Monday, January 15, 2018

Bang, Bang by Jaap Boekestein

Bang, Bang

Of all the women in the state, Freddy had to bang the wife of Bobby Wings.

Yes, that Bobby Wings.

Freddy is my brother and all, and I love him, but hell sometimes he is such an utter stupid piece of dog shit. I reckon Laura was hot, a former Miss Louisiana or something, but whatever, she was Bobby Wings' wife! And my lovely little brother was banging her. Right in her hubbies bedroom, I gathered.

Bad idea. I told him so, and Freddy laughed.

“You worry too much Carl. You need to get laid once in while yourself. Make you less uptight.”
I had a few girls ever since Katey left me. The paying kind. I... It was not what I was looking for. So basically my brother nailed every pussy between Charleston and Galveston and I was living like a monk. Well, that's life.

We did a pawnshop in Baton Rouge at the end of the second Sunday in May, Mother's Day weekend. At the right moment, the right pawnshop has lots of cash and nice and easy things like coins and jewelry. Pawnshops usually also plenty of security and guns, but you can overcome that with timing and plenty of firepowers. You need body armor and tactical face masks modified AR-15's and a quick getaway car. Come in shooting, leave quickly. Something like that is a three men job, but Freddy and I always pulled it off together. A bigger piece of the pie and you know who you can trust.

It was a pretty good job and while we were driving back, Freddy decided it was a great time to visit Laura Wings.

“She lives nearby. You should see the mansion. It's like a Disney palace. She has a mirror on her bedroom ceiling,” Freddy said. “And a bathroom with a jacuzzi and a big ass television. I once nailed her in the tub while watching porn.”

“I don't care if they have flying pigs and a golden plated piss hole. You're not going to fuck the wife of one of biggest crime bosses in the state while I'm waiting outside with a car full of guns and loot.”
“Nobody will expect us there. It's the perfect place to stay wait out any roadblocks.”

“We stick to the plan,” I said. “We load the stuff in our boat and do some fishing for a few days.”
“I want to fish for something else. And I'm gonna. I need to, Carl. I'm tight as a fiddle string strung between two monster trucks.”

“You're a fucking sex addict. We're not gonna,” I said. “No way in Hell or Heaven.”

Of course, Freddy found a way in between Hell or Heaven. How did he convince me? I wasn't sure myself, but somehow I ended up listening to songs on the car radio a bit down the road of Bobby Wings' mansion while Freddy was inside fucking the brains out of the former Miss whatever. He had messaged her and she had told him her big sweet hubby was out for business, leaving her all alone on Mother's Day. Which was a shame.

Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.

I should have known better. Damn it, I should have.

But Freddy is my brother. I'm my brother's keeper, and he's mine.

How long was he gone? If was at least half an hour before this big black fellow knocked politely on the driver's window of the car. The gun in his other hand looked less polite.

I noticed the three other guys surrounding the car. They didn't bother with handguns. One shotgun, two machine guns. German or Austrian or something. By all means very deadly. They all were pointed straight at me.

I didn't move, I kept my hands where they could see them. Reaching for my gun would be suicide.

The first fellow, the polite one, opened the car door.

“Mr. Wings would like to see you, Carl.”

Shit. They knew my knew which meant they had Freddy. Of course, they had.

I came with them. I didn't have much choice.

We should have gone fishing instead of fucking.

A rich man's home: lots of marble and gold and glass, African voodoo hoodoo stuff on the walls. 

Mask, sculptures, tapestries.  Probably worth a million bucks, but I wouldn't know. It gave me the creeps.

Bobby Wing used to play football, long ago. He never made it the big league but he was a big bass ass mean motherfucker. He was sitting in a white leather chair, an automatic in his lap. His wife Laura sat on the left of him, looking worried. She was a looker and wore nothing but a black silk robe. She had Latino blood in her, long black hair, big eyes, beautiful face.

Freddy sat bud naked on some steel chair, his hands chained behind his back. He was alive. He wasn't even beat up, but he looked worried as hell.

Way too fucking late, if you ask me.

The boss looked at his boys.

“He's clean, Mr. Wings.”

They had taken everything, even my knife and the little .380 Smith & Wesson in my ankle holster. 

They had been thorough.

