D.O.A. Extreme Horror Anthology

BLOOD BOUND BOOKS

Presents

D.O.A.

Extreme Horror Anthology

EDITED BY

David C. Hayes & Jack Burton

Copyright © 2011 by Blood Bound Books. All stories in this book have been published by the author’s permission. All stories are copyright by their author. All rights reserved. Cover art by Andrej Bartulovic.

Visit us on the web at:

www.bloodboundbooks.net

Available now from Blood Bound Books:

Night Terrors: An Anthology of Horror

Unspeakable: A New Breed of Terror

Seasons in the Abyss: Flash Fiction

Coming Soon:

Rock is Dead: Dark Tales Inspired by Music

Steamy Screams: Erotic Horror Anthology

The Blood Bound Staff:

Marc Ciccarone

Joe Spagnola

Karen Fierro

Theresa Dillon

Cherry Clubbing

Kenneth Yu

Hey. Hey!

Francis? You’re—Frank, right? It’s me, Richard. Ricky! We met in Bangkok some years back. We joined that private beach tour group to Thailand together.

Smooth sand, clear water, blue skies? Tropical sunshine to die for? Ring anything? No? Heh. Can’t blame you for pretending. We’ve got to be careful nowadays, but there’s no need to be coy with me. I
know
you. 

You really don’t remember? Heh, sure. Okay, I’ll play. I was the one who lost his balance and fell off the boat when our group went off to chase dolphins. You had to come back and get me, remember? We lost the dolphins after that. I probably scared them away. Everybody got pissed at me.

Yeah! Yeah, me! That’s right! I’m Ricky, Frank! Good to see you! Geez, you weren’t shitting! You
really
didn’t remember me! So how’ve you been, you dumb hairy fuck?

Me? I’m fine. A little less hair up top, a bit more of a paunch, but never been better. I’m still up to my old tricks. Same ol’, same ol’. And you? Same too, huh? Busy as ever, like bees, that’s us.

Hey, man, you got time? I’m not doing anything right now, just hanging around, looking. You, same? People like us, we’re always looking. Let’s park our asses somewhere and catch up, what do you say? Guys with our ‘shared interests’ don’t get to jaw often, so this is a special occasion!

Yeah, this is a pretty big mall. Open air, too. Smells funky without air conditioning, but that’s the way it is here. You know another thing about the Philippines? Their beer is excellent. San Miguel, they call it. Saint Michael, in English. Heavenly when chilled in ice. Let’s get a couple of brews, my treat.

Come on, let’s try that place. It looks cheap, good and clean. So does the waitress. They don’t hire our ‘types’ here, but she still looks like she hasn’t developed yet. Perfect for the both of us.

But nah. We’re just ‘reading the menu,’ ‘kay? Here, grab that table. We’re not ‘ordering.’ I want to make that crystal. Let’s just say that we shouldn’t shit in this backyard. Here, as with most places, it’s either ‘to go’ or forget it. S’funny, for some reason they say ‘take out’ instead of ‘to go’ in this country. Anyway, we shouldn’t send out any smoke, if you know what I mean. I’ll tell you why later. Special reason. Trust me, it’ll be worth your while.

That got your full attention, didn’t it? I knew it would. Anyway, later.

Two San Miguels, chickie. No, not the light stuff, the ones in the brown bottles. Yeah, the Pale Pilsens. And hey, cutie, you sure you’re over? Aww, don’t give me that look. I’m sure you’re fine. Just sayin’, that’s all. You’re cute, you know. You’re
fresh
. That’s a compliment, chickie.

See, she’s smiling! It’s in them, Frank. It’s in them, I tell you, like it’s in us. I don’t know why only we can see it and the rest of the world can’t.

Aww...I’m sure she understands English, c’mon! Maybe she doesn’t get everything, but this is the Philippines, baby! They speak English well enough. Funny-sounding, but fine. They love Hollywood here! To them, anyone from where we come from is a fucking movie star!

Even with our “shared interests” I didn’t expect to bump into you. What’re you doing here? Hell, I mean I know what you’re here for, same thing as I am, but a classy someone like you runs in different circles than I do. If not for that Thailand tour, I doubt we’d have ever met. What’re you
technically
here for? Trade convention, huh? Buying the native handicrafts? Cool. No? Boring? Hey, sorry man. Then you’re lucky you got away for some time off.

Alone? Sucks. Your company’s running on the cheap, sending their best man halfway around the globe without help. But that’s just the way we like it, eh? And you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me! 

Thanks, chickie! Here’s the cash, with a little something extra for you. Keep the change. Remember me kindly when I come back. And I
will
be back. For
you
. Promise.

See? See? She’s still smiling. Love her dimples. Drink up, pal. Good, eh?

Don’t you just love the pointiness of their ears? Makes their eyes bigger, doll-like. So sweet, especially when they’re at just that right height. They’re perfect that way. That’s how you started out, I’ll bet. That’s how I did. Hell, that’s how we all did. We started with one of them pointy-ears, then there was no turning back, and it was on to greater things. Better things.

It’s fate, Frank. Fate. There’s a reason we met today, here of all places. You’re looking, I know. ‘Cause that’s the way it is. People like us, we’re always looking.

What happened to who? Scarface? Oh, you mean Ronald! You remember him? Hey! Why’d you remember Ron but not me? Oh, his scar. That’s right, he had that scar down his cheek, that’s why the nickname. Of course, stupid me. Evil-looking cut, made him look like a crook, but he was the complete opposite. As big and as strong as a bull, but what a great guy. The best. He was a good friend.

Yeah,
was
. Got caught, he did. Sad. Shit happens, even to the best of us. How’d it happen? Long story, but we’ve got time. You ready for a long listen?

Ron and I had been traveling together for years, even before Thailand. They finally got him about two years ago when we were in Cambodia. And of all things, he got caught with some pointy-ears. Yeah, just the pointy-ears, same as that waitress, nothing more, but enough to bring everything down on his head. What a way to go. He was with several of those elves, in fact. It was his own damn fault, really. I like to say it was bad luck, but Ron, he was the reckless type. He always was. Once the mood hits him he forgets to be careful and just goes for it. Shoot from the hip. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. He even forgets to lock the door sometimes. It’s not good to be that way. It’s never good. You always got to keep some kind of control going until you’re sure you’re safe and alone.

Scarface...Ron...was living on borrowed time. The only reason he lasted as long as he did was because of me. I was the one watching his back, making sure we did things safely, that we didn’t rush. It was his fault, I know that, but I sometimes blame myself for what happened. What if I had been there that night to watch his back as always, instead of sick in bed with the flu? He’d be here with us now, that’s how it would’ve played out. But I couldn’t lift myself out of bed back then, and the dumbass couldn’t keep himself inside. That jerk-off followed his hormones and he just had to go and do it without checking that all was clear. I warned him to play it safe, to make sure that everything was clean. I knew he wouldn’t listen though, and there was nothing I could do. “Yeah, sure,” he said, then he smiled at me, closed the door to our room and left me alone with my virus. Those were the last words I ever heard him say. 

The next time I saw him it was on TV. Bad, real bad. They showed the full raid on prime-time news. A raid! Yeah, I can smell your fear right now. I can see you sweating. A fucking raid. There must’ve been a dozen warning signs but Ron walked right into it blind.

I still remember exactly how I felt when I found out. It was a few hours after Ron left. My fever had gone down and I was thinking of going out after him. I switched the TV on for some noise—it was too quiet for comfort—and the news was on. I froze and nearly puked when I heard the reporter say, “We are broadcasting a live raid here from Svay Pak, Phnom Penh.” Ron was headed there. He had been eyeing a group of pointy-ears the night before, fresh from the provinces.

It’s our worst nightmare. I watched it unfold right there on the TV, and I couldn’t wake up because it was all real. I remember how the screen shook as the cameraman followed the policemen up the narrow wooden stairs to the “safe-rooms” behind the bar and restaurant. I remember the heavy pounding of their running feet, shit to them. They banged on the door twice then kicked it open. Ron got caught red-handed in the full glare of the lights. His eyes were large and white when he turned to face the camera. I can still see the shocked expression on his face. His scar stood out like a black shadow, and with his long hair plastered to his head with sweat and blood he looked like some kind of pirate. He was holding his favorite riding crop, the brown one—you remember it from Thailand, don’t you? Yeah, that one—he was holding his crop up in mid-stroke, about to bring it down again. He was licking blood off his other hand at the same time.

Everything stopped. I swear, no one moved and everything became quiet, like hitting the pause button except I could still hear the whimpers and the moans in the background. Then someone off-cam swore like a sailor and it was like a signal to act. The camera shook again, followed by more cursing, shouting, and crying. The screen blurred. I could hear Ron’s screams through it all. I heard breaking glass, falling furniture, and whacking. A lot of whacking.

When the TV cleared up, Ron was crouching on the floor. His hands were cuffed behind his back. Someone pulled his head by his hair and showed his face to the camera. One eye was half-closed, puffed, and it looked like his mouth and his ears were bleeding. A policeman spat in his face, and another kicked him and he fell and hit his head with a sick thud. “Let him know what it feels like to be on the other end of the stick,” someone said.

They panned to show the elves on the bed. There were five of them, two boys, three girls, naked as a brand new sunrise and fucking beautiful. Clearly our ‘types,’ all of them. Man, if Ron was reckless he made up for it with his energy. Terrific work. He’s the only one I knew who could do five at a time in one go, and then be ready for five more not an hour later. And he knew how to work them, work them hard and work them well. Ron did a great job. They were gorgeous.

Of course the damn cameraman played it up for all it was worth. Sensationalism rates, that’s the law of media in any country. He showed close-ups of their bare backs and chests, their tight butts, their legs, their faces. I loved the way they looked into the camera, the lights glowing in their wide eyes. The tear streaks on their faces were precious, and their sniffling and whimpers turned me on, in spite of everything. Ron had raised these lovely, long, criss-crossing welts all over their hard, tight, little bodies. So red with blood, so angry. I ran my hands over the TV screen and I could almost feel the bumps. Mmm.

This is how I think the story went down: our dumb friend leaves me and he forgets everything except for the fun he’s going to have. He heads straight for Svay Pak, probably pays the cabbie double to run the red lights and get him there quick. He has the cab stop right in front of the bar and he gets down. He doesn’t tell the driver to stop some blocks away so he can walk and check the area out like we’ve always done. Any news cars around? Anybody who may be watching the place? Hiding in the shadows? Nope. He just walks in all excited and big and goes directly to the boss and asks in a voice as loud as he is tall for the elves he met the night before.

The bosses, they never know anything either. It’s all money-money-money to them. They’re more reckless than Ron. If I was a boss...well, later. So Ron, he’s told to go out back to one of the rooms and to wait there, and he does. Then the boss brings in the elves. None of them know that it’s all a set-up. The news crew has been waiting, probably saw the whole thing from their unmarked van parked outside. Or maybe it’s their man inside who sees Ron walk in the bar, sees him talk to the boss, sees him go out back. Then he sends a signal—tips his hat or something while sitting by the window—the cops and the crew move in and it’s all over.

When Ron left me that night, I prayed hard that nothing would go wrong. The percentages were on our side, after all. What are the stats? Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, nothing happens, right? Ninety-nine times out of a hundred you’re left alone and you get to do what you want as long as you’ve got the cash. That’s my personal rule number two: always have enough cash, because if you’ve got enough you not only get to do what you want, but if something goes wrong, you can always pay your way out with no questions asked. No problemo. But there’s no way you can pay your way out of a live TV camera in your face. Not enough cash in the world for that.