John Locke - Lethal Experiment

In all, there were seven rules in Fuck Club, as Charlie called their group, and the four friends had agreed to follow all seven faithfully, on pain of death.

The first rule is you never talk about the plan, even to each other, because you never know who might overhear you. When your friends ask how was your weekend you always tell them the same thing: you struck out again. What do you care if your friends think you can’t get laid?

The second rule is you wait until she’s unconscious before removing her clothes. The last thing you want is to have to explain why she’s screaming if the sex is consensual.

The third rule is, undress her completely but carefully, paying attention to which buttons were buttoned and what was tucked in, and how. If she’s a little heavy and doesn’t button the top button of her jeans, she’ll know if someone else did. She might not remember if she had too much to drink and got in your van, but she will remember she had some tissue stuffing her bra that isn’t there when she gets undressed at home afterward.

Then you fold her clothes or lay them out to avoid wrinkles or stains. “Always remember,” Charlie had said, “without the dress stain, Monica was a liar, a slut, and a stalker. With it, she nearly brought down the President!” Afterward, you dress her carefully, replacing every item as it had been before you unwrapped the package.

The fourth rule is, use a condom. You don’t want any fluids turning up later. DNA evidence is hard to overcome if you’re on record denying you had sex with her. Of course, later on you can always just say you were trying to protect her reputation, or yours, and that the sex was consensual. But in that case you’re arguing after the fact, trying to play make-up. You’ve lost a measure of credibility and created doubt. It’s better not to be in this position in the first place.

The fifth rule is you remain calm at all times. Do her gently to avoid marks or abrasions typically associated with sexual assault. You never attempt oral or anal. Oral could choke her to death because the drug constricts her breathing, and anal is something she would figure out later on.

The sixth rule is you take no pictures, videos, souvenirs or evidence of any kind. Speaking of evidence, you leave none. This means, curb the saliva. No hickies, love bites or marks of any kind. No sense giving the cops or prosecuting attorney a gift-wrapped conviction.

The final rule is you never admit to anything. If the police bring all four of you into the station and isolate you in separate interrogation rooms, you never admit anything. If the cops threaten you or tell Charlie that Bickham is cutting a deal, Charlie knows it’s a lie because of rule number seven. Under no circumstances do you break rule number seven. As Charlie says, “Put your trust in the American system of justice and you’ll be fine, because the rules of evidence are flawed when it comes to date rape. If no one breaks any of the seven rules, none of us will ever be convicted.”

Also, as long as Charlie’s involved, you inherit his highpowered father as your legal safety net.

Of course, if anyone was likely to violate the rules it would be Charlie himself—and he’d already proved it tonight by ripping Callie’s blouse and getting his saliva all over her breast.

Bickham turned the van down the dirt road toward the wooded area owned by his grandfather, drove a few hundred yards before stopping, and extinguished the headlights. I passed their turnoff and went a mile further before turning into the dirt road I knew would eventually bring me a quarter mile from Bickham’s preferred banging area.

Bickham put his van in park and cut the engine. He pushed Charlie off of Callie. “Goddamn it, Charlie. Wait your fuckin’ turn!”

“Jesus Christ, Bickham, check out these tits!” he gushed. “She’s a fuckin’ ten, man!”

“No shit,” said Bickham. “Now help me get her in the back before I explode!”

The back of the van had a couple of layers of sleeping bags spread out, so the girls wouldn’t have marks on their backs afterward.

Charlie opened the passenger door, climbed out, and lowered the passenger seat to create easy access to the back of the van. He figured he’d reach under Callie’s arms and drag her back there. But as he leaned toward her, his face exploded.

In that small, enclosed area, the gun shot noise was deafening.

“Jesus!” screamed Bickham. He tried to scramble out the driver’s side, but lacked the clarity of focus.

“I’m so glad your friend liked my tits,” Callie said. “But I saved something really special for you!” She pointed the gun at his face.

Bickham threw his hands in the air, surrendering. “No, ma’am, please! Shit! I didn’t mean nuthin’, I swear! I swear to God I won’t bother you! Please, Jesus, just let me go. You can have the van. Just, oh Jesus, please don’t kill me! Please !”

She looked at his crotch. “Did you just wet yourself?” Christ, Bickham, you’re the guy who was supposed to protect me!

He put his hands in front of his face, turned his head away from her, whimpering. His voice reduced to a squeak, he pleaded again. “Please, ma’am. Please don’t kill me.”

“You know,” Callie said, “it never ceases to amaze me how much damage these pre-fragmented bullets can do at close range.”

She pointed the gun at his crotch, pulled the trigger. He screamed in pain, started convulsing. Callie slid out the open passenger door while Bickham flayed his arms about, sobbing hysterically. The impact of the shot had knocked Charlie’s body back about six feet. She dragged it around to the front of the van and kicked until it was concealed beneath the fender.

