On the Far Side of Darkness (15 page)

Those few steps are covered in under a second. A tap of my knuckles to the temple of the driver sends him unconscious. I don’t want him dead, yet. Intelligence about this man and his cronies is my first requirement. “If you know your enemy and know yourself you shall win all your battles,” a wise man once wrote. I know myself, I must learn of my opponents.

I get behind the wheel and drive off. There is a spot where I can question him without attracting attention.

* * * *

Here we are.

A junkyard at the north end of town is the place I’ve driven myself and my undoubtedly unwilling informant. I’ve had to tap my him again on the way here to maintain his silence. As I stop the car, the big man groans as he regains consciousness. So I pinch the ear closest to me to bring him all the way up.

A pull on that ear turns his face towards me and I stare into his bleary eyes. But instead of his falling under my power my will ends up lost in a greasy fog. There are structures that resemble the hooks I normally use to enthrall my prey, but I can’t grab them. Some slip away like eels and others are like holding foam. Whatever has been done to this person has made him not quite human anymore. I try for several minutes but never succeed in doing more than blanking his awareness.

So I let him go. I’ll get nothing from him this way and I’ve other methods that can extract the information I need from him.

The second he’s free the huge man snarls and punches at me. I slap him back before it connects, not hard enough to break anything but enough to rattle him. I grab his left hand in a lock, putting pressure on until I can feel his bones grind. My passenger grits his teeth and whines in agony.

“Is there something wrong, old man?” I use the British accent again. There may be listening devices in the vehicle. “Your commander told you to be careful. You weren’t. Now you pay the price.

“As I told the person on the phone last night, a third time would be enemy action. I don’t know who my enemy is. But you’re going to tell me.”

“No way, mothafuckah.” This man’s accent is New York. “I’m tellin’ you nothin’.”

Taking his little finger in my left hand, I break it with a quiet and penetrating ‘snap!’ He screams and jerks as the pain hits him. To add a little more persuasion I rotate the finger, running the rough edges of bone against each other. Agony makes his eyes bulge. His face pales, as much as someone as dark as him can pale.

The darkness inside me smiles. It likes what I’m doing. It approves.

Shut up! I have to do this. I don’t have to like it.

Its mocking smirk can be felt.
But I’m you. So it’s not me liking the pain.

I stop working the finger I’m holding. “I do beg to differ, old man. You are going to tell me everything. You can do it now, or later.” I place a dark smile on my face. “I’m hoping for later.”

Somehow, my passenger’s face goes even paler. “Okay, Okay! We’re CIA. We’re…”

He screams again for I’ve broken his third finger. I grab both snapped digits, rotate them again. He flops around on the seat. His motions are so extreme that he pushes too hard against my lock and breaks his own wrist.

This is too much for him and he collapses.

You’re not getting off that easy,
I think.

There are a couple of soft drinks on the floor so I open one and pour it on his face. With a loud sputter he comes awake again.

This time I wrap my right hand around his testicles. They’re as large as the ones I smashed two nights ago. I give them the slightest squeeze.

He tries to sit up and swing at me with his undamaged hand. Instantly I contract my fingers, feeling his gonads start to change shape under the pressure. A gurgling groan comes from his mouth and he falls back to the seat. I loosen my grip.

“This is a disadvantage to the equipment you have, isn’t it?” I say to him. “Larger equipment means more pain. Now, answer my questions truthfully or I’ll take advantage of that fact.” That last sentence is almost a snarl. I need to break him quickly so anything that lessens his hope is to the good.

My passenger starts weeping. “It ain’t supposed to be like this. We’re gonna rule the world, man.”

I squeeze my hand, not too hard. “Answers is what I want, not whining and braggadocio.” His back arcs like a bow. Once again, I release the pressure.

My informant slumps against the car door and starts panting his pain out.. “Okay,” he wheezes after a moment. “Six months ago, I was just some skinny little shit running crack. One day, a homey of mine comes back to the hood. Hadn’t seen him in a while.

“I hardly recognized him. He was big now. Had money, dressed good, cool bling, expensive piece. I asked about it. Said he come in on a good deal. He wanted to know if I wanted in. Of course I did.

“So I ended up working for him. Same stuff I’d always done. Move packages. Put the hurt on people when I’m told. Paid real well.

“But that’s it. For four months I do this, but I don’t know who for or why. My homey ain’t in charge. But who backed him? I dunno.” He pauses to whine.

I give a grunt to tell him that he must continue his story, or there will be consequences.

He gasps and starts talking again. “Then my homey comes to me one day and says I’m ready. Says I’m bein’ tested and I pass. So I get in.

“Takes me to a doctor. Big, black bastard. Says I need to take a shot. Don’t like needles. ‘Go on,’ my homeboy tells me, ‘if you want to be like us.’ That sounded pretty good so I get the shot. I’m glad I did.

“I could almost watch myself grow. Over one hundred pounds and ten inches I get. I grew six inches of cock too. It was fucking amazing.

“I got so I needed some pussy real bad. My buddy says no way. Stay out of sight, wait. If I don’t do that the deal’s off. Says it in a way that lets me know how they’ll do it too. So I stay in, jerk off. I have to do it a lot. Barely keeps me from going nuts cause I want some bad.

“A month later, my buddy comes to get me. Takes me to a fancy place downtown. We go up to the penthouse. When we get off the elevator, can’t believe what I see.

“Six homeys there, all like I was now. And at least two women for every one of them. The women are buck naked and gagging for it. Everyone of them has some guy’s cock stuck in them. Or they’re getting it on with each other. Or playing with themselves.

“One of those sees me, pulls her hand out of her pussy and runs over. Doesn’t say a word. Just pulls out my cock and starts blowing. She took every motherfuckin’ inch and tried for more. I think she came as she hit bottom.

