The Rack & Cue Page 4

  Rigs gave him the middle finger.

  “Yeah, I was hoping to have been home by now, but this weather is causing havoc…Yes, havoc. Yeah, you know, chaos, mayhem, disaster…Yes, Jill. ‘Mess’…”

  Iain burst out laughing, snorted once, and then covered his mouth to stifle his commotion.

  Rigs looked over at him and almost burst out laughing himself. He watched Iain remove his peaked hat, which had, “I Conquered the Pig Platter,” stitched into it, and repeatedly thrashed it against his knee as he laughed, his face tomato red.

  “So, God knows what time I’m going to get home. Judging by things, it’s not going to be any time soon. Probably after six or seven, I hope...Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Just make sure he has a bowlful of water down, along with some biscuits to gnaw on…”

  Iain finished laughing, dropped the door to the glove box and rummaged around inside until he found what he was looking for. The Tom-Tom. He removed the cigarette lighter and plugged one end of the sat-nav into the snug slot.

  “Turn around when possible,” said the female voice when Iain switched the device on.

  “Yeah, yeah, thanks, Jill,” Rigs said. “I’ll come round and give you a knock when I get in. And, er, before you go, thanks for looking after Coal for me. Bye.”

  “Drunk?” Iain asked.

  “No.

  “Bonged out of her brains?”

  “Maybe. She did sound pretty zoned out.”

  “Puffing on the whacky-backy,” Iain said, making a smoking motion with one hand, while squinting his eyes. “Ya, man,” he mocked.

  “Very witty. Do you do any good impersonations?”

  “Ouch! You really do know how to cut deep, biatch.”

  “Yeah-yeah, just get us out of here,” Rigs said.

  “Everything’s tapped in, mate. Let’s hit the road…”

  “Don’t say…”

  “… Jack,” Iain said.

  Rigs rolled his eyes and turned the key in the ignition. The engine to the Foden grumbled and groaned to a start, as though waking from a deep slumber. Pushing his foot down on the accelerator, Rigs gave it a few revs, before putting it into gear and moving off.

  “It’s alive, alive!” Iain screamed. “Whahahaha!” he continued, putting his hands together and drumming his fingertips. “Excellent!”

  Rigs smiled, but kept his eyes on the road. “You ever going to get a new routine?” he asked Iain.

  He thought about it for a while, even rubbed his stubbly chin in mid-ponder. “Nah,” he finally said, adjusting his hat on top of his bald head. His big grin made his huge jaw look all the more massive.

  Powering the truck out of the service station, Rigs got them back on the motorway, all the while listening to the instructions given to him by the electronic voice.

  Forty minutes down the road, they hit traffic, which was stretched out in front of them as far as the eye could see. People in their cars honked their horns while others mouthed off about being stuck. Others were on their phones, no doubt to loved ones, friends, bosses, etc, Rigs thought, looking out of his window, as they crawled past cars.

  “Jesus, look at that,” Iain said, pointing at an overturned van. It was lying chasse up in the undergrowth on Rigs’ side of the road. One police car, along with a fire engine and ambulance were on the scene. “Poor sod must be still stuck inside the wreck.”

  “Yeah,” Rigs answered, looking at all the strewn glass, bits of bumper and discarded metal which littered the motorway. “Hope he’s okay.”

  “Me, too,” Iain stated.

  “Hey, you remember that time up in Scotland, back last May?”

  “When we had all that snow?” Iain asked.

  “That’s it. You jack-knifed this baby right across the road, remember?”

  “Fuck, you have to mention that every time, don’t you?” Iain said, smiling.

  “Well, I did warn you. Do you remember how knackered our heaters were in this baby? We almost copped it from the cold.”

  “Ha-ha, yeah! There was more ice inside the cab than there was on the roads!”

  “It was an inch thick!” Rigs said.

  “You thought you had frostbite,” Iain said, laughing.

  “My toe was pretty blue; you have to admit.”

  “What a baby.”

  “This coming from someone who wouldn’t get out in the rain earlier?” Rigs said, grinning.

