For Sale

Emmy took her hand off my thigh and took a long drink out of her poor excuse for an alcoholic beverage. She took out another cigarette and lit it. The red glow of the cherry illuminated her face as she took a long drag. It was at this point I noticed how quiet it was in the bar. I hated silence for the most part. Bernie's Bar and Grill was never quiet and the lack of noise made it feel dead. I looked at the blond, who was glaring at me and waiting for me to continue my story.

“Mind if I play the jukebox?” I ask as I get down from the bar stool.

“Not at all,” she replies. I walk behind the bar and turn the volume down before making my way over to the jukebox. I pull out a five dollar bill and attempt to slide it into the machine. It takes a few tries before the bill actually takes. Bernie's has a newer style jukebox, the type that's connected to the internet and has thousands of songs on it. The only reason we have it, is because I convinced the old man to buy one. It was the one, and only time he actually took my advice on anything.

I already have a play list in mind before Emmy slowly makes her way beside me and starts to watch as I pick the songs I've had in my head all day. I know what's coming and I'm dreading it. I try to pick them as fast as I can before she thinks to say something.

“Can I play a few?” she asks.

“Fuck,” I think to myself. I hate it when I'm right sometimes. I pick two more songs, and let her pick the rest of them. A part of me doesn't want to know what she picked. If her choice in songs is the same as her choice in alcohol, I'm probably not going to like what I hear.

The first song starts to play as we walk back to the bar. Badfish by Sublime. A song that popped into my head as soon as she walked into the bar. I take a sip of my beer and look Emmy in the eyes. I can tell she's never heard this song in her life. She's still focused on me, waiting for me to continue my story. I take a deep breath and continue on.

Its hard telling how much time passes before Manaka comes to. She's in the back of an old, nineteen eighties style sedan. She's too weak to move. Too weak to scream. There's a blanket over her head, so she can't see anything. Her hands and feet are tied together with duct tape. Even if she could move, it wouldn't do her much good. She realizes the car isn't moving. They're stopped, and its impossible to know where. That's when she hears voices from the front of the car.

“Lenny, you know we shouldn't be stoppin' for God damned tacos when we've got fuckin' human cargo tied up in the back seat,” one of the voices says.

“Well I was fuckin' hungry Roy! God damn!” the other shouts in anger. Its later she learns which is which. Lenny is the skinny one in desperate need of a good set of dentures. Roy is the big one. The smart one. The enforcer.

Manaka listens as Lenny chews his tacos. Chomping loud, licking the melted cheese from the huge gaps between his teeth. Roy spits something into a cup as Lenny continues his midnight snack. They don't talk. They just sit, and continue on as if nothings happening. Their cargo in the back seat, listening to every move they make. She's not sure if its even real. It feels like a dream. She keeps praying it is, and that soon she'll wake up in her bed, ready to call me and tell me all about the crazy dream she had. Manaka always likes when I try to make sense of her dreams.

“Wait!” Emmy shouts, interrupting the flow of my story. “What do you know about dreams?” she asks.

“Not much. I just read a book one time,” I explain. I tell her how the subconscious is often trying to communicate with you in a way only you can understand. A peach in my dream could mean something totally different in yours. We all dream differently. At least that's what the book tells me. I tell her how I'd have to know her better before I could help her with hers. After explaining all of this, I go back to my story, and she finishes her drink.

The engine starts, and the rumble of the motor makes the car feel like it could break in half at any time. She's fighting to retain some form of consciousness. Struggling to figure out if this is a dream, or reality. If its a dream, she's wondering how to wake herself up. If its all real, she's wondering how to get herself out of this nightmare. She hears one of them spit the juice from their chewing tobacco into a cup before rekindling their friendly chat.

“Do you think he'd be mad Roy? Do you think he'd be mad if just once I had em before we took em in? Just once? I want her so bad Roy. So bad. I just wanna feel her squirm and scream and try to get away. I live for it Roy. I want her so bad. Would he be mad?” Lenny asks.

“Yep, he'd be fuckin' pissed Lenny. You know the rules. No fuckin' the fresh catches. Not until he gives the okay. For tonight, you're gonna go home, and you're just gonna have to settle for old Righty. She'll never do ya wrong.” Roy replies.

“I ain't waitin' till I get home. I need somethin' to stimulate the old noggin. The brain is the number biggest erogenous zone you have Roy.”

