Yapping Mongrels

Another bowl of bland food was placed on the floor. Another bowl of tepid water was placed next to the food. Cheyenne's ropes were lowered and she knelt, shoving her face first into the food bowl, then the water bowl.

"Tell me, my dear Cheyenne, do you like being fucked up the ass?" Mistress purred, shoving an unlubricated finger deep into Cheyenne's rectum.

"Ugh! Yes Mistress, I love it up the ass!" Cheyenne shrilled. "Please, fuck my ass."

"She's almost ready," Arielle thought as she shoved two more unlubricated fingers into the eighteen year old girl's ass.

Kathleen had inherited, through genetics, her mother's ample chest. By eighteen, Rochelle Exposito had sported a 32D chest. At eighteen, Kathleen outshone her mother, sporting a 30DD chest.

After a few more days of sleep deprivation, the withholding of food, after being trained, Cheyenne was brought to a surgeon. Even if the blonde beauty had still possessed enough of her own will to tell the doctor of the nightmare she was enduring, the surgeon would not have understood. The Ecuadorian national spoke no English. He was in the country illegally, was performing illegal operations.

Cheyenne was given a size 30 H chest. Arielle admired the doctor's handiwork and paid the doctor in cold hard cash. Then the newest toy was turned out onto the floor of The Basin, for the amusement and enjoyment of the clientele.

As Cheyenne was allowing a well-respected Kimble, Louisiana orthodontist to cup her blonde pussy, Jared was searching for Kathleen Ann Esposito. He checked the address and scowled slightly.

Ashleigh Smith's father had been a good, doting father. The man had two daughters, and one son, and went out of his way to treat his girls like little princesses. Jared was sure it must be breaking Vernon's heart when he saw the conditions his daughter was living in. It surely must break his heart that his baby girl was working at Mickey's, a 'Gentlemen's Club' that did not see very many gentlemen. It did do a very brisk business, though.

"What? What the fuck you want, old man," Derek Trahan barked, jerking the rotted door of the trailer open.

The door very nearly fell from the hinges. Jared stepped aside; the door opened outward, and stared up at the hulking figure.

Derek Trahan had played football in high school, had dreams of going to the pros. He towered over Jared, standing at six feet, five inches, and weighing nearly three hundred pounds.

In high school, the bulk had been mostly muscle. Now, two years after dropping out of high school, after more doughnuts, bags of chips, and cases of beer than he could count, Derek Trahan was just a blob.

"Ashleigh here?" Jared snapped.

In answer, Derek moved to shut the door. Jared's gloved hand shot out and ripped the door from the jamb. His other hand shot out and gripped Derek's surprisingly small testicles. Derek's dull eyes shot open wide and he gasped in agony.

"One more time, fat boy, Ashleigh here?" Jared barked.

"Yeah, yeah, she's..." Derek grunted in pain.

Jared punched the boy in the solar plexus, then used the boy's shirt front and testicles to pull the boy out of the trailer.

"Derek, who's..." Ashleigh asked, walking out of the bathroom, dressed in only a pair of panties.

"Your daddy must be heartbroken," Jared snapped.

"Mr. Broussard!" Ashleigh cried out. "I thought..."

"They let me out," Jared said, looking at the young girl.

At eighteen, she was beautiful. Her breasts were a size 34D, with half dollar sized areolae and fat nipples. Her waist was tiny, almost impossibly tiny, and her hips were the hips of a woman. Her legs were toned, well formed from years of being a cheerleader.

She wore her strawberry blonde hair down to her knees, and had it parted on the left. It framed her beautiful, innocent looking face and large brown eyes.

"Looking for Kathleen. Y'all used run together," Jared said.

As a typical teenager, Ashleigh's first instinct was to lie. She started to deny that she knew anything about Kathleen.

Jared's hand shot out and picked the girl up off the ground by her throat. Her small hands clutched at his gloved hand.

"Prison doesn't scare me," Jared growled. "Dying scare you?"

"Awk!" Ashleigh protested, unable to speak.

"Now, one more time, where's Kathleen?" Jared asked, putting the girl on her feet.

"Last time I seen her, she got popped for shoplifting at Abdul's," Ashleigh cried out.

"Mother fucker, going kill you!" Derek snarled, staggering into the trailer.

Two punches to Derek's face quieted his brash talk and a savage chop to his right kidney brought the fat boy to his knees. Jared looked with absolute contempt at the now sniveling boy.

"You like this? You like living like this, Ashleigh?" Jared asked gently.

"God damn, God damn," Derek moaned, pain clouding his thoughts.

"Like what?" Ashleigh asked.