  “Yeah, easier to send you mate, to be honest. At least you’ve given that mop of yours a good wash. I should have sent you on your way with a bottle of shampoo.”

  “There, there,” Rigs said, patting his mate on the knee. “It must be hard for you, what with the baldness. After all, you can’t help being follically challenged, now can you?”

  “Cheeky bastard,” Iain said, laughing.

  “There’s a junction coming up, shall I take it?” Rigs asked.

  “Yes, if it gets us out of this jam.”

  “She’ll find us another route anyway, mate.”

  “That she will,” Iain said, blowing a kiss to the satellite navigation system.

  Leaving the motorway by taking the exit, Rigs found they were on a dual-carriageway, and followed the signposts they needed. The Tom-Tom spoke up now and again, which told Rigs what he already knew.

  But then the signposts dried up, as he knew they would, forcing him to depend solely on his electronic co-pilot to guide him.

  One quiet road led to another.

  And another.

  Until it appeared they were in the middle of nowhere.

  “Where the hell are we?” Iain asked.

  “No idea. I’m just listening to her.”

  “Yeah, well, I think Betsy got it…”

  “Betsy?!” Rigs butted in.

  “Yeah?”

  “I thought we’d decided her name was Ethyl, with a Y?”

  “No. You decided it was Ethyl with a Y. I always wanted Betsy.”

  “Didn’t you want to call her Roxie at one point, after that stripper you shagged?” Rigs asked, snorting a laugh.

  “Hey! I prefer dancer,” Iain said.

  “She did strip though, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Well, there you go then,” Rigs said.

  “You’re unbelievable,” Iain said, smiling and shaking his head.

  “What the hell?” Rigs mumbled.

  “Huh?” Iain asked, looking over at Rigs, who had a perplexed look on his face. Then Iain looked out the windshield and saw what Rigs was seeing.

  A massive building ahead of them set just off the road. It seemed to dominate its entire surroundings. It was a fortress-like structure, with trees and shrubbery flanking it. A few empty fields lay beyond.

  “A pub!” Iain said, all chirpy and wide-eyed.

  “It can’t be. This road looks as though it’s unused,” Rigs said.

  “It looks open to me.”

  “How the hell can you tell from here?”

  “Look, there’s a light on in one of the windows. It’s like a bloody beacon in this bleak weather,” Iain said.

  True enough, Rigs thought, spying the glow up ahead. It must have one hell of a local trade, he thought. There doesn’t appear to be anything around here. How does the place continue to survive?

  “Pull over, mate. I could do with slaking my thirst with a pint of something cool and looong,” Iain said.

  Rigs didn’t say anything, just pulled the lorry over, and into what he thought was the car park to the pub. He caught a glimpse of the old, swaying sign.

  It read - The Rack and Cue.

  Chapter 6

  There, in the darkness of the cellar, the floorboards above her creaked and groaned from the pressure of the people who walked across them. She looked up, and smiled.

  More, she thought.

  Their laughter and chatter brightened her eyes, causing her to smile beneath the mask she wore. Sawdust lightly sprinkled it, along with her bondage fatigues.

  The bare bulb s
he stood under swayed softly due to being splashed by a gush of blood – it dripped and spattered the floor with its movements. It also sprinkled the workbench she used to dissect her victims.

  Small flies could be heard buzzing in the dank room.

  Blue Bottles clung to the only window inside the underground space; their fat, blue bodies covered every inch of dirt-stained glass. Maggots rolled off chunks of carcass which lay scattered about the room.

  The stench which manifested from the walls of the old pub would make an untrained nose scrunch up and a person gag and vomit in a brutal fashion. But not Baby. Baby adored the smell. Lapped it up. She’d even bathe in her victims’ blood, thinking it brought her closer to the person she’d killed.

  Lowering her gaze, she again looked upon the broken body before her. He’d come in earlier; had threatened Porky. There had been no choice other than to take him down.

  The memory of bludgeoning the man’s face repeatedly with the butt of a cue made Baby wet. She’d wanted to continue slamming his face until nothing but liquid remained, but Porky had said to stop. Porky must be obeyed, she reminded herself, feeling her moist pussy dry up somewhat.