“I can’t hold back long and shoot down her throat. I come more than I had in my life. The horny bitch sucking me swallowed every drop and begged for more.

“I hardly got soft. She kept working until I got real hard again. Didn’t take long. Then I pick her up and start to fuck her. It was easy, I was so strong now. Another bitch comes up and starts to lick my balls and the woman I’m fucking. The cunt I’m in is coming like a freight train. And all the time howling about how much she loves my big black cock, how much she wants my jism and to give her a black baby.

“I don’t last long again. When I’m done, I pull the one around me off, push the one licking me to the floor and pound the shit out of her. She goes off nuts too. Wailing, sobbing and screaming for me to fuck her.

“Went through five women in the next two hours. They all wanted me bad. Didn’t care what I did as long as I put it to them. Christ, I was in heaven.

“When I was done, my homey came over. He had been busy too but I guess he got enough cause he was dressed and cool. ‘Get dressed,’ he tells me. ‘It’s time to meet the boss.’ I do and he takes me to another room. Another big black guy is sitting behind a desk. He’s so big and so hard he scares me, even after the change I’ve been through.

“Dude tells me his name is David Duke. He says he discovered how to make guys like me and the women out there. Says he’s going to rule the world using those things, and he wants me around for the ride.

“I say that’s fine with me. With the way I’ve been changed and the way I just got laid, I would have killed for the man.

“I have since. Nothing important, just some dumb white guys who got in our way.”

I ruminate for a second. My font of intelligence looks at me in frightened expectation.

“So, what brings you and your compatriots to this small town?” I ask.

“Mr. Duke said he wanted to get out of New York for a bit. Said as long as we’re here we might as well continue what we’re doing.”

“And the vendetta against myself? Never mind, Mr. Duke doesn’t like people who interfere with his plans or organization.”

My prisoner nods that my guess is correct.

“And where can I find Mr. Duke now?” is my next question.

“I don’t know!” That ill considered statement is followed by a scream. I’m not happy with his answer.

Once I let off the pressure again the man’s head lolls on his shoulders as I do. So again I squeeze an earlobe to bring him around.

“Once more, “ I say as his gaze weakly focuses on me. “Where is Mr. Duke now?”

“God, you’ve got to believe me, I don’t know!” he coughs. “We came in another car, man. Mr. Duke went to a place he owns. It’s near here but I don’t know where. You’ve gotta believe me!”

“There,” I say comfortingly, “I believe you.” The man’s relief is palpable.

“You have a cell phone? That you use to contact Mr. Duke?”

“Yeah, yeah. Here.”

“And the number?”

“It’s first on the speed dial.”

“Wait right here,” I tell him. I walk about two dozen steps away, start up the phone, and dial for Mr. Duke.

“JayJ, where the fuck you been, man?” comes sputtering out of the device. “I been trying to call. What’s up at that freak’s place?” If I was JayJ, I’d be frightened. This is the voice of a man who it is unwise to cross. Not that I care.
He’s only human.

“I’m not JayJ,” I reply. “I’m afraid your man picked a bad place to watch from and wasn’t paying attention, Mr. David Duke. I’m coming for you now.” With a casual back hand motion I throw the phone into the car. Then I wave goodbye to my new friend, JayJ, and walk away.

The phone does not explode. The car does.

The shock wave knocks me to the ground and tumbles me through several rolls. A sharp piece of metal creases my head. When I sit up, head spinning and ears ringing, I look at the flaming wreckage that was a car, and a man.

Mr. Duke really doesn’t like me.

* * * *

I’ll give them another hour.
With an internal, stoic shrug I peek out from the pile of junk that I’ve used as a hiding place. I’ll wait until morning. If no one comes soon, I’ll go into the earth and look for more of Mr. Duke’s associates tomorrow night.

Headlights heading towards me show that it isn’t necessary. As the Cadillac passes me I can see two people in it. Both are the extraordinarily large men I expected.

The vehicle stops about five car lengths from the smoldering wreckage of JayJ’s car. The two occupants get out and head towards his funeral pyre. They leave the doors open.

Careless,
is my thought. Since their attention is on the carnage in front of them I slip from my blind and into the car. I slither into the back, going to the floor and as close to the front seats as possible. Then I wrap myself in shadow. Unless they turn on a light, lean over the seat and look down, I can’t be seen.

Soon they return. One is talking, obviously to Mr. Duke.

“Yeah, found the car. It’s toast and so is JayJ. No loss.” He pauses for a reply.

“Not a sign. We’ll look if you want, but just the two of us ain’t safe.” I can hear nervousness in his voice. I’m guessing these people don’t often face opposition and this person, at least, isn’t sure what to do.

“Right,” the man goes on. “Come on back. Be there in twenty.” I can hear the soft beep as he ends the call.

“You heard me, Dred. We’re heading home,” the speaker directs the driver. The two men climb in which causes the suspension to creak a bit from their weight. The car is started and my unwitting transporters start their trip home.

I smile.
I should be able to finish this tonight.

* * * *

The trip is the twenty minutes promised. The vehicle I’m in travels southwards, through town and into an area quite rural, and rich. Summer homes of wealthy urbanites are scattered through it.

I can’t observe much in my position. When the car finally stops I can see the top of a solid stone column and an iron gate.

A window rolls down and the driver, Dred, speaks. “Yeah, it’s us.”

The gate opens and my conveyance sets itself into motion. A minute’s drive and I see a roof appear. The car doors open and my ignorant chauffeurs walk off. A few seconds later I hear another door open and close.

With great care I raise my head, just peeking above the bottom of the window, and look around. I’m in a large carport. Half a dozen vehicles, all large, flashy and expensive are parked here. I can see the door into the building that the black men used. There is a camera sweeping back and forth above it. It seems to be the only one.