Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 09

Sure enough, the place had been trashed. His 'civvy' clothes, as they were euphemistically known, were strewn all over the floor, desk drawers emptied, furniture overturned. He hurried to the safe, knowing he would find a big fat nothing inside. Sure enough it was empty. Passport, documents, lap-top computer, mobile phone, all gone. Inside job, obviously, given the sudden, mysterious absence of the ever-dutiful Ali.

There was a rumble under foot and the lights went down, then came up again though a little diminished. Partly puzzled but mostly afraid, Watson backed out the door, into the corridor, thinking it time to cut his losses and get back upstairs. An inbound energy caught his attention an instant before impact, and Watson spun in the embrace of a small figure dressed, just for something different, all in black. Pushing him away, the intruder rounded on him, dark, slitted eyes shining out of the amorphous black head cover. "Damon? Is that you?"

"Sook?" Sook tugged her mask down and stood blinking, breathing hard like she'd just run a long way, fast. "Sook? What the fff... hell are you doing? It's forbidden. If they discover you here we're both in a world of pain."

Sook raised her hands. "Damon! Shoosh! Something's going down."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"I mean it. Something bad. There was a gunfight at the docks, and guys in black boats. There are dead guys everywhere and barracks are in chaos."

Looking left and right, Watson dragged her into his room. "How did you find me?"

"One of the troops." Sook thumbed over her shoulder. "I promised, when I got back, I would stick my dick in his ass. Hate to disappoint him."

"What about the fighting?"

"What about it? Guys in black, with guns, shooting guys in black, with guns. Situation normal if you ask me."

Watson stroked his chin. "If I didn't know better..."

"What?"

"All the hired help has made itself scarce. They must have known. Know what, Sook? This might be a coup."

Sook looked around. "Is that good or bad?"

"Depends who you're backing. Either way, if we want to get off this rock, now might be a very good time."

Sook went up on tiptoes, looking over his shoulder. "What about Ally?"

Watson jerked his head in the direction of his erstwhile neighbour. "Two doors down. To the right."

Bent almost double, Sook stuck her head out the door, checking the coast was clear. Together, Sook in her Ninja gear, Watson in his black robes, tiptoed down the corridor to Zhang's room. Sook tried the door. Locked.

"How is it his room hasn't been opened?" Watson asked, as if she'd know.

"You're asking me?"

"What? Sorry. Rhetorical question."

"So how do we get in?" Sook asked, so close to the prize yet fresh out of ideas.

Watson tried the door in case Sook's own efforts had somehow fallen short. He tried breaking it down, but came away with little to show for his effort other than a sore shoulder. "We'll have to smash that lock." he said, nodding at the key pad.

"What with?" Sook glared.

Watson looked around, bereft, then rattled the handle. A muffled voice replied from inside. "Ally?" he whispered hoarsely, "Ally? Is that you? Open the door!"

Another stifled cry.

"Hey!" Sook said, "What's this?"

Across the hallway, in the alcove normally occupied by Zhang's personal aide, lay a pile of crumpled clothes. Dropping to a squat, Sook rifled the garments' pockets, and withdrew a grubby, white plastic swipe-card with a dangling lanyard. Watson looked at it, blinking. "You gotta be shitting me!"

Sook touched the keypad and the little LED winked green, as the lock audibly cycled. Turning the handle, Watson eased it open a crack and peeked through, while Sook climbed up his back, trying to see for herself what waited inside. Pulling back, Watson looked at her. "This shit just gets weirder and weirder."

They let themselves in and stood staring at the vision in front of them. Zhang Jingli, billionaire crime boss and ivory baron, zip-tied and duct taped to a chair. Naked. And gagged. Breaking the thrall, Watson rushed into to the apartment's bathroom, searching for Ally, while Sook reached out and ripped the tape from Zhang's face. "Where's our friend?" she growled, brandishing the tape, "Before I roll this up and stuff it down your throat."

Watson hurried out of the bathroom into courtyard outside.

"You beat me, I tell!" Zhang pleaded.

"If you don't..." Sook said then knitted her brows, "Hang on... what?"

"First you beat me. Then I tell."

Watson walked up, trembling. "Where is she?" he growled. "What have you done with her?"

"I no say till you beat me!" Zhang railed, his face red and running with sweat. What was wrong with these people? They wanted information? Then they would have to beat it out of him. Surely they knew.

Looking around in frustration, Watson spied an open suitcase on the bed. "Hey! Sook!" he said, peering at the DIY torture kit. "Check it out."

It took a moment to register then Sook shook her head. "You gotta be kidding."