"Like living in, Jesus, I weigh one sixty and the floor's sagging under my feet," Jared said. "Door fell off fucking hinges, place smells like shit, looks like shit. Really? You like living here?"

"No," Ashleigh whispered, ashamed.

"You like dancing around, dressing like a slut? Dancing like a slut?" Jared continued his assault.

"No, no sir," Ashleigh admitted, a tear beginning to trickle down.

"And where's your money going?" Jared asked and used his hand to push Derek over.

"I don't know," Ashleigh admitted.

"Young lady, call your daddy," Jared counseled.

"He said I leave, don't call him," Ashleigh sobbed out.

"Call him, Ashleigh," Jared said. "He don't talk to you? I'll take you to my place.

"No, Ashleigh, you can't, I love you," Derek whined, not wanting his meal ticket to leave.

"Where's Fat Boy here work?" Jared asked, nodding toward the blubbering boy.

"Was working, just got fired Wendy's," Ashleigh said, punching the number into her phone.

"Was? WAS? How the fuck, just how fucking stupid, how fucking lazy you got to be lose a job at Wendy's?" Jared snarled at the young man that was now trying to get to his feet.

"Daddy? Daddy, it's me," Ashleigh sobbed into the telephone. "Daddy, I want, Daddy? I please come home?"

Jared let Derek get to his feet, then gave the boy a vicious blow to his left kidney. Derek collapsed to the filthy floor again. There was a sharp crack heard as parts of the plywood flooring cracked and splintered underneath the boy's weight.

"I love you, Daddy," Ashleigh sobbed as she hurried out of the room.

"Ashleigh, please, please," Derek whined.

As Ashleigh's father was helping his baby girl load her few possessions, what was left after Derek had pawned what he could, Brandon Dublachon was clocking out. It had been another day of walking around Abdul's Department Store, pretending to be a shopper. He was so good at his job that many of Abdul's sales associates did not know that he was Security.

The ones that found out that Brandon was Security, usually found out as they were being fired, then arrested for theft.

He walked to his car, a nondescript Kia. As he opened the driver's door, he froze.

"Get in," Jared said.

Brandon did think about running. Jared's smile froze that idea.

"Try it. But I really don't think you'll be able to outrun a nine millimeter bullet, Dublachon," Jared said.

"Yes sir," Brandon said.

"Looking for my daughter," Jared said.

Brandon wished he had tried to run. He kept his face neutral, though.

"Friend of hers said she was popped for shoplifting few months back," Jared said, voice low. "Funny thing, though. No records of it. She wasn't arrested, wasn't even fined. Nothing."

"I uh, guess we just kind of let it slide," Brandon suggested.

"Real pretty girl, had her some nice breasts, nice backside, looked a shitload like her momma," Jared said.

Brandon said nothing. Jared pulled a photograph of a thirteen year old Kathleen out of his shirt pocket.

"Hmm, don't think so," Brandon said.

Jared slammed Brandon's head onto his steering wheel. Brandon's vision blurred.

"Might want to take another look," Jared said.

"Never saw her before in my life!" Brandon cried out.

Jared again smacked the man's head against his steering wheel.

Look again, fucker," Jared said, holding out the photograph.

"Yes! Yes, maybe," Brandon sobbed out, close to blacking out from the pain.

"So, what happened to her after you brought her to the third floor?" Jared asked, hand holding Brandon's head in his hand.

"Called Arielle," Brandon sobbed.

"And then?" Jared asked.

"After that? I don't know," Brandon lied.

"You're not tired of this? It's not my head, and I'm tired of this," Jared said and lightly smacked Brandon's face against the steering wheel.

"The Basin! She takes them to The Basin," Brandon sobbed out.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Jared said.

He then took Brandon's right hand into his own. Brandon watched as Jared took the nine millimeter handgun, Brandon's own handgun and put the gun into his right hand.

"And now you're feeling so guilty about what you done..." Jared said coldly.

That night, as Heather Lee, another security guard was leaving, she noticed that Brandon's Kia was still on the third floor of the parking deck. Heather frowned; Brandon's shift had ended four and a half hours earlier. She approached the car and then recoiled in horror when she saw the gaping hole where the back of Brandon's head used to be.

As the Medical Examiner was declaring Brandon Dublachon deceased, probable cause of death being a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, she had no explanation for why the man would first repeatedly strike his head against his steering wheel.

While the young Medical Examiner gave her approval for the body to be removed from the vehicle, Jared Broussard was quietly watching The Basin. From the outside, it looked like any other small office building. There was nothing that distinguished it from any other building in the area.

