Tara
Pengarden, Part 5 continued again - Sebastian's Anguish
Aug 11, 2019
'Who branded you, Tess?'
'WHAT PART OF 'FUCK OFF' DON'T YEH UNDERSTAND -'
Roger's cell was vibrating in his trouser pocket. He ignored it. He wouldn't relinquish his dominant position on top of me. He was as stubborn as his C.I.
'Someone put a hole inside you, Tessa, and it's my fuckin' job to hunt their ass down and pay them in kind-'
'NO!' I screamed, my voice cracking. Thank God the nurse didn't come rushing back in.
His face, atypically pale, shining with angry sweat, couldn't have been further than a centimeter away from mine now. I was so colorless, he could see right through my goddamn skin. But my wicked plan to bust the high-priced prostitution ring and save the schizophrenic daughter- he must never lay eyes on that. Roger wanted glory, admiration - I wanted to pour the filthy cow's own medicine down his fat fucking throat and watch him crumple. Ideally onto his fucking knees. And right at my fucking feet.
Roger's phone vibrated again. He ignored it. Again.
'Don't - you're doing that drilling thing again with your stupid eyes, stop it-'
He was way too strong, I couldn't throw him off. Surely this violated proper homicide detective-confidential informant protocol?
But the third time his phone went off, I yanked it from his pocket and nearly shoved it up his goddamn Roman nose.
'It's Sebastian,' I snapped. 'Just answer it!'
'Last time I checked, I'm the one who bosses you around, not the other way-'
I snatched his phone, pressed the little green 'accept' option on the cracked screen, and held it weakly to Roger's right ear. I desperately wished he would remove some of his body weight off me - my legs were frozen, numb and asleep beneath the shoddy thin grey cot blanket that served as the only barrier between his body and mine.
'Seb, you ok?' Roger asked into his phone, ignoring my muted request for him to remove himself off me.
But the voice that answered on the other end wasn't Sebastian's. It belonged to a faintly familiar, stunningly beautiful Nigerian woman whom Roger hadn't spoken to in over a year.
'Please - Roger - come quick - it's Shaneka Clayborne, d'you remember me - Seb's hurt - I think he's hurt himself, please-' She was crying the ugly cry.
'Holy shit,' I croaked, feeling dizzy. I remembered that gorgeous Nigerian woman. I remembered the tortured face, the blood - the pool of blood - a defeated man, a moment of surprise pity - the chance moment that had led to a completely unexpected, and largely unwelcome, partner-in-crime pairing.
Detective Inspector Sebastian Matader was burning in the raging depths of his own personal hell. And I had no idea if I could save him this time.
****
Man this shit is growing on me! I'm in love with these characters and playing Rufus Pengarden is fucking awesome. I think he makes up for my insufferable girliness in the flesh. I'm going to find my destiny in Ireland and Scotland, leaving tomorrow evening, and I will be writing the whole time. No clue when I'll post more about Tess and Roger but thank you for tuning in.
I guess I have to get my freezing ass back to Brooklyn Heights at some point, for further research. We'll see. But Inverness is my final stop and no idea what the fuck to expect.
Cheers!
Share
Post comment
Like
Pengarden, Part 5 continued - Dirty Revolver
Aug 11, 2019
Dirty Revolver - noun. Colloquial. New York circuit slang, for a surprisingly big earner.
His vision was blurry - he had shocked himself with the surprise burst of inexplicable emotion - but it didn't stop him from catching sight of it. It was on the inside of my lower lip.
An inverted heart, bearing a Jesus cross at its center, pierced through with a scimitar from the left. Roger did not recognize it; this disconcerted him intensely. After a few short years in the bag, he had spent the bulk of his career working for the vice unit and therefore had a spectacularly thorough understanding of New York's sexual slavery landscape.
It was my stupid fault. I felt a moment of weakness inside myself, my stupid lips trembled, and Roger caught sight of it. The tattoo inside my lower lip. I'd been branded.
