Frenzy

for the third time.

'An' wash whe' jew put dose feet, baby, jew knock this motherfucking light over jew buy it, man.' He was fussy about his expensive lights.

Big fucking deal, Belmonte thought. It looked like a 'real' movie set with all the lights and cameras and shit around. Cables running everywhere.

'Hey, these fuckers burn out I leave 'em on too long, man. Come on, mano, jew look real pretty. Let's get this motherfucking chit over with, eh?'

'Yaaaa,' Jon Belmonte grunted noncommittally as he carefully brushed his dark hair. Even if he was being shot from the back, he wanted to look good. He'd watch this shit later with the new bitch. When he was satisfied he slipped his shirt off and pulled on an old shirt that he could burn afterward. This bitch wasn't going to splatter a new sixty-eight-dollar shirt.

'Jew ready now, Marlon.'

'Here we are man, Spic and Span.' They laughed. 'Le's do it.'

'Hey, li'l mama,' Belmonte said as they walked into the room where the girl was resting on the bed. 'It's star time,' he said with a giggle as he spread his arms out expansively. 'Right?'

'Nnn.' She nodded dumbly, eyes heavy-lidded, features slack.

'Hey?' Nothing. 'HEY, bitch. Talk to me.'

'What?' she said.

'You ain't gon' fuck this up now, are ya?' He smiled. She shook her head slowly, nodding. 'Wake up now, li'l mama. You remember your big line, now, doncha?'

'Mmmm,' she grunted.

'Say?'

'Yeah. Umm. Yeah, I remember.'

'Say it.' She gazed off into space, a smile fixed on her face. 'SAY IT, damn you .... You stupid li'l bitch.' Nothing.

'Ay, chihuahua, jew hit her with too much. She ain't gonna even look like she's alive.'

'Fuck it, man, let's get it done.' They started kicking on the rest of the lights. A powerful bounce-light and a light that looked like it was surrounded by a silver umbrella, and a bank of small lights on a portable stand.

Tiff, blinded momentarily, put her hand over her face and said, 'Shit. Hey, the light hurts my eyes,' and both of the men broke up laughing.

The photographer, Morales, said, 'Hey, li'l puta, jew ain't going to have to worry about having nothing hurt jew eyes for much longer, so don't worry about it.'

'Cool it, goddammit,' Belmont said as they laughed, jiving around as they set up for the payoff shot.

'Make sure we got film in the motherfucker and that nothin's fucked up 'cause you ain't got a second take on this one, C.B.'

'Yeah. I hear dat chit all right.' He double-checked the monitor. He was shooting a video master with a rinky-dink portable generator, but the picture looked to be all right and the cats bought this shit they weren't too choosy about Panaflex cams and Scope. Just let 'em see it nice 'n' clear, you know. See the little chiquita get fucked up in a nice color close-up. No big fucking deal just as long as everything showed good.

'Jew miked?' Morales asked Belmonte.

'Unnn,' he said, making sure the cord from the lavaliere was tucked down on the side the camera wouldn't see. Cheap shit wouldn't even have a fuckin' boom on it.

'How's this look?'

'Looking good,' Morales said. He made a last-minute adjustment as he squinted through the camera apparatus. 'Yeah. Okay.'

'Yeah.'

'I'm ready. You got your chit together?'

'Nnnn. Tape rollin'?'

'Yo. Mark it.'

'Teenage Snuff, fucking TAKE ONE!' He was in the lower right of the shot. A two- shot of Tiff in close-up, back to a medium shot where you could see Belmonte's back, and the long metal thing in his left hand.

'I told you that you'd pay for displeasing me, you cunt,' he emoted into the mike clipped to his shirt. Nothing. The dumb cunt had forgotten her line. 'DON'T STOP THE TAPE. KEEP THE FUCKER ROLLING,' he shouted and stepped close.

'No sweat,' Morales said. He slapped her with the free hand but she just held her head a little differently, the same dumb smile on her face. He could see she was out of it. Fuck it.

'Teenage Snuff, TAKE TWO!' he said his line again. 'I told you that you'd pay for displeasing me, you cunt,' and he started plunging the metal thing into her and she screamed.

Morales thought to himself the blood was looking damn good. Best damn blood squibs you ever wanna see. The good part was just starting. He couldn't wait. He was anxious to see Jon put her eyes out with the thing. He loved to see a little white honey get all fucked up like this.

Jon Belmonte, a.k.a. Juan La Bellamonde, was seldom in the wet vid they cranked out at Rhapsody Video. He'd do a little off-cam thing now and then, but this was a special exception. It would take some expertise. You didn't want to go too far. It would be easy to lose your head, get carried away, and off the bitch before you get to the good stuff. Expendables were expensive. He also couldn't see laying out good coin for some dude with a big cock just for something they could shoot over the shoulder in a little back-lit quickie two-shot. And he knew he could keep her alive at least till he got to her eyes.

He knew just how far to stick her in the tits to look good on cam. Get the freaks up for it. Stick her plenty of times but nice little shallow jabs. He knew he could trust himself not to go crazy and blow it. He'd done plenty of this kind of shit himself. He just hadn't filmed all of it. No problem.

He was a packager. He had the whole production thing, the last stop on the pain line. Rhapsody, ironically titled by the former owner, was just one of the indies feeding the Blue Kriegal operation, which was tied to St. Louis people. He didn't know who was involved and didn't want to know. It was bad enough having to deal with a freak like Kriegal. Kriegal's thing was run by St. Louis, who was under Chicago, and them fuckers — the less you know about them, the longer you live.

Porn was a family operation as far as he was concerned. And his level of the family, the remora sucking up to the big fish that could get you through the heavy surface scum, really was a family. A freak family but still a family. A small circle of people all involved in the same shit. The people he bought the girl from, the Fruends — shit, they sold to Blue Kriegal. There were indies all over the country. The production end wasn't shit on the little cheapie stuff like this. All that bogus bullshit about how the mob controlled pornography, that was just newspaper jive.

Pervs controlled that shit. Kinks like Jon Belmonte, who got off on little kids, or torture, or whatever circus love you were into. What the mob controlled was the distribution end, which was where the bucks came from, the guys who pulled the exhibitor's strings. The one way you always knew where the mob was, you follow the money. The little stuff, the nickel-and-dime skin house, nobody cared. But get into some serious money and it was the family.

Blue Kriegal was always braggin' about how well-connected he was in the St. Louis operation, but Jesus Christ, anybody with half a brain would have sense enough to know that was about 90 percent bullshit. Who in their right fucking mind would have anything to do with a stone whackadoo like Blue Kriegal if they didn't have to? He was a fucking maniac. Little tiny kids 'n' shit. Damn. It was enough to make you sick.

Belmonte had to deal with him a couple times a year when Kriegal would come down through McAllen and want Belmonte to get him some Mexican stuff. And he'd have to take the weird son of a bitch over and get him straight with some poor little baby. Crazy fucker. That was the kind of maniac you had to deal with sometimes.

Personally Belmonte got off on young chicks. Even a good-looking young boy once in a while. Take 'em down real good. He could dig that. But not no little babies 'n' shit. He was a little kinky sure. Plenty twisted and whatnot. But he wasn't fucking CRAZY.