Red Holes
by Dale Hammond
“Did you get that thing I sent you?”
“Who is this?”
“The guy that’s blackmailing you. Get a pen, I’ll give you my name and social.”
“That was my fucking bed!”
“That was your fucking wife, too, in case you didn’t notice.”
“What do you want?”
“No idea, Mr. Lunt. I’m just subcontracted out. I imagine you probably already know what’s wanted of you, and if not, I’m sure you’ll be contacted.”
“And if I don’t play ball, this gets out, is that it?” sneered Mr. Lunt.
“No. It’s out now. That was a public link I emailed you. You make the right people happy and it gets taken down.”
“Do you even know who I am?”
“Yeah. Mr. Lunt. The man who couldn’t keep his wife from being raped in his own home.”
Murdam had made sure the threats were off camera. All the shots were static. Nobody could prove there was a second man in the room. “He’s going to do whatever he wants to you. You don’t have to like it, but it’s going to happen. If I were you, I’d get him off quick before your daughter comes home.” Murdam stood across the room, camera in one hand, serrated knife in the other. Tommy was rubbing his crotch and giggling. Murdam had picked him up in front of the liquor store across the street from the discharge gate of Victors Crossing Mental Health Services, pants around his ankles, masturbating and yelling at cars. Murdam lured him into his car with a bottle and a magazine before the police got called. Tommy was too far gone to be a good witness, even if he did remember what Murdam looked like.
Tommy got his pants down, and the fear hit Mrs. Lunt as bad as the smell. Cock rot and shit stains. “Tell you what,” offered Murdam, “how old is that daughter of yours?”
Mrs. Lunt turned to Tommy. “You’d like her better. She’s younger than me. Prettier.”
Murdam smiled. He knew she wouldn’t go to cops.
“All right, Tommy. Don’t leave any marks on Mrs. Lunt.”
“But...”
“And Mrs. Lunt, you can cry and be as disgusted as you want, but if you fight back I will cut your nose off and feed it to your dogs.”
“And you just handed me the evidence. I know the police commissioner...”
“You’re assuming your wife is willing to cooperate. To be questioned, testify in open court. We both know that isn’t going to happen. All that would accomplish is get a copy of the video passed around every cop and clerk in VC. You will hear snickering from every office in City Hall for the rest of your career. You’re getting fucked, just deal with it. It can only get worse from here.”
While monitoring the bugs he left in the Lunt house, Murdam bet with himself on whether he would say anything to his wife. He figured it was even money between beating her or trying to pretend it didn’t happen. He already knew how Mrs. Lunt had coped. He couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing to her daughter while yelling “This is your fault, you little whore!” Whatever it was, it went on for two hours.