New Title 1 (14 page)

SMACK!

The second blow was harder. Dare stumbled, dizzy, as he rose from the floor. “You’re going to the hospital now, bitch.”

Melinda knew she shouldn’t be doing this, she could blow her cover. But even she had her limitations for abuse. As Dare rose, she did a quick spin, then sunk a perfectly executed karate kick into his belly. Dare bent over, groaning like a just-gelded walrus. And when he looked up—

THWACK!

—she drove an equally perfect palm-heel right into his face. His nose broke with a crunch. Dare mewled and went down again.

“You wanna fuck with me, Wonder Boy? Come on. I’m waiting.”

This was just too much fun. Dare teetered up again, his nose leaking blood, his eyes crossed. He launched a misguided fist, which Melinda ducked effortlessly. She spun again and had him in an armbar—a
real
armbar—then hurled him into the wall. He came at her again only to receive yet another karate kick, this one to the right cheek—THWACK!—then another to the left—THWACK!—which sent a tooth flying across the room. Lastly, and she figured appropriately too, she jumped, turned, and twisted in mid-air, and drop-kicked the invincible Wonder Boy square in the chest. Dare sailed across the room, cleared the dresser, and crashed to the floor.

Melinda paused to fix her hair in the mirror. Dare sidled over, moaning.

“Want more, Wonder Boy?”

“No,” Slick Dare groaned, his mouth gushing blood.

She knelt down in front of him, grabbed his white-blond hair and twisted. “I’m tired of fucking around with you goddamn wrestlers. I want information, and you’re gonna give it to me.”

His eyes crossed as he peered at her. He spat out another tooth. “Information. What the hell… You’re a ringrat.”

“No I’m not, hammerhead. All you need to know is that I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer them. Then I’m going to leave and you’re not going to say a word about it, right?”

Dare very unwisely paused, so she pressed her thumb into the middle of his broken nose. Dare howled.

“This is crazy, I’ll have you arrested!” he’d bloodily objected.

“No, asshole, you want crazy, this is crazy,” she corrected him, then quickly grabbed his hand and—crack!—broke his pinkie. Dare barked in pain. “And this?” she said. “This you might want to call
real
crazy,” and with that she wrapped her long sleek legs around his neck and squeezed on a head-scissors.

A
real
head-scissors.

She lay back laughing as he flipped and flopped, her thighs pressuring down against his trachea. “I want to know about Goon, so start talking.”

Dare palms slapped the carpet until she took the scissors off. When he could move, he desperately slid his butt into the corner of the room. “Please, no more…”

“Tell me about Goon.”

His face screwed up in utter incomprehension. “Goon? He’s just a heel. I don’t know nothing about him, nobody does.”

“You can do better than that,” Melinda encouraged him, then hauled him belly-down onto the floor, straddled his back, and treated him to a chin-lock—a
real
chin lock.

He bucked under her, growling in pain. This was supposed to be business, not pleasure; nevertheless, Melinda’s vagina throbbed like a pent-up cock, seeping through her devil-red panties. The violence just…turned her on so much. She couldn’t help it. Her nipples distended like sparkplug ends, and her entire body seemed to swell in prickly heat.
Don’t kill the asshole,
she had to remind herself. When she climbed off, Dare went slack. She nudged his head with her foot. “I’m waiting, Slickie. Tell me about Goon, or I’ll wear your ass out.”

“Goon,” he mumbled, bloodying the carpet. “What the hell do you want to know about him for?”

“Don’t piss me off unless you want a sleeper hold—a
real
sleeper hold.”

He flopped over, his face like a busted cherry pie. “I— Jesus. Goon? Shit, nobody knows much about him. He’s a flake. Nobody’s ever even seen him without his mask on. I—I don’t know anything about him…”

Melinda shrugged, her bare breasts surging. “I need to see him, where does he stay? Quick or it’s Sleeper time.”

“No!” Dare pleaded, red spittle flying. “Goon, Goon, let me think— Shit! What do you want to know?”

“I want to know where he and Felander stay.”

“A-a mobile home! He stays in a mobile home! His manager drives him to the arenas.”

“Yeah, Felander, and the Winnebago. I know that, Slickie. But where?”

Dare picked his terrified brain for answers. He looked a sight now: his white-blond hair sticking up in spikes, his bald-spot showing. And that big deflated dick laying limp in his groin like a rubber full of pudding.

Then he began to cry.

He began to blubber like a baby in this total defeat. The 12-time heavyweight champ had met his match. “Please don’t hurt me anymore!” he blubbered. “Please don’t! I got no idea—”

Melinda pinched his cheeks together. “When you first came to DSWC, Felander was your manager. Shortly thereafter, he picked up Goon too.”

“Yeah, yeah, but Felander dropped me a few weeks later,” Dare struggled to explain. “He dropped Ghoula and Rod Stimmons and all of his heels. He just wanted to concentrate on Goon, I guess. It didn’t make sense.”

“Some things don’t. But for the short time Felander was carrying you and Goon, what did they do? Where did they go between cards?”

Dare was sobbing openly now, a 243-pound bronze baby. If he was wearing diaper, he’d have shit in them. “Honest to God—I don’t know!”

“I guess we’ll skip the sleeper and get right into the figure-four, huh?”

“Noooooo!” Dare sobbed.

“Maybe if I broke your legs, you’d want to talk a little more.” Melinda got up. This was such a charge: seeing the Wonder Boy cry and beg and plead. Just the thought of punching him up or cracking those sturdy shins like broomsticks made her so wet she was dripping in her panties.

