King of the Perverts (9 page)

Mongo nods and says, “True, you could scream like girl and cause big scene, but you still have to leave here and go home. You will never be able to relax again, don’t you see? You would not even know who to watch for. Is not me who would come for you. Could be short, fat man, could be tall, bald black woman. Point is you never know.”

He lets me think about that a minute before continuing. “But then I think is messy plan and can be expensive pain in ass to do it this way. So I have better idea.”

Mongo picks up his phone and holds it out to me and I notice the display is lit up, that it’s already connected to another line.

“What’s this shit?”

He pushes it closer to me. “You have important phone call. Someone wishing to speak with you.”

I don’t know what to do. I’m suddenly very scared, struck with an awful realization. He sat there the whole time watching Tricia and I, and he must know it was her I talked to on the phone the day before. Is it possible Mongo could pull this off so quickly? I just saw Tricia walk out of here and head for the bank of elevators at the other end of the lobby. How the hell could this big bastard and his Soviet goon buddies have gotten to her so fast? Were they waiting in the elevator for her? I’m filled with such a sense of dread looking at the phone, knowing that I’ll hear Tricia’s frightened, tearful voice on the other end and it will be all my fault. What the hell have I gotten us into here?

I reach a shaky hand out and grab the phone. I place it by my ear and listen for a second before saying, “Hello?”

A familiar voice replies, “Dennis?”

It’s definitely not the voice I was expecting. Not at all.

“Dennis, what the hell are you doing?”

What the fuck?

“Carrie? Is that you?”

A World of Shit:

The Final Sequence

“Take pill and drink this.”

In the rental car, Mongo hands me a blue pill and a cup. “What the fuck is this?”

“Is Daddy’s Little Helper. Down it and empty cup now or I get back on phone and bad things will happen to ex-wife.”

I’m tempted to toss it out the window but I take it. As much as I hated Carrie, it’s not like I really want her to get hurt. Especially because of me. I imagine her sitting on Mongo’s bed back at the motel, handcuffed to the railing, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with mascara from crying. I can’t get the image out of my head and the gravity of this situation hits me full-on.

The hospital is a ten minute drive away from our base of operations at the motel, Pervert Central, and I watch Mongo the whole way. He’s folded into the driver seat of the little rented economy car, looking completely incongruous. Here’s this hulk of a brute from some far off corner of Chechnya or wherever, a place I imagined was always cold, gray, and in the throes of one revolution or another, a man who seemed to have no compassion for other people, particularly if they happened to be of the female persuasion, simply a horrid example of humanity, stuffed behind the wheel of a Ford Festiva. And he made sure to buckle his seat belt and check his blind spot before changing lanes.

How can someone appear so normal and so evil at the same time? How does that person reconcile one side of his personality with the other? Mongo’s very existence is a contradiction of epic proportions, both physically and in the abstract. I don’t know how to compute this in my head. Is it because I’m too black-and-white? Am I too rigid in my thinking, that a person is either one thing or the other? Was Carrie right about me this whole time? I can’t seem to come to terms with a person’s ability to be so genial and banal at one moment and so depraved and unconscionable in the next.

I don’t want to think about this right now. I can try to figure out the why later, but first I have to make sure there is a later for me, and for Carrie and Tricia and anyone else who might get caught up with this bastard. Now is the time to survive and avoid becoming the unwilling masochistic star of an underground rape film.

We pull into a parking space near our room and I move to get out but Mongo grabs my arm and says, “You go slowly, yes? We are not drawing attention to ourselves.”

I nod and force myself to casually walk to the stairs leading up to the second level where the room is located. I notice a dark, blackened spot at the bottom of the stairs, soaked into the cheap Astroturf carpeting covering the steps. Jesus, I think that’s my blood. I still don’t remember anything about Muffy-Mandy-Misty whatever-her-name-is and the
sanchez
.

We get to the room and Mongo unlocks it. Despite his warning to act nonchalant, I push past him and rush into the room. “Carrie? Are you here, Carrie?”

“Where the hell else would I be?”

She’s sitting on the edge of Mongo’s bed, wearing nothing but a short silk robe that hardly goes past her waist. I’m momentarily stunned by the soft curve of her uncovered ass. “Uh… Are you, you know, are you alright?”