'Tessa - ' my eyes widened in shock, I recoiled - Roger's callused hand yanked my bottom lip, he was staring at it, my stupid spine was doing that annoying tingling thing again -
I was sitting frozen, hunched over and feeble on that depressing hospital bed - but my mind threw me back violently into a few short hours ago - when she - the demented snake whip lady - had demanded I do a job for her -
My skin color went from ghost-pale to dull grey. I used every ounce of faded strength inside me to smash my head back into the wall - the bed had no headboard - I ordered my legs to throw me upright and out of this idiotic place, I had to find that crazy woman - but the fucking chest tube - I couldn't breathe without it. Fuck I couldn't catch a fucking break.
'I can't catch a motherfucking break!' I wheezed, my head now throbbing after the collision with the wall. Roger had climbed onto my gatch bed, his hazel eyes dry now, a dangerously stern flickering element in both irises, and wrestled both my protesting arms to my sides, into submission. His long legs were crushing my pelvis, I was hyperventilating. The heart monitor had begun emitting a high-pitched beep. Against my will, I had sunk back into the nightmare I'd freshly been woken from - the wedding, the catfight...the pregnant bride...
'Don't - don't be an idiot, Tess -'
'GET OFF ME YA FUCKIN' DUMBASS -'
A plump redheaded nurse clad in hello kitty scrubs had strolled in, wheeling a blood pressure monitor beside her.
'Um - I need to take her vitals -' she said, addressing Roger meekly. Her cheeks had gone pink - mine were burning a severe sort of purple.
Not sounding even remotely embarrassed, Roger, who hadn't budged a millimeter from on top of me, asked, his hands still squishing all lifeforce out of my arms, 'Can you wait a minute? Please?'
The nurse tilted her head slightly to the right, pursed her lips, and retreated from the ward silently, her cheeks a vivid scarlet.
The nightmare playing like a short film in my mind's eye, I fixed my gaze on my chest tube.
'FUCK - OFF - ROY -'
The detective knew I was royally pissed - I'd called him by his surname. But he just wouldn't move.
'Who branded you - HOLLY?' he demanded, slightly loosening his painful grip on me, but still firmly crushing my pelvis.
I inhaled. Fresh recollections poured into me, my brain was whirring madly as I calculated motives - I knew it was pissing Roger off, having no way to see inside me.
My first task was to check if Ophelia Cross had bugged me. She had obviously shot me with the sole purpose of figuring out who she could use as prime leverage if I didn't comply with her orders. And of course her plan fell effortlessly into place. Who else could have called for an ambulance so quickly, how else could I have had a fleeting chance at fleeing Death's doorstep?
'Don't give me cheek. You need to fuck off right now, Roy,' I rasped hoarsely. God this infernal chest tube was annoying the shit out of me. I needed to move. Right fucking now.
He finally let my arms go free. Subconsciously mirroring my boss, I ran a limp hand through my long, unclean mane of d
Share
Post comment
Like
Pengarden, Part 5 - Dirty Revolver
Aug 9, 2019
Earlier That Night, After Roger and Sebastian Left
'He was unfuckable.'
The curvy brunette prancing before me in Manolo Blahniks that cost more than my entire wardrobe collection bared her yellow teeth at me in a devious grin.
'Oh you don't have to tell me, baby girl. Stepan isn't exactly a Romeo pimp.' She was actually holding a whip. A snake whip. Holy shit. Was she hiding a chakram in that cleavage, I wondered pathetically.
I was handcuffed to a titanium stripper pole, in some seedy basement. No idea how I ended up here. I guessed immediately that this brunette woman ran a cathouse, maybe had some bad blood with Stepan Zozulya. I felt drowsy.
'He owns Park Slope's kiddie stroll,' I mumbled. More like a toddler circuit, I told myself, shivering. Fresh images of those traumatized, battered young girls wearing filthy negligees and trying not to stare at me while I was on my bruised, bloody knees before Zozulya (or 'daddy' as they had to call him) filled my mind's eye. He had forced them to fuck each other, just to get his juices going. I wanted to rip my eyeballs out.
I was trying hard not to keep eye contact with this woman who'd obviously kidnapped me- she was mental -yet her pallid blue eyes had me in a strange sort of trance. She was seasoning me - had forced me to drink something - I wasn't completely aware of what the fuck was going on or how I ended up in this light-starved basement, but I had a feeling this situation was gonna fuck things up royally with my employers.
