THE SECOND SIGHT
Season 1 Eps. 27
Location: LUSTFUL LIPS
Bob’s death leaves a sour taste in Boat’s mouth and a sick feeling deep down in his guts.
It has touched a weepy sort of nerve he never knew he possesses.
The man had been a downright jerk in the end, but the two of them have had some pretty good times together. He was the closest friend Boat has ever had, and he had shown him how it felt like to ‘live life to the max’ as he used to put it.
He can still see Bob’s body swinging grotesquely down the windscreen of that truck, almost totally decapitated. It is one terrible way to lose a friend and Boat is ridden with guilt and despair.
Boat sheds tears for Bob, and then he hit the town.
Reason tells him to find a hole and crawl into it and wait for his father, but he feels so trapped and claustrophobic that he knows he won’t survive the night alone.
Plus, he has some monies he needs to return to his former clientele. He takes monies from the rich in advance to bring them cocaine. Now that Bob is dead, and Boat is no longer interested in being a pusher, he has to give them back their monies and close that chapter of his life permanently.
Hideous, mercifully, vanishes as soon as Boat hits the centre of Accra. Hideous had crawled down the neck of a buxom prostitute who had sidled up to Boat’s car when he came to halt at a deserted filling station.
She had fluttered her eyes invitingly and almost rammed her mammoth breasts into Boat’s face. She had a nice enough face, and could even be passed off as pretty if it hadn’t been for the lines which ran down her face like grooves.
Countless hours lying under strange men with stinking breaths had reduced an otherwise once-beautiful woman into a broken and trodden-on flower.
She had been quite sure of a hit when she saw Boat staring at the tops of her giant breasts. She had mistaken his shock for lust, and didn’t want to let go.
His eyes had not seen her breasts, though.
They had seen the ghostly tentacles of Hideous cramming themselves into her breasts, mauling them, pulsing them, demeaning them; her breasts bulged and contorted, violating every laid down law for the definition of shape. Boat had looked into her seductive eyes, and had seen more tentacles shooting into her nostrils, eyes, ears, and stretching her lips into the most macabre smile he had ever seen, and never wanted to ever see again,
He had almost knocked her down in his frantic rush to get away!
Boat ends up at the LUSTFUL LIPS, a restaurant and night club owned by a Frenchman called HENRI DIDIER.
He is a crafty man whose success in business baffles many. He seems to have a hand in everything, and he is suspected of being into drugs. Bob had told Boat that Interpol has been after Didier for ages, and are still chasing his shadow.
The Lustful Lips houses almost all of Boat’s richest clientele.
The Lustful Lips is hot; not temperature-hot but adrenaline-hot!
It is a sprawling building which seems to have a little bit of century-old architecture in its design. It faces the beach, and has a glorious golf course. The restaurant and night club has wonderful food, from Asian to Continental to African. It boasts the longest and most beautiful bar Boat has ever seen: a stretch of polished mahogany faced by tall bar stools of excellent design.
Mini hunks act as barmen, and they can fix any drink known to man. One of them has introduced Boat to what he called ‘Heaven Torpedo’, a blend that goes down as smooth as silk, sharp enough to savour and sweet enough to relish, and which can knock you out before you know what is happening to you.
It also caters for a select gold-member clientele who are entitled to an upstairs hall where gambling goes on, and where a whole lot of special services are also provided at very special prices.
Membership to this hall is hand-picked by Didier, and all of them are grateful enough to keep it under wraps. Bob, a man with insatiable sexual urges, had told Boat that the latest addition to Didier’s exotic female collection are sixteen-year-old Latino twins who can take a man to heaven!
Boat has a gold membership card. He loves gambling – or, rather, used to love gambling – and the other gold members serve as some of his richest drug clientele, and that clientele, the main reason behind his appearance at the club that night.
He has to refund all the monies he had taken prior to supply. It always works like that; demand always exceeds supply in the drug game, and the addicts always scrambled for it, paying good money up-front. It is a situation that had suited Boat fine.
Boat gets out of his car and a well-dressed attendant steps forward to take it to the car park.
Revellers are having a ball on the beach and he can faintly hear their shouts of delight before he enters the club, and then their voices are drowned out.
Glass doors on his right leads to the restaurant, and the ones on his left leads to a beautifully-constructed swimming-pool area. Through the glass he can see people going at it in frenzy around the pool. Most are near-naked, and roaring drunk. Straight ahead are auto sliding glass doors that lead to the main club.
Yaw Boat enters the club.
It takes every little power left in him to stop from turning and fleeing with fright out of the club!
The lights are soft and seductive, the music cool, sexy and damaging, releasing instant cravings for depravity. It is a live band, an all-girl cast, and their outfits comprise of only G-Strings, nipple tassels and knee length golden boots.
Couples are on the dance floor, clinging desperately to each other, straining in ecstasy. Nude dancers gyrate in glass booths and on neon-lit moving discs around the walls, swinging breasts and firm buttocks, proffering groins and emitting deep-throated moans through tiny microphones that are amplified by hidden super-sensitive speakers.
Their bodies are oiled, and depending on the colour of the bulbs in the tubes, depicted many sexy hues.
The raw sex-power that has always permeated the club had always been a wonder to Boat in the past. He has always wondered what really goes down inside the Lustful Lips.
It is normal that hormones increase and adrenalin runs high when sexy women, alcohol and the right environment collide; Boat had experienced it in many clubs, but it has always been different somehow in the Lustful Lips.
Bob had once admitted that he had an orgasm right there on the dance floor just listening to the music and watching the nude dancers. That had been a bit extreme, but Boat knew what Bob had been talking about.
The Lustful Lips always seems to have something extra, something out of the ordinary makes it rock with a passion that is extra-bad.
Many people feel it and once they experience it they come back night after night to experience the thrill of the club.
It seems that as soon as you set foot in there reality is taken away and replaced by an uncontrollable urge to go wild. Boat has seen shy girls who had come to the club for the first time suddenly turning into uncontrolled, aggressive, lust-crazed women, ripping off their blouses and skirts and engaging in sexual frolics that had simply been amazing.
Bob had once brought a middle-aged couple to the club.
He told Boat that the man had been suffering from erectile dysfunction which the most famous shrink in Beach County had not been able to cure.
Fifteen minutes in the club had seen them rushing to the gents, and when Bob and Boat followed them with knowing looks – quite drunk, of course – they had been taken aback by the groans of pleasure from the aged couple as they engaged in unrestrained sex in the midst of all that piss.
That is the mysterious the power of the club.
Boat has also been a willing victim of it too.
He cannot count the number of times he had pulled down a girl’s panties right in the middle of the dance floor and rammed his way up her womanhood, sometimes the girl in question had been a complete stranger.
