The Currency of Time Ch. 01

Deirdre let her head hit the table with a thump. I shook her shoulder but she just drooled onto the table. She was out of it, and she hadn't drunk THAT much.

Now I knew what was happening. I could have called the cops but to get her away from these guys I'd have to put them down first, and if the cops came when we rumbled, there'd be reports and calls to parents and all the embarrassing things I didn't want to happen.

I stood up and grabbed her shoulder and tried to lift her up, but she slid through my fingers like mercury back into her chair. I motioned to a waiter and when he came over stuffed a $100 bill in his shirt pocket. He bent forward,

"This drunk young lady is Deirdre Lancaster, the daughter of one of the richest men in the city, probably the state. He is a very protective and grateful father. I'm her bodyguard. If this guy or anyone else tries to leave here with her in tow, tell the management to call the cops and her father because she's been date rape drugged. I'm going outside with these three gentlemen to discuss the matter. Back in a few minutes.

I kept my eyes on the Polynesian but he sat quietly.

I walked ahead of the three motor mouths who were happily telling me what they were going to do when we got outside. I hadn't taken a full step when I felt motion behind me and half turned, caught the arm of the guy trying to crack a beer bottle over my head. I half hoisted, half threw him over my shoulder. I made certain that he came down face forward on a wooden packing crate that had contained expensive bottles of booze at one time.

I couldn't decide if the cracking and splintering sounds came from the thin boards of the crate, or cracking of teeth and facial bones. Whichever, he didn't try to get up and gain revenge. He just lay there bleeding and crying.

Behind him came the other two. A wild swing led the first one to stumble past me. As the second one came at me rearing back a big fist, I stepped into him and poked my finger into his eye, he gasped which turned into a choking gasp as I struck him in the throat with a knife hand thrust. He couldn't catch his breath which made it hard for him to block the first shoe I buried in his crotch. But he was pretty tough. He didn't go down. The second kick left him rolling around on his back in the alley trying to curse and catch his breath at the same time.

"You fucking son of a bitch, I'm going to break your neck and feed you your balls," the third guy said as he completed his stumble and came back at me.

"Okay, but I'm not going to drink anything you give me so it might be tougher for you than it usually is."

He swung at me but was careful not to overshoot and leave anything for me to grab on and pile drive him. He came at me and at me and I kept swatting his punches away with no great degree of difficulty. We could do this all night but the Polynesian kid might decide to dive in or some of his other friends might show up. So I stepped forward and left myself open. He stepped inside, tripped me and holding my right arm tried to slam me down in a modified wrestling or MMA submission move.

Unfortunately for him, as he was moving I spun around with the goal of putting him in an arm lock submission. Now when somebody is behind you with a good grip on your arm and you have no leverage to break the hold, anybody who's ever done this with a live partner knows you go with the hold and try to make an escape or tap out after you go down.

You DON'T try to throw the guy behind you over your shoulder. If your opponent isn't ready for it or quick enough to ease up on the pressure, what happens is you hear this sickening CRACK which is the sound of an arm being torn out of the shoulder socket shredding bones and tendons and giving an orthopedic surgeon enough work to send at least one kid to college.

I'd been in a couple of training matches when something equally stupid was tried so I had just enough warning to let go and he caught me with one arm and threw me over his back. I didn't hear anything crack, but I did hear him scream. The arm had probably been pulled out of socket, or close enough to hurt like hell. I looked around and saw the Polynesian kid headed my way.

I focused all my attention on him and made myself loose and ready to move in whatever direction was necessary.

I studied his face, particularly his eyes. You can usually read an antagonist's moves and intentions from his eyes better than any other tipoff.

"We going to go round?"

"You've had some training," he said.

"Some in a gym. Never messed around with belts. Mostly street fighting. Learn as you go."

"I guessed. I've got black belts in karate and judo. Started when I was four. My dad pushed me, but after a while I got to like it."

"I'm impressed. I've never kicked the ass of anybody with your credentials. But there's always a first time."

He looked me up and down, and said,

"I can take you. No doubt in my mind. But you're good enough, and wild enough, that you might accidentally hurt me, or I might accidentally kill you. This was supposed to be a fun night out, not a battle to the death."