She looks nothing like the damsel in distress I had pictured when I heard her over the phone. She’s not crying and pulling at handcuffs anchored to the bedpost. Instead, she’s sitting demurely on top of the bedspread with her legs crossed, wearing little more than a very familiar look of impatience. She completely ignores my question and looks to Mongo. “Are we ready to start, or what?”

Mongo busily moves around the room, checking the numerous cameras I’m just now noticing. At least five are set up in the room at different angles, all pointing at the two beds. I’m trying to understand what’s going on here, but as usual, I feel slower than everyone else.

“You… You mean you’re not hurt?”

Carrie looks back at me and says, “Well, duh.”

Mongo finishes fiddling with the cameras and claps his hands together. He looks very excited and he’s talking quickly. “OK, time to get show on road. Dennis, sit on bed next to whore and we begin film.”

“Hey,” Carrie says as she edges her robe down her shoulders. “Watch who you’re calling a whore, you Commie douchebag.”

I can’t move. I think I know what’s happening but, at the same time, I can’t rationalize it.

“Well, come on,” Carrie tells me. “Take off your fucking clothes and get over here.”

“What the hell are you doing, Carrie?”

She’s completely naked now, leaning back on her hands. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Mongo stands next to me, much closer than I’m comfortable with. He smells like garlic and oily medicine. “Lovely ex-wife has agreed to help us. Isn’t that good news, homo?”

I’m speechless.

Mongo sees that some explanation is necessary and starts filling in the blanks. “We are finishing contest today, OK. You only need last four challenges, and just so happens I know what last four challenges are.”

“You do? How?”

“Last night at bar. Strange little sickly man with thick glasses sits in booth with me. He tells me many interesting things. He tells me he wants you to win contest and can give me final challenges. Says he knows all about dirty sanchez and finds girl for you. Even sends her over to speak to you. And when I look, there you are, with Misty whore.”

Jack Mehoff. The weirdo that sicced Pauline on me.

“Little man was funny,” Mongo continues. “He asks to be cut in on prize money. Can you believe balls of that guy? Good news is we do not have to worry about him turning up again. And now that we know final challenges, is time to end this game and get paid!”

I turn to Carrie and say, “And you agreed to this?”

“Fuck yes, I did. Because when you win, half of that money is mine.”

“The fuck you say.”

She laughs at me. “Alimony, dumb ass. I’m a single mother and my ex-husband just won a huge pile of cash. Who do you think the court will side with?”

Mongo shoves me toward the bed. “Enough with blah, blah, blah,” he says. “Time to take off clothes and prove you are King Pervert. First challenge is
rusty trombone
.”

Mongo turns to the laptop behind him on the desk. “Here is instruction video for how to do proper
trombone
. Is very simple, you just
–
”

Carrie cuts him off and she gets on her knees. “Yeah, yeah, I know how to do a goddamn
rusty trombone
, jeez.”

I shouldn’t be shocked considering all the things I know now about my ex-wife, and continue to learn about her, but I can’t help myself. “You do?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Jesus, Dennis, you’re so fucking naïve sometimes. Maybe if you would’ve tried some of this shit you’re doing for this stupid show with me instead, we’d still be married. I might have even been able to pretend that I was happy.”

“You seriously wish I would’ve glued my pubic hair to your chin with my cum?”

“I guess you’ll never know, now, will you?”

I feel like I’m sleepwalking as I take off my shirt and unbuckle my belt. It’s like I’ve woken up in a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

“Why didn’t you say something to me about this instead of running off to screw other guys? How the hell was I supposed to know what you wanted if you never bothered to tell me?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you. It’s a husband’s job to learn these things about his wife. God, you’re dumb.”

“Can you even hear yourself talk? Do you have any clue how ridiculous you sound? A good marriage is built on a foundation of communication and trust. Not mind reading, you stupid tramp.”

Mongo impatiently snaps his fingers in my face. “Save marital spat for some other time. Right now, shut stupid trap and get on hands and knees.”

I do what he tells me, but I’m giving Carrie my best stink-eye. “You’re right about one thing, my dear. I was naïve. I can’t believe I didn’t know what a nasty whore you were until it was too late.”

She flips me off and slides in behind me. She grabs my dick, which I just now realize is hard as a rock. Just before she slides her tongue between my ass cheeks, I tell her, “One last thing, Carrie… Eat my shit.”