And so he has always wondered about that sinister power inside the Lustful Lips that drive people so crazy with lust and simply changed them into sinful maniacs.
But, when he enters the club that night, he finally gets his answer.
The uglies are everywhere!
And they are having one hell of a swell time!
Since he became cursed with the devilish second sight, Boat has never seen such an army of evil entities gathered in one place than he did inside the club that night!
Disgusting and scary shapes float everywhere, shifting from body to body, rotating, mixing, mashing, manipulating!
Hairy, spindly demons with abnormally large heads and bulgy foreheads are embedded in all the members of the all-girl band, working into them, red eyes intensely focused, giving their singing a terrible concentration and seriousness that is bizarre to behold.
They are churning out their own brand of music, giving the sounds from the speakers a tampered version that works on the human listeners, waking up ancient desires in them, taking them to a level they have never ascended before.
The uglies are massed-up on the dance floor – busy, busy, busy little devils – swirling around in frenzy, joining dancers groin to groin, working the bodies closer, grinding waists hard together, their tentacles diving under skirts, inside shirts, causing waves in groins, pushing hidden buttons that send lust spiralling of control.
Boat watches, aghast, as a very slender demon with knobs on its body dives under the skirts of a nerdy girl wearing huge contact spectacles.
The demon works on her, thrusting in and out, and suddenly the girl turns round with a little cry of unbridled passion, hiking up her skirt and pulling down her cotton panties.
She bends and proffers her ass to the boy she has been dancing with.
There is a white demon that looks like a sea-horse inside the boy, bucking inside the boy’s loins, and suddenly the boy pulls down the zipper on his jeans and pulls out his engorged member.
The demon in the girl pulls her down further, and the demon in the boy pulls him forward, and a moment later he enters the girl from behind and begins to pound into as she moans and screams with mad glee.
The sea-horse demon suddenly leaves the boy, and the slender knobby one leaves the girl’s body. They hover together, their evil faces filled with demonic concentration.
They turn towards another dancing couple in the far outreaches of the dance floor, and they zone in on them. The slender demon enters the woman, and the sea-horse demon enters the man, and they begin their terrible manipulation all over again.
Boat’s fear slowly dissipates and is replaced with mounting fury as he watches the despicable things at work. They push the humans to uncontrolled sexual debauchery, and then they would float outside the humans and watch with mean gloating eyes filled with disdain and disrespect.
They crawl up the bodies of the nude dancers, work their tentacles into them, causing them to gyrate with frenzied abandon, pushing out their loins and breasts, forever raising the sexual temperature to obscene crescendos.
Boat is horrified, freezing up, turning into an immobile fool, glaring with bulging eyes. The human race reduced to such base level, like mannequins, to a most humiliating state of existence.
His anger is total, and suddenly he wishes that someone will come in …someone with that glorious force-field that will send these damn dastardly creatures fleeing into the rank cesspit they belong to!
Suddenly a pair of hands creep around his waist and down the front of his trousers, and he trembles violently, a muted cry escaping his lips.
Season 1 Eps. 28
Location: LUSTFUL LIPS
There is a giggle behind him, and a face pressed itself against his back.
He smells the perfume then, and then he relaxes as he recognizes the sweet scents of VERONICA, one of the hottest striptease dancers in the club.
Hello, handsome. Never knew you can be so ticklish. Missed you, Yaw Boat, you sweet devil.
Boat turns, stepping out of the circle of her arms.
She is in a white mini-skirt and a halter top with no bra, her nipples sticking out, pushing the fabric invitingly.
She has beautiful breasts, and she is amazing in bed, one of the sweetest. Normally Boat would have greeted her with a long sweet kiss as his hands maul her breasts, but that night he didn’t even dare touch her.
Hanging from her neck is a black, tadpole-like horror. Its tail is wound around her neck, and its scaly, disgusting body is splashed across her breasts and belly whilst its stunted head is buried deep between her thighs.
She steps forward and links her arms around his neck, her breasts firm against his chest.
I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart.
Boat hardly hears her.
A yellow glow fills his vision and he pushes back a bit and looks down.
The head of the ugly demon has come out of her thighs, and it is regarding him out of a black face entirely taken up by a single, huge, jelly-like yellow eye fixed on the points of its chin.
Disgust rises up in Boat, and might have shown on his face because Veronica pulls back slightly, her face going dark momentarily.
What’s wrong, Yaw? Why do you look like that?
Boat forces out a wan smile.
Sorry, love. Haven’t been feeling well lately.
She comes close to him again, her eyes once more filled with lust.
Poor sweet darling!
Mercifully, the black disaster slips effortlessly off her neck and floats lazily away, still upside down.
It reached one of the glass booths and drapes its tail around the neck of the semi-naked girl who is gripping her breasts and gyrating sensuously. The demon’s head goes between her thighs, and creeps upward.
Boat looks away, sickened to the core of his depths.
My shift ends in thirty minutes, darling boy. I’ll join you upstairs immediately I’m done. Save some white flour for me, please. I’ve missed you so. I’m going to blow your mind tonight, baby. I want to screw you all night long!
She clamps hot, hungry lips on his and kisses him hard, her right hand dropping to caress the front of his trousers.
Boat shudders with sudden disgust, and his brain reels with the impact of his thoughts. If this had happened only a few hours ago, he would have carried her upstairs immediately and fulfilled her every wish.
Now he has seen too much, and I has been through too much. There is no sexual urge left in him. He is drained, both physically and emotionally, and his libido is at an all-time low.
She steps back with a luscious sigh finally, and he almost cries with relief.
She lets him go reluctantly and walks toward one of the discs, already peeling off her halter top and tossing it to a jeering fat man whose face is contorted severely by a multi-coloured ugly sucking something out of his right ear, its pudgy fat legs wriggling with great enjoyment.
Boat watches, and a miserable sigh escapes through his lips.
The elevator takes him to the first floor.
He is sweating, and feels oppressively hot and weak.
He cannot wait to get the hell out of that place.
Control and patience have slipped out the backdoor somewhere, and he is seeing the face of insanity more and more with each passing second.
He will not be surprised at all if he suddenly strips naked and dances samba in the street. Madness is beginning to seem like a sweet release, a blissful land of no return where he can drool and do tap-dancing forever without caring about the scary things his poor eyes are seeing.
The elevator opens unto a sleek corridor, wide enough to admit a truck, and exotically decorated with plants, soft lights and life-like nude models in outrageous poses. It is, according to Bob, the Corridor of Lust. He claimed that he got a hard-on each time he hit that corridor.
Room 012, found at the end of the corridor, has always been reserved for Boat. Once upon a time he plied his drug trade in that room, rented for him by Bob.