Except for the blacked out windows all around, the steel doors in front and back, and the four armed security guards that patrolled the periphery. Except for the fact that, after the cars had vacated the parking lots of the other buildings, a slow steady stream of luxury automobiles trickled in, parking in the rear, away from prying eyes. The rear parking lot was not visible from the front of the building, was not visible from the sides of the buildings either.

Jared pretended to be a custodian for the building to the east of The Basin. Even from the fourth story of the building, the rear parking lot was not visible.

One guard, two guards, no matter how heavily armed, Jared knew he could remove. But three or four, plus however many might be guarding the parking structure, Jared knew his odds were very slim.

He had asked Bettina Lopez, the mannish looking receptionist of their building if she'd ever been inside of The Basin. Bettina had looked at him with absolute scorn.

"Yeah right," she barked. "Got be a member. Like I got me five thousand spend on that?"

Then she regarded him. Jared smiled what he hoped was a charming smile.

"And who you anyway? Ain't never seen you here before," the woman demanded.

"All right, don't tell anyone," Jared whispered. "But I'm undercover. Blaine Ferguson? Office three E? Isn't Blaine Ferguson; he's really Johnny Donizetti."

"Who?" Bettina asked, brown eyes wide with wonder.

"Donizetti, Donizetti, out of New Jersey? Biggest meth runners on the east coast?" Jared whispered. "Son of a bitch thinks he can just plop his fat ass down here, do same shit here, huh?"

"Aw your ass," Bettina said.

"Now, I find out you said shit anyone? You looking at five to ten, obstruction of justice, interfering in an on-going investigation," Jared said, eyes turning hard. "Feel me, Ms. Lopez? Lives in Arrowhead, apartment two zero four?"

(He'd overheard the receptionist proposition a sweet faced administrative assistant, heard Bettina give the girl her address.)

Bettina's eyes now showed fear. She nodded her head in agreement.

The next day, Jared watched the procession. He also noted the electronics around the building. He knew, if he sat there much longer, he'd be spotted, if he had not already been spotted.

Jared looked over his shoulder at the office building to the east of The Basin. He then threw up his hands in frustration and pounded on the steering wheel of his battered old car, as if he'd been waiting for someone. Then he started the car and drove out of the lot at a high rate of speed.

"Just some old guy, probably waiting on his girlfriend," a guard said, looking at the monitor.

"Probably that blonde," the other guard agreed.

The pair had observed one of the office workers from next door, leaving work in a much more revealing outfit than the one she'd worn when she'd arrived to work. They'd chuckled as they observed her glancing around nervously before getting into her car.

"A little on the chunky side, but, hell, wouldn't kick her out of bed," the first guard agreed.

"And if your old as that guy?" the second man agreed as they watched the taillights of Jared's car disappear. "You'd take whatever you could get."

"Jesus, dude, he's what? Only sixty, seventy, huh?" the first guard complained.

"Oh yeah, keep forgetting. You're old," the second man teased.

Jared returned home to think, to plan. Beer in hand, he switched on his television. On the television, an attractive blonde woman was talking about a recycling plant that would be opening soon in Kimble, Louisiana. Jared smiled as the very young looking blonde enthusiastically spoke of the number of jobs the new facility would provide and where people could go to apply for these jobs.

"This is Summer Duhon for Performance Twelve news," the girl signed off. "Bye-yee."

"Bye-yee," Jared smiled wider.

As Jared contemplated what to do with his leftover fried chicken, Summer Duhon was answering yet another hate-filled email from a viewer. It seemed the main complaint the viewer had was Summer's way of signing on and off, her 'Hi-yee' and 'Bye-yee' comment.

Of course, the viewer made it a personal attack, even asking if English was Summer's first language. What rankled Summer the most was when these weak-minded viewers pointed out that her father was Milt Duhon, the star of 'The Cast Iron Stomach' cooking show.

"You wouldn't even have that job if your Daddy didn't own the station," the viewer accused.

"If you're going to engage in personal attacks, please get your facts right," Summer rapidly typed. "My father does not own the station; he is one of the many people this station employs. As for your displeasure with my Hi-yee and Bye-yee method of signing on and off, that is simply my way of communicating with my baby sister, letting her know I'm thinking of her. Thank you for watching Performance 12 News."

Summer hoped this would be the end of it, but knew it most likely would not be the last she heard fromJB44. Another email let her know the viewer actually found the 'Hi-yee' and 'bye-yee' endearing and always smiled when she heard Summer say it.

Summer typed out a rapid thank you and went to the next email.

