"The Madam of Suburbia" Chapter 3

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Welcome to Curva

I wake up like a fucking semi ran over me as every joint in my body is stiffer than an old man in a strip club popping Viagra like it's candy. I look around to find myself once again on some stranger's couch in another shitty apartment with zero memory of how I got here. I pull myself off the couch, and rub my hands across my aching head as I try to remember anything. As I see the black hood on the coffee table, I begin my anger rise as I call that heartless demon every cuss word I can think of. I don't know where the fuck Madam has put me, but I pray this is the last damn time I feel like this after dealing with that fucking bitch.

I glance up, and see someone completely covered in black clothing sitting at the dining room table, their hand concealing something on the table. I stare at the black helmet covering their entire face wondering why they are here, and the reason for concealing their body in a thick, black jumpsuit, gloves, and tall pair of black rubber boots. The jumpsuit is so padded I can't tell if it's a woman or a man sitting there. I do sweat a little when they move their hand to reveal a pistol on the table.

"About time you woke up,” they say in a robotic tone.

“Fuck you," I reply as I try to find my cigarettes and my phone. I don't give two shits they're armed. I want a smoke before dealing with this bullshit.

"Well, good fucking morning to you as well," they reply as it's obvious they're using something to hide their real voice.

 "Where am I?" I ask as I toss my boots angrily because I can't find any of my shit, especially my smokes.

 "Have a seat next to me, and I'll explain everything," they say as they pull out a pack of smokes from their pocket and toss it my way.

"Before I sit down, who the fuck are you?" I bitterly ask as I rip into the pack, and pull out a cigarette. I feel in my pockets, and smile as I feel a lighter in there. I pull it out, and light up. I take a long drag before adding," Also, where the hell am I?"

      "All you need to know is you're in Curva, Florida. My name isn't important, but you can call me Blue."

      I take a seat next to Blue, and bite down on the filter as I do my best to stay quiet. The secrecy I'm dealing with is total bullshit. Most of the drug cartels aren't this much smoke and mirrors. This one is nothing but code names and black hoods like they're more paranoid than a kid getting high for the first time. I'm starting to think Area 51 has less security protocols than Madam's entire organization. All I hope is after this meeting, the black hood stays right there on the fucking table.

"So, what am I doing in Florida?"

"Whatever the fuck we need you to do," Blue replies. "Now, sit down, and shut the fuck up."

I slowly puff on my cigarette as I watch Blue cock the pistol. Whoever this Blue person is, I sense they're the type that would put a bullet between your eyes instead of dealing with your insubordination.

"Right now, your old life is over. All your personal belongs are in a safe location, but far as anyone is concerned, Ronnie is dead.

I almost make a smartass comment, but if I do, I feel I'll become dead, literally and not figuratively. So, I do the smartest thing and stay silent while lightning up another cigarette.

"In the bedroom is a duffel bag with a week's worth of clothing, keys to this apartment, a set of car keys for the car parked out front, $1,000 cash, your new ID, a pistol, and a burner phone," Blue explains. "Tomorrow at 9am, you'll get a text. Call the number in the text, and wait for instructions. Think you can handle that, asshole?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now, I got more shit to deal with. If I have to come back here, I'll be putting the bullet into your thick fucking skull myself. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Enjoy your new life in Florida."

With that, Blue leaves the apartment. I sit there finishing my cigarette trying to figure out how much I fucked up agreeing to Madam's proposal. I also begin to wonder what my new name. I finish my cigarette and head into the bedroom. I open the duffel bag, and find an envelope on top of clothes. I open it and find the cash and my new ID cards. My new name is now Bryan James Walker. I'm not sure if this was random, or whoever forged them has a sick sense of humor. Far as anyone is concerned, I'm James. I also find a flip phone inside. I turn it on, and see there's a text waiting for me from a blocked number. All it says is welcome to the family. I toss it back into the duffel bag, and head back into the living room. As I'm about to sit down on the couch, the phone goes off. I rush back into the bedroom, and answer it.

"I see you made to Florida okay," Madam says.

"Yes, Madam."

"Good. Oh, little tip. Next time you upset Blue that badly, your ass is mine."

"Yes, Madam," I reply as I picture the voodoo doll buyer hanging from the rafters. I moved over 3,000 miles from California, and she still scares the shit of me.

"Now, enjoy the day off. Remember, 9am."

"Yes, Madam."

With that, the call goes dead as I turn the damn thing off. Between dealing with Blue, and now the call from Madam, I decide the hell with it, and plan on spending today getting drunk. I don't give a fuck it's not even noon, but today is already a real shitfest. I wonder if they were kind of enough to stock some as a sort of housewarming gift. I head into the kitchen, and see a whole fifth of whiskey next to the fridge. Since I'm not need until 9am tomorrow, I crack it open, and take a big swig. I smile as I feel its warmth slowly beginning its magic of wiping away today. I take another swig and begin to think maybe I should explore the area a little bit. This is a new state I'm living in, so might as well play tourist for the day.

I put the whiskey down, and head back into the bed room. I spend the next thirty minutes unpacking the duffel bag. After hiding the pistol under the mattress, I throw on some clothes. I take $100 and my new driver's license, I grab the car keys and head back to the front door. When I get to the door, I stop and toss the car keys onto the table. If I'm going to explore, best to do it on foot. The last thing I need today is a possible DUI charge. I open the door, and step outside to start my new life as James.

"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.