That is the room he sold the cocaine, and tonight he would have sold fresh cocaine there, but no more. He is just going to refund their monies, and then he will go home and wait for his father.
Faint music drifts from the floor above.
Boat knows that the casino is in full flight, and gambling is the king of the night.
As he is opening the door to Room 012 a couple come down the stairs. They are the weirdest couple Boat has ever seen.
Drugs has reduced them to skeletons, and their clothes hung on them like tents.
The woman has once been a famous singer, but now her voice is shot to hell. Her nose is huge and constantly bled; Bob used to say cocaine has opened a harbour in her nose. Her wide mouth is garishly made, and she has front teeth the size of baby elephants.
The man is said to be from a royal family, and is wealthy, but there is nothing royal about him now. He looks as if he can die any day.
The weird thing about them is that they bear an uncanny resemblance to each other. They could have passed for twins.
Boat had sometimes argued with Bob about it. Bob believed that they are indeed brother and sister, caught up in the taboo game of incest, and just pretending they are man and wife to hide their incestuous blasphemy. That always got a mad cackle out of Boat.
Remembering one of those occasions suddenly, Boat is suddenly assailed again by sadness at Bob’s violent and totally avoidable death.
The woman inhales deeply on a long, thin cigarette and blows out a thick cloud of smoke. She spots Boat, and bore down on him like a hawk which has spotted a crippled chicken.
Her extra-long fingers goes up, her lips stretching open in a smile which had been alluring and sexy once, but which now looks like the business end of hell.
Rosy and Freddie, they are called, and people pretend to like them because they are loaded, but in reality they freak everybody out.
They are, of course, part of Boat’s clientele … or used to be.
(in a dry hoarse voice)
Hello, Boat-Love! I’ve waited so long for you. Did you bring us our honeycombs?
Boat looks at her with total disgust.
Life was like that sometimes.
Cocaine is eating her heart out and killing her each second, and what name does she call it … honeycomb!
She moves close to Boat, and she is inches away from touching his face when a bubbly demon explodes off her face and leers at Boat.
Boat is caught unawares, and he is not prepared for it.
He is just looking at her and thinking his thoughts in a cool sort of way, and for a moment, a brief relief-filled moment, he has forgotten about it all, about the little uglies destroying his peripherals, and suddenly this ashy smoky demon is shooting right out of her face and almost reaching out to touch him.
It is bulgy, like some inflated thing, although it looks rotten, and terrible yellowish-pus leaks out of cracks in its face, its octagonal pink eyes creeping with tiny, horrible mosquito-like creatures.
A fat, cylindrical tongue shoots out of a round mouth filled with long, white hair-like structures, and licks Rosy’s huge nostrils with slurping enjoyment.
The tongue shoots towards Boat’s nose, and as he reels backwards with disgust and fear it dawns on him that this particular despicable demon likes licking noses.
Boat’s momentum makes him hit the door, and it swings open.
Rosie’s momentum carries her forward towards Boat with Nose-Licker demon still trying to lick his nose.
Boat side-steps and out of fear he clips her on the side of her head, not too hard but enough to redirect her rush, and she cries out with pain and goes sprawling into the room.
Boat doesn’t hit women, and he hates guys that are violent to women. It is not his intention to hit her head, but that thing …that ashy demon with its octagonal pink eyes and bloated tongue filled him with panic.
That damn ashy turd was bent on licking his nose, or doing something worse.
It didn’t retreat and show reverence to him like the other uglies did; that ashy turd was intent on getting its damned tongue somewhere inside his nose, and it freaked him out, and he hit out as a reflex!
Freddy, her husband, cries with horror and rushes to his wife’s side, gathering her into his arms. He looks up at Boat, and shockingly Boat sees tears glittering on the man’s eyelashes.
Rosie, darling sweet pawpaw! Are you okay? Why did you hit her, you fucking bastard?
Boat barely hears him as his horrified eyes fix themselves on that bloated ashy demon.
That vile thing is jerking spasmodically with obvious relish, its disgusting tongue lapping the woman’s nostrils first, and then it directs its tongue into Freddy’s nostrils, drilling deep, licking hard.
Vomit rises up in Boat’s throat and he I turns a disgusted face away from them and heads for the safe in one corner of the room.
Never in his life has he seen anything so disturbing, so disgusting and so vulgar!
Fucking demons, he thinks viciously.
He inputs the combinations on the safe and picks up a ledger. He opens it, traces the names to see Freddy/Rosie, looks at the amount entered, and then he counts out money from the safe.
Here, take your money. I no longer sell coke.
You fucking bastard!
Rosie’s face changes into a terrible palsy pallor.
What did you say? No, no, no, Boat, you can’t do that to us. No, you can’t-
Her voice trails off as phlegm and blood suddenly gush out of her nostrils. Her narrow shoulders slump, and she begins to weep uncontrollably.
Freddy is still sitting on the floor, glaring up at Boat.
You fucking bastard!
Boat wonders if he has gone catatonic, fixed in position so that all he can remember is a little stupid phrase like ” you fucking bastard”.
They sicken Boat, all of them!
But the real catch is that no one sickened him more than himself. Things have gone round, and the shit has hit the fan.
Disorder has come to town for the Halloween, and he is its first unwilling victim.
He gives them their money and firmly make them go out; she is weeping uncontrollably now and more blood drips from her nose. It seems that nose-licking demon has really gone a bit too far.
Boat closes the door, picks up his ledger and a pack of white envelopes, and begins to count out monies, stuff them in envelopes and writing the names of the people on it.
There is really a lot of money in there and it will take him quite some time to refund all that.
He sighs, and settles down to do it.
It takes him a full hour to refund monies back to his former clients who are in the club that night.
He keeps the rest in the safe, to be refunded another day.
Some cried, some gave vent to vituperations and blackmail and threats. Boat doesn’t really care.
He is well past that point where human emotions bothers him, especially drug addicts.
He is cruising in his own kind of madness, and doesn’t give a damn what people feel about him … especially drug addicts.
Exhausted physically and emotionally, he is locking up the safe for the night when the door opens, and Veronica walks in.
She stops just inside the room and smiles seductively at him. Boat stares at her, expecting a hideous creatures to begin shooting out of her body, but nothing happens.
She is now wearing a knee-length leather jacket, leather boots with spiked heels …and she looks stunning as ever.
She reaches out and turns the key in the lock.
Season 1 Eps. 29
No, don’t do that.
And why not, darling?
Her voice is thick with lust.
Boat knows that voice.
It had preceded most of their sweet unifications. Even as his brain fights against it he feels the tension building up in his groin, and he exhales shallowly.
