"The Madam of Suburbia" Chapter 2

(Part one can be found here.)

Chapter 2 - The Favor

I wake up groggy as fuck like I drank a whole fifth of whiskey last night. I look down to see my hands are handcuffed to a steel table that is in the middle of a concrete room with a thick steel door in front of me. I sit there as sweat beads off my forehead as I begin to wonder whose cereal did I shit in last night to end up here. I know this isn't a police station because there's no two-way mirrors in this room or even a camera. If this is Hell, they could at least have thrown in a TV or something. Either way, someone really doesn't want me to leave.

A minute later, her voice echoes out, "Morning, Ronnie."

"Morning, Madam," I reply as I fight back the urge to throw up across the table. I shudder as cold sweat runs down my back because her voice alone makes my skin fucking crawl.

"If you promise to behave, I'll have my servants release you so you can join me for breakfast."

"I'll behave," I say even though the thought of eating with this succubus is making my stomach flip around like a fish on the summer sidewalk.

"Good because I don't want to flip a switch to end your life in this drab room," she giggles.

I begin to think if someone recorded Satan himself giggling, it would sound like Madam. I also wonder what she means by ending my life, but quickly stop when I glance at the ceiling. My hands tremble as I see above my head is a shaft in the ceiling that goes up about fifty feet. I swallow back the bile in my throat as I see at the top of the shaft is a steel cage completely covered in very long, sharp steel spikes pointing downwards. If she did drop that, the walls would be painted in my blood, and my body would fit nicely inside a trash bag. I wish I could see her face so I can look into the eyes of this sick, twisted bitch that plays with people like they're a toy.

The door opens, and a nervous, lanky man walks in. His black hair is unruly, and his navy suit is wrinkled. As I look into his brown eyes, he starts shaking as he approaches me. He pulls a key out of his pants, and fiddles with the handcuffs as his hands tremble. I chuckle as I feel like Madam sent her accountant in instead of one of her guards. As he finally unlocks my cuffs, he rushes for the door while I rub my wrist. I can't help but laugh as he almost screams when I stand up.

"Break..fast...is...served," he stutters before vanishing behind the door

"Okay," I reply even though I so want to mess with him, but after seeing that shaft, I'm going to do what I'm told without saying a word. I'm in the den of a fucking cobra, and I'm not going to piss her off. A minute later, he wheels in a cart with a covered, silver tray on top of it along with a pitcher of orange juice. I smile as he sets the tray in front of me because I mostly get my meals served in a paper bag. I lift up the tray to see I'm being served steak, eggs, and lobster for breakfast which is a far cry from the shitty egg sandwiches I get through whatever drive-thru I stumble across. I begin to laugh considering the room I'm in, this might be my last meal.

"Enjoy," he says before almost running into the door, and slamming it shut behind him.

I sit there and poke at the eggs with my fork as I honestly think this is the last thing I'll ever eat. I watch the yolks run over the home fries imaging it's my blood as I can't stop focusing on the spikes over my head. Then again, knowing what little I do know, if she wanted to kill me, she wouldn't waste it with such expensive food. So, I pick up the knife, and begin digging into the steak.

"Figured you were hungry. Everything to your satisfaction, Ronnie?"

I swallow before replying, "Yes, Madam."

"Now, you can keep on eating as I explain the purpose of this meeting," she states. "Ever hear of the drug called tantrix?"

"That's my best seller," I say. I tried it once, and the best way to describe the feeling is you're having an eight-hour orgasm. I laid in bed until it wore off, but I had the biggest grin on my face as my body was filled with pleasure during that time. The downside is when the drug begins to wear off, you're hornier than a teenage boy, but a wave of paranoia and hallucinations kick in to the point you won't leave your room for the next hour. In other words, you want to fuck anything with a pulse, but your mind is fucking you up that you're afraid to move. I never touched the stuff ever again because of the after affects. It was like having the best sex ever only to be smashed in my balls for the next hour.

"Well, I need a favor," she pleas. "I need you to go down to Curva, Florida to sell a new version of it. Will you do it that for me, pretty please?"

I honestly thought I was down with this psycho, but it seems you cross paths once with her, your soul belongs to her. Now, I'm doing a favor in exchange for my life. I look at the spikes once more and simply ask, "When do I leave?"

"In about an hour. So, finish your meal, and I'll have someone come for you."

"I have one request."

"What's that, Ronnie?"

"No black hood," I reply. I'm tired of waking up in a room with no clue how I got there. That shit is getting old.

"I'll see what I can do," she giggles

"Thank you, Madam."

The intercom goes silent as I do my best to finish my meal. I don't know why she's shipping me from California all the way to Florida. I almost wanted to ask if the old fuckers were tired of shuffleboard and Viagra. I almost find it too ironic that I'm going to the state where most people go to die. However, when the devil has your number, you go where she sends you and hope she doesn't blow out your brains before you can answer the call. My life has slide into a pool of shit, and there's no way to climb out. I guess I'll sell the pills and do my best to stay alive.

As I finish the last of the orange juice, I feel something sting me in the ass, like a bee stung me through my jeans. I get up, and see a needle sticking out of the seat. "Not this fucking bullshit!" I shout before everything goes black.

"The Madam of Suburbia" Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Does contain foul language and drug references. 

Chapter 1 – Madam

My entire life has been nothing more than a drug-fueled orgy of chaos and anarchy encircled by the fires of Hell. There was no calm before the storm because I was thrown into a tempest of shit, and the winds are still blowing harder than ever before. The motto that life has carved into my thick fucking skull is make them bleed before you do. In other words, if I'm enjoying peace and quiet, I'm six feet under the fucking dirt with a bullet in my head.

I know I could have escaped so many times, but it would be like a nymphomaniac, millionaire playboy with a pocket full of Viagra trying to leave the whorehouse. I enjoy waking up not knowing where I will be, who or what I've done, and wonder whose blood is on my hands.  Besides, after the crazy shit my body has survived, there's no way I can put on a suit and join the normal, boring adult society. Besides, when my rap sheets reads like an encyclopedia of things you do to break every state law, no many places will hire you. I can imagine some would end up using my resume to wipe their candy asses.

However, the call I got this morning has really put the brakes on the disorder rollercoaster really fucking quick. I was asleep on some stranger's couch when my phone goes off. I glance at the number and let it going to voicemail when I recognize it's not my PO or my dealer calling. Besides, with my throat as dry as a desert, I realize I'm too hungover to talk to anyone.

            I pull myself off the couch since some asshole decides that calling me before noon is such a great idea. I rub my hands through my blue hair as I try to figure out where I’m at. I see my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, and notice my green eyes are bloodshot. I must have had a wild time last night because I can’t remember anything. I’m happy to see my clothes, boots, and wallet are neatly stacked at the end of the couch.

A minute later, the same number calls back. I ignore it once again, but within seconds, my phone is going off again. Annoyed that someone is disturbing my attempt to sleep off last night's partying, I answer it with this cheerful greeting, "What the fuck you want?"

"Now, that isn't a very nice greeting, Ronnie," says the caller.

I almost drop the phone when I hear her voice as sweat explodes out of my palms like a burst dam. The one that is called Madam has my number, and is calling me directly. I only had to deal with her once, and I fucking shitted myself after I left that creepy meeting even though I never saw her. I begin to wonder how much I fucked up last night to hear her voice this morning. I also wonder how much longer I got to live. I stutter out as my hands start shaking as well because I know I'm a dead fucking man, "I apologize, Madam."

"Good. Now, I got a proposition for you. My driver will be there in five minutes. Be a good boy, and answer your door when he knocks."

"Yes, Madam," I reply as she ends the call. I toss my phone onto the couch and light up a joint. I begin to think as my entire body still shivers that I was done with her, but the rumor is true: if you ever owe her at all, she owns your soul. In other words, your debt is never paid in full until you're dead. I quietly hope that today's meeting isn't my last one. Either way, the fact she wants to meet means it's not going to be a good fucking day.

As I slowly get stoned in hopes to calm my nerves, I begin to recall my original encounter with Madam. It was my first time selling cocaine after years of selling weed and pills. I never dealt with the hard stuff, but when rich men want coke instead of weed, I had no choice. I was barely making $500 a week, and they were willing to spend thousands. So, I decided it was time to expand my inventory. I was able to get a kilo from my weed supplier, and set up shop near the downtown district.

After my first week, I had easily $100,000 in my pocket and new clients with limitless funds. When I tried to get more, I was told that Madam wasn't happy, and he was leaving town for good. I tried to find out about Madam, but no one would say a word. So, with my only source of cocaine tapped out, I decided to find another supplier. I wasn't going to let some bitch stop my business. Needless to say, I couldn't find one. Whenever I asked, all I was told was Madam said no more.

Around midnight, there was a knock on my door. When I answered, a black hood was thrown over my head, and I was knocked out with a taser. When I regain conscious, I found myself in a steel folding chair in the middle of an abandon building. The only thing in front of me was two goons armed with AK-47's standing in front of a big, black tarp. Behind it, a woman spoke telling me bluntly that if I wanted to sell anything besides weed and pills, I will have to go through her, or I'll end up like one of my buyers. I looked up, and saw him hanging upside from the rafters with fifty knives stuck in his torso like a sadistic voodoo doll. She agreed to let me walk away, but I had to give her $100,000 and never sell anything besides hemp. I quickly agreed, and got the fuck out of there.

I almost shit myself as there's a knock on the door. I toss on my black work boots, and head to the door. Outside is a stocky man in a cheap navy suit holding a black hood. Behind him is a windowless, black van.

"I'll wear the hood, but don't fucking taze me," I say.

"We won't do that," replies the man. "Madam wants you to enjoy the ride."

 As I step out the door, another goon grabs me from behind. I try to fight back, but feel a slight sting in my neck. The last thing I remember as I pass out is the black hood being thrown over my head.