  “For you, Doc,” she said, slamming the dead man down on his bench. Miraculously, he was still breathing. Just. The dying man’s neck made a sickening crunch noise when Baby twisted his head sharply one way, and then back the other. Bits of bone punctured the skin, causing them to protrude at weird angles.

  Doc thanked Baby, and sent her back to Porky, until he was finished with the body. Once Doc was finished, Baby could then have her fun with what remained of the carcass. He noticed how aroused she was from her actions, and didn’t want her around him and his work when she was like that. Baby became almost uncontrollable when she was in a sexually heightened state. She would have wanted to stay and play her games, for which he had neither the time nor patience.

  Because tonight was the night.

  The night they did what needed to be done.

  Doc had to be cleared up and ready to go.

  It was going to be busy.

  Doc started with the man’s head. The tongue was removed first. He snapped the jaw to loosen the mouth. Once that was achieved, Doc clamped the organ with a pair of pliers and ripped it from the cavity. It severed from the back of the throat with a sickening, yet satisfying squelch. The eyeballs were next. Scooped and plucked from their sockets; the cords snipped.

  Gutting the organs was a necessity, but pulling every single shattered and complete tooth out of the victim’s mouth was not a necessary task. Doc just liked pulling the teeth for fun. He loved it. He liked to imagine how much pain the poor bastard would be in, if they were still alive to feel it. To feel each tooth being ripped from the gums. To feel their gums rupture from the harsh treatment. It fed his sadistic side. Quietened the demons. Even if was only for a short period of time.

  Sometimes, he found gold fillings, which he kept in a very special jar for safe keeping. They too could be sold through their usual channel, along with the organs and ‘meat’, once it was sluiced, sliced, diced and bagged. But that was Porky’s job – he was the butcher around here. Doc just stripped the body of organs, whilst Baby cut the shell into sections, ready for Porky to carve.

  After placing the tongue and eyeballs into a metal tray caked in blood, Doc turned his attention to the man’s neck. He retrieved a small bone saw from the wall, which hung by a rusted nail driven deep into the old, moss-covered stonework. Condensation ran from the walls, which gathered and ran to the drain in the corner of the room. It washed away blood and skin as it went.

  Taking the gleaming saw over to his workbench, Doc began to cut through the man’s throat with slow, laborious movements. When sweat started to sting his eyes, he was forced to stop for a few moments to mop his brow; to clear his vision.

  Once composed, Doc continued sawing at the neck until his blade met block on the other side. The head rolled free and landed on the floor beside the table. Bending over to retrieve it, Doc grabbed it by a tuft of hair and dumped it into a bucket next to him.

  Putting the saw away, he drew an extremely sharp knife from out of a knife block. Raising the steel high above his head, he brought it down hard and fast, plunging it into the stump. He pushed the serrated edge down as far as he could. Sweat burst from his brow, but Doc didn’t stop. Not this time.

  The task was arduous enough without having to restart the cutting once he got going.

  Happy the blade was down the chest far enough, he stopped, and tugged it free. Placing his hands on either side of the slit, Doc pulled the chest and guts apart, before setting to work on removing the lungs, heart, liver and everything else he could get his greasy little mitts on.

  Looking at the blood-spattered clock in the dim light, Doc realised the rusted hands on the thing hadn’t moved in over a year – they’d been welded to the spot by splashes of red liquid. Instead, he peeled back the cuff of his scrubs and looked at the time piece on his wrist. Almost five o’clock, he noted. He didn’t want to waste much more time on this specimen, which was now almost useless.

  Happy with the work he’d performed so far on the man’s chest and stomach area, he rolled the now very light body over onto its stomach, and then ripped open the small of the back. He tore the spinal cord and kidneys out, before cutting off the penis and testicles, which he slipped into a jar for pickling.

  Finally, Doc pulled all finger and toe nails off, before dragging the simple weight off the table and onto the floor. It landed with a wet slap. Eyeing his table, Doc dragged the hose from his dirty sink and started spraying the work area down with nasty dirty water.