Watson picked up the hammer, shaking with rage. "Did you use this on her?" he snarled. "Did you hurt her?"

Sook waved him down. "Damon! Damon. You're barking up the wrong tree. He's not the hurter, he's the hurtee." She looked at Zhang with a smile. "Aren't you, buddy?"

"You no beat, I no tell."

Sook grabbed his ear and twisted till there were tears in his eyes. "Have you any idea where I'm actually from?"

Zhang shook his head, to the extent he could, his flaccid cock already rearing with an erection. Sook put her mouth to the billionaire's other ear and bit down as hard as she was able on the lobe, while Zhang bounced up and down, a tsunami of arousal surging through his flesh.

Watson looked away, grimacing, as Sook pulled back and spat in Zhang's face. "Jesus, Sook."

Sook inclined her head, looking at Watson. "Six years old, Damon, almost starving to death. And my baby brother and parents had all just died. Six. And a Chinaman tied a rope around my neck, and led me around like a dog. So he could sell me. To the North Koreans." She turned back to Zhang. "That's right, pig, I'm from Korea. You know... some people say we're the cruellest culture on Earth. In fact some say we invented torture."

Zhang nodded, tears of joy coursing his cheeks. If only he'd come across this young man before, rather than wasting time on that nasty young woman. "More hurt, quickly. Pleeeease."

Sook looked at a make-believe watch. "Well, that's the thing. We're on a bit of a timeline. We need to know where our friend is first, before we can play."

"More hurt, I tell."

"Didn't you hear me? I'm Korean. And I just love hurting people. Especially men. Especially Chinese men. Tell you what..." Sook reached out and took the hammer from the old man, who stood, slack jawed, looking on. She ran the cold hammerhead up and down the length of Zhang's penis, then under his shaft and over his balls. Zhang thrust his hips, aching for impact. "Tell us where our friend is." Sook said, dawdling the hammer over his thigh, around his knee and down his shin. "And as soon as she's safe, I'll come back. I promise. I'll start down here with your little pink toes, then work my way up your shins to your knees, BAM! BAM! I promise, you'll see stars. Then I'll nail your balls to the chair, then bite you so hard on those juicy little man tits..." Sook looked down to see a pearl of fluid welling out of the billionaire's penis. "How does that sound?"

"Just one beat, then I tell."

"Tell us first, and I'll be yours for the rest of the night."

A ruthless and brutal businessman, used to getting his way, Zhang was now reduced to a whimpering pile of submission. "She go to barracks. Take knife."

"Barracks?" Sook frowned. "What for?"

"Look for chick. With dick."

Sook and Watson swapped a glance. "Chick with dick?" Watson said. "What the hell is he on about?"

Brows knitted, Sook ransacked her dictionary of euphemisms. She snapped her fingers. "That Caspian chick. With the strap-on. The ass rapist."

"Ass rapist? Are you for real?"

"Mmm hmm..." Sook nodded, "and so is she."

Watson's head was almost spinning with the implications. He looked at Sook. "You don't think..."

"Ally?"

Watson nodded.

Sook shrugged. "It's an odds-on bet."

Watson thought back to that moment on his yacht, in the marina, when Ally had come to take Beck away. '...anything but anal. Being reamed up the cloaca isn't funny and it's not fun...' He shook his head. "Holy shit. Poor Ally."

"Yeah, well, if I know Ally she wouldn't have gone quietly. And I'd hate to be in dick-girl's shoes when she gets hold of her."

"Now you hit?" Zhang asked eagerly. "I tell! You hit!"

Sook put a finger to his lips. "Shoo... shooo-shooo-shoosh, boyfriend. The beatings will start soon enough."

Watson chewed a knuckle. "We'll have to go after her."

"Ally?" Sook frowned. "What about Beck?"

"She's next. Think about it. If Ally's gone back to the barracks, that's where all the fighting is."

Sook shook her head. "No. It's everywhere. Like you said, it might be a coup."

The old man hesitated then looked Sook in the eye. "Reckon you could go it alone?"

"Alone?"

"You promise!" Zhang said hotly. "I tell, you beat!"

Looking around, Sook picked up the roll of grey duct tape, drew out a length, ripped it free and plastered it over Zhang's mouth. "Always put them back like you found them." she said, brushing her hands. Realising he was about to be duded... again... Zhang bounced up and down, wriggling in his seat, trying in vain to vocalise his outrage. The echo of gunfire boomed down the hall. "You were saying?"

"Do you know where she is? Where she was going?"

"Ally?" Sook asked and Watson nodded. "Back to the gym. Next to the barracks. That's where they keep all the showgirls."