I set my body in a defense posture.

"Your definition of a fun night out and mine are completely different. Drugging a woman and taking her somewhere for a gang rape she's helpless to resist, that's not a fun night out. I don't have to rape women to have fun. I feel sorry for you fuckers if you think that is fun."

I glanced over at the ruin that was his friends.

"Whether you kill me or I hurt you, cops are coming into this. I've told people inside you were date rape drugging her. If there's a death back here and a lot of people saw us come back here, the cops will be all over you. And when her daddy finds you that you drugged his daughter, he won't need 'no steeenking cops' to handle you. You'll just vanish. Guys that got rich in the oil business are not your typical buttoned down business types."

He bent down beside the guy with the arm out of socket.

"Bobby, Bobby, hold on a second. Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Go limp."

An instant later he did something and Bobby screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Then he went limp for real. The Polynesian held his head and lowered him to the floor of the alley. After a moment Bobby raised his head and said weakly, "What'd you do. That almost feels right."

"Just gave you some relief from the pain. I need to get you guys to an emergency room. Beaches is probably the closest."

Bobby looked over at me.

"Kill that fucker, Mo. Tear his arm out. I can wait."

Mo gave me a studied look, than turned back to his friend.

"I think the cops will be here sooner rather than later and we don't want to be hauled in for a brawl. Besides which, her daddy will back him up and he's a very rich and powerful man. I don't want to tangle with him."

"You afraid of this fucker, Mo? I've never seen you back down from anybody."

"Not afraid of him. But...you've got a beat up arm that can probably be rehabbed and you'll still have a shot at the minors. If he hadn't let go of that hold, your arm would be gone. You might still have it but it'd be dangling at your side for the rest of your life. All your dreams, all your plans, would have gone up in smoke, all for a piece of ass. That's crazy. I kill him and my life is over. What the fuck kind of night out is that, Bobby? You're risking everything for a crazy bitch. You might be willing to throw everything away for her, but I'm not."

Mo turned to me.

"I know what you did for Bobby and I appreciate it. Walk away from this and no hard feelings."

I stared at him and tried to take in his words.

"No hard feelings? You stupid bastard. You were trying to drug and gang rape the daughter of a man who's been good to me. You expect me just to forget about that? No way in hell. I'm waiting for the cops and if you want to try and kill me, come at me. You might not be as good as you think."

He shook his head.

"You really don't know what the hell you're talking about, do you? You think we were drugging her to get her to someplace private and have our way with her virginal bod?"

"Well, yeah."

"Go in there and talk to some of the waiters, a bartender or two. Take her somewhere and have them do a tox screen on her."

"What?"

"Yeah. The light begins to dawn. The tox screen will show she's got enough in her to be relaxed, but she's faking the rest. And some of the waiters and bartenders will tell you we've carried her out of here blitzed more than a few times in the last six months. She knows every one of us and she's willing going every step of the way. When we get someplace private every one of us will fuck her, two and three at a time, and she'll be begging for more. Your sweet little virginal maiden loves it up the ass, loves pulling trains, loves playing a victim of rape who gets carried away and really gets into it."

"You're saying she-"

I tried to get my head around it. I was more than familiar with role playing in the bedroom, but this sounded far beyond any kinky I was familiar with.

"Yeah, I'm saying none of us are rapists. We just found a really kinky bitch who likes to party, and we're more than happy to party with her."

He looked down at his friends.

"Your call. You bring the cops in and it'll be embarrassing for us until the lawyers prove this was just consensual rough sex. But it will come out. But your little friend is going to be a hell of a lot more embarrassed. Bobby down there has a father who's been a big contributor to Republican and Democrat governors for 20 years. He's not going to let Bobby take the rap for this and he's big enough that he can cause her daddy a lot of grief. You still want the cops called in instead of just letting us walk away? You could take her somewhere you can sober her up and figure out a story her daddy will buy?"

If he was lying, it would be easy enough to prove and I could always find them again. But it was a smarter move to get her away from here and the cops.

