“Just try me!”
Picking up the second gun, I went to the office. I immediately found what I’d come for: duct tape.
When I returned, the one with the functioning vocal cords was still babbling. I wasn’t having it. I stuck two lengths of tape over his mouth. That shut him up. Then I wrapped tape around his ankles. His range of action had been severely curtailed, giving me the peace of mind to roam freely about the house.
I was just about to go when I decided that the fur cuffs weren’t all that dependable, and I wrapped some tape around their wrists as well. I appraised my work: Yes, it was pleasing to the eye and completely secure.
The sun would be rising soon, and I was getting hungry. Not a single crumb of that scrumptious pear dessert remained in my stomach.
“Now, I want the two of you to lie there, nice and well-behaved. I’ll be around if there’s anything you want to tell me…”
Silly me. Their mouths were taped.
“Scratch that last bit. Anyway, I’ll be around.”
I’d finished off Ponpon’s breakfast offerings. It was too early for vegetables cooked in olive oil, and there was no more cake,
The bread toasted while the eggs boiled. I had to check on my guests from time to time. There was no telling what they might get up to. Back and forth I went, from the kitchen to the bedroom, where they lay side by side, like a couple of sacks of potatoes. What I needed was some music, low enough that it wouldn’t disturb the neighbors but high enough to mask any grunting and groaning. Furthermore, music was an integral part of my morning routine. Nothing beats Handel, but melodious baroque harmonies would never camouflage the sound of me shouting at them, or perhaps, even, of furniture being shattered. My eye landed on Dusty Spring-field’s double album Something Special. I hadn’t listened to it for ever so long. I must have missed it, for it was playing a moment later.
This time I managed to rescue the bread from the minioven before it burned. It smelled wonderful. Placing my eggs and tea on a huge tray, I carried it to the bedroom. No change, except that they seemed to be eyeing my tray a bit hungrily.
“Let me know when you’re ready to talk,” I said. “You’ll get some chow and your freedom.”
I get a pang every time I listen to “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?” What a voice. Pure emotion, and no histrionics. It’s my favorite Dusty piece, along with “The Windmills of Your Mind.” Marmalade-slathered piece of toast in hand, I went off to play it again. No one writes a ballad like Michel Legrand, with the possible exceptions of Burt Bacharach and Michel Berger.
Once upon a time I’d presented someone with what I considered a highly meaningful compilation cassette consisting entirely of different versions of this song. The lyrics “What are you doing the rest of your life?… I have only one request of your life, that you spend it all with me…” seemed to encapsulate perfectly all of my hopes and dreams. The idiot found the song too “heavy” and gave the cassette to someone else. Naturally, that was the end of our relationship.
My trip down memory lane ended with my breakfast. On the way to the kitchen with the tray, I gave the mute a good poke with my foot.
“I know you can’t talk, but I can always get you a pen and paper. Your friend’s too pigheaded. Think it over!”
I was dying to have a long shower, look over the files sent by Cihad2000, and get to the bank promptly at the stroke of nine to see what was in that box. While I had plenty of time, I was too paranoid to turn my back on my guests. Yes, they were bound and gagged, but even so.
I needed someone to watch them for me. Ponpon would pop over in a jiffy. But she’d panic in a situation like this. I could call Hasan. He was a cool character. But he was having troubles of his own, and it wouldn’t do to get him mixed up in all of this, too. I decided on Ipekten. She was strong, dependable, and bold to the point of being a bit rash. What’s more, she adored this kind of thing.
I didn’t hesitate to call her on the spot, especially knowing that she’d still be up. She answered on the second ring. There was no need to go into details. I simply told her she was needed.
“At your service, my lord,” she said. “Give me ten minutes to fly to your side, hubby!”
Ipekten’s a real scream. She always finds a way to make me laugh.
The prisoner with the voice had begun squirming.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Ready to talk?”
He blinked.