  Shutting off the hose, Doc threw it to one side and began scrubbing the table with a large sponge. The dirty scouring implement was yellow at the start of its existence, but was now thick with blood and grime stains. He wiped from one end of the table to the other, causing a tidal wave of blood-coloured water to tip over the edge.

  With the basement floor being at a slight slant, the polluted water was free to run to the corner of the room, just like the condensation, and slip down the drain. Picking up all his tools and placing them back on their hooks, Doc was satisfied that he was done.

  Going to the base of the stairs, he yelled up. “Baby! Come on down here, girl. I’m finished.” He gave it a couple of moments, before shouting again. “Baby! For Christ sake, get down here. Now!”

  “Jesus God,” he muttered to himself. “Where is she? She knows how busy I am.” Breathing in, he let out a slow and controlled breath. “Ba…” he was about to yell again, but then her heavy footfalls came.

  Looking up, he saw the huge woman looking down the stairs at him. He suddenly felt cold. Her massive frame filled the doorway, her shoulders touching both sides of the doorframe. With very little fat on her, Baby’s body cut an attractive appearance. Her chest heaved as she stood there in silence. Looking.

  “Come down here,” Doc said his tone much softer. “Please.” At first, Baby didn’t move, just stayed there. Watching. Ticking over. “The body is ready for you,” Doc continued.

  This got the woman moving, as she slowly and heavily made her way down the steps. The sound of her hollow footfalls bounded off the cellar walls, jolting Doc further.

  “Sorry for shouting,” he said. “I thought you hadn’t heard me.”

  As Baby passed Doc, who wasn’t that much shorter or bulkier, Baby stroked his face with one hand, while brushing his privates with the other. Doc let out an “Ugh”, and bucked slightly.

  He watched as Baby ripped the body from off the floor and threw it over her shoulder, just as she’d brought it down. With one hand, she then picked up the bucket containing the head.

  Doc watched, as the beastly woman then meandered down a concealed hallway within the cellar. Passing through a steel shutter in an outer room, Baby turned, winked at Doc and slammed her door closed. The trapdoor screeched home with an ear-piercing split.

  “Thanks, Baby!” he said, before con
tinuing to go about cleaning his area and prepping it for the evening ahead. There would be a lot to do, he thought, trying to keep his mind off what Baby may or may not be doing in the room opposite.

  She studied the decapitated body. The neck. The roughness of where Doc’s saw had cut through the throat and severed the head. A light breeze coming from the drains in the room caused Baby’s skin to prickle with gooseflesh under her tight, PVC suit. Her nipples stiffened as she wound her fingers around the exposed cords, which jutted from the man’s stump.

  Retracting her fingers from the cords, she stuck her leather clad digits into her mouth and sucked them clean. Baby made sure every trace of gore had been removed from the PVC, making the black material shiny again.

  Every move she made forced the PVC suit to squeak and squeal. It felt good against her flesh. Cool. Turning, she faced her image, which was being displayed in her dishevelled mirror – the glass was slightly water damaged, with a crack adorning one corner. But the centre of it was untouched. Pure.

  Putting her hands on top of her head, Baby traced her fingers down the sides of her face. On reaching her eyes, she made gentle circles around them, as she searched out the tiny orbs. Moving on, Baby traced her jaw line, before touching her zippered lips.

  She groaned at her own feeble touch.

  Shifting her left hand to her right breast, Baby moulded the impressive tit as she tried to clasp the nipple between her forefinger and thumb, but the task proved impossible in the slippery clothing.

  Bringing her other hand down, it helped ply and play the fabric along with her tits. All the while she watched herself in the decrepit mirror. Finished with her top half, Baby moved her hands down her body and lingered around her abdominal area. She caressed her flat stomach and rubbed her curvy sides. Then one hand found the damp area between her legs.

  The feel of the PVC pressed against her wetness made her shiver with cold. Biting on her lower lip, Baby rode it out, until the heat took over. Now she wished she hadn’t killed the fucker who lay dead on her table. Sometimes, Porky let her ‘play’ with the meat while it was alive and kicking, but not this time. This kill had not been part of their plan. They needed to get rid of this body as soon as possible, which meant there was no time for partying.