"Take your friends and get the hell out of here. I'll let this pass unless I learn your story is crap. You seem like you might have some brains, so you ought to know this kind of shit can't end well, no matter how much money Bobby's daddy or any of the rest of you have. Even if this is all a game, all you need is one accident, a little too much drugs or somebody that reacts badly to what you feed them, and you'll still find yourself with a prison record. I know it can't be that hard to find bitches to party with. You don't need to be doing this."

He bent down and carefully helped Bobby to his feet.

"You take care of your girl and let me take care of my friends."

I walked back into Pelicans and found Deirdre at a table toward the back, head slumped on the table. A couple of waiters who'd been standing near her approached me, one asking, "cops?"

"No. We'll just handle this privately."

I shook her but she just rolled her head back and forth and mumbled. I didn't know if she was acting or if she'd gotten a touch too much of the drug in her system. I gave a waiter a parking slip for my car and bent and hoisted her over my shoulder with as much effort as it would have taken to lift a child. The only real concern I had was if she was going to throw up all over me. Fortunately, she didn't and I got her out to my 2001 Jeep Cherokee Sport. The parking attendant opened the passenger door for me and I dropped her inside. Then I found a motel on Atlantic Boulevard heading away from the Beaches after hitting an all-night coffee shop and buying three large coffees and then two Big Macs at an all-night McDonalds.

I got her inside, then brought in the coffee and hamburgers, locked the door behind me, and sat down on one of the two double beds beside her. Her flaming curls lay around her on her pillow. They were so red they looked unreal. She was snoring, her small chest rising and falling. Between the snores, her lips moved and I could almost make out pieces of words. She wasn't my type, in almost any way, but her lips were swollen and wet and somehow that made me hard. Her skin was freckled, lightly patterned and so white it looked like ivory parchment. I looked at her chest above her breasts. The skin there was almost translucent, showing a network of light blue veins under the skin.

The only light I had on was the table lamp beside her bed. Under its soft glow she had an ethereal appearance, like something not quite human. I liked my women fleshy, solid enough to hold and fuck and possess, but there was no denying she was a beautiful woman if your tastes ran in that direction.

"Deirdre...Deirdre."

I patted the side of her face and she blinked. After what seemed like a struggle she pried her eyelids open. I don't know that she was seeing anything, because she looked at me and said, "Bobby?"

"No, Bobby's gone. I kicked his ass and sent him to the hospital."

She blinked a couple of times.

"You hurt Bobby?"

"Not as bad as I could have, but yeah, I hurt him."

"You asshole."

"Sorry about that, but when I think a girl is being drugged to take somewhere and rape, it tends to irritate me. I had no idea you guys were partying."

She tried to raise her head but fell back immediately."

"Dizzy."

"That's what can happen when college kids are messing with powerful drugs. Sometimes it works like a dream. Sometimes you end up with a dead party girl."

"I repeat – you're an asshole. I would have been fine"

"Maybe so sweetie, but when you're planning on doing this kind of shit and you know your daddy has a guy watching you, it would be nice to give a heads up so I don't wind up in jail or kill some of your friends."

She lay back, breathing slowly.

"You're not going to throw up on me, are you?"

With her eyes still closed, breathing through her mouth, she said, "I don't think so."

I sat on the bed beside her and put my left hand under her neck and lifted her up and toward me.

"What-"

"It's easier to drink hot coffee sitting up. And I think you need hot coffee right now to come out of this."

"I don't want any."

"Listen to Dr. McCarthy. Hot coffee is THE wonder drug, elixir of the gods, good for what ails you. Humor me."

I picked up a cup of good, strong generic black coffee and held it to her lips. She spit.

"That's HOT!"

"It's supposed to be. Blow on it a little bit to cool it off, but swallow a sip."

It took a couple more attempts, but she finally managed to swallow a good-sized mouthful.

And spit it out.

"Goddamn. That's black coffee. BLACK coffee. Who the hell drinks their coffee black?"

"I do, sometimes. But it is great for clearing the fumes out of your head. Hold your nose and drink some more."

"I'm going to tell my father you took me to a motel room while I was drunk to have your way with me. He'll fire your ass and NOBODY will be hiring you in the oil business, no matter how good you are."

I held the coffee to her lips again.