Kneeling next to him, I ripped off the tape in one swift movement. It was something like a beard waxing. I had to muffle his shouts with my hand.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I knew full well how much it would hurt…”
“I’ll get you back one day,” he hissed.
“Sure you will. We’ll talk about that when it happens. Right now, you’re all mine. So speak up.”
“I haven’t got anything to say,” he said. “I have to pee.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I need to get to the toilet. Or do you want me to go on the floor?”
I hadn’t foreseen this. It never happens in films or books, so I had no clue how to proceed. I thought for a moment.
“I’m not freeing you.”
“What do you expect me to do, pee right here?”
No, I didn’t want him peeing in my bedroom, not right on my pale pink carpet.
“Look, just free my legs and you can walk me to the bathroom.” That didn’t sound like a bad idea.
I went off to fetch one of the guns. I’d wrapped the tape around the cuffs of his trousers, not on his bare skin. I wouldn’t get to wax his legs.
“Take it nice and slow. You can’t imagine the consequences if you try anything funny…”
“I know what you’re capable of…”
Ducking under his arm, I helped him to his feet. He leaned all his weight against me, and I nearly lost my balance. Despite the late hour and all the tussling, he still smelled faintly of aftershave.
Gun thrust into his back, I walked him to the bathroom.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it!” I said.
With bruising coming out on one of his cheeks, the other one seemed strangely pale. “You’ll have to help me,” he smirked. “I can’t get my pants down.”
I hadn’t thought about that one either.
With his arms cuffed behind his back, he was helpless. Not only would he expect me to lower his trousers, I’d have to point his willie at the toilet bowel, and even give it a good shake when he was done.
The doorbell rang just in the nick of time. It must be Ipekten.
I hesitated for a moment. Then I hastily unfastened his belt and pulled his trousers and white briefs down to just below his knees.
“Aren’t you going to hold it?” he asked, with a filthy grin. I smacked him full across his bruised cheek.
“Sit down to pee!” I shouted as I marched off to open the front door.
Chapter 32
Just as I’d expected, it was Ipekten.
There she stood, grinning ear to ear, enormous eyes filled with curiosity.
“Here I am to the rescue!”
A toss of her Wonder Woman mane of hair was enough to restore calm. The girls all imagine themselves to be up on the latest fashions. Some of them model themselves on my idol, Audrey; others are still stuck in their seventies Bearded Barbie phase. But Ipekten is something else. She slavishly follows
I summarized things for her as we went inside.
“I’ll shit in their mouths! Break in, did they? And in the middle of the night, no less. And you still nursing a broken heart. Well, I never!”
“What’s that got to do with it?…” I began.
“Maybe it’s irrelevant, maybe it’s not! That’s not the point. The point is, they’re clearly deranged. It’s a wound in the social fabric, it is. Completely sociological. Did I say logical? Well, there’s not a trace of that, honey! That’s the problem. I’ll knock some sense into them. They’re all mine now. Dr. Mengele has nothing on me.”
“Sweetie,” I pleaded, “please don’t ramble on. I’m just not up to it. I don’t think I can take it.”
“Well, alright then, hubby… You’re in a deep depression, after all. You think you’re over it, but you’re not, of course. Who can snap out of something like that in just a couple of days? Don’t you agree? I mean, look what happened to Virginia Woolf. You’ve seen The Hours. And there are other films, too… This is serious stuff. No one pulls through just like that. No, it always leaves a scar. Deep down…”
“Ipekten!”
“Alright, alright!” she pouted. “If you invited me over just to shut me up…”
I handed her one of the guns.
“Do you know how to use this?” I asked.
“
I let her know that the body on the floor was a mute.
“I’ll have him singing like a pressure cooker,” she trilled. “That tongue’ll be wagging in no time!… ”
Purple Cheek had come out of the bathroom, trousers down around his ankles, and taken penguin steps as far as the door to the bedroom.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t flush it,” he apologized sardonically.
Ipekten turned her head to look at the newcomer.