“I think Goon’s in trouble with the law,” she explained. “That’s why Felander keeps him out of the circuit motels and drives him to the cards in the mobile home. He’s hiding Goon. But there’s an oddity about Goon that I’ve discovered. At least once a week, he has to…go someplace. There’s something he needs that has to be kept hidden, and Felander has to take him to this place on a regular basis.”

Dare wept into his hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What place?”

“I don’t know, it’s just some inconspicuous location. When you were still with Felander just after he picked up Goon, did you stay in the mobile home too?”

“Fuck no,” Dare responded. “I gotta quarter-million-house in Charlotte. I stay in the motels during the cards, and I drive my red Corvette to the arenas. I’m successful. I’m a licensed pilot. I own a string of gyms. I don’t need to shack up in some goddamn Winnebago to save money.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve never been in Felander’s mobile home.”

“No, I—” Dare’s sobs hitched down a moment. “Well, there was one time—”

“Good boy. Now we’re cooking.” Melinda smiled down on him. “So you’ve been in the Winnebago. Did you go in the back, where Goon stays?”

“No, no, I rode up front with Felander. My car broke down at the Waynesville Coliseum, so Felander agreed to drive me to the next town, said I could sleep in the front seat. Anyway, I got shitfaced after the match like I always do, and I passed out while Felander was driving. It was real late, and we had to be in Roanoke the next day.”

Melinda placed her foot on Dare’s limp dick and scrotum, threatened to pop his balls like eggs. “Keep going.”

“And-and we stopped somewhere, in the middle of the night.”

“Um-hmm. Good. Now…where did you stop?”

More blubbering now. “I don’t know. I was passed out. All I remember is waking up in the front seat. The Winnebago was parked, and Felander wasn’t there.”

“Where. Did you. Stop?”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember, I swear to God!”

Melinda slumped. “You can’t remember? Well then I guess we’ll just have to find a way to improve your memory.”

“NO!” Dare screamed.

Melinda couldn’t resist. Her feminine muscles flexed as she stepped over him and grabbed his ankles. “NO! NO! NO!” Dare bellowed on. Then she deftly applied the submission hold that Dare himself had made infamous: the figure-four leglock. She locked her legs up in his, then fell over onto her side, pulling up on Dare’s crossed ankles as he howled in mindless pain.

“Remember anything yet?” she asked.

“Aw Jesus Christ please stop!”

“I’ll break ‘em, Slickie. I’ll snap ‘em like popcicle sticks. Don’t believe me?”

She hauled up harder on his locked ankles, pressuring his shins very close to the point of fracture.

“Pluh-pluh-please don’t break my legs!”

Melinda’s sex felt like a hotpot full of steamy stew. When she flexed her legs to keep on the pressure, she nearly came. “If I break your legs, you’ll probably never be able to wrestle again, Slickie. Then you’d have to get a real life. We can’t have that now, can we?”

Again she hefted up, and again, Dare wailed, pounding his palms into the floor.

“Where was this place?”

“Wait! Wait! It was a—”

Melinda let up. “It was a what?”

“Ug-guh-guh…”

“Ug-guh-guh what?”

“A garage!” Dare finally wailed.

A garage?
That would make sense. A garage would be isolated enough. She let up off his ankles some more. “You mean a garage on someone’s house? Felander’s house? Where does Felander live?”

“Aw, shit, I don’t know, but, no, it wasn’t that kind of a garage. It was— It was—”

“Don’t jerk me around, Slick.” She gave another twist—Dare barked.

“A storage garage! Now I remember! It was one of those places where you rent storage space! A bunch of garages!”

This too made sense, much more than a garage at someone’s house. A house was easier to trace…

“Keep talking.”

“I woke up in the passenger seat,” Dare yammered. “It was real late. Felander wasn’t in the Winnebago. I looked out the windshield and saw that we were parked in front of a long row of these storage garage things. The bay right in front was open, and could see a light on. A couple minutes later Goon walks out, gets in the back and that’s it. Then Felander comes out too, closes the garage door and puts a padlock on it. Then he gets back in a drives away. I ask him where we’re at, and he mumbles something about having to stop at this storage place to check some contracts or some shit.”

“And what happened then?”

“I went back to sleep. The next morning I wake up and we’re in Roanoke. Felander drops me off at the motor lodge, I call Triple-A, and get my car fixed, and that’s that, no big deal. Couple days later Felander drops me. I tell him he’s out of his mind if he thinks he’s gonna make more money off Goon than me, but he doesn’t care, and neither did I really. Couple times since then I’ve wrestled Goon. The work is always the same: he kicks the shit out of me, tries to attack me with a chair or a bat, then I come back and take him out.” Only now was Dare simmering down, the waterworks shut off, his blood drying. “So that’s the scoop on Goon. That’s all I know. He’s a great heel, he can take punishment like no one I’ve ever seen. The big promotions have offered him high-six-figure contracts a bunch of times, but he always turns them down. Shit, wrestling’s my life, I’d do anything to be back in the bigtime. Only reason I’m here is because DSWC is the only conference that’ll take me. But this fucker Goon’s turning down big money with WWF and WCW. It’s almost like the guy wants to stay smalltime.”

“He does, Slickie, he
wants
to stay here,” Melinda informed him. She unwrapped her legs, released the lock, thinking. “It’s the safest way for him to go on. The big promotions wrestle all over the country, a different big city every night. But Goon knows he has to stay low, he can’t risk the kind of exposure he’d get in WWF or WCW.”

Dare blinked, shaking out of his pain. “Why?”

“Shut up,” she griped and shoved him away. “You’re not off the hook yet, grandpa. There’s still one more question you gotta answer, and I don’t have any more time to play games.” Melinda got up, unzipped her purse, and pulled out a—