You’ve broken a lot of hearts this evening, Yaw, my love. Including me. I needed a little powder myself. You’ve been a very bad boy, and I’m going to punish you. Come to Mama, baby!
She begins to gyrate seductively towards Boat, her eyes half-shut and filled with sheer lust.
Long, lovely fingers pull down the zipper of the jacket slowly to her navel, and then she gently peels it off her shoulders.
One look at her sleek beauty, the wonderful swell of her firm breasts, and then Boat is lost.
Hers is a body made for love, a body that sets the pulses racing, crafted to create a figure that is in itself a sexual aphrodisiac.
As Bob used to say, she is well-bended! Not as crazy-bended as the naked woman I had made love to in the dark…
Very well-bended indeed!
Deep heat creeps up his neck, filling him with a desire that takes his breath away.
Boat watches, transfixed, as she glides seductively towards him. She is now in a scarlet G-string which accentuates the bulge of her intimacy, little tufts of silky black hair jutting out at the sides.
The jacket falls to the floor, and she turns slowly, her back to him now, long legs slightly parted, hips swaying.
Her thumbs hook into the G-string, and then she gently pulls it down, bending so that her firm buttocks are jutting out invitingly in the air.
The ache in his trousers is unbearable now.
Deep down in him a voice screams, seeming to wail out a warning. It is there briefly, and then it is gone.
Yaw Boat bridges the space between them and grips her sexy waist. She arcs upward, takes his hands, and drapes them across her breasts. He runs his hands over them gently, his thumbs elongating her nipples.
She moans deeply, her head pushing unto his shoulders so that he can clamp hot lips on hers. Her hands are working feverishly, pulling down his zipper, ripping him out of the confines of his boxers and expertly moving her hands over his turgid shaft, flicking it maddeningly-sweetly between the crack of her incredible buttocks.
Boat is a lost decadent pole behind her. She leans into him, parting her legs, angling waist forward slightly to rub him against her moist loins as the heat takes them by storm.
There is now no turning back as she bends and grips her knees, pushing against him, needing him inside her roiling depths, and with an animal grunt Boat thrusts into her jade gate.
She cries out in ecstasy and pushes into him deeply.
Deep down he suddenly heard that warning voice again:
But it is faint, because he simply can’t resist the hunger of his body.
She moves away from him, turns and throws her arms around his neck.
She grinds into him as she kisses him with frenzied lust, and then she moves up, her legs winding around his waist as he holds her up and settles her once again on him.
Standing rigidly and holding her up, she uses her arms around his neck for leverage and grinds on him savagely until the floodgates open for both of them and, grunting with harsh bestial release, they explode simultaneously.
He puts her on the bed, and lies down.
He is not surprised when she reverses on top of him, her back to him, and lowers herself once again on his deflating member.
A few twists and tugs later, she has him raging again, and she groans and settles down fully on him…
Boat does not know for how long he slept, but he comes awake slowly.
Veronica is sprawled across him, sleeping soundly.
Boat pushes her legs off gently and gets off the bed.
He trudges to the small bathroom and takes a long ice-cold shower, and brushes his teeth.
He returns to the room and starts dressing, and then his eyes fall on Veronica.
She is lying on her back now, still naked, and her legs are spread.
Embedded deeply in her is a terribly-terrible demon that looks like an anaconda. It is fluid-like and scaly with changing skin colour. It seems to be curled around her with its tail in her throat and it yawning mouth framing her vagina.
Its mouth is open, and its fangs are splayed, terrible and deadly, inside her very core, so that it seems he has been sticking his penis right inside the bloody mouth of that thing.
Boat’s knees go week, and his stomach muscles give way, and suddenly he rushes to the bathroom and vomits violently into the sink, his face tortured by the sight, his whole body weak with horror.
He is filled with deep revulsion.
Trembling, scared, and full of remorse, he returns to the room and dresses quickly. He puts an envelope filled with money and with her name on the back down on the dresser, and then he flees from the room.
The sounds from the casino are muted.
Many people have left, evidently. Boat has predictably overslept. The sight if that demon in Veronica intrudes again, and Boat stops suddenly, putting his hand against the wall and trembling violently.
Oh Lord… oh, my dear Lord!
He can’t take it anymore.
He is going home to wait for his father. This thing is surely going to drive him mad.
Boat shudders again violently.
He knows, for a certainty, that he is not going to ever make love again… not ever!
Because he is certain that he is never going to be able to have an erection again, and be able to put it inside a woman, any woman, even Elaine, his angel.
He will always have that image of that anaconda demon receiving his dick inside its mouth…
Oh, Awuradze! Awuradze Nyankopon! Wetin sef be this now? Oh, my dear Lord!!
He takes the back door which leads him to the swimming pool area. There are a lot of people still in the pool. The weekend party is still on.
He is threading his way through the sprawled bodies, making for the door that leads to the bar, when steel-like fingers suddenly clamp themselves on his arm and grip hard!
Boat turns with a savage curse to face whoever is holding him, but I swallows the outburst that has risen to his lips when he sees that his antagonist is ZEKE.
Zeke is as huge as an elephant, and seriously retarded. He is squat, and his breadth is incredibly amazing. He is so broad that he finds it difficult fitting his shoulders through doorways, and always has to move in sideways.
Bob had once told Boat that Zeke suffers from some kind of hormonal deficiency which has given him his atrocious enormity and savage strength.
His clothes are always tailor-made to fit.
He has the biggest head Boat has ever seen on any shoulders. His eyes are close-set and skewed, and his lips are full to the point of being gross. He has arms like a gorilla, and over-sized hands that are perpetually bent into half-claws.
Boat relaxes, and doesn’t bother to struggle free now.
He knows that once Zeke’s fingers close around your arm it will take a nuclear weapon to dislodge them. He looks at Boat impassively.
When he speaks his voice is surprisingly tiny and soft, like a little girl’s voice, which belies the sheer malice trapped inside that massive body.
Jonny wants you.
The ‘Johnny’ he is referring to is JOHN STYLES, a handsome bastard who calls himself the “Stylized Pimp of the New Century”.
He can supply you with any number of women you want, of any nationality and age, at any time on any day.
Some of his women are willing, others are coerced, some blackmailed, and some simply kidnapped. He is as despicable as they come. And, of course, he is an important link in Boat’s clientele chain, or used to be.
Zeke eats out of Johnny’s hand, and will kill at Johnny’s cough.
Boat doesn’t owe John any money, though, because he has given the money to John’s cousin earlier that evening, and so he wonders what that despicable man wants from him at a time when all he wants to do is get out of the club, away from all the hell and decay.
I don’t have anything to discuss with your master, Zeke. So leave my arm.
His nostrils flares instantly with sudden wrath; he was that bad-tempered.