'Are you turning me out?'
The curvy brunette shoved her demented sallow face right into mine. She had meth breath. I held mine, sensing I was going to faint imminently. Desperately needed water.
'I need you to do a job for me,' the mad woman hissed, stroking my dyed-black hair. She paused, kissed me on the nose. My eyes bulged, my guts were exploding inside.
'I know who you are, Tessa Holly. I know who you work for. Kill Stepan Zozulya. Or I kill you right now.'
My mouth opened slightly. Man I was parched. My eyes were irritated, partly because of my brown contacts, partly because of the room's bleak darkness.
'Is he fuckin' with your product?' I couldn't tell what I hated myself for more. The fact that I was speaking in their language, or the fact that I knew their language at all.
'He's my ex-husband.'
I blinked. 'What the fuck you need me for?'
Ophelia Cross grabbed both my clammy hands roughly and squeezed the shit out of them. I was pretty sure my fingers were going to snap off.
'He's fucking our only daughter. She's turning tricks for him. She has schizophrenia.'
For a heartbeat, I stayed silent. Weighing the situation in my mind. Roger. Roger would risk life in prison, would personally shoot me dead if he found out about the diabolical plan hatching in my mind. He would never forgive me. But he hadn't been there, in that den. He had no idea...he had hired me specifically for homicide cases. The placenta murder - Zozulya's maimed mistress - that was my job. But our main suspect had a disgusting, ironclad alibi...
'Fine,' I croaked finally, head pounding. 'I'll kill Zozulya.' God knows I wanted to.
Ophelia's large froggy mouth stretched into a creepy smile. She kissed me on my cold forehead.
'Good girl,' she drawled, dumping the snake whip on the floor to her side. She peeled her long snakeskin dress up slightly, revealing thick, toned legs - the right one had an ankle holster fastened around it above her velvet Manolo Blahniks. She expertly withdrew her Ruger SP101 from it and pointed the barrel at my shivering chest. I was handcuffed to the pole. I was confused. I was fucked.
'You know what you are, Tessa Holly?'
Death couldn't be as shitty as this situation. I raised my wispy thin eyebrows in an inquiring look.
'You're my dirty revolver.'
She shot me.
****
Share
Post comment
Like
Pengarden, Part 4 continued - the Moment
Aug 4, 2019
'Tessa! TESSA! Wake up!'
Someone had me in a viciously tight grip. I had to beat them off, I had to fight, I couldn't let her get away with this -
'Won' - let you do this to him -'
'Tessa, it's all right! Calm down!'
I lurched forward uncontrollably, and landed weakly in someone's tanned, muscled arms.
'Wuzzappenin'?' I groaned. My head was spinning.
I was only just then hit with the realization that my breathing was fucked. I stared down at my body. A number of machines were whirring beside me. I was hooked to an I.V. drip, a heart monitor, and a morphine drip. My head was throbbing. I was frozen. A strange feeling was coming from my chest, under the grubby hospital gown. Like something heavy being sucked out of me.
I noticed a bizarre drain-like contraption at the side of the bed to my left, and felt a weight that didn't belong to me, perched on the edge of the hard bed.
I'd never seen Roger look at me that way before. It was weird - almost a pleading look. I couldn't tell who between the two of us was paler, whose under-eye bags were heavier. I had no idea what the hell either of us was doing here, in this sad grey hospital ward. Why was I hooked up to so much shit?
I tried to open my mouth; no sound came out. A minute of desperate silence passed, we stared at each other blankly. I slid my head forward enough over my chest to cup my weak hand, the right one (it wasn't attached to any drips), over my nose. Not broken. I looked up at my visitor. His eyes were looking very strange.
Before I knew what the hell was happening, Roger had wrapped his arms round me, careful to avoid the chest tube and IV drip. He wreaked of Lucky Strike cigarettes and raw, throbbing guilt.
I didn't know how long we were sat like that. All I know is, it wasn't long enough. I felt something wet trickle onto my scalp. I couldn't believe it. For once, my eyes were dry. And his...were not.
****
Share
Post comment
Like