Her beautiful blue eyes opened wide as she read Jared Broussard's email. Like many in the community, she had been curious about the new business, The Basin, but had been refused entry, had been refused any interviews with the owner, a nameless, faceless person.

"What can you share with me, Mr. Jared Broussard?" the girl asked herself as she typed out a response.

His response was nearly immediate. The next evening, as the parking lot to the east of the Basin emptied out, Summer and Jared watched the first few cars drive between the building and The Basin.

"O. M. G! That's my Paw-paw's car," Summer hissed as she watched John Guidry's Mercedes-Benz disappear from sight.

"Hmm?" Jared asked, not caring who Summer's grandfather was.

"John Guidry. Managing director of Channel Twelve," Summer explained.

"Jesus, you didn't tell him you're..." Jared asked, suddenly worried she may have blown his plans.

"No sir," Summer said indignantly.

Jared looked into her clear, cold eyes. The girl was beautiful, breath-taking beautiful. She had a small nose, cupid bow lips and knee length straw colored hair. Her chest was very large on such a slim frame and her buttocks in the snug jeans she was wearing were tempting, delicious.

But there was a hardness in those big blue eyes. She regarded him as he nodded.

"So, what was Mumphrey like?" she asked as they watched two police cruisers enter the parking lot.

"License and registration, please," Officer Stanley Monroe asked, in a tone of voice that was not a request.

"Yes sir," Jared said, reaching for his wallet.

"Hi you giant bag of shit. Harassing innocent people waiting on a friend get off of work?" Summer asked, smiling. "Oh, and by the way? You have no jurisdiction here, loser so fuck off, okay?"

Stan's face colored darkly. Instinctively, his hand did hover over his service revolver.

"Go ahead; I'm uploading to my server right now," Summer smiled, showing her biological father that she was recording everything with her cell phone.

Inside The Basin, Arielle and two security guards were watching the silent tableau play out. Arielle sighed impatiently; Stan's body was blocking her view of whomever was in the car.

"Bettina! We're over here!" Jared suddenly called out.

Bettina Lopez stopped, looked over, then warily approached the car. Part of her distrust was because it had been a man that had called out. Part of her reluctance was because of the police officer standing next to the driver's door.

"Here's our friend now, ass hole, so, if we're done here, you can go play with yourself, okay?" Summer smiled sweetly at Stan.

"One day, Ms. Duhon," Stan hissed hatefully. "One day, someone's going give you the lesson you got coming, hear?"

"Yeah? Too bad you're not man enough, huh?" Summer asked. "By the way, they find Honey yet?"

"Fuck you, you little cunt," Stan snarled hatefully as he marched away.

"Oh, hey, what up girl?" Bettina asked Summer.

Bettina Lopez knew who the reporter was, had a major crush on the gorgeous girl. She smiled, trying to look as attractive as possible.

"Two oh four, right? Oh, hey, you drove your own car, huh?" Jared asked the unattractive girl.

"Huh? Oh, oh yeah, it's right over there," Bettina pointed. "Y'all coming on up?"

In the building next door, Arielle lost interest. She still could not see who was driving the car; the newcomer was blocking the camera's view. But obviously, it had been a false alarm.

She nodded to the two guards, turned and left the room.

"What was that shit about Honey?" Jared asked as they slowly drove out of the parking lot.

"His daughter, Honey. Eighteenth birthday, right in the middle of her birthday party? Girl just up and disappears," Summer said.

"Oh my God," Jared gasped, shocked.

"Uh huh, and he looks all broken up about it, huh?" Summer snapped.

Back at the television station, Summer again asked Jared about Mumphrey. Jared simply stated it was an unpleasant place, filled with unpleasant people.

"If I have to go back because of Kathleen, I will. But I'd rather not," Jared said.

"Okay. Well, thanks for the tip; there's definitely something going on over there," Summer said, getting out of the car.

"Keep me posted?" Jared begged.

Summer didn't answer, just swung her leg over the saddle of her Harley.

"Damn, wish I was that seat," Jared smiled tightly as the sexy young woman pulled her helmet on.

Summer rumbled out of the parking lot. She roared down Highway 19, then turned left onto Highway 52. Summer rode her bike past The Basin twice.

Yes, there was definitely something going on in that building. They'd been sitting in Jared's car for less than twenty minutes when Officer Stanley Monroe and another cruiser had pulled up. And Officer Stanley Monroe was with the DeGarde Police Department. He had no jurisdiction in Bender or Flowers, Louisiana. The other cruiser had been a Kimble, Louisiana cruiser, also an officer with no jurisdiction in that parking lot. So, why had they been contacted? Why had they approached the vehicle?