You come. Or Zeke cracks your head.
Put like that, Boat has no option but to allow himself to be pushed forward.
The pool area is in semi-darkness.
Soft music floats through hidden speakers, making the atmosphere just right for a tango with lust.
Couples are frolicking in the pool. Others seek their pleasures on towels and mats. Others sit at the pool-side tables and drank quietly or engaged their own kind of sexual bliss.
Boat and Zeke walk through wide French windows and climb a flight of spiral stairs to the wide reserved terrace where late diners were eating. The Terrace is always booked in advance, and it isn’t open to regular customers.
Topless waitresses move between the tables with laden trays. The upper terrace is set in the mode of some exotic African garden. Real and artificial flowers have been elaborately arranged. Flowers in bloom give the air a clean aroma, although it did nothing to minimize the mind-boggling uglies floating all around.
Zeke leads Boat to a corner table where John Styles is sitting with a beautiful lady.
He is dressed in a well-cut tuxedo, and puffing on a cigar. Styles looks up and smiles. He is a very handsome man, although his good looks tends to be skewed toward the feminine.
The full, sensuous lips, the long eyelashes, the fine nose and huge eyes all give the impression of a beautiful woman trapped in the body of a man. His hands are delicate and finely manicured. His hair, left to grow and then made wavy by chemicals, is slicked back from a fine forehead, a few locks falling over the eye to give him a slightly dishevelled look which added to his allure.
He gestures to Boat to sit down in the chair opposite his, then he leans forward to plant a sloppy kiss on the lips of the woman beside him.
There is a glass of wine on the table beside a plate of partly-eaten salad and prawns in front of the woman.
Something makes Boat take a second look at her as he pulls out the chair and sits down.
There was an aura around the woman, a barely discernible halo, like the dying embers of the force-field Boat has seen around the poor widow and Mrs. Sam.
The woman with John Styles is dressed in a grey suit with an inner white shirt. Her thighs are pressed together tightly, one of her hands is lying protectively over her exposed thighs, the other hand trying unsuccessfully to hold the open neck of her shirt together, to cover the tops of her exposed creamy breasts.
Her face is dull, squeezed up in a silent cry for help. Even in the dim light Boat can see the sheen of tears on her cheeks, and the glazed look in her eyes, as if she has been drugged.
She is certainly not the type of lady that frequents the Lustful Lips. This girl is the type of woman you send home to meet Mama, the kind of girl who will pull down the edge of her blouse to cover any exposed panty edge, the type of girl who will smoothen the hem of her skirt down to cover her thighs as she sits down, legs properly kept together, hands linked on top of her thighs for good effect.
She is now making whimpering sounds in her throat, her head lolling on the shoulder of Styles, her whole demeanour that of a distressed lady.
It doesn’t take the abilities of Sherlock Holmes to deduce that Styles has drugged her. He has opened her shirt, and has obviously been mauling her breasts.
The skewed skirt tells Boat that Styles’ hands have found their way to her inner depths too.
Boat can now see the last vestiges of the force-field hovering around her, and then slowly disappearing from around her.
It is the first time Boat is seeing such a phenomenon, and he is greatly affected.
So it can disappear? It can be lost? That incredible force-field that shields the Chosen Ones can be lost?
For no apparent reason Boat feels incredibly sad!
That force-field is something he has coveted ever since he set eyes on it. To see this beautiful innocent-woman losing such a great thing really cuts through Boat’s heart.
He is right then.
She is a Christian, and had evidently entered the Lustful Lips covered with the glory of her force-field.
Somehow she has lost it; whether permanently or temporarily Boat doesn’t know. What he knows is that Styles has had a hand in it. He had obviously lured her here, on some pretext, drugged her, and is now having his way with her.
Season 1 Eps. 30
Location: LUSTFUL LIPS
Boat begins to get really angry, and then suddenly he begins to feel a very alien and dangerous emotion…
He feels sorry for the lady, whoever she is.
(with false reverence)
Boat has always wondered if he hates Styles so much because of his girlish good looks, or the business he is in, or simply because he insists on calling him Boatyard.
What the fuck is the meaning of this, Styles? I gave your damn money to your boy, so you better have a good reason for forcing me here.
Styles takes a puff on his cigar and giggles stupidly, his eyes straying fractionally to his Zeke.
Want a drink? Such anger, Boatyard! I’ve always been telling you this anger will send you to your grave. Loosen up, boy. Life is full of zesty joys. Have a life, Boatyard!
Zeke sits down next to Boat, cutting off all chances of a quick escape.
It makes Boat’s blood boil. He hates to be pegged, and he dislikes being put into any situation he has no control over.
If that halfwit Zeke hadn’t been around he would’ve gladly flattened Styles to pulp, and Styles knows that.
Their dislike for each other is mutual and legendary, although none of them can give any real explanation for it. Sometimes things works out like that.
Styles had provided good money, and Boat had provided good drugs. That is as far as their acquaintance went, but the dislike is something deep within their souls.
Get on with it, Styles. You aren’t exactly the kind of face I wanna see at my dining table.
He smiles humourlessly and glances at his watch.
You know something, Boatyard, hmm? I’ve always wondered why the two of us have so much in common. For a fact your face makes me want to puke. I’ve a date lined up for tonight, a date that will bring me a lot of money! You see this Christian bitch right here? She wanted to deliver me from my sinful ways, poor girl.
Know something? I want to bring her to my sinful ways! It was a sort of secret challenge. She wanted to take me to her world, and I wanted to bring her to mine, so it was a matter of who will win, although she obviously didn’t know that was how I was planning our little relationship. Some Italian clients of mine saw her this evening, and they have the hots for her!
They’re offering a lot of money to gang-bang her Christian pussy. I want to sample her first, you know. A devout Christian like her is sure to have one of the sweetest pussies you ever fucked, don’t you think? Hmm, yummy! Tight pussy, don’t you think, like a virgin asshole?
He bursts into raucous laughter, gags on cigar smoke, coughs a bit and wipes tears from his eyes.
He grips the girl’s cheeks quite cruelly, pulls her forward and clamps his lips on hers.
There is a choking sound from her throat, and her hands beat feebly against his shoulders. His right hand enters her blouse and pulls her left breast out of her bra, and he kneads her breast roughly.
It takes all his self-control to prevent Boat from knocking his face in.
Styles lets her go at last.
Her hand comes up, obviously trying to put her breast back in her bra, but the effects of whatever chemical she has been drugged with is too powerful, and her hand drops limply.
Agonized tears fall down her cheeks silently.
Styles wipes his eyes with a handkerchief sodden with perfume, and delicately puts it into his pocket.