Bobby waved the guys away and gestured at an empty chair right beside my brother. Over ten feet away from Bobby Wings. Before I could rise and jump him, he would have shot me half a dozen times.

I sat down. Freddy was still alive and so was I. So far, so good.

“Freddy, Carl. Nice to meet you in the flesh,” Bobby Wings said. The big man looked at me. “I gather you're not married anymore, Carl?”

What the...? I looked at Freddy who made a face like I-didn't-tell-him-that!

“I divorced over a year ago,” I answered. Was he going after Katey after he had finished with us? 

Shit, she was my ex, but she didn't deserve to die because Freddy couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

“Yes, she moved up north, back to Boston,” Bobby Wings said.

I felt light-headed. Bobby Wings knew a lot about us. He couldn't have gotten this information in a mere thirty minutes time. He checked us out beforehand. Which was bad.

The crime boss took up a remote and pushed a button. At one end of the room, a television screen came to life. One moment of dark gray nothingness, the next moment my brother was fucking Laura Wings on the big screen. It had been recorded with a fixed camera, a hidden camera I guessed. Freddy and Lauren were really hitting it off.

The big man with the big gun pushed another button. A different time, still Freddy and Laura.
And again, and again, and again. Freddy fucking Laura in the bed, in the bathroom, in the living room, somewhere in a stable, everywhere. She had been giving him the whole tour, of the house and herself.

I could tell from the look on Mrs. Wings' face she hadn't been aware of the hidden camera's. She looked really worried now. Being caught with some moron dick head once was bad, but having a whole porn channel worth of wild sex with a guy who was definitely not her husband, was beyond bad.

Freddy looked worried too.

I guessed I even looked worried. And pissed off. I certainly was both.

“You like to fuck my wife, Freddy?” Bobby Wings asked. The gun was still in his lap.

From the corner of my eyes, I watched my brother. Maybe, very maybe I could jump the big man while he was shooting Freddy. Maybe, very maybe I could wrestle the gun from him and shoot the crime boss before his men took me out.

There was a lot of maybes and however it worked out, Freddy and I would be dead, but if I could I would take Bobby Wings with me. He would kill my brother and I would try to kill him. That was how it worked.

“She is an okay lay,” Freddy answered. He knew he would be dead soon. He wasn't going to beg.
I knew he wouldn't.

Bobby Wings nodded, his big head going up and down like some of those little Buddha's they sell at these Asian shops. “She is, isn't she? And I understand why she fucked you, Freddy. I haven't fucked her for almost twelve months, you know. I fully understand she had needs.”

Uh, yes? What was this? Telling the guys you were going to kill your domestic troubles before you shot a bullet through their heads? This was getting a bit weird.

“I don't care about fucking anymore,” the big man continued. “But I like to watch.”

He nodded towards the screen where my brother was banging Bobby Wings' wife on a desk. If I had to guess it was the big man's own desk. It probably had seemed a very hot idea back then.

“And that's where you two come in.”


Bang bang.

That was the way how it went down.

Freddy fucks Laura.

I fuck Laura.

Sometimes we both fuck Laura together.

And Bobby watches. Sometimes he is present in the flesh, sometimes he is watching the live stream, sometimes he watches us later.

It took some getting used too, but hey, it actually works pretty well.

Bobby is happy, Laura is happy, Freddy is happy and even I am happy. Laura is a fun woman, and drop-dead gorgeous. And she has a big heart. And damn, that ceiling, and jacuzzi, the coke and all the other shit. Very nice.

The one thing I worry about is Freddy.

I think he is cheating on Laura.

I'm not sure how Bobby will take it.

Damn my dumb ass brother.


Bio Jaap Boekestein (1968) is an award-winning Dutch writer of science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers and whatever takes his fancy. He usually writes his stories in trains, coffeehouses and in the 16th-century taverns of his native The Hague, the Netherlands. Over the years he has made his living as a bouncer, working for a detective agency and as an editor. Currently, he works for the Dutch Ministry of Security and Justice. His English publications include stories in: CyƤegha, Nonbianary Review, Strange Shifters, Lovecraft after Dark, Surreal Nightmares, Urban Temples of Cthulhu, Sirens Call, Mystery Weekly Magazine, Double Feature Magazine, After The Happily Ever After, Cliterature, No Safe Word, Sex & Sorcery 3 and Switblade 2.

1 comment: