?" He pointed to the funeral home. "This was David and Goliath. This was…fucking impossible. And I told God, it would
have
to take a miracle," he couldn't finish for his guffaws of laughter. "You know what He told me?"

We all waited to hear.

"He said, who are you preaching to?" He let out another round of howling laughter until we were all overcome with the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Sheer
ridiculousness!

****

Back at the campsite, we all worked to get everything packed up. The air was buzzing with the victory, and Steve broke camp in song after song like a happy young kid.

"
Gather around guys," Preacher's thunderous tone got everybody's immediate attention.

I put my arm around Tara, then took it down when I got a whiff of how long it
'd been since I'd bathed.

"
We have one more discipline before we close this game."

"
What? Who?"

"
Calm down Bane, it's not you."

"
Then who?" Steve asked.

The preacher grinned and spread his arms wide.

"You?" Tara's eyes widened with surprise.

Becca stood next to him with a strong gaze locked on all of us.
"He broke a rule and must be punished at the hands of his team."

His team?

Becca went behind him and he raised his arms as she slowly worked his shirt off, folded it carefully and set it exactly on the log next to her. She went into the vehicle and returned with a flogger bearing six foot leather braided strands. She went in front of him and stared into his eyes for several seconds then took his face in her hands and kissed him while raising his arms out at his sides. Then she fucking bowed before him, like her…king.

Tara and I embraced each other as Becca stood the proper distance from him. She cocked back her arm and held it for only a second, and then she began to whip him. With no mercy. No hesitation. No holding back. It had my body locked up and my mind counting. She was at fucking twenty-five when Tara buried her face in my chest.

She finished at
fifty.
Fucking
fifty.
Were we supposed to
all
give him fifty lashes? That was ridiculous. What the fuck could he have done that was so bad? I didn't remember anything he'd ever done warranting a discipline. Had he gone overboard with my discipline maybe? Memories of those wolves nearly eating my ass alive made me shudder.

Steve was first up after and whipped with the strength of a two- year old. Hope we weren
't being graded on that. Steve hissed with every strike until finally, Preacher growled, "Stop hitting like a girl, Steve, put some muscle into it."