His name was Albert Clough, 22 years old, from out of state. No debit or credit cards. A roll with a hundred wrapped on the outside around ones and fives. An old looking condom and a few phone numbers on scraps of napkins.
No insurance card in the car. The tags were out of date by over two years. Almost asking to be pulled over with a loaded gun in almost plain sight. And one with a round in the chamber. Albert Clough was an idiot.
The man himself had some gold chains, some show muscles, and a tanning salon membership. No other weapons. Shoes that looked like it hurt to walk, much less run. Murdam left a bruise on his cheek, but otherwise not too much damage. He had his hands cuffed behind him around a thick drainage pipe coming out of the concrete floor, a rag wrapped around his eyes. It wasn’t quite a warehouse, just a small industrial rental property that Murdam fell into possession of. The main floor was completely bare, the walls padded with sound proofing. The car sat near a small loading dock entrance.
Murdam went through the sack of fast food. Four fries, six burgers, four drinks. Murdam figured four eaters, maybe some with big appetites. There were four altogether, three if they were being nice to Deuce.
Murdam sat cross legged a few feet from Clough and started into the fries. “You know who I am?”
Clough kept trying to look away, but nodded. “Who am I?”
“You’re the guy,” he said flatly.
“What’s my name?” Murdam asked casually, popping a fry into his mouth.
“I don‘t remember what they said the name was.”
“Then what guy am I?”
“The guy we were supposed to…” he stopped himself.
“ I hope you weren’t going to say kill, because you suck as a hit man.” Clough’s phone blared a riff from a rap song. Murdam answered, “Hello?”
“Who the fuck is this?” came a tough guy voice on the other end.
“Well it isn’t Albert. Who would you say I am?”
“Stonewall?”
Murdam smiled. They didn’t know his name. “Yes. Stonewall. How’s Deuce?”
“Alive, for now. And Albert?”
“The same,” said Murdam. “You want to work something out?”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m eating right now. I’ll call you back at this number.” Murdam turned off the phone before the other side responded. He didn’t give a shit about Deuce, and they could very likely not give a shit about Clough, but it gave them a reason to stick around and not blow town. Clough was a baby wannabe, likely extra muscle someone more professional picked up. The man on the phone didn’t do a great job keeping up the tough guy act, and clearly knew that he was in over his head.
“All right, Albert. I’m going to show you I’m an alright guy. I’ll be back in a few. Do you believe me when I say that bad things will happen to you if you try to leave?”
“Yeah.”
“Say bad things will happen to you if you try to leave.”
“Bad things will happen to me if I try to leave.”
“Good. We’re going to get along fine, Albert.”
When Murdam came back a half hour later, Albert heard the loading dock door slide up and down. Two sets of car doors opened and closed. There was some stumbling.
“I got you some company, Albert. I’m going to do something nice for you, and you’ll something nice for me.” As they got close, Albert could smell body odor and beer drowned in cheap perfume. “Albert, this is Cindy. Cindy, do something nice for Albert.” Albert heard someone trip to their knees, then hands grab clumsily at his thighs.
“Dude, you don’t have to do this, I don’t...” Albert started.
“Mr. Clough, I’m trying to be nice,” Murdam raised his voice. “Do you not want me to be nice? Do you want me to be mean?”
Hands ran up his crotch. Albert was shaking. “No.”
“Then say it!” Murdam growled.
“I want you to be nice!” Albert called out.
Murdam‘s voice came back down. “Cindy, be nice to the man. I’ll give you two some privacy.”
Drunk hands took forever to work off Albert’s belt and slide his pants down his thighs. Cindy’s hand cupped his balls, slurping his limp cock between dry lips. Albert figured he better get hard. He pictured that college girl he and his buddy slipped a roofie to. The scar was still red under her new tits. How they took her to that garage and filled her with motor oil and took turns…
The rag came off his eyes. Directly in front him, Murdam with a digital camera blocking his face, his hand grabbing a fistful of greasy hair, pushing “Cindy’s” mouth over his finally hard cock. He hadn’t felt the stubble through his own pubes, and didn’t feel the oozing sores on his cracked lips. Deep wrinkles in leathery skin, eyes barely registering what was going on. But it was too late. He heard the man gag and cough a little bit, while Albert bit his lips to not make noise himself.
Murdam slipped the rag down back over Albert’s eyes before lowering the camera. “I bet you thought you wouldn’t like that. Come on, don’t be rude, give Cindy a kiss.” Murdam pressed the barely conscious homeless man’s face against Albert’s.
“I’m not a faggot!” Albert protested.
“If you say so, Albert. If you don’t like Cindy, I’ll take of him for you.” Cindy’s weight lifted off Albert. He heard meat hitting meat. Then crunching. Then something wet. The car trunk came up and down. “I’ll take care of everything, Albert,” Murdam promised, before opening the loading dock door slide up and driving the car away.
“This is me being nice, Albert. I got your pipes cleaned. You had a problem, and I took care of it for you. Nobody’s going to find that dead homeless guy with your sperm in his stomach. The one that’s in the trunk of your car.”
“You got rid of him?”
“Well, I parked in that lot across from the police station. I didn’t have any cash, so I didn’t pay the meter. But I’m sure it will be fine. Probably take them a day or two to tow it. So we’ve got some time to talk.” Murdam sat cross legged on the floor next to Albert, still cuffed to the pipe, rag over his eyes, pants halfway down his knees. “Now, I know that you’re humoring the man that has you captive, but I’m not being sarcastic. This is me being nice. We’re going to have a long talk. And if you’re nice to me and tell me what I need to know, you don’t have to die with the world knowing you mouth fuck homeless guys.”