She responds by biting my scrotum.

•

Ten minutes later, she’s still going at it. My dick is beginning to get raw from Carrie’s stroking and my asshole is numb to the point that I can barely feel her tongue, which is not necessarily a bad thing. The way I feel toward her right now, I’m more than a little repulsed by what we’re doing, so much so that my guts are beginning to roll.

And what we’re doing is the
rusty trombone
, which apparently is a chick licking and blowing in a dude’s ass while stroking his member, thus creating the effect of playing a trombone. I’ll let your own imagination guess why it’s called
‘
rusty
’
. I suppose in a perfect world of two consenting adults performing acts of love and sensuality for each other, this would be perfectly acceptable. Far be it for me to judge a person based on what I myself have done over the past week. But when you’re partaking in such activities without being a consenting party, well...

It makes me think of Danielle. And Pauline, maybe to a lesser degree, but still. And the sanchez chick. And then I feel even more guilty over the fact I performed a dirty sanchez on a girl whose name I can’t for the life of me remember.

“You about done back there,” I say over my shoulder.

Carrie pauses and says, “Waiting on you, fuckhead.” Then she resumes.

As soon as she dives back in, I feel pressure. It’s not external, but something deep inside. A rumble from within, like the demons I’ve been carrying with me have decided to wake up and make some noise. What I first thought was guilt and anxiety has turned to something more.

“Um…”

No one says a thing but Mongo grabs one of the cameras off a tripod. He moves to the wall like he’s getting out of the way. This should strike me as strange but I’m more concerned with the build up of pressure very quickly making its way from my innards toward my outards. Is that a word, outards? Fuck it, I don’t know and I don’t care. Something big is about to go down.

“Uh… Carrie?”

She halts her trombone playing and says, “What, are you finally going to cum so I can stop this?”

“Well, I’m not sure how to put this, but something’s coming, alright.”

Despite how much I hate this woman right now, there are still some things I would not consider doing to her, out of anger or spite or revenge or whatever. Things I would not do to any human being, because they’re just not right. Like farting in someone’s face. I would not do that on purpose because it’s just not kosher. And yes, I realize how hypocritical that sounds considering my recent history. I’m complicated, what can I say?

But I’m being completely truthful when I say I don’t fart in Carrie’s face on purpose. It really is an accident. She doesn’t see it that way.

“OH, YOU DICK!”

She jumps off the bed and wipes at her face, but I’m already past her and headed for the bathroom. Something dire is happening to me at this moment and I have very little time left. I race for the toilet and jump on the seat, ready to expel whatever it is that’s trying to blast forth from me, but Mongo is there, waiting in the bathroom.

“Dude, get the fuck out of here! I’m about to explode.”

“No, hold it in,” he says. “Bitch, get in here!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? My colon is about to burst here. Get the fuck out before I
–
”

I don’t get further than that. Mongo smacks me in the chin with the back of his hand and I nearly careen off the stool. When I right myself, he’s in my face, pressing the blade of his huge hunting knife against my cheek.

“You are homosexual, show me ass control. Hold it in or I will make you wish you had.”

He turns to the door and yells, incredibly loud and right in my ear, “BITCH, GET THE FUCK IN HERE!”

Carrie appears in the doorway with a look of repulsion on her face.

“You prick, you splattered me.”

She’s wiping at her chin and I notice, amid the remaining stars in my field of vision from Mongo’s blow, three brownish dots on her forehead. I’m a little dazed and trying real hard to keep from shitting my brains out lest Mongo gut me like a fish, but I realize what those brown dots are. I don’t know what else to say other than a weak, “Sorry.”

Mongo points at me and says to Carrie, “Back on knees, whore. Time for
blumpkin
.”

•

A few minutes later, I’ve regained my bearings. During the time in between, Carrie assumed the position, took me into her mouth, and we both waited for Mongo to get the camera ready. When he pointed at us, Carrie began sucking and I let the floodgates open.

This is the
blumpkin
. Who the fuck comes up with this shit?

Like I said, it takes me a couple minutes, but I feel a little better, especially after I’ve filled the toilet with some of the most noxious stuff that’s ever come out of me. I wonder if I’m coming down with the stomach flu or something, then it hits me.