"And if you go back down? Do you think you can find her?"

"I guess I can give it a go." Sook hedged. "But what about you?"

"Let's split up. I'll look for Beck, you look for Ally."

"Go back down there all on my own?"

"Why not? We'll all be down there eventually. You know the barracks and I know the palace. It only makes sense."

Sook rolled her shoulders. "I guess."

"You don't sound too happy."

"Not happy? At the prospect of getting my ass shot? What's not to be happy?"

Watson ticked her under the chin. "Cheer up, chicken. My wrinkly old ass is just as big a target as yours."

"You're right, Damon, I'm just being precious. I actually know that little island like the back of my hand."

"And I've been past Beck's digs a couple of times."

"There you go then. I guess we've run out of excuses."

"So you'll head back to the Barracks?"

"To look for Ally. And you'll go and try and get Beck?"

"That's what we came for."

"Welcome to Phase Two."

Watson raked a hand through his hair. "Phase fucking Two. This must be the fifth bloody one."

"Well one em's gotta pan out."

Watson jerked his head at Zhang, presently crying, distraught at this latest cruel injustice. "What about Kung Fu Panda here?"

Sook hefted a shoulder. "He'll keep. And if anything's happened to Ally, I'll come back here and hurt him in ways he'll never forget."

On the brink of committing, Watson looked at the roll of grey duct tape. "One last thing."

"What?" Sook frowned.

"Here, come next door. And bring that tape with you."

Turning their backs on the grief-stricken Chinese, they scuttled back to Watson's room. First things first, he downed a couple of beta-blockers, washed down with stale Champagne. "That should keep me chill."

Sook held a hand out and Watson popped a pill on her palm. While she swallowed the drug with a slug of Icelandic glacier water, Watson threw the goose-down pillows on the floor, then heaved up the mattress and felt around underneath. "Here." he said, extracting a pillowcase and upending the contents on the bed. Turning his back on Sook, he hiked up his robes and the shirt underneath. "Be a dear would you and tape these to my back."

Sook looked at the five flat, rectangular gold ingots, one kilo each. "Under the mattress?"

"Oldest trick in the book."

"Why didn't you just keep 'em in the safe? Wouldn't they be... well... safer?"

Watson gestured at the open wardrobe, and the ransacked safe inside. "See for yourself."

"Well, what was in there?"

"That was just my working stash. Always keep the mother-lode somewhere else."

Laying the ingots out, side-by-side, Sook lay a couple of strips of tape across them. "What are you doing with them?"

"Taking them back, of course." Watson replied, wincing as Sook lay the cold metal across the small of his back. "To Roger."

"He's actually my dad, you know." Sook teased. "At least on paper. I bet he wouldn't mind if you 'lost' them."

"Well, I would."

"Just kidding." Sook lied, hastily adding a few more layers. Task complete, she threw the duct tape aside and helped the old man restore his clothing.

Watson drew a deep, trembling breath. "Phase One," he said gravely, "collect underpants."

Sook grunted with laughter. "Not that you're wearing any, I note."

"Well at least Phase One seems to be working." The old man turned and they exchanged a long, eloquent look. "So," he said, "I guess it's time for Phase Two."

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Stripped of his finery, clad only in his undergarments; a short-sleeved, knee length cotton dishdasha, torn and covered in skid-marks, the king was dragged in front of his very own throne like a recalcitrant commoner. Throwing him down, the troops, only hours ago members of his own personal guard, stood back, rifles across their chests, empty-eyed and expressionless. Dressed in black combat fatigues, leg draped over an armrest, Prince Rashiid bin Abdulaziz Al Shabazz, formerly third in line to the throne, propped his chin on a fist in a show of casual contempt. "Father." he said, raising one finger in perfunctory greeting. "I trust you are well?"

The king struggled upright, trying to rise, sporting one black eye and bloodied knuckles. Heads would roll for this outrage, not least of all Rashiid's, and he, the king, would gladly swing the blade. "I should have known it was you."

"Me? Who?"

"That spy you sent. The general told me he was Southern Alliance, which can only mean that treacherous dog is in on this too. Insurrection. I'll see you all hang."

"Tut, tut..." Rashiid smiled, clearly enjoying himself, his final triumph over the old man he loathed, "We came to save you, My Liege, from the Southerners' dastardly plot. Had to move a day or two early, you sly old fox, but here we are."

"You'll never get off this island alive."

"Who's going to stop me?"

"I will, I swear."

"You and whose army?" Rashiid taunted.

"Mine. They can't all be traitors."

"YOUR army's down on the southern border as we speak, hunting phantoms." Rashiid gestured at the gathered troops. "MY army, on the other hand..."

The king went to stand. With a nod from Rashiid, one of the troopers swung his rifle butt, the blow to the old king's temple sending him sprawling. "DOGS!" the old king raged, "LET'S KEEP IT CLEAN! MAKE SURE YOU SHAVE YOUR NECKS BEFORE THE BEHEADING!"

"Now that's no way to talk to your soldiers." Rashiid admonished. "Risking life and limb to come to your aid. To save you from the enemy's clutches, with your number one son leading the charge. Tragically too late, in spite of our best intentions. A surprise attack. The country will mourn, rest assured, and I will speak of your bravery. Fighting like a lion to the last. Begging me, with your last few breaths, 'My Son, take the throne!' And Father, I accept. 'The awesome responsibility of this great office, as some American king once said."

The king scoured his throat and spat bloody sputum on the marble floor. "You will not last one day as monarch, I swear. My people will not allow it."

"Your people?"

"My subjects. They will rise up against you in their millions."

"I think not, Father. For they are my subjects now. In fact, everything you once owned is mine. The Sea Palace, this island, your men under arms. All of them, since I am officially commander in chief. And I mean 'officially!' Your court, your country, even your betrothed, I own them all. On the subject of which..."

The king stiffened. Here it came, the big reveal, the tawdry motivation for this outrage. A bit of Western pussy, denied the spoiled brat. "Pray god," he muttered, "this isn't just because you couldn't get your end in."

Rashiid shrugged. "I told you I would have her. If I have to take the whole country as well, so be it."

"I should have had you drowned at birth. I should have killed your whore mother before she spawned."

"But you didn't," Rashiid said smugly, "and here we are. And I take that as a compliment, by the way. That you were so afraid of me. And rightly so, as it turns out."

A trooper hurried in and whispered in Rashiid's ear. "Is that so?" Rashiid said then raised his hand and beckoned. Ducking and weaving, like a brace of frightened chickens being herded to the chopping block, 2 of the king's seers entered the chambers ahead of several rifle-wielding commandos.

"Where did you find them?" Rashiid asked the squad leader.

"Down at the landing, Your High... Your Majesty. Trying to board their gunboat."

"Interesting." Rashiid nodded, slinging his leg off the armrest. He leant forward, elbows propped on his knees. "Where's the other one?"

The troopers looked at each other. "They say he has gone to the mountain. To meditate. They say he may have made himself invisible."

"Oh well," Rashiid said, treating the seers to a benign smile, "he'll come back when he's hungry. Gentlemen, greetings."

Studiously averting their eyes from the sight of their old king, the seers bowed. "Your Highness."

"Oh no, no, no," Rashiid shook his head, "haven't you heard? It's 'Your Majesty' now. Or 'Sire, or 'My Liege', something befitting your new king." Rashiid rubbed his hands. "You know, I've always wanted my very own soothsayers. Tell me. Did you foresee this? My sudden and unexpected rise to the throne?"

Short Round looked at Reverend Rake, his eyes imploring, 'Say something!'

"ANSWER HIM!" the king roared, confident in the inevitable denunciation. Of course they hadn't, because no such thing was ever meant to be. The seers would soon tell him, tell everyone- this upstart usurper had no more risen to the throne than flown a winged horse to the moon.

"I... I... I..." Short Round stammered, "My Liege. Indeed, it was foretold."

The king drew an audible breath. "Why... you backstabbing liar! Tell him the truth! I am the country's one and only rightful king!"

"By your leave, My Liege." Reverend Rake said thickly, wrestling disembodied thoughts out of the hashish miasma. "It was foreseen. On the night of the False Blood Moon, a fiery, black colt would gallop down from the mountains and... and..."

"And seeing him," Short Round took up, "the armies would rise up. A... a...gainst he who trampled tradition underfoot."

"NO!" the king raged, surging to his feet, to be just as quickly struck down. He landed in an ugly heap, ear split open, pouring blood.

"Careful!" Rashiid admonished, "Don't forget he's our dearly departed king. Dearly departed-to-be at any rate. But did you hear that, Father? A fiery black colt! Look at me... I'm fiery, and I'm wearing black. And false Blood Moon. False. So any rites performed on the false Blood Moon, would be... anyone? Would be...?" Rashiid looked at the seers, narrowing his eyes. "Any rites performed on the false Blood Moon would be what?"

"F... f... f... f..." Short Round tried to say.

Reverend Rake nudged his partner in the ribs. "They would be false, My Liege."