I’ll shoot straight, Boatyard, because I want you out of my face quickly so that I can take this bitch upstairs and fuck her senseless. I heard old Bob bought it today, in a gruesome manner. Heard he decided to hang himself from the windscreen of a truck. Always knew that guy was crazy.
Is that what you want to talk to me about? Bob’s funeral?
His eyes come up then and drills right through Boat.
His gaze is all steel. Sometimes Boat sees glimpses of that steel, which reminds him that nobody could have risen in the business of prostitution without having a reliable set of ruthlessness.
It makes Boat wonder if he sometimes underestimated John Styles.
Styles leans forward and grinds his cigar out viciously in an ash tray, and then he leans back again and regards Boat with those cold eyes.
Let’s not talk about Bob’s funeral for now, Boatyard. Let’s talk about Bob’s market.
And then Boat finally understands what Styles is after.
Greed, in all its ugly glory, is the factor here.
Bob had controlled the Beach County drug scene.
He had ruled with an iron hand, and had not tolerated any competition. People who tried to cut in had ended up badly dead. There had been a period, about a couple of years ago, when the market had been flooded with cheap cocaine from a supplier no one knew about.
One weekend four bodies had floated up to the seashore, decapitated, genitals missing. They had all been suspected to be partners of the new drug lord. The gruesome murders had not been solved, and the new cheap drug had disappeared from the market in a flash.
Boat had grilled Bob about the gruesome murders, knowing Bob had a hand in the macabre slaughter, but apart from a lopsided grin Bob had made no comment about the whole affair.
Bob’s relationship with John Styles had gone sour after that incident. Styles had kept away from Bob as if he was the plague. Much later Bob had confessed to Boat in a drunken stupor that Styles had been behind the attempted takeover of the market, and that he was going to cut off ‘that homo’s short dick and stick it up his ass’.
Styles had gotten the message, and had stuck to his whoring business.
Now Bob is gone, and the sharks are moving in.
A new turf war is going to brew in town, the fight for supremacy. Beach County, in all her glory, is a seedy joint underneath, contributing a great deal of money to the drug business. Whoever captures the market will make a lot of money.
Styles knows the big predator Bob is no more, and greed is swimming in his eyes, ready for a takeover.
Boat smiles at him, and he knows his smile isn’t quite nice.
I own the market now, Styles.
Styles’ face clouds over with dark anger.
He is like a spoilt child, used to getting what he wants. Not many people have ever opposed him. He doesn’t like Boat, and that added an additional salvo to his anger.
Of course Boat isn’t interested in the drug world anymore. He is on his way out, and he doesn’t care two hoots what happens on the turf, but he will be damned if he gives in to Styles now and allows him to flex his muscles.
Styles’ teeth are clenched so tightly that Boat can make out the deep veins standing angrily on his jaw line.
He leans forward suddenly, thrusting his face against Boat’s, reaching out and grabbing Boat’s shirt in both hands, pulling him forward across the table.
Now listen, and listen good, bitch! I’m not alone in this. I’ve got some very bad partners who’re moving into the market, butch, and you don’t want to cross them. I don’t like you, Boatyard, so I’m not going to warn you again. But from tonight, if you so much as hit the field with even a fingertip of coke, you’re dead. Remember that, bitch!
The fury is like a living animal within Boat, and with one movement he spins to his right, slamming Styles’ hands off him and pushing him hard in the chest.
John Styles is hurled back violently into his seat, his face betraying his sudden alarm.
Boat has known it the encounter will turn violent eventually. He has been wishing it to turn violent, although it is more like a death wish with Zeke breathing down his neck.
Yaw Boat has never been one to shy away from a fight, but he knows that even being a martial arts expert is no weapon against Zeke.
Unconsciously, Boat has decided to help the poor girl Styles wants to hand over to the Italian rapists.
It is crazy, of course, because just a couple of days ago Boat would have walked away without so much as a backward glance at her. She wanted trouble, and she has found it.
Boat has never one to stick his nose into another man’s business if I can help it.
Now everything is different.
Maybe, unconsciously, he is beginning to take sides.
Maybe he wishes to be on the side of those few guys with the force-field. It might be that he has had enough of all those vile creatures controlling his life, hedging him in and scaring the living bejesus out of him.
Maybe he is sick to his guts of people trying to walk all over him, doing what they want with him.
Whatever it is, once he begins, he means to see it through to the end.
He had been watching Zeke as he spoke to Styles.
Zeke’s appearance is that of supreme confidence. He knows he can rip Yaw Boat apart anytime, and so he is so relaxed.
Boat knows that he has no advantages against Zeke except complete surprise.
Boat has been planning his attack, and he has noticed an iron flower pot that is standing near their table, some heavy-scented flower with spindly leaves growing out of it.
It looks sturdy and handy, but he doesn’t go for it right away.
Before Styles hit his chair Boat is already on his feet, already spinning towards Zeke, who has been in the process of pouring himself a drink from the wine bottle, and it takes a second longer for him to grasp what is going on.
His close-set skewed eyes narrow fractionally, but Boat is already swinging.
Boat doesn’t go with a fist, no, because Zeke’s jaw looks as hard as his body, and Boat doesn’t want to break his knuckles on the steel chin of that man.
His martial arts teacher, Wailer Vroom, has taught him that when fighting bulls like Zeke it is best to go for the sensitive parts, the bruising places.
Four of his right fingers are pointing straight, hard and deadly, and they zoom straight into the abnormal eyes of the giant, and Boat rakes downward.
Zeke utters a strangled grunt, and his hands go to his face. He is momentarily blinded, and that is when Boat goes for the flower pot.
He holds the neck of the iron pot with both hands and pivots, gauging distances and proximity.
Zeke is on his feet, huge arms reaching our blindly for Boat, who swings the iron pot against the side of Zeke’s head with all his strength.
There is a dull metallic thunk, and Zeke’s head moves to the side. He grunts again but he doesn’t go down, his eyes open now, red from the abuse Boat’s fingers have caused them.
Boat brings the pot down again, so hard that he feels the jarring shocks in his shoulders.
It catches Zeke flush on the top of his double December head, and this time it drives him to his knees.
Season 1 Eps. 31
Boat, shocked by the immense strength of Zeke, maintains his momentum and surprise element by swinging the pot round again.
It catches Zeke flush on the jaw, and he goes down, although reluctantly, dragging the table down with him, and Boat wonders, once again, at the kind of superhuman strength the man possesses.
Styles is staring at Boat as if he has seen one of Alfred Hitchcock’s creatures creeping in from the dead.
The fear is a reeking repulsive reptile oozing out of his body. Boat knows then that Styles is truly a coward.
Styles cowers in his chair, face and hands trembling violently as if he is having an epileptic fit, his sensuous lips quivering, water running down his nostrils and eyes.
