| |
“Oh shit,” Floss laughs as he chases a man through the woods into trail number one from trail number four. He pulls his gun out in a taunting manner and slows his pace as he watches the young man, about twenty-two years old in stature, trip over all the rocks and fallen limbs that are camouflaged by the darkness of the night under the umbrella of trees. Not even the moon can be seen. Floss knows the trails like the back of his hands though, and in the thick of the woods, he slows, knowing that the frightened young man is headed for destruction on the dead end of trail number one.
“Help me!” the young man screams, but quickly silences again figuring that his noise will attract more harm his way because when he looks behind himself, he sees no sign of his chaser anywhere. There’s complete darkness as he halts crawling to feel his way around on the ground before standing back up on his two feet. He doesn’t know his way out. Spinning around only twice has gotten him lost, so he continues to walk slowly, jumping with the sound of every leaf, limb or rock beneath his feet.
As he plants his feet down, one by one at a snail’s pace, his eyeballs are opened to their limit. This doesn’t help however, especially when he steps out into trail number one. He realizes that the only way to go is to the left because running to the right would place him in front of a mountain of dirt and debris so thick that it creates a trap.
His breathing is caught between faint pants and rough groans as his legs move him into the full openness of the trail. He’s never been on this end before, and most people don’t come because there’s nowhere to go. Looking side to side, he steps out and starts to speed up, looking at the opening far down the trail which is brightened by a street light in the next neighborhood. It’s the first sign of hope he’s had since running from the trouble he put himself in.
Nearing the halfway point of the trail, shreds of confidence start to push through the overwhelming dread on his face. He starts to run again, and the pace is faster than he’s ever run before. Nothing but adrenaline pumps through his blood, and he feels nothing but freedom ahead until he falls to the ground, knees first, at a sudden sight in front of him.
The man holds his hand out in a welcoming gesture from the side of the trail. Tears start to roll down the fleeing young man’s face as he stares at the man who appears to be setting him free. Therefore, he stands up from the soiled ground, quivering despite the warm temperature in the nighttime air, and takes his chances, praying to God for forgiveness and a way out. Staring back at the man allowing him to pass, he walks by him, only five feet from the man’s outstretched arm. The man has a calmness about him, not threatening at all, so the young man makes another break for it and runs, keeping his eyes on the man with the outstretched hand until he hits something in front of him which causes him to fall to the ground.
“I don’t have it, but I can get it. Floss, I can get it, please, Floss, please!” he begs, recognizing the man he just hit as being Floss towering over the cowardly position of his body on the ground.
“Man, you just ran right into me. I could’ve sworn you were looking for me. Weren’t you looking for me, man?” Floss asks jokingly although life and death is no joking matter. He gets a high off of making those around him feel reliant on his mercy even though he isn’t God.
The grounded young man shakes his head vigorously back and forth, pulling on the dirt and patches of grass for a grip to help him move backwards faster, away from the man who is now his enemy. As he’s moving however, he bumps into the man who welcomed him this way.
“Don’t look scared, my man,” Floss continued to taunt. “Hey, Bain, what you say about him, man?”
The young man makes a fast switch in bodily direction, now facing the one and only Bain that people outside of the trails generally only hear about but rarely see. If they do see him, they don’t even know it’s him. This is this newcomer’s first time, and it may be his last.
“Bain, Bain,” the young man stammers as Bain grabs him at his elbow, helping him up from the ground.
“The first rule is never to talk to another man from the ground. You are a man, right?”
“Yes. Yes, I am, Mr. Bain.”
“Mister Bain? Fuck is this?” Floss interjects in a high pitched tone. Bain just looks at him, and he silences.
“How old are you?”
The young man looks back at Floss who is now patting him down from the chest down. Then, he answers Bain. “I’m twenty- three this week, sir. Just twenty-three.”
“This is a grown man, Floss. Back up off him,” he orders Floss. “Let the man pat himself down. If he has a gun, let him choose what to do with it. Tell me this...what’s your name?”
“Simon.”
“Your last name,” Bain continues. Asking a last name gives Bain more of a feel for family ties, just in case he needs it later. The young man hesitates to answer because he doesn’t want to reveal his whole identity.
“I asked for your last name.” Bain speaks calmly. He has a gun in his belt, however, he hasn’t reached for it at all. He enjoys entering the head of each individual he comes in contact with for a bout of manipulation and power. Bain is a different type of man, some would call a gangster, dealer, or even a pimp. Some call him all three because he’s been known to do all three in the same night. The man part of Bain gives every human being an opportunity when faced with life or death. The animal side of Bain could care less about their life or death. Tonight, there’s an even split between his animal side and the side that could be called a man.
“Duke. That’s my last name. It’s Duke.”
“Would you say that this was all a mistake, Duke? Being that you’re a grown man now, would you say that you slipped up and you really do have the money you owe me for all those nights?”
“Bain, I didn’t know she was yours. I didn’t know, and yes, I made a mistake. I did, but...”
Like night and day, Bain immediately goes from calm to extremely frustrated in a matter of seconds. “Gin!” he calls angrily.
Out steps a female in a leopard cat suit from the woods. Immediately, Simon Duke glances toward the movement, and when he sees her clearly, she’s visibly shaken, not the jovial and loving woman he clearly fell in love with over the joys of her mattress.
“Give me the recorder I sent you in your bedroom with tonight, baby.” Gin didn’t move fast enough, so Bain calmly turns her way. “Gin, don’t play with me now. Go ahead and give me the recorder. Did you find the spot for me because when I press play, I don’t wanna wait.”
She pulls it from the top of her cat suit, but doesn’t hit play. “Just tell him that we’re in love, Simon.” She looks over at Bain. “Bain, I love him. Just please let him go. He’ll pay, just let him go, please, Bain.” She looks to the ground, afraid to speak anymore because the silence from Bain is killer. He’s allowing her to ramble, and he’s not one for rambling. Bain simply waits on her to finish, and he then politely takes the recorder from her hand. She starts to walk toward her lover, however, Bain quickly reminds her of wisdom.
“Stand still, Gin.”
Once he orders her still, he presses play, and she freezes in her tracks. They all listen as the recorder reveals a conversation between her and Simon Duke prior to another session of making love. It’s obvious on the recorder that Gin tried not to bait the conversation in Bain’s favor, however, her lover didn’t need the bait. He admitted he knew she was one of Bain’s girls, but when she comes to lay with him, she was to no longer consider herself a whore. Instead, she was to consider herself a woman in love with a man who loves her back. That’s when Gin started crying on the recording, and Simon Duke proceeded to comfort her, confused about what she’s crying about. Gin never answered him about why she was sobbing, but she continued with her regular service, this time making love with the man she’s servicing for what could be the very last time. The recording stops.