The gorgeous blond with the wild tattoo and the dark brown eyes climbed back in the van and watched Bickham’s medical condition deteriorate until she saw headlights approaching from the dirt road behind the van.

“Sorry, lover boy. I’d love to stay and party with you some more, ‘cos really, you’re everything I look for in a man. Especially now that you’ve shit your pants! I can’t speak for the other girls, but that’s a real turn-on for me. Unfortunately, I’ve got to mingle, greet my other guests. You know how it is when you’re the one throwing the surprise party.”

She put a quick one in his left eye and stuffed him as far as she could into the floorboard. She climbed into the back of the van and opened the door about an inch.

The first rule of being a good hostess is knowing how to dress for the occasion. Callie had to decide how much skin to show the boys. George and Robbie were expecting to see her naked, so she had to show something. On the other hand, she was in no mood to show them everything. Her blouse was already torn open, so that was good. She made a mental note to collect the buttons later.

To honor Charlie, she lifted her bra, exposed her breasts in the manner he seemed to favor, and slipped off her jeans. She considered sliding them down to her ankles, but decided that might hinder her ability to move quickly in the event she miscalculated the situation. Anyway, showing boobs and panties ought to be enough for these pups. She lay on her back, knees bent, and spread her legs toward the back door of the van. Her left arm lay lifeless, her eyes half-closed. By her side, her jacket covered the gun in her right hand.

Moments later Robbie brought his car to a stop behind the van. The two boys stubbed out their weed.

George laughed. “Let’s mess with ‘em. Turn your lights back on.” Robbie did, and the boys noticed the back door of the van was ajar. They got out of the car and tentatively approached, trying not to giggle too loudly. Robbie tapped on the door.

“Yoo Hoo!” he said, “anybody home?”

George peeked first. “Oh my God,” he squealed. “Check this out!”

He flung the door wide open so Robbie could see. George was starting to say, “What’s that smell?” when the blond bolted up and fired twice.

George was dead before he hit the ground. Robbie was alive, but his chest wound was going to be a problem.

Callie put her outfit together, collected her belongings, and wiped the interior of the van clean. Then she walked over and sat next to Robbie.

“Wh-what are you d-doing?” he managed to say.

“Sitting here, watching you bleed out,” she said.

“W-why?”

“For the fun of it.”

She turned at the sound behind her.

“Hey Donovan, nice explosion,” she said.

I surveyed the carnage. “Jesus, Callie.”

“I know, I know,” she said. She shrugged. “What can I say? Sometimes it’s personal.”

I walked over to the kid they called Robbie, saw him gasping, eyes bugged out, silently mouthing words no one would ever hear. I placed a round into the boy’s head to end his suffering, and gave Callie a look.

“I owe you,” I said.

“If you really feel that way,” she said, “there’s something I want you to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Come to Vegas with me.”

Chapter 15

E xcuse me ? I thought. Did Callie just ask me to come with her to Vegas ?

Even sitting there on the ground with her blouse torn and her torso covered in blood spray, Callie was hotter than a habanero. To any other man her invitation would have sounded like a dream come true. But I knew her well enough to know that whatever this was about, it wasn’t about us hooking up. In earlier times I’d taken my best shots to bed her and struck out every time.

Still, a little clarification wouldn’t hurt.

“I’m with Kathleen now,” I said. “I thought you knew.”

Callie laughed and said, “Jesus, Donovan, get a grip!”

“Okay,” I said. “I was just making sure.”

“You have any idea how old you are?”

“I got it, Callie, it’s a platonic trip. I get the picture.”

“Old enough to be my father, you sick degenerate.”

“I’m fourteen years older than you. Period.

“In dog years, maybe.”

I sighed. “When do you want to go?”

“How’s Wednesday sound?”

“I’ve got a meeting in Newark Wednesday morning, eight-thirty. I can meet you at the airport there around ten.”

“Same Fixed Base Operator as last time?”

“Same FBO, different jet.”

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” she said, “with bells on.”

“Try getting bells through civilian security these days,” I said.

“I appreciate it, Donovan.”

I nodded.

She stood and said, “Bickham’s in the driver’s seat, Charlie’s under the front wheel, right side, these two you’ve seen. We done here?”

I handed Callie a small flashlight.

“Can you hold this on the dash for me?” I said.

Through the driver’s window, she focused enough light for me to work. I took a small plastic baggie out of my pocket and leaned into the van through the passenger seat door. I took some fingerprint tape out of the baggie and transferred several partials onto the dashboard and a perfect palm print for the side of the seat that Charlie had lowered. Then I took three strands of blond hair from the bag and put one on the seat, one on the floor, and one on the sleeve of Bickham’s shirt, near the cuff .

“You left the shells where they landed, right?” I said, going through my mental checklist.

Callie didn’t bother to answer. She was the consummate pro.

I looked around a bit longer, making sure I didn’t miss anything. I put the plastic baggie back in my pocket and took two gallon-sized plastic bags out of my duffel bag.