He is staring at Boat as if he is the Devil himself.
Maybe, at that particular moment, Boat indeed looks like a devil.
Don’t hurt me, please! Mr. Bawa, please don’t hurt me!
Boat smiles with disgust.
Just a damn coward! Boat has no respect for a man who will not hit back.
His fury is beyond measure as he swings a hard fist against Styles’ jaw, and I heard an unsavoury crack, and knows he has broken Styles’ jaw.
The Stylized Pimp of the Century goes down silently, almost gracefully, taking the chair with him, and as he lies on the expensive floor, totally unconscious, Boat looks down at his inert figure – ass up – wrapped around the chair.
Yaw Boat feels no pity; it actually gives him a kind of demented joy.
His martial arts instructor always told him never to leave a downed enemy with any advantages; claiming that a defeated enemy is always most dangerous when he is back on his feet, and twice as strong, goaded by a sense of righting a humiliating defeat.
This advice has saved Boat on more than a few occasions.
Acting on it now, he quickly frisks Styles.
There is no weapon on him.
Boat turns to Zeke, whose great body twitches as Boat runs expert hands down him.
He finds a huge pistol in a shoulder holster, a snub-nosed derringer strapped to Zeke’s right calf, and a wicked-looking serrated knife strapped to his left inner arm in a harness.
Boat slips them into his pockets.
Unless he Zeke is some kind of James Bond and has secret weapons in his wrist-watch or belt buckle, he will be pretty restricted to the old hand-to-hand stuff if he miraculously wakes up to confront Boat.
Boat scoops up the girl, hurls her across his right shoulder in a fireman style and heads for the staircase.
Other diners are standing and watching.
People move away from Boat as he approaches.
Suddenly he is blocked by two huge men in security clothing. They are holding ugly batons at the ready, and there are holstered guns at their waists.
The Lustful Lips is not a virgin when it comes to violence, but mostly such violence are begun by new patrons who know next to nothing about the ruthlessness of the security personnel.
Their job is to keep order, and to teach lessons that served as deterrents to would-be trouble rousers.
Luckily for Boat these two knows him, and are indebted to him big time.
It comes with the scene; Boat has always tried to be nice to people around him whom he knows can serve a purpose in the future in one way or the other.
His generous tips to most of the security details at the Lustful Lips are legendary. These two have benefited from him in more ways than just financially, and as they regard him now can see the dilemma in the depths of their eyes.
Boat gives them his most charming smile.
The lady has began to wriggle on his shoulder now, still fighting to come out of the stupor induced by the drugs in her system.
Boat addresses the taller of the mean security men.
Sorry, Ben. Mr. Styles drugged this girl’s drink and tried to pass her on to some foreigners. She’s a friend of mine, and I had to help her.
Their looks went beyond Boat and take in the crumpled forms of Zeke and Styles. They look at each other, and for a brief moment Boat sees the grudging respect in their eyes.
You better get along then, Mr. Boat. We’ll clean up the mess. You better hurry, though, becuase you don’t wanna see that man on his feet.
Boat looks round sharply.
Zeke, incredibly, is stirring, reaching out to grip a chair to haul himself upright.
His eyes are riveted on Boat, and there was a faint smile playing around the edges of his lips. Blood has matted his hairline across his forehead, and has traced about four or five paths down his face.
An image of the Terminator movie lights up in Boat’s mind, that part where the mean man-machine keeps reaching out for the woman, refusing to die, and Boat feels a similar blast of helplessness, of impending doom.
That man Zeke is simply not human.
To make matters worse the lady has started struggling feebly, pounding Boat’s back feebly with clenched fists, making it difficult for Boat to hold her.
He grips her well-shaped thighs and starts to run.
He takes the spiral steps two at a time, being extra cautious however not to lose his footing. It will be a shame if he should slip and snap an ankle; he can just imagine the kind of love Zeke will show him.
As he threads his way through the throng of bodies in the main hall the girl comes back fiercely.
First she hammers tiny fists into his back and then tries to bite his shoulder through the material.
Boat winces and shakes her hard, almost sending both of them toppling unto a table.
Keep still, goddamn it! I’m trying to help you out here!
He doesn’t know whether she heard and understood him, but she becomes still, much to his relief. A struggling girl on the shoulders of a man in a place like the Lustful Lips will be more apt to begin a deadly brawl than the presence of a box of gold.
Yaw Boat bursts through the entrance, almost knocking down an elderly couple who are arguing loudly on the steps, and races down to the arrival pad.
He almost weeps with relief when he finds his huge car parked and ready, with an attendant standing beside it, smiling broadly and proffering the keys.
Heard you were in a spot, Mr. Boat, and I figured you might need your car in a hurry.
His large eyes are dancing with greed.
Of course they will do anything for money.
Thank you. Please open the passenger door for me.
The attendant pulls the door open and Boat tosses the girl inside.
He pulls out a number of bills from his pocket and gives them to the attendant, whose startled eyes jump to Boat’s face as if he expected to see a ‘Suddenly Gone Mad’ sign on Boat’s forehead.
Boat slams the door shut and races round to the driver’s side and jumps in. He strives to remain calm as he jams the key into the ignition.
He experiences a brief moment of panic when he turns the key and all the basic lights come on but the engine refuses to kick start. Sweat is now matting his hair, face and palms as he switches off and turns the key in the ignition again.
The engine coughs sluggishly for a moment, the lights blinking, and then it catches and steadies.
Boat slides the gear lever to ‘D’ … and that is when the two bodies drop unto the ground, just in front of his car!
It is Ben, the security man, and Zeke!
Boat groans and stares; he has no difficulty understanding what had happened.
Somehow, incredibly, Zeke must have gained his feet, taken care of one of the security men and grabbed Ben. Maybe he had looked down from The Terrace and seen Boat getting into the car.
Zeke had leapt from the terrace, using Ben’s body as a shield, and the two of them have landed right down in front of his car.
They hit with enough force to shake the heavy car to its very core.
Zeke has used Ben’s body as a cushion, and the security man is out cold, his head turned towards Boat, a thin trail of blood running down his right nostril and the corner of his lips.
Zeke is still smiling that coffin smile; the blood trails from his hairline have painted his face almost completely with blood. His lips are parted, revealing huge yellowish teeth, the corners drawn back wolfishly.
Boat knows, at that moment, that Zeke is not human!
Zeke straightens up, and he is holding something in his right hand.
That hand swings forward and point, and Boat realizes rather too late what he should have known even before their bodies hit my the ground; Zeke has taken Ben’s holstered Smith and Wesson pistol, and it is now pointed at Boat!