“Where the fuck did you go and learn a fancy fuckin' word like erogenous? And that's wrong, the biggest one is the tip of your dick. You can't bust a nut without that. Your brain can only help with so much.”

“But it fuckin' helps!” Lenny shouts as he starts to undo his zipper.

“Do you really have to do that now?” Roy asks as he spits into his cup. “I'm tryin' to fuckin' drive here!”

“I can't help it! I have a boner that could fuck a suit of armor right now,” Lenny says as he pulls his pants the rest of the way down, and undoes his seat belt. He leans the seat back and turns onto his stomach, then makes his way to his knees. He's hovering over Manaka. His dick in his hand. She can feel his presence, and now, more than ever, she's praying its a dream. She's praying this isn't happening. She's praying there's not a redneck about to jerk off on her.

She hears the sound of hand sliding over flesh. Of the old passenger side chair rocking back and forth as Lenny gets more and more into the act. Roy spitting into his cup again. Lenny whispering dirty talk as the chair squeaks louder and louder. The engine is loud, but she hears all of this, and at some point during this, she realizes this isn't a dream. This is happening, and right when she realizes this, Lenny moans. The seamen soaks through the blanket over her head. Slippery and warm, it rests on her forehead, but she's too drugged to move out of the way. If Manaka could cry, she would.

“This story is fucking disgusting,” Emmy tells me.

“I never said it wasn't. You were the one who wanted to hear it. If you want, I'll stop, but I paid five dollars for music, and I'll be damned if I leave here before I hear every song,” I reply.

“I said it was disgusting, I didn't say it wasn't interesting. I'm sorry I interrupted. Please. Continue,” she says, and so, I oblige her.

“Are you fucking happy now?” Roy asks, as Lenny shakes the rest of his load off on the towel covering Manaka's head. Lenny moans in approval as he pulls his pants back up and turns around to sit correctly in his seat. He puts the seat back the way it was, and they continue the ride as if nothing happened.

They drive in silence for an unknown distance. Manaka slipping in and out of consciousness. Trying to move. Trying to do something instead of lay motionless in the back seat of this car with a blanket soaked in seamen over her head, but she can't. She catches parts of the conversation her kidnappers are having. They're talking about porn. Sports cars. The new sandwich Burger King has. She hears this, and still wishes it wasn't happening. She wishes the warmth of the seamen is just some terrible mistake she made with Peter Irish. She's hoping the conversation she's overhearing is just something she's making up in her head from something the Lucky Charms were talking about, loud and drunk in the adjacent room. She's hoping and wishing. Its what we do when we're out of options.

The car slows to a crawl, and then to a stop. Lenny and Roy get out of the car and go around to the back. Roy opens the door on the driver's side, and pulls Manaka out of the car.

“Jesus fuck Lenny! Get this fuckin' blanket off her face! If I get your fuckin' jizz on me, I swear I'll hand you an ass whippin' you won't forget!” Roy shouts.

“I'm sorry Roy!” Lenny replies, as he hurries to take the blanket off her face. Roy hoists Manaka over his shoulder, and they begin to walk. Manaka is too afraid to open her eyes. She's too afraid to make a sound. Afraid that if she gives the slightest hint, that she's even a little conscious they'll hurt her, or worse. They make their way down steps. She can tell they're concrete by the sound of their shoes touching the ground. All the while, they talk about baseball. The hot teenagers at the Dairy Queen. Who has a bigger penis? Shaquille O'Neal, or Yao Ming? Manaka hears this, and still, she hopes. She wishes. She prays.

The stairs feel like they'll never end. The impact of every step knocks a breath from her lungs. Finally they end, as Lenny and Roy conclude that Shaquille O'Neal has the bigger penis. He's black. Its only logical they say. They make their way down a cold hallway. Its a tile floor now. Manaka can tell from the change in sound. They stop, and she hears them open a door. They step inside, not even noticing as Manaka's head bounces off the side of the door. They toss her on a bed, laughing about a Yao Ming joke Roy tells.

Manaka listens as they slam the door behind them. Laughing all the way down the hall. Cracking jokes, like you and I would on any normal day at the office. She's alone as she opens her eyes. Its too dark to see. The drugs still have a hold. She can't move. She can barely think. Cold and alone, Manaka starts to cry. She cries herself back to sleep. Still wishing. Still hoping. Still praying its all just a dream. And its at this point in the story, Emmy puts her lips on my neck, like a vampire out for blood. Yet another interruption. If I wasn't so lonely, I'd tell her to fuck off.