Poon for five months and even that was just a quick handshake.
Poon didn’t micro-manage.
He delegated and t hen disappeared.
Friday night was the big one at Ra , t he party night.
Kong got there early, an hour before the club opened.
Good thing, too.
Problems were already in the making.
SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT, something unexpected happened. Jack Poon showed up, in the flesh. That by itself would have provided cause to take notice. To add to the spectacle, however, his slender frame was sandwiched between two women, both western, both blond, both a good six inches taller than him, both drop-dead gorgeous.
Everyone in the club stared.
Most didn’t know who he was, at least by sight , b ut everyone knew one thing—he had deep pockets , l ots and lots of deep pockets.
For that reason alone, people parted as he walked.
Kong hustled his way over t o see if the man needed liquor or a roped-off booth or pri vate room to screw his lovelies or w hatever.
“Actually, I swung by to talk to you,” Poon said. “Remember that new plan that I was going to work on?”
Kong remembered and nodded.
“Well, I think I came up with something.” He slapped Kong on the back and said, “You’re going to be in awe. It makes that airplane thing look like a day at the zoo.”
Kong swallowed, b oth excited and repulsed.
“No parachutes, right?” he asked.
Poon grinned and said, “You’re too much.” Then he handed one of the blonds to him and said, “This one’s for you. Let’s sit down somewhere and have a drink.”
THEY ENDED UP IN THE HOSTESS ROOM, Twisted, at the booth in the back corner. Poon ordered six women, shoved money in their crotches and got them drunk. Then he positioned them as a visual wall around the perimeter of the table and motioned for the blonds to get underneath.
They did.
Kong felt his zipper slide down.
Poon cocked his head and said, “The rules are simple. Keep your hands on the table. The first one who comes is the loser.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Day Five—August 7
Friday Night
______________
TWO MINUTES AFTER the artist said “Two minutes,” the vehicle came to a stop and the engine shut off. Prarie reached up to uncover her eyes when a vice-like hand wrapped around her wrist and brought it down.
“Leave the blindfolds on until we get inside.”
“Why?”
“Just humor me,” he said. “It’s only a few more minutes.”
He led them out of the car and through a door.
“Okay, you can take them off,” he said.
Prarie expected to be in a studio, standing in the midst of paintings. But she was in a dark industrial warehouse, mostly empty and gutted, but with scattered silhouettes of ancient machinery here and there. Two sturdy wooden chairs sat on the concrete in front of her. Each had rope tied on the arms and legs, where a person’s wrists and ankles would be. The man looked at Emmanuelle first, then Prarie, and said, “You are very stupid ladies.”
Suddenly a second person grabbed Emmanuelle from behind.
It was a man , a strong man.
She screamed.
The scream stopped when the man brought a cloth to her mouth and pulled it against her face.
She struggled violently.
It did no good.
Then she dropped to the ground.
AT THE SAME TIME someone g rabbed Prarie from behind, a third man.
A terrible saturated cloth came to her mouth.
Her first instinct was to grab the man’s hand and pull it off, but she couldn’t. Then she dropped straight down, slithered out from under his arms and rolled when she hit the ground. Something was there next to her—Emmanuelle’s purse.
The man came at her as a cat would a mouse , slowly , e njoying the anticipation.
“So, you want to play?” he said.
Before she knew it, the gun was in her hand.
The man by Emmanuelle saw it and charged with a knife.
Fast.
With obvious intent.
She fired.
Bam!
Bam!.
He dropped to the ground, twitched, gurgled and then stopped moving.
The other man came at her.
The cat.
She
Poon didn’t micro-manage.
He delegated and t hen disappeared.
Friday night was the big one at Ra , t he party night.
Kong got there early, an hour before the club opened.
Good thing, too.
Problems were already in the making.
SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT, something unexpected happened. Jack Poon showed up, in the flesh. That by itself would have provided cause to take notice. To add to the spectacle, however, his slender frame was sandwiched between two women, both western, both blond, both a good six inches taller than him, both drop-dead gorgeous.
Everyone in the club stared.
Most didn’t know who he was, at least by sight , b ut everyone knew one thing—he had deep pockets , l ots and lots of deep pockets.
For that reason alone, people parted as he walked.
Kong hustled his way over t o see if the man needed liquor or a roped-off booth or pri vate room to screw his lovelies or w hatever.
“Actually, I swung by to talk to you,” Poon said. “Remember that new plan that I was going to work on?”
Kong remembered and nodded.
“Well, I think I came up with something.” He slapped Kong on the back and said, “You’re going to be in awe. It makes that airplane thing look like a day at the zoo.”
Kong swallowed, b oth excited and repulsed.
“No parachutes, right?” he asked.
Poon grinned and said, “You’re too much.” Then he handed one of the blonds to him and said, “This one’s for you. Let’s sit down somewhere and have a drink.”
THEY ENDED UP IN THE HOSTESS ROOM, Twisted, at the booth in the back corner. Poon ordered six women, shoved money in their crotches and got them drunk. Then he positioned them as a visual wall around the perimeter of the table and motioned for the blonds to get underneath.
They did.
Kong felt his zipper slide down.
Poon cocked his head and said, “The rules are simple. Keep your hands on the table. The first one who comes is the loser.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Day Five—August 7
Friday Night
______________
TWO MINUTES AFTER the artist said “Two minutes,” the vehicle came to a stop and the engine shut off. Prarie reached up to uncover her eyes when a vice-like hand wrapped around her wrist and brought it down.
“Leave the blindfolds on until we get inside.”
“Why?”
“Just humor me,” he said. “It’s only a few more minutes.”
He led them out of the car and through a door.
“Okay, you can take them off,” he said.
Prarie expected to be in a studio, standing in the midst of paintings. But she was in a dark industrial warehouse, mostly empty and gutted, but with scattered silhouettes of ancient machinery here and there. Two sturdy wooden chairs sat on the concrete in front of her. Each had rope tied on the arms and legs, where a person’s wrists and ankles would be. The man looked at Emmanuelle first, then Prarie, and said, “You are very stupid ladies.”
Suddenly a second person grabbed Emmanuelle from behind.
It was a man , a strong man.
She screamed.
The scream stopped when the man brought a cloth to her mouth and pulled it against her face.
She struggled violently.
It did no good.
Then she dropped to the ground.
AT THE SAME TIME someone g rabbed Prarie from behind, a third man.
A terrible saturated cloth came to her mouth.
Her first instinct was to grab the man’s hand and pull it off, but she couldn’t. Then she dropped straight down, slithered out from under his arms and rolled when she hit the ground. Something was there next to her—Emmanuelle’s purse.
The man came at her as a cat would a mouse , slowly , e njoying the anticipation.
“So, you want to play?” he said.
Before she knew it, the gun was in her hand.
The man by Emmanuelle saw it and charged with a knife.
Fast.
With obvious intent.
She fired.
Bam!
Bam!.
He dropped to the ground, twitched, gurgled and then stopped moving.
The other man came at her.
The cat.
She
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