Boat’s first inclination is to duck beneath the dashboard, and then he also begins to fumble in his pockets for the guns he had taken from Zeke.
Trying to do two things at the same time when a gun is pointing at him is pretty stupid, and he knows in an instant later that he is beaten.
My breath stops, and his heart almost freezes when he stares death in the face. It is the second time he has come very close to losing my life that day.
Boat has heard about people facing death calmly, almost even welcoming it. He has seen people dying in movie flicks with macho talks, damning their murderers with the brave expletives of heroes. He has seen leading actors fighting their way through death, never breaking stride to show even an iota of concern.
But crap like that only happens in books and in movies. This is real, and at that particular moment he feels fear crawling all over me with its icy fingers.
He is immobilized with panic and a crushing wave of helplessness.
Zeke’s smile widens, the gun locked on Boat’s heart, and his finger pulls the trigger.
From his peripheral vision Boat sees a flash of green.
Boat feels the tingling at the base of his neck, and then his whole vision and body is covered with a great mass of green.
Hideous the Demon has appeared on the scene!
The terrible demon blasts forward at incredible speed somewhere behind Boat.
Boat knows without a doubt that it had not been far away, and maybe had been reclining in his back seat all along.
It sweeps past Boat – his own divine guardian devil – and hurtles towards Zeke.
That terrible gentleman really fires the gun.
Its report is a violent explosion that causes onlookers to shout and flee.
But somehow, between that gun and Boat’s windscreen, the bullet just vanishes.
Boat sees the sudden look of incomprehension on Zeke’s face. He doesn’t know that there is an evil element between them, protecting the Chosen Vessel of its masters.
Zeke points again, but this time before he can fire Hideous is all over him.
Sickening greenish tentacles shoot o
ut, winding round the arms and throat of the giant.
There is rage on Zeke’s face now.
His finger keeps pulling back the trigger, but evidently the gun doesn’t fire. He lets out an enraged bellow and his trigger finger moves rapidly. Boat’s body, which has gone quite cold, jerks hard in the seat every time Zeke pulls that trigger.
Boat watches with horror, even though all his instincts fight against it as the demon takes control.
Hideous – like he did to Bob – is taking care of Zeke quite nicely.
With equal butchery.
The green tentacles bend Zeke’s arm backwards with brute force, snapping it like a twig.
Pieces of bones stick out of Zeke’s shirt from his shattered elbow, turning it instantly crimson. The gun clattered to the cold ground.
Zeke’s face is now a mixture of pain and puzzlement.
He is too retarded to understand what has happened to him.
A saner man would not have understood it either, but in Zeke’s case his confusion goes beyond the levels of sanity.
His was the brain of an under-developed child, and in that state of mind his incomprehension is pitiful to behold. He couldn’t even cry out but just keeps staring at the broken arm and making gasping sounds with his mouth opened wide.
He has forgotten all about Boat, and that evil thing could have ended things right there but, as Boat is beginning to find out, evil is as cruel as it is heartless.
Leave him alone, you vile spirit! Just leave him alone!!
The green tentacles tighten around Zeke’s neck, and then Hideous swings that giant off the ground, twisting that body in the air, twisting the man’s neck and snapping it viciously.
Zeke is already dead by the time his body hits the ground again.
He is lying on the pavement, body partly hidden by the car, but his head is visible; his eyes stared vacuously into space, lips still open, huge yellow teeth barred in death, covered with blood.
More people are pouring out to stare, and Boat can hear a babble of excited voices as some of the people gesticulate wildly.
Boat can barely breathe, and he feels the sting of tears in his eyes.
Such waste… such evil viciousness!
There is a sudden knock on the window, and Boat almost jumps.
He turns his head slowly.
Henry Didier, the multi-millionaire French owner of the Lustful Lips, is standing just outside the window, and his thin face is cold, his eyes too concentrated.
Yaw Boat presses the power-window switch, and it winds down slowly.
Didier is impeccably dressed as usual, as dapper as a shark in suit. He is a man who knows how to comport himself all the time, as mysterious as a rainbow.
He has always treated Boat with respect, acknowledging him whenever their paths crossed.
But that is that.
He is a man with few words, and he has few friends. There has always been that aura of controlled aloofness about him. That is his allure, and that is what sets him apart from other men.
(in a soft and cultured voice)
Get out of here, Mr. Bawa. The police are on their way here. I’ll handle this. Get going.
Boat stares at him with incomprehension; these are not the words has expected from him. He should rather be trying to detain Boat for questioning by the police.
Boat is still trembling from the new horror he has witnessed.
One moment Henri Didier is glaring at Boat fixedly, his blue eyes seeming a shade bluer to Boat, and then, quite suddenly his face changes!
His normal blues eyes into a frightening crimson red, and his features alter with terrifying speed, and Boat finds himself glaring into the face of a wolf-like beast in that sleek suit.
The face is hairy, the forehead elongated and sharp like a Neanderthal, but the mouth is now a jutting snout, the nose broad and flattened, tongue thick and forked.
And on his forehead, burning with the fury of boiling blood, is a numeral: 666!
And Boat understands!
Like Stebbins there is a resident demon living inside Didier, a powerful demon that does not hover and move around the others!
Stebbins is a vessel prepared and occupied!
Didier is a vessel prepared and occupied!
Yaw Boat is a vessel waiting for occupation… and so he is being protected!
(with repressed fury)
Get the hell out of here now!!
The air that blows out of his mouth is filled with decay and a thousand rotted meat.
Boat doesn’t really remember what happened next.
He gasps, that he is sure of, and the panic forces his hand to turn the ignition and stomp on the accelerator, hurriedly powering up his window.
The tyres screech as the huge car leaps forward past the men who have lifted Ben’s body from the ground.
When he looks int
o the rear-view mirror he sees Didier still standing there, but his face is normal now; human.
Boat stifles a sob as he shoots out of the gates and hits the main street.
Once again his peripherals register a shade of green, and when he looks into the mirror again he sees Hideous reposed in the back seat with grand elegance, ugly face impassive, alert, watching, calculating… pure evil.
Boat grips the steering-wheel hard and silent fury courses through him.
There is absolutely nothing else he can do; he is totally helpless.
He is in a world where death – murder, actually – is as cheap as sand, where highly-influential and wealthy businessmen are in actual fact demon-possessed weirdos that go out of their way to protect him.
And he has no power.
He is just a puppet, and a terrible future is waiting for him just around the corner!
He believes it now…
Yes, he is a Chosen Vessel….
His body is meant to be the estate of a very superior demon!
Suddenly the future looks bleak.
He knows something terrible, really terrible, is going to happen to him very soon!
Oh, God! Awuradze! Onyankopon, boame! Help me out here, please…
To Be Continued…
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