"Two things. He's not going to do anything to me when I educate him as to what a cum guzzling, train pulling slut he's raising. He might put you in a well-guarded nunnery somewhere. And the second thing...much as I love your father, if he blackballed me there would still be a hundred places I could go that would pay me what he's paying me – and more. Oil companies don't give a shit about blackballs."

"Think you're pretty damn smart, don't you?"

And then she spit hot coffee in my face.

I didn't even think because if I had I would not have done it. But my hand shot out and I backhanded her. Her head bounced off the pillow and she stared at me in shock. Those luscious lips dripped blood onto the pillow.

She rubbed the blood off her lips with one slender finger.

"I cannot believe you did that."

"People don't spit hot coffee on me. Even beautiful women."

Her eyes widened for a second.

"You're a brute."

"And you're a bitch."

I went into the bathroom and came back with a wet cloth and some tissue paper.

I patted the blood off first with the cloth, then the tissue paper. Her lip was cut but not severely. It would heal.

"You're not going to apologize?"

"Are you?"

"I shouldn't have spit on you"

"I shouldn't have hit you. I am sorry for that."

She reached up with the cloth and wiped the remnants of the coffee off my nose and cheek. It stung. If she had spit in my eyes it would do more than sting a little.

"Are you okay? That was reflex."

"I'll live, now drink and don't spit on me anymore. Try to get that cup down and we'll see if you're nauseous. If you can hold it down, a hamburger would put something solid in your stomach."

"I don't know if I can."

"I want you to try. I really should be taking you to an ER or an all-night Doc In A Box. The stunt you pulled was stupid and it might still have an effect on you."

"I'll be fine."

"Because you've always been fine before?"

She didn't say anything.

"Mo said you've done this before. You call this 'partying'?"

"I'm legal and I can party any way I want to."

"Letting guys drug you and bang you like a drum until you can't walk straight?"

"Different strokes."

I looked at that sweet, innocent, ethereal face and still found it hard to believe.

"You really are a slut, aren't you? I feel sorry for your father."

"What you think of me doesn't matter. YOU"RE not my father, or my parole officer."

"Thank God."

She put the coffee away and a few minutes started on one of the Big Macs and polished it off. She stared at me for a moment as I finished the last of my Big Mac."

"I gave you a hard on, didn't I? I could feel it when you carried me in here. For such an upstanding young man, you got pretty hard pretty quick handling an unconscious young woman."

"Purely physical. Had nothing to do with you. You're not my type. Not enough up top."

"A stiff cock doesn't lie."

"You're a pretty girl with a nasty mouth. Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't touch you. Too much chance of picking up some strange bugs."

She just shook her head.

"You are such an asshole. Are you sure you weren't born back in the 1950s?"

I just held my hands out, palms up in confusion.

"What?"

"How many women have you fucked, Mr. McCarthy?"

"None of your business."

"I've had sex with 50 guys – and given out a few hand jobs. How many women have you had?"

"Still none of your business.

"I can remember eavesdropping on your father and mine talking about some of the scrapes you got in. I know you banged a lot and got a few women – including some married ones - pregnant before your dad got you out of it. I know you fucked a lot more women than I did men. Question. Have you ever been with more than one woman at a time?"

She stared at me and laughed. A low, musical laugh. Something about the vibration got me harder.

"Don't bother answering. It's in your eyes. Was it fun? Did you switch from one pussy to another, have three or four mouths sucking you at the same time? And I know you hated it. You fucking hypocrite."

'Who I fuck- and how many – is my business. And I'm a man."

She bounded up next to the bed. I braced myself. She still carried coffee and while I didn't think it was boiling anymore, it was still coffee.

"Bulletin, you big asshole. It's the 21st century. Women don't wear veils and walk behind their men. We fuck who we want to, when we want to. Just like men. And I, Deirdre Lancaster, as the only heir to an oil company, can fuck anybody I want to, standing on my head if I want to, and no one is going to throw rocks at me or light the pyre. I'd rather my father not know about this. But not because he's going to put me in a nunnery. Because he's my father and I'll always be his little girl and him knowing about that stuff would be – icky."

"I should still tell him. Just to keep you safe. You keep running around doing shit like this and one day you could wind up in real trouble. Why don't you just find some nice respectable businessman boyfriend who has a few friends and do your partying with alcohol and coke like everybody else?"